I haven't been feeling well lately, so I've been reading a lot of the Us Magazines my friend Ella-MF-Nor has given me while sitting on the couch, drinking cold uncarbonated things while my golf-ball-sized tonsils almost touch one another. In those magazines, some celebrity gives them a list of 25 things people don't know about them. They're usually completely full of crap. Like, no, Jessica Alba, you wouldn't be a molecular physicist tribesman machinist if you weren't an actress. You'd be an actress, just an unfamous one. The lists are ridiculous.
So I did one!
Here are 25 Things You Don't Know About Me. Unless you already do.
1. My mom has mispelled my middle name. In the past 2 years. And no, I haven't changed it since she, you know, named me.
2. I could watch Food Network for hours. Until a regular cooking show comes on at least. I don't want to sit for 30 minutes watching Barefoot Contessa, Rachel Ray, Giada DeLaurentis, etc. actually make a 3-course meal. Iron Chef, Cupcake Wars, Diners Drive-Ins and Dives, Sweet Genius...those I could watch forever.
3. I've never seen Braveheart. I've seen Freddie Got Fingered and all of the horrible Twilight movies, but I've never seen Braveheart.
4. I've never been to Disney World. I've been to EPCOT on a field trip, but we weren't allowed to go anywhere else.
5. I've wondered about my own sanity because I like my job.
6. I just chuckled when, while watching Chopped, two contestants next to one another were named Katie and Perry.
7. I'm 5'9" and while on the tall side for a girl, I've never hated my height. I'm not stoked to have to wear flats at my wedding, but it's a small price to pay for never having to ask for help getting something off the top shelf at Target.
8. I regret never playing water polo in college. I'm awesome at treading water. No, for real. I can't do much well, but I can tread water like a beast. Or, fish. My college had a club water polo team that I really very much wanted to try, but I was (am) far too terrified to play a sport in which I donned Princess Leia headgear and a bathing suit that people could see me in. Like, I'd have to walk around in a bathing suit. In front of people. People with eyes.
9. I cannot, for the life of me, understand why people buy any orange juice that's not Simply Orange.
10. Orange juice with pulp disgusts me. Who wants strings and bits in their orange juice? I don't understand why anyone wants to chew their juice.
11. I hate it when I say that I'm not going to have a certain dish because it contains an ingredient of which I'm not very fond and someone replies with "But you can't even taste it!" Then why put it in there? You put stuff in your dish because it flavors it a certain way. You don't put onions in sauce and go, "Throw em there, they taste like nothing!" I don't like margaritas because I abhor tequila. The very smell makes me gag. Don't tell me that a certain margarita is delicious and "you can't even taste the tequila." Yes you can, that's why it's there. If you can't taste the tequila, then they didn't use enough and you got screwed paying $10 for a liquor drink you can't taste.
12. I dream of being a gym rat.
13. I freakin love Jeopardy.
14. My dad's McGyver. Seriously.
15. I know that the largest estuary in North America is the Chesapeake Bay.
16. In 2000, I received the Texaco Geophysics Scholarship at my undergraduate institution. I still want to list that on my resume, because it looks a little awesome that I received that, but earned a BA in Political Science. I don't still list it, but I kinda want to.
17. I have a bachelor's in political science and a master of public administration, but I didn't vote this past Tuesday in the off-off-year election. And I feel no shame.
18. I think Eminem and Weird Al are absolute geniuses. I don't think anyone understands rhythm and the flow of words like Eminem. He can rhyme words that you'd never expect and unlike most rappers, most of his stuff actually tells a story and makes sense, as opposed to just finding words that rhyme. The way Weird Al can devise a parody but make it sound completely legitimate amazes me. They both literally blow my mind.
19. I believe in evolution. But I don't understand how, if we evolved from apes, there are still apes and why there are no half & half man-apes.
20. I have no idea who the front-runner for the Republicans is.
21. The last CD I bought was Adele's 21 and I think the one before that was Metallica's Death Magnetic. I run about a 5-year average between the purchase of CDs.
22. I hated barbecue when I was younger (probably because it wasn't a hamburger, hot dog, or pizza) but now that's what I want at our wedding.
23. I love parmesan cheese on everything. I could use it instead of salt. Forever.
24. I've never gotten up after sunrise on Christmas morning, and I've never stayed at home for the entire day on Christmas Day. I've always, always gotten up pre-dawn and traveled to at least one other place on Christmas Day. It would feel weird to never leave the house on Christmas Day.
25. The strongest and weakest I've ever felt is after I finished a 1000-yard sprint in a regatta earlier this year. It was so fun, so hard and I was so proud of myself when it was over that I didn't quit even though every muscle of me wanted to.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Creepertons, Coffins and Saws
Let's see...how do I put this delicately?
Boyfriend and I think the Creepertons are building a coffin.
Yep, that about sums it up. Right on their balcony. Building a coffin. I mean, it could be a coffee table, but we didn't see any legs or architecturally interesting design to suggest it's anything other than a box. So we're going with coffin.
On my way home this afternoon, Boyfriend sends me a text that says, "Check out what the Creepertons are building." Upon my arrival, Mr. Creeperton is exiting his vehicle with two two-by-fours and a small piece of carpet. After he goes inside, I get out of my car and look to his balcony where I see a long rectangular box. The box is roughly, oh I don't know, five to six feet long. I walk in the door and exclaim to Boyfriend, "Dude, is he building a coffin?!" Simultaneously, Boyfriend says, "Do you think he's building a coffin?" A short while later, Mr. Creeperton leaves and like a cartoon vampire, returns in frighteningly small amount of time with two more pieces of wood. For a straight hour, we've heard hammering, dropping of heavy things and constant walking. We decided, then, that we'd go outside and listen to building of this "just a box."
And that's when we heard the saw.
Okay, he's building a box, why wouldn't he have a saw? True, except that's not what's creepy. It's a creepily quiet saw. As in, he and Bitch Creeperton have lived here for two years and we've never heard this saw but that's because it's not loud enough to be heard through the paper-thin walls. We hear the saw and Boyfriend turns to me and says, "Well now we know he has a saw." We do. We do know he has a saw. A saw with an apparent silencer on it.
Boyfriend also saw him return from one of his short trips with a sink trap--that U-shaped pipe under your sink. This raises eyebrows because, as renters in an apartment complex, we shouldn't ever have to replace pipes and what not. We pay a decent amount of rent so that they do things like cut our grass, plant lovely azaleas, fix broken things, unclog drains, fix holes in the ceiling after one in the morning, etc. There's no reason why we should have to replace our own pipes. Unless, of course, you don't want the apartment complex--that's already been called to replace your entire set of kitchen cabinets because your leaky sink-apades rotted a hole through your floor and through the ceiling beneath you--to see what's clogging your pipes. So after some banging above our kitchen, the garbage disposal begins again in earnest. Testing of the new pipes was successful.
This begs the question, though: Why the coffin? Why not continue to use the garbage disposal and serial killer black trash bags? Well, the garbage disposal question is easy to answer--it's causing severe damage to the pipes. They've having to replace the pipes themselves and I swear Boyfriend and I have both noticed the same spot on our ceiling where it appears moisture is coming back through. We just aren't comfortable asserting it's not the one that was there before the drywall vagina appeared in our ceiling back in February. And the trash bags--we haven't noticed them use many of those since the day Boyfriend watched them furiously beat one into their Hyundai Tuscon and then NOT drive towards the apartment Dumpster.
So that means, they've got to put the "trash" into something other than the garbage disposal and serial killer trash bags. What does that logically leave you? A coffin, duh. A few people have suggested that it's perhaps a Halloween decoration. Here's why I have trouble jumping on that non-homicidal bandwagon:
1) They've never decorated for a single holiday. Not the two previous Halloweens they've been here, neither Christmas they've been here, no Hanukkahs, no Ramadans, no Pancake Days, no National Handwriting Days. No nothing. Ever. Why this Halloween?
2) The first night the Creepertons were here, they busted up our relatively lame Halloween party at about 9:00 p.m. or 10:00 p.m. on a Friday. Surely those kind of fun haters wouldn't be decorating now.
3) Decorating for any holiday seems entirely too normal for a couple so utterly creepy.
4) WTF was the carpet for?
So yeah, a coffin is the logical next step and I know it must be of some importance to them to complete this project because at 8:30 p.m., Mr. Creeperton was still hammering away into the night. Talking at 8:30 p.m. on a Friday is reason enough to compose a strongly-worded letter to apartment management, but hammering a coffin is perfectly acceptable at the same time on a Sunday when you've got to get that shit DONE.
I thought I had it figured out earlier when I realized I hadn't seen Bitch Creeperton in a while and Mr. Creeperton was driving her vechicle instead of his own. However, Boyfriend said he saw her earlier when they went to buy...the first few pieces of wood. Alas, the coffin is not for her. Boyfriend says we won't get worried until we see him building a second one. But if they bring up a brand new chest freezer soon, I'm out.
Boyfriend and I think the Creepertons are building a coffin.
Yep, that about sums it up. Right on their balcony. Building a coffin. I mean, it could be a coffee table, but we didn't see any legs or architecturally interesting design to suggest it's anything other than a box. So we're going with coffin.
On my way home this afternoon, Boyfriend sends me a text that says, "Check out what the Creepertons are building." Upon my arrival, Mr. Creeperton is exiting his vehicle with two two-by-fours and a small piece of carpet. After he goes inside, I get out of my car and look to his balcony where I see a long rectangular box. The box is roughly, oh I don't know, five to six feet long. I walk in the door and exclaim to Boyfriend, "Dude, is he building a coffin?!" Simultaneously, Boyfriend says, "Do you think he's building a coffin?" A short while later, Mr. Creeperton leaves and like a cartoon vampire, returns in frighteningly small amount of time with two more pieces of wood. For a straight hour, we've heard hammering, dropping of heavy things and constant walking. We decided, then, that we'd go outside and listen to building of this "just a box."
And that's when we heard the saw.
Okay, he's building a box, why wouldn't he have a saw? True, except that's not what's creepy. It's a creepily quiet saw. As in, he and Bitch Creeperton have lived here for two years and we've never heard this saw but that's because it's not loud enough to be heard through the paper-thin walls. We hear the saw and Boyfriend turns to me and says, "Well now we know he has a saw." We do. We do know he has a saw. A saw with an apparent silencer on it.
Boyfriend also saw him return from one of his short trips with a sink trap--that U-shaped pipe under your sink. This raises eyebrows because, as renters in an apartment complex, we shouldn't ever have to replace pipes and what not. We pay a decent amount of rent so that they do things like cut our grass, plant lovely azaleas, fix broken things, unclog drains, fix holes in the ceiling after one in the morning, etc. There's no reason why we should have to replace our own pipes. Unless, of course, you don't want the apartment complex--that's already been called to replace your entire set of kitchen cabinets because your leaky sink-apades rotted a hole through your floor and through the ceiling beneath you--to see what's clogging your pipes. So after some banging above our kitchen, the garbage disposal begins again in earnest. Testing of the new pipes was successful.
This begs the question, though: Why the coffin? Why not continue to use the garbage disposal and serial killer black trash bags? Well, the garbage disposal question is easy to answer--it's causing severe damage to the pipes. They've having to replace the pipes themselves and I swear Boyfriend and I have both noticed the same spot on our ceiling where it appears moisture is coming back through. We just aren't comfortable asserting it's not the one that was there before the drywall vagina appeared in our ceiling back in February. And the trash bags--we haven't noticed them use many of those since the day Boyfriend watched them furiously beat one into their Hyundai Tuscon and then NOT drive towards the apartment Dumpster.
So that means, they've got to put the "trash" into something other than the garbage disposal and serial killer trash bags. What does that logically leave you? A coffin, duh. A few people have suggested that it's perhaps a Halloween decoration. Here's why I have trouble jumping on that non-homicidal bandwagon:
1) They've never decorated for a single holiday. Not the two previous Halloweens they've been here, neither Christmas they've been here, no Hanukkahs, no Ramadans, no Pancake Days, no National Handwriting Days. No nothing. Ever. Why this Halloween?
2) The first night the Creepertons were here, they busted up our relatively lame Halloween party at about 9:00 p.m. or 10:00 p.m. on a Friday. Surely those kind of fun haters wouldn't be decorating now.
3) Decorating for any holiday seems entirely too normal for a couple so utterly creepy.
4) WTF was the carpet for?
So yeah, a coffin is the logical next step and I know it must be of some importance to them to complete this project because at 8:30 p.m., Mr. Creeperton was still hammering away into the night. Talking at 8:30 p.m. on a Friday is reason enough to compose a strongly-worded letter to apartment management, but hammering a coffin is perfectly acceptable at the same time on a Sunday when you've got to get that shit DONE.
I thought I had it figured out earlier when I realized I hadn't seen Bitch Creeperton in a while and Mr. Creeperton was driving her vechicle instead of his own. However, Boyfriend said he saw her earlier when they went to buy...the first few pieces of wood. Alas, the coffin is not for her. Boyfriend says we won't get worried until we see him building a second one. But if they bring up a brand new chest freezer soon, I'm out.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Have You Heard the Rip Current Story?
This isn’t a funny story, it’s an educational one.
In 2008, the annual beach vacation that my friends and I enjoy took a serious turn when five of us almost lost our lives to the sea. Well, actually, just four of us. One of us immediately bailed on the other four of us to “get help,” which vaguely translated as “watching from the shore.”
It had rained and stormed throughout the entire preceding day so the water was a little rough. Our friends who don’t stay on the beach all day had headed back to the house to get lunch, play video games or just generally get out of the sun. D-Bag, B-Real, Jughead, Sparkles, and I stayed on the beach and decided to get in the water while it was calm in front of us. Note of importance: It was calm only in front of us. Rough on the left, rough on the right, but not too bad right in front of us. I believe we even said, “Hey look, it’s calm right in front of us, we should get in!” We thought it was a sign that it was a good time to swim so that we wouldn’t get manhandled by the waves, but it was actually the ocean beckoning us to our deaths. Like a siren, that ocean.
The ocean wasn’t as calm as it initially made itself appear. As we’re taking one wave to the face after another, I couldn’t help but think “If I can just get on the other side of the breakers, this will be much more enjoyable.” As we’re bobbing about, D-Bag says he has to pee so I begin feverishly trying to get on the other side of breakers and thus up-current, decreasing my chances of being surrounded by human urine. I get on the other side of the breakers and think I’ve made a wise and educated decision, not yet realizing that the ocean was in the process of transporting me to Spain, and with quickness.
When I look back at my friends, they are MUCH further away than they should have been in a matter of a few seconds it takes to dive under a wave and resurface. As soon as I realize that they look too far away, I see D-Bag hitch a ride on a wave and a look of shocked confusion on the faces of Jughead, B-Real and Sparkles. And they are FAR away. Getting only further away. It finally hits me that we’re in a rip current and I’m a long way from shore. I’m not in what one would call “good” shape, but I can swim like a fish and the amount of water between me and the shore was daunting even to me. I don’t panic, I just start swimming (mostly) parallel to shore, as you’re supposed to. I had to put a little angle in it b/c I didn’t want to exhaust all my energy swimming 300 yards to my left before even beginning to make progress getting back to shore and tackling those breakers again.
This rip tide was huge. It seemed at first like every time I’d take a break from swimming to check my progress and catch a breath, I’d start moving back out to sea. I’d also see D-Bag on shore watching the rest of us fight for our lives against a very angry ocean. When I finally started making progress, it wasn’t so bad. Until I came upon the breakers. I was already tired from going as far as I had and I realized very suddenly that the hardest part hadn’t come yet.
To keep from taking a wave to the face, you go under water. It’s natural. I have more control of myself under the wave than when it’s hitting me. Every time I’d go under, I’d come up and a wave would be looking over me, about to break so I’d have to go under again. Or I’d surface only to be abruptly hit again. It wasn’t until this point when I started to get a little scared. No one else was going to be able to help me, we’re in a freakin rip current and while Jughead is swole, no one’s that strong…and he was in it too. I’d go under, come up long enough to fill my lungs again and then go back under. The forward progress was massively hindered to say the least. Freestyling, and not in the fun rap way, was no longer working so I thought that switching to the back stroke would be more effective since I could get more oxygen that way. I could also see when waves were going to break on me. This abated my fear a bit. It’s amazing how breathing can assuage your fears of drowning.
When my toes finally touch the sweet grain of sand on the ocean floor, I feel relief like I’d never felt before in my life. I grip the sand like I have monkey toes until I can finally be somewhat steady in the surf. I make it about knee-deep and collapse, totally spent. I look up and Jughead has made it out and he’s with D-Bag in the surf, looking at B-Real and Sparkles, who hadn’t yet come ashore and looked to be struggling. When I walk over to where the two land-walkers are, I see B-Real is holding Sparkles and looks to be trying to drag him while motioning D-Bag, Jughead and I in to help. Of course, we don’t know the extent of his struggle, so we’re motioning to him to come OUT of the water because we—well, Jughead and I at least—are tired after just getting out of a rip current. I should probably mention that Sparkles has about 80 lbs of pure mass on B-Real so to say B-Real was being challenged is a bit of an understatement. I start to see Sparkles going under and B-Real finally showing sheer exhaustion so I get a dose of adrenaline and start walking out there because they’re so close, they just need a little help and I think I can do it. You know, because I’m in such an awesome shape and totally beast. Thank God someone ran out there with his body board. Just as Rescue Boarder got to Sparkles and B-Real, B-Real found ground and was able to start walking out. We’re finally able to catch our breath and listen to D-Bag is tell us what our adventure looked like from shore. About that time, we realize we’ve drawn a very small crowd of about 3-5 people. A woman takes this moment to walk over and tell us how to find the rip tide. She almost got punched in the face. I think if Sparkles or Jughead had had more energy, they may have actually pushed her down.
