Last night I had the pleasure of meeting my first blogger (in person that is): Adam. We met for a quick bite to eat and then headed over to see Love Me If You Dare, a peculiar and unusual love story that defies the normal formula for romantic movies. This movie could have probably never been made in America.

Over dinner, Adam asked me where "The Other Brian" came from and it occurred to me that I've never explained that. Having a common name such as mine, there have always been other Brians in my life. It's only been recently that Brian has been pushed out of the most popular boys names with the advent of more unique names such as Logan, Elijah, Aidan and Hunter. (Is it just me or do they all sound like names for Soap Opera characters?)

During college, I had a roommate named Brian. This proved tricky for our friends when they'd call.

"Hello?"

"Is Brian there?"

"This is he."

"Oh my god! You won't believe what happened today. I saw Jeannie in the cafeteria at lunch and that bitch had the nerve to say I slept with her boyfriend last weekend, when she full well knows I slept with Tina's boyfriend that weekend. And then she said..."

"Um. I think you want the other Brian."

When I volunteered at the GLBT Community Center here, there was another Brian. We both lead the volunteers for the switchboard. Calling volunteers at home was always fun.

"Hi. This is Brian from the Center."

"The tall, skinny balding Brian?"

"No. The other Brian."

Among my Lesbian Engineering Posse, there a Brian who is extremely tall. They refer to him as Big Brian, which I find pure delight in, seeing as I am the one who is usually referred to as Big Brian.

Referring to myself as The Other Brian in the blogging universe came about recently as sort of joke that stuck. One day I was leaving a comment on Mark's site, and I saw the some other Brian had already already left a comment. To distinguish myself from him, I wrote my name as "The Other Brian". After that, I just decided to keep it as my nom de plume.

On an unrelated matter, I went to the dermatologist to have a suspicious mole on my left temple looked at. He looked at it and said it was nothing to worry about. He said I could either leave it or have it removed for the hell of it. I opted for having it removed, so I applied liquid nitrogen to it, which by the way stings a lot.

This morning I woke up and looked in the mirror to find this enormous bulge jutting out from my face. It's so huge I am expecting someone to plant a flag on it and try to colonize any minute now. I thought about putting a band-Aid on it, but my band-aids have either The Simpsons or Hello Kitty on them. I'm not sure if that would actually draw attention away from my face.

Comments (6)
Permalink | File Under: Blogging

Every morning when I go to the gym, I pass a house on the corner with a woman sweeping up leaves and flowers that have fallen from her trees onto the street beside her fence. After seeing this each time, I realized this is a daily chore for her. Every day she gets up at 5 AM and sweeps, only to have to do it again the next morning. I don't know why, but I found a sort of amusement with this. I started to wonder why she just doesn't either leave them or simply remove the trees and plant something that doesn't "shed" so much. Perhaps because she likes the trees or doesn't mind the routine.

Then this morning, it hit me. "That woman is Sisyphus!" Her chore is never-ending. It's futile. Then I remember a scene from Party
Girl.

Mary: Do you know the story of Sisyphus?
Leo: Who?
Mary: Sisyphus. It's a myth about this guy who had to roll or push this
incredibly huge rock up this steep mountain. Every time he would get to the top
of this mountain the rock would roll down again. he would watch this and walk
back down the mountain and do it all over again. Forever.
Leo: Drag.
Mary: It's a metaphor for life, Leo. It's famous. (reading) "One must
imagine Sisyphus happy."
Leo: Bullshit! He's miserable.
Mary: He doesn't have to be. He accepts his fate.
Leo: You're telling me if you name is Syphilis and you spend your life lugging a fucking rock up a hill you wouldn't be miserable?

I know more now. I can actually see it on the map. I can point to it and say, "That's where I want to be." Now I just need to chart my course.

The volunteer I go out with on Saturday nights for street outreach is taking a leave of absence to fly home to take care of her father. I've been waiting to hear from someone to find out if someone will take over her shift or if I need to go another night. Saturday, the director of the outreach center called me to tell me he'd be taking over for her while she is gone. I was glad to hear this. I've been wanting to meet him and now I will get to know him as well. If things go well and we hit it off, perhaps we could develop a mentoring relationship so I can learn more about the inner workings of what he does.

