All Over the Place

Maddie Hayes: David, may I please have some ANSWERS?
David Addison: Delaware, all of the above, 90 degrees.
- Moonlighting

I've had difficulty focusing today. Do I have AD/HD and someone forgot to tell me? If so, where's my Ritalin?

No topic tonight, just me babbling incessantly. For those of you who know me, it'll be just like I'm there.

Halloween is rapidly approaching and for the first time in seven years, I will not be spending Saturday night at the Warehouse. Or any bar, for that matter. Halloween Saturday is one of the nights we used to refer to as "amateur night" when I was still bartending. To say that the place will be crowded is an understatement. Halloween actually surpasses New Year's Eve as the busiest night of the year, and every moron in the city seems to come out of the woodwork to drink themselves into a drunken stupor. I counted fourteen ads for bars and clubs having costume contests in CityBeat, including some that I had never seen advertise in that paper before. (Soupie's? New one on me.) This doesn't include the Creepy Crawl in Main Strasse Village, which is being co-sponsored by seven bars in Covington. No, my days of being packed sardine-tight into a not-well-ventilated room full of inebriated frat boys and rednecks are over. I'll be at Zappagirl's house baking cookies (she has bat-shaped cookie cutters!), eating pizza, and getting ready to go to Fearfest at Paramount's Kings Island. I'm unnaturally excited by the prospect of going to this Fearfest thing. Cheesy haunted houses and roller coasters? Where do I sign up? I'm such an overgrown kid.

I didn't get a chance to go to Kings Island this year, which means I have still not had a chance to ride Son of Beast. Ooh, new record breaking coaster! The tallest (218 feet!) and fastest (78.3 mph!) wooden coaster - and A LOOP! Whee! I'm so excited, and a bit nervous...but it's a good fear.

Speaking of fears, I thought of an interesting irrational fear to add to last night's entry, although it wasn't mine. When my sister was three or so, she was afraid there were alligators in our basement. We had a playroom down there, and the carpet was green, so she figured that they were just blending in, waiting to get her as soon as she stepped foot down there. Tee hee.

Man, she is so going to kill me for telling that story.

Sudsy Malone's, the local laundromat/bar is booking bands again. Hooray! You just gotta love a place where you can get a beer and listen to a band while you're folding your unmentionables.

I saw a review for Blair Witch 2: Book of Shadows, and it wasn't very pretty. The reviewer gave it an F. It's really irritating that it's Halloween and the only decent horror movie that's out right now is The Exorcist, which Roger Mexico and I just watched a few weeks ago.

I think I want to see Charlie's Angels. The TV ads kick ass. But I still ain't going to some franchise bar in the Main Street Entertainment District (TM) to get preview passes. Especially a club with the oh-so-original name of "Bar." Give me a break.

So apparently there's this place called Anything Airbrushed that will do your Halloween costume makeup for you. Um, is this for lazy people or something? Part of the fun of the costume thing is actually designing and assembling your costume, not hiring a makeup and costume crew to make you look picture perfect. Yeah, you might win a contest, but where's the originality? The creativity?

(This from the girl who went to the Witches Ball dressed as a fairy, and discovered that there were at least 10 other fairies there.)

Nash joined me for a beer last night, asking for my assistance on his Halloween costume. He's going as Wes Borland from Limp Bizkit. I wish I was going to the parties he was going to, or he better take some pictures. When I called him this afternoon, he was on his way to pick up his black contact lenses.

Roger Mexico and I are going to Rosencrantz and Guildenstern's house tonight to see the new kittens and decide which one he will eventually be adopting. Wonder how the cat he has now is going to take to the addition to the family. I have a guess. Two words. Hockey puck.

Looking at the Fall Dining Guide in CityBeat is a really bad idea when you're hungry. I want to go eat at every one of the featured "new classic" restaurants - right now. Too bad I don't get paid 'til tomorrow and budgeting is going to be tight if I want to go to Fearfest and the Elliott Smith show at Southgate House. Maybe I can squeeze in a stop at Kaldi's next week. Mmm...Kaldi's. Bacon and roasted red pepper cream cheese wrap. Hazelnut coffee.

I must stop drooling all over the keyboard now.

Homecoming is this weekend at the university near my house. Homecoming = parade = blocked off streets. Memo to myself: sleep late Saturday.

And finally before I sign off for the evening, I just want to sing the praises of my local corner market, or as Roger Mexico and I refer to it, the hippie store. It's run by a bunch of Deadheads. They have a framed picture of Jerry Garcia over the register. I'm not kidding. They also have the most eclectic mix of merchandise in the world, including a great import beer cooler, Wild Berry hand-dipped incense, ethnic foods, clove cigarettes (hooray!),an ATM, and a soda cooler that has both Tab and Jolt. The girl that waits on me in the mornings when I take the bus has been reading On the Road. They used to deliver pizza, too. The year I got snowed in and ran out of cat food, they had everything I needed - and they took my debit card. Rock on.

OK, I'm outta here. Time to go see the kitties and get something to eat. Not necessarily in that order.

Nothing to Fear But...

Giles: Don't taunt the fear demon.
Xander: Why? Can he hurt me?
Giles: No, it's just...tacky.
- Buffy the Vampire Slayer, "Fear, Itself"

Whoops. No entry last night. Got a little sidetracked after Buffy last night, and never managed to post. So much for self discipline.

When I was a kid, I used to be afraid of big dogs. There were a lot of them in my neighborhood, but the one that terrified me to no end was Shadow, the German shepherd across the street. He barked at everything, and I remember at one time someone told me he was a retired attack dog. I'm sure this was just a colorful tale told by the kids on the block, but when you're six and a large dog is straining at his leash, barking ferociously, it sure as hell seems true.

One time when I was playing at the neighbor's house, he broke his chain and got loose. And since we all know at that age that dogs can smell fear, he headed straight for me, ready to rip my throat out. OK, not really. He did run circles around me, barking maniacally at me the entire time. I responded in my usual manner. I burst into a wailing sob until his owner restrained him.

I have outgrown my fear of big dogs. I have a friend who owns a Rottweiler the size of a Mack truck, and urban legend says that the dog still has a bullet lodged in his head from when he attacked, was shot, and kept on coming. Charlie is one of the sweetest dogs I've ever met, and I had no problems with the fact that he chose to sleep in my room on a camping trip a few years ago. Another friend of mine has a female pit bull terrier who loves me to death, and has never intimidated me. (Of course, I've never given either of these dogs reason to be aggressive towards me.)

But still, I have my irrational fears. Things I know I have no reason to be afraid of, but for some reason I cannot shake. One of them I rediscovered Monday afternoon at the movies (Bless the Child with JohnnyB). There's a scene where Kim Basinger's car goes careening into the side of a bridge, breaking through the guardrail, and ends up hanging precariously over the looooooong drop into the water. You know the scenario. One muscle twitch, and the driver's going to freefall into whatever river the bridge spans. This scene bothered me more than anything else in the movie. During this tense moment in the movie, I was attempting to recall the emergency instructions I'd seen on a news report years ago. I was freaking out.

Now seriously folks, what are the chances of me going out like this? Why did this scene make me break out in a cold sweat? Maybe it was because I remember driving over the Sunshine Skyway with my family a few months after the accident back in 1980. (Obviously, we were driving on the span that did not have a 1200 foot gap in it.) It was creepy as hell. I was looking out the window at the parallel bridge, and then it just STOPPED. At this point, my brain realized how far above Tampa Bay we were, and I started panicking. Just looking at the pictures on the link still gives me the weebies. Yikes.

I also have an irrational fear of sharp objects. Don't ask me why. Maybe it's because I'm a klutz and I'm sure that if you ask me to peel the vegetables with that razor shap knife, I just know I'm going to cut myself and end up bleeding all over the potatoes. Me + Exacto knife = bad mix. I'm just convinced that it'll slip out of my hand or whoever's hand is holding said pointy thing and will end up embedded in my leg (or somewhere more lethal). I think I've watched too many bad horror movies or something. (Guess who didn't see Phantasm? Flying steel sphere with all kinds of pointiness coming out? No thanks.)

But the worst (and albeit, probably the most irrational) fear that I have is the fear of being alone. (Warning: "Poor little me" whining ahead. Proceed at your own risk.) I don't have it all the time; I enjoy my own company and can usually find some way to amuse myself. But every once in a while, I find myself thinking that everyone I know has better things to do than put up with me, and I'm going to end up being one of those crazy ladies with 87 cats that dies alone and the cops can't get in because there's newpapers from the last 15 years blocking the door.

