Saturday, April 24, 2010

Guest Appearance

I think that the pic at the top of our blog seems to accurately represent the balance of the contribution to the blog. I suck, but what can I do. As you can see from the time stamp on this post, I am at home on a Friday night, lame. My recent unemployment status has really thrown me for a loop. I mean, when I am a normal commuter/employed person I'm often psyched to not have plans on a weekend, or at night, because I'm exhausted from the hustle and bustle of the week, however obviously this is not the case now. It really sucks when you finally have the time to do everything you would like to do, with none of the funds in which to do them.

Things I'd like to do right now if I could:
-Go to Chicago to see my wife, like I was originally planning to in June
-Head out on the cross-country road trip I've wanted to go on since High School, staying with people I know throughout the continental US, and heading up to Canada as well
-Basically anything but continuously staying at home in my apartment most of the time

Sorry to be such a downer, but both Andy and I getting laid off within one week of another really threw me for a loop! Like, are you f-ing kidding me, life? To make matters worse, our Landlord has decided to put the house on the market in July. So, basically, it's REALLY possible that I will be jobless and homeless soon (ok, not homeless, but in search of a new home, and since moving sucks just about as hard as losing your job, this does not seem appealing AT ALL). Although I'm psyched I'm approved for the highest unemployment amount per week, it's still less than half of what I was clearing before. All these other ridiculous things keep popping up as well, just making me think like I've suddenly become some sort of Biblical character being put through a series of tests. I know there are so many people all over the world going through much worse, but sometimes it's hard to think of that bigger picture. I am grateful for Andy, and my family and friends that have been helping through this shite, but I don't get to see a majority of my friends on a regular basis even when I am employed! A lot of them live in NYC, so for me to see them, I have to spend money.

Oh well, most of tonight was good times, we had our first spring time BBQ in the backyard, and I had a much needed martini. I even did some yoga today, but haven't dragged my lazy ass to the gym in like two months. It's awful, and since I can't cancel my membership, I suppose I should venture there during the day, with all of the Jersey housewives. Maybe I'll even become a Zumba freak. My gym offers tanning as well. Perhaps I should just turn myself into every Jersey stereotype now being made popular by shows like "The Real Housewives" and "Jerseylicious!" OMG, this is a fantastic idea! I can become everything that I hate about stereotypes from my home state, and then exploit it all to my advantage! Since my dream job currently lies in TV production, I really should work on making this happen.

Alright, I'm already feeling a bit more positive. At least I have a mission. Since I haven't been to the gym recently, I won't even have to spend money on acquiring a tighter wardrobe! There's the silver lining, people! Alright, it's on. Next time you'll see me, my hair will have grown larger, my skin will be a shade of orange not found in nature, and I will have developed an accent that currently only exists in movies and on TV.

Look out for me, my babies!! I'll be the one with French Tips and a HUGE Starbucks CAWFEE.

(Please blame any intense disjointed ramblings in this post on the boxed wine that has followed the martini, thanks)

Girls Girls Girls

Dear Kelis,
My milkshake brings all the... girls to the yard. I prefer boys. Can you help me with this? I understand that you have to charge, and I'm willing to compensate appropriately.
Love, Amanda

It's not that I never attract boys. I do okay with this. My favorite of the dudes I have attracted recently is the one who kept telling me, "Girrrrl, you're dangerous." Haha. If I were a mature woman of nearly 30, this wouldn't appeal to me, but I'm not and it does. In fact, I'd had a bit to drink and after knowing him for about ten minutes, I was like, "Damn. I am dangerous." And for the rest of the night I felt like Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct, but with panties.

However, ladies hit on me. Like, a lot. Moreso than I'd expect the average girl gets. It's piqued my interest.

One possible reason is that I stay out late, go to bars that cater to staying out late and to acting a fool/acting a bisexual. Are those the same thing? I think not, but perhaps ladies being into ladies is, for certain ladies, a late-night/crazy type thing. I don't really know.

