I'm Starving

Yet again, Paula Deen is making something that is literally making my mouth water. Today's topic: Burgers. She just made a black and blue burger, probably my favorite burger. Of course, unlike me, she doesn't use 93% lean beef. Next up, Sloppy Joes, and then Tuna burgers. Somehow that salad and Lean Cuisine I had for lunch just seems so unsatisfying.

Use an effin Tissue

I just got off the phone with Comcast (funny...I haven't had cable for 3 months, yet I still owe them money? God I love getting screwed), and the guy on the other end of the phone was breathing very heavily and snottily. Snottily- not a word. The point is, I could hear all the mucus in his nose and he had a nose whistle. That's nasty. Blow that shit before breathing into the receiver. Seriously.

G' head girl, go onn get down

I went over to Robert's last night for a little Miami Ink action (what is fun about watching people get tattooed for an hour? I dunno...but we watch it every week), and upon entering the apartment, I heard rap. At first I thought it was a car driving by outside, or Robert's neighbors. But then I realized it was coming from his computer. Rap, R&B, call it what you want- Robert was listening to it. I think the only time I've seen Robert listen to rap is at a straight bar, and that hardly counts as listening. More like just drowning out the horrible Steves and Stephanies in the background. Nonetheless, he was listening to the new Kanye West single, "Gold Digger". It's actually a pretty kick-ass song. The lyrics are hilarious, and the beat is bumpin. (Wow...I don't think I could be any whiter. If I hadn't lived with Nakia for 3 years and earned my honorary black girl card, I'd get my ass kicked right now.) I heard "Gold Digger" while visiting Danno, and at first, wasn't sure what to think. But as far as rap goes, Danno has good taste, so I went with it. And I liked it. I like it. I think I might download it myself. That, along with some Aesop Rock, is the only R&B I've ever downloaded. Oh and the Black Album..I still have a little crush on Jay-Z. So there...consider me, a self-proclaimed rock snob, more well-rounded.

Because Robert Loves to Fly

From the Phat Phree:


When it came to air travel, for years I felt like a gay man in the military: frightened to come out. But the time has come for me to share.

I'm scared to death of flying.

There, I said it. And I feel better now that I did. Kind of sad, isn't it? But after reviewing what I just wrote, I'm feeling compelled to clarify. I'm actually scared to death of crashing. You know it's bad when you're sitting in an airport, clear across the country from your intended destination, and sincerely contemplating renting a car. We're not talking B.A. Baracus-level fear here, but it's pretty damn close. The A-Team used to drug B.A. involuntarily to get him on planes. I, on the other hand, voluntarily drug myself with whatever skunked beer the airline will graciously provide me. ("That'll be five dollars please.") For the record, it usually takes about three beers before I release my death grip on the arm rest. I can usually be found staring at the seatback in front of me repeating the mantra, "you're more likely to get hit by an ice cream truck in a snowstorm than die in a plane crash." It's my pathetic, mid-air attempt at achieving serenity. But the fun really starts when I reach the alcohol-induced fuzzy level of comfort. The transformation is shocking. I get cocky like Lieutenant Dan in a driving hurricane, almost daring every bout of "light chop" to crank it up a notch.

There are so many reasons to dislike the commercial flying experience. I think it's time to analyze them in grave detail. Why? Because misery loves company; that's why, stupid.

The Prison Bitch

No really, as a passenger, this is pretty much what you are. Think about it. You're at the mercy of whoever is involved with the flying process. For example, let's discuss the plane's mechanic. What if this guy has a bad day? It's not like when LeBron James has an off night, going 4 for 57 from the field and committing eleven turnovers. The only repercussion in this case is that the talking heads are forced to take a night off from calling him the next Jordan. LeBron just brushes it off, goes home to an awaiting horde of orgy-willing groupies, and tries to get focused for the next night.
But what if the plane mechanic happened to find out that morning from the private investigator he hired to tail his wife that she's banging the next-door neighbor? The same cocksmith who happens to have the hottest wife in the neighborhood, by the way. You think Mr. Mechanic's mind is going to be focused on your plane's ball bearings? Not a chance. I typically think about stuff like this right as the plane reaches its "cruising altitude" and wonder what a seven-mile freefall would feel like. Anything like the Pirate Ship at Busch Gardens? I hope not, because I puked on that evil fucking ride.

