Hi Everyone! So...in an effort to shake things up a little bit, I'm shaking things up a little bit. The most important thing you need to know right now is this:
I'VE UPDATED THE URL TO MY BLOG!!!
Here is the NEW URL:
www.pocketlesbian.blogspot.com
If you could update your links, bookmarks, and such I would be eternally grateful.
I'm going to keep the old URL for a little bit until people are updated and using the new one BUT after a while I will DELETE this URL and it will probably take you no where.
So take heed.
www.pocketlesbian.blogspot.com
It's the exact same blog. Just moved.
Head over there to see what's up!
BASICALLY: I'VE MOVED! I'VE MOVED! GO TO www.pocketlesbian.blogspot.com
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Friday, January 16, 2009
And Then I Decided To Ditch the Sequined Dress and Bonnet...
So remember HERE and HERE when everyone was like, "Oh my, you and your brother were the cutest children in the world!"
Yeah.
Well, we did something called grow up.
And growing pains?
Well...they hurt.
They hurt BAD:
(Pssst...notice how in this picture I'm taller. At one point, someone DID actually have to reach up to throw their arm around me.)
I was probably in sixth grade and my brother in third when this picture was taken. Jimmy is still sorta cute here, because he's young, but he's definitely pushing ugly.
And me?
Clearly, I am not only pushing ugly-I am swimming in it. And ugly is a bog.
Good god that hair! My mother tried so hard to get me to fashion it properly.
I just put a hat on my head.
All the time.
And yes.
ALL my hats looked like that, because in an attempt to be cool I would "bend" the brim. But I never bent it so much as cracked it in half, so that my hat was less of a hat and more of a steeple.
Those giant glasses.
The overalls.
The multiple chain like necklaces.
It's clear to me now, with retrospect and hindsight-that I spent the better part of my adolescent years right up through... probably sophomore year of college trying very hard to hide. Not in a bad way. Just in like a "Do Not Disturb" sorta way until I could figure out who I was and what I wanted to be. I have come very far in this process, but I know I'm not "there" yet. Nor do I want to be. I'm totally ok with being a perpetual work in progress, but I'm doing my best not to hide too much anymore.
A lot of girls did it totally opposite of me-by barring their midriffs and putting on gobs of make-up and drowning themselves in "body splash." I'm not saying my way is classier (Did you SEE those necklaces?! Pretty sure one was a shark tooth, because while I was trying to hide, I was also wanted to tell the world, "I am hardcore and wrestle sharks in my spare time), I'm just saying it's different.
I should pull out some early college pictures and post them too-because I'm hardly EVER without a skull cap of some sort on.
I had a collection.
On a day when I did not wear a hat, people had a hard time realizing it was me.
Seriously.
"Whoa, Amy. I hardly recognize you without your hat on."
And then it was time to re-evaluate my life and appearance.
Step one?
Chopped the hair. Not to the length it is now, to the Harry Potter mop I sported for a year or two.
Then I got a little braver and hacked it to the point it is now and am quite pleased.
In fact-it's starting to get pretty fuzzy and I'm due for another choppin'.
...soo...
I had some requests.
So I pulled one out...
...this is a senior prom picture:
Yes.
That is actually me.
Yes.
I am not only wearing a gown, but yes, it is strapless.
Yes.
I do have on makeup.
And no, the picture isn't distorted-that's totally a wreath of flowers in my hair.
And that dust bunny of a dog I'm holding is none other than Molly the toy poodle, who had just joined our family that January.
It's so weird to look at pictures like this.
Prom was one of the last times I ever wore a dress.
Yeah.
Well, we did something called grow up.
And growing pains?
Well...they hurt.
They hurt BAD:
(Pssst...notice how in this picture I'm taller. At one point, someone DID actually have to reach up to throw their arm around me.)
I was probably in sixth grade and my brother in third when this picture was taken. Jimmy is still sorta cute here, because he's young, but he's definitely pushing ugly.
And me?
Clearly, I am not only pushing ugly-I am swimming in it. And ugly is a bog.
Good god that hair! My mother tried so hard to get me to fashion it properly.
I just put a hat on my head.
All the time.
And yes.
ALL my hats looked like that, because in an attempt to be cool I would "bend" the brim. But I never bent it so much as cracked it in half, so that my hat was less of a hat and more of a steeple.
Those giant glasses.
The overalls.
The multiple chain like necklaces.
It's clear to me now, with retrospect and hindsight-that I spent the better part of my adolescent years right up through... probably sophomore year of college trying very hard to hide. Not in a bad way. Just in like a "Do Not Disturb" sorta way until I could figure out who I was and what I wanted to be. I have come very far in this process, but I know I'm not "there" yet. Nor do I want to be. I'm totally ok with being a perpetual work in progress, but I'm doing my best not to hide too much anymore.
A lot of girls did it totally opposite of me-by barring their midriffs and putting on gobs of make-up and drowning themselves in "body splash." I'm not saying my way is classier (Did you SEE those necklaces?! Pretty sure one was a shark tooth, because while I was trying to hide, I was also wanted to tell the world, "I am hardcore and wrestle sharks in my spare time), I'm just saying it's different.
