Stupid Spoiled Attention Whore

First of all, let me say that I thought long and hard about whether or not to write this post. I'll warn you right now, it's about Paris Hilton. I apologize in advance.

I despise Paris Hilton. I know it's wrong to judge, and I've never met her and blah, blah, blah, but, God, I am sorry, I think that she is basically a worthless, money grubbing, heinous be-otch. (Or, as Matt would perhaps say, a vapid screech owl. Ha! I just love that.) I hate how much air time on so called 'serious' news channels (CNN, what is up? Come on!) is devoted to her retarded ass. Part of me really wants to ignore it, and pay her less that no attention at all, since even bad publicity is still publicity. But another part of me gets so much joy out of watching her spoiled sex-tape-leaking ass get what she deserves that I just cannot help myself.

Last night Comedy Central aired one of my favorite episodes of South Park in honor of Paris and her current debacle. For those who haven't seen it, Paris comes to South Park for the grand opening of her new store at the mall, called Stupid Spoiled Whore, and madness ensues. She pays Butters' parents $250 million to have him as a pet and is ultimately challenged to a Whore Off versus Mr. Slave, who sucks her into his anal cavity just to prove he's a bigger whore than she is. It's a tremendously entertaining half hour of animated wonderfulness.

We keep the news on at work, on mute of course, lest Big Brother hear us and come running, and I cannot describe the joy I felt when I saw the headlines that she was headed back to jail. That judge in California single handedly restored my faith in the American legal system. With this one act he has told the world that you just cannot buy your way out of jail! (Of course, I know there are probably still a ton of people who do, but the fact that she just cannot get out of this is fantastic.)

If a regular old ordinary American had done what she did (which was get caught driving twice on a license which was suspended because of her drinking and driving) they would certainly be facing a similar penalty, if not worse. She already paid a $1,500 fine, which to most people would be a strong enough deterrent to get them in line, but Paris probably wipes her ass with $1,500 three times a day, so it's no wonder it didn't make an impact! Clearly, an impact is being made now.

I love that this alleged medical condition she has is what her attorney is trying to leverage as a reason she can't remain incarcerated. Supposedly she had a nervous breakdown. Imagine what would have happened if she'd actually received the body/cavity search that all other inmates are subjected to upon entering prison. She could have tried to smuggle her Sidekick or some mascara in up her ass -- probably not as effectively as say, oh, Mr. Slave, but she could have. So I don't buy the whole nervous breakdown thing. You don't think there are people in jail with actual, real medical conditions -- like heart disease, cancer, diabetes, HIV, fill-in-the-blank?? There are prison hospitals and infirmaries and doctors and counselors to help inmates with any manner of problems. It's what our taxes pay for.


I think Martha Stewart ought to give the Hiltons a call and tell them that the ridiculous behavior that got their daughter into this mess in the first place is not a Good Thing, and her even more ridiculous behavior now is even worse. She needs to suck it up and shut it up and just do her 45 days. Maybe she should try to make the best of it and get, like, a super sexy prison tat while she's in there. I know what it could say, right across her ass: "That's Hot."

Guilty Pleasures

Sometimes in life you just need your guilty pleasures. Like eating a candy bar and drinking a gimungous glass of Coca-Cola at the same time. (So, so bad for your teeth, but good for the following sugar buzz.) I myself make it a point to indulge in guilty pleasures whenever possible, within reason, of course. For example, I find myself strangely drawn to movies starring Amanda Bynes. I mean seriously though, how can you not love this girl?? ------------------------------->

I also occasionally delight in the misfortunes of other people, like Paris Hilton. (Don't even get me started on how she bought her way out of prison. Disgusting. If anyone needed to get shanked in prison it was freaking Paris Hilton. Oh well, I will have to learn to live with disappointment I guess.)

