Preach On...

So, I try really hard not to get into touchy subjects here. Sex? Eh. Sometimes. Drugs? Come on, ya’ll, *I’m an adult. Rock and Roll. Yes. But Politics and Religion. No. Never. Not a chance.  And this is not because I don’t have strong views. Because I know that I DO have strong views and I would rather not have to argue with anyone here about them. This is my safe place.  And I know, I know, I should be saying a big FUCK YOU to anyone who comes here and wants to argue in MY house, but I would rather just not get into it. I will tell you though, internet. I don’t like hate. I don’t like war. I don’t like ignorance  and I will punch you in the face if you are a racist. That said, I am going to go ahead and give some props to my friend Hesper over here who got a little fed up with the whole passive-aggressive Muslim-bashing that happens on Facebook. (I am totally aware that it isn’t just Muslim-bashing, but all these “patriots” who get on their high-horses and start spewing their ridiculous, “patriotic” nonsense trying to tell the entire world that the USA is the best country in the world are really just proving that there are a lot of really stupid people here.)  Anyway…I got a little carried away…Sorry. (See above where I said that I don’t want to talk about this stuff here? Remember why? I ramble. And I get pissed. And I will punch you.)

Ahem…starting again…Hesper! My friend over here…wrote this on her blog and I thought, “Well hell…I totally agree. I am gonna bring her soapbox on over to my soapbox and they can hold hands and skip together and be friends for all eternity. (Also, she is awesome. Give her props.)

Enjoy! (Read: Holla if ya’ hear me!)

Brace yourselves. It is about to get all controversial up in heeeere. I am fired the eff up right now. A so-called “friend” of mine on facebook just posted the following:

“I need to start a business in the middle east making land mines disguised as prayer mats.”

Is it just me or is that absolutely disguisting? I thought all of the hate mongering almost 10 years ago was ridiculous, but I just can’t stand to listen to it at this point. Muslim does not equal terrorist, just like German does not = nazi. How can you write off an entire religion because on one major (awful) event?

The Islam faith did not attack the world trade centers, a group of religious fanatics did. I think it is important to remember that there are fanatics in every religion, race, country, etc.

Is it really fair to make Osama Bin Laden the face of Islam? I don’t think so.  I do, however, think it is high time people get over themselves. Burkas don’t come with bazookas and bibles don’t come with a license to judge the hell out of everyone else.

*Debatably.

Thirty Day Song Challenge

My friend L7 has been posting song titles and videos and stuff on Twitter all week and I finally just Googled this “Thirty Day Song Challenge”, found it here and here and decided to try it out on my blog. I haven’t done anything like this in a long time. So, what the hell, internet? Let’s get to it, shall we? (Feel free to join in, I am going to go ahead and tag my little friend Hespy over here so I am not playing alone!)

Day One: Your Favorite Song

This one, internet, is kind of a toughy. I hate being asked this question because there is no correct answer. This all depends on my mood. And generally speaking, my mood is not too…um…predictable. So, naturally, neither will my choice for “favorite song”. 

I think that the song that has held significance for me for the longest time and that I still absolutely LOVE, is “Black” by Pearl Jam. I remember the first time that I heard it and it attaches to some very fond and beautiful memories of someone who has now passed away. I remember the first time I saw it performed live and I remember the way that it made my whole body shudder. Say what you will, internet, but Eddie Vedder is a supremely talented guy (and I refuse to fault him for growing up and not sounding like he did in 1992. Grunge is over. You learn, you grow. Get over it, haters.) and the lyrics of “Black” are beautifully melancholic. I love it.

The List:
Day One: Your Favorite Song (see above)
Day Two: Your Least Favorite Song
Day Three: A Song that Makes You Happy
Day Four: A Song that Makes You Sad
Day Five: A Song that Reminds You of Someone
Day Six: A Song that Reminds You of Somewhere
Day Seven: A Song that Reminds You of a Certain Event
Day Eight: A Song that You Know All the Words To
Day Nine: A Song that You Often Hear on the Radio

Phew!

The screening is over! And I didn't have a heart attack!