Ridiculous. Completely self-centered, pessimistic, and stupid. But sometimes I think that way. This past weekend a bunch of my friends went camping, and I didn't know why no one was returning my phone calls. I figured it was something I did, and drove myself crazy all Sunday trying to figure out where I screwed up.

And then there's the whole romance thing. Yeah, I'm a hopeless romantic, and while I'd like to think that somewhere out there is this fabulous wonderful guy that will worship the ground I walk upon with out being stalker-esque, sometimes I wonder if I blew it years ago and didn't even realize it. What if it was that guy who gave me his number at Club Paradise back in July 1987 that I could never manage to arrange a date with? What if that was it, and I'm doomed to a life of Mr. Not-Quite-Rights? We're back to the cat lady scenario again, and I don't like it.

Yes, I know I'm overreacting, but sometimes I wonder when it's my turn for the damn fairy tale. Just because I'm a hopeless romantic doesn't mean the emphasis has to be on the "hopeless" part.

Bitch, bitch, bitch. B-O-O H-O-O, poor little me. I make Morrissey look like a happy kind of guy.

Actually, I'm in a pretty good mood, but this whiny crap has been kicking around in my head for a while and I thought it would be better to get it out so I can get on with my life. Maybe after hitting fresh air, it will decay away and die.

OK. Enough wallowing in self-pity. I'm going out. Time to take my misery and grind it into the dance floor.

But if someone sees me dancing and singing along to "How Soon is Now?" just smack me, OK? Or just sic a large dog wielding a big knife on me.

Hearts and Flowers...and Hallmark

First off, greetings and salutations to the newest members of my overcaffeinated reality: Erich and CrewsClues. Grab a cuppa and stay for a while; the sugar and creamer's over in the corner.

And a happy happy birthday to JohnnyB. You're old now, babe. Welcome to the club.

Ugh. Tomorrow is Sweetest Day. The Hallmark Holiday.

I used to despise this holiday because it just seemed to be a scam to make a few extra dollars for the greeting card, floral, and chocolate industry. Valentine's Day just wasn't enough, I guess. And I always seemed to be single by the third Saturday in October, no matter how blissfully happy I had been weeks before. So I guess that means I get left out in the cold on the celebration thing.

I don't think so.

I reclaimed the holiday as my own for a couple of years, and gave flowers and candy to who the hell ever I wanted to. My friends - people that made me happy to be alive. Who needed a boyfriend? I had more than my fair share of friends that just happened to be of the male persuasion, and they'd lasted a lot longer than any of my semi-significant others.

Little did I know I was closer to the actual origins of the holiday than the flower shop down the street had led me to believe.

The Downtowner ran a two page special section for Sweetest Day this week. It consisted of: a) advertisments for jewelry stores, card shops, romantic restaurants, and other stores running Sweetest Day sales; b) "articles" about gift giving ideas and how to shop for diamonds, all featuring the advertisers prominently; and c) a three paragraph sidebar about the history of the holiday.

It seems that back in 1921, Herbert Kingston from Cleveland decided that the city's orphans and shut-ins were too often forgotten and neglected, so he decided to send boxes of chocolates to the local hospitals, nursing homes, and orphanages. As time went on, more and more Clevelanders joined in this tradition of giving small gifts on a Saturday in October, and the celebration was broadened to include everyone rather than just the underpriveleged. The day was given the name Sweetest Day, and has continued to spread to other cities in the country as a day to express our thoughtfulness and affection with gifts from the heart, as a reminder that a kind word or deed enriches life and gives it meaning.

This information, incidentally, was provided by Godiva Chocolatier. Not that they're profitting from this holiday. No, no, not at all.

I think the original idea is a beautiful sentiment, but like most holidays in this country, something got lost in the transition. Yes, I agree that one's significant other would be included in the spreading of kindness, love, and good cheer, but if you look at the way the holiday is marketed, you would think that the holiday belonged exclusively to moony-eyed lovers who crowd all the restaurants and buy each other tokens of their affections.

(One of the articles in the aforementioned "special section" of the paper suggested that lottery tickets were a great gift idea. I can see it now. "Honey, I love you so much. Here's a scratch-n-win." Ooh baby! Someone's getting lucky tonight!)

So, to all of the single people out there, let's take the holiday back for ourselves. Call up a friend you haven't seen in a while and go out to dinner. Stop by all your loved ones' homes and shower them in Hershey's Kisses. Buy flowers and give them away to complete strangers. The day's for everyone, not just the cute couples holding hands and walking slowly down the sidewalk.

I've got to stop. I'm starting to sound like Chicken Soup for the Single Person's Soul or something. So much for my cynicism.

Probably no post on Monday, since I will be taking a vacation day, and will hopefully be out playing in the crisp autumn air. Have a good weekend, all. I'm off to have spaghetti, watch movies, and play Trivial Pursuit with Zappagirl and Timmy. (REMATCH!)

Treading Water

apathy n. lack of interest or feeling; indifference.

I have been staring at my computer screen blankly for nearly an hour now, trying to think of something to write about. Nothing is coming to mind. It's like someone just erased everything interesting out of my head.

Well, not just my head. Today I've just felt...I don't know...just here. Not happy, not sad. Just blank. Like a whitewashed wall. If a shrug was an emotion, that's what I'd be feeling right now. Très comme ci, comme ça.

It's really difficult to make your life sound interesting when nothing interesting is happening. Last night I went to the Warehouse and ran into people I'd not seen in a while. And every one of them offered up the same questions - What's new? What have you been up to?

And in my head, I answered. Nothing. I work, I eat, I post, I sleep. Sometimes I watch TV. Sometimes I go to a friend's house and...do nothing.

stagnant adj. 1. (of liquid) motionless; having no current. 2. (of life, action, the mind, etc.) showing no activity; dull; sluggish.

It's not like I need non-stop excitement in my life. As I have told Roger Mexico whenever he apologizes for not being an entertaining host, the entire world does not need to entertain me 24/7. But something should interest me, right? At this point, the most exciting thing I've done all day is learn the commands for including accents and symbols in my entries. (Check out the cedilla and grave accent a couple of paragraphs ago! Whoo hoo! Madame Jones would be so proud....)

And I really do enjoy doing this webjournal. It gives me a chance to vent, and who knows who might hear me? Could be the same people who usually get the "pleasure" of listening to me whine, could be Joe Schmoe in Des Moines. Hell, it could be no one. It's like standing on top of a skyscraper and bitching and moaning into the wind.

I've also enjoyed picking up a few HTML commands as I go along, but sometimes I feel like I'm taking a graduate level college class and never bothered to complete elementary school. There's still so much basic stuff I don't know how to do on the computer (like the majority of Windows 95), but I can email my brains out and fling around my thimbleful of programming knowledge to sound all impressive. Part of me wants to keep going the way I'm going, learning a command or two here and there, and part of me wants to go take a Basic Computer Skills Class. And part of me says the hell with all of it.

And if I do better myself with self-taught classes in programming and designing websites or learning Irish Gaelic or playing guitar or whatever I decide to teach myself, where will it lead me? Will I be another blogger with a really pretty website and five readers, able to interject phrases like "níl mé ach ag tosú ar an teanga afhoghlaim" whenever I want, strumming Bob Mould songs to my cat at night? (See what happens when I get my hands on a search engine? I should not have this much access to this much information....)

blasé adj. bored; indifferent.

Maybe I'm lacking purpose in my life. (Duh.) Sometimes I feel like everyone I know seems to be going somewhere, or at least have a roadmap, and mine blew out the window a long time ago. I'm driving blind down the Interstate of Life, and for some reason I won't pull over at the cosmic gas station and ask for directions. And not to be a complete crybaby about it, but it makes me feel a bit left out at times. In ten years, will everyone else have accomplished what they're dreaming of, and I'll still be where I am now, working at a job that I'm completely indifferent about, but so unfocused that I don't have the motivation to quit or look for something that actually interests me?

It's not that my life is horrible right now. I have gainful employment, I can afford to pay my bills and keep gas in my car and feed myself most of the time. I have a loving family, wonderful friends. I'm not an alcoholic or a junkie. I'm reasonably intelligent. I'm attractive sometimes (the way I see it). I'm not living in a cardboard box. I have the freedom to say whatever I want to in this format, while I'm listening to a CD of obscure alternative music (Manic Street Preachers at the moment). I have creative outlets in my poetry and fiction writing. I can carry a tune in a bucket, as well as walk and chew gum at the same time. But somehow something feels like it's missing. Like I'm empty inside. And for the life of me, I can't figure out what it is.