I have similar thoughts while riding in elevators and happen to glance at the incoherent signature on the inspection certificate from a day no more recent than a decade ago. At least the elevator freefall and subsequent splattering wouldn't take as long. But that's another worry for another time.

(Twenty-Second Timeout: I thought writing this piece while in actual flight would be therapeutic. That's about as logical as the infamous Herschel Walker trade. The fact that the plane is bouncing around like Coach Joe Paterno’s nuts at a trampoline festival isn't helping matters either. It's an anxiety attack reality experience. I wonder if the stewardess... yeah, yeah, yeah, I know, they're flight attendants now... will show her boobies to calm me down? I'd find that soothing. Too bad she's the proud owner of shriveled up A-cups. Yes, I will have another Fosters please, thank you.
And in case you were wondering, the heifer in First Class within slaps-reach just gatted out her third glass of Merlot and is currently sawing into a gorgeous filet. Meanwhile, I’m practically promising (alright, not practically) the light-footed, deviant-looking male sky servant sexual favors for a bag of Planters peanuts. Nowhere is the separation of classes more evident than in air travel. “Excuse me sir, no peeking inside the curtain, the humans don’t like to be disturbed.”)

IQ Degradation

Flying brings out the DUMBEST in people. I'm convinced there's some sort of brain-stunting that occurs when walking through the metal detectors. Print this list of "don'ts" out, get it laminated and carry it with you at all times while flying. Refer to it often.

1.) If your feet smell bad, don't take off your shoes. It's rude.

2.) When you get up to take a pee-pee, don't use the back of my seat as a way to catapult your huge ass out of yours. It scares the shit out of me.

3.) When the plane arrives at the gate, don't stand up right away; you're not going anywhere. Relax, your mediocre life will still be waiting for you.

4.) Don't bring nine bags onto the plane. Check them. Sure, there's a slight chance some pervert in security will smell your panties, but most likely you'll get your unmentionables back unscathed.

5.) Along those same lines, don't walk on the plane, put your suitcase above row 7 and then walk down to your shitty middle seat in row 27. Wheel your queer wheelie bag back to the overhead bin above your seat. If it's filled, check the fucker.

6.) Don't fart. You're the only one who enjoys smelling it. I know you think you can bury it deep within the fibers of the seat cushion, but all that does is trap it like a rabid dog until you inevitably move and release its fury upon us all.

7.) Don't sleep through takeoff and landing. It pisses me off to no end that someone can be so relaxed on a plane. Show some solidarity and grip the armrests with a brotha.

8.) Don't watch a DVD with dirty scenes and cover every one up with your hands. You look like a fucking geek. If you're that big of a nerd, you knew these scenes were in it ahead of time.

9.) Don't pretend our legs touching isn't bothering you. It's awkward and reminds me of those embarrassing days riding the pine for my grammar school basketball team.
tend our legs touching isn't bothering you. It's awkward and reminds me of those embarrassing days riding the pine for my grammar school basketball team.

10.) Don't stick your head out into the aisle after a hot girl walks by to check out her ass. You look like a degenerate and despite what you think, everyone caught you doing it.

11.) Don't get overcome with self-importance and brazenly march through First Class to use their bathroom. Everyone thinks you're going for the cockpit. Actually, on second thought, go for it. I hope an air marshal puts a cap in yo' ass.

12.) Don't get pissed off when security does their job, no matter how inane their approach or request. ESPECIALLY if you look like a terrorist. This stuff is important, and I can't emphasize this enough: racial profiling is integral to law enforcement's effectiveness.

13.) Don't talk to me. Even though I don't know you, I probably won't like you. Unless you have extensive flying experience and can convince me of how safe it really is, keep your mouth shut.

14.) Don't get up more than once if you have a window seat. If it's a cross-country flight or less, you're allowed one trip to the frighteningly loud flushing toilets. That's the rule. When you booked the seat, you traded mobility for a cool view and a wall on which to rest your head against. Accept it.