I should pull out some early college pictures and post them too-because I'm hardly EVER without a skull cap of some sort on.
I had a collection.
On a day when I did not wear a hat, people had a hard time realizing it was me.
Seriously.
"Whoa, Amy. I hardly recognize you without your hat on."
And then it was time to re-evaluate my life and appearance.
Step one?
Chopped the hair. Not to the length it is now, to the Harry Potter mop I sported for a year or two.
Then I got a little braver and hacked it to the point it is now and am quite pleased.
In fact-it's starting to get pretty fuzzy and I'm due for another choppin'.
...soo...
I had some requests.
So I pulled one out...
...this is a senior prom picture:
Yes.
That is actually me.
Yes.
I am not only wearing a gown, but yes, it is strapless.
Yes.
I do have on makeup.
And no, the picture isn't distorted-that's totally a wreath of flowers in my hair.
And that dust bunny of a dog I'm holding is none other than Molly the toy poodle, who had just joined our family that January.
It's so weird to look at pictures like this.
Prom was one of the last times I ever wore a dress.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
A Contributing Factor to My Lesbianinity
I think it's pretty much part of the Constitution that some point, every American girl needs to take dance lessons. I was no different. Oh yes. Little five year old Amy took dance lessons. For me...it was one giant leap towards lesbianism and rebellion against all things girly.
Dear Mom and Dad, No thank you. I do not want to wear tights. Can I please go play in the mud and pretend to be Westley from A Princess Bride? Love, Amy.
I mean you might feel the same if you looked like this:
Yup. That is actually me. I'm not completely sure how my parents convinced me to put that on and keep it on. But like I said, this was probably a step towards, "Are you freakin' crazy? A dress? You want to do what with my hair? Heck NO."
You want to know the hilarious thing about this dance recital??
Well.
Allegedly, the dance instructors failed to tell us five-year-olds that when they opened the curtains there would be PEOPLE on the other side. LOTS and LOTS of PEOPLE.
Whoa.
Baby.
Allegedly, (though I held it together for the dance number (which some of my fellow class-mates failed to do (what can I say? I was totally professional even at a young age))) I came off the stage sobbing and ran straight to the arms of my father who firmly pronounced that I would never go back to dance class. Dads are big softies when their little girls start to cry. And so I never went back to dance class and had my parents and entire family convinced that it would be a cold day in hell before I ever set foot on a stage again.
Turns out, feet on stage and the many variations thereof is pretty much my life's calling.
Oh life.
You are so very funny.
However, since that day I have been paralyzed with fear when it comes to moving my body in any way that resembles dancing. I clam up, step on toes and all around turn into an graceless oaf-troll. My stomach knots up the way it must have when they opened the big curtains to a house full of proud parents and flashing cameras. Dancing, and being in situations where dancing happens is one of the few places I fell true blue honest discomfort. Like I want to melt into a puddle and seep into the cracks of the floor. I'm not an advocate of drunken behavior or for using alcohol as a means to palliate social anxieties. BUT the next time I'm in a situation with dancing involved, it might help if I have, oh...one or two in me (that would be all it would take for me and my slight, unhardcore self). I wish I could dance. I want to be able to dance. I've actually considered taking dance classes/lessons. If someone offered same-sex/queer dance classes in Chicago, I would be ALL over that. But, alas, Dancing with the Queers is all the way in California.
Dear Dancing with the Queers,
Hi. My name is Amy. I don't know how to dance. I live in Chicago. You live in California. Two things:
a) I know your governor is always saying, "Come to California" but I think you should come to Chicago. Fly in on a big gay plane and set up a studio here. Teach me and other Chicago gays how to dance with the people we were meant to dance with.
b) I need a dance partner. Preferably one that will, in teaching me how to dance/putting up with my awkwardness...fall in love with me. Like Dirty Dancing. Except I get to be Patrick Swayze. Well, I guess I wouldn't be Patrick Swayze, because I'm the one who can't dance. But I get to be the hot, rough around the edges (or okay FINE awkward around the edges) dance partner who constantly wears black tank tops to show off super defined arm muscles. Preferably, she should be way cuter, way classier, and way less annoying than Jennifer Grey. Preferably, we should practice lifts in a lake at some point. Preferably, at some point, I should get to shout, "Nobody puts Baby in a corner" and then throw my shoe (I can't remember if she ACTUALLY throws her shoe in that scene, but in my mind, when I replay that scene in my head-she totally does).
Love,
Amy "I-Could-Be-The-Next-John Travolta-Except-Smaller-Queerer-More-Awkward-And-Less-Crazy (ok, so I'm crazy but I'm not 'I believe people are alien souls' crazy)" Cornelius
QUOTES OF THE DAY
These have been sitting in an unpublished post for way too long...
From Work:
How to stick a knife in Amy's heart Lesson #1:
Phone conversation with patron at the box office...
OLDER WOMAN: Yes are there any tickets available for this show?
ME: Yes, I do have tickets for that show. How many do you need?
OLDER WOMAN: Four.