Another thing is that this happens frequently when I'm out with my male friends. I do not have a lot of (straight) guy friends. Mostly, if you are male and heterosexual and I like you, I am not thinking of you in a "friendly" way. But sometimes, I get to that point with dudes, that point where we can hang out and be platonic.

The other night I was out with my friend Roy. Dana was talking to him when I returned from the bathroom, and I assumed she was hitting on him. Blah blah, I was looking the other way to allow him room to, you know, get her. I'm an excellent wingwoman. Or so I like to think.

Then she's introduced to me and, by no prompting of my own, it's all about me. How my hair matches my dress; did I plan that? No I did not, because my hair is red and my dress is a raspberry pinkish-purplish color. Maybe she's color blind? Then Dana told us about belly dancing and made us both feel her belly as she rolled it, telling us about her muscle control. And staring at me most of the time. And I knew it'd happened again: a chick was totally into me. Roy briefly tried to accuse me of cockblockery, but agreed that my only weapons in this regard had been my existence and my ability to listen.

I'd like to say this was an anomaly, but it wasn't. Chicks dig me, man. One other time, Roy and I were out with Ryan, another friend. This chick sat down with us and Ryan was really into her. She had giant boobs. At first I hated her (due entirely to jealousy; she was thin with giant tits and I am not-so-thin with middling tits), but all of a sudden she's talking about how much she loves me. "Blah blah, I love this girl! Blah blah blah, I really love Amanda!" God, I wish I were a lesbian. I do NOT hear this shit from men.

Let's be honest. There is probably an explanation for these particular chicks. The first option I have is that they liked the guys I was with and did not entirely understand my relationship to them. Thus, they needed to make nice while sleuthing, and attempted to in a very ridiculously overt way.

The other option, obviously, is that they were fishing for a threesome. I'd imagine that if you, a single lady, approach a heterosexual couple (assuming these ladies mistook me for half a couple in these scenarios), the woman is the one you have to convince. I mean, the popular conception of heterosexuality tells us that a woman loves attention and a man loves a chase.

However, I've been hit on by ladies a fair amount otherwise. Perhaps I'm just that awesome and sexy and blah blah blah. Or maybe they can just tell that people in high school suspected I was a lesbian because I attended Lillith Fair and listened to Tori Amos and foolishly bought a pair of gym shoes with a rainbow on them. These things + small Lutheran school = total lesbo.

Below, you will find the creepiest lesbian photo a quick google search could supply.

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

Goodness, Gracious

Here's a ditty about another film that shaped my young self, one that I probably should not have seen as a child. And that film would be Great Balls of Fire, starring Dennis Quaid as Jerry Lee Lewis and Winona Ryder as his incestuous child bride, Myra. I loooooooved this movie as a child -- I was nine when it came out and we had cable with free pay-per-view so I was watching every recent release about 5 times a day at that point. Like Goodfellas, which was my favorite movie when I was ten. Boulos has been aware of this for some time, but what she recently found out is that my absolute favorite scene in that movie is the montage in which we discover all of the bodies of the dudes that Jimmy has killed in his paranoia over the heist. I was watching it with Boulos and I mentioned that it's always been my favorite part of the movie, and she was totally horrified. In retrospect, it's pretty upsetting. I'd like to say that it's because the epic "Layla" is played over this montage, but I also really enjoy discovering the clever ways in which Jimmy had the guys killed and disposed of. I've greatly enjoyed that for nearly 20 years now, and I'm just going to accept that I am a sick fuck.

Anyway, back to Great Balls of Fire. I loved the music, I was hot for Dennis/Jerry, Winona Ryder was in it and she got a house that she was allowed to completely furnish in the manner one might expect a 13-year-old would, and it was fantastic. I re-watched the movie last fall and I still loved it (I was drunk, too, though). Then, a few weeks ago, I was talking to a friend and he said that he hates all musician biopics. I was like, "Um, what about Great Balls of Fire?" And he said, very sarcastically, "Oh, the movie in which Jerry Lee Lewis marries his 13-year-old cousin?"And I was like, "Yes. She was his cousin twice removed, by the way." (I still do not know what the hell that means.) During this conversation, I was still totally behind this movie. I was like, when the hell did Roy become such a moralist? What the fuck? THEY WERE IN LOVE.