As the five of us walk back, we see Boyfriend and Phoenix have walked back down to the beach to join us. Or at least where they thought we’d be. Our landing was a few tens of yards away so they didn’t see us walking back for quite some time. Boyfriend thought the five of us had gone on a walk—because we’re that kind of friends?—so he grabs my camera to take a picture of us coming back from our walk of beach bonding. He didn’t know that he was close to returning to the site where his friends once sat, never to return again. He also didn’t know that we were really close to losing a decent chunk of one family as Jughead and B-Real are brothers and Sparkles is their cousin. Sorry S-Clan, we regret to inform you that you’re three members down because we did something stupid. When we all got back, we literally crashed on our towels and chairs while Boyfriend wondered what the Hell had just happened because apparently we looked a mess. Somewhat disheveled you might say.
Boyfriend laughed after hearing the story. I don’t think you quite catch the horror if you only hear about it. I was like, you know, seriously scared I might die and I think Sparkles and B-Real thought the same thing. D-Bag, not so much. His story is that he saw me get sucked out into the ocean and knew immediately what was happening so he caught the first wave back with the intent on “helping” from shore. That left the three members of S-Clan to initially wonder what was going on as D-Bag and I are separated from the group at about equal speeds in opposite directions. There were five of us and only one person helped someone else. Three of us watched him do it though, it was special. Sparkles was lucky to have B-Real there.
So, I said earlier this was an educational story and not one for the funnies. Here’s how you don’t die in a rip current:
1. Recognize the rip current. If you do this, you don’t have to worry about any of the following steps because you won’t be stupid like we were. If it’s a rough ocean day and you notice that down the whooooooooooole beach, there’s one section that’s not rough—don’t go there. That’s a rip tide. If, in that one calm section, the water is also a slightly different color—don’t go there. That’s a rip tide. The only way that we could have been alerted to the rip tide’s presence any more clearly was if a pilot and gone over and dropped a sign that said “That’s a rip current!” with a downward arrow.
2. If you find your friend has been caught in a rip current, but you haven’t crossed the threshold yet, catch a wave back so you can "help" from shore, or at least be the one who can tell the friends and family whenever they come back why some people aren’t hanging out any more.
3. If you find you have been caught in a rip current, swim parallel to shore. This part’s serious. Don’t try to fight it because you won’t be able to. If you’ve ever been able to swim directly back to shore, you haven’t been caught in an actual rip tide. Start by swimming parallel to shore, then when you think you might be out or close to being out, start swimming at a diagonal so you’re making inland progress.
4. You can also just ride out the rip current and then swim diagonally back to shore when you’ve stopped going out to sea, thus leaving you with saved energy and no rip-current-fighting. They don’t actually go all the way to Spain, or even Bermuda, and eventually they will stop pushing you. However, I’ve never liked the idea of waiting that long when you CAN just start swimming out of it and I don’t care to find out just how far it WILL take me before it fizzles out. I’m not scared of the ocean and I’m not scared of sea creatures, but I HAVE seen Open Water—all 88 grueling minutes of awfulness—and as strong a swimmer as I am, I want to always see the shore if I’m not on a boat. I don’t recommend this step. Start swimming out of it as soon as you realize you’re in it.
5. Maybe don’t take all members of a family out in one with you? This was probably a bad idea. Maybe leave at least one person in a family somewhere safe. Just so the family has at least one in case the other members don’t make it back.
6. To that end, maybe leave one person in the group on shore if you decide to disregard of all nature’s clear signs and go into a rip current. At least to tell the others why the rest of the group hasn’t returned. I’ve wondered since 2008 how long Boyfriend and Phoenix would have waited there for us to return from our friendship walk. I picture EMS vehicles and helicopters being involved and the two of them hanging out in their chairs wondering what all the commotion was down there…
Thankfully, we all made it out safely. We bonded through this (only in story-telling, not in like, stupid ways), and we learned from this. We will work more diligently to recognize the indicators of rip currents and never again tempt the ocean. We will continue telling the story as an educational tool, just as B-Real’s fiancé, E-Money, wishes us to. Above all, we remember that we did defeat death by not panicking and (kind of) doing what we’d learned in all of our years of rip current education (i.e. reading brochures, which are in every rental house you’ll ever go in and even tell you about the whole “if the ocean looks different in one place, blah blah blah” part that we disregarded). We did not become additions to the Graveyard of the Atlantic. We survived.
And then we danced on the ruins of the stupid rip current.
In 2008, the annual beach vacation that my friends and I enjoy took a serious turn when five of us almost lost our lives to the sea. Well, actually, just four of us. One of us immediately bailed on the other four of us to “get help,” which vaguely translated as “watching from the shore.”
It had rained and stormed throughout the entire preceding day so the water was a little rough. Our friends who don’t stay on the beach all day had headed back to the house to get lunch, play video games or just generally get out of the sun. D-Bag, B-Real, Jughead, Sparkles, and I stayed on the beach and decided to get in the water while it was calm in front of us. Note of importance: It was calm only in front of us. Rough on the left, rough on the right, but not too bad right in front of us. I believe we even said, “Hey look, it’s calm right in front of us, we should get in!” We thought it was a sign that it was a good time to swim so that we wouldn’t get manhandled by the waves, but it was actually the ocean beckoning us to our deaths. Like a siren, that ocean.
The ocean wasn’t as calm as it initially made itself appear. As we’re taking one wave to the face after another, I couldn’t help but think “If I can just get on the other side of the breakers, this will be much more enjoyable.” As we’re bobbing about, D-Bag says he has to pee so I begin feverishly trying to get on the other side of breakers and thus up-current, decreasing my chances of being surrounded by human urine. I get on the other side of the breakers and think I’ve made a wise and educated decision, not yet realizing that the ocean was in the process of transporting me to Spain, and with quickness.
When I look back at my friends, they are MUCH further away than they should have been in a matter of a few seconds it takes to dive under a wave and resurface. As soon as I realize that they look too far away, I see D-Bag hitch a ride on a wave and a look of shocked confusion on the faces of Jughead, B-Real and Sparkles. And they are FAR away. Getting only further away. It finally hits me that we’re in a rip current and I’m a long way from shore. I’m not in what one would call “good” shape, but I can swim like a fish and the amount of water between me and the shore was daunting even to me. I don’t panic, I just start swimming (mostly) parallel to shore, as you’re supposed to. I had to put a little angle in it b/c I didn’t want to exhaust all my energy swimming 300 yards to my left before even beginning to make progress getting back to shore and tackling those breakers again.
This rip tide was huge. It seemed at first like every time I’d take a break from swimming to check my progress and catch a breath, I’d start moving back out to sea. I’d also see D-Bag on shore watching the rest of us fight for our lives against a very angry ocean. When I finally started making progress, it wasn’t so bad. Until I came upon the breakers. I was already tired from going as far as I had and I realized very suddenly that the hardest part hadn’t come yet.
To keep from taking a wave to the face, you go under water. It’s natural. I have more control of myself under the wave than when it’s hitting me. Every time I’d go under, I’d come up and a wave would be looking over me, about to break so I’d have to go under again. Or I’d surface only to be abruptly hit again. It wasn’t until this point when I started to get a little scared. No one else was going to be able to help me, we’re in a freakin rip current and while Jughead is swole, no one’s that strong…and he was in it too. I’d go under, come up long enough to fill my lungs again and then go back under. The forward progress was massively hindered to say the least. Freestyling, and not in the fun rap way, was no longer working so I thought that switching to the back stroke would be more effective since I could get more oxygen that way. I could also see when waves were going to break on me. This abated my fear a bit. It’s amazing how breathing can assuage your fears of drowning.
When my toes finally touch the sweet grain of sand on the ocean floor, I feel relief like I’d never felt before in my life. I grip the sand like I have monkey toes until I can finally be somewhat steady in the surf. I make it about knee-deep and collapse, totally spent. I look up and Jughead has made it out and he’s with D-Bag in the surf, looking at B-Real and Sparkles, who hadn’t yet come ashore and looked to be struggling. When I walk over to where the two land-walkers are, I see B-Real is holding Sparkles and looks to be trying to drag him while motioning D-Bag, Jughead and I in to help. Of course, we don’t know the extent of his struggle, so we’re motioning to him to come OUT of the water because we—well, Jughead and I at least—are tired after just getting out of a rip current. I should probably mention that Sparkles has about 80 lbs of pure mass on B-Real so to say B-Real was being challenged is a bit of an understatement. I start to see Sparkles going under and B-Real finally showing sheer exhaustion so I get a dose of adrenaline and start walking out there because they’re so close, they just need a little help and I think I can do it. You know, because I’m in such an awesome shape and totally beast. Thank God someone ran out there with his body board. Just as Rescue Boarder got to Sparkles and B-Real, B-Real found ground and was able to start walking out. We’re finally able to catch our breath and listen to D-Bag is tell us what our adventure looked like from shore. About that time, we realize we’ve drawn a very small crowd of about 3-5 people. A woman takes this moment to walk over and tell us how to find the rip tide. She almost got punched in the face. I think if Sparkles or Jughead had had more energy, they may have actually pushed her down.
As the five of us walk back, we see Boyfriend and Phoenix have walked back down to the beach to join us. Or at least where they thought we’d be. Our landing was a few tens of yards away so they didn’t see us walking back for quite some time. Boyfriend thought the five of us had gone on a walk—because we’re that kind of friends?—so he grabs my camera to take a picture of us coming back from our walk of beach bonding. He didn’t know that he was close to returning to the site where his friends once sat, never to return again. He also didn’t know that we were really close to losing a decent chunk of one family as Jughead and B-Real are brothers and Sparkles is their cousin. Sorry S-Clan, we regret to inform you that you’re three members down because we did something stupid. When we all got back, we literally crashed on our towels and chairs while Boyfriend wondered what the Hell had just happened because apparently we looked a mess. Somewhat disheveled you might say.
Boyfriend laughed after hearing the story. I don’t think you quite catch the horror if you only hear about it. I was like, you know, seriously scared I might die and I think Sparkles and B-Real thought the same thing. D-Bag, not so much. His story is that he saw me get sucked out into the ocean and knew immediately what was happening so he caught the first wave back with the intent on “helping” from shore. That left the three members of S-Clan to initially wonder what was going on as D-Bag and I are separated from the group at about equal speeds in opposite directions. There were five of us and only one person helped someone else. Three of us watched him do it though, it was special. Sparkles was lucky to have B-Real there.
So, I said earlier this was an educational story and not one for the funnies. Here’s how you don’t die in a rip current:
1. Recognize the rip current. If you do this, you don’t have to worry about any of the following steps because you won’t be stupid like we were. If it’s a rough ocean day and you notice that down the whooooooooooole beach, there’s one section that’s not rough—don’t go there. That’s a rip tide. If, in that one calm section, the water is also a slightly different color—don’t go there. That’s a rip tide. The only way that we could have been alerted to the rip tide’s presence any more clearly was if a pilot and gone over and dropped a sign that said “That’s a rip current!” with a downward arrow.
2. If you find your friend has been caught in a rip current, but you haven’t crossed the threshold yet, catch a wave back so you can "help" from shore, or at least be the one who can tell the friends and family whenever they come back why some people aren’t hanging out any more.
3. If you find you have been caught in a rip current, swim parallel to shore. This part’s serious. Don’t try to fight it because you won’t be able to. If you’ve ever been able to swim directly back to shore, you haven’t been caught in an actual rip tide. Start by swimming parallel to shore, then when you think you might be out or close to being out, start swimming at a diagonal so you’re making inland progress.
4. You can also just ride out the rip current and then swim diagonally back to shore when you’ve stopped going out to sea, thus leaving you with saved energy and no rip-current-fighting. They don’t actually go all the way to Spain, or even Bermuda, and eventually they will stop pushing you. However, I’ve never liked the idea of waiting that long when you CAN just start swimming out of it and I don’t care to find out just how far it WILL take me before it fizzles out. I’m not scared of the ocean and I’m not scared of sea creatures, but I HAVE seen Open Water—all 88 grueling minutes of awfulness—and as strong a swimmer as I am, I want to always see the shore if I’m not on a boat. I don’t recommend this step. Start swimming out of it as soon as you realize you’re in it.
5. Maybe don’t take all members of a family out in one with you? This was probably a bad idea. Maybe leave at least one person in a family somewhere safe. Just so the family has at least one in case the other members don’t make it back.
6. To that end, maybe leave one person in the group on shore if you decide to disregard of all nature’s clear signs and go into a rip current. At least to tell the others why the rest of the group hasn’t returned. I’ve wondered since 2008 how long Boyfriend and Phoenix would have waited there for us to return from our friendship walk. I picture EMS vehicles and helicopters being involved and the two of them hanging out in their chairs wondering what all the commotion was down there…
Thankfully, we all made it out safely. We bonded through this (only in story-telling, not in like, stupid ways), and we learned from this. We will work more diligently to recognize the indicators of rip currents and never again tempt the ocean. We will continue telling the story as an educational tool, just as B-Real’s fiancé, E-Money, wishes us to. Above all, we remember that we did defeat death by not panicking and (kind of) doing what we’d learned in all of our years of rip current education (i.e. reading brochures, which are in every rental house you’ll ever go in and even tell you about the whole “if the ocean looks different in one place, blah blah blah” part that we disregarded). We did not become additions to the Graveyard of the Atlantic. We survived.
And then we danced on the ruins of the stupid rip current.
Wednesday, August 03, 2011
The 48-Hour Film Project That Almost Got Us Invited to a Special Party
The other weekend, Boyfriend and B-Friend entered the 48 Hour Film Project in our city. For those who aren't aware of this project, as I wasn't before last year so don't buy my act of being a 48HFP seasoned veteran, teams have 48 hours to make a short movie. On Friday at 7:00 p.m., your team receives your genre and the one character, prop and line of dialogue that all teams must encorporate are revealed. So, each team gets a different genre, but all teams have to use the same character, prop and line of dialogue. That's not important to this story, per se, but I think that's one of the most interesting parts of the competition. Anyway, teams then have 48 hours to write, film, edit, and compose music for a 4-7 minute film. It's quite an undertaking.
The weekend was intense. From the very beginning, things didn't...work...as they were imagined. Things didn't go as planned. Locations had to be changed, an original cast member had to decline further involvement, and Boyfriend and B-Friend had to completely re-write the script they had spent all Friday evening writing. You try and make a plan, but the 48HFP laughs at your plans. I think that's probably true for all entrants.
Seriously, I act like I was a major part of this project, but in reality I just made what I approximate to be roughly a crapload of food and acted as chauffeur to the two young stars of the film. My involvement did result in a catering credit and my name looked beautiful on screen, I have to say.
But I have to be honest with you. Making the film itself wasn't the most interesting part of the weekend. No sir.
Saturday afternoon, Boyfriend and I are standing outside B-Friend's house when B-Friend's neighbor came outside to tell Boyfriend that he should park elsewhere because she doesn't look when backing out of her driveway and she's been known to run into cars parked in front of B-Friend's house when the former occupant had visitors. She even offered her driveway to us, but we think that's weird so we didn't take her up on her offer. We thanked her, judged her and went about our conversation, never moving Boyfriend's car until we had to leave again.
Later on that afternoon, our whole group returned from shooting a scene and we go inside. Not two minutes later, we see No-Look Neighbor walking up the driveway and we assume she's come to complain about us parking in front of our friend's house again.
Nay, this is not why she has come over.
B-Friend's fiance, E-Friend (Don't let my creativity intimidate you), goes out to talk to No-Look Neighbor to explain to her that there's really no place else for us to park. Neighbor again offers up her driveway, but E-Friend politely declines and tells her that we will be leaving shortly to go film elsewhere and we will be sure not to leave any of the cars behind her driveway. Indeed, she ensures that her friends don't park in front of her own house. The conversation then immediately goes somewhere none of us normal folk ever imagined it would go. It goes something like this:
E-Friend: "We're about leave to go shoot more scenes for our movie"
No-Look Neighbor: "A movie? Is it like a sex thing?"
EF: "NO! No, it's for a competition."
NLN: "Well I was asking because a few other neighbors and I are having a sex party later tonight..."
EF: "Oh, ok."
NLN: "Yeah. Do you have any beer?"
EF: "Um, we have some beer..."
NLN: "Can I have some?"
EF: "Well, not right now; we're about to leave."
Neighbor waddles back down the driveway and E-Friend returns inside. The look on E-Friend's face when she came back inside was, unsurprisingly now, total and absolute shock. She expected to discuss a ridiculous parking situation that wasn't really a situation at all but instead, she was both informed of and we think invited to a neighborhood sex party, asked for beer by someone holding a Mike's Hard Lemonade, and realized that her neighborhood was apparently full of partying swingers, all in about 2-3 minutes.
You know, you always wonder how people find themselves at such parties. How does the topic even come up? Doesn't that only happen in the type of movie that No-Look Neighbor thinks we were making? Now we know the answers. And the answer to the second question is "no."
Turns out that No-Look Neighbor's original intent had been to come apologize to Boyfriend "for being a bitch" but instead of being able to do that, she had to settle for informing E-Friend of a sex party that she declined in deference to our disappointingly non-porn movie. What lame neighbors B-Friend and E-Friend turned out to be. Prudes. I mean really, who turns down a perfectly friendly neighborly sex party?
And based on the time of evening and volume of music played, no, we do not think No-Look Neighbor was simply having a Tasteful Treasures party. No no, it seems B-Friend and E-Friend have put their roots down in that kind of neighborhood.
The weekend was intense. From the very beginning, things didn't...work...as they were imagined. Things didn't go as planned. Locations had to be changed, an original cast member had to decline further involvement, and Boyfriend and B-Friend had to completely re-write the script they had spent all Friday evening writing. You try and make a plan, but the 48HFP laughs at your plans. I think that's probably true for all entrants.