In the meantime, I go back to The Company, rolling my giant rock up the side of a mountain only to find it has rolled down the next morning, waiting for me to start over again.

"If you follow your bliss, you put yourself on a kind of track, which has been there all the while waiting for you, and the life that you ought to be living is the one you are living." — Joseph Campbell

Comments (7)
Permalink | File Under: Thinking

I wrote this very long post about seeing Fahrenheit 9/11 and all the emotions it stirred in me. My anger about greed and corruption. About how much war sickens me. About how war is about death. Stupid, needless death. I wrote about my anger about my own feelings that I've dropped the ball when it comes to making this world a better place and making my voice heard. It was a flood of honest emotions pouring through me. My fingers click clacking the keys wildly as I typed. I was very proud of it.

I had just finished this very fervent post, and then my fucking computer crashed. (D'oh!)

I'm not sure I could recreate the passion and earnestness I had when writing that post, so I won't try. Here is the Reader's Digest version.

1. Are you registered to vote? If not, go do it.

2. If you are registered, go vote. And not just for the big stuff. I am saddened to say I don't even know who my mayor is. Even though I live in a suburb and know who Phoenix's mayor is, I should know more about my local government. I don't. I should be at the polls for every election.

3. Voting is just the first step. Make your voice heard to your leaders. They are there to serve YOU. Make sure they know what you want.

As Zenchick said recently, "No one person has that much power. Unless we grant it to him (or her)." She is so on the money with this one. It is up to each and every one of us to fix it.

"If not now, when?" -- Rabbi Hillel

Now I am going to through my computer from my second story window.

Good night.

Permalink | File Under: Thinking

"Things have been going pretty well for you for a while now."

I look up at my therapist and say confidently with a smile, "Yes they have." We've been talking about all the changes I've made lately and the changes I am working towards.

"That's good," she says. "It doesn't always work this way you know. Most of the time, it takes a lot longer."

"I know," I think. Sometimes when I look back at the man I was just six short months ago, it is like looking at someone so different yet so familiar. Maybe I'm a bit of a skeptic, but I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. Wondering what it will be that will send me spiraling back into a depression.

I'm very cognizant that I've made a lot of progress in the last six months, but also that six months is not a very long time. I can still remember what it felt like to isolate myself from everyone around me. The mornings I had to force myself out of bed, otherwise I would have just stayed there. The panic I had even thinking about having to be around other people. The absolute despair I felt every day.

It's probably good that I remember what it was like. It will probably help keep me on course. It also will probably be much harder to fall back in those patterns, after all, I am a different person than I was. I know this to be true. Not completely different, just new and improved I guess. The same detergent you've always trusted, just now with a new fresh scent.

Part of what has helped me through this process is not only this blog, but you, dear readers. When the year started, I took a look at my content from 2003. As that year went on, I had less and less to say. In January, I was ready to walk away from this. I figured my interest was gone or this medium simply wasn't for me. I was prepared to end cheap blue guitar forever.

But instead, I decided to, as Dr. Phil would say, "get real". Turns out I had plenty to say, I just didn't ever say it. So I started to say what was truly on my mind. I posted about being sad and being depressed. It was very cleansing.

And then a wonderful thing happened. I started hearing from some of you. Through comments, through email, through instant messaging, you reached out to me.

Over the last several months, I have forged some very real friendships with some of you. During a time in my life when everyday, I disconnected from the people in my world and detached more and more, I was able to make connections with some of you. Maybe it felt safer that you were intangible to me, but now you aren't. You are very, very real to me. I experienced a kind of healing that helped me reconnect with the live "in the flesh" world around me.

In short, blogging has truly been a gift. It helped open me to not only the people around me, but to those of you out there in the ether.

There is a quote that I love, but it turns out the way I was taught it, was a paraphrase of the original. However I like the paraphrased version much better. I think I will adopt it as a slogan for this blog, my virtual home.

"There are no strangers here, only friends we have yet to meet."