Sometimes I enjoy kissing boys with fierce tattoos who I know I will never see again. I am *obsessed* with Showtime's mini series The Tudors, starring dreamy Irish boy Jonathan Rhys Meyers. Oooh, yummy! Other times I like to laugh obnoxiously loud at wholly inappropriate times, like when Brad Pitt's character in Meet Joe Black got hit by a car because he was standing in the middle of the street like a complete jackass. Yup, that was me that laughed so hard I snorted frozen Coke through my nose. (I was eating chocolate at the same time too, a double whammy!)

My point is, sometimes you just need to live a little. Go ahead, you know you want to go rent She's The Man. It's cool. I promise I won't tell.

Catch $22,000

Part of me hates having Monday off because pretty much everyone else in my life is at work. That leaves me a day by myself, which sometimes, like today, is fantastic, and other times is not so fantastic. Today was great because I got so much stuff done. I registered for class in the fall and made an appointment with my new advisor. I called around and got a couple of quotes on computers (it's gonna cost me at least $1600, easy). Read my new issue of The Progressive from cover to cover, and a couple articles from The New York Times that I missed yesterday. And then I did something I have been putting off for months. I actually called all of the companies that have been sending me offers to consolidate my student loans to see what kind of terms they could offer me.

Turns out, they're not so great. Half of the offers are companies which only consolidate federal loans -- which does me no good since my federal loans are already consolidated. The other half wanted to lower my payment by extending the term of my loan from 20 to 30 years, but at a higher interest rate, which might be helpful in the short term, but screws me in the long term. So here I sit, stuck until I can improve my credit just a little bit more and consolidate with Citibank. The bastards. I'm caught in a Catch $22,000. Well, it's actually $27,000, but what's five grand between friends?

I think it may be time to sign up for some overtime at work. As much as I truly, truly hate having to do that, a $1600 laptop isn't going to fall from the heavens, no matter how hard I pray. And I will have to pay my tuition up front, and then wait for the reimbursement. (You know, for all my complaining about my actual job, I gotta give it up for that benefit. Education reimbursement gets 2 thumbs up in my book.) But it's cool. I've don't have much else to do this summer, all my vacation time is gone anyway. Might as well make a little money.

Grad School Here I Come!

I am happy to share with all my lovely readers that I was accepted to Wayne State University's Graduate School today. I will begin work on my Master's in Library and Information Science in September. Woo hoo! I pretty much knew that I was going to get in, but it still felt great to see the, "Congratulations!" at the top of the letter.

This means that I am going to have to save my pennies this summer to pay my tuition in the fall, and I also have to buy a computer (yay!). I've been wanting to buy a computer for a while, I just couldn't justify the expense, but now I have a great reason to get a brand spanking new one!

Other than that, things have been pretty chill. Memorial Day weekend was nice, except that I had to work all day last Friday and Saturday. Sunday I went to the Tigers game with Kira and Jeff and a bunch of his *super cute* rugby buddies. (Seriously -- super, super cute. Rowdy, but very cute.) I told Kira that more of that needs to happen this summer, it's so much fun hanging out with her, and because she was in Kalamazoo for so long I feel like we got used to not being able to see each other very often, but that is a non issue now! So tomorrow we are going shoe shopping.

On Memorial Day Steph and I took our booties out to Kensington and walked the 8 mile loop around the park. I still cannot figure out why I thought that was a good idea. In sandals no less, with a hangover. Sometimes I am such an idiot I amaze myself. My legs hurt for two days afterwards, but I think they've finally forgiven me. It was nice to just hang with Steph though, and it was a BEAUTIFUL day. Days like that are why I love Michigan.

So yea, pretty chill. I have a much needed day off tomorrow and then this weekend is Linda's birthday, the proper celebrations will accompany the event on Saturday night and Sunday afternoon. I think we are going to go to Ann Arbor on Saturday with some of her friends, which should be interesting because I haven't gone out in Ann Arbor since the summer of 2003 after we all graduated. I'm pretty sure that my favorite bar (Mitch's, what??) doesn't exist anymore, but I am sure we'll have fun. A2 is always a good time. Maybe I'll have some cute pictures to post soon.

Til then, my dear readers, this will have to suffice. Toodles.

