Anticipation

It is almost October and my boys are battling the evil empire again in the fens. I am already nervous. It has been said over and over again about these two teams, but you will never know what is going to happen. I know this is not last year. I know what the Yankees are capable of. I know what our bats are capable of if we start using them. I know that I will be stressed out to the high heavens all night. I know that before this weekend is over I will have probably shaved two years off my life.

Let the games begin.

Darkness

The photo Friday challenge this week is Darkness. This photo was taken outside Vajdahunyad Castle in Budapest, and is a tribute to the historian who chronicled the early Magyars. The statue is titled Anonymous, because the historian lived in the 12th or 13th century and his identity has never been determined.

We did not know the story before we approached, and in person this sculpture is very unnerving. It is an understatement to say that this faceless statue freaked me out. At the same time I could not look away. There are so many figures like this in history, people who contribute their work to the world but are forgotten. The sculptor captured this in such a spooky, evil dark force kind of way.

This Is Why My Life Rocks

I just got back from having a few pints at my local. There was a musician playing tonight, but he was not very good. The hot guy playing his guitar in our office right now is about 8,000 times better. Not that I am biased.

So we left our local and drove home with my gay boyfriend. When we got to our apartment Derek and I had a little Madonna dance party in the street. The best part is that while Derek and I were busting a move on the concrete, my real boyfriend was taking out the trash. I have the best of all worlds people and I sure as hell know it.

As a side note, Derek re-progammed the speed dial on his cell phone today. As a weird coincidence I am now number 4 of 9 on his cell. I found much joy in that.

Follow Me

Since I quit my job last week I have been searching out alternative forms of income. I know that I would be really great at a wide of variety of jobs, but that does not mean that I want to do them. So, Dave made a suggestion the other day and I think it might work. I could create The West Wing Tour of DC. This is brilliant on so many levels. First, I am obsessed with the show and watch it whenever it comes on, which if you have Bravo is a lot. That might be OK if I hadn't Nextflixed every single season already. Needless to say, I know a ton of useless information about the West Wing. I also know the area pretty well now and can identify various locations where they have filmed. Like when they captured the skin head shooter who shot Josh in season two, and said it was in rural West Virginia, it wasn't. It was shot in Old Town. Duh. Don't people want to know these things? Won't they pay me money to hear these things? OK maybe not, but it sure would beat doing actual work.

Fishy

A few summers ago my family rented a house down the Cape, and for the most part it was furnished nicely. Except, on my bed I found a two foot long stuffed fish pillow that is the tackiest thing you have ever seen. I thought it was unfair to keep something so nice to myself, so I decided to share it with my family. I did this by leaving it in the freezer, in the cooler, in my sister's shower, in my parents bed, etc. Eventually my family realized the greatness of the fish and started hiding it in strange places too. When it was time to leave I could not find the fish to put it back. I found him the next day when I was at home unpacking. Some sneaky fucker put him in my luggage.

Since then the fish has traveled well. He has been found in my Dad's new car, in beds, in bags, in a package my parents mailed to me, etc. The last time I had the fish I snuck into my sister and brother-in-law's hotel room on their wedding night and placed the fish on the ceiling fan. He has been MIA for about a year so I should have known what was coming.

Last night, in the dark, I felt something under my pillow. As soon as a reached down and felt those beady eyes I knew that the elusive fish had made his way to Virginia.

Bastard.

Fenway South

It was really sad to see my brother leave today, but we had an awesome weekend. First and foremost, the World Champion Red Sox played like the team that I know and love. Camden Yards, from here on to be known as Fenway South, was on fire with Sox fans. There were about five or six Orioles fans there, but the only time you could tell was when the "fan-o-meter" came on the scoreboard. Imagine if they tried that crap at Fenway? Someone would probably get fired.

I also did my part on Friday to rally the young contingent of Red Sox fans at the game. Antonio, the random fourth grader who sat next to me, whose life story I learned in nine innings, showed up loud and proud in his Sox hat and shirt. At the beginning of the game a family sat down in front of us, but we could not tell who they were routing for. I asked Antonio, if the kids ended up being O's fans, if he thought he could take 'em. He said yes, and they were. At one point in the third I was a little worried that there might be a schoolyard rumble erupting in front of me, but they contained themselves. We also met a guy in the row behind us who grew up a half a block away from us. Granted there was a twenty year age difference, but it is a small world.

