Destiny, I tell you! DESTINY!

While talking to Pete on the phone 2 nights ago:

Pete (Frustrated and exasperated after chaperoning a field trip to a historic site he hates): …I hate the industrial revolution! It’s so boring, and mind-numbing, and worthless. Why would anyone want to study the industrial revolution!? I wish it never happened! It’s so…

Me (interrupting, because he’s been going on for about 3 solid minutes now): Darling, you do realize that if the industrial revolution never happened, we wouldn’t be dating.

Pete (thrown off at my interruption): Wha…Wait, what? Of course we would, don’t be silly. And another thing, the industrial revol….

Me: No! Because there wouldn’t be telephones so we couldn’t have this conversation. And there wouldn’t be airplanes so we couldn’t visit each other. And, also! No computers, so I couldn’t have sent you flirtatious emails and made you fall in love with me!

Pete (now exasperated at me, and no longer the industrial revolution): No! It was destiny! Shut up!

Do it for the children!

Oddly, the most common blogs that I read are parenting blogs. I would say about 80% of the blogs that I read on a daily basis are written by parents, and they almost always are writing about their children. Now I realize that this is completely crazy because:

1. I don’t like children

2. I don’t have children

3. I am not likely to have children any time in the foreseeable future

4. I do not need to commiserate with these parents, or share in their joy of the triumph of pottytraining or whatever it is that they do.

So why do I read these? Because, as much as I dislike kids, they are so fracking funny.

Observe this little song composed by the 4 year-old son who lives at Finslippy (and really, you should go there and read the whole entry. It is brilliant):

I love love you so much
I just can’t handle it
Behold Mommy! You’re the best one ever!
[whispering] but I wish you were a better one

I’ll just let you pause here to wipe the tears off of your face.

…..

…..

Seriously, y’all, kids are funny. Maybe I will have one of those things one day. But only if it is a funny one. Because, if it isn’t, you know where it is going!

(Right here, baby!)

(of course I’m kidding! GAH! That one is only for mixed paper and cardboard!)

And here is where I make fun of famous people who are prettier than me!

Oscar roundup!

I saw almost none of the movies nominated this year, which is a shame. I have every intention to, but, you know…I just didn’t. Anyway, I thought this was the funniest Oscars I have seen in a long time. Ellen was brilliant and I didn’t even get sick of her! Jack Black, Will Ferrell, and John C. Rielley were my favorite part. Even Jerry Seinfield made me laugh out loud with the documentary introduction.

I was so glad that Helen Mirren won, as everyone knew she would. She was truly magnificent in The Queen, and is the most beautiful 61 year-old I have ever seen. Note to Alan Alda: Don’t put it on the damn floor! And is to too much to ask for you to memorize your speece? You’re an actor for Christ’s sake! I LOVED the little vignettes they did for the costume design award. Excellent idea. And how cool were the dancers? They were amazing.

And, of course, my favorite moment.

Now! On with the pretty frocks!

-As much as I dislike her, she almost always looks amazing at award shows

-You need to get to the doctor to have that boil lanced, Nic! It’s getting out of control

-I want to own this dress. I love it. She looks beautiful, but her hair is bothering me.

-Love the color, but that is just too much dress. Can you imagine dragging all those dead birds around all night?

-Fabulous Tux. One of my favorite males of the evening.

- Ok, look now. We need to talk. If you have a stylist, you need to fire her immediately. She is lying to you. If you don’t, you need to get one right now, because you are blind. Stop wearing ugly clothes!

- Most beautiful of the night, in my opinion. She looks like a greek goddess.

-I love you. Really I do. This dress is beautiful, but the color looks terrible on you. And also? Your hair doesn’t look very good. But to reiterate, I LOVE YOU.

- “Hello. I’m here to eat your soul.”

- You look like a tablecloth.

- She looked remarkably uncomfortable all evening.

Foxtrotting with a Dead President

I had a most interesting weekend that involved some very unusual events including (but not limited to): Dancing a foxtrot with George Washington to “Fly Me to the Moon” (while I was in a complete 18th-century outfit), making my parade debut, having my picture taken 9,000 times, and meeting a U.S. Senator (once again, in the complete 18th-century outfit).

Yes, yes, I know. My life is incredibly fabulous.