ME: Ok, my best available for four-
OLDER WOMAN: Oh. I'm sorry. Just three.
ME: Three?
OLDER WOMAN: Yes. Three. I forget...my husband died.
*She laughs uncomfortably*
OLDER WOMAN: I just forget sometimes.
*I wanted to tell her: It's ok! Sometimes, when I set the table, I still pick up four forks! Or grab four plates! Sometimes when I sign tags on gifts I write "Auntie Jan" just because it's STILL natural and then I have to redo it! I get it! I know I'm young but I get it! It's ok! It will get better! I'm glad you're coming to see a show!*
ME: I understand.
I am putting labels on a mailing:
CO-WORKER: I think that one was a litttle crooked, Amy.
ME: Yeah well I dont do straight very well.
CO-WORKER: Tou-CHE.
JIM: Let's go see a movie. Want to go see that new Will Smith movie?
ME: I heard it was bad.
JIM: Then Yes Man? The new Jim Carrey movie?
ME: Ugh. That looks even worse.
JIM: But I love Jim Carrey!
ME: But it doesn't even look good! I know no one is going to want to see the movies I want to see. I'll have to go see them all alone. Nobody will want to see The Reader. No one will want to see Defiance.
DAD: Well what language are they in?
ME: They're in english!
DAD: Yeah. But they're still probably the kind of movies you need subtitles for.
ME: Are not.
*At this point Jim and my Dad are both laughing at me*
JIM: Yeah. Yeah. I bet you want to see that movie...what's it called? Soap?
*I know my brother well. And Unfortuntetly, know exactly the movie he's talking about. I slowly put down my fork*
ME: Jimmy. Please tell me you're not talking about Milk.
JIM: Yeah! Milk! That's it!
*Sound Cue: My heart smashing into a thousand pieces*
DAD: Milk what's that about?
ME: Harvey Milk?? The first openly gay elected official??
*Dad and Jim start laughing, insert my Dad making some crude joke about dropping the soap*
ME: I was found on the side of the road, wasn't I? There's no way I'm related...
*My Dad and brother are laughing so hard they are crying.*
And the answer to your question is: No. I don't know. I have no idea how you get from Milk to Soap either. Other than Soap is also a one syllable, four letter word. This is my brother. Who told his theatre major sister to her face that he spark noted every single play he was supposed to read for his Intro to Theatre class.
I think I might tell my brother we're going to see The Yes Man and then actually take him to see Milk. Then when he sees what happens at the end he'd feel real bad for making fun of it.
Over AIM...
ME: I made dinner and now I'm eating it!
DAVID: What did you make?
DAVID: Love?
ME: I always make love!
DAVID: ....um....
ME: OH!
ME: Oh! I'm sorry.
ME: I...uh...didn't mean it that way.
Later in a text message from David...
" 'I always make love' hilarious."
Dear Mom and Dad, No thank you. I do not want to wear tights. Can I please go play in the mud and pretend to be Westley from A Princess Bride? Love, Amy.
I mean you might feel the same if you looked like this:
Yup. That is actually me. I'm not completely sure how my parents convinced me to put that on and keep it on. But like I said, this was probably a step towards, "Are you freakin' crazy? A dress? You want to do what with my hair? Heck NO."
You want to know the hilarious thing about this dance recital??
Well.
Allegedly, the dance instructors failed to tell us five-year-olds that when they opened the curtains there would be PEOPLE on the other side. LOTS and LOTS of PEOPLE.
Whoa.
Baby.
Allegedly, (though I held it together for the dance number (which some of my fellow class-mates failed to do (what can I say? I was totally professional even at a young age))) I came off the stage sobbing and ran straight to the arms of my father who firmly pronounced that I would never go back to dance class. Dads are big softies when their little girls start to cry. And so I never went back to dance class and had my parents and entire family convinced that it would be a cold day in hell before I ever set foot on a stage again.
Turns out, feet on stage and the many variations thereof is pretty much my life's calling.
Oh life.
You are so very funny.
However, since that day I have been paralyzed with fear when it comes to moving my body in any way that resembles dancing. I clam up, step on toes and all around turn into an graceless oaf-troll. My stomach knots up the way it must have when they opened the big curtains to a house full of proud parents and flashing cameras. Dancing, and being in situations where dancing happens is one of the few places I fell true blue honest discomfort. Like I want to melt into a puddle and seep into the cracks of the floor. I'm not an advocate of drunken behavior or for using alcohol as a means to palliate social anxieties. BUT the next time I'm in a situation with dancing involved, it might help if I have, oh...one or two in me (that would be all it would take for me and my slight, unhardcore self). I wish I could dance. I want to be able to dance. I've actually considered taking dance classes/lessons. If someone offered same-sex/queer dance classes in Chicago, I would be ALL over that. But, alas, Dancing with the Queers is all the way in California.