Music and Movies and What I Want in a Man

So I thought the blog was getting a little boring without pictures. I found this one of me and my dad on a bookshelf in my parents' room. My hair looks red... wish I still had curls like that. On the back my mom wrote, "Winter 1982, Southfield," which means I was probably a little over one year old. Dad still looks the same, only now all his hair is grey.

Lately I've been listening to a lot of music and watching a lot of movies and trying to figure out what exactly I might want in a man. 1 and 2 are generally easier to deal with. I've had "De Stijl" (The White Stripes) and Joss Stone's new one on repeat for the last two days. Both are worth purchasing immediately, if you like that kind of thing.

As for movies, I watched "Strange Days" (Ralph Fiennes, Juliette Lewis, Angela Bassett), "The Tesseract" (Jonathan Rhys Meyers, yum!), "Domino" (Keira Knightly, and not nearly as terrible as everyone made it out to be), and "Reality Bites" (twice). Throw in many, many episodes of Sex and the City, both from HBO On Demand and from the DVDs I snagged from Kira's house last weekend, and the 4 newspapers I read from front to back on Sunday and Monday, and you've pretty much got my weekend all wrapped up.

As for the whole man issue, I think I've decided that I need to just be solo for awhile. My love life is such a disaster area it should have giant orange construction barrels around it -- complete with the flashing lights on top. For now I am just going to concentrate on saving my money, kicking it with the homies, and having a good summer. I'm hoping that everything else will just figure itself out. Wish me luck, eh?

Rollercoaster

I'm almost afraid to write this for fear of all the groans of, "Oh Maria!" that are sure to be uttered, but here goes nothing. Shaun and I broke up. Again.

I've got my defense mechanisms working overtime on this one. I make jokes, I shrug off questions. I'm really just trying not to think about it at all. It took me a month to stop crying before, and I am determined not to start again.

At this point I am mostly just disappointed and sad. I've never had as much fun as I did with him, never loved someone that much, never imagined my life stretching out before me alongside someone else's - not the way I did with Shaun. And now it's all a big pile of shite. Well, certainly not all of it, but it's hard to think about the good parts because then I think about how they're gone, and that's just not a good path to start going down right now.

Someone please tell me how it is that I have managed to totally f*ck up every single relationship I've ever been in? Something happens and I slowly, painfully, achingly start to fall out of love. And then the shit hits the fan. Sometimes over and over again.

Part of me wishes that I could just forget about everything that happened between us and forgive him (and myself) for all of it. But I can't. And the fact that I can't upsets me, because if you love a person enough, you should be able to forgive them for just about anything when you know that they truly are sorry.

*sigh*

This is more difficult to write about than I thought it would be. Although, I guess it does go exactly against my primary defense strategy of Just Don't Think About It!

For once I'll take my own advise and just shut the hell up.

More when I'm not driving myself absolutely crazy.

Shameless Plug

Listen up party people. My cousin Elliot is in a band called The Peasantry. They have a song in a contest and if it wins they'll get $5,000!! Go here and select "Student Films Across America" by The Peasantry to vote for his song.

Oh and P.S., not that this is even possible, but even if you like one of the other songs more, (pshaw, like that could happen!) I don't care, still vote for him!!

Hodge Podge

It's a long way to the top if you want to rock n' roll. Or at least that what AC/DC tell us.

I forgot how great a sunny Sunday morning with fried eggs, WCSX Over Easy, and the Sunday New York Times is. Well, actually, I didn't forget, it's just that today I am enjoying it more than usual.

In fact just a few minutes ago I read about this guy who finds both interesting and not-so-interesting pieces of trash and puts them into little clear plastic ball shaped capsules, then loads up little 25 cent cheap-o junk machines with them. He has a blog, lovingly described as, "A destination website for chumps, rubes, maroons, clods, saps, schlemiels, and yo-yos," which, if you can find nothing else worth admiration, is great because I finally learned how to spell schlemiel. Check out Trashball.

Still awaiting the response on my application for admission the Library and Information Science program at Wayne State.

