Best Kissing Scene Ever

This is the best kissing scene I have ever seen in a movie:



It's from Amelie.
Ok.
Anyone who knows me knows that I am no sucker for romance movies. Most of the time I think they're stupid and trite and boring and dumb and make-me-wanna-barf.
But this one is so beautiful. Beautiful in every single way. It's an enchanting movie and has renewed my hope that falling in love can be magical.
If you haven't seen it, I highly recommend it. It is in French, so be warned you have to read subtitles. But really, hearing the French language makes it all the more romantic. This is the second movie in French I've watched within the past two weeks or so, and I gotta admit...it's a gorgeous language. I don't know what the hell they're saying sans the subtitles but they could be reading me the phone book and I don't think I'd care much.
I've been watching a lot of foreign movies lately. They're sort of better than the American crap that's out now. A lot of these films I've seen affirm the imagination. Which I love. You don't see that too often in American movies. It's all about reality (I mean, unless you're watching Harry Potter or something).
...Haha. Maybe I need to move to a different country.
Anyway. Back to this movie. Amelie. It was great. Even if you don't like romance movies, even if you don't like foreign films you can certainly appreciate the gorgeous cinematography. It is truly a beautifully photographed movie. The color is fabulous too. Wonderful, memorable characters. And it's whimsical and light-hearted but still thoroughly engrossing. AND the score is phenomenal. So much so I think I have to get it.
I also think I need a copy of Amelie for myself too.
I love good movies.
They're kind of rare.

Anyway.
It's Halloween!!
I didn't have anything to do this Halloween. No parties or anything to go to so I didn't dress up. Although, I would have really liked an excuse to go as Indiana Jones. Haha! I went back and forth about dressing up and what to be...
I didn't want to go as Harry Potter. That seemed a little too obvious.
I mean, I go around wearing normal clothes and people are still like, "Harry Potter?"
I thought about going as The Tomb Raider, just to go as something totally unexpected and uh...sexy maybe?
Then I remembered that I don't have something the Tomb Raider has...
Boobs.
So that was out.
Then I thought of Indiana Jones. A close, sexy cousin of the Tomb Raider yet no boobs are required.
But alas, I had no cause to dress up anyway. Oh well. Maybe next year. Hahaha...
Here I sit on Halloween night procrastinating. I should be writing a paper right now. But it was so important that I come and blog and tell you all what a great movie Amelie was and take you through my potential-Halloween-costumes-that-were-never-going-to-happen-anyway process.

...GREAT NEWS! I went grocery shopping today just to pick up a few essentials AND DORITOS ARE STILL BUY ONE GET ON FREE!!
Which is actually probably bad. Because Doritos are bad for you. And I probably shouldn't eat them. But what can I say? I love artificial flavor on my artificial tortilla chips. I guess I'm just an artificial sort of girl.

...So it's Halloween and the house across the street from my apartment has this sound effects CD playing. It's howling wind and screams and such. I KNOW it's Halloween. I KNOW it's a CD, but it's kind of unnerving me. I get freaked out on Halloween. I like it and all. I think it's fun and great. And who doesn't like to eat assloads of candy? But there's this part of me...that starts to think about the time of year and the lore of Halloween and the idea of the undead coming to earth and...the Michael Myers theme song plays in my head...
...my apartments kind of dark right now...and I'm all alone. Hope he's not hiding in my bathroom. Well, once again I'm not having sex or drinking or doing drugs or babysitting or anything which would probably killing me more interesting like it does in the movies.
Phew.
I think I'm safe guys. Rest easy tonight knowing that all I'm doing is blogging when I should be writing a paper.

I had a tuna sandwhich for dinner.
It was pretty dang good.
I like tuna a lot.
I also had Doritos.
And chocolate milk.
Mmmm...dinner of CHAMPIONS.
Speaking of chocolate milk...I think I want some more.
Nestle Quik is the best invention ever. As I was grocery shopping today, I wondered how it would taste if I combined the chocolate NesQuik with the stawberry NesQuik. Because if there's anything I like better than chocolate...it's chocolate with strawberries involved. It would either be totally disgusting or the best invention ever.
...You know what's really good?? NesQuik over ice cream. Specifically, NesQuik over vanilla ice cream. Don't believe me? Try it. I dare you. It tastes a little like eating cookie or brownie batter. So good.

What else should I talk about in this procrastination blog?
Oh yeah...
Girls confuse me.
Girls confuse me because I am gay and it is hard to decide if they are just being nice, or being flirty.
I don't get it.


Hm...
What else?

Oh yeah...
I've been thinking a lot about Gimpy. I hope he's ok. David said he's probably dead. Which is likely true. But sometimes David says things that make me sad. I wonder what would have happened if I would have put Gimpy into my bag and let him live on my porch while coaxing him back to health. and then when he was better we would have a really dramatic scene where he would fly away and I would cry. Or where I would tell him, "Just go, Gimpy! Just go! Fly away be free! You're free now!!!!"
Not unlike Free Willy...except instead of a magestic whale it's a ugly busted-ass pigeon.

...somewhere someone is playing "Sweet Trasvestite"

Anyway...back to Gimpy.
Gimpy, if you read this blog (Duh, I'm sure you do. I gave you the URL before I got on the train so I certainly HOPE you read this blog)...I'm thinking about you. If you ever want more cookie crumbs you can just come to my place and live in my porch. I know you can't fly so you may want to catch a cab. You don't live too far, so fare shouldn't be that awful. Or just hop on the train. Whatever. I got lots of crumbs you can have if you're sick of cookies. Hell, I'll even bake a cake, eat it...and let you eat the crumbs from that.


...ok. I really should go do this paper...this blog post is just starting to get sad...

Missed Connection

Hey guys! I have some exciting news. I think it's possible I might have a "missed connections" on craigslist within the next day or so!!
I think it's going to go something like this-

WHERE-Clybourn Metra Station
YOU- Feeding cookie crumbs to pigeons taking special attention to see that the pigeon with the busted wing and leg got the crumbs. You called him, "gimpy." You kept saying, "Here, Gimpy...quick get it before the other guys!!! Here...get it Gimpy!!!" You told the other pigeons to "fuck off" several times. Telling them, "Hey guys! Knock it off. Your friend is hurt, let him eat the cookies!!! SCREW OFF" You chased them away several times.
ME-The totally hot girl that walked by you, saw and heard what you were doing, gave you a weird look at went to sit on a bench far away from you. I don't want to meet you. I just want to tell you that you're crazy and should seek help. Also, you're never going to get a girlfriend.


OR I might get one that will go something like this...

WHERE-Clybourn Metra Station
YOU- Gave me cookie crumbs.
ME-Gimpy.
I don't have a phone so you can't call me. But clearly I have access to a computer and the internet. But I don't really want you to email me. What I really want is to rendezvous back at the train station sometime. Like...tomorrow. Bring cookies. Also, I like cake. And if you're going to bring cake...I drink Merlot. Something French please? I don't go for California wine. Thanks.

Um. The sad part is...yes this really did happen.

Do you ever have those moments where you sorta go out of body and catch yourself doing something and are like, "Oh shit. If I'm not crazy yet, I'm certainly headed that way at a brisk clip."?
Yeah. I had one of those moments today. I saw this pigeon gimping around the train station and I felt so bad for it that I just had to take my cookies out of my bag and throw him crumbs. Which of course, brought nine of his friends flapping over to me from their various perches around the train station. I told them to "fuck off" several times, while throwing crumbs to "Gimpy" as I called him. Making sure he got the lion's share of my cookie remnants.
Hot girl walked by and totally caught me.
Later I wondered if Gimpy really was a gimp. Or just a really good actor.
In which case I was was had by a pigeon.
Which makes the state of my mind all the more troublesome.
Then I realized the fact that I even thought enough about Gimpy's inner life to wonder if he was playing the gimp act to get me (or people like me) to feel sorry for him and feed him cookie crumbs, was in fact troublesome in regards to the state of my mind.
Oh man guys.
I am totally going to be the crazy Home Alone pigeon lady.