Dear Dancing with the Queers,
Hi. My name is Amy. I don't know how to dance. I live in Chicago. You live in California. Two things:
a) I know your governor is always saying, "Come to California" but I think you should come to Chicago. Fly in on a big gay plane and set up a studio here. Teach me and other Chicago gays how to dance with the people we were meant to dance with.
b) I need a dance partner. Preferably one that will, in teaching me how to dance/putting up with my awkwardness...fall in love with me. Like Dirty Dancing. Except I get to be Patrick Swayze. Well, I guess I wouldn't be Patrick Swayze, because I'm the one who can't dance. But I get to be the hot, rough around the edges (or okay FINE awkward around the edges) dance partner who constantly wears black tank tops to show off super defined arm muscles. Preferably, she should be way cuter, way classier, and way less annoying than Jennifer Grey. Preferably, we should practice lifts in a lake at some point. Preferably, at some point, I should get to shout, "Nobody puts Baby in a corner" and then throw my shoe (I can't remember if she ACTUALLY throws her shoe in that scene, but in my mind, when I replay that scene in my head-she totally does).
Love,
Amy "I-Could-Be-The-Next-John Travolta-Except-Smaller-Queerer-More-Awkward-And-Less-Crazy (ok, so I'm crazy but I'm not 'I believe people are alien souls' crazy)" Cornelius
QUOTES OF THE DAY
These have been sitting in an unpublished post for way too long...
From Work:
How to stick a knife in Amy's heart Lesson #1:
Phone conversation with patron at the box office...
OLDER WOMAN: Yes are there any tickets available for this show?
ME: Yes, I do have tickets for that show. How many do you need?
OLDER WOMAN: Four.
ME: Ok, my best available for four-
OLDER WOMAN: Oh. I'm sorry. Just three.
ME: Three?
OLDER WOMAN: Yes. Three. I forget...my husband died.
*She laughs uncomfortably*
OLDER WOMAN: I just forget sometimes.
*I wanted to tell her: It's ok! Sometimes, when I set the table, I still pick up four forks! Or grab four plates! Sometimes when I sign tags on gifts I write "Auntie Jan" just because it's STILL natural and then I have to redo it! I get it! I know I'm young but I get it! It's ok! It will get better! I'm glad you're coming to see a show!*
ME: I understand.
I am putting labels on a mailing:
CO-WORKER: I think that one was a litttle crooked, Amy.
ME: Yeah well I dont do straight very well.
CO-WORKER: Tou-CHE.
JIM: Let's go see a movie. Want to go see that new Will Smith movie?
ME: I heard it was bad.
JIM: Then Yes Man? The new Jim Carrey movie?
ME: Ugh. That looks even worse.
JIM: But I love Jim Carrey!
ME: But it doesn't even look good! I know no one is going to want to see the movies I want to see. I'll have to go see them all alone. Nobody will want to see The Reader. No one will want to see Defiance.
DAD: Well what language are they in?
ME: They're in english!
DAD: Yeah. But they're still probably the kind of movies you need subtitles for.
ME: Are not.
*At this point Jim and my Dad are both laughing at me*
JIM: Yeah. Yeah. I bet you want to see that movie...what's it called? Soap?
*I know my brother well. And Unfortuntetly, know exactly the movie he's talking about. I slowly put down my fork*
ME: Jimmy. Please tell me you're not talking about Milk.
JIM: Yeah! Milk! That's it!
*Sound Cue: My heart smashing into a thousand pieces*
DAD: Milk what's that about?
ME: Harvey Milk?? The first openly gay elected official??
*Dad and Jim start laughing, insert my Dad making some crude joke about dropping the soap*
ME: I was found on the side of the road, wasn't I? There's no way I'm related...
*My Dad and brother are laughing so hard they are crying.*
And the answer to your question is: No. I don't know. I have no idea how you get from Milk to Soap either. Other than Soap is also a one syllable, four letter word. This is my brother. Who told his theatre major sister to her face that he spark noted every single play he was supposed to read for his Intro to Theatre class.
I think I might tell my brother we're going to see The Yes Man and then actually take him to see Milk. Then when he sees what happens at the end he'd feel real bad for making fun of it.
Over AIM...
ME: I made dinner and now I'm eating it!
DAVID: What did you make?
DAVID: Love?
ME: I always make love!
DAVID: ....um....
ME: OH!
ME: Oh! I'm sorry.
ME: I...uh...didn't mean it that way.
Later in a text message from David...
" 'I always make love' hilarious."
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Sometimes...
...after a rough week,
with the terror of post-collegiate life setting in,
after being followed Thursday by a creepy old man* (see story below)...
What you need is to go to the mall with your BFF (like you did when you were in high school and thought you were the bee's knees), eat at a place that offers bottomless french fries, and go to the mac store and listen to some tunes via Bose headphones to remember:
it's all ok.
Sometimes, you need to put on said headphones and rock out to the Chili Peppers in front of your BFF, the mac store, god, and everyone. And then realize it's probably a good thing you're not wearing a button down, sunglasses, and whitey tighties because if you were, you would totally be Risky Business-ing in your socks all over the store.