I will say this to you now, internet. If I ever want to do something like that again, remind me of how difficult this was. Because I swear to Cheesus, this was exhausting.



The turnout was NOT what I had hoped, but the people who came were generous, respectful and, I believe truly moved by the film. Which is just about better than having a huge turnout. I did feel a little defeated at first because I had hoped that more of my friends would have shown up, but I hadn't really expected much to begin with. All in all, it was a super good night though. I left feeling WAY better about things when I got to walk around and talk to everyone about what they thought. Since many of them had never seen any of the films before, I was excited to hear what they all had to say. And it, I believe, was unanimous that it is a fantastic organization and the films are definitely inspiring. I don't think there was one person in the place who walked out without supporting the cause and buying some merchandise. And that made me feel good. Really good. Judging from everything that I saw people walking out with, I would guess that through merch alone, we probably helped raise about 700-800 dollars. (Thanks, guys, you are all amazing!) Also...just saying...I think Casper bought more than anyone in the place...



So, I definitely feel good about what was accomplished. No matter how small the group, because of yesterday, that many more people know about the effects of this war on the children and I am proud of that. I am confident that next time (oh yes, there will be a next time) I do this, many of the people who participated last night will be involved. And that, my friends, is pretty bad ass. (Also, next time, I will come to their homes and drag them out by their hair if I have to. Don't try me.)



To sum it all up. Good night, great people, amazing organization! And you know you are sorry you missed it, internet! It's okay, go here and buy things.



Crazy amounts of thanks to Casper, and the IC crew (Annie, Shane, Monica, Irene, Dan and Elise) who did an amazing job! THANK YOU!!!

Excuses and Procrastination

Well, internet, I made the decision today that I would come home from work and promptly start to pack things. I got the keys to my new place yesterday and am so anxious to get this moving thing over with. However, the packing is...not going well. Or going...at all. I came home, billions of boxes in tow, and sat down with a glass of wine (because I can't be productive without two things: wine and music) and then decided to check my email. This resulted in recollection of a conversation with Casper earlier about a blog I haven't read in a while, so I decided to check it out. Which resulted in my thinking about another blog I haven't read in a while, so I decided to check that one out too. Which resulted in my sitting at my computer for the last hour reading blogs while my empty boxes clutter my room even more than normal. Yes, I rock at productivity. I know. But I have said this before. I have NO attention span. None. Nada. Seriously.

But holy tons of crap, batman! I have no idea where to begin this packing extravaganza! Clothes? What if I suddenly need to wear that shirt that I packed specifically because I never wear it?! What if I spill red wine on ALL of my other shirts?! What if, in the next week, I need to dress as Flavor Flav again?! Whatever will I do?! Books? But then my bookshelf will be bare. And that is just silly. Bookshelves are made to hold books. If the books are in boxes for a week, the bookshelf will just look ridiculous! And what if I finally finish the book I have been reading for a month and have to dig through a box to find a new one!? I couldn't start there. No. The crap under my bed? Honestly, I am just afraid of the crap under my bed. I don't know what is under there and I'll be honest, internet, I am not sure I want to know. I mean, I will definitely need more wine for that sort of adventure.

This is my dilemma. Ridiculous? Nay. Totally reasonable. Right?!

I tried to justify this to you, internet, but you have foiled my master plan again. I need more wine.

Independence Day

When Spliff and I moved into the apartment with Jennajagiraffe almost five years ago, I didn't really know her. I mean, I had "known" her for seven years, but she'd always lived in another town a couple hours away and I really didn't have any idea what it would be like to live with her. Lucky for us, it worked out really well. We got along instantly. We liked a lot of the same things, we spoke the same way, we hated a lot of the same things...and it worked that way for years. When she moved back to her hometown, I felt abandoned. Even though she visited every weekend, I felt alone. I moved in with Casper and felt like maybe I could recreate the same sort of chemistry that Spliff and I had. It didn't work.