This weekend was the 200th anniversary of a group here in Charleston that used to be a military organization. They sent soldiers to all the 19th century conflicts- War of 1812, Civil War, Spanish-American War, etc. Now they are one of the seemingly hundreds of organizations in the city that trace their roots back hundreds of years and are really an excuse for the wealthy, blooded elites to congratulate themselves on their grandfathers being slave-owners. Hmmm…that sounds awfully harsh. I don’t mean it to. The majority of them are lovely people and they really do astounding amounts to help preserve our history and our buildings, so I salute and respect them a great deal for that. At least that money is going to some very worthy causes.

Anyway, because of my connection to one of these groups (who own my historic site), I am automatically loosely connected to all the other ones (really, they are extraordinarily incestuous) and because of this connection, and my fabulous historical bad-assness, they asked me to portray and 18th-century character who played an important part in the founding of their organization. So, essentially, I spent the weekend at various glamorous events filled with glamorous, bejeweled, people and lots of very impressive surnames pretending I was someone who has been dead for 200 years. Good times.

The highlight was, without question, the parade. I’d never been in one before! Since I wasn’t one of those kids who took dance or did girl scouts or was in baton twirling or whatever it is that gets you into parades, I never got to march in one. I was always that lonely little girl on the sidelines, crying a single tear because I didn’t get to dress up in a big, Christmas-wrapped cardboard box and waddle down the street. Except I totally didn’t! Because while y’all were all busy trying to keep warm while you were wearing a leotard and tights I was running behind Santa on the fire truck, pushing all of the smaller kids out of the way and scrambling for crushed, asphalt-laden peppermints. Ahhh, childhood.

While the parade itself was loads of fun, it was also rather nerve-wracking. Myself and the 5 other historical characters got to ride in a carriage (thank god, because my reproduction 18th century shoes are like walking in a hollowed-out bricks. That are too small), and our horse, Dennis, was extremely unhappy about being woken up at 8 AM and being forced to drag around a bunch of lazy asses. He was already really antsy when the carriage got there, then he had to stand around while police cars flashed their lights, the Citadel band warmed up by crashing cymbals and running around like idiots, and lots of guys in uniforms walked by him, the little pom poms on their hats brushing up against him and sneaking into his line of sight. I actually felt really sorry for him until they pointed to us and said “ok, guys, that’s your carriage!” Then I just wanted him to calm the fuck down and try not to kill us all.

He did ok, though we almost lost him the first time they fired the cannon (oh yes, I said first, because it was fired three more times). If there hadn’t been another carriage right in front of us, blocking his path, he may have bolted. The best part had to be when we were stopped at the reviewing stand waving at all the dignitaries, and the parade was buzzed by 4 F16s that were shockingly close. It was cool, yes, but Dennis did not like that one bit. He literally jumped straight up into the air, with all 4 legs leaving the ground, which is quite a feat for an incredibly enormous old horse. He didn’t bolt that time either. He just peed. A lot. For about 20 seconds. It was like someone had upended an 80-gallon drum in the middle of the road. In case you didn’t know: Horses? Giant bladders!

But we made it though alive, at least, and the whole time I was thinking “Oh my god! I’m totally going to blog this!” And I got to look pretty in my gown I made, and I got to wave to a lot of little kids, and I didn’t even have to push any of them down for old, smushed candy.

 

Links o’ the day

-Ever wonder about the oh-so-mysterious “Academy?”  Well, here you go.

-This is really unsettling to me.  I get what they are trying to do and all, but it just seems to be in such poor taste (although, truthfully, what do you expect from a bunch of College Republicans?).  Immigration is one of those issues where I’m torn.  I have serious issues with the burdens being put on our government by illegal immigrants, but at the same time, this is America.  You know that whole “give us your tired, your poor?”  I think we still need to stand by that.  I don’t have an answer for the problem, but I’m pretty sure it isn’t encouraging people to go out and “hunt” illegal immigrants.  As far as I’m concerned, they aren’t the bad guys.  If they want to stop illegal immigration, why don’t they go tell their daddys to stop hiring them?

- *shudder*

- Good Riddance!  I’m ready for that herd to thin out.  As far as I’m  concerned, there are only three candidates.  All those other guys out there running have no business even playing with these three.  It will be a waste of money, time, and energy.  Frankly, though, I wish they’d all just take a damn break and give us a chance to breathe a little bit.  I’m already sick of this wretched election, and it hasn’t even truly started yet.  Then again, I’m just sitting back and waiting for my guy to come in and blow them all away.  When that happens, I’ll be all over it.