I feel like I'm treading water. I'm not getting anywhere, but I'm keeping my head above water. But damn, are my legs getting tired.

This was not the life I saw in the brochure. I think my travel agent lied to me.

I'd Like to Buy the World a Marketing Campaign

No post last night. I was too tired. Bad me. No donut.

The latest trend in advertising is starting to annoy me. Remember when commercials had jingles? Not so much anymore. Now it seems that the guys in the marketing boardroom find it easier to license songs and just play them underneath the video. It is a disturbing trend when you realize you can't listen to Bob Seger's "Like a Rock" without wanting to drive your Chevy pickup offroad through the mud. Or hear The Steve Miller Band's "Fly Like an Eagle" and remember you have to stop at the Post Office on the way home.

Remember when Nike licensed the Beatles' "Revolution" and everyone thought it was the end of civilization as we knew it? Does anyone even notice that Phillips Electronics has been using a bad cover of "Getting Better" as a tag line for a few years now? John Lennon must be spinning in his grave.

Most companies have used pre-recorded music once or twice, but there are a few companies out there that are repeat offenders, and they're the ones that drive me nuts...

The Gap - Ever since I saw that damn commercial with the swing kids dancing to Louis Prima's "Jump, Jive, An' Wail" I realized the inherent evil of khakis. Khakis do not swing, nor do they rock, or anything else they tried to convince us of during that marketing campaign. Not even if you use Bill Withers, Crystal Method, and Dwight Yoakam. This was followed by the godawful "artists" holiday campaign. I do not want Everclear selling me jeans. (But wait! It gets worse!) Next up? The dreaded "Everybody in" commercials. A group of bored models singing Depeche Mode's "Just Can't Get Enough" doesn't make me want to buy a leather coat. And don't even start with the "Are You a Jeans or a Khaki" campaign that ripped off West Side Story. I think the best take on this whole atrocity is the video for Rage Against the Machine's "Guerilla Radio," with Zach de la Rocha standing like one of the bored bad-singing models during the intro before he tears a hole in your speakers with his lyrics. Everyone in denial, indeed.

Apple - Why is Barry White selling me an iBook? And did Miles Davis say it was OK to use "Flamenco Sketches?" And yes, we're all aware of the fact that those pretty new iMacs are available in an array of colors. Did you have to drop a big giant anvil on our heads by using the Rolling Stones' "She's a Rainbow" to drive that point home? (Apparently the Stones don't know which computer they prefer, since "Start Me Up" was the Microsoft Windows 95 theme. Maybe Mick got a little worried about the current legal proceedings and sided with Steve Jobs.)

Burger King - Or rather the King of Raiding the Oldies Section. When I was working in a music store a few years ago, people would come in asking for "that Burger King song" and sing the chorus of Modern English's "I Melt with You." That was scary enough. But "King of the Road" to sell Croissanwiches? Hot Chocolate's "You Sexy Thing" to push chicken sandwiches? Enough already.

Mitsubishi - I cannot listen to Groove Armada's "I See You Baby" without wanting to drive Nash's Eclipse Spyder. 'Nuff said. They also used Republica's "Ready to Go" and I think they capitalized on the fact that Iggy Pop's "Lust for Life" was big again with the success of Trainspotting. But the Groove Armada thing drives me nuts, especially since they edited it and changed "shaking that ass" to "shaking that thang." (I'm listening to this song right now, and all I can see is that car cornering in black and white. But it's a little blurry, because I'm dancing in my chair. Hee.)

Tampax - Feminine hygiene commercials are bad enough. But do we really need to hear the Dazz Band's "Let It Whip" while some drum and bugle corps gets down and gets funky, only to be reminded "Tampax Was There?"

Nissan -The big offender! To market their various models of automobiles, they have besieged us with a lengthy list of semi well known songs: Seal's "Crazy," The Smithereens' "Blood and Roses," The Who's "Won't Get Fooled Again," and The Smiths' "How Soon is Now" (2000 Maxima), The Cult's "She Sells Sanctuary,"Blur's "Song 2" (better known as the "whoo hoo!" song), Smash Mouth's "Then the Morning Comes," and the Breeders' "Cannonball" (2000 Sentra), Lenny Kravitz's "Fly Away" (2000 XTerra), The Who's "Baba O'Reily" (2000 Pathfinder), and Stone Temple Pilots' "Wicked Garden" for their "next frontier" commercials. The latest entry is Rush's "Tom Sawyer" for one of the new models. Thanks, Nissan. Thanks for raiding my record collection and trivializing it into a nifty marketing tool.

Volkswagen - Three words. "Da Da Da." Two more words. Stinky chair. Or how about that fact that I can now guarantee that I will hear Styx's "Mr. Roboto" at least once a week on TV? One commercial was so successful (the 1996 Jetta "Drivers Wanted" campaign that used Clannad's "Harry's Game") that the band put a sticker on the CD to let people know that this was the song from the VW commerical.

Volkswagen has also used a ton of more obscure songs to sell their new Beetles, but this I find kind of amusing. Mainstream radio won't touch Stereolab, Spiritualized, Fluke, The Orb, or Hooverphonic, but we can use them to hawk those cute little cars. And the same can be said for the whole electronica genre. America didn't fully embrace the whole scene, but Kodak decided Fatboy Slim could sell disposable cameras. Hell, Moby licensed every song off Play for commercial use. I've heard songs on The X Files, Charmed, Nike commercials (the one with Tiger Woods playing golf on the streets of New York), and even NPR's All Thing Considered.

I guess it's not such a new phenomenon. I'm sure this has gone on since the commercial was invented. Maybe I'm just noticing it. Maybe I pay a bit too much attention to the music in ads (and movies and TV). But it just kind of bothers me that I want to shop at Pier One if I hear "Let Your Love Flow" on the soft rock station. Even classical music isn't safe. I hear Gershwin's "Rhapsody in Blue" and I'm booking trips on United Airlines. I hear Aaron Copland's "Rodeo" and I'm mentally filling in the line "Beef - it's what's for dinner!" And the chorus of "(You Make Me Feel Like a) Natural Woman" really makes me want to wash my hair with an herbal shampoo. Yikes. Guess those marketing guys earned their degrees after all.

But I miss the jingle. They're fun; they're catchy. I can pretty much guarantee that I will never forget the telephone number for LaRosa's if I want to order a pizza. And what about all the people who got their start in advertising jingles? Without jingles, we'd have no Luther Vandross. Or Barry Manilow.

Hang on. Considering that last one, maybe it's best that the jingle is dead. I'm going to go dance to some Basement Jaxx and drink a Coke, while I'm putting on my Revlon makeup to "Man! I Feel Like a Woman!" I'm such a consumer.

Weekend Wrap Up

First off...happy birthday Mom! Hope your day got better....

What a crazy weekend. Non stop wackiness. After I got off work, I drove out to Zappagirl's house to get ready for the Witches Ball, only to find that she was STILL sewing her costume, and Timmy was out picking his up. We were going to be quite late. (I was running late too. Who knew it could take that long to shave your legs and cover yourself in glitter?) I finally ended up driving separately since I was supposed to be meeting friends from work, as well as Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.

The Ball was an absolute blast. Missed JohnnyB's play, but did make it there in time for the end of the drumming circle. I ended up bonking at least fifty people in the head with my wings (follow up to my dilemma from weeks ago: I ended up going as a fairy). We redubbed it the Pagan Prom and spent the evening dancing to cheesy music and looking for pretty goth boys. (Alas, all the pretty boys we found were either with someone or batting for the other team. Sorry, Jooles. We'll do better next time.)

Went to lunch with Nash on Saturday, then went back to his apartment to watch The Talented Mr. Ripley and discuss the differences between the movie and the novel. Somewhere over the course over the afternoon, a bottle of Absolut Mandarin and an extremely potent German liqueur became involved, and plans to go to Fearfest at Paramount's Kings Island were scrapped. Fade to black.

Sunday - oh, my head. I really didn't mean to drink that much. Alcohol bad. I spent most of the day appalled that I let myself get that messed up. I really am my own worst enemy, and the greatest punishment that can be inflicted upon me is to allow me to guilt trip myself. Well, that and try to figure out where all the bruises came from.

