Repress Yourself

What Are You Doing Here?

2007-07-13T19:03:00.000-04:00

IF YOU'RE READING THIS, YOU HAVEN'T REALIZED WE'VE MOVED TO WORDPRESS.

THE ALL NEW REPRESS YOURSELF

Better Than Flying

2007-06-26T18:00:00.000-04:00

I decided today that if I could have a super power I would want to have the ability to know what I wanted to eat for dinner.

Forever.

Think of all the time and energy I'd save, not having to think about it for seven hours until I'm either so hungry that I eat whatever is readily available (cereal), or not able to muster the strength to figure it out and just skip eating altogether.

When I figure out a foolproof system, I am gonna make a billion dollars. You're welcome, America.

These Modern Socks!

2007-06-21T11:15:00.000-04:00

This is a conversation I had via AIM today

Fishboy: I just got a TM* that the p'zone is back
Kittenpants: excuse me?
Kittenpants: the pizza calzone?
Fishboy: best food name ever created
Kittenpants: wow.
Kittenpants: someone texted you that?
Fishboy: yep
Kittenpants: and then you IMmed me.
Fishboy: yep
Kittenpants: that makes this the saddest use of technology, ever.

Reminds me of the time I went on tour with Corn Mo and The Polyphonic Spree. I was only joining him for a few days, so at one point, I went back home to NYC and Corn Mo kept going on the tour. A few hours after we parted ways he called me. I was in the mountains somewhere in North or South Carolina and there was no reception, so the cell phone kept disconnecting. Eventually I had to pull off the highway and into a town where I could call him back. Turns out he was just calling to let me know that he tried the new (at the time) McGriddle, and that it totally ruled.

*TM=Text Message

Not Exactly Wonder Years

2007-06-13T18:13:00.000-04:00

I'm in a mood. So I have been procrastinating work in favor of wandering around the internet. I read Cory Kennedy's blog today for like the 2nd time ever. If you ever feel like you totally partied in high school, and you're not Cory Kennedy, then you're wrong. Read her blog, and then read your old high school journal, and see how they compare. Here's Cory's typical week:

thursday i did some nylon tv stuff, and ate dinner with michael and ana... on friday i went to go see morrissey @ the hollywood bowl with my most favorite person andy neuhuse. i had the greatest time ive had in months. i really did... most amazing seats, most amazing company, and most amazing music... all happening at the same time... later today im gonna head over to the fader mag party. probably with jenny. tomorrow is the a.p.c. store opening in l.a. this saturday at the hollywood forever cemetery is rebel without a cause. so that should be rad...

I didn't have a blog when I was 16, because back then, the internet was just a gleam in Al Gore's eye. But if I DID have a blog, a typical post may have read something like this:

sat - went to tom thumb and walmart with mom, shes like "noooooo you can't get Finesse conditioner, its too expensive!!!" so i settled for the suave. on sun, me and carol watched Dream a Little Dream and ate homemade french fries. Mon, late for geo. so I faked cramps. my econ paper is due tomorrow and I don't have the bibliography yet... guess I'll miss "A Different World" - unless Dad can figure out how to work the VCR...

Not ONE reference to a concert, fashion show, night club, or media-sponsored event attended.

I'm not saying I didn't go to parties or concerts when I was 17. I did, if by "parties" you mean "hanging out at the beach 10 blocks from my house drinking wine coolers with the kids from my school until curfew" and if by "concerts" you mean "concert." Certainly nothing that required being on a list, or knowing a magazine publisher or fashion photographer.

I'm really not jealous of the Paris Hiltons and Lindsay Lohans of the world. But I might like to have Cory Kennedy's VIP pass and a time machine.

Bible Belt - Tighter Than Ever

2007-04-02T14:14:00.000-04:00

When I lived in NYC I encountered so few conservatives, I forgot what it was like to discuss things with them in the workplace. Now that I'm in Texas, I am reminded, and it's kind of frustrating to be in the liberal-minded minority. A co-worker and I sort of got into it during a meeting today. We typically get along and I respect his right to a difference in opinions. Plus I realize that the office is really not the place to go head to head, but I wanted to so badly it hurt.