The most hilarious blog EVER!

Y’all. I have found my new online hero. Somehow, in my acetominophen (how do you spell that?) induced haze, I stubled across a most brilliant blog. *cue fanfare*

Miss Doxie

Not only is this girl smokin’ hot, but she is also completely random, effervescent, and So. Effing. Funny. I, literally, spent HOURS on her site yesterday stalking her.

You all need to go over there and fall in love with her.

Links o’ the day

Prince Harry is going to Iraq. If nothing else, you’ve got to give it up to the Royals for not using special treatment to get him out of it. Nothing like this would ever happen in this country. There’s a reason we have the Texas Air National Guard after all. One of the things that continually pisses me off about this war is the shocking number of senators and congressmen and other higher-ups in the government who don’t have kids serving in the military. And you just know if there was ever a draft, they’d sure as hell get their kids off the list.

I initially clicked on this link because it made me laugh out loud: Ralph Nader: America’s Crank, but the short opinion piece actually makes a lot of sense. I have a love/hate relationship with Ralph Nader. First of all, let me say that polititcally I think he’s ridiculous and he really means nothing to me. But I do agree with him that the two party system is bad for the country. I wish we had more political parties that were viable and had some sort of real stake in the government. On that angle, I really appreciate his dedication to the cause of an independent party. On the other hand, if it weren’t for him, George Bush never would have won the 2000 election and, in all probability, we’d be in a hell of a lot better shape than we are now. And now he is threatening to run again, and will no doubt take votes away from democratic candidates that will amount to nothing more than GOP victories. I guess you have to choose your battles, and I feel like now isn’t the time to be trying to bring down the two-party system. We have bigger fights.

Look y’all. I hate clowns as much as the next guy, but this is a little extreme.

COOL!  And also?  A little bit horrifying.

Oh, and Newsweek? You’re totally on notice! Yesterday, one of your top stories was about Britney Spears and her ridiculous shaven head. Today, you have another Anna Nicole Smith story. Look, that shit isn’t news. That’s gossip. I have places to get my gossip, and you are not one of them. Why don’t you try covering the atrocious conditions at Walter Reed Hospital that everyone seems to be ignoring. (Thanks, Zayne! and P.S. get a real blog so I can link to you!)

In which the drugs make her mind wander

First of all, I think I may die of a drug overdose.  Did you know that the correct dose of Advil is not, in fact, 3 or 4 pills every 3ish hours?  Oh no.   In fact, it is 1 or 2 pills every 4-6 hours.  I have now taken 9 Advils since about 7:30 this morning.  How is it possible that I have lived to 24 without knowing the dosing quantities of such a common drug?  Were those Tylenol commercials that said: “Stop. Think. Tylenol.” actually talking to me?  And here I go ignoring them.

Also, I have been mixing said Advil with a large quantity of (EXPIRED) DayQuil.  I have these horrors that they are going to have some reaction in my system.   Like remember on Grey’s Anatomy when that cancer girl was taking herbal suppliments?  And then the suppliments reacted with the Chemo blood?  And then she became like a walking (or wheeling) toxic waste dump?  And her putrid, radiation-infused blood was poisoning all the doctors who were trying to help her?  And then it almost tore apart George and Callie’s fragile, yet charming new marriage?  I don’t want that one my conscious!  I’m all for being a chemical lab and such, but I don’t want to hurt any rocky marriages!

What the hell am I talking about here?  Oh yeah, my cough drops.  This morning I stopped by the grocery story and bought my organge juice and a big bag of Ricola drops (Now with more horehound!  because everyone needs a little hore in their life!).  Now at the bottom of this packaging, in bold, orange letters is the encouraging statement: “FROM SWITZERLAND.”  I don’t know about you, but I am emboldended that the sweet aroma of herbs grown in the rocky soils of a country that swears by neutrality, chocolate, and clean train stations.  Kudos to them for coming out and saying what I should be especially pleased with.  I like to know the political backgrounds of my medications.  Yes, its lovely that you are natural, Ricola, but tell me, what is your stance on an international coalition to promote CO2 emissions standards among developing countries?  But see, those genius Swiss beat me to the question!  For it is stated so clearly:  From Switzerland.