Catwoman's Got My Back

So I think you can tell from the last posts and from past posts...I was sort of a strange kid.
Well, let's be honest...I still am a strange kid.
But when I think about the strangest of the strange things I did...there is one instance in particular that comes to mind. And it comes to mind because I can remember my parents being genuinely kind of freaked out by it. My parents were always really cool with me...they let me be the bizarre, freakish child I was with few questions or complaints. In most instances, they encouraged me to be freakish. (So I could probably blame them for why I am so lame nowadays. HA!)
I mean, sure my mom was a little distraught when the only time I played with Barbies was to put them in the Barbie Jeep and let it "drive" down the stairs just to see how many Barbies would be left in the Jeep by the time it got to the bottom. Ha. The real fun happened when I got the Barbie kitchen set. My brother and I took all the crap out the of fridge and had Barbie tobogganing from the top of the stairs. I mean obviously my mom didn't jump for joy when I did this, but she didn't tell me to not do it either. God Bless my parents' hearts. They put up with a lot of crap.
...There was this one time though that they couldn't really hide how disturbed they were.
It was back to school shopping time.
My mom said my brother and I could get new backpacks.
I chose the backpack with Catwoman on it.
My mom could simply not understand why I could possibly want a backpack with a villain on it. Much less, the sexy-Michelle-Pfeiffer version of Catwoman on it. (I was both a Tim Burton fan AND horribly gay from a very young age.
My mom tried in absolute vain to get me to consider the Lisa Frank rainbow backpack with dolphins jumping around.
"Look Amy!" She said. "This one has dolphins!! You love dolphins!! Why do you want that backpack? Catwoman is the bad guy you know."
"I know" I said. But I was adamant. I don't really even know WHY I wanted it so bad. I just knew I was so not walking around in Lisa Frank backpack with rainbows and dolphins. Catwoman seemed much more appropriate to me.
Well, my mom let me get it. But explained the situation to my dad when we got home at dinner. I don't remember his reaction really. He probably teased me because that's what he did. Either that or he probably said something like, "A bad guy on your backpack?!!...Cool!!!"
When I went to school everyone talked about my backpack. Nobody teased me. But everyone asked me, "Why do you have a bad guy on your backpack?" The teacher was really concerned. "Amy, you're such a sweet girl. Why do you want to have Catwoman on your backpack?"
"I just like her." I said.
Ok, look...I got teased mercilessly in grade school because I was short and dumb at match.
But nobody fucked with me in first grade.
You want to know why?
Catwoman had my back.
Literally.
Would you mess with the class freak if she had a Catwoman backpack on?
I didn't think so.

...Then I got to second and third grade and upgraded to a jean backpack.
And well...that's another story for another day.
...Let's just say this chunky red-headed girl with a stupid perpetual chunky-kid-smirk named Ashley decided to make my life a social nightmare.
In Ashley's defense, I was a really sensitive kid.
I came home in tears one day because a kid told me that I sneezed weird.
Yeah.
Just a little sensitive.

I've Got Nothing Against Leashing Traditionally Un-Leashed Pets

Ok, so I felt kinda bad after slamming girl-walking-the-ferret in my last post. It just was a little odd to see someone walking a ferret. And I have nothing against odd. I mean, people in glass houses should not throw stones, right?
Also, there is something I need to come clean about...
When I was a kid I had a rabbit.
And I had a leash for my rabbit.
And I would walk him around the back yard.
THERE!
I said it! I walked my rabbit. I leashed a traditionally unleashed pet.
And I was so proud.
I can remember desperately wanting a rabbit leash for whatever reason. I was by not stretch of the imagination a spoiled kid. I wasn't the type of kid who wanted the latest everything. There wasn't a lot that I "needed" to have.
I mean of course I wanted a horse. Every girl wants a horse, plus I actually LIKED horses and took riding lessons. So I wasn't Veruca Salt like, "Daddy! I want a pony nooooww!!" But basically, besides a horse, there are a couple things I can remember wanting with a deadly passion when I was a kid:
a) An EZ 2 DO (I love what I can do with my EZ 2 Do). It was probably one of my final attempts at straightness. I liked it for about five seconds then was left wondering why the hell I wanted something that would make jewelry.
b) A Rock Tumbler. I was way into digging for cool rocks when I was a kid. We moved out to the way-out suburbs when they were just developing, so we always had empty, un-sodded lots around us. I spent hours staring in the dirt looking for sparkly rocks. And when I figured out sometimes ugly rocks had Sparkly-ness inside. I hunted for ugly rocks too and cracked them open with a sledge hammer on my driveway. HA! It's probably one of the reasons my arms look so buff. Because I was nine years old, a peanut, and wielding a sledge hammer to smash rocks. I was a hardcore kid and I took rock hunting very seriously. I had a little bag I carried around with me to put them in as I found them. I documented them in notebooks. I organized them. I would have been as a good a archaeologist as Doogie Howser was a doctor.
c) A Microscope. I have no justification for this other than to say I was a huge nerd growing up. The microscope came with a whole bunch of dyes and chemicals and crap to look at. One bottle was labeled "Shrimp Eggs" I hatched them and tracked their growth. I drew pictures. I drew pictures of them under the varying degrees of magnification of my microscope. The pictures were in color. I spent a lot of time with my microscope. I probably thought I was going to cure cancer. I wanted to cure cancer. Also, I had no friends so me and my microscope were BFFs. That does seem really sad, but the thing is I'm really not kidding so mostly its just hilarious.
d) A Rabbit Leash. My parents made the unfortunate decision of getting my brother and I rabbits. If you don't know rabbits are really dirty, smelly animals. I don't recommend them as pets, cute as they may be. And I loved my rabbit. His name was Fenwick. My brother's was named Broccoli. They were really cute. I had this strange notion that Fenwick and I were best friends. Fenwick didn't seem to think so though. He would cower in his cage every time I came near him. And I'm pretty sure his internal monologue was, "For the love of God, I don't want to be you're sidekick. I'm a goddamn bunny. Go get some friends and leave me in peace. If you take me out I'm just going to poop on you and run under your bed where you can't get me." But I loved him anyway. He was my first pet that was, "mine." So I had this idea that I had to walk him, that I needed to walk him so we could be best friends and have the proper pet/master relationship. But you need a leash to walk a pet. And bunny leashes are not easy to find. But it's all I wanted for a long time. "Gee golly gosh Mom and Dad I sure do wish I had a leash so I could walk Fenwick." -That sorta thing. And it took a long while, but you know what? My parents found a damn rabbit leash. I can distinctly remember the day they presented it to me. I was sitting on my bed. They said, "We have a surprise for you." And then handed me the rabbit leash. It was purple and fastened around a cardboard cut out of a rabbit. I was beside myself with happiness. I spent most of the next day trying to get Fenwick into the leash. Which was really difficult. Because Fenwick's internal monologue was probably, "I'm not a friggin' dog, kid." And then I took him out in the backyard and Fenwick got really excited. "Oh my God!" He was probably thinking. "I'm free!!" And then he tried to run and was like, "Oh yeah. That's right. This dumb kid has me tethered with a purple leash. My life sucks."

Anyway. The point of that all was to apologize to girl-walking-ferret. And say, "I've been there. I used to walk my rabbit."

So...the other day David and I had an in depth conversation about the dynamics of poop-throwing. Like, you know how monkeys throw their poop when they're pissed? We were talking about the circumstances, societal constraints, and consequences if a person were to throw around their poop if they were pissed.
It sounds gross.
And it really, really is.
But it was also one of the most hilarious and interesting conversations of the week.
And we probably talked for a good half hour about just this topic.
ANYWAY.
That conversation led to some other conversation, which I'm not going to explain and just give you the Quote of the Day because it's probably much funnier that way...

QUOTE OF THE DAY
DAVID: Do you love that I googled, "tampon throwing?"

LITTLE GIRL AT THE WINDOW TELLING ME ABOUT HER HAMSTER, LAZLO: He was in a ball and fell off my dresser the other day. He's very activity.
GIRL'S MOM: Active. He's very active.
LITTLE GIRL AT THE WINDOW TELLING ME ABOUT HER HAMSTER, LAZLO: He's very active.

Tony Danza and A Ferret on a Leash

So I saw this advertisement today about how Tony Danza is in The Producers in Las Vegas.
Tony Danza makes me laugh.
Mostly, because he's Tony Danza. But Also because I noticed that sometimes my hair looks like his:





Who's the boss now?
Answer: Me.
Reason Why: I'm drinking Pom, duh.

So yesterday I was walking down the street and I saw this girl walking her ferret.
It was on a leash.
Yeah. I'm not kidding.
It was a rather big ferret because from far away I thought it was a raccoon. "Funny" I thought. "I didn't think it was legal for people to keep raccoons much less put 'em on a leash and walk 'em around the block."
Turns out it was just a fat ferret.
Phew.
Which is probably why she walking it. And she was walking it. It wasn't like, "Hey I got an idea. I'm gonna put my ferret on leash and go hang out with it on the patch of grass in front of my apartment." She was literally walking it down the block.
But it was fat ferret. The vet probably told her, "Look, your ferret, Stan, (DISCLAIMER: I don't really know the ferret's name. I just made it up. But it sorta looked like a Stan) is morbidly obsese. I suggest a strict regimen of daily walks." So now for the sake of her ferret this poor girl has to walk it up and down the block. At least I hope that's the case. Because if the girl was walking her ferret just because she felt like it that might lead me to believe the girl is a little crazy.
I've often thought it might be a good idea to get a dog (or at least borrow mine from home) and walk it around this neighborhood. I think it would be a swell way to meet ladies. Girls are suckers for puppies.
But you want to know what girls aren't suckers for?
Ferrets.
And it was sad because the girl was kinda cute.
But she was walking a ferret.
Now, I don't want to make to much fun because I think its quite possible when I'm really old and still single, I could very well be walking around the block with my cats in a baby buggy.

DICLAIMER: Ok, lest I get comments from concerned readers...my hair does not look like that anymore. Don't worry. I don't know why I didn't do something about my hair when it looked like that, or why nobody came up to me with a pair of hedge clippers. But I really hope my hair never looks like that again. Sorry Tony Danza. Not that I have anything against you. But that hair went out of style when you did.

Kitten Models

So...I came upon this youtube clip:



Um.

It kind of made me laugh out loud.