We work for a client who markets to the GBLT community (I realize that technically its GLBT, but I enjoy thinking of it as Gay Bacon Lettuce and Tomato). And while discussing this client, my co-worker relayed a story about how some people from his church booked a family vacation to Disneyland and have since found out that their vacation will take place during "gay week" at Disneyland. And apparently the mom sobbed herself silly for like 48 hours straight (NPI) when she heard the news. And he sympathized with that reaction. And I just thought, "Why?"

I mean, first of all, that's seriously a ridiculous overreaction. Its not like that means Goofy and Pluto are going to be wearing leather assless chaps and simulating fellatio on a pirate ship. For the most part, it'll mean same sex parents will be trotting around with their adopted children and the lines will be shorter.

But my co-worker's defense was, "It is HARD to explain to your 6-year-old when two dudes are going at it in front of you."

Is it? I mean, seriously, is it that hard? It may have been hard to explain in 1807, but now? I think you've had plenty of time to come up with a reasonable explanation. I mean, if you can't come up with an something to satisfy a 6-year-old, with all of the wonders of Disneyland to distract him, you really don't have any right being a parent. I can think of at least three explanations off the top of my head that even the conservatiest of conservatives could use:

Those boys are silly!

"Some grownups like to do that."

"Hey look over there!"

And that's where I REALLY have trouble relating to conservatives - when they use "the children" to make their case. Children have questions - its your job to answer them. You can't control every single situation in the world in order to avoid discussing things with your kids. And most of the time, your kids care so very little about the things you love to blow out of proportion.

I dated a guy in college who once was asked by another patron to leave a Chili's for wearing a Big Black tshirt that said "songs about fucking" and had a picture of an arrow penetrating a circle. This guy made a huge scene about how he brought his family to that restaurant and how my friend was going to have to leave. When he didn't, the guy tried to get the mnager to make him leave, and eventually stormed off with his family in tow. Ironically, his kids never would have noticed the shirt if their Dad hadn't made a big scene about it.

Its not my job to change your mind about shit, or to tell you how to raise your kids. Just like its not your job to tell gay people when they can and can't feel each other up on the Teacup ride. If you want your kid to never see or interact with gay people, then you should never let them outside, and especially avoid television, books, radio, Boy Scouts, summer camp, and church.

TO THE 4TH NEW CEO OF THIS COMPANY TO COME ALONG IN 13 MONTHS

2007-03-08T17:03:00.000-05:00

Dear Sir or Madam:

This morning, as the 3rd new CEO of this company to come along in the past 10 months was being introduced, it dawned on me that your position here is just around the corner, and I wanted to be the first to congratulate you on your new job! As you know, we are all fond of Tammy, this quarter's new CEO, but I'm sure that the reasons behind her inevitable dismissal/"moving on" will be unavoidable. She will be missed! But we look forward to April, and your new era of tough, but efficient leadership.

As you are CEO-material, I'm sure you believe you are fully competent to come in to this company and take charge. But please, let my vast experience with perpetually short-term CEOs be of some assistance to you. I've created the following list of items which I feel may save you some of your precious, precious time.

1. The "Get to Know You Speech". Save yourself the trouble of writing it down, or memorizing, or thinking about it at all. It goes like this:

"I just wanted to take some time out of my busy schedule of running personal errands and yammering on about my freakishly ugly and untalented children to say hello to everyone in person, as a group, so that I don't have to address you individually by name, which I will most certainly have forgotten by 11 minutes from now. No, let me rephrase; 11 minutes ago.

I know that you all have been going through a lot of changes over the past year, but don't let the ineffectiveness of the last CEO color your attitude towards the company, or me, as I will need your full cooperation if I am to miraculously decipher which of these is a hole in the wall, and which of these is my ass. Anyone?

My experience in this industry has enabled me to come up with ridiculously simple solutions to this company's financial struggles, that frankly, I'm surprised you haven't already thought of. Oh, you have? Well, let me assure you that I will take your proposals and hurriedly put them into action in such a way they are doomed to fail, prompting your quick dismissal. But before I go, I promise to convince the investors to spend a couple million on me, for which I'm sure you'll find it worth giving up your annual raise (again) and Christmas bonus (as if!).

Now who's office am I taking?"

2. The "I Want You To Tell Me What's Wrong With This Company" email. Let's not bother the temps, making them type up an email in which you ask us to list our ten most pressing issues and possible solutions, in order to catch you up with our current state of affairs. You'll find them filed in Tammy's desk in a folder called "A Total Waste of Time" and cross referenced under "Pretending to Care." And let's be honest: you'll never read them.