I learned a new word from my brother Friday and I cannot stop using it. The word is Assclown, and so you can fully grasp its meaning, I will use it in a few sentences for you. "What kind of Assclown tries to walk across a six lane highway?" Or, "Who is the Assclown in the Sox hat trying to start the wave when the game is tied in the seventh?" My favorite is example is, "Who are the Assclowns who took their photo at Fenway and sent it to me?"



My Assclowns

Burn

The theme for Photo Friday today is Burn.

This photo was taken in Vernazza, Italy a year ago this week, actually. I love the way the sunset lit these colorful buildings. They felt like they were glowing from a fire.

Now I have Public Enemy stuck in my head. I smell a riot...

Loose Lips Sink Ships

The next week and a half is crunch time for the Sox. I can't even think about the fact that we are no longer in first. I might hit someone. There was a sign today that things might be looking up. My Brothah is in town to go to the Sox games with me Friday and Satuhday in Camden Yahds. Now we all know how I feel about Camden Yards. But, we went to the Spy Museum today and part of the tour is that you assume a secret identity. Billy was given the task of going to Boston, visiting Fenway, and inquiring about Red Sox fantasy camp. That is a sign people, a very clear sign that things are going to look up. Or, it is a sign that I have lost my mind. The Orioles practically laid down and took it up the rear from the Yankees, they better do the same for us.

If you are as stressed out by the boys as I am right now, you should read this.

So, if you are looking for me this weekend, I will be the one at Camden Yards screaming my bloody head off. If I happen to see Manny Ramirez strolling up the first base line, I will be the one on the field beating him with my bare hands. I became a Ninja spa today, so he should be afraid.

Yesterday's Gone

I wanted to post a really happy story about how awesome my day was yesterday. I felt the need to describe how the birds were singing to me, how beautiful women were throwing flowers at me in the street, you get the idea. All of these wonderful things happened immediately after I quit my job yesterday. Yes, I quit my job yesterday. I felt all these amazing things for about two hours. Then fear hit. Holy Shit I just quit my job. How the hell am I going to pay my bills? What if I can't find another job? What the fuck did I just do?

The fear lasted until I went to class today. I sat there for four hours and did not once think about my job. Instead, I was happy. I floated out of the building fully confident in my decision, and I don't plan on looking back. I need to focus on school. Bottom line. I don't know the answers to the questions that my fear brings. I have learned that it really doesn't matter. I could spent my life worrying about being safe and would end up getting myself nowhere.

I have reached the point where I am going to stop living the life I don't want, and start living the life I do. It does feel a little bit like I jumped off a cliff without a parachute, but the breeze sure feels nice.

Thanks John

A few weeks ago, I told you all about my trip to the west coast. Well, not all about, but you got some of the highlights. Well my dear readers, this is the photo that I asked John Mayer to take. I think he did a pretty good job, don't you? The best part is that not one of us is making a funny face. I thought for sure that I would be making my "laughing so hard it is embarrassing" face. Or my, "what the hell is she doing" face. Nope, you just get my normal "it's OK to share this photo with other people" face. Now can you see how happy life is at the Four Seasons? aaah, it was nice...

I am the Luckiest

I have not had the best of weekends. After spending the better part of the afternoon Friday reading in my favorite park, I was rear ended. My car was the third in the middle of a four car accident. The good news is that I am fine and there, for some unknown reason, is not one scratch on my new car. Good for the woman who caused the whole thing because I probably would have beat the crap out of her. Yes, sometimes violence is the answer. She is lucky she did not have to feel my wrath.

Life has been kicking me around this weekend, that happens sometimes. During the middle of our Katrina fundraiser on Saturday, people kept getting angry at us. Hello? Hi, yeah, we are volunteers. Let me say that again- v-o-l-u-n-t-e-e-r-s. Hmmm. Good people to get angry at. There is other crap going on, but this is not the time, nor the place. The real problem is the Red Sox right now. 12-3, come on. This is September boys, let's start playing like it.

I guess my point is, despite all the insignificant junk happening in my life, I still got someone to bring me home chocolate cake. Isn't that what really matters? Cake and cheesy musicals. I'm lucky.

Divine

This week I am starting the Photo Friday Challenge. Basically, there is this web site that picks a category every week, and you can post a photo based on your interpretation of that category.

This week it is Divine. This is a sculpture of a Pope that I shot in St. Peter's. Not with a gun silly, my camera. Geesh. Perhaps it is my Catholic upbringing, but I read Divine and I think church. That, and of the hundreds of photos I have on my computer I did not have one of Fenway. Scanner people, my birthday is coming.