Decided that tomorrow I am going to resume the guitar lessons I started in college. Woo hoo!

Jesse is now the wealthiest member of our family. Who'd have thunk it?

Brian and Steph are now engaged, yay!

And, last but definitely not least, Shaun and I are back together. We still have a lot of stuff to work out, but I think we can do it.Now I am going to break out my bicycle and see if it's really true that once you've learned you never forget.

Peace out homies.

Odessa On The Verge

Odessa is a little girl who lives in my imagination. Sometimes I think of sentences that involve her. Sentences like, "Odessa was delicate, even for an eight year old. She was small of frame with large, dark eyes, like her mother. She came to live with Ninny when she was only two, after her mother died. When she was five, Ninny gave her a box made of gold paper, shaped like a star. Odessa took the box into her little room and put the only photograph she had of her mother into the box and placed the lid on it, and there it has stayed, quiet and safe, ever since. Now, Odessa collects boxes."

And that's where it stops. I don't really know why Odessa collects boxes, but I know that she lives in Kentucky, has an older brother with leukemia, has a father that's in jail for killing their mother, and that someone eventually needs to ask him (the father) if he will be tested as a possible bone marrow donor for her brother. But like I said before, I just get a couple of sentences every now and then. Like right after I've taken a shower and I'm sitting on the edge of the tub with my towels wrapped around me. Which is not a very convenient time to whip out the keyboard and start writing them down. So the sentences go away, and revisit me again at other times, when I am bored or lonely or reading the label on the side of a cereal box while chewing. I have had her in my head for so long now that Odessa is a friend. I think maybe I'd like to keep her in my head.

This is the part where I think about not answering my phone for awhile. Where I wonder if maybe I am on the edge of a not-quite-mid-life crisis. Where I think about how I would like to live in a loft downtown and everyone in my life, without a single exception, tells me that it is a stupid idea, that it is unnecessarily dangerous, and that my car insurance premium will skyrocket. I feel like telling them all to take a flying leap off a tall building. Except that if they did, I would be an orphan, without any family or friends. And then it wouldn't matter where I lived, because life would be miserable no matter what.

But I digress.

I am restless, which is the root of all of this. I have a job that I despise, but that I hope I will be able to suffer through just long enough to get graduate school paid for, so that I can then get a job that I actually like. (Nikki sent me info about an organization that builds libraries in Central and South America. I'd like to do that.) I still think about joining the Peace Corps too. But then my feminine biology kicks in, and so does the math. 25 + 3 years of graduate school + 1 additional year at work to fulfill my commitment to them for paying for graduate school + 2 years, 4 months of the Peace Corps = 31. Then I still have to find my dream job, get married, make a baby (or two), buy a house (not necessarily in that order), which I figure puts me at about 50. At which point I have the mid life crisis that's been pre-empted by whatever the hell it is I'm going through now.

I get so exhausted thinking about all of that -- not to mention the daily dose of stress I give myself from thinking about how the hell our stupid government is going to fix the Iraq mess, hopefully before my kid brother gets sent there; not to mention finding a way to provide affordable, accessible, health care for all Americans, oh, and fixing global warming -- that I think I'd just rather sit in my towels on the side of my tub and think up some more sentences about my little friend Odessa.

Did I mention she collects boxes?