Seriously, I act like I was a major part of this project, but in reality I just made what I approximate to be roughly a crapload of food and acted as chauffeur to the two young stars of the film. My involvement did result in a catering credit and my name looked beautiful on screen, I have to say.
But I have to be honest with you. Making the film itself wasn't the most interesting part of the weekend. No sir.
Saturday afternoon, Boyfriend and I are standing outside B-Friend's house when B-Friend's neighbor came outside to tell Boyfriend that he should park elsewhere because she doesn't look when backing out of her driveway and she's been known to run into cars parked in front of B-Friend's house when the former occupant had visitors. She even offered her driveway to us, but we think that's weird so we didn't take her up on her offer. We thanked her, judged her and went about our conversation, never moving Boyfriend's car until we had to leave again.
Later on that afternoon, our whole group returned from shooting a scene and we go inside. Not two minutes later, we see No-Look Neighbor walking up the driveway and we assume she's come to complain about us parking in front of our friend's house again.
Nay, this is not why she has come over.
B-Friend's fiance, E-Friend (Don't let my creativity intimidate you), goes out to talk to No-Look Neighbor to explain to her that there's really no place else for us to park. Neighbor again offers up her driveway, but E-Friend politely declines and tells her that we will be leaving shortly to go film elsewhere and we will be sure not to leave any of the cars behind her driveway. Indeed, she ensures that her friends don't park in front of her own house. The conversation then immediately goes somewhere none of us normal folk ever imagined it would go. It goes something like this:
E-Friend: "We're about leave to go shoot more scenes for our movie"
No-Look Neighbor: "A movie? Is it like a sex thing?"
EF: "NO! No, it's for a competition."
NLN: "Well I was asking because a few other neighbors and I are having a sex party later tonight..."
EF: "Oh, ok."
NLN: "Yeah. Do you have any beer?"
EF: "Um, we have some beer..."
NLN: "Can I have some?"
EF: "Well, not right now; we're about to leave."
Neighbor waddles back down the driveway and E-Friend returns inside. The look on E-Friend's face when she came back inside was, unsurprisingly now, total and absolute shock. She expected to discuss a ridiculous parking situation that wasn't really a situation at all but instead, she was both informed of and we think invited to a neighborhood sex party, asked for beer by someone holding a Mike's Hard Lemonade, and realized that her neighborhood was apparently full of partying swingers, all in about 2-3 minutes.
You know, you always wonder how people find themselves at such parties. How does the topic even come up? Doesn't that only happen in the type of movie that No-Look Neighbor thinks we were making? Now we know the answers. And the answer to the second question is "no."
Turns out that No-Look Neighbor's original intent had been to come apologize to Boyfriend "for being a bitch" but instead of being able to do that, she had to settle for informing E-Friend of a sex party that she declined in deference to our disappointingly non-porn movie. What lame neighbors B-Friend and E-Friend turned out to be. Prudes. I mean really, who turns down a perfectly friendly neighborly sex party?
And based on the time of evening and volume of music played, no, we do not think No-Look Neighbor was simply having a Tasteful Treasures party. No no, it seems B-Friend and E-Friend have put their roots down in that kind of neighborhood.
Monday, July 11, 2011
Rabbit Eggs and Ceiling Fan Fun
In some ways, I was an averagely smart kid. I'm told that when taking the test to see if I should go to pre-K or straight to Kindergarten, I was asked which way a ferris wheel turned, to which I responded, "Which side are you standing on?" I went straight to Kindergarten when the teacher thankfully confused my early development of sarcasm with intelligence. Otherwise, I was stupid.
Stupid, dumb, gullible...all of the aforementioned. I was that. I made stupid decisions and believed stupid things.
Cousin A and I picked what we thought were beautiful plants one weekend we were on the Outer Banks. We brought our findings back to the house where Uncle Bubba told us we were going to jail because it was illegal to pick sea oats on the Outer Banks. They hold the dunes together, see. I was terrified the rest of the night that he, as a police officer, was going to call other police friends and put my 8 year old butt in jail for picking sea oats. I seemingly couldn't escape my dark future confined in solitary, gazing longingly out of the barred window at the blowing plants in the breeze, constantly reminded that I had single-handedly contributed to the destruction of the entire chain of barrier islands on North Carolina's east coast and wondering which of those pretty plants would land the next little girl in a Jem shirt and bright blue bangles in the slammer for the complete ruination of a community.
And that was probably my least dumb. I was at least lied to in that instance.
The Outer Banks also has a large rabbit population. While frolicking in the dunes alone, probably after having lost yet another game of King of the Hill to my brother who was a dude and 3 years older so duh, I came across what were most definitely rabbit eggs. I scooped them up in my tiny hand, intent on having pet rabbits of my own at home, which my parents would, I'm sure, be totally cool with. So I take the rabbit eggs to my dad and say with unrestrained glee, "Look Daddy! Rabbit eggs!"
My poor father. Here he is looking at his doe-eyed overjoyed little girl, undoubtedly immediately sullen that though once thought to be somewhat intelligent, his daughter was actually on the borderline of being too dumb to walk and was standing there not only oblivious to the fact that rabbits are mammals and thus do not hatch, but she's unwittingly presenting to him a handful of rabbit crap and she's quite excited about it. All of his hopes and dreams of her capitalizing on her love of space, geology, volcanoes, and other extremely cool science-based professions, for which you must be incredibly smart and able to understand calculus (and the difference between poop and eggs) vanished into thin air and he realized that she was likely to become a 30 year old administrative assistant.
Did I grow up and prove to my understandably worried parents that the "rabbit egg" incident was just the adorable mistake of a small child? No. On yet another weekend at the beach, Brother was off riding his bike. He came back to the house with one of his legs covered in blood and what appeared like a gaping hole where his knee used to be. Apparently he hit a rock and flipped over his bike, leaving him with red socks that once were white and a leg covered in iodine. After offering him an Icee pop, Cousin A and I decided that we were going to go look for something. Something that we couldn't believe we hadn't thought to look for before.
We were going to find the skin that once covered his knee.
We went around and around Section E, to no avail. We did not find his knee skin. I'm sure the two girls on Strawberry Shortcake bikes looked completely normal pedaling away, eyes looking straight at the ground, scouring every flake of mica in the asphalt.
We also thought the driftwood in Section E was a pirate ship wreck. Cousin A and I probably shouldn't have been allowed to be off alone at any time because it's painfully obvious my rational thinking skills were not where they should have been and she would have been too small to care for both of us when I made a stupid decision that put us both in great peril, particularly around all that water, sand and empty houses.
Above all that, one of the hardest times we've laughed didn't happen on the Outer Banks. Nay, this comedic and idiotic wonder took place at my regular house. Playing in my room one day, we had become bored with perfectly normal toys. Instead, one of us had the genius idea to put stuff on the ceiling fan and then turn said fan on "high." It started out with popsicle sticks. We turned that ceiling fan on and watched those things fly and we thought it was great. Then I thought it would be even funnier to put mousse up there (hair product, not dessert). Now, mousse shooting off the ceiling fan was hilarious. Well I ran out of mousse. What did I still have? Suntan lotion. With self-tanner. We've never laughed harder in our lives watching that liquid shoot around to every corner and crevice of my bedroom. 20 years later, there are still suntan lotion stains on my dresser, mirror on the back of the door, and on the slats of the closet door in that room. That was our fun. Suntan lotion on the ceiling fan, forever staining the walls, closet doors, bedroom door, and any other surface of that room. My mom was displeased, but we couldn't find it in our hearts to be sorry.
But honestly, what's to be expected of a child who thinks it entirely appropriate and functional to clean up cat poop stains on the carpet with her brand new bottle of Vidal Sassoon Air Spray?
Stupid, dumb, gullible...all of the aforementioned. I was that. I made stupid decisions and believed stupid things.
Cousin A and I picked what we thought were beautiful plants one weekend we were on the Outer Banks. We brought our findings back to the house where Uncle Bubba told us we were going to jail because it was illegal to pick sea oats on the Outer Banks. They hold the dunes together, see. I was terrified the rest of the night that he, as a police officer, was going to call other police friends and put my 8 year old butt in jail for picking sea oats. I seemingly couldn't escape my dark future confined in solitary, gazing longingly out of the barred window at the blowing plants in the breeze, constantly reminded that I had single-handedly contributed to the destruction of the entire chain of barrier islands on North Carolina's east coast and wondering which of those pretty plants would land the next little girl in a Jem shirt and bright blue bangles in the slammer for the complete ruination of a community.
And that was probably my least dumb. I was at least lied to in that instance.
The Outer Banks also has a large rabbit population. While frolicking in the dunes alone, probably after having lost yet another game of King of the Hill to my brother who was a dude and 3 years older so duh, I came across what were most definitely rabbit eggs. I scooped them up in my tiny hand, intent on having pet rabbits of my own at home, which my parents would, I'm sure, be totally cool with. So I take the rabbit eggs to my dad and say with unrestrained glee, "Look Daddy! Rabbit eggs!"
My poor father. Here he is looking at his doe-eyed overjoyed little girl, undoubtedly immediately sullen that though once thought to be somewhat intelligent, his daughter was actually on the borderline of being too dumb to walk and was standing there not only oblivious to the fact that rabbits are mammals and thus do not hatch, but she's unwittingly presenting to him a handful of rabbit crap and she's quite excited about it. All of his hopes and dreams of her capitalizing on her love of space, geology, volcanoes, and other extremely cool science-based professions, for which you must be incredibly smart and able to understand calculus (and the difference between poop and eggs) vanished into thin air and he realized that she was likely to become a 30 year old administrative assistant.
Did I grow up and prove to my understandably worried parents that the "rabbit egg" incident was just the adorable mistake of a small child? No. On yet another weekend at the beach, Brother was off riding his bike. He came back to the house with one of his legs covered in blood and what appeared like a gaping hole where his knee used to be. Apparently he hit a rock and flipped over his bike, leaving him with red socks that once were white and a leg covered in iodine. After offering him an Icee pop, Cousin A and I decided that we were going to go look for something. Something that we couldn't believe we hadn't thought to look for before.
We were going to find the skin that once covered his knee.
We went around and around Section E, to no avail. We did not find his knee skin. I'm sure the two girls on Strawberry Shortcake bikes looked completely normal pedaling away, eyes looking straight at the ground, scouring every flake of mica in the asphalt.
We also thought the driftwood in Section E was a pirate ship wreck. Cousin A and I probably shouldn't have been allowed to be off alone at any time because it's painfully obvious my rational thinking skills were not where they should have been and she would have been too small to care for both of us when I made a stupid decision that put us both in great peril, particularly around all that water, sand and empty houses.
Above all that, one of the hardest times we've laughed didn't happen on the Outer Banks. Nay, this comedic and idiotic wonder took place at my regular house. Playing in my room one day, we had become bored with perfectly normal toys. Instead, one of us had the genius idea to put stuff on the ceiling fan and then turn said fan on "high." It started out with popsicle sticks. We turned that ceiling fan on and watched those things fly and we thought it was great. Then I thought it would be even funnier to put mousse up there (hair product, not dessert). Now, mousse shooting off the ceiling fan was hilarious. Well I ran out of mousse. What did I still have? Suntan lotion. With self-tanner. We've never laughed harder in our lives watching that liquid shoot around to every corner and crevice of my bedroom. 20 years later, there are still suntan lotion stains on my dresser, mirror on the back of the door, and on the slats of the closet door in that room. That was our fun. Suntan lotion on the ceiling fan, forever staining the walls, closet doors, bedroom door, and any other surface of that room. My mom was displeased, but we couldn't find it in our hearts to be sorry.
But honestly, what's to be expected of a child who thinks it entirely appropriate and functional to clean up cat poop stains on the carpet with her brand new bottle of Vidal Sassoon Air Spray?
Tuesday, June 07, 2011
Dear Creepertons, It's About to get Real.
Things have reached a boiling point with the Creepertons. This time, they haven't done something particularly creepy per se, but bitchy and weird. Boyfriend and I have been stewing over this since Saturday and the more we think about it, the more mad we get. However, I don't think we can start at this most recent occurrence. Instead, I'm going to start at the beginning. For your convenience, this will be broken down into the Creeptastic Time Scale.
The Precreep Eon
(September 2008-October 2009)
During this period, a family lived above us consisting of a young new mother and father and their baby girl, whose gravel-smooth transition from crawling to walking we were lucky enough to hear. As well as her quickly-acquired ability to run. And fall. We always knew when the child would be put to bed because it would get suddenly quiet. As annoying as the small running elephant could be, we weren't really bothered by the sounds of a child learning (and failing) to walk, even if it meant the occasional bump and thump. Did we enjoy the month or so between them and the new guys? Of course.
The Neocreep Era
(October 2009-March 2010)
The day before Halloween 2009, the Creepertons moved in. Boyfriend and I remembered thinking, "Oh a couple with no kids, this shouldn't be too bad. But they look a little weird." Halloween fell on a Saturday that year and Boyfriend and I had a party. There were eight of us there at the time, and we heard a loud rapping on the door. I answered the door (dressed as Boyfriend-hit-by-Suicidal Bird I might add) to see Mr. Creeperton, who has asked us to keep it down. It was around 9:00 p.m. or 10:00 p.m. on a Saturday, Halloween, and they had just moved in so we found it a little ballsy and weird, but whatever. We recognized that it was, in fact, a party and louder than no party, so we turned the music down and tried to bring it inside as much as we could.
We attempted to stay hyper-aware of our noise levels from then on. We didn't hear anything else about our "noise" until the beginning of the Mediuscreep Era.
The Mediuscreep Era
(March 2010 to present day)
From Halloween night 2009 until March 2010, we didn't have any problems with the Creepertons directly. Sure they were freakin weird and we still hadn't figured out their relationship (are they siblings? Dating? Roommates? Mother and progeny? Who can tell?) But in March 2010, our real issues with the Creepertons began.
Boyfriend is an avid movie fan and in March 2010, we decided to host an Oscar party. Gentlemen were to wear suits and ladies were to don their most red carpet worthy dresses. We laid out a red carpet, had some cinema-type refreshments and sat down to watch the show. We were having a grand ole time sitting down and watching TV when we heard a knock on our door. B-Friend looks through the peephole and informs us that a police officer is outside. We don't immediately believe him so he opens the door and we see that a police officer is indeed outside. Boyfriend and I go to the door to address the officer's questions.
He says that he has received a call that we are having a party that is too loud. He asks what we're doing and we tell him of our party. We had to explain that it was an excuse to get dressed up and watch the Oscars since "We're having an Oscar party" didn't adequately explain what we were doing and he was still confused. Apparently, he hadn't before heard of an Oscar party. He asks if we had any music playing and Boyfriend tells him, "Only the orchestra on TV." As he stands before us on a red carpet while Boyfriend and B-Friend are wearing suits and I'm sporting a floor-length bridesmaid gown, he says he thinks someone must have been mistaken on the address they gave him. He then let us know that he sat outside for about 15 minutes and could see that our windows were open and could see us inside but never heard us. Before he leaves, he tells us to have a good evening. Doesn't even tell us to keep it down, because there was nothing to keep down. The look on his face was total confusion and a pinch of disbelief and he looked around to see a bunch of dressed-up nerds with posters of the Dark Crystal and Lord of the Rings lining the darkened room and a counter top adorned with popcorn, candy and fondue. On a Sunday.
We never confirmed that the call to the police came from the Creepertons. Indeed, I defended them at first, stating that they had come downstairs and addressed us directly last time so I don't know why they'd go straight to the police this time. Looking back, we're most definitely sure it was them.
The Bitchcreep Epoch
(February 2011 to present day)
February 2011 marked the emergence of a significant hole in our ceiling, the event which sparked many a question about the Creepertons and which brought to light their creepiness to people who weren't Boyfriend and I. The numerous subsequent entries on this very blog illustrate the increased ridiculousness that is the Creepertons in the Bitchcreep Epoch.
Boyfriend and I actually thought that the ceiling hole episode would probably get the Creepertons to lay off for a while because SURELY they can't complain about our not-really-loudness when we had to go without part of our ceiling for a week. In March no less, when those of us with allergies are having a hard enough time without direct exposure to mold in our homes, brought about by complete morons who let a sink leak for so long it rotted out a chunk of their kitchen, necessitating the complete replacement of their entire front kitchen counter and a portion of the ceiling below them.
This past weekend marked the pinnacle of our disdain for the Creepertons.
Boyfriend and I also believe that it may have initiated the countdown of our numbered days.
Friday night, two of our friends came over to hang out. D-Friend arrived at about 8:00 p.m. and A-Friend arrived about an hour later. At 9:15 p.m. or so, I left to run to the store and A-Friend left to get himself something to eat. This left naught but Boyfriend and D-Friend at the apartment. When I returned at 9:30 p.m., I could see Boyfriend and D-Friend on the patio, but even as I was walking past them, I couldn't hear anything they were saying, just that sound of someone's around close by and maybe talking to someone. You know, the normal sound of Friday nights in the late Spring/Summer when the weather's nice. In fact, I contemplated yelling "What up ninjas?!" but deemed the outside situation somewhat quiet and didn't want to disturb that. Nor look dumb.
As I was coming to the breezeway to go to my door, Mr. Creeperton was coming down the stairs. He catches me as I'm about to walk by, saying "Excuse me, I don't mean to be rude, but can you guys keep it down? It's getting kinda loud up here. Don't mean to be rude." I, completely caught off guard, just say "okay" and continue walking to my door.
Let's recap:
1) When Mr. Creeperton was coming down to complain that it was "kinda loud upstairs," there were only two people at my apartment at the time.