Only Dorks Say Dork

A while back I started watching Great Hotels on the travel channel. It is hosted by Samantha Brown, who crosses back and forth from being a big dork, to making me laugh. She basically travels all around the country staying in the fanciest of fancy hotels. Hence, Great Hotels. I think I like the show so much because of the emphasis she places on hotel bathrooms. I have an amazingly soft bed and sheets at home, cut to the chase and show me the bathroom. I don't have a jacuzzi tub yet, emphasis on the yet, so there is nothing like a nice marble hotel bathroom with a big fattie tub. Ohhh yeah.

Well Miss Brown has a fairly new show about her travels through Europe. I like this show even more than Great Hotels because I have seen a lot of Europe, and I haven't seen but the outside of many great hotels. It is cool to see a different perspective on something you have experienced. Plus, on her Salzburg episode she was leaping through the Sound of Music Gazebo singing "Sixteen Going on Seventeen." I was leaping through Salzburg singing "The Lonely Goatherd." I bet you find that hard to imagine.

Plus I just want her job.



High on a hill is a lonely goat...

And for those who think that I have been messing with my sitemeter this week, I have not. Seems I was mentioned on Blogger Buzz. Pretty Cool.

Why the Bitch upstairs needs to die

Do remember that scene in Billy Madison where the art teacher is smearing paint all over her face? Yeah, well, she lives upstairs from me. No, not the actress in that movie. A real life elementary school art teacher who has the social skills of a newt.

Don't get me wrong, I love art. Hell, I even loved art in elementary school. I still have some of my work lying around to prove it to you. My problem is with the 40 something, friendless, clueless, fashionless, boob who I am forced to share a building with. We live in a two family house with an upstairs and downstairs apartment. We have the downstairs apartment, which is probably the best apartment I have had in a long time. Our neighborhood rocks, we can walk to everything, I know about 5 or 6 people on the block, we have plenty of outside space, and most importantly, we pay practically nothing. The only problem with the place, besides the occasional camel cricket that finds its way into my shower, is the freak show living above us.

I could go on for days detailing all the insane crap she has done, but I will stick to the highlights. The first indication of her weirdness was when she called the water company and turned off all the water in the whole house for 3 days. Why, you might ask? Because she wanted to switch the water bill into our names. Fine, we just moved in, we can handle that. Just fucking talk to us you wack job. The power company physically came to our house and turned the water off. Did we have any warning? Nope, woke up one day, no water. How did we find out what happened? Did she come and tell us? Nope. We had to call the company and find out why we had no water. The best part was that we still couldn't turn it back on because it was still in her name. I am just thankful I have friends in the 'hood who let me use their showers. That was bad. She never even apologized.

Then there was the day that I was peacefully taking a nap on my couch. I was not feeling well at all, so I laid down in the comfort of my own home to rest. The freak show decides that she wants to talk to one of us, so she starts knocking on the door. Again, I don't feel well, so I don't answer. This is where things get good. Apparently when you knock on someone's door and they don't answer, you should ring the doorbell for about thirty seconds. Then, when that doesn't work you should knock on the door again. And when they still don't answer you should go back to ringing the bell. And so on, and so on, and so on.... I couldn't take it anymore. I flung open the door with a look that would have killed a small child. "Oh, I wasn't sure if anyone was home" she said. Really? 'cause you just rang the bell and knocked on the door about 300 times, if you didn't think anyone was here what in God's name where you doing? She went on to tell me that the fan in our bathroom was on and she could hear it in her apartment. Que? You can't manage to tell us that you are having the water turned off, but when we have the fan on we get a reenactment of Stomp on our front door? Of course I didn't say any of this to her, because I have the basic human social skills that she is lacking. I just went and turned the damn fan off and fell back asleep.

When spring came the issue of mowing the lawn came up and we agreed to share the responsibilities. She mowed the lawn first and Dave did it next. Then, for some reason, she didn't mow it again. The lawn just kept growing and growing. We were trying to figure out why she wasn't doing her share. Then she confronted Dave and asked him if "his girlfriend" planned on mowing the lawn. Hmmmm, lets see, two apartments, we take turns. This ain't no we do it twice you do it only once action. Plus, bitch, I am all about feminism and equal rights, but I have never mowed a lawn in my entire life, and I never plan on it. That is why I was blessed with brothers and a boyfriend. As Dave said, "If she can find a man, I don't mind if she has him mow the lawn when it is her turn."