Thank you each and everyone who come here. Thank you for reading my rants and raves. My ups and downs. Thank you for your comments and emails. For those of you with my digits, thanks for the drunk (and sober) dials. I love the serenades. Whether you were a "Muppet on crack" or just relaxing after a long day, thanks for calling. Thank you for chatting with me about music, art, pets
and life. For listening to me about my daily life and for telling me about yours. For reading to me on the phone and calling me when you have good news or just wanted to say "hi".

Thank you for letting me a part of your life and for being a part of mine. I truly appreciate each and every one of you, more than you may realize.

Permalink | File Under: Depression, Thinking

I decided to work from home today because too much exposure to my co-workers isn't a good thing and...I can. This afternoon, my cell phone rings. It's the Zenchick.

"You remember how you told me you don't have any real dating experience?" It's true. I haven't really ever dated, not like meet-you-for-coffee-dinner-or-a-movie dating. (More on that another day.)

I tell her yes. "Well I just had a thought. When someone new gets hired at the office, they job-shadow me to watch me and see what I do at work."

"Uh huh..."

"So I was thinking I could take you along on my date today." She arranged a coffee date with a man who responded to her online personal ad. She continued, "It could be all, 'Hi John, I'm Zenchick. This is Brian. He's going to be observing us today. Don't pay him any attention. He's just going to sit there quietly and take notes while we talk.' What do you think?"

"You are too funny. Since I can't be there, you could set the cell phone on the table. 'John, can you speak up please? Brian can't hear you.' No, that won't be awkward at all," I say sarcastically.

"I have a feeling it's already going to be awkward."

"Why is that?"

"On the phone, this guy sounded dull as a box of hair, but I already agreed to meet him and he's driving through here from out of town."

"Is this the guy whose personal ad you forwarded to me?"

"Yep."

"Ask him about his job. He talked a lot about having the best job in the world and stuff. He'll love that you asked."

"You are so good to me."

"Call me later and let me know how it goes."

An hour later, my phone rings again. "Do you know what ass burger is?"

"What?" I ask. Surely she isn't saying what I heard.

"Ass burger."

"Ass burger?"

"Yes. Ass burger."

"I think I know what that is." I assumed it was just an insult like asshole or something.

"I just had a date with someone with ass burger syndrome."

Now I am totally confused. Apparently ass burger isn't something you are, but something you have. But at this point I don't want to ask again.

"This guy was totally has ass burger. He just stared intensely at me for half an hour and spoke in this creepy monotone voice."

"Ass burger syndrome?" I ask.

"Yes! Ass burger syndrome. Look it up."

"You want me to Google ass burger syndrome?"

"Yeah. I want you to see what the symptoms are"

"Symptoms?" I think. "What the fuck!?"

"How do you spell it?" I ask.

"I don't know. It starts with A - S - P."

"Are you saying aspurger?"

"Yes. Just look it up."

So I Google aspurger syndrome and lovely Google asks me if I am looking for Asperger Syndrome. Why yes I am. Thank you Google.

"Oh! You said Asperger Syndrome."

"That's what I said."

"I thought you said ass burger and I was wondering what the hell is an ass burger."

"What is an ass burger?"

"I dunno."

Permalink | File Under: Chats, Dating

In my quest to preserve what little money I have, I decided to take advantage of The Company's 100% subsidized bus passes. Adam and I have been discussing the pros and cons of the mass transit system of Greater Phoenix. But being both bus virgins, we have been wary of popping our cherries. Would it smell? Would it be crowded? Oy. So many worries.

After today, I am a bus virgin no more.

For those of you in cities with large mass transit systems, know this about the Valley Metro system: it's not that great. It's limited and not very convenient. When my car was totaled, I seriously considered not buying another one and just taking the bus from then on. I got a Bus Book and check out the routes. The book was very confusing and I couldn't figure the schedules out. With a few calls to the transit assistance line, I was able to map out my route to work. From where I lived then, it would have taken me an hour and a half to get to work by bus and I'd have to make three transfers. By car, it took 20 minutes.

I bought a car instead.