2) It was so "kinda loud" that I couldn't hear them. When I was outside. Twenty feet away.
3) It was 9:30 on a Friday night. My 2-year old nephew is occasionally still up at this time. My 8-year old little brother is still at least an hour away from bedtime. Twenty years ago, TGIF would still be on.
I go inside and tell Boyfriend and D-Friend that we've been asked to quiet down. Looking at me as though I've just suggested we attempt to achieve positronic distillation of subatomic particles, I explain what just happened. The sheer ludicrousness of the request sparks a running joke the rest of the night where we'd "shh" a person who laughed too loudly. I didn't say it was humorous, just a joke. At 11:30 p.m., I call it a night and go to bed, where I had my door cracked and no fan on so I could ensure it didn't get too loud. Even with the main sliding glass window open in the living room, I could barely hear the other three people. I fell asleep quickly and didn't awake until 1:30 a.m. when Boyfriend and D-Friend were snoring like hibernating bears to Daniel Tosh. After talking with Boyfriend, we estimated that they came inside around 12:30 a.m. (on a Friday night, mind you, because we're all awesomely lame) and fell asleep shortly thereafter to the Chapelle Show, before Boyfriend awoke again and changed it to Tosh.
Saturday morning I received a phone call from our management office at the apartment, inquiring as to whether or not we had had a party the night before. It seems she had "received a very strongly-worded letter" and was checking up on it. I didn't feel it was time to tell her all the things we normally hear in an attempt to prevent the situation from becoming childish and reminiscent of "well THEY did THIS first" so I was simply honest with her about the happenings of the night before. She sounded as confused as the Oscar party police officer appeared, and ended the conversation by saying "Well you ARE allowed to have friends over" and then recommended that I remind them not to park in the front row, as a courtesy to residents. Sure thing.
Fast forward to Monday night and Neighbor Friend tells me he received a phone call asking about Friday night as well. He assures us that he did not hear us and adds that he's never heard us, even when he can see we have more than four people on the patio. I'm assuming that others received that phone call as well and I'm confident that everyone else will give the same answer as Neighbor Friend. I should also add that Neighbor Friend is the type who will most definitely let you know when you're doing something he doesn't think is cool. For example, when our building spent the whole day shoveling snow from the lot in front of our building and someone from another building was going to park there because their spots were covered and Neighbor Friend told him to move and shovel his own lot. Oh and also, Mr. Creeperton helped shovel the lot that day. And he didn't say a single word to anyone.
So now Boyfriend and I are really pissed and also fearful, as it seems the Creepertons may not receive the support they were looking for from apartment management, which may only incense them further. We could sit and do nothing but we feel that we need some sort of documentation since there is apparently a "strongly-worded letter" about our "parties" in our file. We've lived below someone with a toddler who went to bed at 8:00 p.m., beside the Marlboro Man and his wife who appear to be in their 50s or 60s, and across from someone who has called police on other neighbors' parties when they got too loud. If anyone was going to complain, you'd think it would be one of those, not the youngish couple above us who seemingly have no real normal job responsibilities because they're always at home and they stay up until all hours of the night. Running their garbage disposal. Dropping small explosives. In the dark.
We feel we should also write a letter. How does one sound professional in a letter while wanting to write that the people who've complained about our talking have awakened us in the middle of the night from running their garbage disposal and dropping what can only be assumed are bowling balls or frozen heads, dropped items so heavy that the impact has caused things to fall from our shelves in the utility room, stared at our apartment from their cars, and oh yeah, were too utterly stupid and/or irresponsible to notice and/or report a sink that had leaked so profusely for so long that it rotted out their cabinet, floor and our ceiling?
During all of this, we've never submitted a complaint about them, nor have we gone up there to ask them to please hold things more securely--partly because we understand that with apartment living comes the noises of others and partly because they scare the bejesus out of us. However, we do want something on file that indicates our aversion to filing complaints while also acknowledging that we do not live below quiet, peaceful people who we thoughtlessly disrupt. Instead, we live below extremely loud creepy people who, for some reason, do not like us and grind their victims' bones in the night while running their air conditioner every day for the past year and a half, the unit for which just happens to be right outside of our patio and my gosh, let's talk about noise, shall we?
My hypothesis is thus: Mr. and Bitch Creeperton have realized that Boyfriend and I are on to them. They themselves cannot move because they have too much delicate cargo to transport and possibly cannot afford the required refrigerated truck for the bodies that have not yet been taken care of. As such, they want us removed.
The Precreep Eon
(September 2008-October 2009)
During this period, a family lived above us consisting of a young new mother and father and their baby girl, whose gravel-smooth transition from crawling to walking we were lucky enough to hear. As well as her quickly-acquired ability to run. And fall. We always knew when the child would be put to bed because it would get suddenly quiet. As annoying as the small running elephant could be, we weren't really bothered by the sounds of a child learning (and failing) to walk, even if it meant the occasional bump and thump. Did we enjoy the month or so between them and the new guys? Of course.
The Neocreep Era
(October 2009-March 2010)
The day before Halloween 2009, the Creepertons moved in. Boyfriend and I remembered thinking, "Oh a couple with no kids, this shouldn't be too bad. But they look a little weird." Halloween fell on a Saturday that year and Boyfriend and I had a party. There were eight of us there at the time, and we heard a loud rapping on the door. I answered the door (dressed as Boyfriend-hit-by-Suicidal Bird I might add) to see Mr. Creeperton, who has asked us to keep it down. It was around 9:00 p.m. or 10:00 p.m. on a Saturday, Halloween, and they had just moved in so we found it a little ballsy and weird, but whatever. We recognized that it was, in fact, a party and louder than no party, so we turned the music down and tried to bring it inside as much as we could.
We attempted to stay hyper-aware of our noise levels from then on. We didn't hear anything else about our "noise" until the beginning of the Mediuscreep Era.
The Mediuscreep Era
(March 2010 to present day)
From Halloween night 2009 until March 2010, we didn't have any problems with the Creepertons directly. Sure they were freakin weird and we still hadn't figured out their relationship (are they siblings? Dating? Roommates? Mother and progeny? Who can tell?) But in March 2010, our real issues with the Creepertons began.
Boyfriend is an avid movie fan and in March 2010, we decided to host an Oscar party. Gentlemen were to wear suits and ladies were to don their most red carpet worthy dresses. We laid out a red carpet, had some cinema-type refreshments and sat down to watch the show. We were having a grand ole time sitting down and watching TV when we heard a knock on our door. B-Friend looks through the peephole and informs us that a police officer is outside. We don't immediately believe him so he opens the door and we see that a police officer is indeed outside. Boyfriend and I go to the door to address the officer's questions.
He says that he has received a call that we are having a party that is too loud. He asks what we're doing and we tell him of our party. We had to explain that it was an excuse to get dressed up and watch the Oscars since "We're having an Oscar party" didn't adequately explain what we were doing and he was still confused. Apparently, he hadn't before heard of an Oscar party. He asks if we had any music playing and Boyfriend tells him, "Only the orchestra on TV." As he stands before us on a red carpet while Boyfriend and B-Friend are wearing suits and I'm sporting a floor-length bridesmaid gown, he says he thinks someone must have been mistaken on the address they gave him. He then let us know that he sat outside for about 15 minutes and could see that our windows were open and could see us inside but never heard us. Before he leaves, he tells us to have a good evening. Doesn't even tell us to keep it down, because there was nothing to keep down. The look on his face was total confusion and a pinch of disbelief and he looked around to see a bunch of dressed-up nerds with posters of the Dark Crystal and Lord of the Rings lining the darkened room and a counter top adorned with popcorn, candy and fondue. On a Sunday.
We never confirmed that the call to the police came from the Creepertons. Indeed, I defended them at first, stating that they had come downstairs and addressed us directly last time so I don't know why they'd go straight to the police this time. Looking back, we're most definitely sure it was them.
The Bitchcreep Epoch
(February 2011 to present day)
February 2011 marked the emergence of a significant hole in our ceiling, the event which sparked many a question about the Creepertons and which brought to light their creepiness to people who weren't Boyfriend and I. The numerous subsequent entries on this very blog illustrate the increased ridiculousness that is the Creepertons in the Bitchcreep Epoch.
Boyfriend and I actually thought that the ceiling hole episode would probably get the Creepertons to lay off for a while because SURELY they can't complain about our not-really-loudness when we had to go without part of our ceiling for a week. In March no less, when those of us with allergies are having a hard enough time without direct exposure to mold in our homes, brought about by complete morons who let a sink leak for so long it rotted out a chunk of their kitchen, necessitating the complete replacement of their entire front kitchen counter and a portion of the ceiling below them.
This past weekend marked the pinnacle of our disdain for the Creepertons.
Boyfriend and I also believe that it may have initiated the countdown of our numbered days.
Friday night, two of our friends came over to hang out. D-Friend arrived at about 8:00 p.m. and A-Friend arrived about an hour later. At 9:15 p.m. or so, I left to run to the store and A-Friend left to get himself something to eat. This left naught but Boyfriend and D-Friend at the apartment. When I returned at 9:30 p.m., I could see Boyfriend and D-Friend on the patio, but even as I was walking past them, I couldn't hear anything they were saying, just that sound of someone's around close by and maybe talking to someone. You know, the normal sound of Friday nights in the late Spring/Summer when the weather's nice. In fact, I contemplated yelling "What up ninjas?!" but deemed the outside situation somewhat quiet and didn't want to disturb that. Nor look dumb.
As I was coming to the breezeway to go to my door, Mr. Creeperton was coming down the stairs. He catches me as I'm about to walk by, saying "Excuse me, I don't mean to be rude, but can you guys keep it down? It's getting kinda loud up here. Don't mean to be rude." I, completely caught off guard, just say "okay" and continue walking to my door.
Let's recap:
1) When Mr. Creeperton was coming down to complain that it was "kinda loud upstairs," there were only two people at my apartment at the time.
2) It was so "kinda loud" that I couldn't hear them. When I was outside. Twenty feet away.
3) It was 9:30 on a Friday night. My 2-year old nephew is occasionally still up at this time. My 8-year old little brother is still at least an hour away from bedtime. Twenty years ago, TGIF would still be on.
I go inside and tell Boyfriend and D-Friend that we've been asked to quiet down. Looking at me as though I've just suggested we attempt to achieve positronic distillation of subatomic particles, I explain what just happened. The sheer ludicrousness of the request sparks a running joke the rest of the night where we'd "shh" a person who laughed too loudly. I didn't say it was humorous, just a joke. At 11:30 p.m., I call it a night and go to bed, where I had my door cracked and no fan on so I could ensure it didn't get too loud. Even with the main sliding glass window open in the living room, I could barely hear the other three people. I fell asleep quickly and didn't awake until 1:30 a.m. when Boyfriend and D-Friend were snoring like hibernating bears to Daniel Tosh. After talking with Boyfriend, we estimated that they came inside around 12:30 a.m. (on a Friday night, mind you, because we're all awesomely lame) and fell asleep shortly thereafter to the Chapelle Show, before Boyfriend awoke again and changed it to Tosh.
Saturday morning I received a phone call from our management office at the apartment, inquiring as to whether or not we had had a party the night before. It seems she had "received a very strongly-worded letter" and was checking up on it. I didn't feel it was time to tell her all the things we normally hear in an attempt to prevent the situation from becoming childish and reminiscent of "well THEY did THIS first" so I was simply honest with her about the happenings of the night before. She sounded as confused as the Oscar party police officer appeared, and ended the conversation by saying "Well you ARE allowed to have friends over" and then recommended that I remind them not to park in the front row, as a courtesy to residents. Sure thing.
Fast forward to Monday night and Neighbor Friend tells me he received a phone call asking about Friday night as well. He assures us that he did not hear us and adds that he's never heard us, even when he can see we have more than four people on the patio. I'm assuming that others received that phone call as well and I'm confident that everyone else will give the same answer as Neighbor Friend. I should also add that Neighbor Friend is the type who will most definitely let you know when you're doing something he doesn't think is cool. For example, when our building spent the whole day shoveling snow from the lot in front of our building and someone from another building was going to park there because their spots were covered and Neighbor Friend told him to move and shovel his own lot. Oh and also, Mr. Creeperton helped shovel the lot that day. And he didn't say a single word to anyone.
So now Boyfriend and I are really pissed and also fearful, as it seems the Creepertons may not receive the support they were looking for from apartment management, which may only incense them further. We could sit and do nothing but we feel that we need some sort of documentation since there is apparently a "strongly-worded letter" about our "parties" in our file. We've lived below someone with a toddler who went to bed at 8:00 p.m., beside the Marlboro Man and his wife who appear to be in their 50s or 60s, and across from someone who has called police on other neighbors' parties when they got too loud. If anyone was going to complain, you'd think it would be one of those, not the youngish couple above us who seemingly have no real normal job responsibilities because they're always at home and they stay up until all hours of the night. Running their garbage disposal. Dropping small explosives. In the dark.
We feel we should also write a letter. How does one sound professional in a letter while wanting to write that the people who've complained about our talking have awakened us in the middle of the night from running their garbage disposal and dropping what can only be assumed are bowling balls or frozen heads, dropped items so heavy that the impact has caused things to fall from our shelves in the utility room, stared at our apartment from their cars, and oh yeah, were too utterly stupid and/or irresponsible to notice and/or report a sink that had leaked so profusely for so long that it rotted out their cabinet, floor and our ceiling?
During all of this, we've never submitted a complaint about them, nor have we gone up there to ask them to please hold things more securely--partly because we understand that with apartment living comes the noises of others and partly because they scare the bejesus out of us. However, we do want something on file that indicates our aversion to filing complaints while also acknowledging that we do not live below quiet, peaceful people who we thoughtlessly disrupt. Instead, we live below extremely loud creepy people who, for some reason, do not like us and grind their victims' bones in the night while running their air conditioner every day for the past year and a half, the unit for which just happens to be right outside of our patio and my gosh, let's talk about noise, shall we?
My hypothesis is thus: Mr. and Bitch Creeperton have realized that Boyfriend and I are on to them. They themselves cannot move because they have too much delicate cargo to transport and possibly cannot afford the required refrigerated truck for the bodies that have not yet been taken care of. As such, they want us removed.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Quickie Post: Acronyms and Store Names
One of my pet peeves is the spelling of acronyms as words. There are a few common examples:
SEALs
The US Navy has an elite force knows as the SEALs. They do not have a collection of adorable sea mammals who jump from helicopters and land on beaches in the dead of night even though I think we can all agree that such a force would not only be awesome, but would exponentially increase the element of surprise to unmatched levels. Alas, they are humans with seemingly super-human abilities to operate successfully in all environments. They are able to kick ass at SEa, in the Air, and on Land. Thus, they are SEALs, not Seals.
NASA
I actually saw this as "Nasa" written in an article by a pretty reputable newspaper recently. It's understood that most government agencies' names in acronym form are letters that stand for longer words, right? So we didn't just name this agency "Nasa," but rather the National Aeronautics and Space Administration. Then, because that's far too long to say in normal conversation, or even formal conversation, we recognized that we have enough vowels to that we could conjure up a real fake word out of the initials. Hence, "NASA." Not Nasa. Like a pet's name.
AIDS
AIDS stands for Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome. Because those letters stand for something and the word is not a clever adaptation for a brand name (e.g. "Nabisco," which actually stands for "National Biscuit Company"), those letters should be capitalized. The disease is not "Aids." "Aids" is a misspelling of a collection of helpers. "AIDs" is marginally better, but the "syndrome" is really kind of important to the whole "disease" classification and all, so it really does need to be capitalized. Otherwise it's just Acquired Immune Deficiencies and that's just not the same.
I'm okay with "Scuba" because while it used to be just an acronym for Self-Contained Underwater Breathing Apparatus, it has become perfectly fine to refer to this type of underwater diving as "scuba." It's become its own word now. Navy SEALs, NASA and AIDS have not.
And, lastly, not all store names are possessive. It is not Barnes and Noble's. It is not Kroger's. It is most definitely not Target's OR Targets. There is but one Target and it is not in possession of anything.
Boyfriend's sister gave me this for Christmas and I think no one was surprised. Well, except for me considering I most assuredly did not make all As in my English classes. Granted, some of that isn't because I don't know how to punctuate (I try to use semi-colons when I'm supposed to but sometimes I don't when I should and do when I shouldn't) but because I didn't necessarily read the book about which I had to write a paper. Trying to get through Hawthorne's one long run-on sentence known as The Scarlet Letter was akin to torture for me and Lord of the Flies lost any fun when my teacher insisted that every single thing in that book was a symbol and never just how Golding pictured the characters or the setting. I did enjoy The Great Gatsby, To Kill a Mockingbird and The Crucible but that's perhaps because they are significantly easier reads, though by no means as enthralling as Harry Potter. In eleventh grade, I also got to read In Cold Blood by Truman Capote and felt sorry for all those suckers who didn't choose it for their papers.
SEALs
The US Navy has an elite force knows as the SEALs. They do not have a collection of adorable sea mammals who jump from helicopters and land on beaches in the dead of night even though I think we can all agree that such a force would not only be awesome, but would exponentially increase the element of surprise to unmatched levels. Alas, they are humans with seemingly super-human abilities to operate successfully in all environments. They are able to kick ass at SEa, in the Air, and on Land. Thus, they are SEALs, not Seals.
NASA
I actually saw this as "Nasa" written in an article by a pretty reputable newspaper recently. It's understood that most government agencies' names in acronym form are letters that stand for longer words, right? So we didn't just name this agency "Nasa," but rather the National Aeronautics and Space Administration. Then, because that's far too long to say in normal conversation, or even formal conversation, we recognized that we have enough vowels to that we could conjure up a real fake word out of the initials. Hence, "NASA." Not Nasa. Like a pet's name.