15.) Don't clap when we land. I bet you're the same person that claps after a good movie in theaters, aren't you? Granted, I'm clapping and celebrating like I just won the fucking lottery on the inside, even if it was the smoothest flight in history, but I'm not going to let you or anyone else know that. Show the same discretion please.

16.) Don't give me a cocky look when we're boarding and I pass you in first class. I know, I know, you're a big shot because you're the country's most successful paper cup salesman and have racked up four bazillion frequent flyer miles. I hope your hot towel scalds you, by the way.

17.) Don't be the guy who faints and falls face down in the aisle causing the stewar... dammit... the flight attendant to come over the PA system and ask if there's a doctor on board. Oops, that happened to me once. Not kidding. Fuck. Movin' along...

"Potholes in the Sky"

If one more person tells me to think of turbulence like potholes on a freeway I may commit a homicide. The shit just can't be good for the plane. A friend of mine once commented that he's "amazed whipping through the air at four hundred miles an hour isn't bumpier than it actually is." Good point. But I don't care if that makes sense; it pisses me off. Whatta douche bag. Optimists irk me. The Pavlovian terror that strikes me when that stupid seatbelt light pings on is almost too much to bear. I immediately find the nearest stewardess (fuck it, I don't care anymore) and stare at her face for any signs of urgency. My rule is: when they panic, I freak out Airplane style, running around screaming and slapping people. Hasn't happened yet, but I know that day is coming.

M(N)RE's

Translation: Meals (NEVER) Ready to Eat. Airlines are squeezing in extra rows of seats, renegotiating union contracts and skimping on maintenance in order to turn their planes around faster, yet they're spending millions serving their passengers the most inedible food on the planet. This baffles me. Are customers demanding this? I refuse to believe anyone in the history of commercial flying has chosen an airline for the food, and will fight to the death if necessary with anyone who disagrees. Some airlines have caught on and now only serve you jockey-sized bags of pretzels and a beverage. That's smart. It's not hard to figure why their stocks are outperforming those of their near-bankrupt competitors. If people are worried about food, they'll bring it with them.

Before I leave you alone with your newfound appreciation for air travel, I have a few questions:

- Who's choosing the movies? Shrek? Really?

- Why are the ping tones for the stewardess call buttons and the "fasten seat belt because there's turbulence" the same exact tone? Entirely unnecessary panic elicitation.

- Why have I never sat next to someone remotely attractive?

- Who started the rumor that stewardesses were hot? My guess is that it's the same bastard who propagated the bullshit lie that nurses are hot. Bearded "women" from Eastern-bloc countries were the only ones ever to shove a thermometer up my can in the middle of the night.

- Do commercial airline pilots get laid because they're pilots? If they do, that's kind of annoying.

- What occupation has a higher percentage of homosexuality: figure skater or airline flight attendant?

- When they were choosing the material that the pillows and blankets were going to be made out of, did they consciously decide on the synthetic fabric from DuPont called "super irritating and uncomfortable"?

- Has anyone ever used the air phone? I think it'd be kind of funny actually.

That's all I have to say about that.

Godspeed.

www.?.com

I usually start out my work day checking my work email, and signing on to Instant Messenger. What did I ever do at a desk job where I couldn't be at the fingertips of my buddy list. I'll tell ya...it was sad. And it got me fired.

Anyway, then I make my rounds on my daily websites. This includes, but is not limited to, gmail, hotmail, craigslist, myspace, friendster, friends' blogs, npr.org, phat phree, and (after lunch) pink is the new blog. I usually don't read news pages every day because I listen to Morning Edition on the way to work. Sometimes I'll check out BBC.com, or the Sun, but not on a daily basis. A few times a week, I check out bluefly, nordstrom, zappos, pollstar, and 930.com. And of course, once a week I read the onion and the citypaper.

What are your daily hits? Any suggstions? As you can see, I'm very hard at work here today.

What Smells like Cheese?

What IS that? It's either feet or Stilton...not sure which one. It's making me hungry and grossing me out at the same time.