Now today, the good folks at the bus system have an online trip planner which was super easy to use. I charted my course: about 50 minutes to get to work and about one hour to get home. Not bad I thought, although it does still only take 20 minutes for me now. (Reminds me of the dad in Clueless. "Everywhere in LA takes twenty minutes.")

The ride to work wasn't that bad. I had one stop on my route to switch lines. I had a hard time figuring out which bus stop I needed, but all I had to do was ask someone and they helped me. I made it to work on time and with no trouble.

Coming home was a little different. First, if you've never been to Phoenix in the summer, let me clue you in on something: it's fucking hot here. This afternoon wasn't too bad however. I noticed the afternoon crowd is a little more chatty than the morning crowd. One lady makes incense and scented lotions and was taking the opportunity to hawk her wares. I wouldn't have minded so much except her selling technique was to hold them out to you and say "smell this." Not something I want a complete stranger saying to me.

A bonus was on our stop through the airport, some cuties got on board. One had a British accent that made me weak in the knees, but it was his friend with the Colin Farrell haircut that got my motor running (hubba hubba). Alas, they transferred to a different line at my stop. *Sigh*

Something I was worried about was the smell. I figured that with public transportation there was a high likelihood for odor from the unwashed masses. I didn't find this to be the case. What did smell was the bus itself (perhaps from constant exposure to said unwashed masses). Seriously, this is a good place for a Stickup.

Maybe I'll bring my own car freshener tree and just fasten it to my backpack.

Permalink | File Under: Life

Since beginning my journey to wellness through therapy, medication and exercise (Oh Dear Gawd! I have become one of those people. Those people who talk about "the journey" and "wellness"), I've had many moments where things come up that would normally stress me out or upset me. I've handled these with a sense of humor coupled with a newfound clarity and perspective.

It has worked swimmingly. Things that normally distress me are met with a calm demeanor and I find a new point of view to assess and diffuse the
situation. The Roommate is in a pissy mood? This is about her, not me. Coworkers stressed out about a perceived "emergency"? No problem. I'll take care of it. Jackass cuts me off on the road? Go ahead kind Sir. I'm not in a hurry. There are of course more pressing issues in my life, but you get the idea...swimmingly.

That being said, TODAY IS WORKING MY LAST FUCKING NERVE!!!

I think the dosage of my medication has reached its plateau. Over the last few weeks, I've gone from feeling like a Shiny Happy Person to just feeling like People. I remember when I brought up a day of moodiness to my therapist, it was met by a, "Good. You haven't had a crappy day since going on the medication. I'd be worried if you didn't."

Honestly, I would be too. I didn't expect for everything to be sunshine, rainbows and puppy dogs all the time. But today is one of those days that I just want to crawl back in bed. Today is the kind of day I want a "do over".

I want to Ctrl + Z this day.

I've been a little stressed about money lately. This is nothing new. I've made great strides towards financial responsibility, but it is hard at times. Some days harder than others. Right now, it just plain sucks.

Having insurance is a wonderful thing but all the co-pays for my increasing doctor's visits, weekly therapy and many medications are zapping all my limited disposable income. A few weeks ago, I actually had an over withdrawl on my checking account. For the record, let me say that I never overdraw on my account. I can't afford it.

Pre-anti-depressant I was extremely anal about knowing exactly how much money was in my account. I'd check my balance every day online and kept a record of every transaction. After going on the meds, I obsessed about this less and less. Once I went three weeks without recording any transactions. (The horror!) Everything was fine until one day I checked my balance and saw the font for my balance was in red with a little minus sign. "What the fuck?!" I thought. I proceeded to go through every transaction to see how this happened. Turns out I forgot to record my automatic debit from the online pharmacy (an unfortunately large dollar amount) and I thought I had more money than I did. This cause many fees which further sent me into the red and I'm still trying to get my shit together so I can be back on track.

I hate money and the worries it brings. I don't expect to make much more than I am making now because I have no ambition to make a higher salary.
In fact, the field I see myself going into eventually will probably pay less than I make now. It's more important to me to be happy than get to take vacations and buy furniture and what not. I'm okay with this, but I can't wait to be rid of this debt so I can handle credit wisely the next go around. Only five more years to go! In the meantime, I'm checking bus schedules to see if it's worth getting a free bus pass from The Company to save money on gas.

