I’m Movin’ Out (Rachel’s Song)

Sorry.  I’ve been listening to Billy Joel’s greatest hits for about a week now.
You know how some people name their homes?  I have decided to do the same.   Henceforth, my house shall be called Awesome-o.  Because I love Southpark, it’s true, but more because of the hardwood floors, which I just beheld and lo, they are glorious.  People.  If you live in Nashville, and you need your hardwood floors spiffed up (and seriously, mine needed intensive care), you need to call my Tony Lawrence.  I’ll give you his number.  Sure I’m gonna pass out from the fumes tonight, but it was worth every penny spent.  I’m telling you, this guy?  He was there on time, he finished when he said he would, and he worked a miracle on my floors for a great price.  He also did my parents’ floors.  He’s good people.

The Move is taking place in two phases.  Phase One is this weekend, as I begin to transfer boxes.  I’ve got the upstairs packed except for my clothes, I’ve made the trip to Goodwill and I’m ready to start schlepping.  Phase Two will be next weekend when the movers come for the furniture.  So officially I will still be in the apartment until then.  Also, did you know that if you let Comcast provide your phone service, you automatically get voicemail?  And not only that, but you can check it on your computer!  I mean, you can call and get it from a phone too like a normal person but you can get your messages from your computer.  Teknowlogee. I has it.

I got a spam today in my work email and the subject was “Penis.”  Couldn’t be bothered with the creativity, folks.  Just…. penis.  That’s what you’re gonna read about if you open this email.  We’re not gonna tart it up or try to trick you.  We’re telling you, if you open this, you are going to get information that relates to penis.

In other news, I’m 35 years old and that word still makes me giggle.

Speshl

My mother and I were painting my new bedroom last weekend and just shooting the shit. I’m not sure exactly what we were talking about but it had something to do with my life in general and how I’d turned out and the choices I had made. Like you do. And about how my mom used to assure me when I was a teenager that of course my skin was going to clear up and of course all the things that normal women did, I was going to do too, except that none of that has really happened. And then my mother said this: “Well I’ll say one thing about you, dear.” My hair started to rise because statements prefaced by this are usually unintentionally insulting as only your mother can be. But what followed was, “Nothing about you turned out normal.”

It may be the nicest thing my mother has ever said to me. I don’t know that it’s necessarily true, but it made me happy.

I think she was afraid that maybe it came out wrong and it might have hurt me, so she started qualifying it with benign, inoffensive examples, including the statement, “you certainly are unique.” But all of that was unnecessary, and I told her so and thanked her. And when I think about it, the people I like most in my life are the ones who have taken the road less traveled. Whose uniqueness is utterly effortless, unaffected. It is simply the Way They Are. They aren’t trying to be special snowflakes or stand out, they just do what they like, and what they like happens to be, well, different. They also tend to be highly intelligent and usually have a dry wit. It all seems to go hand in hand. And let me assure you, finding people like that who are also mentally healthy and relatively emo-free? Much harder than you’d think. So you gotta hang on to the good ones you find.

I guess it’s impossible to ever really know how you’re perceived by others. I mean, people can give you hints or come right out and hurt or flatter, but you’ll never really know the instant feeling or emotion someone has about you when you pop into his or her head. That feeling that can’t really be articulated or defined. The overall impression you make. I hope the saying that you’re defined by the company you keep is true. Cause I keep me some pretty sweet company.

Metier

For those of you who wonder what I do for a living, I make these. Only mine aren’t this awesome and full of hilarity. I’m in the process of scripting some right now and I wish I hadn’t seen this because now this is all I want to write.

Huh. Really?

I am not lying when I tell you I really thought I was a moderate with heavy Republican leanings. Evidently, I was wrong. This is very weird considering the interview I gave about Hilary. Sorry, Ron Paul.

90% Hillary Clinton
90% John Edwards
90% Barack Obama
85% Chris Dodd
84% Bill Richardson
80% Joe Biden
64% Mike Gravel
62% Dennis Kucinich
56% Rudy Giuliani
49% John McCain
40% Mitt Romney
37% Tom Tancredo
34% Mike Huckabee
24% Fred Thompson
14% Ron Paul

2008 Presidential Candidate Matching Quiz

Sociology is cool.

Swiped this from my friend Holly’s website:

This meme is from “What Privileges Do You Have?”, based on an exercise about class and privilege developed by Will Barratt, Meagan Cahill, Angie Carlen, Minnette Huck, Drew Lurker, Stacy Ploskonka at Illinois Indiana State University. More info here.  Done in a classroom setting, students would line up and take one step forward for every statement that is true.

Bolded are the ones that are true for me.

When you were in college:
If your father went to college, take a step forward.

If your father finished college.

If your mother went to college.

If your mother finished college.

If you have any relative who is an attorney, physician, or professor.   Well, I have an uncle who’s a physicist.  Not sure if that counts but for the purposes of the experiment, it probably does.

If you were the same or higher class than your high school teachers.

If you had a computer at home.

If you had your own computer at home.

If you had more than 50 books at home.

If you had more than 500 books at home.

If were read children’s books by a parent.

If you ever had lessons of any kind.