Upon reflection, the movie is totally fucked up. Sure, it's based on truth, but the relationship (which, finally, I do recognize as utterly disgusting) is represented in an almost comical, and certainly an inevitable, manner. Like, of COURSE he wants to fuck his 13 year old cousin, of COURSE she wants it, and of COURSE they should be married. And no, her father should not kill him. And when they first have sex and she is kind of terrified and she cries? Don't worry about it, because in like 5 minutes she will be a total nympho.

Normally I don't really believe in too harshly censoring the movies kids watch. I saw Pretty Woman as a child and I did not want to be a hooker, though I did have a crush on Richard Gere (duh). I saw Beaches, which a friend's mom wouldn't let us watch at her fourth grade sleepover (prude, there's like two tasteful sex scenes) and sure I became a redhead and maybe sometimes a loudmouth, but I didn't marry my dad's lawyer and wind up a single mother. I saw Dirty Dancing, but I didn't understand the abortion plotline and now that I consider it, I think it's awesome that when I finally understood it, I knew innately that the illegality of abortion at that time was bullshit, and also how cool is it that the girls who have sex in that movie are all nice girls, with that exception of that married hussy who wants Johnny and settles for Robbie?

This isn't to say that I became a child bride, thank god, but it's kind of fucked up that it took me 21 years to finally decide that, when they go to London and the Brits hate them and boo them offstage, it's not because the Brits are a bunch of uptight prudes. It's because Jerry Lee Lewis was a pervert. I still have a crush on Dennis Quaid, though.

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

These Are a Few of My Least Favorite Things

This dumb Nebraska law restricting abortion due to "fetal pain." ZOMG. Seriously? Seriously? How did you find out about this fetal pain? Have your fetus call my fetus to discuss. Wait. What? Our fetuses don't have cell phones? They can't even TALK? Then who the fuck told you about this? Oh right. You made it up to further rule women's bodies with an iron fist, because you're the patriarchy. Thanks, we needed that reminder that our vaginas and other lady equipment are really YOUR vaginas and lady equipment.

Do you guys have Crazy Bread?

People who have cell phone conversations -- especially MULTIPLE cell phone conversations -- in inappropriate places, including but certainly not limited to dressing rooms, airport bathrooms, and any other large communal space in which my jeans are likely around my ankles. For an example, I will just copy and paste my Facebook status for today: Things I learned in the dressing room from a woman who had at least three cell phone conversations while I tried on jeans: 1) She tested positive for hepatitis and plans to re-test tomorrow 2) She is no longer a size 16; she is now a size 14 and a Large on top 3) She coddles her boyfriend, who sounds like a total asswipe. He will be dumping her, either if she gets fat, or if she has hepatitis. Unsure about that one.

iPhone commercials. "Oh, looky, my iPhone told me that song was She and Him, and when they are coming to town, because I'm an idiot yupster tech junkie who is too dumb/2010 to remember lyrics/carry paper to write them on and then google them when I get home like poor folk, such as Amanda. Also I have soooo much disposable income and/or I'm a total poseur/dilettante, so I just buy tickets for bands from whom I've heard one song. Teehee!" Also -- you do NOT need the ability to use the internet while talking on the phone. This is a lie.

Reggae. It's possible that reggae is too closely associated with sun and sand and surf, all of which turn me off. It's more likely that old commercials for Jamaica and jukeboxes in bars have made me hate Bob Marley's music with a passion. Since all reggae seems to have essentially the same beat, it's all ruined for me. Plus, the whole stoner association feels so junior year of high school. It's the musical equivalent of the dead horse, in my mind.