So, I come into work this morning and am feeling a bit down because of my budget so tight I need a lubricant just to register another bill in it. I'm sitting at my desk and what is the first email I read? A missive from some bastard who decides to put the following sentence in all caps: "THIS CHANGE IS UNACCEPTABLE."

My first thought is to call him and go off on him like Whitney on crack. "Who the fuck do you think YOU are muthafucka to fucking talk to me like
that you fucking muthafucka!?"

I instead chose the high road. I replied to his email with a rational explanation of what happened and offered the proverbial olive branch and pologies. I know better than to send a nastagram, especially at work. It never yields the results you want and ALWAYS just complicates the situation. (Go Meds Go! Gooooo clarity!)

Now, having spewed all this out, I find myself relieved and "over it". I guess venting, bitching and ranting helps get it out. ("Blogging for Wellness" I suppose.) The money thing still worries me, but there is no use wigging out about it. It will only make me sick and that won't do me any good. I will figure shit out and survive...like I always do.

Comments (3)
Permalink | File Under: Depression, Ranting

After having nothing to say all week long, I've decided to give into the meme. Post your answers in the comments.

Lame? Yes. Desperate cry for attention? Possibly. Easy to post? Absolutely.

1. Who are you?

2. Have we ever met?

3. Give me a nickname and explain why you picked it.

4. Describe me in one word.

5. What reminds you of me?

6. If you could give me anything, what would it be?

7. Ever wanted to tell me something but couldn't?

8. Are you going to put this on your weblog and see what I say about you?

9. What do you love like a fat kid loves cake?

10. What makes you come back here?

Comments (4)
Permalink | File Under: Blogging

There are times in your life when you meet someone and instantly feel a connection and fall into a report so natural that it feels like you've known each other all your life. I am lucky to have that with Robbie McCown. From the moment we first exchanged emails, it was clear we not only had a lot in common but our personalities fit together nicely. Although I'm sure he would deny it, he is kind, thoughtful and sweet, which is evident in graciously agreeing to be interviewed here.

BRIAN: First things first. This isn't some puff piece. This is serious investigative journalism, so be prepared for some hard hitting questions. Alright?

ROBBIE: (laughs) No problem. I'll answer as truthfully and candidly as possible.

BRIAN: So you are allergic to egg whites. What's that all about?

ROBBIE: Yes I am. I'm not sure why. All I remember is that I was in kindergarten one year and apparently they served all the kids eggs for some kind of breakfast. The next thing I know, my mother has been called because I was breaking out in hives.

BRIAN: But just the whites? Not the yolks?

ROBBIE: Not the yolks. In fact, I love deviled eggs, but generally pass the whites to someone who will eat them.
Strangely enough, even if I weren't allergic, I don't think I'd eat them. The smell of scrambled eggs makes me wanna... well, you know.

BRIAN: So, pound cake yes, but meringue no?

ROBBIE: It's all hit or miss. Sometimes cookies, cakes and pies are okay because there are so many ingredients that the egg white is pretty diluted. But French toast is a bad idea.

BRIAN: Mmmm.....French toast. When did you start your first journal? Was it online or paper?

ROBBIE: My first journal was on a spiral notebook, but I had difficulty sticking with it. That and no matter where I decided to hide it, there was always that chance someone would find it.

BRIAN: When did you first start writing online?

ROBBIE: September of 2001. I had read a few blogs/journals online and thought, "This is a great idea!" I didn't mind that anyone could read it, since I ultimately decided how much I wanted to reveal. And it wasn't tangible; I never had to worry about someone finding it in my room.

BRIAN: And was that More Teeth Than Wisdom (MTTW)?

ROBBIE: Yeah. It all started with MTTW which I eventually closed after roughly two years of posting. Then I took a bit of a break of posting, only to resurface with The New Pink.

BRIAN: What does "More Teeth Than Wisdom" mean?