Don't get me wrong, Casper is great. She is smart and naive at the same time. Naive in a way that is sometimes fun (most of the time) and sometimes so completely unbelievable that it makes me wonder. A lot. But she taught me about how she grew up and I tried to teach her about what I knew...which is a little about a lot of different stuff. But it wasn't the same. Soon after we moved in, Casper got so enveloped in a relationship that I felt like I lived alone. So it only made sense that my next move would be to actually live alone.

I loved living alone. Sure, it got lonely sometimes, but it was totally worth it. It was quiet when I wanted it to be quiet and it wasn't when I thought it shouldn't be. Sometimes people were scattered all over the floor but most of the time it was just me and Ernge. And I couldn't have been happier.

When Spliff decided to move back, I was ecstatic. It was like that part of me would come back and I would be a whole person again. The thing was, I was different. I was better at being alone. I wasn't coming out of a live-in relationship this time and I wasn't trying to escape my parents' house. I was just trying to get "that thing" back.

For a while, I thought maybe it would work the same way it did the first time; I thought it would take a minute for us to get back into the groove. I accepted that and I expected it. But it has been months.

The other night, Spliff and I got into an argument. I hate arguing with her. More than I hate arguing with anyone. I started, tonight, to think about what she had said to me and why she felt like I had changed so much and moreover, why our dynamic had become so different. I came up with a few things:

One was that I no longer have a job. This may not seem like it affects Spliff at all, but she feels it does. I think that the main reason is because I have time for other people. It used to make sense that I would come home, have dinner with Spliff and then do whatever we were going to do and then we would go to bed and start all over the next day. There was no room for anyone else. I had no time or energy to maintain friendships. I had no time NOT to be at home with her. So then, it didn't matter that she didn't have any friends of her own. She didn't need them. She mentioned, during our argument, that I JM is my new "BFF". Totally childish of her, I know, but she said it. And I reacted by laughing at her. And then calling her Jason Bitterhart...Yes, I did. (And if you know what that means, then you know what that means...)

The second reason, I discovered tonight. I have always, for some reason, been almost desperate for her approval. I had a very high opinion of her and was often blinded to her faults. I have never had many girl friends. I have spent my time mainly bonding with guys because they are less complicated. They like what they like and they don't like what they don't like. They say what they mean and no matter how they smell, they are generally more objective. I like that in a person. I can hang out with guys and not worry that my hair is a mess or if I am wearing brown shoes with a black shirt. They don't give a good goddamn. But I always held Spliff above most chicks. Because she is beautiful and funny and generally, she is fun to be around. And I wanted to be liked by her. Now that I think about it, I don't know why this makes sense...or ever did. I mean seriously, I am a funny broad...and I am pretty cute and unique. And I like me.

Previously, I had always been friends with girls that I could mold in some way. Or...girls that I thought I could mold. And I knew right away that I couldn't mold Spliff, so maybe I felt like I had to make sure that I was good enough not to have to be molded myself. But now, since I have lived alone, I realize that I don't care so much about any of this stuff. I really AM different. But I am different solely because I don't care what anyone thinks. Now I wear brown shoes with a black shirt and I drink as much wine as I want and it really doesn't bother me if she thinks that my outfit is tacky. I trust that she is right if she says it is, but I don't go and change. And if she doesn't want to go barhopping, I find someone else who does. And I think that pisses her off.

This is a pretty long post about nothing. Or maybe it is about finally not giving a shit. But either way, I like not having a job, and I like going out with friends who aren't Spliff's friends. Because I started to get lost in our friendship there for a while and I forgot what it was like to have a whole brain. I forgot how it felt to be the independent girl (on every level) that J said I was, and even though it scared the shit out of him, he said he liked it.

Dammit. I am good enough, I am smart enough...and gosh darnit, people like me.

Sleepless

I spent Valentine’s Day in bed. And not the fun, Valentines Day kind of “in bed”, the kind that means that you can’t get out until after you’ve swallowed two muscle relaxers and have to drive yourself to the hospital to get stuck with a bunch of tiny needles. It helped though and the rest of the day was hazy and quiet. Until about 1:30 this morning. And I won’t even get into that except to say, GOD DAMMIT! I was lying in bed awake (watching MORE "Growing Pains") for FOUR FUCKING HOURS.