Anyway...why don't some people understand the concept of personal space? Why do these unaware folks feel the need to crowd me and make me feel violated? This morning, while pressing the "up" button for the elevator, some man, a faculty member at that (and not foreign), pressed the "up" button IMMEDIATELY after me...like..1 nanosecond after me. Why? I already pressed it. So, the elevator came, and as we entered (him trailing my heels), I pressed 8 and he pressed 4, about 10 times while pressing the "door close" button. "Is he REALLY in that much of a hurry?", I thought to myself. When more people got on the elevator one floor later, he continued to press the 4 button 65 more times...like that will make the door close any faster. He finally got off, at 4 (shocker), and ambled down the hall, probably invading more peoples' personal space and being just generally annoying.

Argh.

Lap Pinky

Of course I won't laugh," the doctor said. "I'm a professional.  In over twenty years I've never laughed at a patient."

"Okay then," Fred said, and proceeded to drop his trousers, revealing the tiniest penis the doctor had ever seen.
It couldn't have been the size of a peanut.  Unable to control himself, the doctor started giggling, then fell laughing to the floor.  Ten minutes later he was able to struggle to his feet and regain his composure.

"I'm so sorry, "Said the doctor, "I really am.....  I don't know what came over me.  On my honor as a doctor and a gentleman, I promise it won't happen again.  Now what seems to be the problem?"

"It's swollen," Fred replied.

525,600 Crap

So have you heard about the new RENT movie that due to come out soon? I'm not a fan..I saw the musical in London with half of the original cast, and was not impressed. The story itself is fine- since Puccini wrote it first. But the music and singing leaves MUCH to be desired. The dancing was OK, the acting subpar, and the "orchestra"..well, there was no orchestra.
You see, I grew up doing musical theater. I did my first show at age 6, and just kept on keepin on until college- then I got into opera. I am a fan of musical theater...I can't say that for all classical singers. I like singing M.T. rep, and I'm good at it. I'd take a starring role in Oklahoma or Sweeny Todd any day of the week. But as far as RENT is concerned, I'd sooner sing back-up for Creed than screech out La Vie Boheme. As Robert would say, Ew, Rent.

Ho Hum

A snippet from Jake Bronstein's latest blog entry:

Have you ever met someone who made your heart pound just thinking about them? Someone who’s lips captivate you? Someone you’re drawn to, even against your better judgment? Someone who makes you laugh harder, smile bigger and feel more alive than ever before? I have. That’s passion. It can’t be faked. And it’s rare.

Sadly, it goes both ways. Anyone who can truly make you happy can also make you truly sad. And sometimes, a passionate relationship isn’t actually a good relationship (I’m pretty sure Pammy and Tommy video taped this very phenomenon).

The thing is, you can’t fake that passion… either it’s there, or it’s not. It’s not going to grow out of thin air somewhere down the line. But if it’s there to begin with, when the time IS right, if you want to, you can can forge a good relationship. A passionate one. A sexy, fun, adventurous one.



I couldn't agree more. I'm not usually one to write a sappy, heart-on-your-sleeve entry...so I won't. But I will say, I know exactly what Jake is talking about. Hearing about/witnessing recent break-ups in my friends' lives and trying to be the voice of reason and repair has made me take a look at my own relationship past. I've said it before and I'll say it again- I like being single. I like not having the baggage of a relationship, the emotional ups and downs, the inability to concentrate on day-to-day tasks. BUT..I also like having my heart pound, being captivated, smiling and laughing harder and bigger- experiencing that passion. Yeah yeah yeah...timing is everything. I know that. But why can't the timing hurry it up already?

Sunshine and Farts

I just got home from a nice, relaxing mini-break in Rhode Island. I went to R.I. to visit one of my best friends from undergrad, Danno. I was really looking forward to getting out of Mobtown for a few days; after all, I never had a real vacation this summer, and things are beginning to get just stressful enough that I was ready to punch someone. Needless to say, a few days in gorgeous New England is just what the therapist I wish I was seeing would say is in order.
I arrived Wednesday night, and Danno met me at the airport. We went to his house, where I met his big but cute dog, Rocko. I got settled, then we headed out to have some beers and meet some friends of Danno's. I got trashed, which was the plan, and had a great first night in the lost colony. The next few days were spent touring the state (it's not very big, so everything is close together). It's simply gorgeous- blue blue ocean, greenery everywhere, clean roads and streets, and cute shops and restaraunts. It really is the kind of place I would like to live someday, when I'm through with my citylife.
I met Danno's closest friends, who were all very cool, and learned a lot about my friend Dan and his life, growing up in East Greenwich. I had a great time with my old Mountaineer buddy, and can't wait for him to come see what my life is like here in Charm City. I know he'll never want to leave b/c Baltimore is so great. Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight. Pictures soon to follow.

