I am now accepting nominations for the 2009 Golden Douche Awards.  This has been something that has been contemplated for a few years, and I've decided it is long past due.

The awards are open to local and national dumbasses.  You may leave your nomination as a comment on this blog, or send me a private message explaining why you feel the person deserves the award.  Nominations are open from November 7, 2009 to December 6, 2009 at 11:59pm.

For further definition of "douche,"  Please look here.  (I would add to these that a douche is generally useless, as it doesn't actually help and does more harm than good.)

It occurred to me that it has been 10 years since Encore Books & Music went bankrupt, and I set my sights on moving to Seattle.  It was a place I had been fascinated with for years.  All things cool seemed to emanate from that place in the 90's.  And with my job gone, debt up to my eyeballs, and a love triangle I couldn't resolve while everyone was pushing my buttons, I hopped on a bus and crossed the country.

Back then, I figured I had all the time in the world to find "the one."  I was in my mid-twenties, had rarely had a break from dating since I was 17, and was devoted to my religious studies.  Goddess had my back, so I had nothing to fear for trying.  I had lined up a job with a children's bookstore already, thanks to some early digging on the fledgling internet.

I had fun on my journey.  I went out and back twice because I didn't want to drag all of my stuff out until I knew I could find a place to live.  I had a lot of the same drivers in the same areas.  Met a lot of interesting people, including convicts and people who had been on Jenny Jones.  I saw how flat and barren the northern tier states can be, the crazy metal sculptures that pop up in North Dakota, and the Native Americans begging for money to buy alcohol in Montana.  Toma has the cleanest and best McDonald's I have ever been in.  Medora, South Dakota is a little tourist trap "ghost town" where they served James Gang Java at their tiny bookstore, and the fences looked like paper doll strings.

Traveling by Greyhound seems to be one of the more intimate ways to get to know this country.  You meet people from every walk and every stage of life, from young people on an adventure, to elderly people going to see grandkids, convicts returning home, and illegal aliens traveling to find work.  You converse as you traverse, especially with people you see over the longer stretches.  You learn about places and people you may not get to visit.

And making this journey alone forces you to learn about yourself.  I was thousands of miles away from everyone I knew and loved, struggling to get by during the holiday season.  I didn't last very long.  Money ran out, and back then I was still worried about my credit, and I was determined not to keep asking for help.  I returned in February 2000, somewhat defeated, a dream lost.   I had wanted to work for Seattle Children's Theatre, but by the union called for extra help, I was already back in PA.

I came back to State College, my mind made up.  But opportunity had passed.  He was no longer interested.

I hibernated in Mountain Top for a bit, then came back to State College, because I still had to pay rent on an apartment here, and being in Mountain Top with nothing to do and no car was driving me crazy.  I got a job, and eventually crawled my way up to a ledge, working my way out of the pit again.  I returned to my BFC studies for a while.  And eventually, even that came to an end, as bureaucracy trumped faith.

It was a difficult, exciting and challenging time in my life.  I learned a lot about my own strength, and what I am capable of.  I wouldn't underestimate me. ;) 

Seattle is a beautiful city.  You can find theatre in a laundromat.  It is younger than east coast cities, and so the streets are laid out in a grid and the air doesn't smell like 400 years of death.  She is Lady Gray, Jet City, and The Emerald City.  Some day we will meet again.

And I will probably bring the "one who got away" with me.  (I told you, don't underestimate me.)

Yadin IM'd me the other night and said G.I. Joe was playing at the dollar theater. I figured it had to be at least a dollar's worth of entertainment, so we went. It was actually pretty good, most of the science fiction in it was solid and they derived their back stories from the comics, rather than the cartoon. There was a kid fight, a chick fight, a ninja fight, gun fights, explosions, crashes... everything you could want in an action movie. It even had important life lessons contained within it's storyline.

You don't have to tell everyone the name of your unit.

Silence is golden. Katanas are silver.

Never be so busy being evil that you can't compliment someone's taste in shoes.

If someone is acting strangely and suddenly takes up whistling, they've been replaced by Zartan.

Never underestimate that science nerd. He will develop things to kick your ass for him if he can't do it himself.