It's All In The Hips/I Have No Idea Why All These Homeless Black Men With Scraggly Beards Want to Be My Boyfriend

i iz gay magoo.
-That part of today's post was written by David. He should really leave the bloggin to me. I'm a professional, duh.

So last night I went to this big gay dance called The Coming Out Ball. You want to hear the most often-said statement of the night? Here it is:
"Amy, look...THIS is how you dance."
Which was then accompanied by any number of other statements including,
"You look so scared!"
"Start by moving you head."
And
"It's all in the hips. Move your hips!"

Ok look. When it comes to dancing...I am not the best. I need a couple things to really cut loose:
a)People I know well around me (and while I was with really cool people, I didn't know anyone too well)
b)I need to feel safe and that's hard when you're as little as I am in the middle of a crowd of people who you know don't see you. (Hence the scared look on my face...Gotta watch out and make sure I don't get an elbow to the face!)
c)I need to be relaxed and not as wound up/nervous as I was. I was pretty dang nervous. There was absolutely no reason to be, but because I was...it made dancing hard.

...I'm also not a big "bumper and grinder" as the kids call it.

Basically, what I'm trying to get at is that I'm 40 years old. And I felt my age last night. Not that I didn't have fun, but I'm 40 years old.
And you know what?
I'm ok with that.
So what if I think good conversation is super sexy?
So what if I think so much is said through passing glances?
So what if I am not forward enough to go up to someone and "throw my ass up on them" (awkward for one, because my ass would be a normal person's knees)?
My name is Amy. I am a 21 year old 40 year old.
And I am damn proud.
...and don't get me wrong, here. I think dancing and dancing with someone is super sexy too. But I think it's the sexiest when there's a connection. Not just random, throwin' your ass around. I know there are people who would disagree and could make a strong case for the hows and whys of this being "sexy" but I don't think it is. Just my opinion. Call me 40 years old if you want. I don't mind. Also, I don't "drink" as a verb. I mean, I drink in the sense that the word "drink" itself is a verb. But I don't "drink" as a recreational activity. I like to "drink", as in euphemism for alcohol. But I find I like drinking best when it accompanies some sexy conversation. And maybe some food (I'm Italian, what do you expect from me?). I know. I know. All this makes me sound so old. I'm ok with that. I'm ok with that even if it means I won't meet someone good for me until I'm 40. I mean I'd really not like to wait that long.

You know what else I realized last night?
I am not nearly as awkward as I thought I was.
I would venture to say I am in fact an excellent flirt and an even better tease.
Yeah guys.
I just said I was a tease.
There's a part of me that is and always will be a little goofy/awkward. But there's a part of me that can be totally awesome and work it if I need to too. And when I figured that out last night...it felt pretty damn good. And I always did know it, it just disappeared for a while for whatever reason, but its back now.
Heck yes I'm bringing Sexyback. For real this time. FOR REAL!
SEXYBROUGHT
Is the name of my life right now.
I Sexybrought!
Yeah!

HAHHAHAHAHA...
Anyway.
So there's something about my life I don't understand right now. And that is: Why homeless, older, black men with scraggly beards want to date me. There have been two occasions now in my life where such fellows have asked me out on a date and/or implied that they would like to my boyfriend.

Occasion #1:
(I'm waiting for the train. There is a young couple smooching in the corner. Homeless, older, black man with scraggly beard (henceforth known as "Scraggles #1"comes onto platform. Stands a few feet a way from me. Scraggles #1 has on coke bottle glasses and is clearly some how mentally disabled. If you want to full effect, I should really do the impression of this guy for you. He was priceless.)

SCRAGGLES #1: (Observing kissing couple. Said to anyone who will listen) You know I'm single??
(I realize I should have ignored him. I realize I should say nothing. But I just don't have it in me to ignore people if they aren't being rude or nasty).
ME: Oh. I'm sorry what did you say?
SCRAGGLES #1: You know I'm single?
ME: Oh. Being single is not so bad.
SCRAGGLES #1: Yeah, but it sucks when you want to go to the movies.
Sound Cue: My heart breaking a little bit.
ME: Yeah. That's true.
SCRAGGLES #1: You know I'm 50 years old?
ME: Wow.
SCRAGGLES #1: Yeah. 50 years old and I'm single. But I love to go to the movies.
ME: Me too.
SCRAGGLES #1: But I hate dem scary movies. They give me nightmares.
ME: Yeah I don't like them either.
SCRAGGLES #1: I remember when I was little I saw the Swap Thing...and the Dracula with the Bel-la Lu-gosi. And I was scared! But I like movies (Train comes. We get on) I just saw the Dreamgirls. And it was a mess! The Eddie Murphy was a mess! Beyonce was a mess! The Danny Glover was a mess! Jennifer Hudson...well...she was good. But the rest was a mess!! And I saw the preview for the Because I Said So with Diane Keaton and the Rev. Camden from the 7th Heaven. I like the 7th Heaven. With the Ruthie and the Simon. And the Lucy...(Train comes to the stop where I have to get off) Say I didn't get your name?
ME: I'm Amy (He shakes my hand)
SCRAGGLES #1: Say Amy, if you're not doing anything would you maybe like to go see a movie with me sometime?
ME:...uh...
SCRAGGLES #1: Yeah, I know..you're BUSY! (Storms of the train)

Occasion #2:
So today I'm waiting for the bus at Addison and Clark. And this older, homeless, black guy with a scraggly beard comes by pushing his cart of crap. He hits bump, and his little fold up chair falls out. He doesn't notice)
ME: Um. Excuse me. You dropped your...sir...(He Doesn't notice. I go pick it up) Sir! You dropped your chair. (I hand it to him)
SCRAGGLES #2: Oh thank you so much! That was really good of you.
ME: Oh it's no bog deal/
SCRAGGLES #2: No, that was real good of ya. (He puts it in his cart) That was real good of ya. Are you married?
ME: Oh, no! (Laughing)
SCRAGGLES #2: You looking for a boyfriend?
ME: Um. No. Sorry.
SCRAGGLES #2: Oh. OK. Well Thanks.
ME: No problem.
(He pushes his cart away)

Too bad I'm gay. 'Cause if I was straight...well, I wouldn't be able to keep the homeless dudes I make friends with away!



QUOTE OF THE DAY
DAVID: Why would I promote heterosexuality in the box office?

Guys, Relax, I Watch Dr. Phil

Alright.

So I've had some people come up to me and tell me that based on my last few posts they think I have self-esteem issues.
I don't.
Seriously, guys.
I watch Dr. Phil.
I know how to love myself!
As Dr. Phil says: The quickest way from A to B is not always at the most feverish pace.
Right on Dr. P. Right on.
That man is so smart.


I know I'm a pretty awesome person.
Duh.
I'm funnier than God (and better looking), smarter than Stephen Hawking (ask me about quantum physics), charming, debonair, athletic, I can bust out smooth moves on the dance floor, serenade beautiful love tunes via the guitar and my voice that floats on air...
I am probably the most awesome person that ever walked the face of the earth. AND I'm going to have a degree in Theatre Arts.
What girl WOULDN'T want me?
*Snap*
And don't you forget it.
You should all probably look in the mirror and realize you will never be as awesome as me.
But you can dream if you want to. I don't have anything against dreamers. The thing about dreamers don't usually get anything done.
HAHA!
Oh man. I can't even stand myself in this blog post.


...So that description of me was totally false. In case you were wondering. I'm not funnier than God and s/he is WAY better looking than I am. I don't even know what quantum physics IS really. I'm not athletic, I definitely can't dance. I have rhythmic dyslexia (the P.C. term for bein' a white girl) which also means I can't carry a tune to save my life. However I will have a degree in Theatre Arts in a year. That part is true (get in line ladies, I'm going to be richer than God).

Seriously though.
I know I'm a pretty cool person. For real...I know I'm funny, charming, sweet, and dare I say...good looking.
I'm a catch and I know it.
Why my lasts posts say the things they do, why it comes across like I don't have good self esteem is because sometimes I have a hard time letting people see me.
Especially around cute girls.
I get all awkward and dorky and I just want to say, "No!! This is not who I am! I'm funny and charming and sweet and dare I say good looking!!! Look! Look how funny and charming and sweet and dare I say good looking I am!!"
But I end up looking kinda dorky.
But I'm ok with it.
Someone truly special will be able to look past that dorkiness and take the time and patience to see the funny, charming, sweet, and dare I say...good looking.

The Dorkiness That Occurred

So, I got a comment on my last post, *Bang Head Here*, which said...

"if we are gonna help you - we gotta know, what dorkiness occurred?"

It was from an anonymous reader. I have no idea who it was, but if it was you...well I guess you can remain anonymous if you really want. I was going to ask you to reveal yourself-but if you don't want to that's ok. Anonymous is just so-mysterious.

What dorkiness occurred, you ask?