That Silent Evening

by Galway Kinnell

I will go back to that silent evening
when we lay together and talked in low, silent voices,
while outside slow lumps of soft snow
fell, hushing as they got near the ground,
with a fire in the room, in which centuries
of tree went up in continuous ghost-giving-up,
without a crackle, into morning light.
Not until what hastens went slower did we sleep.
When we got home we turned and looked back
at our tracks twining out of the woods,
where the branches we brushed against let fall
puffs of sparkling snow, quickly, in silence,
like stolen kisses, and where the scritch scritch scritch
among the trees, which is the sound that dies
inside the sparks from the wedge when the sledge
hits it off center telling everything inside
it is fire, jumped to a black branch, puffed up
but without arms and so to our eyes lonesome,
and yet also - how could we know this? - happy!
in shape of chickadee. Lying still in snow,
not iron-willed, like railroad tracks, willing
not to meet until heaven, but here and there
making slubby kissing stops in the field,
our tracks wobble across the snow their long scratch.
Everything that happens here is really little more,
if even that, than a scratch, too. Words, in our mouths,
are almost ready, already, to bandage the one
whom the scritch scritch scritch, meaning if how when
we might lose each other, scratches scratches scratches
from this moment to that. Then I will go back
to that silent evening, when the past just managed
to overlap the future, if only by a trace,
and the light doubles and shines
through the dark the sparkling that heavens the earth.

Gravity

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The Crying Game

Honestly, does a person ever reach a point where they just can't cry anymore? Each day I tell myself Ok that was really it, I'm done crying about this. But then I talk to him about the Consumer's Energy bill and the waterworks start right back up again. I wish that I could stop, but it just wells up from somewhere deep down and comes flooding out my eyes.

I've become a blubbering version of myself.

As if that weren't enough, I've somehow managed to catch a truly awful cold that has my sinuses in so much pain my right eye just kind of waters all on its own and I constantly feel like I was recently punched in the face. That blissful moment that happens every four hours or so when my Sudafed kicks in is all for naught when my phone rings.

I told him that I think it will get easier once we are able to talk to each other and not have to say things like, "No really, you keep the alarm clock, you'll use the radio setting," and, "The cable will be out of my name by Friday, if you want to call and order your own." The truth is, I don't really know if it will get easier. If I ever go to visit him in that apartment I'll cry. Every time I climb into our bed by myself I'll be sad. I find it difficult to think about him and not feel bitter disappointment rising in my chest.

I wonder about the possibility of us working things out. I wonder how long that might take. I wonder if I will find someone else. Or if someone else will find me. I am doubting and hoping for both of those things at the same time.

But to do any of that, well, that might actually require me leaving the house to do something besides go to work.

Tomorrow I go to pack up my things. Sunday the U-Haul will come to drive them all away. Maybe that will be the end. Maybe not.

I hope not.

The Runner Up

While not the competitive person I used to be, I still don’t like 2^nd place. Third I can deal with; “Top Three” sounds good, like an exclusive club you belong to, but 2^nd place is just plain not good enough to be 1^st.

In life, actions will often speak louder than words. Tonight, I got stood up for hundreds of strangers. I got stood up so Shaun could go to a Texas Hold ‘Em tournament at the Greektown Casino. Tonight I came in second place to poker. The volume of his actions has reached a deafening roar. Granted, he did only pay $5 to enter the drawing to win a seat in the tournament, but I think we all know that the likelihood of him winning the grand prize out of hundreds of entrants was pretty slim. I, however, was at least offered a consolation prize called, “Well We Can Hang Out After,” but I turned it down.

After everything that’s happened, after talking about trying to work on things, after him talking about being more responsible – wanting me to feel like I can depend on him to make the right choice when it all comes down to it – I get stood up for a card game.

And maybe all we were gonna do was sit on the couch and watch some funny TV and play with the cats; maybe we just would have laughed and enjoyed each other’s company and taken another small step toward figuring out this terrible mess we got ourselves into, but God dammit that sounds a lot better to me than a room full of strangers trying to take my money.

So he can get mad at me all he wants, and he can say that I don’t support him, but I will not apologize for not supporting a gambling habit. I've seen it ruin people, good people, people you would never have thought would flush away their kids' college savings, and then ante up and head back for more.

For now I will just sit here, in the house I grew up in, listening to the John Mayer Trio on Dad's gigantic headphones, and I will try to stop the tears once again in this short span of days.

Gravity ... is working against me.... Just keep me where the light is....

My New Favorite Website

Check out PostSecret.