Listening to the Rolling Stones on Bose headphones? For me-it's soothing and relaxing. Like watching/exercising to that Hawaiian yoga chick must be for some (the one with the really soft voice, who's usually in some lush tropical paradise complete with waterfall, and usually says something like, "now simply take your leg and put it around your head....breathhhe...relax...doesn't that feel nice? do the same with your other leg and just...float there...in midair..."). I'm sorry but I will not do that with my legs. But I will certainly turn up the volume on the Stones. Life's just a cocktail party on the streets! Schmacta Schmacta Schmacta.
If you've never heard music on a pair of Bose headphones. Run. Don't walk.
If I ever have an extraneous amount of money just sitting around and think to myself, "gee, I'd really like to blow this wad on something super cool but not at all that vital" I'd take myself to the mac store or best buy and get a pair of these.
Holy smokes. You think you've heard your favorite songs before? Nay, my friend. Nay. In tunes I've heard a million times, I heard nuances I've never heard before. And when they say "noise cancelling" they mean it. I couldn't hear a tootin' thing Meghan said to me while I had these on (and it WASN'T just because I'm deaf).
Run.
And if you have an extraneous amount of money lying around, feel free to buy me a pair.
* Story about the creepy man who followed me:
Preface: Never in my life has a person has ever made me feel scared or threatened. And I've walked city streets late at night. I drive alone in my car late at night. I've been to gay events with people shouting horrible things/harrassing me and people I was with...But never have felt like, "whoa, I could be in some trouble here, I should high tail it outta here."
Okay?
Okay.
Well, there's a first time for everything-
I'm in the suburbs. I'm going to a rehearsal. I decide to get a giant diet coke (necessary) and some french fries before rehearsal. I pull into a McDonalds. This McDonalds is setup in such a way where when you pull in, you can go all the way around for more parking. You can also pull all the way around to get into the drive through line.
OR
When you pull in, if there is not a giant drive through line you can just pull right into the drive through lane.
Should you maybe go all the way around to get into the drive through??
Maybe. But it's certainly not essentially.
I pull into McDonalds with someone in front of me. He starts to go all the way around and stops.
So I just pull right into the drive through lane, wondering why he had stopped and was thus blocking traffic.
He wasn't happy about this. By the time I had pulled up to order he had whipped around the building. He came up behind me and LEANED on his horn. I got up to the window to pay and once again he LEANED on his horn.
I pull out of the McDonalds and am stopped at a light. He is behind me. I look behind me and he's menacingly shaking his head at me.
I turn left.
He turns left.
I turn right.
He turns right.
He is riding my tail down a major street.
At first, I think he's just being a jerk-tailing me because we are going down a major road.
But I get nervous, and instead of taking the easy way to work (major street) I turn left down a side street.
So does he.
I'm not panicking yet, thinking it's maybe just a coincidence.
I turn right again down the street rehearsal is on...
So does he.
He follows me down side/residential streets for five blocks.
I come into the shopping/commercial area where I work and turn on my blinker to park in the garage.
So does he.
At this point, I'm reaching for a piece of paper to get his plate number and the phone to call the cops. I'm not going to get out of my car, I'll just have to drive till I lose him, I figure.
I pull into the garage, look in my rear-view mirror and see him decidedly speed off.
Phew.
I was worried when I came out of rehearsal that my tires would be slashed. For the first time IN MY LIFE I waited for/asked someone to walk me to my car.
Creepy? Right?
Should I have gone ALL THE WAY around to get into the drive through?
Probably.
But, I didn't do it to be an asshole or a jerk. I did it because he was stopped and blocking the way around.
And, seriously dude-if you were so strapped for time you couldn't wait an extra 30 seconds to be behind me and get your food: why the hell did you have time to FOLLOW ME and scare the crap out me?
My advice? Even though I wouldn't call not going all the way around to get into the drive through lane, cheating...don't cheat. Go all the way around.
I'm not a cheater. I've never cheated anything or anyone in my life.
The one time I cut a corner a little bit (at a goddamn McDonald's drive through no less), I get the pants scared off of me.
How the hell do I get myself into these situations?
Dear Man who Followed Me and Scared Me,
If you read this blog (duh, everyone reads this blog), I am sorry you had to wait an extra 30 seconds to get your milkshake. I am sorry I cut you in line. I didn't do it to be mean or be a jerk. I did it 'cause you were blocking my way around. To make it up to you, I will by you a milkshake. On one condition:
Please don't ever follow someone the way you followed me the other day. You probably couldn't tell from your vantage point, but I am not a 16 year old teenage dude out to stick it to the man and old fogies like you. I am a small girl(who mind, you can defend herself). Being a creep is the fastest way to get your eyes burned out by pepper spray. I hope being a creep made you feel better about yourself. Point made. I won't ever cut in the McDonald's drive through line again (even though I didn't REALLY cut). But you win the prize of being the first person to ever make me feel threatened and like I should maybe consider calling the cops. How does that make you feel?
Next time I will get out of the car and kick your ass. Don't let my size deceive you. I'm in the business of defying expectations (and occasionally....gravity)(THEATRE NERD).
Love,
Amy.
with the terror of post-collegiate life setting in,
after being followed Thursday by a creepy old man* (see story below)...