Well it's not so much the dorkiness that occurred as the dorkiness that seems to infiltrate every manner of my being when I am around...cute girls.
Granted, dorkiness is just a part of who I am. But it is especially accute around women. I can usually get past it once get to know the woman. But the beginning process...is...is like I'm a the president of the awkward club.
I can't speak correctly.
I can't string together sentences properly.
And sometimes I just don't freakin' talk at all. I just sit or stand there with a dopey-ass grin on my face hoping the girl doesn't notice how red I'm getting in the face.
Granted, I've always been a little shy. It does take me a while to feel comfortable enough to...uh...open my mouth. Hahaha...
Sometimes, I feel like I'm back in high school. Scoffing my feet and the ground, looking shyly to the floor, and saying in my head, "Well gosh, I think she's cute." I never really went through that stage when I should have because I wasn't interested really in boys, you know?
So even though I've had a girlfriend, even though sometimes I am a good flirt...if I meet someone I'm truly interested in I turn into a puddle of dorky mess.
I know everyone gets this way on some level. I know it's stupid to think I could or should be exempt from this...
...but damn!
I am SO dorky, guys. Seriously.


It's probably just a matter of confidence.
Which I'm trying to remedy by listening to Justin Timberlake's "Sexyback."
And so I listen to it and I think:
"Heck yes I can bring Sexyback!"
"Heck yes I'm totally hot and 10 kinds of fine!"
"Heck yes I could make any girl fall in love with me!"
"Heck yes I'm totally going to tell this girl I think she's cute the next time I see her."
...and then I see her.
And I can barely make eye contact.
So I have to go "give her flowers" via facebook superpoke instead.
Isn't that sad?
And if you don't know what facebook or facebook superpoke is...be glad.
I alternately praise its glory and curse its existence.

So that's the dorkiness that did not occur but does occur and will probably continue to occur until the day I die.

Here's to me and all the other dorks up there.
Bottoms Up!
*I just finished up the dregs of my glass of Chocolate Milk made with NesQuik powder, in case you were wondering*
Like I said...
DORK


....mmmm, but NesQuik is so good. Especially the crap at the bottom. Mmmm.....

*Bang Head Here*

Ever feel like you just need to bang our head against something hard for a while?

Yeah. Yeah.

That's about where I'm at right now.



DISCLAIMER: If you want to use this guide to bang your head I would advise printing it out and putting it on a wall first. If you bang your head against the guide while it's still on the computer screen you will probably break your head. And computer. Then you will really want to bang your head against something hard. Don't let your computer be a casuality to your stupidity.

So I don't need to bang my head so much as an anti-stress relief, but in an, "Oh God, I'm such a dork" kind of way.
I am 21 freakin' years old.
I am a moderately well-adjusted memeber of society.
I have a fairly decent idea grip on the way the world, or more specifically, romance works...

WHY AM I SUCH A DORK?
WHY AM I SUCH A DORK?
WHY AM I SUCH A DORK?

Uh.
If anyone needs me, I'll be in the corner here...banging my head on something hard.

I'm going to be cool guys, I swear. I can do it. I know I can.
Phew.
Step 1: Eye Contact.
Step 2: Hi, how are you?
Step 3: ...um, let's see if I can make it through steps 1 and 2 first. Then we'll worry about step 3.

I'm Somebody!!!

You guys. Today is a fabulous day.

You want to know why?

Because after over a year of working at my place of employment...I FINALLY got a name tag.

Finally.

I am somebody.

And I am so excited to go to work on Friday and wear it all day long!

"Hi my name (as you can see from my name tag) is AMY and I am here to sell you some tickets!!!"

I feel ready to take on the world! I AMY have a name tag!!!!!!! I feel like Steve Martin in The Jerk when he got his name in the phone book!!

Check it out:



Things are going to start happening to me now!!!

Seriously, guys. Things are going to start happening to me now. And to think...all I needed for things to happen to me was a name tag.

I am so excited for work. I think I will be able to sell tickets better than I ever have before. Yes, I realize the majority of what I sell I sell over the phone and those people will never be able to see my name is AMY but...it's about how the name tag makes me FEEL...inside.
It's like the name tag affirms my existence as a customer service representative. It's like my name tag says, "Hi, I'm here to help you. And if you want to get snotty with me, feel free to read my name off my name tag and use it in a condescding manner." Like..
"Well, A-MY! I'd like to speak to your manager about this if you don't mind, A-MY!"
*Sigh*
I am so excited for my new name tag.
I'll try and take a picture with it and then post it so you can see me in all my name tag glory.
Pretty sure it's going to change my life and you're going to see me in a new light.
Like I bet when you see me now you're like, "Oh...look, it's just regular old Amy. What stupid crap is she going to blog about today?"
But I bet when you see me with my name tag you're going to be like, "OH MY GOD!! It's AMY! And she has on a name tag!! She must be so important! I bet she's going to tell us some really great stuff today in her blog!"

See guys?
The name tag benefits everyone.

The Most Bad-Ass Thing I Have Ever Done

Oh man you guys-this is the most bad-ass thing I have ever done. I'm coming to you live from my philosophy class, and when I should be learning-I'm blogging instead.

I am such a bad-ass.

You can't really blame me though. Let me paint a picture of this class for you:

The dude who teaches it is probably 23-26. Not much older than me. So, you'd think: "He'd probably be a pretty sweet prof, right? Young. Hip. I bet he makes the material really interesting."
Um. You'd be wrong. He is hands down the worst professor I have ever had. This class meets once a week. For two and a half hours. And for the full two and a half hours (save for one 10 minute break where we are allowed to push the brains that have melted and sopped out of our ears back into our heads) he talks. And talks. And talks. And talks. And talks. And talks.
He stands up at the front out of the class and basically sums up the reading. For TWO AND A HALF HOURS. This is my impression of him. Ready?
"So Locke says this blah blah blah blah. State of Nature blah blah blah blah blah blah rights of nature blah blah blah blah blah and as it says on page 32 blah blah blah blah blah (writes some shit on the board) blah blah blah. Hobbes blah blah blah. Locke and Hobbes are different blah blah blah blah blah. Laws or nature blah blah. Moral principles. Blah blah blah blah blah. We have obligations towards other people blah blah blah blah. With Hobbes there are no blah blah blah blah blah blah blah."

Ok, so that wasn't so much an impression as a transcribing of the first 10 minutes of class.

Sound fun?

He. Just. Talks. I feel bad knocking him so badly. I just don't think he knows how to teach very well. He's a super smart dude. He knows his shit. And it's gotta be really hard to teach a class of 40 college students for two and a half hours. I feel like I could take this class if it met three times a week for fifty minutes. But damn.
The class starts around 4:15 and it's usually around 5:30 when I realize I still have an hour and fifteen minutes to go that I feel like shoving a butter knife through the side of my head.

I realize I'm also restless. I'm not totally a senior yet and already I have a wicked bad case of senioritis. But really the senioritis only applies to my gen eds. As of right now, I'm in a history, I'm in this class, and I'm taking a science.
And it's so frustrating. While I like learning new and interesting things...molecules are not the kind of stuff I want to devote serious amounts of study time to right now. I hate that learning about molecules takes time away from things I could be learning about theatre.

Ok, so enough bitterness about education.

What should I talk about while I'm being a bad-ass? I've gotta a little more than 1/4 of battery life left on my computer and my mind is screaming for stimulation.

UPDATE!...He's still talking.
You know what else pisses me off??
The book for this class is like six inches thick and weighs a gillion pounds.
So there.

Oh, so I've been wanting to ask this question for a while. Please respond with comments. Ok, so when you're waiting for a bus or train it is my feeling that you should generally board in the order that you got there. I mean, it doesn't need to be exact. But generally, if I arrive at a stop and the bus comes two minutes later, I will usually hang back and let the people who were waiting go first. I just think it's polite. However, there have been times where I have waiting forever, and someone comes after me and then nearly mows me down, or positions themselves in front of me in such a way that assures they'll be able to get on the bus before me. I mean, I'm not going to fight to be the first one on the bus. If it's really all that important to you, by all means...go ahead. I just think this is really rude. Am I being stupid? Is it every person for themselves when it comes to boarding public trasportation? Is there any etiquette? And I know for a fact this is rude and it really freakin' ruffles my feathers when people nearly bowl over old people or mom's with kids to get on the bus. Jeez! The bus can't go anywhere till everyone gets on anyway, so calm down Sparky and let the old people on first! They're the ones that should get the seat you want anyway. I don't know.
Maybe I just make situations that aren't at all complicated way to complicated in my head. It's probably the thing I do best.

UPDATE!!...He's still talking. He wrote some stuff on the board to highlight some of his talking.
Hm. Blogging during class makes my brain feel good though. I don't feel like my mind is slowly eating itself as it often does at this point in the class. Yay for being a bad-ass blogger!!!

So.
What else?
I've decided facebook is the weirdest invention ever when it comes to human relationships. It makes them so unneccessarily complicated. "OMG! He superpoke slapped me! What does this mean?" "Holy crap, did you see what she wrote on my wall??!!" And I am totally guilty of buying into all this insanity. I do it myself. I just think my ultimate downfall if not brought about by my own descent into madness, will be brought about by facebook.
I think facebook could take over the world if it wanted to. I've often thought about deleting my facebook.
And yet...I can't.
I am so addicted.
I wish I could live facebook free.
And yet I devote so much time to thinking up clever quips for my "status", witty things to put on people's walls, and accurate descriptions of my personality, likes, and dislikes to put in my profile.
Are we no more than our facebook profiles?
Are they representations of ourselves?
What do our facebook profiles say about us?????
Now THAT'S a topic for philosophy class.