AIDS
AIDS stands for Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome. Because those letters stand for something and the word is not a clever adaptation for a brand name (e.g. "Nabisco," which actually stands for "National Biscuit Company"), those letters should be capitalized. The disease is not "Aids." "Aids" is a misspelling of a collection of helpers. "AIDs" is marginally better, but the "syndrome" is really kind of important to the whole "disease" classification and all, so it really does need to be capitalized. Otherwise it's just Acquired Immune Deficiencies and that's just not the same.
I'm okay with "Scuba" because while it used to be just an acronym for Self-Contained Underwater Breathing Apparatus, it has become perfectly fine to refer to this type of underwater diving as "scuba." It's become its own word now. Navy SEALs, NASA and AIDS have not.
And, lastly, not all store names are possessive. It is not Barnes and Noble's. It is not Kroger's. It is most definitely not Target's OR Targets. There is but one Target and it is not in possession of anything.
Boyfriend's sister gave me this for Christmas and I think no one was surprised. Well, except for me considering I most assuredly did not make all As in my English classes. Granted, some of that isn't because I don't know how to punctuate (I try to use semi-colons when I'm supposed to but sometimes I don't when I should and do when I shouldn't) but because I didn't necessarily read the book about which I had to write a paper. Trying to get through Hawthorne's one long run-on sentence known as The Scarlet Letter was akin to torture for me and Lord of the Flies lost any fun when my teacher insisted that every single thing in that book was a symbol and never just how Golding pictured the characters or the setting. I did enjoy The Great Gatsby, To Kill a Mockingbird and The Crucible but that's perhaps because they are significantly easier reads, though by no means as enthralling as Harry Potter. In eleventh grade, I also got to read In Cold Blood by Truman Capote and felt sorry for all those suckers who didn't choose it for their papers.
Friday, May 13, 2011
A Ridiculous Obsession with the Thriller Video and a Hateful Brother
When I was a kid, I loved Michael Jackson. I LOOOOOOOOVED Michael Jackson and every song I ever heard that was sung by him. I also loved Rockwell's "Somebody's Watchin Me" because it sounded like Michael Jackson. To be clear, I still love Michael Jackson, but he's not putting out as much new stuff anymore so there's not as much to get excited about. Anyway, the Thriller record was my best friend. I loved folding out the cover to see Michael with that tiger. How bad ass Michael Jackson was! I played that record all the time.
Side Note: When we were little, my cousin Amber and I used to put records on my record player and play with the speeds. Thriller and the Rescuers stories were often subjected to lightning-fast and tortoise-slow changes to their rotation speeds, all at the expense of our riotous laughter. However, this was also the one time when Thriller was a second choice to anything. What we really loved was putting Olivia Newton-John's (who is NOT related to Elton John, as I assumed as a child) "Physical." Oh man you've never seen little girls laugh harder in your life then when Olivia Newton-John sang "Physical" like a chipmunk or like a very slow deep-voiced man. If I came across the opportunity to do that again, I would laugh just as hard.
Back to the original topic.
Thriller. I loved it. One day MTV aired the full-length 14-minute version of the Thriller video, followed by "The Making of Thriller" and my parents taped it. We couldn't tape over my episode of Rainbow Brite, however, (which just so happened to be "The Mighty Monstromurk Menace" if you're interested) so somewhere there's an 80s pot of gold existing in the form of Rainbow Brite episodes immediately followed by the entire Thriller video and The Making of Thriller featurette...on BETA.
I watched that tape constantly. I learned every move of that dance, every word spoken in both the video and the "Making of" and I'm surprised I didn't wear that thing out. I watched it literally all the time. When the video ended, I would rewind it and watch it again.
Problem is, I was 2 years old when that video was released. Which means, I was watching this video relentlessly beginning at about 3-4 years old. My dreams did not hold the same admiration for the video as my awake-self did. The only nightmares I can remember having as a child were werewolf nightmares. They would chase me through the moonlit, foggy forest and I would inevitably fall on my back in a pile of leaves, just as poor Ola Ray did in the video before werewolves moved in to rip me apart. They also chased me around a warehouse one night, and I have no idea where that came from.
I would wake up from these nightmares and have to use the restroom, which was located an easy 14 miles from my bedroom in hallways that could not be lit, lest their bright lights wake the family who all slept with their doors open. I was certain, absolutely certain, that there was a werewolf waiting for me when I left the restroom and I would haul ass back to my room and jump from the doorway to my bed, trying to keep myself a fast-moving target until I got to the safety of my bed, where werewolves don't go.
One night I was lying in my room, fearful of falling asleep because I had watched Thriller that day (again) and I was just sure that werewolves were coming. As my head rested anxiously on the pillow, I heard scratching noises.
Everything on me tenses.
I'm on alert.
Then my bed moves. I move! A very small movement that lifts me up just a hair. I realize that I have heard scratching and my bed has just raised a bit. Then it raises a bit higher. Holy God there's something under my bed. I've suddenly realized that my bed is not safe after all.
If I can clench it, it's clenched.
I just know that under my bed is a werewolf who has waited. Waited for his prey to become separated from the protection of her family and be alone in the dark where no one would ever believe her should she scream that something is under her bed. This werewolf was intelligent. A mastermind of hunting, if you will. It was also a spiteful werewolf, taunting its dinner for reasons I could only assume include an increased flow of blood so that the meat would be that much more tender and juicy when it ripped me apart.
I lift again.
I feel like crying out, but don't want to let the werewolf know that he's been discovered. Maybe my parents will come save me accidentally, the werewolf's position never having to be revealed while I leap to the safety of their arms.
That's not going to happen. My parents are watching TV that they don't get to watch while the kids are up, so they're not coming upstairs. I have to see what's under there and face my death like a lady. In a Care Bears nightgown. I lean over and lift the bedskirt, intent on looking my attacker in his yellow eyes.
I am shocked to see my brother lying on his back under my bed, with his finger to his lips going "SHHHHH!" I'm shocked not because it's more surprising to see my brother than a werewolf--but, actually, yeah, that IS more surprising. My brother hates me. He doesn't like playing with me and is quite mean to me most of the time. I would fully expect to see a werewolf before I saw my brother under my bed, engaged in what could only be called "play" with his little sister.
He tells me to be quiet, because mom and dad would probably yell at him for being in my room when we're supposed to be in bed. Then he tells me that I can have some of his rock candy he got that day for not saying anything.
Hooray! I wanted the rock candy so badly! It looked like diamonds but I could eat it and it was just pure sugar. Definitely worth the increased adrenaline I was experiencing. I tell my brother I will not tell on him and thank him for the rock candy. He leaves and I lay the rock candy on my pillow while I went to the bathroom. See, I had been roused awake which means I HAD to go to the bathroom again because that has to be the very last thing I do before going to bed and I need to not do ANYTHING after getting in bed or I'll have to go again. That's still true today.
I need to leave the restroom now and dart back to my bed. I'll be fine though, because there's rock candy waiting for me and I need to hide it before Brother takes it back. I run as fast as I can back to my room and look under the bed to make sure neither werewolf nor Brother is under there. Then I go to put my rock candy away.
The dick had already stolen it back. I went to ask for it, to no avail. I still have to be quiet, though, because I'm supposed to be in bed so I can't even tell on him.
All I got out of that experience was a fleeting glimpse of stolen rock candy and having to go to the bathroom twice in a span of 20 minutes.
And more werewolf nightmares.
Side Note: When we were little, my cousin Amber and I used to put records on my record player and play with the speeds. Thriller and the Rescuers stories were often subjected to lightning-fast and tortoise-slow changes to their rotation speeds, all at the expense of our riotous laughter. However, this was also the one time when Thriller was a second choice to anything. What we really loved was putting Olivia Newton-John's (who is NOT related to Elton John, as I assumed as a child) "Physical." Oh man you've never seen little girls laugh harder in your life then when Olivia Newton-John sang "Physical" like a chipmunk or like a very slow deep-voiced man. If I came across the opportunity to do that again, I would laugh just as hard.
Back to the original topic.
Thriller. I loved it. One day MTV aired the full-length 14-minute version of the Thriller video, followed by "The Making of Thriller" and my parents taped it. We couldn't tape over my episode of Rainbow Brite, however, (which just so happened to be "The Mighty Monstromurk Menace" if you're interested) so somewhere there's an 80s pot of gold existing in the form of Rainbow Brite episodes immediately followed by the entire Thriller video and The Making of Thriller featurette...on BETA.
I watched that tape constantly. I learned every move of that dance, every word spoken in both the video and the "Making of" and I'm surprised I didn't wear that thing out. I watched it literally all the time. When the video ended, I would rewind it and watch it again.
Problem is, I was 2 years old when that video was released. Which means, I was watching this video relentlessly beginning at about 3-4 years old. My dreams did not hold the same admiration for the video as my awake-self did. The only nightmares I can remember having as a child were werewolf nightmares. They would chase me through the moonlit, foggy forest and I would inevitably fall on my back in a pile of leaves, just as poor Ola Ray did in the video before werewolves moved in to rip me apart. They also chased me around a warehouse one night, and I have no idea where that came from.
I would wake up from these nightmares and have to use the restroom, which was located an easy 14 miles from my bedroom in hallways that could not be lit, lest their bright lights wake the family who all slept with their doors open. I was certain, absolutely certain, that there was a werewolf waiting for me when I left the restroom and I would haul ass back to my room and jump from the doorway to my bed, trying to keep myself a fast-moving target until I got to the safety of my bed, where werewolves don't go.
One night I was lying in my room, fearful of falling asleep because I had watched Thriller that day (again) and I was just sure that werewolves were coming. As my head rested anxiously on the pillow, I heard scratching noises.
Everything on me tenses.
I'm on alert.
Then my bed moves. I move! A very small movement that lifts me up just a hair. I realize that I have heard scratching and my bed has just raised a bit. Then it raises a bit higher. Holy God there's something under my bed. I've suddenly realized that my bed is not safe after all.
If I can clench it, it's clenched.
I just know that under my bed is a werewolf who has waited. Waited for his prey to become separated from the protection of her family and be alone in the dark where no one would ever believe her should she scream that something is under her bed. This werewolf was intelligent. A mastermind of hunting, if you will. It was also a spiteful werewolf, taunting its dinner for reasons I could only assume include an increased flow of blood so that the meat would be that much more tender and juicy when it ripped me apart.
I lift again.
I feel like crying out, but don't want to let the werewolf know that he's been discovered. Maybe my parents will come save me accidentally, the werewolf's position never having to be revealed while I leap to the safety of their arms.
That's not going to happen. My parents are watching TV that they don't get to watch while the kids are up, so they're not coming upstairs. I have to see what's under there and face my death like a lady. In a Care Bears nightgown. I lean over and lift the bedskirt, intent on looking my attacker in his yellow eyes.
I am shocked to see my brother lying on his back under my bed, with his finger to his lips going "SHHHHH!" I'm shocked not because it's more surprising to see my brother than a werewolf--but, actually, yeah, that IS more surprising. My brother hates me. He doesn't like playing with me and is quite mean to me most of the time. I would fully expect to see a werewolf before I saw my brother under my bed, engaged in what could only be called "play" with his little sister.
He tells me to be quiet, because mom and dad would probably yell at him for being in my room when we're supposed to be in bed. Then he tells me that I can have some of his rock candy he got that day for not saying anything.
Hooray! I wanted the rock candy so badly! It looked like diamonds but I could eat it and it was just pure sugar. Definitely worth the increased adrenaline I was experiencing. I tell my brother I will not tell on him and thank him for the rock candy. He leaves and I lay the rock candy on my pillow while I went to the bathroom. See, I had been roused awake which means I HAD to go to the bathroom again because that has to be the very last thing I do before going to bed and I need to not do ANYTHING after getting in bed or I'll have to go again. That's still true today.
I need to leave the restroom now and dart back to my bed. I'll be fine though, because there's rock candy waiting for me and I need to hide it before Brother takes it back. I run as fast as I can back to my room and look under the bed to make sure neither werewolf nor Brother is under there. Then I go to put my rock candy away.
The dick had already stolen it back. I went to ask for it, to no avail. I still have to be quiet, though, because I'm supposed to be in bed so I can't even tell on him.
All I got out of that experience was a fleeting glimpse of stolen rock candy and having to go to the bathroom twice in a span of 20 minutes.
And more werewolf nightmares.
Monday, May 09, 2011
Quickie Post: Creepertons Make a Move
I've written a lot about the Creepertons. Part of that is because they are, in fact, incredibly creepy and another part is that Boyfriend and I want this whole thing to be documented should you start to notice that we're not hanging out anymore or won't answer our phones, etc.
The excessive garbage disposal use continues.
The constant running of the air conditioner continues, despite relatively cool temperatures in the 50s and low 60s at night time and highs only in the 70s during the day.
There are some new things we've noticed:
1. Mr. Creeperton has developed a recent affinity for wearing large puffy winter coats on these 70 degree days. Bright sunny skies, temperature a moderate and quite comfortable 70 degrees and Mr. Creeperton driving off with a black puffy winter coat (and sometimes shoeless, which I cannot even begin to wrap my head around). We don't understand this, especially considering that they apparently feel temperatures over 55 degrees is warm enough to necessitate the A/C running so you'd think they'd be melting when temperatures reached the 70s.
2. Bitch Creeperton took out the trash last weekend. That would sound benign enough except that she took out naught but one bag. One HUGE black trash bag. It was as large as she was and she was having quite a lot of difficulty navigating it to her vehicle. Whatever was in there was large and heavy. She had to drag it. When she went to put it in her vehicle (not a car, but not an SUV...I believe they're called "crossover" or something), it wouldn't fit through the door. So she beat it.
Repeatedly.
Bitch just started beating the crap out of this huge, heavy black trash bag to get it to fit in the vehicle. Then she drove away...
But away from our garbage Dumpster. We don't know where she dumped...whatever's in that bag, but we know it wasn't in our Dumpster at the complex.
If anything happens to us and our cats are spared (unlikely), I'd like Freaky and Velvet to go to my Mom. Just wanted to have that in writing. They eat special expensive food Mom, I'm sorry.
The excessive garbage disposal use continues.
The constant running of the air conditioner continues, despite relatively cool temperatures in the 50s and low 60s at night time and highs only in the 70s during the day.
There are some new things we've noticed:
1. Mr. Creeperton has developed a recent affinity for wearing large puffy winter coats on these 70 degree days. Bright sunny skies, temperature a moderate and quite comfortable 70 degrees and Mr. Creeperton driving off with a black puffy winter coat (and sometimes shoeless, which I cannot even begin to wrap my head around). We don't understand this, especially considering that they apparently feel temperatures over 55 degrees is warm enough to necessitate the A/C running so you'd think they'd be melting when temperatures reached the 70s.
2. Bitch Creeperton took out the trash last weekend. That would sound benign enough except that she took out naught but one bag. One HUGE black trash bag. It was as large as she was and she was having quite a lot of difficulty navigating it to her vehicle. Whatever was in there was large and heavy. She had to drag it. When she went to put it in her vehicle (not a car, but not an SUV...I believe they're called "crossover" or something), it wouldn't fit through the door. So she beat it.
Repeatedly.
Bitch just started beating the crap out of this huge, heavy black trash bag to get it to fit in the vehicle. Then she drove away...
But away from our garbage Dumpster. We don't know where she dumped...whatever's in that bag, but we know it wasn't in our Dumpster at the complex.
If anything happens to us and our cats are spared (unlikely), I'd like Freaky and Velvet to go to my Mom. Just wanted to have that in writing. They eat special expensive food Mom, I'm sorry.
Friday, April 15, 2011
The Creepertons' Return
The Creepertons have been keeping a relatively low profile. They were turning lights on for a while and were actually active during normal hours. They would smile and say hello--well, Mr. Creeperton would, Bitch Creeperton is still unfriendly. They were buying multiple gallons of cat litter--probably more often than is necessary, but hey, maybe they were finding good deals--and there was a noticeable and comforting cessation of Mr. Creeperton sitting in his automobile and staring at our windows. Even the loud banging and falling-bowling-ball sounds had ceased.
For a while.
Now, they're slowly resurfacing, obviously feeling as though they took a sufficient amount of time off so as to throw suspicious eyes off their trail(s).
It's been quite seasonable and lovely in this town over the past few weeks. Regardless of pleasant 70-80 degree temperatures, their apartment remains fully sealed from light and visitors and their thermostat continues to run. It's not hot enough to need A/C and it's definitely not cold enough to need one's heat. Every other apartment in the complex has their windows and sliding glass doors open to allow fresh air in and stank winter air out. Not the Creepertons. They don't want what I can only imagine is the stench of rotten flesh emanating from their home. With that and the fact that it has been consistently over 55 degrees, they've got their place locked up nice and tight. No sweltering 60 degrees for them!
There are also the occasional bumps and thumps upstairs, but that's to be expected in an apartment complex when you live below an occupied unit. No strangeness there. But at 12:30 a.m.? Above the bathroom? And then the master bedroom? Okay, a little weirder, but nothing too concerning, right?
Except it's not normal bumps and thumps. I mean, sure, you know what the sound of dropping the soap sounds like in the tub, but I haven't the foggiest idea why they're dropping 19-pound frozen turkeys on the floor of the bathroom by the sink. Normal everyday life sounds don't keep you awake in the wee hours of the new day or frighten you such that you lock your two deadbolts and ensure you know where your cats are (because, as we know, serial killers seem to have something against felines and other domesticated house pets).
No no, whoever they were "taking out for a cup of coffee" last night didn't go down in an agreeable fashion. There were a few bumps over here, a few thumps over there, and then one single loud thump.