Like I said, this is just the tip of the iceberg. She leaves weird notes, knocks on our patio door with her rake to get our attention, hides the trash can and lies about it, leaves checks for the water bill for arbitrary amounts 2 months before the bill is due, etc. She even had the nerve to bang on the floor during the Super Bowl. The Super Bowl! Did she not realize that most normal people were watching a sporting event that involved the greatest football team of all time? The Super Bowl. Just keep in mind that for the first 2 months we were here she was recarpeting her apartment. Yes, recarpeting her rented apartment. Loudly recarpeting her apartment. Maybe it needed fixing because she has lived here for 9 years. Who lives in the same rental for 9 years?

So, honey, the next time I see you walking around in your bright purple shorts that you wear with your hot pink shirt, only to be accented by the lovely barrettes you put in your mane, you better beware. I might stock pile some of those camel crickets and jam them down your throat. Just because you dress like you are eight, doesn't mean that you can act like it. You brought on my angst. I never wanted our relationship to be so hostile. But it is.

And you need to go.

30-20

As my niece says "Go, Go Patriots!"

The Pats started off the year the same way the ended the last, with a win. Time will tell if they can handle loosing key players and coaches, but right now they are the winningest team of the season. I am so sick of people trying to talk smack to me about the Patriots. Get over your jealousy people. We have won 3 of the last 4 super bowls, and if we can do it again this season it will be number 4 of 5. This has always worked well for me. I promise you that there is nothing worse than a Redskins fan trying to tell you how great the 'skins are going to be this season. Blah, blah, blah. Someone tried to tell me this week that Joe Gibbs is a better coach than Bill Belichick. Hmmm. Yeah. You can always have hope I guess.

This week marks the one year anniversary of our two month trip to Europe. I fully cannot believe that it has been a year. One of my best friends just came back from a two week trip abroad and it was so fun to look at his pictures and hear his stories. Our first stop, about this time last year, was in Dublin. For the few days prior to the trip I could not sleep very well. So most of Dublin was a big jet lagged blur. I do remember that on one of our first days there we walked into Christ Church and found a priest that was giving a tour. He took a group of about 20 people down into the stone cellar and was discussing different historical objects. The room was very, very quiet while we listened to him speak. I was doing everything within my power not to fall asleep standing up. I think I was concentrating so hard on not closing my eyes that the rest of body forgot what it was doing, and I farted. Just a small little fart, but in the quiet stone cellar of the church the noise kind of traveled, and it scared the piss out of me. I was mortified. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Dave turn his head towards me. I did not flinch, not a move, I just kept staring straight ahead like nothing happened. I knew that I could fool Dave into believing it was the girl next to me, everyone else might think it was her too. And it worked. He had no idea it was me until we walked outside and I started laughing uncontrollably. Oops. I blame it on the jet lag.

You Can't Spell Cesspool Without the OC

"Ocean City Maryland, where you and your loved ones can take a vacation from decency"

As you know I bought a new car a week and a half ago. This yet to be named car, for which I am taking suggestions, and I have not bonded on the open road. We had some time for a jaunt so we headed towards the beach. I love the ocean. I really love the ocean. Looking at my pale white skin you might find this hard to believe, but nothing makes me happier than a day on the beach. That and lots, and lots, of sunscreen-I'm not getting wrinkles people. My sisters know that one of the worst ways to taunt me, and to give me further reason to move home, is to call me on the way to the beach. Bitches. The patch of ocean sand that my family calls our own is by far my favorite place on this earth. Fenway is a very close second, but my beach is pure heaven. I have been to many other beaches all over New England, all over Florida, California, France, Italy, the Carolinas, and loved most of them, but I have never been to the beach in this area. And after my experience today and yesterday, I am in no rush to go back.

Ocean City is one of those beach towns where it looks like cheesy, sexual innuendo kitsch vomited everywhere. And you can buy it all on sale for $7.99. OK, it wasn't all bad. There was sand and there was ocean, two things I don't have at home. But, that was all it had going for it. It didn't help that the whole time we were there Dave kept saying, "I told you it was bad." Despite the horridness that was crappy boardwalk trinket shops, shamefully lewd bars with names like "Golden Balls Saloon," or the endless stream of mini golf courses, none of it held a candle in comparison to our hotel room. We found what looked like a very nice place right on the beach with a view of the ocean. The building looked well kept, the lobby was very clean and the furniture was not the least bit tacky. Even our room was spotless. Sweet. We went out for dinner, and came back to the room to relax. I had to pee, and was dismayed to find a cockroach in the bathroom when I turned the light on. Gross. There are cockroaches in the bathroom. OK, not showering here. I put my pj's on climbed into bed and tried to relax reading my Real Simple magazine. Love me some Real Simple. All the lights are on in the room at this point. Dave is watching TV when he notices another little friend crawling up the wall. He turns to me to get my attention, and starts saying how nasty it is that the bugs are out with lights on, but he cuts off mid sentence and his eyes just start to get big. I look down and there is a cockroach on the bed, between the blanket and the sheet crawling towards me. Let me repeat that, the was a cockroach on the bed. There was a cockroach on my bed. Aaaagghhh. Within one felt swoop I jump up, scream like bloody hell, and grab the phone to call the front desk to get our money back. I don't remember much of that conversation, but it mostly involved me yelling. There was no way in hell that we were staying there, so at one in the morning we had to go find another hotel. Awful. It is shit like this that makes me hate Maryland so much. I am sure there is something redeeming about the state. I have yet to find it.

