Tag Archives: planning

Some Things

28 Mar

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One 

You can’t blog everything all of the time.  Sometimes FB lack of anonymity kills it for you.  Even though everywhere else on the interwebs, I could be the chick sitting next to you on the bus, for all you know. (I’m not, but what if I was???)

…Which is weird. 

…Cuz the line boundary of what you can and cannot share has nothing to do with politeness and decency, but usually everything to do with who you don’t wanna stir shit up with cuz you might be working/running into/hanging out with them, later.  This makes a strange gray area in the land of blogging.  It means, (cuz of my strange and random “ehh” to personal privacy),  I can tell you all about my periods and BMs, sexual escapades and mental deficiencies…but not about the dick move that whats-his-name did the other day, or how incompetent ya-de-ya-da is.  So long as whats-his-name and ya-de-ya-da are one of the 400 FB people in my stream or other people’s I know.

…This cuts out on considerable amounts of venting, I’ll have you know.  Which is one of the reasons this blog was created to begin with.  It means drafting up poser-posts that stay in draft form as I light up the keyboard with flames of fury and bitch-snap, then immediately delete upon completion, because…well…it has to be done.

…But the point I’m trying to make here is that, sometimes the best material is left lying there like an open-ended set-up to a joke.  You REALLY want to pick it up and finish it…you REALLY want the rim shot of tasteless joy one gets from completing a really good zing…but you can’t…because you’re in the internet equivalent of a church pew, and if you go there right now, you’ll be totally excommunicated. Dieing a social-death forever in a pit of hellfire and damnation of your own lighting.

…So instead, you try and think of something else to write about, to keep your mind else wise occupied.

…Which is how prob’ly 30% of these posts exist to begin with.

…Including this one.

The end.

Two

A Toy For When You’re Bored At Work Cuz It’s Raining Again And Sales Are For-Shit.

…It’s just a working title, but pretty much nails the idea. So go to here. Cuz I did. And it’s mesmerizing. Good for background or just to watch and zone out on. The real-time musical journey of sharing information from around the world. Right there. Broken down by specific sound registers on Listen Wikipedia, by topic. Bells are additions, string plucks are subtractions, pitch change according to size of edit, color circles by editors, new users by string swells. Click on any that pops up and it’ll take you to it’s update, so you can read as the page plays on. It’s a strange little symphony, in 32 languages…of people teaching other people about the world. And it’s hypnotically awesome.

Three

Apparently there’s an anti-Valentines day movement by dudes pissed about how for some reason it turns out to be all about their ladies, and they get nothing outta the deal. There’s a shit-ton of crotchless edible underwear and flavored lube sales that’ll tell yuh different, but whatthefuckever . Point is… They say there is (and should be) this whole other observance day of joy just for the dudes, and I just found out about it. I also immediately spouted, “Well fuck that! What about the single ladies with no significant other to get them shit on February 14th?!”

…Which is when I invented “Whiskalingus Day.”

…It should be celebrated closely adjacent to the dude-prescribed “Steak, Beer & Blowjob Day”…for general fairness purposes…but with a re-booking option freebee, in case Mrs. Johnson is in town.

…You may be happy to know, I’m already in talks with my development team, and we’ve decided to offer Jameson and Red Breast, first option as our sponsors (why fuck with lesser…we deserve the very best)…and International Chapter Chairwomen positions are open for nomination.

…I will, of course, be credited as originator and CEO. I will also be the deciding vote on who our Grand Marshall each year will be. This will depend largely on who I am currently obsessing over at the time, and thus, almost always some kind of acting celebrity. The Board of Directors will discuss advertising options, and inevitable underwear product lines (which will contain no lace or crotchless shit, yet still manage to be sexy and comfortable…with enough room on the butt for our slogan.)

…So stay tuned. Also, if interested to join our team: apply here.

Four

It is Friday. What more do you want from me.

~D

Agatha Christie In Spandex

27 Aug

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You know how Weddings are always stress-balls of mishaps and near disasters, full of bossy in-laws and too many opinions being given without request, and sugar-high flower girls, and drunken Uncles hitting on the food servers, and Bridezillas weeping mascara down their faces?