When you think you've done something you can't face your fiance for, remember that she could wind up a member of a secret organization bent on taking over the world and end up kicking your ass and taking your warheads. Just fucking talk to her. Better pissed now than pissed with warheads.

The only thing more dangerous than an angry redhead is an angry INVISIBLE redhead.

Beware of commanders and dictators into biological research.

Now you know. And knowing is half the battle!

http://www.dailykostv.com/w/002235/


A man of great charisma who is a symbol of the American Dream of overcoming prejudices and becoming successful.  A symbol of hope to people around the world who still live in oppression and look up to the US as a place of freedom, because if they wore blue jeans, or t-shirts, or listened to rock music or disagreed, they might be beaten and tortured or killed.  A man who would prefer to talk through our differences and find a peaceful way, if he can, but who will pull out a can of whoopass when necessary, rhetorical or otherwise. 

He has accomplished nothing?  He got this seemingly white-trash, bigoted nation lead by the Texas warmonger to elect him president.  He brought hopeful messages to a nation being crippled by a failing economy and a war that has gone on far too long, an aptly named "depression."  And like the examples sited by Rachel Maddow, he is a step in the right direction.  Not always immediately successful, but inspiring millions of others.

How can we not be proud of that?

It was a quiet Friday night at work.  High school football was away, and Jay-Z was at the Jordan Center.  I had an issue with the alarm system as I left (someone had knocked the plug out.)  But for the most part, it was uneventful.

So I'm at the Darkhorse... You know, where I know EVERYONE and I actually feel fairly safe because of that... And it's Friday, so Spider Kelly is playing.  Missa and Warman were actually out, so I was hanging with them and their friends.  Had a Red Hoe, waited a bit, danced a bit, then went for another one, grabbing my purse from it's hook above my friends' heads.  I went to the back bar, got my Red Hoe, and went back to the table.  There was a group standing in front of the table so I said "excuse me" and reached through them to hang up the purse behind them, and went to dance to the song. (Spider sense, tingling.  They looked a little too long at what I was doing.)  After the song, I sat down for a bit, and when I got up again to go to the ladies room (which I had not visited yet at the bar) I realized my purse was gone.

We looked under the tables and in the surrounding area, checked with the table behind us.. nothing.  I alerted the door staff that my purse had been stolen and started making my rounds to other staff.  I looked in the ladies room to see if they ditched it in the trash, and recognized the multiple pairs of boots in the one stall.  The girls in front of the table.  So I looked around some more, figuring that I might be stupid.  But I saw the brunette (Hispanic looking, looked about 5' 9" with a huge black purse) and tried to brush up against her bag to see if I could feel anything.  Couldn't get anything conclusive.

At one point I was talking to one of the waitstaff outside and she went back in and told me to stay out and get some air.  I talked to another girl for a bit, and those girls from earlier were just above me on Calder Way smoking or whatever.  One of their douchbag friends in a backwards blue baseball cap and blue t-shirt with black hair and brown eyes came up and was asking me why I was so angry.  "Someone stole my fucking purse," I said.  He tried to tell me some random guy was the head of security for the bar.  I know the staff.  So when he realized I wouldn't fall for it, he smirked and walked up to his friends... the brunette turned slightly... and there hanging out of her big ass black leather purse was the handle of my $2 at Salvation Army Liz Claiborne purse, with everything I needed to get home inside.  I saw green, then I saw red.  I lunged and slapped her hard as I grabbed my purse out of hers and screamed "You stole my purse, you fucking bitch!"  Rudy pulled me off her before I did any more damage.  She said "Oh, I found it in the bathroom and was holding on to it for the end of the night."  A) You give something like that to bar staff to handle.  You don't hold on to it.  B)  I didn't go into the bathroom until AFTER my purse was missing.

They apparently bailed while I was inside trying to get someone to call the police.  Since I had all of my stuff, there was nothing they could do anyway.  I texted anyone I could think of in a bar, especially since her blonde accomplice made the mistake of coming back to the Darkhorse and I saw her go up the alley towards the Phyrst after she realized I wasn't going to let her get by the doorguys without saying something or busting her head open looking for answers.

So the anvil fell.  But I bitched slapped it.
Be observant.  For the snakes are all around.