This morning, though, I called to say that I would be in around noon and attempted again, at a sound sleep. I woke up this time with an exclamation of “THE RECYCLING!” (Stomp, stomp, stomp…) And I say again, GOD DAMMIT! I just fell ASLEEP! I finally gave up somewhere around ten when Thing Two knocked on my door to ask me if I wanted breakfast. He was wearing a tee-shirt I had given him last night after he spilled red wine on the two shirts previous, a purple and white lea, and a black bra. And even though, I had completely prepared myself to be a very angry girl this morning, (I still am) I couldn’t help but laugh. That’s the thing about Thing Two. I like him. So, even when I want to punch him in the face, he makes me laugh. The nerve!

I got to work in a pretty bitter mood. My back still hurts and my head is pounding from the combination of no sleep + pills + red wine. I feel like I got hit by a bus. But while checking my email, I discovered this piece of poetic gold:

Oh, my dear Crystal
Please hand me a pistol

You aren't hear to talk
About weird boys who stalk

I don't like it here when I'm all alone
I can't even call you up on the phone

I know your back hurts, but this ain't fair
I need you here, need you to share

Mean and terrible thoughts alike
Don't leave me here no more, you big fat dyke.

And, well…I have to hand it to you, Casper, you are a true poet. And here I thought that nothing would beat that song you wrote for me. Talent. Plain and simple.

Scooting and Shooting...

This weekend, Spliff and I decided that sobriety was grossly overrated and took the road less traveled. The road to Amelia Island (a.k.a. Office Christmas Party Debauchery).

Evidently, Spliff works for the coolest company ever. They encourage public intoxication, shooting your coworkers with nerf guns, and Michael Jackson imitations. All of which, I am in favor of.

The party was at the Amelia Island Plantation where every employee was given a free room for Saturday night. Check in started at 11 on Saturday morning and the festivities began at 12:45…Naturally, we wanted to get there at 12:30 but managed to strut in at 1:15. Immediately, we were directed to a parking lot where we would pick up our golf cart, nerf gun, a map of the plantation, the name of our target, our teammates and our first clue for the scavenger hunt.

When the airhorn sounded, we were to decode the poem that would lead us to our next clue…and timed challenge. We had three hours to find six locations, complete all six of the challenges and answer trivia questions for points (which were super easy because they were all about Jimmy Buffett). The challenges included launching water balloons at your teammates who were waiting yards away to try and catch them in a towel, hitting golf balls onto a platform floating in a pool, strapping four people’s feet to two huge planks and attempting to walk in sync to move the planks to the other side of a field, and spinning around in circles and then trying to run.

But the guns…the guns were the highlight. Imagine if you will, a resort full of crazy people running around in golf carts toting nerf guns and a taste for blood…or…you know…a taste for the awesome prizes that they were giving to the winners. Either way, we were bombarded by bright orange bullets all day, and at one point a water balloon even smashed into the flimsy plastic windshield of our cart, soaking my face and hair. But it was a small price to pay for getting to run around the place and watching the expressions of the other guests as we flashed our guns to one another.

After the last challenge, we followed the smell of alcohol and ended up drinking five dollar beers in one of the many restaurants on the grounds before heading to our room to shower and change for cocktail hour. We were, again, a half hour late (which, in my opinion, worked out well. Because I didn’t have time to drink more than two Captain and Cokes).

After cocktail hour, it was time for more cocktails in a different room. I think they called this part “dinner”, which was where we drank more alcohol and pushed lobster raviolis around on our plates. And then salad. And then chicken and crab cakes. And then key lime pie. You know, because we had to have room for the 879 free drinks that would follow. Mission accomplished.

I managed to avoid Patron for about half of the night. Until Spliff returned from the bar with shot glasses full of clear, foul-smelling liquid. So, I did what any normal girl would do and shook hands with everyone I had met and said my goodbyes, for this, my friends, was the end of Coherent Crizzle. “It was nice to have met you, I will not see you again, because I will be drinking this here Patron. Good day.”

And then, after wishing everyone at the blackjack table a nice evening, I set my mouth, throat and stomach on fire. Er…I drank the stuff.