Happy Un-Valentine's Day

Raise your hand if you've ever seen Disney's animated classic, "Alice in Wonderland." Ah, many of you, I thought so. Well, remember the Un-Birthday song that Alice sings with the Mad Hatter? In the spirit of the Un-Birthday I'm creating Un-Valentine's Day. We'll have 364 Un-Valentine's Days to celebrate every year, and that is way better than the completed shitty actual Valentine's Day that I'm about to have tomorrow.

What happens when you break up 2 days before V-Day? I'll tell you. You throw some shit in a bag & drive to your parents' house, because, even though you are 25 years old, you know that you will always be able to wake them up at 2:30 AM in tears without totally pissing them off. The next morning you wake up and while brushing your teeth you try to figure out how you're going to get all your stuff out of the apartment. You skillfully avoid looking your dad and brother in the eye because they'll be giving you that awkward, I love you but I just don't know what to say! look. That is the last look you need right now. Then you'll drive to work, eating a pear, listening to Beethoven's 7th Symphony.

Once you arrive at work you will avoid, avoid, avoid (like the plague!) that horrible question, "Hey, how are you?" You will want to say something like, "Well actually everything is total crap, and I'm feeling a bit heartbroken and miserable. But how are you?" But instead you say, "Fine," and keep walking. You will sit down at your desk and remove the multiple and adorable pictures of him from their various frames. You will wimp out and shove them into the back of a drawer instead of just throwing them away, you know -- just in case. Deep down though, you know that there will be no just in case, not this time.

The moment you realize that a person you thought could be The One is not, in fact, The One, it feels like someone has just drained all the blood from your heart. I think the worst part about all of this is how utterly disappointed I am that I didn't realize all of this much, much sooner. Especially before I signed a lease on an apartment and stupidly put every single utility bill in my name. Now, instead of a clean break from which we might both be able to heal, there are loose ends that need to be tied up, messy conversations that need to be had. I know that instead of this being the end of the frustration and tears and bitter disappointment, it's going to be the beginning of something worse.

He made some big mistakes, and then he made some more, and for a while I stood by him, but everyone has a point. I just couldn't forgive him. I just couldn't forget. I've become an overanalytical, judgemental bitch -- a shadow of my former self -- and I know that's not my nature. I have become a person I hate, and I can't possible expect him to endure that indefinitely. Like I said, everyone has a point. Even though I'm unhappy with my behavior and feel like I've tried to change, I just can't stop. That nagging thought that this is all his fault in the first place!, if he could've just been more responsible times X, Y, & Z!, creeps back into my brain when I least expect it. I don't want to keep him at arm's length anymore and at this point I don't think the way I feel will change for a long, long time -- if it ever does -- and that is just too long to try to go on living with each other every day. I feel like it is impossible for us to ever be the way we used to be, as close as we used to be. And that's that.

So there it is my dear reader. Maria at the end of yet another failed relationship.

Happy Un-Valentine's Day.

RHCP

So last night Nik and I went to go see the Red Hot Chili Peppers at the Verizon Center here in D.C. This is my third time seeing the Peppers and I must say that while they sounded great, this show lacked the energy of the others. They played a lot of songs from the new album, which I was excited about because I ADORE it, but they took long pauses in between songs and didn't play much from their earlier albums (nothing from One Hot Minute, much to Nikki's dismay). Nik and I decided that Anthony Kiedis must not have been feeling 100%. He was drinking a ton of water, leaving stage between songs, and on the close up shots of his face on the gigantic screens we could see huge bags under his eyes. Flea and John Frusciante jammed out quite a bit though, and I think I am ready to announce that John Frusciante might be my new all time favorite rock guitarist. To Jack White and Mike McCready I apologize, I still love you guys, honestly, it's not you.... it's me... well actually it's Johnny, he is just AMAZING! Sorry, I just get carried away with myself... it's his guitar solos, I can't resist them! And his lips... and the long rocker hair.... *sigh* I just hope he and the rest of the boys make sure they stay off the heroin. While some artists are arguably better while drug-addicted (ahem, Scott Weiland), some artists are incredible no matter what, and it'd be nice to see the Chili Peppers still putting out great albums and putting on great shows for a long time to come.