What you need is to go to the mall with your BFF (like you did when you were in high school and thought you were the bee's knees), eat at a place that offers bottomless french fries, and go to the mac store and listen to some tunes via Bose headphones to remember:
it's all ok.
Sometimes, you need to put on said headphones and rock out to the Chili Peppers in front of your BFF, the mac store, god, and everyone. And then realize it's probably a good thing you're not wearing a button down, sunglasses, and whitey tighties because if you were, you would totally be Risky Business-ing in your socks all over the store.
Listening to the Rolling Stones on Bose headphones? For me-it's soothing and relaxing. Like watching/exercising to that Hawaiian yoga chick must be for some (the one with the really soft voice, who's usually in some lush tropical paradise complete with waterfall, and usually says something like, "now simply take your leg and put it around your head....breathhhe...relax...doesn't that feel nice? do the same with your other leg and just...float there...in midair..."). I'm sorry but I will not do that with my legs. But I will certainly turn up the volume on the Stones. Life's just a cocktail party on the streets! Schmacta Schmacta Schmacta.
If you've never heard music on a pair of Bose headphones. Run. Don't walk.
If I ever have an extraneous amount of money just sitting around and think to myself, "gee, I'd really like to blow this wad on something super cool but not at all that vital" I'd take myself to the mac store or best buy and get a pair of these.
Holy smokes. You think you've heard your favorite songs before? Nay, my friend. Nay. In tunes I've heard a million times, I heard nuances I've never heard before. And when they say "noise cancelling" they mean it. I couldn't hear a tootin' thing Meghan said to me while I had these on (and it WASN'T just because I'm deaf).
Run.
And if you have an extraneous amount of money lying around, feel free to buy me a pair.
* Story about the creepy man who followed me:
Preface: Never in my life has a person has ever made me feel scared or threatened. And I've walked city streets late at night. I drive alone in my car late at night. I've been to gay events with people shouting horrible things/harrassing me and people I was with...But never have felt like, "whoa, I could be in some trouble here, I should high tail it outta here."
Okay?
Okay.
Well, there's a first time for everything-
I'm in the suburbs. I'm going to a rehearsal. I decide to get a giant diet coke (necessary) and some french fries before rehearsal. I pull into a McDonalds. This McDonalds is setup in such a way where when you pull in, you can go all the way around for more parking. You can also pull all the way around to get into the drive through line.
OR
When you pull in, if there is not a giant drive through line you can just pull right into the drive through lane.
Should you maybe go all the way around to get into the drive through??
Maybe. But it's certainly not essentially.
I pull into McDonalds with someone in front of me. He starts to go all the way around and stops.
So I just pull right into the drive through lane, wondering why he had stopped and was thus blocking traffic.
He wasn't happy about this. By the time I had pulled up to order he had whipped around the building. He came up behind me and LEANED on his horn. I got up to the window to pay and once again he LEANED on his horn.
I pull out of the McDonalds and am stopped at a light. He is behind me. I look behind me and he's menacingly shaking his head at me.
I turn left.
He turns left.
I turn right.
He turns right.
He is riding my tail down a major street.
At first, I think he's just being a jerk-tailing me because we are going down a major road.
But I get nervous, and instead of taking the easy way to work (major street) I turn left down a side street.
So does he.
I'm not panicking yet, thinking it's maybe just a coincidence.
I turn right again down the street rehearsal is on...
So does he.
He follows me down side/residential streets for five blocks.
I come into the shopping/commercial area where I work and turn on my blinker to park in the garage.
So does he.
At this point, I'm reaching for a piece of paper to get his plate number and the phone to call the cops. I'm not going to get out of my car, I'll just have to drive till I lose him, I figure.
I pull into the garage, look in my rear-view mirror and see him decidedly speed off.
Phew.
I was worried when I came out of rehearsal that my tires would be slashed. For the first time IN MY LIFE I waited for/asked someone to walk me to my car.
Creepy? Right?
Should I have gone ALL THE WAY around to get into the drive through?
Probably.
But, I didn't do it to be an asshole or a jerk. I did it because he was stopped and blocking the way around.
And, seriously dude-if you were so strapped for time you couldn't wait an extra 30 seconds to be behind me and get your food: why the hell did you have time to FOLLOW ME and scare the crap out me?
My advice? Even though I wouldn't call not going all the way around to get into the drive through lane, cheating...don't cheat. Go all the way around.
I'm not a cheater. I've never cheated anything or anyone in my life.
The one time I cut a corner a little bit (at a goddamn McDonald's drive through no less), I get the pants scared off of me.
How the hell do I get myself into these situations?
Dear Man who Followed Me and Scared Me,
If you read this blog (duh, everyone reads this blog), I am sorry you had to wait an extra 30 seconds to get your milkshake. I am sorry I cut you in line. I didn't do it to be mean or be a jerk. I did it 'cause you were blocking my way around. To make it up to you, I will by you a milkshake. On one condition:
Please don't ever follow someone the way you followed me the other day. You probably couldn't tell from your vantage point, but I am not a 16 year old teenage dude out to stick it to the man and old fogies like you. I am a small girl(who mind, you can defend herself). Being a creep is the fastest way to get your eyes burned out by pepper spray. I hope being a creep made you feel better about yourself. Point made. I won't ever cut in the McDonald's drive through line again (even though I didn't REALLY cut). But you win the prize of being the first person to ever make me feel threatened and like I should maybe consider calling the cops. How does that make you feel?