President Declares "War On Slackers."

In an attempt to embrace his socialist image, President Obama turned today on his constituents, instituting a new federal "controlled substance" list for games and websites.  Given the Reagan-esque nickname of "The War On Slackers," this list would put games such as Bejeweled and World of Warcraft on a special list, due to their addictive quality, and limit play to those over 21 and only for a certain number of hours a day.  Facebook and Twitter are also in the list, addictive in their own right, but also gateways to other addictive games and sites. Myspace has been found to be as benign as aspirin, and has not been included in the list.  (*note* Aspirin still should not be given to children!)

To purchase games of this type, you must "sign" them out, meaning that like such things as pseudoephedrine, you would be required to fill out a form every time you purchased a game and would be put on a "watch" list to make sure you were not using the games to create huge network games that would enslave others into slackerhood.  A virtual "meth lab," if you will.

When asked about this new policy, and the obvious turn on a very liberal base, the president replied, "All ur base r belong 2 me!" 

(c) 2009 SNN - Sarcastic Nonsense Network. A JED-Eye Designs Company.

Dear Mr. President,

As an avid non-smoker, I applaud the idea of the flavored tobacco ban.  The idea of making it harder for kids to smoke is admirable and commendable.

However, as someone in retail management on the 'front lines' of this ban, I feel the timing and execution have been poor.  The powers you have given to the FDA are fledgling, and thus they have failed to adequately define what products are included in the ban, making it hard for retailers to comply, or making it easier for the government to punish those who can't understand the letter of the law as it is written.

Most people selling tobacco products in a convenience store barely have a high school education.  They are not lawyers.  Most of them are running little mom and pop shops or franchises, barely able to file their income taxes.  Not only is the law hard for most people to understand, and lacks definition, but it negatively impacts the economy at the lowest levels.

This ban failed to give adequate time for the retailers to liquidate stock, and so you have left retailers with inventory they can't sell.  Many companies will not credit for it.  So they end up having to "write it off" or simply throw it away.

I live in a college town with a fairly large high school.  Most of these kids have learned dumpster diving from the college kids.  So by throwing product away, you put it in their hands faster, without them having to come up with money.  Also, I don't know anyone that young who smokes clove cigarettes.  Most kids have not acquired a taste for clove.  And they are generally not looking for cigarettes as much as they are looking for flavored blunts in order to smoke marijuana.  Flavored cigarettes should have come later then flavored cigars and blunts, so you could have killed a DEA bird and an FDA bird with one stone.  A grape White Owl is a bigger threat to today's youth than a Djarum Black.

I doubt any of the "Powers-That-Be" will end up reading this blog.  But I wanted to put out there that while it is an accomplishment, it is a poorly executed one.  In the drive to get SOMETHING accomplished in the first year of office, this has ended up sloppy and a burden to the small business owner.  And it won't keep kids from smoking, they'll just smoke more weed.  The first ban should have been on candy cigarettes.  Then flavored cigars and blunts.  What are you going to do now?  Outlaw flavored alcohol, like wine coolers and Mad Dog, because it encourages kids to drink?  Good luck with that one.

I would love to continue, but I have to call one of my tobacco reps tomorrow and see if he's willing to trade out the "bad" product we're stuck with.  Being stuck with a bunch of bad product could cost me my job. I'm looking forward to my unemployment checks stimulating the economy.

Sincerely,
The Ciga-wench

PS - Could you ban Flavor Flav instead?  He's become something bad for children.

I have been playing this app for a couple of weeks now, and now understand the crack-like following it seemed to have.  We can learn many life lessons from this game:

1) It's all randomized.  There is no strategy.  You control nothing.

2) Stop giving a crap, it doesn't help you score.  You don't need to think.  Thinking and giving a crap just make your failures feel that much more epic. 

3) Success isn't planned, it's entirely accidental and probably happens when you're drunk and don't appreciate it or by random chance.

4) Having a high score in Bejeweled Blitz is like being the guy who blows all of his money on lottery tickets hoping to strike it rich, except it is a tax on people with too much "free" time instead of a tax on people who can't do math.  And if that guy does randomly get rich, he'll get laid.  Bejeweled will not get you laid.  Bejeweled will not get you anything tangible.  So play the lottery instead.