Finally decided I have mentally abused myself long enough, and go to Bogart's with Nash to see BT and Hooverphonic. Spent most of the night avoiding offers of alcoholic beverages, but eventually relented and drank a Mike's Hard Lemonade. So trendy! And so sickly-sweet. Switched to Diet Coke at first opportunity. Sweated a good ten pounds off from dancing my butt off with the Glow Stick Brigade. The crowd was older than expected, so I had a really good time, but my feet were killing me and my hair looked awful by the time the show was over. Oh well. Who was I trying to impress? Went home expecting to fall asleep immediately, but ended up watching X-Files rerun. The lone Gunmen go to Vegas. Scully becomes a bimbo. Hee. Somehow this makes insomnia a bit more bearable.

Congratulations to Rosencrantz and Guildenstern on the arrival of 6 new kittens today. The feline population has doubled in the house. If anyone wants a new kitty, speak up!

"The fact that you're not answering leads me to believe that (a) you're not home, (b) you're home but you don't want to talk to me, or (c) you're home, desperately want to talk to me, but you're trapped under something heavy. If it's either (a) or (c). please give me a call." - Harry Burns, When Harry Met Sally

I was supposed to go see Lost Souls with Roger Mexico tonight, but he's not answering his phone. I'm a little worried. Not that I'm all that jazzed about seeing the movie (we seem to have an uncanny knack for picking big budget pieces of crap - Mission to Mars, anyone?), but I've not been able to reach him since yesterday afternoon. Hopefully this just means he left his cel phone at work....

Penance

This will probably be one of the most difficult entries that I will ever write.

For all of you out there in Blog-land, let me forewarn you that this entry is not for your benefit. This one is solely directed to Mom and Dad. There are a few issues I need to come clean on, mainly because I'm tired of censoring myself. I'm sure most of my admittances will not really be big surprises; I just want to make sure they haven't booked passage on a pleasure cruise down the treacherous river we call Denial.

(Apologies all around for sinking to the level of that ancient pun.)

Here goes. Mom and Dad, a few things...

I smoke. I have for the better part of twelve years now. Yes, I know how bad it is for me, and what horrible chemicals I'm putting into my body. If it's any consolation, I've cut back considerably. I now only smoke clove cigarettes and the occasional Camel Light.

(For those of you who aren't my parents, I know how ridiculous this sounds. But coming from a non-smoking family, I feel like I've commited some horrible cardinal sin and have been hiding my guilty little secret for over a decade. Yikes.)

I have a tattoo. I know how you feel about them and that you disapprove of the current fashion trend. I thought long and hard about whether I wanted one - for almost two years - before I plunked my money down on the counter. It's small. It's tasteful (in my opinion). It's on my left upper arm. I've had it for 2 1/2 years. As a result of my decision, I have consciously worn sleeves around you during this entire time period. I've prayed for rain every time you invited me to go swimming. I really wanted to go on vacation with you last year, but between the ink on my arm and the cancer sticks in my pocket, it just wasn't possible.

I curse like a sailor sometimes. I'm sure you've noticed a few inappropriate phrases sneaking in under the radar in past entries. I've tried to hold my tongue, but in the event that I go off on an expletive-filled rant, I want to at least forewarn you. I'm trying to write this in my own voice as much as possible, and I'm not all sunshine and roses. Sometimes life irritates me enough that "gosh darn it, that old so-and-so" doesn't cut it.

I've had sex. Duh. I'm 32 years old, and I've been on the singles scene for 14 of them. I'm not the Whore of Babylon, but I'm no blushing schoolgirl either. Yes, I am meticulously safe, and tend to be monogamous, even though I'm a serial monogamist. Yes, a lot of my friends (past and present) have been men, but most of the time when I hang out with a guy a lot, it's just that - a platonic-no-nookie havin' friendship thing. Sometimes it's not, and frankly, we're not playing Parcheesi.

(At this point, the rest of my readers mutter a collective "Big deal!" and, yawning, go find something more interesting to read on the internet.)

I'm sure you are more than a bit disappointed by my revelations. I almost feel like I'm apologizing for the way I live my life. After all, I was not brought up this way. But from the way I look at it, I was. I was raised to be a free-thinking individual who is capable of making her own decisions and takes responsibility for her actions, be they right or wrong. I don't want you to feel like I'm parading my differences in opinions in front of you for shock value; in fact, that's why I've hidden them for so long. But hiding who you really are is pretty much equal to lying, and I was raised to be an honest person. I've felt guilty about my dishonesty, and I do apologize for that.

This is not to say I'm going to chain-smoke at the next family gathering or pepper my speech with a bevy of blue language around you. I will still respect your feelings towards these issues. I just wanted to let you know about these parts of my life so in the event that I write about something and refer to going outside for a smoke or something like that, it won't come as a complete surprise or shock.

I'm sorry if I've upset or disappointed you in any way with this entry.

****************************************

Wow, this was a downer of a post. I'll move on to more cheerful subjects next week, I promise. Hopefully I'll have some interesting stories to tell from the Witches Ball, which I am off to get ready for. Have a good weekend, all.

Hair Don'ts

It's that time again.

Every couple of months I get bored with my hair and consider letting it grow. I usually wear my hair in various stages of short, and for the most part have since I was eleven. Before that, it was long and thick and blonde, as was my sister's. I had a drawer full of ribbons and barettes and headbands in every color of the rainbow. I pulled it back in a ponytail, I wore it braided.

Or more to the point, my mother pulled it back in a ponytail and braided it for me. The average elementary school girl is not the most skilled hairdresser, and my attempts at high fashion back then were pretty pathetic. (Actually, they still are...) When my mother went back to work, she realized she did not have time to assist two girls with the regime that went along with having long hair. (This was in the days before the handheld blow dryer; we had one of those huge monstrosities that fit over your head like a giant plastic helmet and took at least 30 minutes to effectively rid one's hair of moisture. It was either that or let it dry naturally, which took forever.) So she took us to the hairdresser and had her cut all of our hair off. My mother swears that the hairdresser cried and told her she didn't want to do it. But when we left, we both had hair that barely touched the back of our shirt collars. To this day, my mother still has a lengthy lock of hair from both mine and my sister's heads from that day.

And for the majority of my life, I have worn my hair practically identical to that style. There were a few missteps: my junior year in high school, which was absolutely hideous. I hid my yearbook from that year. It was about shoulder length, and was shaped like a bell. I kid you not. It looked like someone, upon seeing the Liberty Bell for the first time, was so touched and inspired that they had actually molded my hair into that shape. Not attractive, not even for 1984. I finally gave up, and got it all cut off again.

My freshman year in college, I started to let it grow again, but got to that horrible "in-between" stage. Not wanting to make the bell mistake again, I made a worse one. I got a perm. A bad home perm. I soon came to my senses and got it cut again.

And at least once a year, I get bored with what I see in the mirror and decide to do something new. For a while I decided that I wanted my hair color to go back to the shade it was when I was younger, and dyed it blonde. If I had stayed with the first color I used, all would have been well. Unfortunately, I worked my way back through the ash blondes until I hit a shade that did not occur in nature. Blondes may have more fun, but I'll never know it because I'll never go back there again.

At one point I decided to experiment with the colorwashes that were supposed to come out in two weeks. I selected Copper Penny, which proceeded to not wash out of my hair in the least after a month. And to make matters worse, my smock at work was purple. Horrifying. I tried to dye my hair back to its original shade, and the two colors combined and left me with reddish-gold hair. Once again, not a naturally occuring shade. I ended up having to let it grow out; I had two tone hair for months. And I wonder why I didn't date much back then.

I also went the assymetrical route in the late 80's. Ooooh, I was such the little rebel. Not. The assymetrical cut was the refuge of the girls who could not wear a bob.

At this moment, my hair is in the shaggy "oh dear God, I need a haircut" phase. I get to use all the headbands and clippies that I bought last year when I was at this point. A decision has to be reached, and soon. It's starting to get in my eyes. If I let it grow, I'll be able to change my hair to suit my mood. I'd be able to use my hair as a dancing prop again. But on the other hand, that means I can't just wash it and go in the morning. Fun little hairclips are time consuming, and that means getting up even earlier. Curling irons are a tool of evil. More hair = more hair dye, and the stuff I use is already ridiculously expensive. (But I like it. I like the shade, I like the fact that it doesn't fade, I like the aromatherapy stuff you add to the developer to cover up the chemical smell, I like the super thick "professional" gloves. Doesn't make me look like Milla Jovovich though. False advertising? You make the call.)

In most probability, I'll let it go for another week or so, and get it all cut off again. I don't know why I'm going through all this angst. If I was a guy (or didn't have such a conservative job), I'd just pull a Sinead O'Connor and shave it all off. Then all my problems would be over with. If I wanted it long, I could just get a wig.