Next time I will get out of the car and kick your ass. Don't let my size deceive you. I'm in the business of defying expectations (and occasionally....gravity)(THEATRE NERD).
Love,
Amy.
Friday, January 09, 2009
Poverty In Africa According to a White Catholic Fifth Grader
As promised, here is the dramatic reading of "Poverty in Africa". Some things to note before watching:
a) I was in fifth grade when I wrote this.
b) I watched WAY too much 20/20. This particular...uh...piece was inspired by an actual story I saw on 20/20. Or maybe it was 60 minutes.
c) I had an awesome English teacher in fifth grade, who encouraged us to write and gave us assignments/free choice writing tasks. This one is labeled, "Sept 5 Free Choice".
Here it is, "Poverty in Africa"
Yup.
I really wrote that.
More works from my fifth grade journal are on the way including: various poems, entries about field trips, and one called "Someone From Heaven was Watching" about my mom getting cancer (and I'll say it because I'm allowed to-it's pretty funny). There's also a series of short stories I wrote about a girl and her horse. Because when I wasn't writing about socially relevant issues (there's also a persuasive paragraph I wrote about how it's wrong to abuse animals) I was doing everything in my power to show the world that I wanted and needed a pony of my very own.
I thought I was the most important writer to grace the pages of a notebook with my pen.
And I couldn't even spell good.
a) I was in fifth grade when I wrote this.
b) I watched WAY too much 20/20. This particular...uh...piece was inspired by an actual story I saw on 20/20. Or maybe it was 60 minutes.
c) I had an awesome English teacher in fifth grade, who encouraged us to write and gave us assignments/free choice writing tasks. This one is labeled, "Sept 5 Free Choice".
Here it is, "Poverty in Africa"
Yup.
I really wrote that.
More works from my fifth grade journal are on the way including: various poems, entries about field trips, and one called "Someone From Heaven was Watching" about my mom getting cancer (and I'll say it because I'm allowed to-it's pretty funny). There's also a series of short stories I wrote about a girl and her horse. Because when I wasn't writing about socially relevant issues (there's also a persuasive paragraph I wrote about how it's wrong to abuse animals) I was doing everything in my power to show the world that I wanted and needed a pony of my very own.
I thought I was the most important writer to grace the pages of a notebook with my pen.
And I couldn't even spell good.
Wednesday, January 07, 2009
The Many Faces of Amy
I had some requests.
So here is a post of the many faces of Amy.
David took some headshots for me a while back. He took some really great pictures and some rather hilarious ones. The hilarious pictures were a result of:
a) My lack of ability to pose properly.
b) The fact that is was 12 degrees outside that day. Seriously.
c) I mean, even dynamos like me can't be cute ALL the time. (Aka: I'm awkward)
I've had a couple comments on the new picture posted up on my side bar. YES that is a picture from the headshot session. Sadly, it is a little too blurry to be my actual headshot, but is perfect for lookin' fine on my blog sidebar. I will post my for real headshot at the end of the post. But first...cue the gag reel:
This is my sexy face. Yes. Yes. I know it doesn't work, hence why it's in the gag reel. Rest assured I'm working on my sexy face and y'all will be the first to know if it ever works. But until that time I wouldn't hold your breath or constantly refresh my blog in your browser.
Dear David, That bird is about to poop on you. I find this amusing. Love, Amy
Picture Title: "Dang, it's cold. The color has done drained from my smoochers."
Awkward.
I am bad at looking serious.
Dear David, The bird is back. I'm trying not to give him away but I am bad at surprises. Love, Amy
The "I farted" face.
The "you farted" face.
Amy "Eyebrows McGee" Cornelius. This picture says, "If I get cast, the 'brows will need their own bios in the program."
Now here is my REAL headshot:
Look, ma! I look like a real live actor (and maybe the gayest (but still cute) one that ever lived (seriously, I just need to send this to Ellen with a post-it note, "Let me be your Sidekick")).
A huge thank you to David, for sticking it out with me in the cold to take these headshots and then printing them out for me so I was ready to walk into my audition with grace, poise, and confidence.
So here is a post of the many faces of Amy.
David took some headshots for me a while back. He took some really great pictures and some rather hilarious ones. The hilarious pictures were a result of:
a) My lack of ability to pose properly.
b) The fact that is was 12 degrees outside that day. Seriously.
c) I mean, even dynamos like me can't be cute ALL the time. (Aka: I'm awkward)
I've had a couple comments on the new picture posted up on my side bar. YES that is a picture from the headshot session. Sadly, it is a little too blurry to be my actual headshot, but is perfect for lookin' fine on my blog sidebar. I will post my for real headshot at the end of the post. But first...cue the gag reel:
This is my sexy face. Yes. Yes. I know it doesn't work, hence why it's in the gag reel. Rest assured I'm working on my sexy face and y'all will be the first to know if it ever works. But until that time I wouldn't hold your breath or constantly refresh my blog in your browser.
