Blond Boy Crying

quite possibly the best thing about being an adult is being able to say NO!

to something when you know you should

and not feel like you are throwing a temper tantrum.

recession refugee

* trying to be clever i told someone at a party i was a “refugee of the failing economy“. they pointed out that my little phrase rhymed and suggested i write a song or a poem with an accompanying interpretive dance for it. i didn’t feel quite so clever anymore. effing hipsters.

* am toying with the idea of being mopey and depressed BUT the sight of my half completed purple manicure is making it hard to maintain low-buoyancy. even if i DID just spill ginger ale all the hell over my bed. which i can’t do anything about as i am incopasitated by aforementioned wet nails.

* in all the “secret to finding your true career parachute aha moment” books there is alot of  talk about looking to your childhood interests and what you wanted to be as a kid. my list, in no particular order, is as follows:  an artist, a novelist, a lounge singer or a pirate. or a thunder cat. i’m am not sure what that says about me — except i the fact that i am destined to never, ever have health care.

*there is no way out

she: …it would be so great if the government could get the student loan forgiveness thing going but that’s never going to happen. you literally have to die first.

me: help us obama!

she: screw that! I went back to school ‘coz obama said so and it did nothing for me. it’s bullshit.

me: i thought you picked a field you ultamately decided you didnt like?

she: don’t obscure the point with facts, K

there’s nothing to fear but ourselves.

journal pull 8/ 17: enter the weasel

Remember MTV era Pauly Shore?

buuuuuuuuuuuuuu- dy

buuuuuuuuuuuuuu- dy

Here is where I would want to say I was easily amused as a kid –but I bet you a pair of acid washed jeans* that if Encino Man came on right this very minute I would watch with rapt attention.

My friends and I really thought it would bethe raddest thing ever to unearth, defrost and befriend an iceman at some point in high school.

Which one is the the cave man?

Which one is the the cave man?

Obviously, in real life he would have disentergrated by 2nd period. But that didnt stop us from digging up the backyard.

*That’s a good deal too. Apparently acid washed jeans are making an unironiccomeback**.

acid washed jeans

have i seen you somewhere before?

**is it not hipster but just tragic that really bad fashion is making an unironic comeback? (bc if the people rocking them on the subway next to me  don’t remember them from the first time its unfortunate and unironic)  hipster kids do it to be  all retrofutureirony or whatever but still… mainstream acid washed jeans? Again?

I am expecting hair metal aaaaaany day now.

journal pull 2/09: jennifer aniston as a parable for life

(editor: i wrote this a while ago. but its funny. and jennifer aniston is semi-naked. again.)

I watched Jennifer Aniston on tv this morning.

I’d like to say ‘I’ll have what she’s having’ if  it would assure me to be as fit as she is at 40.  Or should I? Sometimes it seems all shes having is alot of walks on the beach sandwiched around public breakups and rom-com movies with sadly ironic titles.

If I were her I would probably be ecstatic about the day when I could finally do an interview without wondering if the audience is holding their collective rubber-necky breaths thinking “Ask her about Brad! Ask her what she thinks of Angelina’s ovaries! Ask her if she cries alone at night  into a tub of Ben&Jerry’s! Do it Robin Roberts! Do it for us all!”
Could I be her and not be bitter? Could I keep it classy and such? The best response, I think, goes right along with the teachings of Captain Bongodrum. (omgWhatthehellishisname?? He’s in that Dolce&Gabana cologne ad? He’s from Texas. He’s always running on the beach and is seemingly allergic to shirts??*) Ugh. As Whats-his-face would say: “just keep livin” and I think that this is the best response.
Otherhandwise, the best revenge is to live well.

To keep going and ascending.To maintain a sixpack at all costs. To have healthy and highly publicized relationships with extremely attractive, younger men.

(see: Halle Berry – Eric Benet + Gabriel Aubry or

Demi Moore – Bruce Willis + Ashton Kutcher.)


She’s saying: ‘Give it a rest, already!’, right?

But could I keep it classy and keep it moving as she seemingly would like to do?
I ask myself this because this could totally happen to me.
Not in the way that Jennifer Anniston is supposed to be this American girl-next-door-ish everywoman.
A little bit more because  her birthday is 2/11 and mine is 2/1 so I emphathize with my astrological sign sister. But mostly because  that is the kind of shit that happens to me relationshipwise without fail.

I’ll be cruising along, comfortable in the relationship, my guard down like automatic windows. And then, seemingly  out of nowhere the whole relationship will come to a screeching, burnt rubber halt.

Dude will stop the forward momentum, turn to me and say he’s just going to walk the rest of the way from here on, thanks. And I can keep the car and that soundtrack to the Breakfast Club in the cd changer… Wait, what? Can you turn the radio down and repeat that?

Something unseen went down probably started by a butterfly wing blowing a blade of grass or me watching music videos over his shoulder during dinner or  me playing the same song on the radio over and over even tho’ I know he hates it or something…

(maybe i was sleep when we hit the speedbump shaped like a co-stars vagina?)

but just
blammo. Its all oh-so-over
and I’m sitting looking around at this confusing wreckage that is my lovelife saying,
Damn.  Will you look at that.

oil rig fire

uhm.. happy valentine’s day?

And only a creepy, jealous, insecure harpy would blame just the man for the mess. And a worse kind of woman would still be talking about it– especially if it had been years (…and years… and years) later. So you’ve got to stiff-upper-lip it. And not bring it up.  Even if it is eating away at you. And especially  if you can see it  eating away at  the studio audience with their semi-pitiying faces wanting to bring the torrid shit up just to watch the emotional trainwreck that they assume will ensue.