That loud thump was then followed by repeated, rhythmic thumps in the same place for another 30 seconds or so. At quarter to one in the morning. Following the last of thebeatings thumping, there was sound you couldn't miss. It sounded remarkably like dragging or rolling something large and/or heavy. They do have two cats, but they do not have two large jungle cats (like, say, pumas) who hunt smaller jungle cats (e.g. ocelots) in the master bedroom. They have two adorable, though largely unremarkable, regular ole tabby house cats. Those regular ole tabby house cats would not make such a sound.
Not many things WOULD make such a sound except that which it sounded exactly like. Twenty bucks says we hear the garbage disposal this evening and despite sunny skies and a beautiful 70-degree day here, the windows will be closed with the blinds drawn and the thermostat running to keep it a crisp and decomposition-preventing 55 degrees.
For a while.
Now, they're slowly resurfacing, obviously feeling as though they took a sufficient amount of time off so as to throw suspicious eyes off their trail(s).
It's been quite seasonable and lovely in this town over the past few weeks. Regardless of pleasant 70-80 degree temperatures, their apartment remains fully sealed from light and visitors and their thermostat continues to run. It's not hot enough to need A/C and it's definitely not cold enough to need one's heat. Every other apartment in the complex has their windows and sliding glass doors open to allow fresh air in and stank winter air out. Not the Creepertons. They don't want what I can only imagine is the stench of rotten flesh emanating from their home. With that and the fact that it has been consistently over 55 degrees, they've got their place locked up nice and tight. No sweltering 60 degrees for them!
There are also the occasional bumps and thumps upstairs, but that's to be expected in an apartment complex when you live below an occupied unit. No strangeness there. But at 12:30 a.m.? Above the bathroom? And then the master bedroom? Okay, a little weirder, but nothing too concerning, right?
Except it's not normal bumps and thumps. I mean, sure, you know what the sound of dropping the soap sounds like in the tub, but I haven't the foggiest idea why they're dropping 19-pound frozen turkeys on the floor of the bathroom by the sink. Normal everyday life sounds don't keep you awake in the wee hours of the new day or frighten you such that you lock your two deadbolts and ensure you know where your cats are (because, as we know, serial killers seem to have something against felines and other domesticated house pets).
No no, whoever they were "taking out for a cup of coffee" last night didn't go down in an agreeable fashion. There were a few bumps over here, a few thumps over there, and then one single loud thump.
That loud thump was then followed by repeated, rhythmic thumps in the same place for another 30 seconds or so. At quarter to one in the morning. Following the last of the
Not many things WOULD make such a sound except that which it sounded exactly like. Twenty bucks says we hear the garbage disposal this evening and despite sunny skies and a beautiful 70-degree day here, the windows will be closed with the blinds drawn and the thermostat running to keep it a crisp and decomposition-preventing 55 degrees.
Wednesday, April 06, 2011
List Four: An Expert in Limited Television
I watch limited television because Boyfriend and I don't have cable. Long story short: we don't have cable. If you ask me, "Did you see [insert most any TV show here] last night?" my answer will most likely be "No, we don't have cable." You will ask, incredulously, "You don't have CABLE?!" to which I will respond, "Nope" and we will have the exact same conversation the next week because the thought of not having cable in 2011 is too wild for many people to accept and retain.
So while I don't see most shows and passionately miss the ability to watch Food Network and HGTV, I still do watch a bit of TV. I have a few shows that I will make time for and some that I will make sure I catch online because I don't have cable and thus, it's the only way I can see it. Of course, there are always bitches who don't upload episodes of all their shows and I've got to wait until they come on Netflix streaming (looking at you, TLC, because damn it, sometimes I just want to watch Buddy Valastro make some awesome cakes).
Of the few TV shows I do watch, these are my favorites and I highly recommend them. Each is a nugget of entertainment gold, though none of them are like each other.
My favorites:
1. Modern Family
I will schedule my Wednesdays around this. I MUST be home by 9:00 p.m. The writing is spectacular and the acting is flawless. It's so rare that you get such an incredible combination of genius writing and perfection in delivery.
"Come on Manny, I could have unbuttoned your shirt if I wanted to"
"Lily...isn't that going to be hard for her to say?"
2. Archer
Many people don't know about this show. It is hysterical. Brother and I watch it and have to rewind it because we were laughing too hard to hear the next joke, which all come at lightning speed. It's been known to trigger asthma attacks for me. If you're easily offended and/or can't appreciate the humor in a wildly inappropriate situation or line of dialogue, this isn't for you. It's also animated but for the love of God, don't let your children watch this.
"No, Cyril, when they're dead, they're just hookers!"
"I am commandeering this airboat!" (Go to 4:53)
3. Supernatural
Considering I wrote an entire geeked-out entry about loving this show, I think elaboration is unnecessary. Just know that I love it. Looove it.
What happens when one actor doesn't give the other one the signal that it's time to stop playing the drums and begin his lines.
"Pudding!"
4. Mr. Sunshine
It's not getting great reviews, but I find it hilarious. While Matthew Perry is billed as the star, his is not the best character. He's like Chandler with an edge, and while he's really quite funny, he pales in comparison to my two favorite characters: Crystal and Roman. I adore Roman, maybe an unhealthy amount. I want him to be my friend.
"Well I did spend a summer in Europe"
"Where's the Asian kid? I specifically requested an Asian kid"
5. 30 Rock
What is there to say about this show that hasn't been said in the plethora of awards given to the show itself, the writers, Tina Fey, Alec Baldwin, etc.? Even the theme song has won an Emmy.
"Why are you wearing a tux? It's after 6, what am I, a farmer?"
6. It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Charlie Kelly is one of TV's best characters ever imagined. Brother, SIL, Boyfriend, and I may or may not have watched the Road Trip episode 3 times in a row. Also, Brother recently taught his two-year-old that the correct response to "What's the time?" is an emphatic "Diaper time!"
"Does your cat make TOO much noise?"
"I will eat your babies bitch!"
I've also fallen out of love with a major show: Glee. Sure, I still list it on my favorites, but I've been extremely disappointed in the second season and don't make it a priority. I really only see it when I need something to watch on Wednesdays at lunch. The first season was so fun, so edgy, so funNY but this second season appears to be the one where the creators realized their show as HUGE and they wanted to make it deeper. The show that once strove to make me laugh hysterically now wants nothing more than to make me cry. There also seems to be more singing than there once was. Or maybe the songs were just better in the first season.
I feel the need to add that the fact that this list does not end in a multiple of 5 is killing me. I just couldn't leave off one of those six shows and I didn't want to add others that I simply just like to bump it up to 10. But yeah, there's a little voice in the back of my head going, "it's not 'even'" (because "even" to me doesn't just mean the opposite of odd) and I'm, with much difficulty, ignoring her.
So while I don't see most shows and passionately miss the ability to watch Food Network and HGTV, I still do watch a bit of TV. I have a few shows that I will make time for and some that I will make sure I catch online because I don't have cable and thus, it's the only way I can see it. Of course, there are always bitches who don't upload episodes of all their shows and I've got to wait until they come on Netflix streaming (looking at you, TLC, because damn it, sometimes I just want to watch Buddy Valastro make some awesome cakes).
Of the few TV shows I do watch, these are my favorites and I highly recommend them. Each is a nugget of entertainment gold, though none of them are like each other.
My favorites:
1. Modern Family
I will schedule my Wednesdays around this. I MUST be home by 9:00 p.m. The writing is spectacular and the acting is flawless. It's so rare that you get such an incredible combination of genius writing and perfection in delivery.
"Come on Manny, I could have unbuttoned your shirt if I wanted to"
"Lily...isn't that going to be hard for her to say?"
2. Archer
Many people don't know about this show. It is hysterical. Brother and I watch it and have to rewind it because we were laughing too hard to hear the next joke, which all come at lightning speed. It's been known to trigger asthma attacks for me. If you're easily offended and/or can't appreciate the humor in a wildly inappropriate situation or line of dialogue, this isn't for you. It's also animated but for the love of God, don't let your children watch this.
"No, Cyril, when they're dead, they're just hookers!"
"I am commandeering this airboat!" (Go to 4:53)
3. Supernatural
Considering I wrote an entire geeked-out entry about loving this show, I think elaboration is unnecessary. Just know that I love it. Looove it.
What happens when one actor doesn't give the other one the signal that it's time to stop playing the drums and begin his lines.
"Pudding!"
4. Mr. Sunshine
It's not getting great reviews, but I find it hilarious. While Matthew Perry is billed as the star, his is not the best character. He's like Chandler with an edge, and while he's really quite funny, he pales in comparison to my two favorite characters: Crystal and Roman. I adore Roman, maybe an unhealthy amount. I want him to be my friend.
"Well I did spend a summer in Europe"
"Where's the Asian kid? I specifically requested an Asian kid"
5. 30 Rock
What is there to say about this show that hasn't been said in the plethora of awards given to the show itself, the writers, Tina Fey, Alec Baldwin, etc.? Even the theme song has won an Emmy.
"Why are you wearing a tux? It's after 6, what am I, a farmer?"
6. It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Charlie Kelly is one of TV's best characters ever imagined. Brother, SIL, Boyfriend, and I may or may not have watched the Road Trip episode 3 times in a row. Also, Brother recently taught his two-year-old that the correct response to "What's the time?" is an emphatic "Diaper time!"
"Does your cat make TOO much noise?"
"I will eat your babies bitch!"
I've also fallen out of love with a major show: Glee. Sure, I still list it on my favorites, but I've been extremely disappointed in the second season and don't make it a priority. I really only see it when I need something to watch on Wednesdays at lunch. The first season was so fun, so edgy, so funNY but this second season appears to be the one where the creators realized their show as HUGE and they wanted to make it deeper. The show that once strove to make me laugh hysterically now wants nothing more than to make me cry. There also seems to be more singing than there once was. Or maybe the songs were just better in the first season.
I feel the need to add that the fact that this list does not end in a multiple of 5 is killing me. I just couldn't leave off one of those six shows and I didn't want to add others that I simply just like to bump it up to 10. But yeah, there's a little voice in the back of my head going, "it's not 'even'" (because "even" to me doesn't just mean the opposite of odd) and I'm, with much difficulty, ignoring her.
Friday, April 01, 2011
Rhythm Is My Life
I began dancing at age 4 and took classes until I was a senior in high school, performing in my last recital at the age of 18. I took one year off when I thought I would do something else and all that resulted in was 1) me not doing that other thing, 2) missing dancing and 3) putting me a year behind the people I had danced with for 8 years. That final year was amazing because I finally got what I wanted throughout my entire dancing career up to that point: a solo. I danced a ballet piece to Cyndi Lauper's "Time After Time" and it was just as amazing as I had imagined it would be with the spotlight just on me and my instructor/studio owner coming to hand me an amazing bouquet of flowers. I also had a tap piece with my class that year to Kenny Loggins' "Footloose" and that was also pretty awesome.
I just realized that it would appear to some that my senior year in high school was in the mid-80s but it was not. It was actually 1999 but I think we can all agree that the music of the 90s did not hold a candle to the music of the 80s when it comes to danceability.
Boyfriend's sister invited us to her daughter's dance recital this year and can I tell you how excited I am? I know, I know, it seems silly but after Christmas, recital time is the most awesome time of year for a little dancer (I say that like it wasn't still true when I was 18). For a whole weekend you get to dance in pretty costumes, wear makeup and get your hair done. If you're like me, then you didn't get to wear makeup at the tender age of 9, so this is a whole weekend of glamour comprised of blue eyeshadow, bright pink blush, and red lipstick and really, what more could you ask for than stripper makeup when your age is in the single digits? And that day in class when you knew you were getting your costumes? No one was concentrating on steps, form and turnout. No, you wanted nothing more in your life than to just hold those sequined Lycra and tulle masterpieces (that your mother hated because she hates to sew and the straps had to be affixed manually) as they sat there sparkling in a corner, taunting you with their beauty for a whole 45 minutes until you were finally allowed to get them and try them on.
Of course, your mother could also decide one year that the straps were not getting sewn on. Like Ben Franklin and his key kite, the brilliance came to my mom like lightning: VELCRO! We'd use Velcro on the straps. Seemed like a good idea at the time because this costume didn't have elastic to go with the straps (how stupid) so putting on a costume and taking it off when the sequined straps have no give is really a PITA. Velcro it is.
Well that year, I believe I was in 5th grade at the time, was the year we performed a tap routine to "Splish Splash." Adorable. We even had prop towels to wrap around ourselves after we got out of our "bath." Those prop towels were also affixed with Velcro. When it came time to rip off our towels (like every 5th grade girl should be doing), all the stars aligned for my benefit and I gave the audience a thrill when I ripped the strap off as well. Flapping and bouncing about from the rhythmic motions of my awesome dancing, the sequined strap was a beacon, drawing your eye to the fat dancer in the back that already had your eye because she was a clear head over everyone else and larger costumes mean more sequins. How embarrassing, but I laughed it off. It didn't help that my ballet routine that year was to "It's a Small World." And I had incredibly thick bangs that were too long. Fate didn't even give me a chance that year.
That was the last year I danced at that Academy.
Two years prior to that, I messed up a Jazz routine--the one and only time I ever took Jazz. It might not have been hard to notice if it hadn't been when we were supposed to be doing moves on the ground and I was twirling about upright. I had never messed up a single step in a recital before that point. So clearly I wasn't meant for Jazz because I didn't mess up in Ballet, Tap or Gymnastics, right? I never took Jazz again, which is fine because I didn't fancy myself a future Broadway performer anyway.
The next year, my Gymnastics routine went amazingly wrong and my 10-year old self-esteem just couldn't handle it. My handstand-into-backbend, which I had performed extremely well all year, ended not in a backbend, but in a back flop on a very hard stage--legs sprawled out before me. At the end of the routine, 2 classmates were supposed to kick up into handstands while I grab an ankle of each and their other leg goes into passe (pointing the toe of one leg to the knee of the other-I was holding the straight leg, obviously). We added drama, excitement and a massive level of danger by doing this on a riser.
The girl on my right kicks up beautifully. Seamlessly, we executed the first half of the trick. The stupid bitch on my left, however, begins her move about a foot too far away and since I was already holding the girl's ankle on my right it's not like I could jump to my left and catch this girl's rogue kicking leg over which she had absolutely no control, ultimately leading to the demise of an already bruised routine. We missed. She was expecting to be caught so she continues to kick herself over to her intended handstand, never meeting that level of support on which she was depending to halt her upside-down rainbow kick. She just continued her horribly executed arching motion into a landing I never had the pleasure to witness. Still nursing my wounds from the previous year and suffering from obvious dance-related PTSD, I dropped the girl I was currently holding and ran off-stage.
I should probably mention that because of my height, I was always put on the top row of the riser.
So I dropped this girl who had done everything right and was patiently waiting upside-down for the music to end and the curtain to be drawn before suddenly finding herself falling down and eating 2 levels of stairs with her face as I'm running down the steps, maneuvering past other girls who were all in their final poses also patiently awaiting the end of the music and the drawn curtain, across the stage and out the door where my mother found me bawling in the hall while she was trying not to laugh. It was so traumatic. That was my last year of gymnastics. They had put us in a ridiculous jungle-themed Jane-the-Whore costume and had us doing our tricks to a Disney medley including the melodious sounds of Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Dah anyway so there were multiple straws that broke my camel's flexible back and ultimately ended my gymnastics career. I distinctly remember one of our first options being "Let's Hear it for the Boy" but that got dropped in favor of a Disney medley. It was doomed to fail.
I transferred to a studio closer to home that had recently opened and was owned by one of my favorite instructors at my other school. I never messed up there, even while en pointe. I did sprain my knee, though, so during our E.T. piece where I was supposed to cross the stage in leaps, I just had to run. Like, run across stage after all the beautiful leapers that preceded me. It looked stupid.
But really, out of my many, many performances, I had only those 3 tragedies so it was still a net gain of awesome. I loved it and I can't wait for Boyfriend's niece's recital.
If I may offer advice though: don't run off-stage if you mess up. You'll look stupid and your mother will laugh at you. And if do mess up, don't do it when it's noticeable like everyone else is on the ground and you're doing pirouettes, standing by yourself. And don't rip off your clothes. It's inappropriate and your mother will laugh at you.
My first recital: ballet and tap. There were so many magical things in that first year. The wand, the tiara, the feather, the...bitchin tambourine with streamers!
I just realized that it would appear to some that my senior year in high school was in the mid-80s but it was not. It was actually 1999 but I think we can all agree that the music of the 90s did not hold a candle to the music of the 80s when it comes to danceability.
Boyfriend's sister invited us to her daughter's dance recital this year and can I tell you how excited I am? I know, I know, it seems silly but after Christmas, recital time is the most awesome time of year for a little dancer (I say that like it wasn't still true when I was 18). For a whole weekend you get to dance in pretty costumes, wear makeup and get your hair done. If you're like me, then you didn't get to wear makeup at the tender age of 9, so this is a whole weekend of glamour comprised of blue eyeshadow, bright pink blush, and red lipstick and really, what more could you ask for than stripper makeup when your age is in the single digits? And that day in class when you knew you were getting your costumes? No one was concentrating on steps, form and turnout. No, you wanted nothing more in your life than to just hold those sequined Lycra and tulle masterpieces (that your mother hated because she hates to sew and the straps had to be affixed manually) as they sat there sparkling in a corner, taunting you with their beauty for a whole 45 minutes until you were finally allowed to get them and try them on.
Of course, your mother could also decide one year that the straps were not getting sewn on. Like Ben Franklin and his key kite, the brilliance came to my mom like lightning: VELCRO! We'd use Velcro on the straps. Seemed like a good idea at the time because this costume didn't have elastic to go with the straps (how stupid) so putting on a costume and taking it off when the sequined straps have no give is really a PITA. Velcro it is.