Dear David, That bird is about to poop on you. I find this amusing. Love, Amy
Picture Title: "Dang, it's cold. The color has done drained from my smoochers."
Awkward.
I am bad at looking serious.
Dear David, The bird is back. I'm trying not to give him away but I am bad at surprises. Love, Amy
The "I farted" face.
The "you farted" face.
Amy "Eyebrows McGee" Cornelius. This picture says, "If I get cast, the 'brows will need their own bios in the program."
Now here is my REAL headshot:
Look, ma! I look like a real live actor (and maybe the gayest (but still cute) one that ever lived (seriously, I just need to send this to Ellen with a post-it note, "Let me be your Sidekick")).
A huge thank you to David, for sticking it out with me in the cold to take these headshots and then printing them out for me so I was ready to walk into my audition with grace, poise, and confidence.
Tuesday, January 06, 2009
Blog-o-vations 2009
First things first...Happy New Year! I hope everyone had a safe and festive holiday season with people they love.
Anyway. I know there has been a lack of blog-age lately, I apologize. Between the end of the semester, holiday season at work, and the holiday season in general...well. I'm sure you all understand. I promise there will be more substantive posts in the future that feature more than my clean desk or lack thereof.
I have rather grand plans for Confusing Ideas Since 1986 in the next year. I hope to make some regular segments a little more regular. I hope to start some new segments. I hope to interview real live ponies and ask them for their political opinions.
What do you have to look forward to this year as a Confusing Ideas Since 1986 Reader?
Let me tell you.
I found two more old notebooks I used to keep when I was young. They might just be more awesome (and by more awesome, I mean more awkward and wrong) then Delivering Supplies To Union Soldiers and Horse Notes.
Don't believe me? You want a preview?
Why I'd be pleased as punch to give you one.
The following is the first few sentences from a journal entry circa 5th grade. It is titled "Poverty in Africa":
"Cindy stared out the window of the Delta Airlines Plane. She was 21 and was going to Africa. Not for a vacation. She was going because of the extreme poverty."
Excited yet? Tune in to my next post for the stirring dramatic reading of "Poverty in Africa" or as I'll re-title it, "Even a Fifth Grader Can Have White Catholic Guilt".
Stay tuned for that and much more from my old fifth grade notebooks, including poetry and my very own recipes.
What else do you have to look forward to this year as a Confusing Ideas Since 1986 Reader?
More Cooking with Magoo. Hopefully, with special guest stars.
What ELSE do you have to look forward to this year as a Confusing Ideas Since 1986 Reader?!?!
A possible blog name change. Yes. I think it MIGHT be time to re-vamp some stuff and acquire a bit more of a stream lined concept. Nothing content wise will change, but I think a make-over might be in order. I mean, I AM a degree wielding blogger now, after all.
You can also expect that as soon as I get my degree (think it's mailed in March) I will take a sassy picture with it. I will probably wear a monocle and an ascot.
Anyway. I know there has been a lack of blog-age lately, I apologize. Between the end of the semester, holiday season at work, and the holiday season in general...well. I'm sure you all understand. I promise there will be more substantive posts in the future that feature more than my clean desk or lack thereof.
I have rather grand plans for Confusing Ideas Since 1986 in the next year. I hope to make some regular segments a little more regular. I hope to start some new segments. I hope to interview real live ponies and ask them for their political opinions.
What do you have to look forward to this year as a Confusing Ideas Since 1986 Reader?
Let me tell you.
I found two more old notebooks I used to keep when I was young. They might just be more awesome (and by more awesome, I mean more awkward and wrong) then Delivering Supplies To Union Soldiers and Horse Notes.
Don't believe me? You want a preview?
Why I'd be pleased as punch to give you one.
The following is the first few sentences from a journal entry circa 5th grade. It is titled "Poverty in Africa":
"Cindy stared out the window of the Delta Airlines Plane. She was 21 and was going to Africa. Not for a vacation. She was going because of the extreme poverty."
Excited yet? Tune in to my next post for the stirring dramatic reading of "Poverty in Africa" or as I'll re-title it, "Even a Fifth Grader Can Have White Catholic Guilt".
Stay tuned for that and much more from my old fifth grade notebooks, including poetry and my very own recipes.
What else do you have to look forward to this year as a Confusing Ideas Since 1986 Reader?
More Cooking with Magoo. Hopefully, with special guest stars.
What ELSE do you have to look forward to this year as a Confusing Ideas Since 1986 Reader?!?!
A possible blog name change. Yes. I think it MIGHT be time to re-vamp some stuff and acquire a bit more of a stream lined concept. Nothing content wise will change, but I think a make-over might be in order. I mean, I AM a degree wielding blogger now, after all.
You can also expect that as soon as I get my degree (think it's mailed in March) I will take a sassy picture with it. I will probably wear a monocle and an ascot.
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