…And you know how some people are smart and manage to avoid all that?  It just seems cruel to me that m’friend “M” actually made the smart choice decision to circumvent it, then ended up in the middle of it anyway, by being outvoted by The Moms’ feeling they got the shaft in orchestrating general Wedding splendiferousness.

For more of “M’s” story, read here…but for the rest of us, lets pick up where we left off: which is she and “K.L.” (the already hubby), enroute to a giant congregation of family, in-prep for this very fine occasion.  Which apparently had nothing at all to do with “M” or “K.L.”

“Can I help with the –”

“–No, it’s fine.”

“Should I pick out the –”

“We got you the sparkle ones.  You’ll love it.”

“I’d really like flowers that –”

“Honey, don’t worry about it.  I know a woman who knows a woman.”

“But what about –”

“Don’t worry.  It’s covered.”

…For an entire week that “M” had booked in order to put together the Wedding, she sat around doing nothing because no one would let her.  Not pick out the table cloths, or work on decorations…not select the food or taste cake samples.  She couldn’t drive and pick things up, run any errands, sort seating arrangements, talk about ceremony inclusions, or make any decisions in the least.  She was told over and over again that this was, “for her own sake.”  Because it was “very important that she not feel like a total stressed-out wreck.”  But because she had no decision-making power or weigh-in on presentation, taste or selection…by end of the week, she was turning into a total stressed-out wreck.  She did manage to rally though, once the day finally arrived, put her “game face” on, bit her lip, and give one of the best performances of her life.  And she’s a really good Actor…so this is really saying something.

…There were only two requests she had managed to get through to the “powers that be” in any of the decision-making that was had, leading up to the day.  One was that the family Fart Fairy would be invited as a special guest of honor, and the other was that the cake be Super Hero themed with toppers of a The Hulk and Miss Marvel.

To explain the above requires a step back into “M’s” childhood, and the understanding that they are giant comic book nerds…but even the former had to be explained to me when we met over take-out and wine to swap keys and catch up.

M: “…So at least the Fart Fairy was there. I woulda been pissed if she wasn’t. I wrote her a formal invitation and everything.”

Me: ” Wait, sorry, who?”

M: ” The Fart Fairy.*  I’ve told you about her…”

(I shake my head with eyes wide in wonder.)

M: “…Yeah, I mean she goes way back.  She’s even the topper to our Christmas tree every year, and when we go on trips and things, sometimes we take her with us and she’ll be in the pictures. You know, like — ‘The Fart Fairy goes camping.’ Or, “The Fart Fairy in Scotland.”

Me: “So…she’s like a doll then?”

M: “Yeah.  From when we were kids.”

Me: “So…you invented her.”

M: “No.  She’s a whole ‘thing.’ The first time I heard about her, we were all in the car on a road trip — Mom, Dad, my Brother, Sister and Me, and within this really short amount of time we had each just let one rip and the whole car was just full of farts, and someone said, ‘Wooo wee! That’s a lotta blessings from the Fart Fairy!”

Me: “…So every time you fart–”

M: “–She’s blessing you.  Yes.”

(“M” takes a giant bite of food and talks on.)

M: “…And then we started talking about her so much that I decided I’d make a doll, like in her honor? So I did.  In Girl Scouts.  You know, the one where you hafta make a doll for this patch?  They said it was ‘inappropriate.’ I still don’t know why.  But when I brought her home, everyone loved her.  Even though she was kinda jacked up with an arm like this and a shorter one here…and sorta lopsided.”

(I nod my head with eyes wide.)

M: “But for a long time, she was the only one we had.  Then I made a new one finally.  And she’s been everywhere.  Family vacations and road trips and all that.  So I was really mad when my Sister got married and I saw the guest list and I was all, “Wait!  Where’s the Fart Fairy?!” And she gave me this look and said, “Yeah, I’m not sending an invitation to a doll.”  And I said, “Why not?!” And she didn’t answer me.  Then my Brother did the same thing when he got married.  So I told “K.L.” that I refused to forsake her like everyone else, so I wrote out a formal invitation and everything.

Me:  “Did she come?”

(“M” smiles a grin so wide that some of the food falls out.)

M: “Even better.  Just before the ceremony, they made like a kidnap scenario, and my Niece and Nephew…dressed up like Miss Marvel and the Hulk…went off to rescue her.  And she was a guest of honor afterward and everything.”