If you had more than two kinds of lessons

If the people in the media who dress and talk like me are portrayed positively.  Again, not sure.  Southerners are not, by and large, portrayed as brain surgeons.  And lord knows fat chicks aren’t getting any mad props on t.v.  But if they’re talking about white people who live in the suburbs, then I have to say yes.

If you had a credit card with your name on it.

If you have less than $5000 in student loans.

If you have no student loans.

If you went to a private high school.

If you went to summer camp.  Just once.  Brownies.

If you had a private tutor.  Only for math.  I sucked at it.

If you have been to Europe.

If your family vacations involved staying at hotels. There was a lot of camp grounding going on, but when I was really little we stayed at motels.

If all of your clothing has been new and bought at the mall.

If your parents bought you a car that was not a hand-me-down from them.

If there was original art in your house

If you had a phone in your room.

If you lived in a single family house.

If your parent own their own house or apartment.

If you had your own room.

If you participated in an SAT/ACT prep course.

If you had your own cell phone in High School.  Er, they didn’t really HAVE cell phones when I was in high school.  Wow. 

If you had your own TV in your room in High School.  Strictly verboten.

If you opened a mutual fund or IRA in High School or College.

If you have ever flown anywhere on a commercial airline.

If you ever went on a cruise with your family.

If your parents took you to museums and art galleries

If you were unaware of how much heating bills were for your family.

When the questions have all been asked, the following instructions are given:

“Now everyone recognize that you are at the same place academically.  Everyone turn around.  Everyone has permission to talk.  No one has permission to accuse any one or any group of anything.  Everyone must use “I” statements.

Note that the people on one end of the room had to work harder to be here today than the people at the other end of the room. Some of you had lives of more privilege than others. There is no one to blame, it is just the way it is. Some have privilege and some don’t.”

I just thought it was interesting.

 

I’d do him

 So I was in the house last night peeling wallpaper off the master bedroom.  And after working at it for a couple of hours, I took a break and walked through the empty house, taking in all the glorious space and the fireplace that is now mine to build fires in and thinking of the plans I have for the kitchen that my mother and I will renovate ourselves.  And I was marveling at how all of this has come together so quickly and really unexpectedly in my life, and suddenly the thought came to me:  What if Tom Jones were your dad?  I’d been listening to Tom’s Reload album, which is so great, and it just occurred to me that although he is certainly a sexy senior citizen, what if that were your DAD singing “Sexbomb”?

Oh yeah, and I also thought about how lucky and grateful I am to have the house and all.  But mostly I can’t stop thinking about Tom Jones.

Lawsy

They glued.  Linoleum.  To the hardwood.  Floor.

GLUED IT.

Behold.

And by the way check out that sweet knotty pine.  Six hours later, I’ve done almost a quarter of it and my right arm has been amputated and replaced with a false one, so hopefully tomorrow won’t be nearly as painful.  Other highlights include the 4×5 patch of moisture damaged floor in the bedroom, and the big black patch of mold under the wallpaper.  Yay!  Old houses!  I’m not complaining.  I’m not.  I love it.  Well, except for this:

Nice.  you can almost hear the 70s bow chicka wow wow, can’t you?  You should see the ceiling fans.  All six of them.  I’m telling you, this house would make a great porno set.  Living in a porn house.  That would be…. well, creepy really.  Although it would mean I’d get lucky every time I had a pizza delivered. 

When I arrived at house today to begin the carnage, I swear to you it clapped its hands and made a “squee!” sound.  I stepped in and said, out loud to the house, “don’t worry!  I’m here to make it all better!”  You know those horror movies where the house is like, alive?  And it turns on the people living there and starts to write scary stuff in the steam on the bathroom mirror and whispering “GET OUT” and then eventually starts killing them?  My house LOVES me.  I fully expect to wake up one morning and find pancakes and bacon going in the kitchen.  And I’ll say, “house?  Did you make this for me?”  And the house will just sit there smiling behind its paper and take a sip of coffee and say, “what?  I didn’t do anything.”  And then I’ll say, “you did!  You made me breakfast!  You are so awesome!”  And the house will say, “well, you EARNED it.”  And I’ll say, “I love you, house.”  And then the house will start energy saving measures and killing its own termites and other little things just to show it cares.

And then in about ten years I will spurn it for another.  Because that’s about as long as I can stay in any one place.  I’m the wind, baby.  

I’ll say this, I’m not sure I would ever do this floor thing for anyone but me.  Well, okay, I would for a select few.  Like maybe three people.  Five.  Six if he ever gets his act together.  However, if anyone wants to jet on down to Nashville and help, these walls aren’t gonna Kilz themselves.

Happy new year, everyone!  Big things next year.  BIG things!

Christmas wrap-up

No pun intended.

Also, this is an overdone topic and I can’t believe I’m even writing about it. But I just felt the need to get it out there for the record. And isn’t that the whole reason Al invented teh innernets in the first place?