5) Being frustrated at your inability to get a high score in Bejeweled Blitz in the time allotted is pointless.  You're at the mercy of randomization.  It's like getting turned down in the bar.  Maybe she has PMS.  Maybe she just had a bad break up and you remind her of him.  It's not YOU.  It CAN'T be you.  But what if it IS me?  (Please see #2.)

6) Get your shit together and you score more often.

What life lessons have you learned from playing Bejeweled or Bejeweled Blitz?

I have tattoos.
They are on my heart,
So you may not have seen them.
And at night, when I can't sleep
I run my thoughts over them,
Tracing their outlines.

Pain leaves a mark
Indelible, but so does joy.
If I can trust you and
You can be patient
I will guide you, tracing
Their outlines and stories.

I have tattoos.
Inked in love and sorrow,
Rage, happiness, and grief.
They paint a picture,
Ink seeping in to color
Who I was, and who I become.

Would you like to see?



I keep thinking about getting ink done.  But I'm awful at committing to things.  Part of it is that I second guess my motives.  I change my mind about things.  And after everything else in my life thus far, and what I know will come in the future, haven't I borne enough pain for questionable or frivolous reasons? 

I have a lot of ideas for what I would get.    My first thought was a flying monkey on my left shoulder, as preparation and prelude to a big back piece of the woodcut of Elphaba from the book "Wicked."  There are also some Mark Ryden pieces I'm drawn to, but the shading on them is really difficult.  I have thought about a small skull and crossbones on my arm, after getting a bruise in that shape due to an applique on my sweatshirt, as an external symbol of one of my heart tattoos.  I've tried to decide on a memorial tattoo for my father, but keep vacillating on the design.  And part of me still holds out hope that I'll get married one of these days, and I don't want tattoos sticking out of the dress.  So for now, I keep them on the inside.  A skull, an ankh, a bear in a boat, Rose... and my Wicked self.

"Difficult to see. Always in motion is the future." - Yoda

"She heard the beetle ticking for your father's death all day long. She knew that when you hear the sound of the deathwatch beetle the man you love is doomed to die." - Practical Magic

I have been told by more than one person with "gifts" that I would marry twice.  That has always made me wince because I'm am firmly of the belief that I will do it once and do it right.  But more than one has also filled in the detail of my first husband dying.

It's not something you take seriously at the time, but sits there, lurking in the back of your head.  And you begin to wonder if you're making decisions based on how much you love someone or who you'd rather have die.  You end up dating a lot of jerks, or you settle for something less than what you wanted, something passionless and utilitarian.  And you still feel like whatever choice you make, you're a murderer.

What you have to remember is that you are not the only one making a choice.  That you may not be the only one who wants to feel that glorious insanity rather than live a numb, lifeless existence.   Maybe, there is someone who thinks you are worth the risk.




"Sometimes I feel like there's a hole inside of me, an emptiness that at times seems to burn. I think if you lifted my heart to your ear, you could probably hear the ocean. The moon tonight, there's a circle around it. Sign of trouble not far behind. I have this dream of being whole. Of not going to sleep each night, wanting. But still sometimes, when the wind is warm or the crickets sing... I dream of a love that even time will lie down and be still for. I just want someone to love me. I want to be seen. I don't know. Maybe I had my happiness. I don't want to believe it but, there is no man, Gilly. Only that moon."

I think there's someone out there who can help me "break the curse." Someone who possesses a strength different from mine.  Someone who makes time stand still and race all at once, so it is forever in a second and a blink of an eternity.  A voice that chases away the nightmare.  The "Edward" I can't live without, not the "Jacob."

Love.  It's exactly my brand of heroin.  And I'll die trying to find the perfect high.  Would you?

Staycation started with some technical difficulties.  The 8 inches of rain we had that week forced water up through a ginormous crack in my floor and soaked my carpet and area rug.  So the first few days of the week involved workingon drying things out, moving furniture around to expose more crack, and drylocking the damn thing.  I got about halfway across the living room with the drylock, and got fed up with not being able to do anything in my apartment.  So when it was dry enough I put the carpet back and pushed the cabinets back.  In the evenings, I hung out with Yadin because being here was bumming me out (not to mention the mildew spores and the humidity.)