Now, Something Not-so-Funny

Let me try to act surprised before I say this........um......OK. My car was broken into this morning. Again. For the second time in 2 months. After moving to a more affluent neighborhood. This makes the 3rd time in 3 years. Again, I'm shocked. Could it be, that in this Charming city known as Baltimore, there is crime on every corner? Drug addicts, prostitutes, and vagrants just waiting to violate the more fortunate? In a neighborhood where the average income per family is probably $300,000-500,000/ year, one would think the piece of shit that burglarized my '95 Grand Am might have better luck at finding something of value in one of the Audis or Volvos that line my street. But no- he (and we'll just go with he here...for all I know it was some crackhead woman, but go with me) jimmied the lock on my door, rummaged through the glove box, scattered my old Morrissey tapes throughout the back seat, and emptied the trash from my back seat trash bag. Here is where I feel like an asshole: I had a prescription filled last night, for dry skin- DRY SKIN CREAM- and inadvertantly left it in the glove box over night. Well, the cream is gone. Yes, the only thing stolen was my dry skin medicine. No vicadin, percocet, prozac, or anything that one could actually sell on the drug circuit. Nope. Dry skin cream. Cream that cost me 10 bones. Now I have to explain to Rite Aid that some fuckface stole my medicine, and see if they will replace the RX. Plus my dry skin hurts.

So, I continue to shake my head in disbelief at the utter selfishness of this fair city. I come from a small town where people are nice, and cars are rarely burglarized. I have left my car unlocked overnight several times, and no one even notices. Even living in a college town, where drunken acts of craziness were prevalent, nothing ever happened to my vehicle. Found someone sleeping on my porch once, but that's a different story. I'm jaded by this city. I'm more bitter and scarcastic than I have ever been, and I don't like it. I keep telling myself that when I get out of Baltimore and move to New York, things will be different. After all, most people think New York is the greatest city on earth. God I hope I become one of those people. I hope this chip on my shoulder falls and shatters, and I hope I can stop jumping to conclusions so easily. At least I won't have to worry about my car being burglarized. A reliable form of public transportation...things are looking up already.

First, Something Funny

Three men were sitting together bragging about how they had given their
new wives housekeeping duties.

The first man had married a woman from Iowa, and bragged that he had
told his wife she was going to do all the dishes and house cleaning that
needed done at their house. He said that it took a couple days but on
the third day he came home to a clean house and the dishes were all
washed and put away.

The second man had married a woman from Indiana. He bragged that he
had given his wife orders that she was to do all the cleaning, dishes,
and the cooking. He told them that the first day he didn't see any
results, but the next day it was better. By the third day, his house was
clean, the dishes were done, and he had a huge dinner on the table.

The third man had married a girl from Maryland. He boasted that he
told her that her duties were to keep the house cleaned, dishes washed,
lawn mowed, laundry washed and hot meals on the table for every meal. He
said the first day he didn't see anything, the second day he didn't see
anything, but by the third day most of the swelling had gone down and he
could see a little out of his left eye, enough to fix himself a bite to
eat, load the dishwasher, and telephone a landscaper.

Got to love those girls from Maryland.

Great Start

I know it's Monday because my lunch bag broke in the parking garage this morning, sending homemade soup everywhere. I managed to clean most of it up, but someone will have a surprise of green beans, carrots, and zucchini behind their car. Plus my peach was soaked in vegetable broth- gross. So now I have to buy my lunch.
In other good news, my wrist is sore from endlessly addressing envelopes for work. Wow..this is sure to be a great day.