Well that year, I believe I was in 5th grade at the time, was the year we performed a tap routine to "Splish Splash." Adorable. We even had prop towels to wrap around ourselves after we got out of our "bath." Those prop towels were also affixed with Velcro. When it came time to rip off our towels (like every 5th grade girl should be doing), all the stars aligned for my benefit and I gave the audience a thrill when I ripped the strap off as well. Flapping and bouncing about from the rhythmic motions of my awesome dancing, the sequined strap was a beacon, drawing your eye to the fat dancer in the back that already had your eye because she was a clear head over everyone else and larger costumes mean more sequins. How embarrassing, but I laughed it off. It didn't help that my ballet routine that year was to "It's a Small World." And I had incredibly thick bangs that were too long. Fate didn't even give me a chance that year.
That was the last year I danced at that Academy.
Two years prior to that, I messed up a Jazz routine--the one and only time I ever took Jazz. It might not have been hard to notice if it hadn't been when we were supposed to be doing moves on the ground and I was twirling about upright. I had never messed up a single step in a recital before that point. So clearly I wasn't meant for Jazz because I didn't mess up in Ballet, Tap or Gymnastics, right? I never took Jazz again, which is fine because I didn't fancy myself a future Broadway performer anyway.
The next year, my Gymnastics routine went amazingly wrong and my 10-year old self-esteem just couldn't handle it. My handstand-into-backbend, which I had performed extremely well all year, ended not in a backbend, but in a back flop on a very hard stage--legs sprawled out before me. At the end of the routine, 2 classmates were supposed to kick up into handstands while I grab an ankle of each and their other leg goes into passe (pointing the toe of one leg to the knee of the other-I was holding the straight leg, obviously). We added drama, excitement and a massive level of danger by doing this on a riser.
The girl on my right kicks up beautifully. Seamlessly, we executed the first half of the trick. The stupid bitch on my left, however, begins her move about a foot too far away and since I was already holding the girl's ankle on my right it's not like I could jump to my left and catch this girl's rogue kicking leg over which she had absolutely no control, ultimately leading to the demise of an already bruised routine. We missed. She was expecting to be caught so she continues to kick herself over to her intended handstand, never meeting that level of support on which she was depending to halt her upside-down rainbow kick. She just continued her horribly executed arching motion into a landing I never had the pleasure to witness. Still nursing my wounds from the previous year and suffering from obvious dance-related PTSD, I dropped the girl I was currently holding and ran off-stage.
I should probably mention that because of my height, I was always put on the top row of the riser.
So I dropped this girl who had done everything right and was patiently waiting upside-down for the music to end and the curtain to be drawn before suddenly finding herself falling down and eating 2 levels of stairs with her face as I'm running down the steps, maneuvering past other girls who were all in their final poses also patiently awaiting the end of the music and the drawn curtain, across the stage and out the door where my mother found me bawling in the hall while she was trying not to laugh. It was so traumatic. That was my last year of gymnastics. They had put us in a ridiculous jungle-themed Jane-the-Whore costume and had us doing our tricks to a Disney medley including the melodious sounds of Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Dah anyway so there were multiple straws that broke my camel's flexible back and ultimately ended my gymnastics career. I distinctly remember one of our first options being "Let's Hear it for the Boy" but that got dropped in favor of a Disney medley. It was doomed to fail.
I transferred to a studio closer to home that had recently opened and was owned by one of my favorite instructors at my other school. I never messed up there, even while en pointe. I did sprain my knee, though, so during our E.T. piece where I was supposed to cross the stage in leaps, I just had to run. Like, run across stage after all the beautiful leapers that preceded me. It looked stupid.
But really, out of my many, many performances, I had only those 3 tragedies so it was still a net gain of awesome. I loved it and I can't wait for Boyfriend's niece's recital.
If I may offer advice though: don't run off-stage if you mess up. You'll look stupid and your mother will laugh at you. And if do mess up, don't do it when it's noticeable like everyone else is on the ground and you're doing pirouettes, standing by yourself. And don't rip off your clothes. It's inappropriate and your mother will laugh at you.
My first recital: ballet and tap. There were so many magical things in that first year. The wand, the tiara, the feather, the...bitchin tambourine with streamers!
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Geek Out #2
This is a Geek Out that others should also geek out over.
Behold, the Norfolk Botanical Garden Eagle Cam. It's a live stream of a real Bald Eagles' nest in Norfolk, VA. The eagles are wild, not in captivity, even though we were all lucky enough that they chose to nest in a botanical garden. The female laid 3 eggs, which all hatched very, very recently. Some of us lucky viewers were able to watch the hatchings. In a few weeks, viewers will be able to watch the bandings of the babies. It's truly fascinating to see these wild animals care for their young. It's raining pretty heavily there now, so the female has been sitting on the eaglets, shielding them from the rain and trying to keep them warm, even with water dripping down her beak.
It's also super gross when one of them brings a big flopping fish back and starts ripping it apart.
Go to the cam here.
Behold, the Norfolk Botanical Garden Eagle Cam. It's a live stream of a real Bald Eagles' nest in Norfolk, VA. The eagles are wild, not in captivity, even though we were all lucky enough that they chose to nest in a botanical garden. The female laid 3 eggs, which all hatched very, very recently. Some of us lucky viewers were able to watch the hatchings. In a few weeks, viewers will be able to watch the bandings of the babies. It's truly fascinating to see these wild animals care for their young. It's raining pretty heavily there now, so the female has been sitting on the eaglets, shielding them from the rain and trying to keep them warm, even with water dripping down her beak.
It's also super gross when one of them brings a big flopping fish back and starts ripping it apart.
Go to the cam here.
Friday, March 18, 2011
My First Home
The first house I ever lived in was a fine little rancher in a fine little neighborhood. Actually, it was a great little rancher in a fine little neighborhood that was becoming a somewhat crappy neighborhood. The suburb in which I grew up really isn't a bad place at all. I'd love to go back there again some day. It's weird to say that because saying "some day" makes it sound like I need to achieve these lofty goals in order to pack up my entire life and move far away back to the place from whence I came. In reality, I live maybe 20 minutes away. They're worlds-apart, though. Where I live now is most decidedly NOT overrun with original-owned Trans Ams with the firebirds on the hood and Camaros with leaky T-tops. Where I live now is full of people who want wine at the Boathouse with a view of the sunset, not beer in a field next to a fire pit.
I do enjoy wine at sunset. And beer and fire. I'm fully cultured. I'm also constantly judging myself.
That's the kind of first home I'd like to find some day. Cute little 3-bedroom rancher with room for the kids to play in a large backyard with a plastic pool, complete with a death-defying driveway to keep parents on their toes. Seriously, look at that thing. We weren't supposed to play on it or near the street (see above re: Camaros and Trans Ams--they go fast). But we had Big Wheels and helmets and one day Brother couldn't help himself. After fulfilling Brother's request to adjust his helmet, my dad went back to work on the car only to hear an emphatic yell of joy from Brother who was very well plummeting to certain death but enjoying every second of it. We also lived next door to a man who worked for TastyKake so he ALWAYS had treats. They also always had roaches, but Brother and I cared not about that when there were Tasty Klair Pies, Chocolate Juniors and mountains of doughnuts to hypnotize us.
One day Brother was playing with a friend. I'm going to hypothesize that they were playing with Hot Wheels because they were little boys, probably around 7, and Brother had an affinity for Hot Wheels. He used to put them under the wheels of our vehicles so that they'd get run over and be all crushed because you can't play car wreck with a vehicle that's still pristine. That would look ridiculous.
Brother needed music so he put on Joan Jett and the Blackhearts because that's the music we listened to and Brother loved him some "I Love Rock and Roll." As I'm sure you can deduct from my "Favorite songs of the moment" section of my profile, my family is pretty big into rock, particularly of the "classic" designation. Well, Brother's friend then says that he's not allowed to listen to "rock and roll" on the radio.
As it turns out, the little boy's parents were, shall we say, completely lunatic fundamentalists. That kid's father had told him that he can't listen to rock and roll. Why? Because if you listen to rock and roll, the Devil will come through the ground and grab you. I bet that kid pissed his pants a little every time he accidentally heard Black Sabbath. It was later decided that Brother could go there, but Devilbait wasn't allowed to come over to our house. That friendship didn't weather that storm.
It wasn't long before chain link fences became more prevalent in the front yards of our neighbors and aforementioned American-classic automobiles were left on cement blocks in the chain-linked-wrapped front yards. Hoodlums emerged. The neighborhood was going downhill, despite our ray of class on the hill.
Then a neighbor stabbed her husband in the woods behind our house. Clearly, that argument could not be settled at home.
This was the proverbial straw, if you will, and we quickly peaced out. We were building a new home, but as we couldn't very well stay on our uncleared lot, we rented a small house while we waited. This little house had an awesome basement, my brother got the attic as a bedroom as it only had 2 bedrooms and we could NOT share a room, and our backyard bordered our grandparents' backyard. We could walk there whenever we wanted! It was a quaint little home that bordered a small field where I remember running to try and find the end of a rainbow after a good rain. It was on Pine Street and it was all so apple-pie cute.
Oh and we also think we were next-door to coke dealers. But, at least no one was getting stabbed and the Devil wasn't coming. Upgrade.
I Can't Spell Hanukkah Without Looking It Up First
I believe that it's perfectly okay to:
1. Not know how to spell Hanukkah without looking it up first.
2. Play the same song a 7 times in a row.
3. Think that eating the ice cream on the lid doesn't count towards total ice cream consumption.
4. Believe that there's a definite area between "awesome" and "awful" into which movies can fit. It's called "relatively entertaining."
5. Think that Terminator 3 falls into the above category.
6. Vehemently defend that a soft drink has 3 different and distinct flavors: can, plastic bottle and fountain.
7. Buy a bridal magazine in front of your guy after living together for over 6 years and dating for over half that time.
8. Think that people who tell you to follow your dreams are crap because you have bills to pay.
9. Make jokes at a funeral.
10. Not get out and look at the dead body on the side of the road.
11. Like only one Beatles song (Eleanor Rigby in case you're wondering).
12. Be 100% completely and totally obsessed with the Eagle Cam at Norfolk Botanical Gardens
13. Be utterly flabbergasted that some people don't chew with their mouths closed.
14. Get irritated that some people just don't know how to wash dishes and load a dishwasher (and know when to do which).
15. Think Brokeback Mountain stole Top Gun's thunder.
It's also perfectly acceptable to be offended when someone asks if you're pregnant, but not when someone wishes you a Happy Hanukkah because of your nose.
1. Not know how to spell Hanukkah without looking it up first.
2. Play the same song a 7 times in a row.
3. Think that eating the ice cream on the lid doesn't count towards total ice cream consumption.
4. Believe that there's a definite area between "awesome" and "awful" into which movies can fit. It's called "relatively entertaining."
5. Think that Terminator 3 falls into the above category.
6. Vehemently defend that a soft drink has 3 different and distinct flavors: can, plastic bottle and fountain.
7. Buy a bridal magazine in front of your guy after living together for over 6 years and dating for over half that time.
8. Think that people who tell you to follow your dreams are crap because you have bills to pay.
9. Make jokes at a funeral.
10. Not get out and look at the dead body on the side of the road.
11. Like only one Beatles song (Eleanor Rigby in case you're wondering).
12. Be 100% completely and totally obsessed with the Eagle Cam at Norfolk Botanical Gardens
13. Be utterly flabbergasted that some people don't chew with their mouths closed.
14. Get irritated that some people just don't know how to wash dishes and load a dishwasher (and know when to do which).
15. Think Brokeback Mountain stole Top Gun's thunder.
It's also perfectly acceptable to be offended when someone asks if you're pregnant, but not when someone wishes you a Happy Hanukkah because of your nose.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Geek Out #1
**Boyfriend decided to make his own list as well. I tell you, we're total geeks over this show. His list is at the bottom.
I'm a complete and total nerd and sometimes I try and disguise it, though I'm never fully successful. Sometimes I can't contain it and I have to totally geek out and this is one of those times. For most of you, this post will be completely boring so just skip this, go below and watch that bully video again because it's hilarious and that is far and away more interesting. On to my first Geek Out (there will undoubtedly be more in the future)...
One of Boyfriend's and my favorite TV shows is Supernatural. In short, it's a show about two brothers who are "hunters," killing ghosts and creatures and other "things that go bump in the night." They got into the life after something killed their mother and their father makes his life about finding and killing that creature, teaching his kids how to defend themselves and kill most any supernatural creature they may find. It's a fantastic show starring two of the hottest guys on the planet, Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki. That last part is probably more of interest to me than to Boyfriend. It mostly takes on a monster-of-the-week format and incorporates an incredible soundtrack and heavily features a kick-ass car, the 1967 Chevy Impala 4-door hardtop. The show is in its sixth season now, but if anyone wants to start it up, which you should, then I'd definitely check out any episodes from seasons 1-3. They're the best.
Yesterday I came across this article on EW.com about the 15 best Supernatural episodes. I agree with some, but definitely not all. Boyfriend and I debated this for quite a while last night and I've decided I will list my own 15 best episodes because Entertainment Weekly left some notable awesome episodes off.
Here is my list of the 15 Best Supernatural episodes (Boyfriend's would probably look even different, but I'm totally right):
15. Born Under a Bad Sign
Sam's possessed and pretty bad ass.
14. All Hell Breaks Lose
Season 2 finale. This one's technically cheating because it's actually two parts but I think parts 1 and 2 comprise a whole. Spoiler alert: Sam dies. Kind of. I feel okay writing this because Sam obviously doesn't totally die since the series keeps going.
13. No Rest for the Wicked
Season 3 finale. Really really creepy Lilith. Like, really creepy.
12. Malleus Maleficarum
Witches. Awesome girl fight between Ruby and another chick demon. Totally badass. Boyfriend probably wouldn't put this one his list, but I really like it.
11. Pilot
I actually wanted to make this one higher, but the two main actors hadn't quite gotten their chemistry and the writing and delivery was still new. But still, it hooked me into a new show. Classic ghost story of a Woman in White and you learn so much, like why the boys are hunters and why Sam's inclined to get back into hunting after trying to have a "normal" life.
10. Nightshifter *Special recognition for the best musical moment of the series thus far*
Shapeshifter. Hilarious paranoid character. Boys running from the law. Styx's "Renegade." Close to perfection. Here's the final scene with the aforementioned best musical moment.
9. After School Special
We find out how the boys' lives in high school were and we see Dean dressed as a gym teacher. Heartbreaking at the end. So good.
8. The Real Ghostbusters
Sam and Dean find themselves at a Supernatural convention where they find an actual ghost.
7. Scarecrow
GREAT classic monster/horror episode. Who DOESN'T find scarecrows creepy? This episode also has what I think is the third-best musical moment on the show (music plays a huge part in the awesomeness of this show if I haven't mentioned this already).
6. Monster Movie
Filmed in black and white with classic movie monsters that are nothing like "real life" monsters.
5. Heart
Hot chick is actually a werewolf and we end with Queensryche's "Silent Lucidity," one of the best songs at all times. If you don't cry at the end, you're a robot.
4. The Usual Suspects
The boys are arrested and Linda Blair is one of the detectives on their cases. Linda Blair, people!
3. On the Head of a Pin
Not funny at all. Deep. Heavy. Wow.
2. The Monster at the End of this Book
The "Supernatural" convention mentioned above makes a lot more sense after knowing that this episode is about a book series the boys come across called Supernatural. We meet Chuck, a hilarious character who somehow knows everything about Sam and Dean and all of their cases. We also see the guys' anti-possession tattoos and think they actually look kind of cool.
1. Jus in Bello
Best. Episode. Ever. Town overrun by demons. We meet Lilith. Oh it's just great.
Season 6's "The French Mistake" is one of their best as well, but I felt weird including episodes from the current season. I mean, it's totally genius.
I should also mention what I consider to be the second-best musical moment. I might actually be the best but I'm partial to "Renegade" and it just fit the moment so damn well. This is a very, very close second place. Whoever found this song was probably given a bonus for how well it fit the moment. In Season 5, we've found ourselves greeted by some of the Four Horsemen in various episodes. Sam and Dean need their rings and eventually have 3 of the 4, needing only Death's now. In "Two Minutes to Midnight," the second-to-last episode of the season, we finally meet Death. This is exactly how it looked on the show, except without the lyrics at the end.
Boyfriend's 15 Best Supernatural Episodes
(Snippets written by me, not Boyfriend)
15. Simon Said
This was a good one. I can get on board with this.
14. Home
The boys' home is haunted by a poltergeist and we get to see Loretta Divine as a woman named Missouri or something. Loretta Divine makes any episode of any show better. Another really good one.
13. Pilot
This should have been higher.
12. Croatoan
So this episodes isn't one of my favorites but it's vitally important to the story. The rest of the series relies on stuff we learn in this episode.
11. On the Head of a Pin
This one should have been higher too. I can't believe he only ranked it #11!
10. Nightmare
I forgot about this one. I may have had it on mine if I hadn't skipped over it, not remembering what it was. I forgot that this part of the story began in season 1. Kripke (the creator) really is a genius who had a story to tell.
9. When the Levee Breaks
This one is so good. Pretty sure I cried.
8. Nightshifter
Clearly Boyfriend has good taste here.
7. Shadows
We see Meg again, and she's a total bitch.
6. Dream a Little Dream of Me
The guys encounter a dude who can trap you inside your own dreams. Heavy.
5. Crossroad Blues
This was on my list but it got trimmed when I had to narrow it to 15. This is where we meet the Crossroads Demon for the first time and learn a very, very important part of this show.
4. The Monster at the End of This Book
3. Jus in Bello
2. All Hell Breaks Loose Parts 1&2
Boyfriend cheated too, so it's obviously okay.