I think we all need these bottom lines.  That way we can wade through all the garbage and just come right out and say what we’re all about.

Like me, for example:

Taylor

Full of Snot 

or:

Taylor

Raised in the Woods of Alabama

or:

Taylor

No Patience for Poor Grammar 

 

Think of how much better everything would be!

Alright. I give.

Cold weather, I am your bitch.  Less than 6 hours after I gloated and congratulated myself on conquering the great white north, I was reminded of its ferocity by being smoted with a fierce head cold.   I am humbled.  I have learned my lesson.

By about 6 PM last night I was in a groaning fog, hearing my bones creak evertime I blinked.  I’ve got it all- the achy neck, the tight back, the San Francisco fog in my brain.  I am puffy and snotty and hacky (and breathtaking, let me tell you!).   My voice has taken on that creaky old-lady tone that makes me sound like I’ve got one foot in the grave.  The best side effect has got to be my outrageous lack of balance and motor skills, though.  This morning, after I fumbled with an expired pack of DayQuil and dropped it on my bathroom floor, I bent over to pick it up and fell directly into my bathtub.  But not before I grabbed onto the shower curtain and snatched it down with me, landing in a crumpled heap of plasic, towels, shampoo bottles and misery.  Then I sneezed.

Today has also reminded me why I hate being the boss.  I can’t call in.  All I want to do is lay in bed and sleep.  Thats it.  But, alas, I have spent the day staring out into the raining, morose mess that is Charleston today.  One the bright side, I have drank almost an entire gallon of orange juice since 10 AM this morning.  So at least I have achieved my vitamin C intake quota for the week.

And the feeling in my fingers has returned

Well, the good news is I never had to go to the hospital. That scary ghostie named cold weather that I’ve been having nightmares about? Nothing but a big old softie.

Now don’t get me wrong, ya’ll. It was cold. When I got in on Thursday night (at about 1 AM, thanks to a delay in the ATL), it was 11 degrees (here’s one thing I wish I knew how to do: make the little degree sign. There is no degree sign key. Are you people who make those appear magic or what?). That isn’t including the windchill. Pete very kindly told me to wait inside while he went to get the truck and pick me up. I though it was just because he was being sweet, but I think he just knew that if I had walked outside at that moment, and had to actually walk around in air that cold, I would have turned around and flown home. He pulled up and I walked out the door and I actually gasped. It was jarring. But I was immediately bundled into the warm, cozy truck and that was forgotten.

After the first shock, it was ok. I wouldn’t want to stand around in it for an hour, but it wasn’t dehibilitating. My new (fabulous!) black coat did a stellar job. Let’s give her a round of applause. I came prepared with multiple hats, scarves, gloves, and the like, but actually didn’t even end up using them. And before I go off congratulating myself, I am hearing that voice in the back of my head yelling at me “But it wasn’t even that cold!” Yes, I know, I hear you. Shut the hell up.

What really made the cold seem bearable, however, was the beauty. There was a decent layer of completely hard-frozen snow on everything that literally glittered in the sunlight. It was like all of the houses and trees were frosted. The ponds were all frozen solid, and even the 100th one we passed still made my breath catch with how pretty it was. There was no end to my excited exclamations at the wonders that we saw. Because oh my god! Look Pete! Look! There a little girl! Ice skating! On a pond! Outside! or Wow! They are playing hockey! Outside! On a frozen pond! Or the absolutely best- when my voice became so high pitched I’m surprised birds did not drop dead out of the sky- a man actually drilling a hole in the ice so he could go ice fishing. Oh, and there was also a cranberry bog, which, for some completely inexplicable reason, actually made my eyes all misty. I don’t know why, but it just seemed so quaint that it sort of broke my heart a little bit.

How can you complain about a little cold weather when it makes things look like this:

In case you are wondering, that is my cold face. And, oh yes, those are teensy little iceburgs floating in the water behind me.

There’s more about the trip, obviously. And I’m not trying to leave you hanging, but at this moment, I’m having a very difficult time pulling it out of my head and putting it into descriptive terms. It was amazing, to say the least. I didn’t think it was possible to be more enchanted with the South Shore, Pete’s amazing, spectacular, fabulous family, or even Pete himself. But? I totally am.