Open 24 Hours

If I had my way, all businesses and services would be open all night. Seeing as how I'm stuck at work all day and have spent more than my fair share of sleepless nights watching ABC World News Now (the news program that's on during the wee hours of the morning), it would be nice if I could turn the TV off, put on my shoes and go shopping or to the movies or whatever. I mean, what is the point of not only showing a Donato's Pizza commercial at 1:00 in the morning but informing the Insomniac Brigade that the large pepperoni is specially priced at $9.99 right now when Donato's is closed and you can't get the pizza the advertising people are making you crave? (Actually, there's no Donato's in my neighborhood, so I really suffer when that commercial comes on.)

But there are 24 hour establishments, you say. Why, there's Wal-Mart! And while I will admit to spending an inordinate amount of time at WallyWorld while the rest of the world is aslumber, we're not talking haute couture here, folks. Kathy Lee Gifford has a line of clothing there. Need I say more? The only thing more frustrating than the clothing section is the laughably small (and frighteningly mainstream) music/video department. Yes, I realize I have odd tastes in music, but I do not need a Backstreet Boys album. Or a Britney Spears album. Or 'N*Sync, or Destiny's Child, or whoever the band of the moment is. I also do not need an edited CD with all the dirty words bleeped out to the point that the lyrics make absolutely no sense. (Off topic, but I highly recommend a section of The Book of Rock Lists that cites the stupidest moments of music censorship. There's a line in the Jethro Tull song "Locomotive Breath" that was edited so that the offensive word was replaced by another word they spliced in from either another song or another point in the song. The result was the memorable line "got him by the fun." Bwah hah hah. Of course I've never heard this version, since WEBN just plays the unedited versions of songs and pays the FCC fines. I think ClearChannel can afford it.) And don't get me started on the book selection.

Still, I guess you really can't knock a store where you can buy a new outfit for work, a toaster oven, and stuff to completely remodel your bathroom at 3 am. Well, unless you live near a Wal-Mart that discontinued the 24 hours thing. The closest 24 hour Wal-Mart to my house is a 30 minute drive. If I'm driving that far, I'm going up the road a few more blocks and going to Meijer. At least I can do my grocery shopping while I'm buying cheap clothes there.

Finding food is a problem as well. The last thing I want to do when I've been punted from the bar is go home and cook, so someone always suggests getting something to eat. Of course, the question always follows: where?

That used to be a no-brainer. It was Perkins, Short Vine Perkins, and there were no two ways about it. I can pretty much guarantee that any person who was a regular on the Beat Club/alternative scene in the late 80's ate at the Short Vine Perkins at least once. Or at least drank coffee there. Or just table hopped because they'd spent all their money on cheap amaretto sours at the club. I remember getting into the bar with no problem, but having to wait in a line out the door for an omelette and pancakes. It all made sense at last call, and no one seemed to care that the service was awful and the food was mediocre. It was just The Way Things Were.

And then Perkins got a new manager that wasn't too hip on the houseful of drunken customers moving from table to table, and instituted "the 15 minute rule." I discovered about the new policy one night after closing whatever club we were going to at that point.

"I'll have a coffee," I told the waitress.

"If you're just getting coffee, you have to leave in 15 minutes."

"Oh, really?" The last time I'd been in there, I'd finished the pot of coffee by myself (and left the server a big honkin' tip) with nary a complaint from the manager. "Well, then I guess I'll have a coffee...and an English muffin." You make dumb ass rules, Mr. Perkins Manager, and I'm going to be a smart ass. Take that.

I got my coffee and English muffin, and dug in. While I was eating one of my friends was told to sit down at his table and not talk to the people on the other side of the room. I felt like I was in kindergarten again.

The second after I finished chewing the last bite of muffin, the waitress whisked the plate away and pretty much told us to get out. "Excuse me? Why?" one of my friends inquired.

"We need the table space."

(Might I remind the reading public that it is now 3:15 in the morning. All the club patrons have gone home or wherever they were going after the club closed. The bar rush is long since over. No one is waiting for a table, and no one will be for several hours.)

We said nothing, paid our check, left our tips, and started frequenting the Anchor Grill in Covington. The Short Vine Perkins is now closed, and the rest of the Perkins chain closes at 10 or something like that. The Anchor...well, as it says on the side of the building, "we may doze, but we never close." Take that, Perkins.

Of course, there's also the occasional foray to Chili Company on West 8th or Denny's on Highland Avenue or the Waffle House in Covington, depending upon who I'm with or where I've been. (JohnnyB and Rosencrantz and Guildenstern live close to the Denny's, and Roger Mexico usually is the one who suggests Waffle House.) But my first choice is, and will always be the Anchor. Hey, no one else in town has a house band like that.

Other than that, and supermarkets and drug stores, the night owl is pretty much screwed. Well, I do take that back. I got out of work at an obscenely late hour last night, and needed to buy bendable wire for my Halloween costume, and did manage to find a 24 hour Home Depot. I would have been much more excited by my discovery if they'd actually had the wire. Nice staff, but this monolith of home improvement couldn't provide me with my simple request. The dinky little hardware store we'd gone to the day before could. Go fig.

And where, I ask you, is the 24 hour coffeehouse? Is it just me, or does this seem like an obvious marketing idea? And I'm not talking that Angst Coffee House thing, where they're open from 7 pm to 7 am. Plus, I always feel like a senior citizen there. I swear the average age there is something like 16. It's the Teen Punk Drop Inn Center. (Good coffee, though, and they serve Jolt Cola. Wheee!)

Maybe that's my calling in life, to open a 24 hour coffeehouse and serve extra super high octane caffeinated stuff. That way I could work there all the time. And book all the bands at weird hours, and have early morning poetry readings, and...

I really need to get more sleep. For a moment that sounded like a good idea.

Top Five

I apologize in advance for the brevity of this post. I'm tired, I'm fighting off the last remnants of a cold, and I'm not feeling exceptionally chatty tonight. So there.

The Top Five Things I Learned This Weekend

I want to sue the Alka Seltzer people for false advertising. "Cherry Flavor." Ha. Ha. Smells like cherry, still tastes like baking soda and water. (But the stuff does kick booty, and doesn't make me comatose at my desk. But I'm sure the faces I make when I'm actually drinking it are quite silly.)

The only people scarier than the customers at Waffle House at 6 am on a Sunday morning are the employees at Waffle House at 6 am on a Sunday morning. And the coffee is awful.

Zappagirl and I should not be allowed in fabric stores together during the Halloween season. Three hours (and not one, but two stores) later we finally had what we needed. Actually cutting and sewing and assembling is another story. At one point she turned to me and asked if we had enough coffee for this project. I'm looking forward to this costume ball thing, but I think quite a few of us are going to sleep all day Saturday to recover.

I'm no threat to Martha Stewart. Last night I proved my ineptitude with the hot glue gun. I think I got more on my fingertips than on my project. I'll be launching attempt #2 tomorrow.

Watching High Fidelity makes you want to classify everything in your life into Top Five Lists. Or make mix tapes. Or revel in John Cusack worship. Or play "Let's Get It On" by Marvin Gaye at top volume.

My brain is officially Jell-o at this point. Time to go home.

Love Makes You Do the Wacky

OK, I'll admit it. I'm a closet romantic.

Actually, that's not true. To steal a line from a bumper sticker I saw once, I am not only out of the closet, I am sitting in the living room with my feet propped up. However, most of my relationships have been remarkably unromantic.

I'm not saying that my love life has been awful. I've been fortunate enough to be involved with several wonderful men, many of whom are still my friends. It's just that the moonlight and roses treatment has for the most part eluded me. Most of my relationships have been of the no-nonsense variety, and I while I wouldn't trade my past experiences for anything, I sometimes feel a little jealous that I missed out on the fairy tale.

I've been thinking of this recently because a lot of my friends are crazy mad in love at the moment. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern just got married a few months ago after knowing each other for about 10 years, and they still have this incredibly cute passion between them. Zappagirl just got back together with her college sweetheart, and they have spent the last six weeks flying cross-country to spend time with each other. (He lives in California, she lives in Ohio.) Timmy, her beau, just left on Wednesday after spending a week with her. She just called me to let me know he's flying back into Cincinnati next weekend to go to the Witches Ball with her.

Everybody, all together now: Awwwwwww....