1. Faith
Was shocked to see that this was Boyfriend's favorite episode. To me, the episode itself is just okay, but we do get to learn about Reapers and they are creepy. They also become extremely important in later seasons as well.
See, Eric Kripke had this idea for this show and how it was going to be told and unfolded before the first episode ever aired. He planned it to be told in 5 seasons and you see things in the first season that are explained in, say, season 4 and you know it was planned the entire time. Because of that, almost every episode "belongs" and the story flows damn near seamlessly throughout seasons 1-4. Season 5 gets shaky because they had planned to end the series (b/c Kripke would have HIS story told), but then CW renewed it for a 6th so they had to find a way to end Kripke's story while still being able to keep the show. So if you're intrigued but don't want to start at the very beginning b/c you don't know if you'll like it, pick episodes from these 2 lists. You'll notice the Pilot is on both of our lists, so starting at the beginning isn't a bad thing...
I'm a complete and total nerd and sometimes I try and disguise it, though I'm never fully successful. Sometimes I can't contain it and I have to totally geek out and this is one of those times. For most of you, this post will be completely boring so just skip this, go below and watch that bully video again because it's hilarious and that is far and away more interesting. On to my first Geek Out (there will undoubtedly be more in the future)...
One of Boyfriend's and my favorite TV shows is Supernatural. In short, it's a show about two brothers who are "hunters," killing ghosts and creatures and other "things that go bump in the night." They got into the life after something killed their mother and their father makes his life about finding and killing that creature, teaching his kids how to defend themselves and kill most any supernatural creature they may find. It's a fantastic show starring two of the hottest guys on the planet, Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki. That last part is probably more of interest to me than to Boyfriend. It mostly takes on a monster-of-the-week format and incorporates an incredible soundtrack and heavily features a kick-ass car, the 1967 Chevy Impala 4-door hardtop. The show is in its sixth season now, but if anyone wants to start it up, which you should, then I'd definitely check out any episodes from seasons 1-3. They're the best.
Yesterday I came across this article on EW.com about the 15 best Supernatural episodes. I agree with some, but definitely not all. Boyfriend and I debated this for quite a while last night and I've decided I will list my own 15 best episodes because Entertainment Weekly left some notable awesome episodes off.
Here is my list of the 15 Best Supernatural episodes (Boyfriend's would probably look even different, but I'm totally right):
15. Born Under a Bad Sign
Sam's possessed and pretty bad ass.
14. All Hell Breaks Lose
Season 2 finale. This one's technically cheating because it's actually two parts but I think parts 1 and 2 comprise a whole. Spoiler alert: Sam dies. Kind of. I feel okay writing this because Sam obviously doesn't totally die since the series keeps going.
13. No Rest for the Wicked
Season 3 finale. Really really creepy Lilith. Like, really creepy.
12. Malleus Maleficarum
Witches. Awesome girl fight between Ruby and another chick demon. Totally badass. Boyfriend probably wouldn't put this one his list, but I really like it.
11. Pilot
I actually wanted to make this one higher, but the two main actors hadn't quite gotten their chemistry and the writing and delivery was still new. But still, it hooked me into a new show. Classic ghost story of a Woman in White and you learn so much, like why the boys are hunters and why Sam's inclined to get back into hunting after trying to have a "normal" life.
10. Nightshifter *Special recognition for the best musical moment of the series thus far*
Shapeshifter. Hilarious paranoid character. Boys running from the law. Styx's "Renegade." Close to perfection. Here's the final scene with the aforementioned best musical moment.
9. After School Special
We find out how the boys' lives in high school were and we see Dean dressed as a gym teacher. Heartbreaking at the end. So good.
8. The Real Ghostbusters
Sam and Dean find themselves at a Supernatural convention where they find an actual ghost.
7. Scarecrow
GREAT classic monster/horror episode. Who DOESN'T find scarecrows creepy? This episode also has what I think is the third-best musical moment on the show (music plays a huge part in the awesomeness of this show if I haven't mentioned this already).
6. Monster Movie
Filmed in black and white with classic movie monsters that are nothing like "real life" monsters.
5. Heart
Hot chick is actually a werewolf and we end with Queensryche's "Silent Lucidity," one of the best songs at all times. If you don't cry at the end, you're a robot.
4. The Usual Suspects
The boys are arrested and Linda Blair is one of the detectives on their cases. Linda Blair, people!
3. On the Head of a Pin
Not funny at all. Deep. Heavy. Wow.
2. The Monster at the End of this Book
The "Supernatural" convention mentioned above makes a lot more sense after knowing that this episode is about a book series the boys come across called Supernatural. We meet Chuck, a hilarious character who somehow knows everything about Sam and Dean and all of their cases. We also see the guys' anti-possession tattoos and think they actually look kind of cool.
1. Jus in Bello
Best. Episode. Ever. Town overrun by demons. We meet Lilith. Oh it's just great.
Season 6's "The French Mistake" is one of their best as well, but I felt weird including episodes from the current season. I mean, it's totally genius.
I should also mention what I consider to be the second-best musical moment. I might actually be the best but I'm partial to "Renegade" and it just fit the moment so damn well. This is a very, very close second place. Whoever found this song was probably given a bonus for how well it fit the moment. In Season 5, we've found ourselves greeted by some of the Four Horsemen in various episodes. Sam and Dean need their rings and eventually have 3 of the 4, needing only Death's now. In "Two Minutes to Midnight," the second-to-last episode of the season, we finally meet Death. This is exactly how it looked on the show, except without the lyrics at the end.
Boyfriend's 15 Best Supernatural Episodes
(Snippets written by me, not Boyfriend)
15. Simon Said
This was a good one. I can get on board with this.
14. Home
The boys' home is haunted by a poltergeist and we get to see Loretta Divine as a woman named Missouri or something. Loretta Divine makes any episode of any show better. Another really good one.
13. Pilot
This should have been higher.
12. Croatoan
So this episodes isn't one of my favorites but it's vitally important to the story. The rest of the series relies on stuff we learn in this episode.
11. On the Head of a Pin
This one should have been higher too. I can't believe he only ranked it #11!
10. Nightmare
I forgot about this one. I may have had it on mine if I hadn't skipped over it, not remembering what it was. I forgot that this part of the story began in season 1. Kripke (the creator) really is a genius who had a story to tell.
9. When the Levee Breaks
This one is so good. Pretty sure I cried.
8. Nightshifter
Clearly Boyfriend has good taste here.
7. Shadows
We see Meg again, and she's a total bitch.
6. Dream a Little Dream of Me
The guys encounter a dude who can trap you inside your own dreams. Heavy.
5. Crossroad Blues
This was on my list but it got trimmed when I had to narrow it to 15. This is where we meet the Crossroads Demon for the first time and learn a very, very important part of this show.
4. The Monster at the End of This Book
3. Jus in Bello
2. All Hell Breaks Loose Parts 1&2
Boyfriend cheated too, so it's obviously okay.
1. Faith
Was shocked to see that this was Boyfriend's favorite episode. To me, the episode itself is just okay, but we do get to learn about Reapers and they are creepy. They also become extremely important in later seasons as well.
See, Eric Kripke had this idea for this show and how it was going to be told and unfolded before the first episode ever aired. He planned it to be told in 5 seasons and you see things in the first season that are explained in, say, season 4 and you know it was planned the entire time. Because of that, almost every episode "belongs" and the story flows damn near seamlessly throughout seasons 1-4. Season 5 gets shaky because they had planned to end the series (b/c Kripke would have HIS story told), but then CW renewed it for a 6th so they had to find a way to end Kripke's story while still being able to keep the show. So if you're intrigued but don't want to start at the very beginning b/c you don't know if you'll like it, pick episodes from these 2 lists. You'll notice the Pilot is on both of our lists, so starting at the beginning isn't a bad thing...
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Bully Video
*3/16/11 Update: Bully was also suspended. CJ and Farkus were reportedly suspended for 4 days. Good, but I still believe that bully should have been suspended for longer than his victim since the entire incident would not have taken place if not for his initial and repeated actions. Oh and Farkus's parents are upset from all the negative attention and "tormenting" they're receiving since the story went global. The irony is hysterical.
Many of you, I'm sure, have seen this video. If you haven't, I highly recommend it:
*For the purposes of this discussion, the bully will be referred to as "Farkus" and the bullied kid will be referred to as "Chuck Norris Jr." or "CJ."
Bullying is a big topic in education circles these days. What causes it? How do we stop it? How should we tell kids to deal with it? The accepted solution being touted right now is to tell a teacher or the principal. Yes, tell an adult and then that adult will tell your bully to stop picking on you because that's all a bully's really missing right--a authority figure with no real power telling him to stop? Surely a teacher going to a bully isn't going to focus the target even more around you, right? No, it's actually going to tighten up the grouping of punches landed on your face.
What a bully is missing is an ass-kicking. Bullies pick on others they find weaker than themselves. This isn't cutting edge academic research; it's basic. You're not going to pick on someone you think is stronger than you. Farkus thought CJ was too fat and/or too shy to actually fight back, so he picks on someone who is physically larger than him because that looks badass. CJ takes it for a while, having been taught not to fight back because it's wrong to fight back (that was physically difficult to write). Never mind that animals in the wild (and in the streets) have to fight back against aggressors all the time to protect their health, safety and, well, life. We humans should just stand there and take it while we hope a teacher or other authority figure is able to talk the bully down. This is of course always effective because children today--especially those who would be bullies--are so respectful of authority and have no real understanding of how much authority and power teachers and school administrators actually lack. Surely they don't know that teachers can't actually do anything, right? And surely they don't know that many teachers are actually afraid of some students--like those who would be bullies--and generally should avoid confrontation. This is not a knock on teachers in any way. They really have very little power when it comes to disciplining the actions of someone they haven't actually seen committing the action and it's not like they can fight the bully.
Yeah, bullies know this. Farkus knows this.
Well, Farkus, too bad for you because CJ knows this too.
And CJ had enough.
Considering the fact that this confrontation was recorded with a camera phone, I'm going to go out on a limb and say that this isn't the first time Farkus picked on CJ. I honestly do not believe that this is the first time CJ had been backed up against the wall, punched and taunted by Farkus and someone just so happened to capture this first-time encounter on video. No, something tells me CJ has been in this exact situation before and this time, he had had enough. This time, CJ went all Ralphie on his ass.
I'll bet CJ will be walking around that Australian campus with his head held high and bully-free when he returns from his suspension.
At the base of it, even stronger than our ability to think rationally, we humans are animals. When we feel genuinely threatened, we should not be afraid to fight back against an aggressor. I'm not talking about punching a kid who's teasing you. CJ wasn't just teased and taunted. Farkus had punched him FIVE times before he fought back. After he fought back and got his attacker off of him, he walked away while the kid got up like a squashed bug attempting to walk after the shoe had been lifted off of him. No fight erupted, he didn't take on Farkus's friends or even continue to grind Farkus's face in the concrete. He extinguished the threat and moved on. This is going to sound weird, but I can't think of a more realistic civilized reaction to a threat. It's a lot more effective and realistic than telling CJ to tell his teachers and putting his safety in the hands of powerless administrators who are likely just as fearful of kids like Farkus as the children are.
I know you can't tell kids to fight back, but you can address the situation accordingly. You don't suspend CJ for fighting back and let Farkus go unpunished (as the most recent reports are suggesting). I personally would not suspend CJ for defending himself because quite frankly, I don't think he did anything wrong. Again, he was actually being punched--not just teased--and the attack was not ending until CJ ended it. If you're going to suspend him, though, you allow him to make up any missed assignments and you suspend Farkus for a longer period of time without that benefit. In this case, I'd also suspend the kid taping the incident and the bystanders who egged it on.
But maybe I'm biased...
When I was in Kindergarten, Brother was in 4th grade. We stayed at the home of the best babysitter in the world and we had almost 10 kids at our stop alone. Our bus was usually pretty packed. There was an older kid--4th or 5th grade--who began picking on me. Brother and I didn't get along at the time but he was very protective of me when it came to others. He could pick on me and hit me, but I was his sister so he felt that was his right. He informed the kid several times that he needed to stop picking on me.
Side note: What kind of parents raise a boy who picks on a girl, especially a girl who's 4 years younger? Seriously.
Kid did not stop picking on me so Brother made him stop picking on me. I can't remember if he pushed and/or hit him but he physically made the hoodlum stop picking on me. Brother has to go to the principal's office for fighting.
Both of my parents work and it was usually my mom who had to leave her place of work to come get us if we were sick or, in this case, in trouble. She left work and came to the school and was briefed of the issue.
Mom: "So let me get this straight. Older kid was picking on "Em" and her brother told him to stop. The kid did not stop so Brother took care of him?"
Principal: "Yes, that's correct."
My mom's response in that office?
"I don't see the problem here. Brother, go on to class and I'm going back to work."
I was not picked on by that kid again. Bus Bully and Brother didn't get into anymore fights and Bus Bully left me alone from then on.
Many of you, I'm sure, have seen this video. If you haven't, I highly recommend it:
*For the purposes of this discussion, the bully will be referred to as "Farkus" and the bullied kid will be referred to as "Chuck Norris Jr." or "CJ."
Bullying is a big topic in education circles these days. What causes it? How do we stop it? How should we tell kids to deal with it? The accepted solution being touted right now is to tell a teacher or the principal. Yes, tell an adult and then that adult will tell your bully to stop picking on you because that's all a bully's really missing right--a authority figure with no real power telling him to stop? Surely a teacher going to a bully isn't going to focus the target even more around you, right? No, it's actually going to tighten up the grouping of punches landed on your face.
What a bully is missing is an ass-kicking. Bullies pick on others they find weaker than themselves. This isn't cutting edge academic research; it's basic. You're not going to pick on someone you think is stronger than you. Farkus thought CJ was too fat and/or too shy to actually fight back, so he picks on someone who is physically larger than him because that looks badass. CJ takes it for a while, having been taught not to fight back because it's wrong to fight back (that was physically difficult to write). Never mind that animals in the wild (and in the streets) have to fight back against aggressors all the time to protect their health, safety and, well, life. We humans should just stand there and take it while we hope a teacher or other authority figure is able to talk the bully down. This is of course always effective because children today--especially those who would be bullies--are so respectful of authority and have no real understanding of how much authority and power teachers and school administrators actually lack. Surely they don't know that teachers can't actually do anything, right? And surely they don't know that many teachers are actually afraid of some students--like those who would be bullies--and generally should avoid confrontation. This is not a knock on teachers in any way. They really have very little power when it comes to disciplining the actions of someone they haven't actually seen committing the action and it's not like they can fight the bully.
Yeah, bullies know this. Farkus knows this.
Well, Farkus, too bad for you because CJ knows this too.
And CJ had enough.
Considering the fact that this confrontation was recorded with a camera phone, I'm going to go out on a limb and say that this isn't the first time Farkus picked on CJ. I honestly do not believe that this is the first time CJ had been backed up against the wall, punched and taunted by Farkus and someone just so happened to capture this first-time encounter on video. No, something tells me CJ has been in this exact situation before and this time, he had had enough. This time, CJ went all Ralphie on his ass.
I'll bet CJ will be walking around that Australian campus with his head held high and bully-free when he returns from his suspension.
At the base of it, even stronger than our ability to think rationally, we humans are animals. When we feel genuinely threatened, we should not be afraid to fight back against an aggressor. I'm not talking about punching a kid who's teasing you. CJ wasn't just teased and taunted. Farkus had punched him FIVE times before he fought back. After he fought back and got his attacker off of him, he walked away while the kid got up like a squashed bug attempting to walk after the shoe had been lifted off of him. No fight erupted, he didn't take on Farkus's friends or even continue to grind Farkus's face in the concrete. He extinguished the threat and moved on. This is going to sound weird, but I can't think of a more realistic civilized reaction to a threat. It's a lot more effective and realistic than telling CJ to tell his teachers and putting his safety in the hands of powerless administrators who are likely just as fearful of kids like Farkus as the children are.
I know you can't tell kids to fight back, but you can address the situation accordingly. You don't suspend CJ for fighting back and let Farkus go unpunished (as the most recent reports are suggesting). I personally would not suspend CJ for defending himself because quite frankly, I don't think he did anything wrong. Again, he was actually being punched--not just teased--and the attack was not ending until CJ ended it. If you're going to suspend him, though, you allow him to make up any missed assignments and you suspend Farkus for a longer period of time without that benefit. In this case, I'd also suspend the kid taping the incident and the bystanders who egged it on.
But maybe I'm biased...
When I was in Kindergarten, Brother was in 4th grade. We stayed at the home of the best babysitter in the world and we had almost 10 kids at our stop alone. Our bus was usually pretty packed. There was an older kid--4th or 5th grade--who began picking on me. Brother and I didn't get along at the time but he was very protective of me when it came to others. He could pick on me and hit me, but I was his sister so he felt that was his right. He informed the kid several times that he needed to stop picking on me.
Side note: What kind of parents raise a boy who picks on a girl, especially a girl who's 4 years younger? Seriously.
Kid did not stop picking on me so Brother made him stop picking on me. I can't remember if he pushed and/or hit him but he physically made the hoodlum stop picking on me. Brother has to go to the principal's office for fighting.
Both of my parents work and it was usually my mom who had to leave her place of work to come get us if we were sick or, in this case, in trouble. She left work and came to the school and was briefed of the issue.
Mom: "So let me get this straight. Older kid was picking on "Em" and her brother told him to stop. The kid did not stop so Brother took care of him?"
Principal: "Yes, that's correct."
My mom's response in that office?
"I don't see the problem here. Brother, go on to class and I'm going back to work."
I was not picked on by that kid again. Bus Bully and Brother didn't get into anymore fights and Bus Bully left me alone from then on.
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