I think I only know one person, ONE, who had a good Christmas. And it’s because she refuses to spend it with her family because they make her miserable. Why do people who really don’t particularly like each other force themselves to have together time for the holidays, just because they share DNA? Is it really that important? Really? Blood relation? Why are you ruining a perfectly lovely time of year because of some bizarrely held feelings of obligation to people with whom you just really don’t connect at all? And do you ever look at your blood relations and think, “how in the hell did I come from this?” Not necessarily in a holier-than-thou way. Just in a way that comments upon how utterly and incredibly weird and unlikely it is that you have not one single thing in common, yet your background is so similar. And y’all, I mean not One. Single. Thing.
I am a huge proponent of the urban tribe. Choosing your family. I can name ten people right this second with whom I would love to spend every holiday. And I’m not sure I can name five of my blood relatives about whom I can say the same. It’s sad really. My mother was so close to all of her extended family when she was growing up. My dad too. But as adults, as extended families have grown and spread, the educational and socio-economic divide between the branches has just made it pert-near impossible for us to connect. I love most of them. I do. But a few of them I would just really prefer not to be related. And Christmas appears to have become a time when people can’t focus on peace, love and good food. It’s become a time of stress and tears and insecurity and tongue-biting and whispered conversation in the back room and rolled eyes and ohmygodweneedanintervention. Because for some reason, nothing brings all of that crap out like immediate family.

It pisses me off. I don’t ever want to hear again that one of my beautiful, awesome-sauce friends has been made to feel bad by some asshat in her family. I don’t want to ever come home myself on the verge of tears over some situation again. Or more intensely disliking a family member. I want Christmas to stop being so family-oriented. Unless you want it to be. I want the pressure to socialize with people you’d rather not see to be lifted and I want every person to feel completely free to have chosen friends and family over to his or her home for good times and love fest and appreciation and blessing counting and all those things that family should provide but DNA doesn’t. Necessarily.

And that? Is my Christmas wish.

Which prompts a reprinting of this Steve Martin classic. My friend Don and I quote this to each other every year around this time:

“If I had one wish that I could wish this holiday season, it would be that all the children to join hands and sing together in the spirit of harmony and peace. If I had two wishes I could make this holiday season, the first would be for all the children of the world to join hands and sing in the spirit of harmony and peace. And the second would be for 30 million dollars a month to be given to me, tax-free in a Swiss bank account. You know, if I had three wishes I could make this holiday season, the first, of course, would be for all the children of the world to get together and sing, the second would be for the 30 million dollars every month to me, and the third would be for encompassing power over every living being in the entire universe. And if I had four wishes that I could make this holiday season, the first would be the crap about the kids definitely, the second would be for the 30 million, the third would be for all the power, and the fourth would be to set aside one month each year to have an extended 31-day orgasm, to be brought out slowly by Rosanna Arquette and that model Paulina-somebody, I can’t think of her name. Of course my lovely wife can come too and she’s behind me one hundred percent here, I guarantee it. Wait a minute, maybe the sex thing should be the first wish, so if I made that the first wish, because it could all go boom tomorrow, then what do you got, y’know? No, no, the kids, the kids singing would be great, that would be nice. But wait a minute, who am I kidding? They’re not going to be able to get all those kids together. I mean, the logistics of the thing is impossible, more trouble than it’s worth! So — we reorganize! Here we go. First, the sex thing. We go with that. Second, the money. No, we got with the power second, then the money. And then the kids. Oh wait, oh jeez, I forgot about revenge against my enemies! Okay, I need revenge against all my enemies, they should die like pigs in hell! That would be my fourth wish. And, of course, my fifth wish would be for all the children of the world to join hands and sing together in the spirit of harmony and peace. Thank you everybody and Merry Christmas.”

It’s all about house humor for the forseeable future

Je suis vampyre

Regarding the Vampires Seeking Vampires thing in my previous post, my friend Holly suggested I send in one of my character photos.  I’m seriously considering it.  I would use the name of my primary World of Warcraft character, Paixenmorte, which is french for “peace in death,” so you know I’d be popular.  Half the people on there claim they were french when they were “turned.”  I especially love “Phillistine Jeane-Blaire of Paris France(1618-1655)…”  That guy is very detail oriented.  I hope he’s still single.

“5′3, red haired, green eyed vampyress who loves cookies (blood cookies!) is looking for someone who understands me and my plight to destroy the one who turned me and stole my Coco Chanel atelier shoes in Paris, where I lived when I was alive.  In the 20s.  He, a 400 year old rogue with cruel eyes, really pointy teeth and a keen eye for haute couture footwear lured me from Shakespeare and Company to a small cafe, where they have these really good croque monsieurs and they’ll make the egg any way you want it instead of just leaving it sunny side up like it normally is, oh man, and you have to try the tea there, it’s like right next to the bookshop.  I know because I have TOTALLY been to Paris, for real.  Because I lived there when I was alive before I became the undead satanic presence that is writing this right now!  So anyway, needless to say, he must be destroyed, and I must do that by taking a new vampiric lover and using him as callously and hotly as I myself was used.  No Hot Topic poseurs please.  Must dress in gothic clothes or at least a lot of black.  Long blond hair preferred, and must not live with your parents.  And NO RPGers!  I am a real vampyress!  I have a photo to prove it AND a page on DeviantArt.  And my mom totally knows I am doing this, so.”