ROBBIE: It was actually taken from a lyric found in Veda Hille's "One Hot Summer". "There is so much beauty that I don't believe in, but god knows my mouth holds more teeth than wisdom." I liked the double meaning.

BRIAN: Did you write differently in it compare to the spiral notebook?

ROBBIE: Definitely. I was probably more open and honest in my notebook than I am/was online. I'm still struggling with losing any reservations I have about being brutally honest in my blog. When I know someone is reading my words, I instantly feel judged. With a pen on paper, I felt pretty comfortable with my thoughts. I'm working on getting better.

BRIAN: You gained a certain amount of popularity with MTTW, didn't you?

ROBBIE: I wouldn't necessarily call it popularity. But I did find myself surrounded by an array of higher profile bloggers. I remember I had a conversation with one of them. We were comparing certain bloggers to television channels. One would be MTV because of his or her 'young and hip' writing style. One would be Lifetime due to their stories about women's issues, etc. When I tried to figure out which channel applied to me, I was told that I was most like PBS; low-profile, but quality programming all the way. That was probably a good analogy.

BRIAN: That's funny. So after two years, why did you shut down MTTW?

ROBBIE: I suppose I was just getting burned out. Not to sound dramatic, but I suddenly felt like I was writing for an audience rather than for myself and it was effecting my entire reason I started a journal in the first place. So I started posting less and less. I began changing the site constantly in terms of aesthetics, but I eventually closed the site entirely and took a break.

BRIAN: Which sucked for me because I had just discovered MTTW about two weeks before you shut it down.

ROBBIE: Yeah, sorry about that.

BRIAN: You are so funny for apologizing for that. What inspired you to start The New Pink?

ROBBIE: It had been a few months since I closed MTTW and I simply wanted to write again. So I started The New Pink. I figured enough time had gone by.

BRIAN: Is there a difference in the way you write or what you write about on The New Pink compared to MTTW?

ROBBIE: Not too much, I guess. There's definitely a slight maturity in The New Pink, only because that's to be expected. I write less about relationships in the new blog as I did in MTTW. I guess the biggest difference is my realization that I don't have to try to be funny or sarcastic in my posts to get someone to read them.

BRIAN: But you are naturally funny and sarcastic. Do you think that maybe you are holding back on The New Pink?

ROBBIE: Oh, I definitely am. And admittedly, it's all due to comfort zones. I think time is the only thing that will ultimately change that.

BRIAN: In addition to blogs, you've built fan sites for your favorite singers. How many have you made?

ROBBIE: Many. Some that never went online. I used to run "The Slick Divide" which was a fairly well-known Liz Phair fan-site. Then there were others, of course. I've made them for Heather Nova, Dido, Aimee Mann, etc. Soon, I'll have one for Sam Phillips online.

BRIAN: Hmmm...Sam Phillips, Aimee Mann, Liz Phair. Never heard of them.

ROBBIE: Yeah, right.

BRIAN: Obviously we bonded initially over our love of the same kinds of music. Did you ever feel like you just a big ol' lesbian for liking chick singers so much?

ROBBIE: Either that or a big ol' faggot. My friends used to constantly tease me about my musical interests.

BRIAN: Mine too. I had a friend who joked that I was a gay man, but somewhere inside the wiring was wrong. "You are supposed to like
Cher and Madonna, not the entire Lilith Fair line up." I sent someone my Amazon.com wish list and they said "You big
dyke!"

ROBBIE: Glad you brought that up. I seem to fit into some of the gay stereotypes, but I never understood the whole Cher/Madonna/Barbra/Judy Garland obsession.

BRIAN: Me either. I think stereotypes are ridiculous. I hate when people generalize others and don't look at them as individuals. We could bitch all day about society and the gay community, but let's talk about something more important — me.

ROBBIE: Okay.

BRIAN: I'm kidding. How many bloggers have you met?

ROBBIE: Roughly I'd say about ten.

BRIAN: Did any of them surprise you or seem completely different from how they wrote.

ROBBIE: Definitely. Which just goes to show that no matter how well you think you know someone based on how they write, you don't really know them.
BRIAN: Do you ever think it's weird that you and I are friends, but we've never met?