(you know, becuause everyone has a studio audience)


but is your life a talk show or a wacky game show?

What is wrong with Jennifer Anstion’s media karma? In a scenario that happend a  zillion hollywood years ago involving  herself and two other people she’s the only one that’s not allowed to move on?
Granted, this is me looking at it not only from the outside but from the checkout line in the Duane Reed as I run in to get a protein bar and a bottle of water before the gym or whatever.
She could very well be over it and it’s the tabloids that wont let it die.

But watching Jennifer Anstion’s  being  interviewed by Robin Roberts on Good Morning America (sidenote: the most addictive tv show ever for me right now, btw)  about a movie that may in actuality  end up being OK  or in fact,  be the steaming pile of I-can-never-get-those-two-hours-of-my-life-back   that I think it will because her main costars are that guy with the nose (who I like) and A DOG.
A FLIPPING DOG for christcryingoutloudsakes a DOG! All you can really think about is: A) Damn. This movie has a dog in it.


B) starts with a ‘B’ and is commonlaw married to Angelina Jolie.

And so Jennifer Aniston and Robin Roberts  are discussing life on set with her costars and what it is like to work, no, not with Owen Wilson who is a living breathing human being who can communicate in actual words but with the DOG who, for the record shits outside and then buries it and licks its own arsehole…
and then there is a side bar of ‘Gee, Jen  you sure look amazing at 40’
here in this [airbrushed?] photo of you on the cover of a men’s magazine wearing naught but a smile and a necktie. And in the article therein which regales you for your good humor and hello, your 90% nakedness.

I am on the fence about all of this. The seminaked spread (no pun intended) may or may not shriek ‘Hello, I am desperate. Look at me please! Lookatmelookatmelookatme!‘ It …may or may not. I’ve not decided. And desperate ploy or no, I repeat empatically that if I look like that at 40,(and I will, dammit!) it will be a good thing indeed.  And if so when that time arrives I may very well be publicly naked 45% of the time, too.
The interview continues and it did not once address the 300lb gorilla in the room. Nor his 68 kids. Or the otherworldly level of hot, humanitarian woman the gorilla left Jen for a zillion years ago and how she allegedly still can’t get over it.
No, none of that.
I wonder, if afterwards she looks back on how the interview went and remembers that they spent two of its 10 minutes talking about dog hair  and feels some kind of way about it.
I wonder, did she look around her dressing room not really seeing it, more seeing snippets of moments of her life that had just passed which had’nt seemed so bad at the time but assuredly  didn’t seem like it would lead up to well, this confusing wreckage. Causing her to scratch her head and say,
damn, will you look at that?


Le sigh.

All of that rant because I identified w Jennifer Aniston this morning and she’s in a movie with a dog.
Yeah, I know. I probably should be worried.

*Matthew McConaheywhatever. Dammnit.

ich liebe dich, doggie

I was a weird kid growing up.

Weird in the things I liked and weird in the very specific things I wanted to accomplish as an adult. Like dogs, for example.

Ok, sure. Most kids want dogs.
And true, most kids have fantastic ideas of their far-off impending adulthood.
Stick with me here—

First (ignoring for a moment the fact that I am a city person), I was going to move to Long Island.
Still here?
Then I would be able to get two Doberman pinscher dogs and they would have a big yard to run around in.
Not weird yet, right?

Having the large country house was a double necessity.
Dobermans are larger dogs.
Large dogs make large poop.
With a great big yard I imagined I could teach them to just bury the poop on the property (somewhere that the lawn wasn’t as aggressively manicured) so that way I could have the dogs and not the unsightly, squishy, smelly mess.

Pssst. Im about to drop a load of biscuits behind the hydrangeas.

"Pssst. I'm about to drop a load of biscuits behind the hydrangeas."

In this imaginary mini manse out on Long Island, (next to Gatsby?)
I’d have one girl dog and one boy dog. And name them Van and Tai respectively.

(sidenote: I know currently the more popular ‘purse dog’ is on trend and that makes sense to me, too. If you really love your dog you want to take it everywhere with you to annoy people. I had that base covered then also. Eventually I would add a third dog to this growing menagerie– a mini pinscher. No name as of yet )

Anyway, the dogs are obviously a homage to Vanity and Taimak – the stars of the 80’s cult classic The Last Dragon.

They look adorable in rhinestone collars.

They look adorable in rhinestone collars.

So my relatively small self wanted to grow up and have these two stereotypically big snarly mean ass dogs. And train them to attack on command. In German.

As a kid I really wanted to learn to speak German.
Hopefully fluently but specifically and originally just to talk to my dogs.I wasn’t a Bavarian fanatic (altho’ I still have a prediliction towards German engineerd cars) But on the subject of my future canines in my mind it only made sense.

If you are training someone it would just seem easier to relate to them in their language of origin. It’s the same reason all your instruction manuals are written in a thousand languages regardless of the country you bought them in.
Obviously the Dobermann was first developed in Germany, and out of respect for the rich history of the breed (not so much the scaier history of the people) I wanted to communicate with my dogs in the language that they would inherently understand.
And teach them to attack people on command.
(sidenote: I watched musicals alot as a kid. I think the German/dogs thing may have originated with constant rewatching of the Sound of Music.)
I also wanted to be a pirate, a ballernia, a lounge singer or a Thundercat.
The dog business would have worked out in all cases. Except fot the Thundercats. Alpha-Dogs and Alpha-Cartoon-Cats probably wouldn’t get along.