My Moral Opposition to the Child Leash

While waiting near the baggage claim at Reagan National Airport in Washington D.C. last night I saw something that has always baffled and disturbed me: a mother walking her toddler on a child leash. Now, to those of you who have never actually witnessed a child leash situation in action, I am sure you can still understand the basics of it. Imagine a dog being walked by its owner and then substitute a child for the dog.

There are several sad and terrible things about the child leash. First -- and in no particular order of importance, I leave that to you to judge for yourself, my dear reader -- there is the laziness of the mother. The woman in the airport last night, for example, was carrying nothing but a simple purse. Through my powers of observation I discerned that she was not there to pick up luggage, she was there to meet someone else, who incidentally picked up all of his luggage and carried it himself, leaving her with nothing but the aforementioned purse and leashed toddler. How hard is it to hold your three year old's hand in a public place?? Or just pick him up and carry him?? I suppose it's possible that she just recently had surgery on her spine and consequently is unable to pick up the child, but somehow I doubt that. She moved easily, without the complication and discomfort of a surgical wound that is still tender and healing. I also know from experience that if the child is particularly small it can be difficult to hold their hand, since the distance from the bottom of your arm is still so far away from theirs -- even when it is outstretched. I assure you, that was not the case last night as the toddler was plenty tall.

The second thing I dislike about the child leash is harder to explain, so I am going to use an example. I would tell you to close your eyes to facilitate the imagining of this next scenario, but I don't know many people who can read with their eyes closed. So just picture a young mother walking down the street with her harnassed toddler. They come to a stop sign and find themselves next to a man who is walking his dog. The toddler looks over at the dog at his eye level and recognizes the parallel between himself and the pup, and BAM! He just equated himself with a dog. Imagine how emotionally scarred he will be for the rest of his life! It's all bad from that point on.

My final objection to the child leash is simply that it just looks bad. Plain and simple, it's just tacky. Get a stroller for God's sake. Or a babysitter to stay at home with the tot. Just in case you don't believe me, I have included some pictures for your viewing pleasure.

I Will Never Shop At Meijer Ever Again In My Whole Entire Life

Yes, it's really that serious. Allow me to explain. On December 21st I worked for 12 hours. When I got out of work Shaun and I went to Meijer to pick up all of the groceries I needed to do all of my Christmas cooking. (Which, incidentally, was a lot, considering that I put gift baskets together that had homemade breads, cookies, and other goodies in them.) So we spend an hour inside Meijer picking out all of our groceries and what not, wait in the line, get all of our items rung up, and that's when the incident ocurred which pissed me off so badly that I will never, ever shop there again.

I had to show the girl my driver's license because I was buying some beer. She looked on the back and saw my change of address sticker. When she gave me the total I wrote her a check. My checks still have my old address on them, which J.P. Morgan Chase told me was absolutely fine. I've probably written 50 checks since I moved and never had any trouble. I just cross out my old address and put my new address on the check along with my phone number. I give the check to the girl and she tells me that she can't accept it becuase the address on my check is different from the address on my driver's license. I pointed out to her that the address on the front of my driver's license is the same address that is on my checks becuase I just recently moved and wasn't about to throw out an entire box of unused checks. She says she's sorry, that it's just their policy, and Shaun asks for a manager.

The woman behind us in line says that she has the same problem, because she also just moved, and she swears she's written checks at Meijer since her move. I thought that I had left my debit card at home, which meant that if they didn't accept my check I was going to have to leave the store empty handed after having spent an hour picking out all my groceries. The manager comes over and says the exact same thing, "Sorry, but it's the store's policy." And so I asked the reason for the policy. I consider myself a reasonable person, if she had been able to give me any kind of reason for the policy I would have listened, but she couldn't. She just shrugged her shoulders and said, "It's just our policy." So at this point Shaun is getting out his money clip to see how much cash he has on him, and I look in my wallet and realize that I do have my debit card on me, so I use it and we go.