ROBBIE: I would have thought it weird if it were 10 years ago. But the Internet has changed the dynamics of relationships considerably. There are several people that I know only from the computer to whom I consider being some of the best people I've ever known, even though I've never officially met them. It's an amazing thing.

BRIAN: Good answer! It's time for the Final Four. Whom do you admire most? In what way does that person inspire you?

ROBBIE: I admire my mother a great deal. She's just an extraordinary person. She had an extremely rough childhood and could have taken so many disastrous paths in her life, but managed to become one of the most successful and caring people I know.

BRIAN: If you could wake up tomorrow having gained any one ability or quality, what would it be?

ROBBIE: Telepathy. That way you could tell the liars from the sincere. You'd know who your true friends were.

BRIAN: For what in life do you feel most grateful?

ROBBIE: My talents and all the ways they seem to manifest themselves.

BRIAN: If you were guaranteed honest responses to any three questions, who would you question and what would you ask?

ROBBIE: Well, if there is a god, I would ask him why are we here? Where are we going? Why couldn't you have made me 6 feet tall?

BRIAN: (laughs) How tall are you?

ROBBIE: 5'9".

BRIAN: So do you feel like a wee little man?

ROBBIE: Only in height. (smiles)

Permalink | File Under: Interviews

1. If you are going to wear low-rise jeans, don't, I repeat do not wear granny panties underneath.

2. If you realize your big ol' flesh-colored granny panties are exposed, don't try to remedy it by pulling your low-rise jeans up. They are LOW-RISE...get it? (Gurrlll...tuck those big drawers in.)

3. Trying not to giggle behind a woman wearing granny panties and low-rise jeans makes me want to giggle more.

4. It's pronounced Man-e-SHEV-itz.

5. Apparently someone thinks I sound like a stuck up valley girl on her voicemail.

6. People tend to back away from you when you tell them you have been exposed to TB.

7. I am not contagious goddammit!

8. Someone else has heard of The Judybats. Not only heard of, but seen them in concert.

9. I can improvise a recipe for banana bread on the fly and it tastes awesome.

10. After having six days off from work, I've become a little too invested in the lives of the women in the Starting Over house.

11. Having six days off from work doesn't make going back to work any easier.

Permalink | File Under: Lists

I am convinced I have a period. Over the last couple days I have been extremely crabby and prone to unexpected mood swings. At first I thought it was because I'm broke even though I just got paid (stupid bills! stupid groceries! stupid everything!), but I think it's more than
that.

It stands to reason that men can have periods, after all, there is speculation there is male menopause, so why not PMS too? All I know is when I'm in a crabby ass mood like this, I crave chocolate and solitude and you don't want to be the one who pisses me off.

Another thing I've noticed is that The Roommate and I have lived together for so long that our cycles synced. It's a scary thought - isn't it? Last night she came home and I told her about my craptasitic day and she told me about hers and then informed me we were entering her Red Letter Days. I told her I must be entering mine too. Great! Two moody bitches and a bitchy cat under one roof. Steer clear of our house this week. During these times we sort of isolate ourselves from each other and the world and stay in separate rooms so we can ride the tide of the crimson wave until the storm passes alone.

Really, it can be quite fun during this time. Besides the binging on abundant amounts chocolate and salty snacks (our cravings swing both ways), there is also the group effort of focusing our negative energy on our enemies. We like to call this endeavor Low Brass Justice. (More on that another day.)

I have a feeling if all the world (men and women alike) were on the same cycle, that much PMS voltage could wield an awesome amount of power that could shift planets or bend the flow of time. It could be so powerful you could actually get those little sticky plastic tape things off CD and DVD packages without breaking off in little pieces (stupid CD tape!). That intensity could rid the world of movies staring Penelope Cruz and Colin Farrell. Reality television would not exist with that kind of strength. Imagine how easy it would be to clean up Washington with that kind of harnessed menstrual might.

By the way...It's already over 100° here. Not really helping The Beast Within remain calm. And so the five months of 100+° days begins.

Ugh.

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