Le Sigh

If you have HBO and don't watch Entourage, than you are just foolish. Adrian Grenier is a great actor, not to mention great eye candy. He was featured on the World Cafe today, where he listed his "Top 5 Favorite Songs." They are
Funkadelic - Can You Get To That- Maggot Brain
Ween - The Mollusk- The Mollusk
Johnny Cash - Jackson- At Folsom Prison
Nina Simone - Suzanne- Heart And Soul
Weezer - Say It Ain’t So- Blue Album

Now I'm not really a fan of Funkadelic, but I do like Ween, Johnny Cash, LOVE Weezer, and the Nina Simone song is a Leonard Cohen song, and he is one of the greatest songwriters ever. I would say that Mr. Grenier and I are a match made in heaven. Well...maybe not a match made in heaven. I'm not really sure what else we have in common. He's an actor...I can act. He's also a musician..and so am I. I guess those are good things.

Well, if I ever meet him, I'll be sure to tell him I enjoyed his Top 5. And then we'll make out.

Get it Together

One of my biggest pet peaves is unpreparedness. Actually it's more than a pet peave- it annoys me to no end, pisses me off, ruffles the feathers of my feathers, and generally makes me feel like punching someone. I also hate it when people are late, which I think goes hand in hand with being unprepared. Anyway, dealing with unprepared people is something that is common in the music field. It's unfortunate, but true. And singers, in particualar, are known for their excuses, tardiness, and egotism. The singers who display these qualities make a bad name for all of us.

Tonight at church choir rehearsal, I had to sit through 2 hours of certain singers and their unpreparedness(es?). Now, I could say, it's still early in the game- we just started rehearsing last week, and some of the singers are new, and still getting used to the fast paced rehearsal and rep. But it wasn't the new singers who were fucking up- it was the ones who have been there for a year (or longer.) There is really no excuse for not being prepared for a rehearsal. This is our craft- showing up without even looking at the music lame, and needing someone to bang out your notes for you is even worse. And there sat Robert, a baritone who practiced his BARITONE parts, sightreading the tenor line all night. I didn't hear one mistake from him all night. He's one of the best and smartest musicians I know. But other singers, who have had their music for weeks, couldn't read a perfect 5th or a 1/2 step. Pathetic.

UNfortunately, laziness is something that will always abound in the music field. I assume it's the same way in theatre, visual arts, and most any other profession. That's what separates the good from the bad. Just as long as the bad know who they are, and stay the hell away from me.

Uhhhh....

I just heard a man in my office say (in reference to womens' pointy-toed shoes), "I hate them. All guys hate them. All my friends anyway."

UH....excuse me?

First of all, not ALL guys hate them. I have several pairs of pointy-toed shoes- they are classic, sexy, fashionable, and flattering for almost any woman. I have had men, gay and straight, tell me that my shoes are fierce. (OK..maybe the straight ones don't say fierce.)

Those who wear pleated pants shall not cast stones at the pointy-toed shoe wearers. The 10 (Fashion) Commandments.

Zzzzzz

My butt may be asleep from sitting, typing ENDLESSLY, but I just finished listening to Bloc Party Live, from the NPR website. I had NO IDEA Bloc Party came to the 9:30 Club in June, but thanks to NPR, I just heard the entire show, for free. Support National Pubic Radio- it's 100000 times better than anything else on the airwaves.

It's a Clove

Tonight I had dinner with my oooooold gay friends from West Virginia. OK...well Brian was there too, and he's not gay. He was always the unicorn of the bunch. And my sister was along too...and she's no lesbo. So, 2 straight girls, one straight guy, and 5 gays....sounds like a typical Saturday night for me. Minus the straight guy. Dammit I need a date.

Anyway...Trent, Jeff, Jeremy, Brian and I are all Mountaineers- alumns of West by God Virginia University. Mountain mamas. You got a purty mouth. OK..done with the WVisms. We spent the evening at the Helmand, eating wonderful food, drinking great wine, and sharing stories of "hey...do you remember that time in choir when..", and "Hey...remember that party when you were making out with...", can't forget ", where are my pants?"

Jeremy is headed back to New Zealand in a few weeks, where he has been living for the past few years with his finace, Barnaby. Brian is now engaged, in the Army Field Band, and planning a wedding for next summer. Trent and his new boyfriend Ben are all new and happy- aww. Jeff is still making me piss my pants with his apathetic attitude and crazy stories.

I don't always look forward to reunions, but this is one group I will reunite with anytime. Even if it means spending $1500 on a plane ticket to Kiwi Land.