Today I went through my bank statements and added up how much money I have spent at that Meijer since moving into our apartment. The total came to a ridiculous $1,219.66. That's groceries, apartment stuff, Christmas presents, etc., but it is still a buttload of money to spend at one store in less than four months time. They lost a good customer that day because of a stupid policy for which there is no apparent reason. Down with Meijer!

When Losing & Finding Are The Same

I wrote this at NELP, Spring of 2002. Enjoy.

I can’t find anything. Ever. My mom might say that I am the worst Looker ever because whenever she says, “Go look for _______,” I can never find it. When I return to her empty-handed she will inevitably ask, “Well, did you look for it?” No mom, I just walked around aimlessly for twenty minutes peeking behind shelved knick-knacks and rummaging through drawers because I felt like it.

Often times I will be searching for something I know, something I’ve seen, something that has a usual place that it’s not in right now when my mother needs it. Like the scissors. Or the Scotch tape. I am notorious in my family for using the scissors, losing the scissors, and then still not finding them after twenty-five minutes or serious, hard-core, concentrated searching. At that point my mom interrupts whatever she happens to be doing, walks into my room and picks up the one piece of paper I happened to not look under, and lo and behold: the fucking scissors.

Part of the reason I am perpetually trying to find things is closely related to the fact that I tend to misplace things. I am always losing my stuff because I just have too much of it. At times I honestly think that I am physically incapable of throwing things away. Somehow I manage to convince myself that I might really want that little empty box that my lipstick came in for something sometime. Maybe I’ll give Nikki some Chap Stick and wrap it up really fancy. Or how about that little rectangular tin the last 500 free hours of AOL CD came in? I will definitely use that for something!

I collect all this crap thinking it’s valuable, thinking I’ll use it, and then I completely forget that I even have it. Then when I am ripping through my closet for something I really, actually, truly, desperately need to find, I’m bombarded with a colossal amount of shit, most of which I can’t even recall the reason for having kept.

When Hayden Caruth said, “losing and finding,” were the same, I wrote it down. I thought to myself, “If I weren’t always losing my shit, maybe I wouldn’t always need to find it.” This works fine for a discussion of physical objects, but what about how I once lost all of my courage at the end of a bad relationship? What about how I once lost all respect for myself when a selfish lover’s opinion of my sex appeal made me question my beauty? What about how I lost all my motivation for law school because Mark told me he’d break up with me if I became a lawyer, since, “…all lawyers are liars,” and he couldn’t date a liar?

I once misplaced my entire self, all the things that make me feel good, smart, and strong. I lost everything, including the sense of my immeasurable worth, because I didn’t even know that I had them. I took them for granted and they left me, as even the most patient lovers will do after years of neglect. It took losing those things to even realize that they existed, and then it took work to find them again. If I hadn’t lost myself in weakness and stupidity and emotion then I wouldn’t feel the way I do now -- that I can do anything I want ,and the only person I need is me. I had to lose me to find me, and I like what I’ve got, so I’m keeping it.

You Never Give Me Your Money

You only give me your funny paper.
And in the middle of negoti- ations
You break down.

I never give you my number.
I only give you my situation.
And in the middle of investigation
I break down.
___________________________________________________________

Two in one day, how lucky are YOU? Pretty lucky. That's what.

So yesterday 94.7 did The Beatles A to Z in honor of John Lennon. Yesterday was the 26th anniversary of his death. While in the car driving to Natalie's play, talking on the phone and singing, "Maxwell's Silver Hammer," (yes, I am one of those people that talks on my cell phone and drives at the same time) Matt told me he is trying to find a copy of Abbey Road so that he can frame it and hang it on the wall. He fancies himself like Paul, barefoot and out of step with the rest of the gang. I fancy myself like George: the only one in jeans.

At the intermission of Natalie's play, Uncle Greg, Mom, and I were discussing how timeless the music of The Beatles truly is.

And so today I am listening to Abbey Road.

That was really all I had to say.

Ooohh you're gonna carry that weight, carry that weight a long time!