So by Wednesday, I was in a serious state of "fuck it."  I finally dyed my hair again.  Now it's more like my natural color was in college. Tired of waiting for maintenance, I went out for a walk out behind my place to let my hair dry.  The Arboretum is still a work in progress, but there are lots of fun trails.  Took some pictures, chased some tail (there was a red-tail hawk I was trying to get pictures of but I brought the shitty camera,) and then headed back to get ready to go out.

Emily's Toybox moved down to Cafe 210, so I decided to drop in and check out the first show in the new digs.  Small crowd, but more people than I had seen in a lot of other places lately.  I like the new lineup, and Jason and Millhouse seem like very cool and very talented additions. After the show, I walked home (my staycation is on a serious budget.)

Thursday started with tossing some junk, but turned into an unproductive day.  A bunch of drama based on a misunderstanding kind of killed the day.  Had dinner at Champs for the first time in ages. (Not my choice.  Otto's was full.)

Friday involved a walk up to Target to pick up my glasses that resulted in lots of blisters. (Bad shoes.  No cookie.)  Took a shower when I got back, and Mike and Heather called and decided to come bang on my door while I was still not dressed!  Heather wanted to see my new glasses and hang out.  I already had planned on going out. With Spider Kelly on vacation, I headed down to The Brewery to see the Slick Picks, since town was quiet and I hadn't seen Z play in ages.  I didn't stay very late, but it was a good time.  Country and Texas swing aren't generally my genre, but the band was good and funny.  I tried taking some pics with the new glasses in front of my new shower curtain, but I was using the shitty camera again and couldn't get my hand steady.

Saturday got to a slow start.  I decided I was going to take a bunch of goofy pictures around the idea of "Staycation" and do some beachy looking shots and some picnic shots and whatever.  So by the time I was ready to shoot outside, the clouds rolled in and it started to sprinkle.  Just my luck.  So I took some indoor shots.  I wanted to get out and see more bands tonight, but I was a dumbass and ordered a Guinness last night, so I would only have bus fare, not cover for tonight.  So it looks like I'll be drinking more "Jonestown Kool-Aid" and clubbing at my place... Actually I will probably clean the kitchen (which also requires good tunes) so I can shoot some picnic scenes in my tiny kitchen while it's pouring tomorrow.  All this AND thunderstorms!  What a week!

All in all, it has been a decent week, despite financial drama, carpet drama and friend drama.  I am getting a decent amount done around here and have had very little interruption from work.  I'm almost looking forward to that meeting on Monday...almost.  For now, I still have one more day...

..
..

Jonestown Kool-Aid

This drink creates a cult following and knocks your ass on the floor.

Kool-Aid Tropical Punch Packet
1/2 to 3/4 c. Sugar
Vodka
Rum
Sloe Gin
Southern Comfort
Peach Schnapps
 whatever else you got clear or fruity laying around.

In a half-gallon container (preferably glass.  Kool Aid stains like a mofo,) pour sugar and Kool Aid packet.  Add a small amount of hot water and shake to dissolve the contents.

This recipe is great for cleaning up all those odds and ends of things in your liquor cabinet.  The first time, I had a small bottle of Peach schnapps in my apartment that someone had left and a little bit of this and that.  The second time I made this, I threw in what was left of the tequila and I was out of peach schnapps.  Not as smooth.

So basicly, add your vodka, rum, soco, and whatever, until you get the container 1/3 to 1/2 full, depending on how fast you want people wasted.    Fill the container the rest of the way with cold water and ice.  Cover and refrigerate until ready to serve.

I have been in NJ this week(infiltrating the Autobot's NEST base,) and therefore out of communication with a lot of people.  It's hard to be alone, the youngest of my siblings by a large margin, watching my childhood, and people who embodied hope itself, leave this world.  None of them were perfect.  They never denied their humanity.  They had money problems, relationship problems, health problems, and other problems we all are dealing with.  But through their various gifts, they have created a legacy of hope and love that spans generations.