I should raise my hand and ask.
"Um, excuse me professor. Would Locke include facebook in the State of Nature? Or is facebook outside the State of Nature? What do the Laws of Nature say in regards to facebook? Could facebook be a form of government that protects us from that state of war within our selves for the protection of our own personality as equated with property???!!"
See? I can sound vaguely itelligent if I want to. I'm an actor. I can make even the craziest shit seem plausible.
Seriously.
One time I got this girl to believe I studied sumo wrestling in Japan for three years.
Yeah.
Me.
I told her I studied sumo wrestling and knew how to sumo wrestle and studied with the top sumo wrestlers.
She believed me.
Now, I don't like to lie...but sometimes, it is fun to see just how much crazy I can get people to buy.
One time I got an entire lunch table to believe I spent a summer teaching ballroom dancing at a retirement home.
I think that would be the most awesome job ever. I would have material for YEARS if that were my job. Although, I do get quite a bit material working with kids too.
...I should write a play about teaching old people ball room dancing. Now my wheels are turning.
THIS IS SO MUCH BETTER THAN PHILOSOPHY, GUYS!!!

UPDATE...He's still talking.

I haven't even been in class an hour yet. I've got about...100 minutes to go. The countdown starts now.

I feel like such a bad-ass. I guess, there are more bad-ass things I could be doing.
I could be talking on AIM like the dude kiddy corner from me.
I'm not THAT bad-ass.
It's kinda hard to be bad-ass when if asked, "What are your hobbies?" You would repsond, "Blogging."
Not so bad-ass.
I suppose cutting class completely would have been the most bas-ass thing to do.
But my moral compass would not allow it.
Yet somehow my moral compass has no problem with coming in every week and absolutely spacing the hell out for two and half hours.
I've decided even more than cutting class, the most bad-ass thing to do would be to come for the first half, when he takes attendance and then leave after the break. THAT is the most bad-ass thing to do. And it is also what over half the class does on a weekly basis.
I am in class with a bunch of bas-asses.
I am the lame nimrod who stays the whole time, some weeks so bored I have to concentrate on staying awake to give something to do, some weeks seething about all the better ways I could be spending my time.

My battery is going to die soon, so I should probably wrap this baby up.

95 minutes to go, guys.

Shit.

Blogging didn't even occupy half the class.

Wish me luck.

Think of me and my brains, that will probably be oozing out of my head in the next hour or so.

Adieu!
Adieu!
Adieu!

Weep not for me, but for my brains. Alas, I can feel them starting to melt and ebb away with the battery life of my computer...






UPDATE...He's still talking.

A Post About the Stupid Shit I Do: Revisted

So today has been a classic "Amy Day" and the day isn't even half way over yet.

This morning I put my wallet through the wash.
I put in a load of laundry, and went to walk out the door and run errands. I realized I didn't have my wallet and, "Oh, it's just in my jean's pocket" I thought. "Oh shit." I then realized. "I put those jeans in the wash five minutes ago." And since my washer is of the side-loading variety...I couldn't just open up the door, find my jeans and grab the wallet without flooding the apartment. Flooding the apartment is not on my list of things to do right now. So as soon as the wash is done, I get my wallet. There isn't too much damage done. Sure, the list of "signs" I'm allowed to date was casuality but I can always ask Audra to give me the list again. And that list was impeding my ability to get dates rather than helping, so maybe it's a good thing it didn't survive the wash cycle. And the two twenty dollars bills I had in there weren't destroyed, so hey...I was counting my blessings. I put the money in my pocket to try and dry it off and then ran out the door to the UPS store. When it came time to pay, I handed the cashier the damp bills, hoping she wouldn't notice. She took them and gave me a quizzical look.
"Oh." She said. "They're wet." I then explained to this lady in a explanation that was probably too much of an explanation that I had put my wallet through the wash. She couldn't help but laugh at me, and frankly, niether could I.

I set the security alarm in my apartment off this morning.
So, before I left for the UPS store I went downstairs to check my mail, forgetting I had armed the security system. I opened the door and the alarm went nuts. Normally, when I leave I set the alarm so that when I get home, I have time to disarm it before it goes bonkers. But at night, since I live alone, I set the alarm to go bonkers should any one open or try to open one of the doors. I forgot I to disarm the system before I opened the door. System went bonkers.
Luckily, this isn't the first time it has happend and I knew how to make the system go un-bonkers.
Phew.

So I dropped brand new lunch meat on the floor today.
I went grocery shopping. Got myself some fresh lunch meat and cheese and made myself a sandwhich for lunch. As I was putting the lunch meat away, it slipped out of my hands and landed with a splat on the floor. A profanity or two may or may not have been uttered.


Everyone should probably keep a safe distance from me today. Clearly, I am dangerous.

Steve Martin Makes Everything Better

So I know that last post was a little more than heavy.

Sorry.

Please enjoy this clip brought to you by Steve Martin. It's probably my favorite moment in my favorite Steve Martin movie:



This one is great too:

Coming Out Day!!!

OMG! You guys,

It

Is

Coming

Out

Day

And I just got a free t-shirt from my school's GLBTQ organization that says, "Straight is Great, Gay is Fabulous" and on the back it says, "Different, But Equal"

I love it.


I love how nice the people at the booth were and that I could totally walk up to them and say, "Happy Coming Out Day!!!!!" It makes me really happy inside.

What sucks is that I can't go to their meetings because I have stupid science class. So while I'm learning about atoms for 800th time, I could be meeting with cool gay/gay-friendly people my age.
The world is so cruel sometimes.
But still...
They're having a bunch of events this week that I totally intend on attending. At the very least maybe I'll meet some new people and find new ways to be involve.d
YAY!
I love Gay Day!
And the whole week is gay week here at Loyola, which is just so awesome for so many reasons.

So, since today IS coming out day, I should probably tell you all something.

Are you sitting down?

I'm GAY!!!!!

If you are a closeted homosexual I would urge you to take this day and opportunity to come out (ahem, ahem...David).

I celebrated coming out day with a giant burrito from Chipotle. It was delicous.

Speaking of Chipotle...it was international crazy day there.
While I walked there I was followed (well, not followed but he was walking behind me to the Chipotle) by this man (probably about 30) singing opera, not at the top of his lungs...but loud. he continued to sing even as we stood in line.
The dude in front of me had no freakin' idea how to order from Chipotle and he kept sticking his hands over the glass to point at what he wanted. The people behind the counter kept telling him to keep his hand on the other side. Uh, gross dude. Get your grimy mitts away from my burrito.
So also today some people were handing out large portions of coffee in cans from cardboard boxes. As a promtion or something. It kinda looks like a Campbell's Soup-At-Hand. I am skeptical of this coffee.

So I saw The Sparrow last night. I'll post a review for those who care to read it later but now I must go print things and study for my history midterm.

In conclusion:
YAY GAYS!!!!


....So I keep pushing my glasses up out of habit, but here's the thing...I wore my contacts today. I've almost poked my eye out like five times today already.
Way to go me.
Contacts do not make you look hot if your eyes are bleeding.
So someone asked me if I was wearing makeup today. HA! I said no. She said that my eyelashes looked really long. Well, they are. But nobody can ever tell because they're always behind glasses.
One day my gloriously long eyelashes will seduce someone.
One day.
Until then I remain: Amy-the-girl-who-almost-pokes-her-eyes-out-in-an-attempt-to-push-up-glasses-that-aren't-really-there.

Breast Cancer Awarness Does Not Equal Buying a Dyson Vacuum or Cookware

All right, I'm sure you guys are well aware that October is Breast Cancer Awareness month. It's pretty much impossible to go anywhere without seeing pink. If you've missed the fact that October is Breast Cancer month, you should probably get out of bed. And so it seems inevitable that I should blog about it, for many reasons.
So, as I'm sure all of you know I lost my Mom to Breast Cancer a couple years ago, so I don't need October to be aware of Breast Cancer. I am aware of Breast Cancer all the lovely 12 months of the year. Every month is Breast Cancer Awareness month to me. I, as you might imagine, am a strong advocate for Breast Cancer Research. I am a strong supporter of awareness and women going to get mammograms and all that fun stuff.
I am. And I've stats to back that up...My Grandma also had breast cancer. And so did my Grandpa. Yeah, my Grandpa was part of the small minority of men that get breast cancer. Both my grandparents survived their bouts with the disease and my mom fought it off for 12 years.
And the answer to your question is: Yes, my family the most hardcore family in the world. It's just how we roll. My family are Breast Cancer superheros.
So I would pretty much give a lung for their to be a cure and I would have given my my friggin' heart for there to have been a cure 12 years ago. Believe that.
And I'm pretty sure there isn't anyone out there who doesn't support Breast Cancer Research/Awareness because quite frankly, I don't think there's anyone out there who hasn't been touched in some way by the disease. And if you haven't...you're damn lucky. I would say if you don't support Breast Cancer awareness...you're a terrorist, but I'm pretty sure even terrorists support Breast Cancer awareness. Seriously, in a terrorist training camp video I saw on the news at least 5 of the jihadists were wearing pink ribbons.
All right. Having said all that...here's the part that might get me into trouble:
I think the commercialization of Breast Cancer Awareness Month is ridiculous.