Even my parents are disgustingly cute. When I worked for them a few years ago, my co-worker and I would watch them walk across the parking lot on their way to lunch, holding hands. They've been married for 36 years, and they still have the same affection for each other that I remember them having when I was a kid. (My parents were high school sweethearts and are 50's sitcom Ozzie and Harriet cute. I kid you not. They are the number one reason why I didn't give up on the concept of true love years ago.)

Given my usual cynical nature towards life, you would think at this point I would be begging for a glass of cabernet to go with all this cheese. But for some reason, I find it endearing and reassuring. Maybe I'm just living vicariously through them. Yeah, a lot of times the world is a lousy place and the people who reside there are awful, but it is possible to be deliriously happy and find someone to share it with. I've got proof.

And while I've got the schmaltzy virtual violins playing, I'll leave you with a few disgustingly sappy quotes from various movies and TV shows. (Kudos to the IMDb, my absolute favorite website ever - where trivia fanatics go to die.) Everyone out there have a good holiday weekend. It's a three day weekend for me, so there may not be an entry on Monday. Until then, go out and celebrate Sweetest Day a bit early without all the Hallmark commercialism and kiss someone you love this weekend. (Or someone you like a lot.)

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I think the most rewarding relationships, the ones that last, are born from friendship. One day you look at the person and see more than you did the night before, like a switch was flicked on somewhere. And the person who was just a friend is suddenly the only person you can imagine yourself with.
- Dana Scully, The X Files


Matthew: I respect and admire you.
Maria: Is that love?
Matthew: No, that's respect and admiration.
- Trust


There's someone out there for everyone - even if you need a pickaxe, a compass, and night goggles to find them.
- Harris K. Telemacher, L.A. Story


I am not full of virtues and noble qualities. I love. That is all. But I love strongly, exclusively and steadfastly.
- George Sand, Impromptu


I love you. And not, not in a friendly way, although I think we're great friends. And not in a misplaced affection, puppy-dog way, although I'm sure that's what you'll call it. I love you. Very, very simple, very truly. You are the epitome of everything I have ever looked for in another human being. And I know that you think of me as just a friend, and crossing that line is the furthest thing from an option you would ever consider. But I had to say it. I just, I can't take this anymore. I can't stand next to you without wanting to hold you. I can't, I can't look into your eyes without feeling that, that longing you only read about in trashy romance novels. I can't talk to you without wanting to express my love for everything you are. And I know this will probably queer our friendship - no pun intended - but I had to say it, because I've never felt this way before, and I don't care. I like who I am because of it. And if bringing this to light means we can't hang out anymore, then that hurts me. But God, I just, I couldn't allow another day to go by without just getting it out there, regardless of the outcome, which by the look on your face is to be the inevitable shoot-down. And you know, I'll accept that. But I know...I know that some part of you is hesitating for a moment, and if there is a moment of hesitation, then that means you feel something too. All I ask, please, is that you just, you just not dismiss that - and try to dwell in it for just ten seconds. Alyssa, there isn't another soul on this fucking planet who has ever made me half the person I am when I'm with you, and I would risk this friendship for the chance to take it to the next plateau. Because it is there between you and me. You can't deny that. Even if, you know, even if we never get to talk again after tonight, please know that I'm forever changed because of who you are and what you've meant to me, which - while I do appreciate it - I'd never need a painting of birds bought at a diner to remind me of.
- Holden McNeil, Chasing Amy


People need people, Steve. It has nothing to do with sex. Ok, maybe 40 percent. 60 percent. Forget it.
-Janet Livermore, Singles


Forget for this moment the smog and the cars and the restaurant and the skating and remember only this. A kiss may not be the truth, but it's what we wish were true.
- Harris K. Telemacher, L.A. Story


You know, there's a million fine looking women in the world, dude. But they don't all bring you lasagna at work. Most of 'em just cheat on you.
- Silent Bob, Clerks


Charles: Ehm, look. Sorry, sorry. I just, ehm, well, this is a very stupid question and..., particularly in view of our recent shopping excursion, but I just wondered, by any chance, ehm, eh, I mean obviously not because I guess I've only slept with 9 people, but-but I-I just wondered... ehh. I really feel, ehh, in short, to recap it slightly in a clearer version, eh, the words of David Cassidy, in fact, eh, while he was still in the Partridge Family, eh, "I think I love you," and eh, I-I just wondered by any chance you wouldn't like to... eh... eh... no, no, no of course not... I'm an idiot, he's not... excellent, excellent, fantastic, eh, I was going to say lovely to see you, sorry to disturb... better get on...
Carrie: That was very romantic.
Charles: Well, I thought it over a lot, you know, I wanted to get it just right.
-Four Weddings and a Funeral


What I really want to do with my life - what I want to do for a living - is I want to be with your daughter. I'm good at it.
- Lloyd Dobler, Say Anything


Watts: I think we'd get along much better if we didn't spend so much time together anyomre.
Keith: Why?
Watts: Because I'm driving you crazy and you're driving me crazy and I'd rather not see you and have you think good things about me than have you see me and hate me. 'Cause I can't afford to have you hate me, Keith. The only things I care about in this goddamn life are me and my drums and you.
- Some Kind of Wonderful


I love that you get cold when it's 71 degrees out. I love that it takes you an hour and a half to order a sandwich. I love that you get a little crinkle in your nose when you're looking at me like I'm nuts. I love that after I spend a day with you, I can still smell your perfume on my clothes. And I love that you are the last person I want to talk to before I go to sleep at night. And it's not because I'm lonely, and it's not because it's New Year's Eve. I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.
- Harry Burns, When Harry Met Sally


Sara McDowel: And if I were to go?
Harris K. Telemacher: All I know is, on the day your plane was to leave, if I had the power, I would turn the winds around, I would roll in the fog, I would bring in storms, I would change the polarity of the earth so compasses wouldn't work, so your plane couldn't take off.
- L.A. Story


Anna Scott: I can't believe you have that picture on your wall.
William Thacker: You like Chagall?
Anna Scott: I do. It feels like how being in love should be. Floating through a dark blue sky.
William Thacker: With a goat playing the violin.
Anna Scott: Yes - happiness wouldn't be happiness without a violin-playing goat.
- Notting Hill


She is not perfect. You are not perfect. The question is whether or not you are perfect for each other.
- Sean, Good Will Hunting


LInda, uh, it's me. I had to call you. It's about midnight. I was just having many beers. And, uh, I just wanted to say what I should have said at the dock. I fucking chickened out when I acted casual, like Mr. Casual. I should have said it. You...belong...with...me! We belong together. And what really pisses me off is that, now that we're really talking, you thought I proposed to you only because you were pregnant. What's that about? I mean...hey, this is not the bathroom! And you know maybe if I had said some of these things at the dock it would have made a difference because, but I think we made a big mistake because, we had good times and we had bad times, but we had times. And I would like to start over. I would like to be new to you. I want to be new to you. I want to be Mr. New. So call me back if you want to. But this is the last time I'll call. And, if you really needed to know how I feel, how I really feel, that's how I feel. I love you. And that's something you should know, so I won't bother you again. So, good night. And goodbye. And call me back. Goodbye.
- Steve Dunne, Singles

I feel all mushy now. Gonna go home and watch The Princess Bride now.

Help! I'm Quoting Garth Brooks!

"And I was at Bloomingdale's this morning waiting on line to buy wrinkle cream, and this Jennifer-Love-Michelle-Sarah-Felicity looking thing bumps into me and says, 'Excuse me ma'am.' " - Grace Adler, Will and Grace

I went over to Zappagirl's house last night and became 18 again last night. And then I started to feel old.

This usually happens when I hang out with her. We both have a passion for 80's pop culture (an oxymoron?), whether it be cheesy new wave bands or cult classic movies. Over the summer we went to two of those multi-band reunion tour extravaganzas; one was loads of fun, and the other one was just embarrassing (for both the artists and the audience). The good one was The Psychedelic Furs/The B-52s/The Go-Go's...had an absolute blast. We missed most of the Furs set, but we did get to hear "Pretty in Pink" and "Heaven." Richard Butler still rocks, and it made me remember how excited I was when I got a copy of Mirror Moves for my birthday back in 1989. The B-52s tore the place up; I don't care how old they're getting or how much weight Cindy's gained...any band that can make me dance in the middle of a thunderstorm on a muddy lawn is OK in my book. And even the Go-Go's were good, even though I still want to smack Belinda Carlisle's Pantene-perfect hair.