Here are the bits and pieces that I remember:

Meeting two very nice boys. Their names? Sean and Jason. Because I am incapable of meeting anyone who is not named Sean or Jason.

Dancing with Sean (because he is a dancing queen) and trying to prevent him from falling down. (Which, by the way, I couldn’t do and with all the spinning, sent him several times hurling towards the stage.)

Spliffany’s boss, along with three other girls, dressed up as the different stages of Michael Jackson and lip syncing to four songs. Spliffany’s boss…got to be the new, creepy Michael and carried around a doll named “Blanket”.

Watching Sean puke in the bushes while holding a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

Dropping my brand new sweater into a pile of puke on the way back to the room. And then yelling to some dudes standing nearby, “Is that YOURS?! EWWWE! Dude! I just dropped my new sweater in PUKE!”

The blackjack dealer who kept giving me chips when other people won and betting for me when he new my cards were good.

Doing the Electric Slide.

Taking my shoes off only to have Spliff step directly onto my big toe with the heel of her shoe. (It has turned a delightful shade of purple.)

While talking to Spliff and a group of her coworkers, I looked over and Spliff was lying flat on her back on the floor.

Waking up yesterday morning in a bed piled high with all of my stuff, still fully clothed and wearing a full face of make up and then having to come all the way back home.

Upon returning to the city, being harassed by Spliffany because I wanted to sleep, and she wanted to sit on the edge of my bed and say “What’re ya doin? What’re ya doin? What’re ya doin?” until I got up and played with her.

Spending yesterday afternoon, trying to drink myself sober at “brunch”.


That’s about the extent of the weekend. Aside from Friday night…when I hung out with Casper and Dan the Man (which I was going to blog about later, but figured that if Casper doesn’t get her own label soon, I might be shot) for martinis and pork. (Don’t ask, I don’t even normally eat pork…)

Alone on the Oregon Trail

I wish that something fairly exciting had happened this weekend that I had to talk about. But alas, it was pretty normal. Actually, it was completely opposite that. It was two days of totally uninterrupted ME time. And while saying it makes me feel like I should be put in a nursing home, I’ve found lately that I enjoy that time much more than I ever have in the past.

It comes in phases.

I spent about two and a half years barely spending any time alone at all (when I lived with Spliff) and was never happier. And then from that, moved on to spending long periods of time “holed up in my room” (as Casper called it) by myself. Truth is though, I don’t trust people who can’t spend time alone. That hints to me that they might not like themselves much…therefore, I should beware.

So, after an interesting Friday night with friends new and old, I turned the phone off and ignored any indication that people might be trying to reach me.

I did brush up on my Oregon Trail skills, though. Remember that game? Man…that shit was a blast from the past. I was reading someone else’s blog and came across a link to a screen shot of the old version of the game. I remembered it, but not completely. I just remember being hopelessly hooked the first time I played it. And now…about 15 years later, I’ve downloaded the new version (free trial) and it happened all over again. And as lame a game as it is, I could not tear my happy ass away from my computer. I could not let Gertrude die of dystentery. How could this happen? How could she get sick when I have been taking every precaution? Why does Mackenzie keep “accidentally” shooting himself? I asked myself these very things. And it became not a game, not entertainment, but an obsession. I had to keep them all alive and get them to Oregon City!

Fortunately for me, the free trial is over and my life can go back to normal. And about Gertrude and Mackenzie? I seriously think that one of those other bitches in the wagon train was poisoning Gerty’s dried fruit. And Mackenzie shouldn’t be able to own a rifle if he can’t figure out which end of it to point at the animals. Bastards.

I hate you, Oregon Trail.

Stuck-in-my-head Song of the Day: "100%"- Sonic Youth

Last night I learned to swing dance in a parking lot with a stranger.
I have a bruise the size of Texas on my elbow though. Said stranger was offended by my lack of trust in the dipping department. Apparently nameless dancing strangers really will not drop you when they tell you that you are going to be dipped. But if you don't trust them, get stiff and try to catch yourself, you will both fall down and you will hurt yourself.