I assure you this is not Ocean City:

What have I been doing?

If you knew me five years ago, which most of you have, you know that I had some pretty lofty goals for myself. The army of me was going to change the way we looked at, and dealt with, race in America. I was going to change some shit that needed changing. Where did I go? I think most of that time was spent on Mars collecting rock samples and trying to prove that there was once water on the Red Planet. Upon my return from the galaxy of blinders, I have not been able to peel myself away from the TV. Yes, this is my country. Yes, I have known for a very long time that the "developing world" is not that far from my front door. My point is, I am pretty sure that I am back. Step one was convincing the owners of my company we are hiring a few people should some victims come to this area. Not a very big deal, but will make us feel like we are doing something concrete. The next step came to me while I was tossing and turning in bed this morning. Stay tuned people.

Living Paycheck to Paycheck Made Leaving Impossible
"To those who wonder why so many stayed behind when push came to water's mighty shove here, those who were trapped have a simple explanation: Their nickels and dimes and dollar bills simply didn't add up to stage a quick evacuation mission."


A Nation's Castaways"The Other is there, staring us in the face, exposing our issues on an international stage. It is at once an embarrassment -- how did we go from can-do to can't-do-for-our-own? -- and a challenge, critics charge: How do we stop ignoring the folks in the box, the inner-city destitute, and realize that their fate is ours as well?"

Angry as hell

I am posting again today because I have turned from sad and upset, to very fucking angry. I will argue to my grave that the people in New Orleans who have been forsaken by our government, have been neglected because they are poor and because they are black. Yes, there was a mandate to leave the city. I would be able to get in my car and drive away, to a hotel room, or to family. But, if I don't have the money to own a car, to rent a car, or to pay for a hotel room, what the hell am I supposed to do? Many did exactly as they were told, go to the convention center, go to the dome. And then what? Leave them there to rot with no food, water, sanitation or medicine? Michael Brown, the director of FEMA, sees this as partly their own fault. What are they guilty of Michael, being poor? Or being "other"?If this had happened in a middle class white city there is no way in hell you would even try to blame the people who are hurting the most. Damn you. And damn your agency for not being there last weekend to offer rides to people without access. If a category 5 hurricane is coming towards a city whose levees are build to withstand a category 3 storm, our government should be hauling the most needy out. Before the storm, not after. And what about those people in hospitals Mr. Brown? What in God's name were they supposed to do?

Now, don't anyone even try to tell me that "there are people rioting, we can't help them." There are selected pockets of people behaving poorly. There are thousands of people doing exactly what they were told. Sit and wait. Get the military in there yesterday to restore order and get people help. If my baby was starving and dehydrated you know my ass will be stealing whatever shit I can to feed it. And so would you too, so quit your damn judging.

There was a reporter at the convention center today showing the beyond desperate state people are in. He was with Harry Connick Jr. who was promising these people help. How the fuck can Harry Connick Jr. get to these people and the US government cannot? Maybe Mr. Bush, Mr Connick can go find Osama for you.

I am embarrassed of my government. I am ashamed of how we are turning our back on our most needy. Money is being raised. People are being overly generous. But people are dying right now, and our government is blaming them.

Sweet land of liberty.

Distraction

I am not going to pretend to add any original commentary on the insanity that is going on in the south right now. I have to stop watching TV because I feel so helpless not being able to do anything. If I feel helpless here in my dry, air conditioned apartment, with clean running water, I cannot imagine what it is like for the peeps in Louisiana. Is this not America? Can it be so hard to get people clean water to drink? What freaks me out the most is that these people we are seeing in such a desperate state are not people with an abundant access to resources. Where are the supposed to go for 2 months? Lets hope that the long term rescue will go better than the current debacle.

I did find a good article today about the cause of Katrina. Just something to make you think.