Ed McMahon spanned several generations.  I was young when Carson retired, and the sound of Ed McMahon's voice was synonymous with Budweiser, insurance, and winning TEN MILLION DOLLARS...  I passingly thought of Ed McMahon every time I saw a girl in the furry Ugg boots and hummed the Budweiser tune as they trotted by like a Clydesdale.  My niece said today, "Now Ed McMahon will never come to my door with a check for 10 Million Dollars." She was making a joke, but she had a point.  His voice was a reminder of good times with late nights and beer, and the hope of winning money.  He was a gentleman loved by all.

Farrah Fawcett was an Angel.  When I was a child, she was married to the Six-Million Dollar Man and had the hair everyone wanted.  She was in commercials, on TV, had a shampoo, a doll, and the best selling poster of all time.  And people still put her up on the wall.  You know why?  Because the smile was genuine and the body was real.  She was raised a tomboy, but gracious as a princess.  She always went after what she wanted, regardless of the fallout (like leaving Charlie's Angels while it was still a success.)  She had it all, beauty, brains, tenacity, strength, and she had found great love.  In her final days, she didn't give up hope.  And she passed that legacy on to others by filming her fight.  As Ryan O'Neal said, "She was everyone's love, wasn't she?"

Michael Jackson is someone everyone loves to joke about.  He lived a strange, controversial existence.  He became famous as a child, and on some levels, he never grew up.  But that fierce desire to hold on to innocence, to maintain some of that, was the energy that produced the work he is famous for.  He was agoraphobic, shy to an extreme.  But he was a humanitarian.  He wanted the world to be a better place.  He wanted us to stop judging and being hateful and remember how simple and joyful our childhoods were, and to continue seeking that joy.  His music defined the 80's.  Everyone wanted to be Michael Jackson when I was a kid.  My mother continues to relate the story of a little red-haired girl she taught arts & crafts to who insisted she was Michele Jackson.  But even at 50 years old, he was staging a comeback, hoping to remind people of the brilliance of his music and the message in the words.

This week, the world has suffered the loss of people we welcomed into our living rooms every night, who graced our walls and provided the soundtrack to our childhood.  They were far from perfect, but in their work, in their celebrity, they brought joy and hope.  Even as fodder for off-color jokes, they continue to make us laugh.  It is my hope, that this is what will continue to endure as their legacy. 

"Ophelia, you must break the chain..."

The time feels right to go "on hiatus."  I'm still around, still doing things, but I need to break up my social cycle a little and work on some new projects that are bubbling on my back burner.  I also need to save up some money so that no matter what, I can go on MY vacation in August.  There is another trip in June that I know will be good for me, but it is not vacation.

I need to get some things out of my system.  It is time to get off this plateau and move forward.  Some dreams are reaching a dead end.  It is time to mourn their passing and build new ones.  It is time to stop being controlled by the words of ghosts like a danish prince. It's time to prove some of those specters dead wrong.

When they fired the first shot, I held on to some small hope you'd survive.  But when the second shot was fired, it was all over.  And now I am here, alone, mourning the loss, trying to put on a brave face.  But I am weak. 

I will always love you.  Always.  And I know that someday in the future, I will see you again.

I know it's wrong, but I can't take the grief or the loneliness anymore. This one was always good to me.  They're reasonably attractive.  They were always my second choice.  And even though it's over, and you won't be back this time, it still feels like cheating.  It is a band-aid: a half-hearted attempt to still find some happiness when my world has come to an end....  

So I hope you will forgive me when I slip into that little black number and let them make me scream like you used to.

Marty, Patty, Jamie, Panda, Mad Dog, Zach... I will always love you.  But I'm going to be a Pens fan for the rest of the offseason.  I hope you understand.  I just can't go on without hockey.  They'll never be like you. 

I'll see you in October, my beloved Devils...

dear mom,
ur such a skank, u need protection when u go fuck urself! 
PWNED! 
please drive me to GameStop. 
happy mother's day. kthxbye.
Timmy


Deer Mama
I dun't want to cher you wit enywon.  Hapy Mudder's Day!
Luv,
Cletus Jr.

Dear Mother,
I have enclosed the receipt, because I understand you can write these off as a business expense. 
Happy Mother's Day!  Please keep warm out there!
Unfortunately yours,
Anna

*Special thanks to Wink for posting the image in a bulletin!*