And then there was the other show. The "Club 80's" tour, or as we dubbed it, "Club Old & Tired." All of the bands performing (Gene Loves Jezebel, Missing Persons, Flock of Seagulls, and Wang Chung) were simply the original lead singer and a bunch of young hired guns, looking to extend their 15 minutes of fame. Sad, sad, sad. But we were the only people on the lawn that knew every word to "I Like Boys." OK, so Dale Bozio has still got it. But other than that, we were more concerned with getting more overpriced tubs of watered down Bud Light.

(Yes, I swear this rambling does have a point. I'm just taking my time to get there.)

Lately we've been on a movie kick. You see, Zappagirl is in the process of building her DVD collection and calls me whenever she gets a new one that I'll want to watch. Two weeks ago it was This is Spinal Tap, which is a must-have for you DVD kids out there. The outtakes are almost as long as the movie itself, and the audio commentary is quite possibly the funniest thing I've ever hear (Michael McKean, Christopher Guest and Harry Shearer do the whole thing in character. Heeheehee.)

This week, she called with an invitation to view her newest purchase.

"I just bought Rocky Horror."

I grabbed my keys immediately. "I'm on my way."

True confession...I've seen this movie waaaaaay too many times. For a good year, that's what my friends and I did on Friday nights. We were too young to get into clubs, and there wasn't a whole heckuva lot to do in Cincinnati in those days besides drink. (Come to think of it, there still isn't that much to do here but drink.) Every week we'd traipse downtown to the Skywalk and watch a horrible movie and yell obscene and sexually laden comments at the screen. Some years later I dated a guy who'd played Frank in the local cast; he told me the night we met, and I remembered seeing him years earlier. All I could say to him was "You looked really good in those fishnets."

Zappagirl was also a regular, but I didn't know her then. But we'd learned the same callbacks with the repeated viewings, and last night in her basment was straight out of 1988. We watched the damn thing twice (once with the New York participation track on), screaming obscenities at the TV all the way through it. (Incidentally, the Cincinnati callbacks were more obscene than the NYC show. Weird.) It was amazing how many of the lines I remembered. Just goes to show you how my brain works. I have problems remembering where I put my keys the previous night, but I can recite 95% of the callbacks from a movie I haven't seen in almost 10 years.

Halfway through the first viewing, I realized most people outside of my generation have never seen this movie and have no idea why watching Tim Curry prance around in a leather corset and fishnet stockings is so funny. Chalk it up to the changing times, I guess. To reluctantly quote the aforementioned Mr. Brooks, I'm much too young to feel this damn old.

Someone forwarded an email to me re-emphasizing this exact point. There's a college in Wisconsin that puts together a list to try to give the facutly a sense of the mindset of that year's incoming freshmen. Let me depress you with a few facts about the class of 2000...

The people who are starting college this fall were born in 1982.

They were born the year that Sony introduced the Walkman.

They have always had cable.

There have always been VCRs, but they have no idea what Betamax is.

Roller skates have always been inline for them.

They don't know who shot J.R.; most of them don't know who J.R. was.

McDonalds never came in styrofoam containers.

Popcorn has always been cooked in the microwave.

They have probably never owned a record player.

They may have never heard of a 8-track tape. Compact discs were introduced when they were 1 year old.

Bottle caps have always been screw off and plastic.

There has only been one Pope.

They are too young to remember the Challenger disaster.

As far as they know, stamps have always been around 33 cents.

They have always had an answering machine.

They have likely never played Pac Man, and probably have never heard of Pong. Atari means nothing to them.

They've probably never seen a black and white TV.

They have no meaningful recollection of the Reagan era, and probably didn't know that he had ever been shot.

They were 11 when the Soviet Union broke apart. They don't remember the Cold War. They have never feared a nuclear war.

As far as they know, we've always known where the Titanic was.

**************

OK. I'm feeling ancient right about now. I'm going to grab my cane and shuffle on out of here. Hopefully I won't break a hip.

Costume Contest

I love Halloween. It's my favorite holiday. Any festivities that are centered around dressing up in costume, trying to scare the crap out of people, and eating too much chocolate are tops on my list.

I'm really looking forward to this year All Hallow's celebrations, but I'm stuck for a costume. And I have a costume ball to go to next Friday, so the clock's a-tickin'.

It's not that I don't have any ideas. It's more a matter of actually deciding on something that I won't have to spend the whole night explaining. (Well, that and money....) For the past few years, I've come up with costumes that I think are blatantly obvious, and at least ten people will ask me what I'm supposed to be.

Halloween was the busiest night of the year at the bar I used to work at, and most years we would try to have a theme. One year it was Dead Celebrities. I decided against going as Edie Sedgewick (which I could have pulled off with my hair) because it was too obscure, and decided to go as Andy Warhol. White wig, glasses, Campbell's Soup can, dazed expression...the works. I walked around mumbling about my diaries, and one person got it. Hell, more people got Rosencrantz's Bettie Page costume. And Bettie Page is still alive.

The next year we had kicked around a cartoon theme, so I went to work on what I figured would be a ridiculously obvious costume: Velma from Scooby Doo. For crying out loud, everyone grew up on that show! Even if you hated it, you'd know who I was supposed to be! I let my hair grow to the proper length, wore the black plastic nerd glasses and the baggy orange sweater and the brown skirt and the god-awful matching socks (which took me a solid week of shopping to find), and even carried a Scooby Doo purse that night. I peppered my bartending banter with "Jinkies!" Lots of confused looks ensued.

And here it is, a little more than a week before The Witches Ball and I have a list of goofy ideas that I can't afford to pull off, or are inside jokes that no one will get. JohnnyB suggested I go as Blossom from The Powerpuff Girls, but she's my least favorite (I'm more of the Buttercup type) and that costume would only make sense if I could get two other people to dress up with me (or if I can convince JohnnyB to be Mojo Jojo...heh). After seeing X Men the other night, I decided I wanted a leather jumpsuit, but where I'm going to find one in my price range is a definite problem. Well, that and I'd want to be Storm, and I'm just a bit too light skinned to play her. Still want her cape, though.

Then there's the running inside joke...due to my love/obsession/addiction for all things caffeinated, I have been known as either Jitters the caffeinated elf (it was Christmas) and Vibrating Girl (my super-hero persona). The Vibrating Girl costume has actually been designed in theory - it's silver, with a cape (again!) and bicycle streamers in my hair. However, the only people who would know what the hell I was supposed to be would be JohnnyB (who came up with the idea) and Nash (who I related the story to during a happy hour at Spy Club). And Nash isn't going. Things aren't looking good for this costume....

The absolute worst was the Laura Palmer (Twin Peaks) costume, though. I was dead, wrapped in plastic. It was during the woeful second season, the "who killed Laura" arc had long since been abandoned, and my boyfriend and I were the only Peaksters in the group. That, and plastic dropclothes DO NOT BREATHE. I was dying after about five minutes.

So fine. I'll go for the generic. A vampire. Oooh, now that's original. It would be a cost cutter, though. All I'd have to do is open my closet, pick a random black goth-chick dress, and buy some white makeup and pointy teeth. Or...here's a good one! I could go as a witch! Same dress, add a pointy hat, and I'm good to go!

Oh, wait. Wearing an archaic and outdated witch's costume probably wouldn't go over very well at a party sponsored by The Occult Shop. Every Wiccan in the room would kick my butt.

I don't want to wear my costume from last year (black widow spider, including extra arms, spiderweb tights, and a black netted hat that I covered in little plastic arachnids), and I don't think my Dorothy (Wizard of Oz) costume fits (which is really too bad, since I do have a stuffed Toto). But I'm running out of options here. I almost want to cut two holes in a bedsheet and go as a ghost. Boo, baby.

So if anyone has any ideas, please send them my way. Otherwise, I'm taking the scissors to a flat queen size sheet.

True Confessions

And now, to lighten things up after last night's post...

I get a lot of junk email. Jokes that have been forwarded halfway around the planet, offers for free voicemail and wireless phones, political newsbites, a few petitions (that turned out to be hoaxes), and more than my fair share of chain mail. You know, the ones that end with “forward this to ten people or else.” Usually, if you follow the directions, you’ll be blessed with incredible good fortune, or your most heartfelt wish will come true.

I read them, chuckle to myself, and delete them. I don’t usually pass them along, unless I know someone who specifically would appreciate that email. And the whole chain mail thing just bugs me.

A couple of months ago, I got an email from one of my friends with an attached survey that you were supposed to reply to, and pass along to ten people, including the person who origianlly sent it to you. Nothing catastrophic would happen if you deleted it. It was just an opportunity to find out how well you knew your friends.

I answered this one and passed it on. It circulated around my office for the entire afternoon, and we all got a good laugh about each other's answers.