Donkey Kong

According to the Phat Phree, #29 on the list of the 50 Most Embarrassing Ways to Die:

Slipping on a banana peel

Who are you? Magilla Gorilla? Who dies because of slipping on a banana peel? You dumbass.  Was it an Acme Banana Peel? Did Wile E. Coyote put it there? Elmer Fudd? Did a piano fall on you afterwards?

I'm Rich (with belts)

I'm proud of myself, because for the first time in, ohhhh say 6 months, my Sallie Mae loan payment is on time. You see, I have 3 different borrowers to pay off each month, not to mention a credit card that I haven't used in over a year. The Citibank and ACS loans aren't due until later in the month, so I always pay those on time. But the Sallie Mae is tough because it's due closer to the beginning of the month- when my rent and gym fees are also due. But, thanks to the recent onslaught of church gigs (PLEASE keep them coming), I made my Sallie Mae payment on time this month. Horray for me.

O What a Beautiful Mornin

I'm convinced that nearly everyone with whom I come in contact in the morning is out to get me. Of course, this is ridiculous and not true...but I'm still convinced there is some massive memo that has circulated Baltimore city stating,
"Dear people on Hilary's commute to work- drive like assholes, cross the street without looking, double park when there are 10 open spaces around you, talk on your cell phone instead of watching the road, and don't hold the door for her when exiting the parking garage. Thank you. Sincerely, Life."

Challah

Just call me Charlotte.

I am trying to pimp myself out to local synagogues in hopes of getting a job singing for the upcoming High Holy days. It's an extremely lucrative gig if you can get it. So lucrative at some temples, that, theoretically, I wouldn't have to work my day job for several weeks. Of course I would work my day job. But this is a non-issue because I'm not Jewish. Shocking, I know. For starters, could my last name be any more Irish? Not to mention my fair skin, blonde curly hair, and ancestory. It's not like I'm Robert Maril.
At any rate, one of the choir directors at a particular temple I sought out just called me about a possible gig. "Right off the bat- are you in fact Jewish?" he said. I thought for a few seconds about lying; that's what other friends of mine have done. And apparently, my IRISH BORN friend Andrea was a convincing enough (non) Jew that she got the gig with no problem. But, alas, I told him that I am not, in fact, a Jew. "Well", he said, "then that solves that. It's a conservative temple, so all the singers have to be Jewish." He then explained that he himself is not a Jew, but since he doesn't actually sing, he's allowed to conduct the choir. Curious.
Who am I to argue with the Jewish faith and tradition? I barely know anything about it. But what I do find curious is that several of my friends who have paid church choir jobs are not of the particular faith of their employing denomination, and some are not Christians. If it's OK for the Gentiles, why isn't it OK for the Jews? Apparently they view their choir as more than just a job. Oy vey....I really could have used the extra money.

Geekin Out

OK, this is a little nerdy, but funny too.

From L'Onion:


New York Philharmonic Hosts Open-Mic Night

NEW YORK—The New York Philharmonic Orchestra announced Monday that it will continue its popular open-mic nights throughout the 2005 fall season, encouraging everyone to "bring nothing but your instrument, 10 bucks, and whatever talent God gave you." According to director Lorin Maazel, "There are a lot of people out there with a cello or an oboe but no one to play with. Come on stage—we know over 500 symphonies! But please, no stand-up." Highlights of last year's open-mic nights included Mr. Maazel conducting data-entry technician Stacy Peterson and auxiliary-equipment operator Dan Fowles in a performance of Brahms' Double Concerto in A minor.

I Really am a Nice Person

Don't you hate it when you see someone you know, but you're not sure if you should say hi? I always feel like such a jerk in those situations...and very awkward. What is so difficult about making the first move?
Today I saw a girl at the gym with whom I used to work. I never got to say goodbye to her when I left the job, and I regreted that. But, we never exchanged phone numbers, and I was fired- so I didn't exactly have time for info exchanges. I even tried to look her up after leaving the job, but never found a phone number or email address.
So, she walked into the gym and started running on the tread mill right in front of me. I wasn't sure it was her at first, but the more I looked at her (wow...I hope I didn't seem like a crazy lesbian stalker), the more I was convinced it was indeed her. "I'll say hello when she finishes her run", I thought. But I didn't. Then she came over to the elliptical trainer right beside me, and I still didn't say hello! I guess it wasn't 100% up to me to take the initiative, but I feel like an ass for not saying hello. I'm gonna blame it on her not recognizing me. After all, I was never a sweaty mess in work out clothes at work....well, no work out clothes at least.