Ridiculous.

I was in Target yesterday and I saw a display of pink cook-ware that you could buy and a portion of the proceeds would go to whatever Breast Cancer organization. Cook-ware!! Literally it was a display of pink-handled skillets, pink plastic spoons, pink bowls, ect. "That's really stupid." I thought. So I kept walking. And that's when I saw it:
Pink Dyson Vacuums with a big old pink ribbon printed on the box.
Ridiculous.
Ok. I'm sitting here trying to tell myself, "A portion of the proceeds benefit Breast Cancer organizations." But it's not working.
Dyson, my mom didn't die so you could sell vacuums.
I think it's really shitty that in October products everywhere get made over in pink. And they're made over in pink so that they will sell. Because what better way to assuage some of that shopper's guilt for buying unnecessary crap than to slap a pink ribbon across it?
It's so sadly American.
JANE: I support Breast Cancer Awareness!
CARL: Really, how?
JANE: I just bought this pink Dyson Vacuum cleaner. It doesn't lose suction you know!
CARL: I've heard that, that's amazing. Hey, did I show you my new pink cookware?
JANE: No you didn't.
CARL: They're practical and make a statement! They say, "I support Breast Cancer Awareness."
JANE: And how!

I'm not saying I know the right way to support Breast Cancer Awareness. Because I don't. I suppose it's different for different people so maybe I shouldn't be knocking pink vacuums.
But damn.
Maybe it's just because I am acutely aware of Breast Cancer 12 months out of the year that it's sort of insulting to me to see pink vacuums and other products inundate shelves for Breast Cancer Awareness Month!!! Let's all be really aware and buy pink things!!
Puh-lease.






Anyway. In much other news...
My contacts have arrived!!!!!

Very soon I will no longer look like Harry Potter...

...I will look like Harry Potter sans specs. I will look like Harry Potter who got Lasik.


Also, I am very classy. I bought a new puffy vest for fall/winter and wore it around today with the tag still on it. C-L-A-S-S-Y. Spells Classy. And that's what I am.

Today's Post Is Like a Giant Bowl of Different Kinds of Candy...Some of the Pieces are Delicious Chocolate...Some You Might Want to Spit Out.

So there will be no coherent thought to my post today. I just have a lot of things I need to touch on. So today's post is like a giant bowl of different kinds of candy. You might not like it all, but it's still sugar all the same. Right?

OK. Here we go...


Hi my name is Amy and it is the fall and yes, I will go out of my way to step on crunchy looking leaves.


LARRY CRAIG: I'm not gay.
Yes, Larry Craig. You're right. You're not gay. What you are is a freakin' pervert. Thanks for telling the world you're not gay. Because I've got news for you: us gays don't want you. I mean really. If you're going to cruise for men in public restrooms at least be fabulous about it like George Michael.
George Michael.
Now there's a gay I can respect.



And now Amy's Blog Drama Theatre Presents: Asks The Same Questions Twice McGee...
Phone rings. (This is not a joke. It actually happened)
ME: Hi, this is Amy how may I help you?
ASK THE SAME QUESTIONS TWICE MCGEE: Hi. Do you have tickets left for today? I was wondering if you have tickets left for today?
ME: Today's show is sold out.
ASK THE SAME QUESTIONS TWICE MCGEE: So what do you have left for other shows? I mean do you have anything left?
ME: The only thing I have available if a show isn't already sold out are single seats.
ASK THE SAME QUESTIONS TWICE MCGEE: So do you have single seats for today? And single seats for today at all?
ME: Today's show is completely sold out.
ASK THE SAME QUESTIONS TWICE MCGEE: So where exactly are you located? I mean like how do you get there?
ME: (Give her our address, the major intersection by us ect.)
ASK THE SAME QUESTIONS TWICE MCGEE: So how do I get there exactly? I mean can you give me directions?
(Pause)
(Pause)
ME: Where are you coming from?
ASK THE SAME QUESTIONS TWICE MCGEE: I'll be traveling west on this street, so I mean where do I turn? Do I turn on this street?
ME: (Gives her directions)
ASK THE SAME QUESTIONS TWICE MCGEE: So what do tickets cost? I mean, like, how do ticket prices work? How much are they? How does that work?
ME: (Explain ticket prices)
ASK THE SAME QUESTIONS TWICE MCGEE: So do you have any tickets left at all? I mean like anything at all left? I mean how does that work? How do I get tickets?
ME: Um, the only thing I have left are single seats that aren't together on select days.
ASK THE SAME QUESTIONS TWICE MCGEE: Do you have anything on a Thursday? Like a Thursday night any tickets?
ME: I have four left on the 18th, but again those aren't together.
ASK THE SAME QUESTIONS TWICE MCGEE: So that's all you have left? I mean nothing else?
ME: For that Thursday, yes. And that's our last Thursday performance. I do have tickets for other days, like next weekend but they are all single seats.
ASK THE SAME QUESTIONS TWICE MCGEE: OK, thanks for you help. So the only time you have anything left is the 18th? I mean is that how it works?
I'm going to stop there, because you can see how it goes in circles. And it continued to go that way. I won't bore you with the next five minutes of our conversation. But I would urge everyone to please take their Ritalin before contacting a box office to purchase tickets. Especially if you're trying to get tickets for High School Musical.



Phone rings.
ME: This is Amy how may I help you?
LADY: Hi, I was wondering do you have a Rat Pack revue there?
ME: No, we don't.
LADY: Like a Rat Pack revue with Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin...you know? I mean not the actual people, but like a revue?
ME: No. We don't have anything like that here.
LADY: Do you know where something like that is?
(Pause)
ME: I don't know. I saw something like that at Piper's Alley, but that was probably like 10 years ago. So you may want to check there.
LADY: Ok, thanks.



OK. So it's fall, and as such the little squirrels are preparing their nuts for hibernation.
This makes them crazed.
If I had a dollar for every crazed squirrel that ran out in front of my car while I drive I could pay off my college loans. If also had a dollar for every squirrel-that-didn't-make-it-across-the-road carcass I passed...I could buy a yacht.
And I feel for these guys, I do. I can pretty much hear their internal monologue as they run across the road...
"I gotta get my nuts!I gotta get my nuts! Winter is coming and my nuts are going to freeze if I don't get nuts!!! AHHHH!!! NUTS!!!!!"
But dude.
Squirrels, those nuts ain't going to do you no good if I run over your squirrel-y ass with my car. Plus, I would feel horrible for the rest of my life if I ever killed one of you. So PLEASE be careful!


So the past couple days have been really bad lunch days for me.
Friday I just totally forgot my damn lunch. It sat on the counter. I was really pissed about it. Really pissed. You should ask David. I swore a lot. I went to get it out of my bag because I realized that I didn't put my lunch in the fridge. Turns out I didn't even put it my bag.
Crap.
So I made my lunch today. A sandwich. It was gonna be really good. Prosciutto and goat cheese. Mmmm. So I take out my sandwich to eat it and I see little specs of green all over the bread. Mold.
The worst part?
I ate a slice with breakfast this morning.
So if I don't blog for a while I may have mold poisoning...


What else did I have to say?
Oh yeah...

I'm officially done with craigslist. Between Lesbian Nihilists, Lesbians that like to "drink", Lesbians with kids, and Lesbians who are Polish Men...I'm done.
I'm just going to trust that someone will fall into my lap. I hope. Someone please fall into my lap?
(And by done with craigslist I mean done answering personal ads. However, I will continue to check the missed connections section. You know...just in case the person who's supposed to fall into my lap misses as I get up for the bus or something)


Oh yeah and this:

It's the Gay Pride Leggings Parade!!!!!!

David and Amy; Amy and David: Two Platonic Gays

So David and I decided we want to have a podcast and/or TV talk show. It would either be called:
Two Platonic Gays and a Microphone: The Podcast
or
Two Platonic Gays and a Couch: The TV Show
We've had discussions for a segment where we go to the mall and I have to try on whatever David picks out for me. We played that game once before and it ended in hilarity and the conclusion that I should shop at Baby Gap. We would of course have fabulous guests on as well and interview them. And we would just generally share our crazy discourse with the public. I've often said I wish a camera followed us around to record the crazy crap we say and do. Like...
This one time we were walking in a mall and I was jumping around in between the cracks of the tiles
DAVID: Um...What are you doing?
ME: I'm being me.
DAVID: Um, I can't be with you if you're going to act like that.

Or...when we walked by this bar and the music was pumping really loud and I started dance-walking badly as we passes by...
DAVID: I can't walk with you if you're going to be like that.

Or...when we were walking in Andersonville...
ME: This is a good way to spot cuties.
DAVID: Oh yeah.
ME: And when one passes you by you go like this *Goes to David, squats down on the ground, grabs her chin* Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaamnnnnnn you fine!!!!

The countless times David says...
DAVID: We're in a fight!!!

Like when we go platonic gay grocery shopping.

Like the time we made an absolutely horrible joke about the only reason a person would purchase the movie White Chicks. Um. It was really bad. I was embarrassed we made it. But it was also really hilarious.