Me: “Oh yeah?”

M: “…Which was almost the only thing that went ‘right’ the entire Wedding. Even the flowers were mostly plastic. $400.00 of MOSTLY plastic flowers.”

Me: “Wait.  But what about the cake?”

(“M” does a giant eye roll and takes another bite.)

M: “Just everybody was laughing about it.  And not in an awesome way.”

Me: “Why?”

M: (Giant sigh.) “Well…you know how The Hulk and Miss Marvel are our favorites.”

Me: “Yeah.”

M: “So, we asked that we have a double tiered square cake with one being purple, the other yellow and The Hulk and Miss Marvel for cake toppers.”

Me: “Ok. ”

(Long beat as she takes another bite.)

Me: “So, they made fun of it for that?”

M: “Um, no.  Because THAT would have been ‘awesome.’  They made fun of it, because what we got was a WHITE cake with these little YELLOW flowers plopped all over it, and the cake toppers were all screwed up cuz she heard us wrong when we ordered it.”

(I take a giant bite of food.)

Me: “So what did you get?”

M: (Huge sigh.) “You know Agatha Christie, right?  Like Miss Marple?”

(I stop chewing and freeze.)

Me: (With mouthful.) Miss Marple.

M: “Yeah.”

Me: “Sure.”

(“M” takes another huge bite, shrugs, and starts to chew in depressed silence.)

Me: “Wait. No. Wait. So you’re saying they thought you said, ‘Miss Marple?”

(“M” nods.)

Me: “…And no one called to ‘clarify?'”

(“M” shakes her head.)

Me: (In morbid fascination.) “So…just to get this strait…you had a Wedding cake with the toppers of –”

M: “–The Hulk and Miss Marple. Yes.”

(I start to choke on food in my mouth, try to contain myself long enough to get rid of it, and by the time I’m done, tears are streaming down my cheeks. “M” just eats on, depressed.)

Me: “What did you do?”

M: “Well, there was nothing TO ‘do.’ I mean, no one had seen it until the reception. And then it was just like this wave of hysterics. But only from my side of the family. Cuz no one from ‘K.L.’s’ knows who she is. First my Mom went up, and lost it…then she called my sister over…so they were just…you know…’crying’…then more people came by. And then ‘K.L’s’ family starting getting mad cuz they didn’t ‘get’ it, so I had to explain, ‘It’s like Angela Lansbury in Murder She Wrote, only English, okay?!”

(I cry on and am I’m laughing too hard at this point to form full sentences.)

Me: “Wait…so…how does…everyone…know…that’s who …it was? I mean…how…could you…possibly…recognize Miss…Marple…just on…sight…like that?”

M: “Oh. It was obvious.”

(I laugh harder and start to snort. I am not a snorter, so she has invented an entirely new form of comic appreciation than I have ever in my life had before.)

M: “Hold on..I have a picture…”

(“M” signs in on my computer and starts sorting through pics rapidly as I hyperventilate in the corner.)

M: (As she clicks past photos.) “…And you know the really messed up part?”

(I shake my head and cry on.)

M: “They even got her colors right. I said, ‘The Hulk in green and purple and Miss Marvel in yellow and black.’ Here it is.

(I start to howl, hiccup, snort and cry.)**

M: “Yeah. I mean how fucked up is that? Right? I mean after I was done being all pissed, I started laughing too…cuz, what are you gonna do? There it is, just sitting there. And then it got hot and her little black shoes started to bleed all over the WHITE FROSTING…just black ink everywhere. I dunno. I dunno if anyone even ate any of it. I stuck to the cupcakes.”

Me: (Between sobs.) That’s prob’ly best. It could have dyed your mouth black for all the pictures and stuff.”

M: “Oh, it didn’t matter by then. ‘K.L’s’ cousin had already spilled his wine all down the front of my dress by that point. I had already given up. But at least the Fart Fairy came.”

Me: “Yes.”

(It is quiet for a piece, as I am finally able to pull myself together and attack my face with kleenex.)

M: “This is totally going in your blog. Isn’t it.”

Me: “Uh huh.”

M: (Shrug.) “Well…at least we’ll be famous.”

~D

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* The Fart Fairy in various escapades of practicing good bathroom habits, and getting drunk on vodka

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** The Wedding cake

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