Your Mission:

Ok guys, while I’m gone I have something I want you to do. The govt. is releasing another round of $1 coins into circulation. I’m really dissapointed that the previous tries haven’t worked, because I’m a huge fans of the dollar coins. In fact, I’m still hoping to see $5 coins in circulation before I die. Whenever I’m in Europe, I revel in the fact that they have large-denomination coins. It just seems so much easier to me. I cannot stand having dollar bills all over the freaking place (because I’m a stripper? I have no idea why I have so many).

So here’s what you need to do: get your next paycheck cashed in $1 coins. I know what you are thinking “But Taylor, where am I going to get one of those big sacks with the $ sign on it?” Don’t worry about that! Just wear some cargo pants. That way you’ll increase demand for the dollar coins, get a kickin’ workout as you try to walk around with hundreds of coins in your pocket, and you’ll make a pleasing jingle sound as you walk by! Do it for the children!

Also: To the woman in front of me at Staples yesterday who pulled out a ziplock bag and paid in quarters and dimes (Dimes! Are you kidding me?): Next time, get yourself some dollar coins, and I hope you burn in hell.

uuuggghhh…

I don’t even know where to begin with this story. A Tennessee state senator has proposed legislation to issue death certificates to aborted fetuses. Un. Fucking. Believable. First of all, the primary reason he wants to do this is in order to make abortions public record. He trumps it up as a way to track the numbers of abortions being performed. I wish he would grow the balls to come out and say “it’s because I want to intimidate terrified girls into not having an abortion.” This is unconscionable.

Second: FETUSES ARE NOT PEOPLE. A fetus is not live, breathing baby. You can’t issue a death certificate for something that has never been born! Are they also going to start issuing death certificates for miscarriges? Ectopic pregnancies? The egg expelled every month when I have my period? The billions of tiny potential babies wasted every second when the legions of men in the world jack off?

Bills like this are what will cause 15 year old girls to take desperate measures and die bleeding to death on a dirty hotel room floor.

And I’m off…

I frantically dashed out of the house today dragging my giant suitcase (I never had any idea that packing two winter coats could take up so much space!) down the stairs, which, naturally, made the dogs downstairs fuh-reak out. I had to do all the last minute things that turn me into a frazzled wreck before I go anywhere, like return a movie to Blockbuster and drop off some books at the library and go by the bank. I usually think I’m a fairly competent, semi-organized person, but then I have to go out of town and I realize that it is all lies. Lies I tell you! I’m a disaster, and I’m ready to admit that to myself. Listen up, internet- I’m a wreck!

I’m off tonight and I’ll be back late Monday. I’ll catch you up then and tell you about the trip I will- inevitably- have to take to the hospital to be treated for frostbite.

This is why I want kids

Mom: So, what kind of animals do you think we will see at the zoo?
Small boy: I think elephants and snakes… Mom? Are there also pretend things there, like dinosaurs and God?
Mom: I think we need to have a talk when we get home.

–N train near Union Square

via Overheard in New York, Feb 11, 2007

I’m flailing!

Things I have done today:

• Eaten three (3) bananas. I bought the most perfect bunch of bananas at Harris Teeter 2 days ago. They are magnificent. Bananariffic. I don’t know if you can actually be killed by too much potassium (K) in your system, but if I die mysteriously, someone tell my parents about this. I think I’m going to go eat another one
• Frantically gathered together my cutest panties, because, you know…
• Packed most of the stuff I’m taking with me to Boston
• Unpacked most of that stuff because it didn’t seem right
• Stood staring into my closet realizing that I hate all my clothes. No, I hate everything. Everything in the world.
• Re-packed the same damned grey turtleneck that is my fallback “cute, but professionalish” shirt. It has little puffy sleeves that I love. I’m under the impression that these puffy sleeves make me seem refined and that maybe if I wear that, the director of graduate admissions at Boston College (whom I am meeting on Friday) will ignore my atrocious GPA and throw lots of money at me. That prospect made me realize that I don’t actually hate everything, just most things.
• Listened to a stupid, fat tourist try to explain the pupose of the settlement of Charleston. He was wrong- and smelly-, and he called me “sweetie” and looked at me like, since I was just a silly little girl, I obviously had no concept of Colonialism. It is at times like this that I wish I had my diploma made into throwing stars so that I could exact vengence with my education in a purely physical, bloody way.
• Crossed my fingers It looks like Boston is just out of the severe weather, so hopefully I won’t have to deal with any terrible delays, but i’m not really optimistic.