People who do not use turn signals.
What the fuck? It isn't hard, it's not even a real flick of the wrist. And I am not a mind reader, so when you are slowing down in front of me to turn or park but have not turned on your turn signal, I might assume you are running out of gas, having an epileptic fit,
fucking with me, or a million other random things. They need to start giving tickets for this again, it's so anger-inducing and dumb.

I feel like this will probably become an ongoing blog feature. Exciting, isn't it?

Friday, April 09, 2010

Further Musings on Ye Olden Days

First, put this song on.

I just went for a run and listened to this on the way back, and it made me feel all earth mothery in a sexy way. I used to listen to Sarah Mclachlan CONSTANTLY in high school, mainly Fumbling Towards Ecstasy but also this remix (the song is off her first album, Touch), which is my favorite song maybe ever. I also read a lot of Tom Robbins; my favorite novel of his was Another Roadside Attraction because the protagonist is named Amanda. Second favorite: Still Life With Woodpecker. The protagonist has red hair and smokes Camels. p.s. guess why I smoked Camels? Guess why I'm a redhead?

His books, as well as Sarah McLachlan's music, which always sounded all mystical and British Columbia-ish to me (which is to say full of magical, lush forests, not unlike Washington State, where Another Roadside Attraction is set), appealed to the hippie in me -- I think, unless you were like a goth or an emo kid, you were probably kind of a hippie in high school. Or at least, like me, thought you were. A hippie who frequented shopping malls and wore deodorant. But hey, I had a lot of incense and these cotton summertime frocks that just screamed Haight Ashbury.

If I remember correctly, Amanda of Another Roadside Attraction was this kind of earthy goddess type, with intuition that bordered on psychic abilities and a kind of calm, unruffled demeanor. She was enigmatic and rolled with the punches. This was, obviously, the kind of woman I would become. Someone people loved but did not tend to understand. A magical, wondrous lady, really. Most likely, many men would love me and I'd break many hearts. They'd remember me fondly, though, and I'd be that old paramour they met for drinks years later, when they had kids and I was running around Europe or something, and they'd secretly still want me.

This did not happen. I am not this person and doubt I ever will be. But really this post is a shout-out to Samantha and Rachel (actually began as a Facebook message to them), because we spend a lot of time bitching about certain things (men) but I swear, when I listen to this song, I feel like I am at least a little bit the Amanda of Another Roadside Attraction. And I know she met her true love in that book, but I can't remember a goddamn thing about him.

Saturday, April 03, 2010

Father Figure

I was singing the song "Father Figure" in the shower the other day -- which I do a lot -- and I realized that I find the song exceptionally sexy (which makes it sound as though this is going to be a shower self-satisfaction story, but sorry, it's not). Not just sexy in a way that newer songs strike me as sexy, like the current Norah Jones single (yes, adult contemporary) or all of the Beach House album. Sexy in some kind of special way. Which raised a big question mark over my head as I rinsed my hair. What is so specially sexy about the song "Father Figure"?

After some consideration, I realized that the George Michael album Faith, on which "Father Figure" appears, had a couple of songs that became all tangled up with, let's call it my "burgeoning sexuality" at the age of seven or eight (which seems young to me because I was a perpetual late bloomer, but I just checked the dates on wikipedia). The song reminds me of that period of time during which you knew that sex was penis in vagina but you didn't know there was anything beyond that and didn't understand the big deal. The thought of kissing a cute boy, however, seemed illicit and appealing, if somewhat nausea-inducing.

The song "Father Figure" brings a distinct mental image of a woman in the backseat of a cab but not much else, so I just reviewed the video on youtube. Holy shit. I'm not really sure exactly what is going on here besides some vaguely outlined creepy stalker-controlling boyfriend crap, but this video is pretty hot. (Also, please note that George Michael smokes roughly 25 cigarettes in five and a half minutes. I feel like I'm watching a movie from the '40s.) I think this video really piqued my interest in sex when it came out; apparently I was eight at the time. Even the song alone probably gave me vague "why does Jesus have to hate sex?!" thoughts.