Like when we're driving in the car and listening to a musical. Enough said there. But it's especially amusing if we're listening to "Company."

David and I also decided that if we never meet anyone (which is entirely possible)that we'll just live vicariously through our cats. For example, he'll get cats named Anderson and David and I'll get cats names Amy and Natalie and we'll put them in their own little apartments so they can live out the happy lives we dreamed about. Haha!!


QUOTE OF THE DAY
(Re the drinks we got from a coffee shop)
DAVID: What did you get? Italian Soda? How is it?
ME: It's ok. It's a little syrup-y.
DAVID: Wait for the ice to melt a little bit.
ME: Yeah. It doesn't seem like Italian Soda to me. When I think of Italian Soda I think of Limonata but, maybe that's not right.
DAVID: Pretentious Italian!!
ME: Haha. I know. And I'm only like 50%.
DAVID: (Mimicking me) When I think of Italian Soda I think of (said in a bad Italian accent with bad Italian hand gestures) muchiacnhci badadichi casadinio!
...at this point I was pretty much dying of laughter.

And then later:
ME: You've really never heard of limonata before?
DAVID: Yeah, I have it's called lemonade.
ME: Really? You've never heard of it? Or Aranciata?
(Blank look)
DAVID: (As before) Muchabini cossitini arachi!!

Whoa

So I already finished that book I bought. Jeanette Winterson is just amazing. I mean...you just have to read her stuff. The way she uses language is truly incredible. Sometimes I have to stop after reading a passage and catch my breath. Sometimes after reading a passage my mind is stunned to silence and I can only think, "whoa."
Basically, if my writing is ever .000000001% as good as Jeanette Winterson's...I could die a happy woman.
Here's one of my favorite pieces from the book:
"I say I'm love with her. What does that mean?
It means I review my future and my past in the light of this feeling. It is as though I wrote in a foreign language that I am suddenly able to read. Wordlessly, she explains me to myself.
Like a genius, she is ignorant of what she does."
-Jeanette Winterson from The Passion

....amazing.











...ok, but I totally need to go back to the bookstore and flirt with cutie now, right guys??
You didn't think I could actually post a post without saying something remotely smart ass-ish, did you guys?

Attend the Tale of Sweeney Todd!!

Get Excited!



Not sure how I feel about Johnny Depp's singing, but excited none-the-less.

Tim Burton, I would almost go straight for you. Almost. I would also almost go straight for Shakespeare...so you're in good company. But don't propostion me Timmy or Willy...like I said I would almost go straight for you. Really, at the end of the day all I'd want to do is steal your girlfriends. Tim, you date Helena Bonham Carter who is hot. Shakespeare...your mistress' eyes were nothing like the sun, and hey...I can deal with that (as long as she can recite some of your hot iambic pentameter).

P.S. This is my 100th post. Next time you see me we should eat cake because thats what people do when something passes the 100th marker. Hopefully, my blogs will not go into a downward spiral and will continue to be fresh as paint.

A Post About the Stupid Shit I Do

And now presenting for your reading pleasure: A Post About the Stupid Shit I Do....

So the other day I was walking down the street, minding my own business when all the sudden this large bug flew right into my face and got caught between my eye and my glasses (yeah, I'm not kidding). Being the sensible person that I am, I flipped out accordingly. Which involved, but was not limited to...batting wildly at my eyes, jumping up and down, dodging side to side, and swatting around my head in general. My glasses were nearly a casualty to this process. When I regained my composure...people were staring. Luckily it happened on Ashland and not in the direct downtown Andersonville-Clark district, so hopefully my cool image was not tarnished. (Phew)

So today I was chewing gum and didn't want it anymore. I was passing a trash can and saw this as a perfectly opportune moment to dispose of the stale, flavorless wad knoshing around between my teeth. Being a lady, I discreetly spit the gum into my hand first, but when I went to put it in the garbage...THE WAD WASN'T THERE! Somewhere between my mouth and my hand i managed to loose my used gum. I paniced. I made sure it wasn't sticking to my face. I checked to make sure it wasn't stuck on my shirt. I ran to the bathroom to look in the mirror to make sure it wasn't anywhere visible. I shook out my sweatershirt, thinking maybe it somehow fell in there....nothing. I couldn't find it. It was as if it simply vanished. "Well" I thought. "I'm not going to waste any more time looking for it. If it's gone, it's gone. And as long as it ain't stuck in my hair...I'm cool." So I forgot about my wad of gum, and went to class. Later that afternoon I found it. I stuck my hand in my kangaroo pouch to retrive a pen I put there when my hand came across something hard, yet...strangely...malleable. I pulled it out and there it was...my long lost used wad of gum. (Thank God I found it)

So today I was in the little convience store at school, looking for a snack to tide me over till lunch. And I don't know when I'm going to learn that energy bars are never a good idea. Yes, they look tasty. Yes, they sound like they should be good for you. But in reality...they taste like shit and shouldn't even be considered food. They're so not food they shouldn't even be legal. And yet...somehow for some reason I am always drawn to them. No more. If a stale candy bar from 1963 and a cardboard had a love child...you'd get energy bars. No more. I will not buy them anymore only to eat one bite and go, "Why the hell did I buy this??"

So today I was reading craigslist missed connections and I saw one that said, "Women and Children First-21" Which is totally the bookstore I was at yesterday. I felt my stomach drop. I know. I know. Slap a sign to my forward that says "DORK" "LOSER" "HOPELESS" I know. I get it. I just have this crazy idea in my head that I'm going to meet the love of my life in a bookstore. I know. Probably stupid. Anyway...I open it up and my eyes catch a few choice words before I have a chance to read the whole thing..."good taste" "short hair" "adorable"...I start to get really excited.
Then I read more carefully and realize in reading that the person is not me. I was not weaing a Sleater-Kinney t-shirt. I know they're a band, but that's about all I know about them. And all my hopes and dreams were smashed.
...but not really because as soon as I finish the book I bought I'm TOTALLY going back to talk to cutie. Really I am. I swear. And if it goes well and she remembers me maybe I'll even have the gall to ask her out for coffee.
...knowing me though and my uncanny ability to do stupid shit, I will probably run into a book display and wreck havoc on the lesbian bookstore. And then it's only inevitable that I'll get myself banned.

Good Movie.

I just saw this movie:



It was pretty funny/good/worth it/smart.

And has a disgustingly cute ending. Love it! I hate lesbians movies that end in depression, death, or suicide. Yay! Lesbians can have happy endings too!!!!

Sunk Pretty Damn Low

All right guys.

I'm always straight up with you.

I'm always honest with you.

And I have a confession to make...

Monday I posted a personals ad on craigslist.

Was it against my better judgment?

Yes. Most of the ads on craigslist are people lookin' for a hook-up. Some of the ads are blatantly scams. Most of the ads contain gross misspellings of words and dismal grammatical structure.
All warning signs I should have heeded.

Maybe it was because on Monday night I was feeling particularly lonely. I thought to myself, "Say, I don't have bad teeth or herpes...why can't a catch a dame's attention?"
Maybe it was really on Monday night I was doing everything in my power to avoid writing a philosophy paper.

Whatever the case. I was moved to post an ad on craigslist. Here's what I wrote:

"Hi! First time poster to craigslist-approaching with a fair amount of trepidation, but what the hell? I thought I'd give it a shot. I just moved to Chicago and I'm looking to meet some new people and develop new relationships. I'm 21. I'm gay. Looking to meet cool gay/lesbian/bisexual/queer girls around my age.
I'm not looking for a one night stand. I'm not looking for dudes (sorry dudes, no offense but I'm posting in women seeking women for a reason. And I probably don't look like the type of girl you'd want to watch sex up your girlfriend anyway. Eva Longoria, I am not).
Anyway! (I get off track easily)
So.
If you just want to chat...
If you're looking for a coffee buddy...
If you're looking for someone to discuss horticulture with (I don't know a thing about it, but you're welcome to talk my ear off)...
No pressure, No expectations.
Don't be afraid to drop me a line-it took me like 3 weeks to work up the courage to post here. So take a chance! I'm a pretty nice, easy-going person."

Cute, right? I was hoping it would catch someone's eye, someone maybe hoping the "women seeking women" section of craigslist would hold something beyond the usual trash of ugly chicks looking to get laid or men looking to fulfill their male fantasy of watching their girlfriend do it with a girl or married women looking for a "discreet" relationship. Someone hoping maybe today craigslist would hold something special. (Not unlike the way I approach craigslist on some days)

That's not what I got.