I Can't Even Think of an Appropriate Title

OH MY GOD.

Road Rage

This is exactly what I'm talking about. Right on, non-Maryland driver!

Bouncin Back

After a night of drunken fun with Dan, wasted-saltine-and-peanut-butter eating, and forgetting to lock my front door, I still managed to wake up at 7:30 this morning. It's funny; I set my alarm every morning so I won't be late getting up for work, yet my internal alarm clock never fails. I can usually go back to sleep for a half hour at a time, and then I just get up...I feel like sleeping in wastes my day. Apparently I'm 45.
Seriously, I like getting up on Saturday mornings. I go to the farmers market (although I didn't go this morning b/c I am too lazy), and if I feel I can treat myself (which I did this morning, even though I consumed 392830428 calories in all that peanut butter last night), I go to my favorite neighborhood coffee shop, and get meself a muffin and coffee. I walked down to the coffee shop this morning, and saw several young dads playing with their kids on the front lawns of their gorgeous homes. I saw several people walking their dogs while sipping lattes, and more parents pushing their babies in strollers. When I arrived at the coffee shop, the place was packed (as it always is), and the line was 10 people deep. I pushed past the hippies and fake poetry types and ordered my muffin and coffee. On the walk home, I saw more people- runners, walkers, dogs....my Saturday morning contingent!

So maybe most twentysomethings are still sleeping off the previous night, waking up in a hungover haze before stumbling to the couch where they will spend the better part of the afternoon. And maybe part of me wishes I could still do that- like in college. Does this mean I'm turning into my parents, who wake up at 6:30 every day of the week, regardless of what they actually have to do? Coffee, paper, have the living room cleaned by 8 AM?
No...I'm not quite there yet. I've got at least another 10 years before I can no longer bounce back.

Payin' the Rent

My friend Jonathan writes:

What do you do in long meetings?  Take notes?  Pound the table?  Add to
the discussion?  Think outside the box?  Provide synergy?  We have to
eat at our desk every day. 

Well, Jonathan, I do all of the above; minus taking notes, providing synergy, and thinking outside the box. So that leaves me with...pounding the table (which I do in my head), and adding to the discussion (that I actually do). That and think about what's for lunch.

Yet Another Engagement

OK...as I have stated before, I am in no rush to get married. I like being single and living my life. I like coming and going as I please. I like cruising cute boys. I like not having all the drama and baggage of a serious relationship. But at the same time, if I met a totally killer guy, I would welcome all of those things.

That being said, I'm convinced that I'm going to be one of 5 people at my 10 year high school reunion who isn't A) married, B) a mother, or C) a married mother. If I can actually attend my 10 year reunion (you know..if I'm not having a fabulous career singing somewhere totally amazing and dining on wine and cheese at major social functions), I will need an amazing date. Hopefully my amazing date will be my amazing boyfriend...but I can't count on that. So- all you single, amazing, hot, straight men out there (and I think maybe 4 straight men read this), I may be calling you in 2.5 years. Get your datebooks ready.

Vulgar and Crude...

...just the way I like it.

From Margie:

The nun teaching Sunday School was speaking to her class one morning and she asked the question:
"When you die and go to heaven... which part of your body goes first?"
Suzy raised her hand and said, "I think it's your hands."
"Why do you think it's your hands, Suzy?"
Suzy replied "because when you pray, you hold your hands together
in front of you and God just takes your hands first."
"What a wonderful answer!" the nun said.
Little Johnny raised his hand and said, "Sister, I think it's your feet."
The nun looked at him with the strangest look on her face.
"Now, little Johnny, why do you think it would be your feet?"
Little Johnny said, "The other night Mommy had her legs straight up in the air and she was saying "OH! GOD, I'M COMING!" If Dad hadn't pinned her down, we'd have lost her."
The nun fainted....