Alternately, the video that made me feel total shame about sex was "I Want Your Sex." See, when I was... seven, it seems, according to when the video was in heavy rotation, I was riding my bike outside when the neighborhood bad boy (whom my closest friend from childhood eventually married, and has now divorced) approached me. He kept standing in front of me to block my way, fucking with my bike riding. He wanted me to go to my backyard with him. I can't recall now if he revealed his plan at this time, or waited until we were alone. Finally, annoyed, I agreed to go with him. His little brother wanted to come along, but Ricky said we were "telling dirty jokes" and Mikey was too little to hear them. Genius alibi.

We went into my backyard and Ricky ordered me to stand at the top of the stairs that led to my basement. He stood at the bottom, pulled down his pants, and ordered me to pull up my shirt and pull down my pants. God only knows why I complied with this; I really don't remember feeling much curiosity about what lay under his clothing. We stood there for a minute or so before his mother popped in to check on our dirty jokes and literally caught us with our pants down. Boo.

My mother wasn't home at the time, but Ricky's mom made it clear she would be telling her. So I went inside, where my father was watching television. I almost feel like this next part might be some kind of made-up memory amalgam, but I swear it's true. While I sat there hating myself and dreading having to speak with my mom about my vagina and Ricky's penis, the video for "I Want Your Sex" came on. And I wanted to throw up. Here was George Michael, trying to convince me to have sex with him. COME ON. What was it with boys that day? Now God and my mother would hate me forever, all because water splashing on feet, stockings and garter belts, and lipstick messages written on white skin were so fucking tempting. Plus, ew, my dad was in the room, George Michael. Stop vaguely arousing me/confusing me/making me feel ashamed.

Luckily, my mother knew that Ricky was bad news and believed my side of the story, so I received a very minor punishment for pulling down my pants. Lesson learned, keep your pants on in public. Okay. George Michael did not learn that lesson, let me point that out. And how confusing is it that one of the men who inspired my first real thoughts of sex turned out to be gay?

Now for the very last item in Amanda's "what shaped my sexuality" list. I shared this with Samantha Irby last evening and we agreed that everyone should know about it, even though it pretty much makes me a total creep. What was your first sexual fantasy? Was it marrying the dude from "Father of the Bride" and then offering him your virginity on the honeymoon? Was it about some little hottie in your 5th grade class? Or, like me, was it about... basically a zombie?

Here is the first sexual fantasy I had, which recurred for many years: Beetlejuice climbs into my bedroom window at night and joins me in my bed. I think at the beginning, that was the extent of the fantasy, but it grew more explicit over the years.

Yes, Beetlejuice. The rude dead guy with mold on his head. I loved him and wanted to have his little undead babies. I am really pretty strange.

Hello, lover.

Friday, April 02, 2010

Donka Do Balls

Thanks to "The Soup", I've made excellent discovery #1 of unemployment, the show "Over the Limit" on TruTV. Seriously, I think at this point, my dream job would be to work on this show, because it is HILARIOUS. It takes the best parts of "Cops", drunken crazos, and only features them at their absolute most hilarious and ridiculous. Weirdly, this one dude they stopped turned out to be sober, but was the originator of my new favorite phrase, "I'm sober as a whistle!". Hahaha.

I had dvred two episodes of this show after seeing this clip on "The Soup" last week, and luckily I ended up recording her whole appearance. Since today was my last day of work, I needed a good laugh, and man, did this deliver.

Thursday, April 01, 2010

Random Things That Pleased Me on April Fool's Day

1) Worrying that I was being an asshole by filling out a parking permit while waiting for a red light to change, I looked over at the car next to me and found a middle-aged man reading a newspaper at the red light. I hope "multitasking" is featured prominently on the Skills section of his resume.

2) Later, I was pushing J. in his swing on the front porch when a Chinese delivery car drove by with its windows open. "Sometimes When We Touch" was BLASTING. Yeah, that's the song I turn up all the way, too. Usual result: you get laid by some hottie rollerblading by.