I got responses. Boy did I ever. I got a bunch on Monday and a few trickled in today and yesterday, too.
And....roll the highlight reel, Lou:
-I got a response from a dude. He was polish. I knew this because his email was something to the effect of polishguy183382@yahoo.com. His response to me: "coffee soundz good. wher? wen?"
Um...I didn't ask you out to coffee. You're a dude. Leave me alone.
- I got a response from this girl who described herself to me in a list of words. One of the words was "nihilist." I have a list of things I don't need in my life right now, and nihilism is one of them. Call me picky but I can't deal with that shit. I can just picture the arguments we’ll have:
HER: Why the hell do we have to go to your stupid cousin’s birthday party?
ME: Because it’s important to me.
HER: Why is it important to you don’t you know that nothing has any value? Everything is meaningless so let’s just stay home and be depressed about it.
ME: You’re such a Debbie Downer!
HER: It’s called being a nihilist and this is exactly what I mean when I say you don’t respect my beliefs!
ME: What beliefs!? You don’t think anything has any meaning! That’s not a belief it’s called being lazy!!
HER: It is a belief! Everything is meaningless including this relationship!
ME: Ain’t that the truth!
HER: There is no truth.
ME: Ahhhhhh!!!!!!!!!
I looked her up on myspace and her interests included going to "black lung parties" I have no idea what that is but I have a feeling it's not meeting up to play scrabble.
-Almost every response I got the girl said she liked to "drink." I really don't care if a girl likes to drink. I like to drink. What worries me is when that's the first thing a girl tells me about herself. Big old warning flag. I like to drink is code for I like to get trashed. And I don't like to get trashed. Nor do I enjoy being with someone who is getting trashed. Tell me something interesting about yourself. Like, “I like anchovies on my pizza.” Or “I have an irrational fear of Dick Clark.” NOT “I like to drink.” Not only is it a warning flag for me but it is also booooring.
-This girl emailed me and told me she liked to go drinking and dancing. And that she was "Wild-but smart" Um. Ok, I know I don't know this person. I know I can't judge, but I've learned that when people describe themselves as "wild" its usually an excuse for them to do stupid shit. And doing stupid shit is ok every once in a while as long as you own up to it and don’t use the excuse, “Well, I’m just wild!!” Um. No you’re not. You’re just juvenile and stupid. Grow up.

Hahaha. I sound so bitter. But really, what can you expect from craigslist?

The good news is, today I totally got a good flirt in. I went to this bookstore near my apartment. It’s pretty much the most lesbian bookstore ever. They carry really great stuff and just a refreshing place to visit after going places like Borders or Barnes and Noble. They’re the kind of bookstore that make you feel like reading actually means something. And that picking out a book to read is meaningful. Which, I think it is. It always takes me FOREVER to decide what I want to get.
Anyway.
So I’m perusing the shelves of this bookstore.
And perusing.
And perusing.
Now, I already know there’s this one cute chick that works there. She’s helped me a couple times with books I needed for classes. But I go in there today and there’s another cute girl in there too. Really cute. And I can tell she’s new because the other cute girl is telling her things about the register and where to file books, ect.
So I pick up a book and I’m contemplating buying it because I haven’t read anything for myself in a while. I pick up “America’s Best Non-Required Reading” and carry that around for a little while. Then I spy Jeanette Winterson’s, “The Passion.”
Ok.
I love Jeanette Winterson. She’s a lesbian, but her work is not exclusively lesbian. Her work is absolutely beautiful. Her use of language is just incredible-literally leaves me speechless. Until I read her book, “Lighthousekeeping” I did not have a favorite book. I had books I liked, but nothing that really deserved to be called, “favorite.” Until I read that. Utterly incredible.
So, I pick up this book and I’m thinking about getting it. I read the first couple sentences and already I’m hooked. Winterson has a way of doing that to me in the first few sentences that way very few authors can.
So I carry that around for awhile, not ready to buy just yet.
I catch cutie’s eye and she smiles and I smile and she asks me if I’m finding everything ok and I say yes.
Then I see this book called, “Look Me In The Eye” by Augusten Burrough’s brother. It’s a book about his life with autism and I’ve pretty literally been waiting for this book to come out all summer. I pick it up and contemplate.
Which do I want more?
I read the first few sentences of “Look Me In The Eye.”
Definitely not Jeanette Winterson, but the book will probably be really interesting.
But it’s not Jeanette Winterson.
And since it just came out it’s in hardcover.
I may have to wait for paperback.
Plus, Jeanette Winterson could score me some conversation with cutie at the register.
So I go to pay…
CUTIE: Find something?
ME: Yup.
CUTIE: Oh, this is fabulous.
ME: Is it? I love Jeanette Winterson.
CUTIE: Oh then you’ll love this.
ME: Yeah, I read Lighthousekeeping and that was just amazing…it’s like my favorite book.
CUTIE: Yeah, she’s great. Is that all you’ve read by her?
ME: No, I’ve read Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit, too.
CUTIE: That’s a good one too.
ME: She’s just…fabulous.
CUTIE: I know. Ok. You’re all set.
ME: Thanks. Have a good one.
CUTIE: You too. Enjoy.

Ok. So maybe that wasn’t so much flirting as pleasant conversation. And I wish I were forward enough, or had the right kind of confidence to say to her, “Hey, how about we talk Winterson over coffee sometime?”
But I don’t.
And I don’t even know if that’s how women like to be approached.
Well, whatever.
In any case I know where she works and can always go back and say, “Hey, I love the book. What’s your favorite Winterson? What should I read next?”

HAHAHAHAHAHA.

Oh God.

I am going to die alone with forty cats.

And lest I sounds too snotty or picky from my commentary on my craigslist responses, I just have to say that really there are three things I absolutely need in a woman:
a) A kind heart.
b) Maturity.
c) A sense of humor. (aka not a nihilist)
Is that too much to ask?

Oklahoma! Oklahoma! Oklahoma! Oklahoma!

So I just read this article on yahoo about this 51 year old woman who acted as a surrogate mother for her 27 year old daughter. So she pretty much gave birth to her grandkids (she had twin boys). I know I should probably think this is beautiful and marvel at the wonders of medicine and the human body and think that it must be such a wonderful gift to be able to have children for your daughter when she can't conceive...
...But I actually feel like it's a Maury Povich episode waiting to happen. I think the episode would be called, "You Didn't Actually Develop in My Uterus." I think the conversation would go something like this:
MAURY: Rory, Cory...your Mom has something she'd like to share with you. Gina, what would you like to say to your kids?
GINA:...This is so hard. (Cries. Maury takes her hand)
MAURY: They deserve the truth, Gina.
RORY: Mom?
CORY: Are you actually a man? Is that what you have to tell us? Because we'd still love you anyway. You're our Mom. No matter what.
AUDIENCE: Awwwww.
GINA: No matter what? (Rory and Cory nod.)Well...I'm not a man. But...Well, Rory...Cory...you didn't actually develop in my uterus. You developed in your Grandma's uterus. She acted as a surrogate mother for me when I couldn't conceive.
RORY: WHAT??
CORY: NO! Say it isn't true!!
RORY: And all these years we thought we came down YOUR birth canal.
CORY: But we didn't...
RORY: It was...GRANDMA'S??
CORY: How could you do this to us?
RORY: I'm having an existential meltdown! Ahhhhh!!!!!!! (Leaves stage crying.)
GINA: I just wanted to have kids so badly. But I couldn't conceive. I tried so long to have kids. And your grandma, she offered her-
CORY: It was probably because of all that crack you smoked!!
GINA: Don't bring my habit into this!
CORY: Oh it's been brought. Don't you think it's a little strange that a woman with a 51 year old vagina can have kids before a 27 year old??! You have crack to thank for that mom!! CRACK!
GINA: (Cries) I'm soooooooooooorrrrry. I didn't know crack would impair my ability to have kids. Otherwise, I would have never wanted to have kids!
CORY: You don't mean that!!!
GINA: Oh I do. I like crack better than you.
MAURY: How does that make you feel, Cory?
CORY: Way to jump in there, Maury. How do you think it makes me feel?
MAURY: I don't know that's why I asked.
CORY: Well let me ask you this...how does it feel to be married to Connie Chung???
MAURY: Point taken. (Connie Chung comes out from backstage)
CONNIE: What is that supposed to mean MAURY???
MAURY: Crap.
CORY: Shit, she looks pissed.
GINA: Yeah, I don't want to be around for this.
CORY: Me either. You know when I see them it makes me realize we're not so strange after all.
GINA: No, we're not are we Cory? Do you forgive me?
CORY: Well that depends.
GINA: On what?
CORY: Can I have some crack?
GINA: Sure, honey. We'll smoke some together.
AUDIENCE: Awwwwwwwww...
(Connie approaches Maury screaming expletives. Maury screams expletives back. Station cuts to "Emergency: Please stand by" screen)

And scene.

Disclaimer: Nowhere was it mentioned in the article that the mother could not conceive because she was on crack. I made that part up.


Also, this post has been kinda heavy with crack and surrogate mothers and secrets and Connie Chung. Please enjoy this Steve Martin clip:

That man makes me laugh so hard.

QUOTE OF THE DAY
DAVID: Disney can't make up it's mind...On one hand, even though it is...High School Musical can't have anything to do with being Gay. But they're the ones who are releasing this novel or comic or something about a gay superhero. Disney is like the worst bisexual in the world! Can't make up it's freakin' mind. Disney is like a 23 year old bisexual man who thinks he's bisexual but really knows where he wants to be. Really he wants to be *Edited for vulgarity*
AMY: Quote of the day! But I'm going to have to edit it.
DAVID: (Under his breath) Oh course the lesbian doesn't want to talk about *edited for vulgarity* in her blog. God forbid you expand your audience a little bit.