I got a similar one today, and rather than bombarding everyone I know with more email, I decided to adapt it into today's entry. I'd like to know who's reading my ramblings, and what goes on in their heads. Oh yeah, and I'm feeling lazy because it's Buffy night and I don't want to spend two hours getting involved in some long drawn-out tirade.

So email me with your responses to these questions...I'll even include my answers so you can all have a good laugh. If I choose to reveal anyone's answers, I will of course check if it's OK with you. (Don't worry, these are not difficult or humiliating questions.)

Here we go!

1. Your name (if you go by a pseudonym, you can use that)?
myopic
2. Number of candles that appeared on your last birthday cake?
32
3. Hair color?
brown by nature, red by L'oreal. Cardinal, to be more specific.
4. Current city of residence?
Censornati
5. Favorite food?
Anything that isn't nailed down. Pizza, probably.
6. Favorite restaurant?
Kaldi's or Inn the Wood, neither of which serve pizza. Or Uno's, which does.
7. Favorite salad dressing?
Creamy pesto at Old Spaghetti Factory (R.I.P.)
8. Favorite type of ice cream?
Ben & Jerry's From Russia with Buzz
9. Favorite snack food?
Blue corn chips and salsa with sour cream
10. Favorite drink (non-alcoholic)?
Duh. Coffee. Or Diet Coke.
11. Favorite alcoholic drink?
Bass Ale or Absolut Mandarin and Tonic.
12. What word or phrase do you overuse?
"Dude" or "Is there more coffee?"
13. Favorite smell?
My mom's home cooking...I'm so cheesy.
14. Favorite day of the week?
Saturday
15. Favorite movie?
Like I can choose. Ummm...let's just say Clerks.
16. Favorite TV show?
Buffy the Vampire Slayer, ER, Will and Grace, South Park, The Powerpuff Girls
17. Favorite song of the moment?
"Touched" (VAST), "Best Imitation of Myself" (Ben Folds Five), "Bottle Up and Explode!" (Elliott Smith).
18. Favorite holiday?
Halloween
19. Favorite flower?
Dandelions
20. Favorite board game?
Trivial Pursuit. Have I mentioned lately what a big geek I am?
21. Last book read?
Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (J.K. Rowling), Glamorama (Bret Easton Ellis)
22. Have you ever been in a car crash?
Yep. My poor little Escort accordianed. I wasn't driving though.
23. Least favorite subject in school?
Chemistry.
24. Favorite quote from a movie?
"I'm not even supposed to be here today!" (Clerks) or "I want my two dollars!" (Better Off Dead)
25. Have you ever been in love?
I think that's a definite yes. I'm no stranger to heartbreak.
26. How many times did you fail your driver's license test?
Once. I crossed over the double yellow line pulling out of the parking lot. Game over.
27. Have you ever been convicted of a crime?
Other than speeding and parking tickets, they haven't caught me yet....
28. Favorite sport?
None, but I have been known to watch football (Go Pack!) and hockey. And wrestling for a giggle.
29. What store could you max out your credit card at without thinking?
Media Play or Best Buy
30. Morning person or a night person?
No question about it. Night person.
31. Sunrise or sunset?
Sunrise, probably because I see them less frequently.
32. When you put the toilet paper on the roll, is it over or under?
You're assuming it actually gets put on the roll....
33. Is the glass half-empty or half-full?
If it's in front of me, I've probably finished off whatever was in it. More, please.
34. What do you do most often when you are bored?
Read, watch TV, call someone and complain about it.
35. Person that you are friends with that lives the farthest away from you?
Vahn or Larry
36. What time do you usually go to bed?
Whenever my body stops moving.
37. Thing that annoys you most?
People that suck.
38. The best thing in life?
Waking up and realizing you have absolutley nothing to do all day.
39. Guilty pleasure/dirty little secret?
I'm an avid Felicity watcher. At least it's not Dawson's Creek.
40. Funniest/weirdest/most interesting website you've stumbled across?
MightyBigTV, Tomato Nation...actually, most of the sites listed on Damn Hell Ass Kings are worth a look. Or if you think your name is too humdrum, get a new one at the Glam Name Generator. (Incidentally, my glam name is Nova Sugartwist. Cool.)

OK, your turn. Have fun!

Hi, I'm Home Right Now, But I'm Avoiding You...

Roger Mexico has a stalker.

As I understand the situation, he'd gone out with this girl a couple of times back around December. He decided he wasn't interested in pursuing the relationship any further, and broke it off.

Her version was a little different. She told everyone it was a serious relationship, they were in love, and he was going home with her at Christmas to meet her parents.

I was given this information by a co-worker at the bar, and frankly, it floored me. Roger Mexico and I had been through a difficult month-long transition from dating to friends, and I had thought we were at a point where we could talk about something like this. Yet he hadn't even mentioned he knew her. I felt somewhat betrayed, since he'd told me we could talk about anything, but felt he needed to withhold this crucial tidbit from me.

Lengthy emails and a very tense meeting over coffee ensued. He reassured me that he had no further interest in this girl (let's call her Lara), he had told her exactly that, and she didn't seem to be getting the message. In fact, she was starting to weird him out by calling several times a day and showing up at his door unannounced.

I believed him, because I'd heard stories about Lara doing this before. I'd heard the prefix "psycho-" attached to her name on more than one occasion by more than one person. And he had been screening his calls lately.

Any possible doubts in my mind were wiped clean away when I was over at Roger Mexico's apartment one night watching movies and the phone rang around eleven times in one hour. At 2 am, mind you.

Roger Mexico *69ed about half of the calls. Sure enough, they were all from her. "Freak," he muttered.

It is now October, and she is still pursuing him. She showed up unannounced four times this week, most recently Saturday morning. Roger Mexico and I had been up quite late watching movies, and I ended up crashing at his place. I awoke a few hours later to fresh coffee and a very frustrated friend.

"Dude, she's already called twice this morning." (It was 11 am, for those of you keeping score at home.)

I sipped at my coffee and did my best Mafia goon accent. "You want I should rub her out?"

"I don't know, man. I have no idea what to do. It's getting to the point where - " He stopped midsentence.

"Where what?"

He stared out the window, eyes wider than usual. "She just pulled into my lot."

"What?"

He said nothing for a moment, but peeked out the kitchen window, trying to avoid being seen, then...

"Oh sweet Jesus it's her it's her it's her! Go go go go go!" he frantically whispered, heading for the bedroom at high speed. I followed suit.

Footsteps on the fire escape. A knock at the door. Roger Mexico silently mouthing the same phrases over and over. "I'm asleep. Go away. I'm asleep. Go away."

Another knock. "Can't she take a hint?" I whispered.

Another knock. This was not some silly "I'm avoiding you" thing. This was full blown fear. "I don't want to live my life afraid," he whispered back. "Make it stop."

We listened to the footsteps retreat down the fire escape. A car engine revved up, and someone pulled out of the parking lot. Roger Mexico peeked out of the window tentatively. "I swear I think I'm going to have to call the cops."

I sympathize with him; I had a similar situation last year (except mine didn't know where I lived, and instead sat at my bar all night with a pathetic love-sick puppy dog look on his face, then would beg me for a ride home since he didn't drive). Mine even went so far as to pull the "If you don't love me, my life won't be worth living" line.

The problem is two-fold. Both Roger Mexico and I are non-confrontational people, and tried to be gracious when dealing with our problem children. Perhaps if we had bluntly said, "You're a psychotic freak. Get out of my life!" from day one, we could have saved ourselves a lot of *69 charges.

The biggest problem, though, is by legal definition neither Psycho Lara nor my puppy dog are stalkers per se. "Menacing by stalking" is defined as "engaging in a pattern of conduct" as to "knowingly cause another to believe that the offender will cause physical harm to the other person or cause mental distress to the other person." Lara and the Puppy are just annoyances. Both parties were given the respective phone numbers by free will of their victims. No breaking and entering has been involved. No physical assaults or threats have occurred. Nothing illegal has happened. Yet. And while I doubt that Lara is capable of physical harm, watching my friend deal with this situation is painful. I only wish there was something I could do to make this easier for him. I don't enjoy watching yet another friend become a statistic for one of the cold hard realities of living in these times.

Unfortunately, it's not my battle to fight. I can offer support and suggestions, but the decision is ultimately his. I will be passing along what information I was able to uncover today on my lunch hour. After that, the ball's in his court.

Sorry this entry is such a downer...other than dealing with this fiasco, I really did have a good weekend.