3.Phrases that you may feel the need to use:

"My door is always open." Say this as often as you like, to create the illusion of openness and trust. We all know that you'll never be on the other side of that door, and it's perfectly understandable. Especially during golf season.

"Put it in writing!" This is a great way to avoid having to listen to any of us in person, which would create some kind of relationship that might make one feel an emotion when you leave us in three months. Eww.

"Going forward,…" implies that you will be here to see anything through. Ha ha! I know, I know. But it works.

"I'd like to see the numbers on that." My personal favorite, as this one enables me to set aside any actual work to compile miles of reports for you to pretend to be intrigued by, only to ask me to re-create them again in a month when your job is on the line, and again in two months, as you are preparing things for your successor.

4. Finally, please don't bother to make a key for yourself, or learn the alarm codes for the building. You won't be here any earlier or later than any other employee, and it saves us the trouble of having to change the locks when your incompetent ass is shown the sidewalk.

Welcome aboard, and I hope that the next three months is the opportunity you've been waiting for to vie for an equally unchallenging yet higher-paying position at another company.

Sincerely,
Fuck Off.

What Is Happening?

2007-01-18T18:09:00.000-05:00

Today the people in my section of the office were talking about this smell. It smelled like orange and we were all wondering what it could be.

Me: Smells like baby aspirin.
Coworker1: Yeah, or like medicinal toothpaste. It's kind of orange-y.
Me: Maybe someone has a fruit scented candle at their desk?
Coworker2: Or sprayed some air freshener or something.

It was an orange.

It never occured to us that the "orange scent" we were smelling would come from an actual orange.

It was so great, too. cause one girl goes, "Well, Katie has an orange on her desk. Think that could be it?" like she still wasn't sure. We're all trying to figure out the smell and the whole time she's looking at the orange on Katie's desk.

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

2006-09-14T19:07:00.000-04:00

Today is my favorite day of the year. I went to Starbucks and they are now serving pumpkin flavored coffees. That means fall is finally here, and the weather should be sweet for the next month or so, not to mention the impending arrival of pumpkin flavored ice cream, muffins, and pancakes.

Hooray!

A New Professor at The School of Pussy Break Ups

2006-07-07T00:13:00.000-04:00

I realize its been like, months since I've posted here. And last time I was talking about really looking forward to having someone in my life, of the boyfriend variety. Now 4 months into my latest relationship it sort of ended exactly the way I suspected it might when it started only with an added layer of passive-agressive breakup icing on the fucked up cake. I've already spoken about this type of P-A bullshit breakup before, and I realize the more I talk about this, the crazier it makes me appear, but I swear, I'm (don't laugh) fairly low maintenance. I ask for a few things from my friends and dates: don't lie to me, and don't treat me like shit. I'm pretty understanding about all the rest.

And yet here I am, getting the weird circular speech of "it's not you, it's me" with an added "It's not that I don't want to date you, it's just that I'm suuuuper busy right now..." and the always terrifying "but I still totally wanna hang out."

Yeah. That sounds great. I want to hang out with you about as much as I want to hang out with Hitler and AIDS. I'd sooner go back and re-live my sophomore year of high school than spend an evening in your company right now.

And it's not so much the breakup that is upsetting - I was considering it myself, and looking at it objectively, you probably did me a favor. I would have put up with a lot more annoying BS before I finally got around to breaking up. But it was the ultra patronizing tone you took when you weasled your way out of things. And the paper thin excuses and meaningless babbling on... and your awesome attempts to spare my feelings, as you assumed I must be so totally crushed... Oh! And when you used that cutesy voice to say, "I'm still your friend..."?!!! Um, first my pride threw up on my ego. Then I just closed my eyes and imagined pushing you down. Really hard. Twice.

I'm not bitter. I'm irritated. And I'm mostly mad at myself for not listening to me when I said four months ago, "this is not a good idea." So don't worry your pretty fucking face about whether or not "I'm mad at you." I'm pretty busy being mad at me right now.

I'm Just An "okay" Mamma Jamma.

2006-02-10T13:28:00.000-05:00

Last night I went to see Hammell on Trial, and it was fun. I mean, yeah he's a little bit preaching to the choir and his songwriting is quite literal and the show was just shy of a poetry slam, but his stories are really funny and he can really rock an acoustic guitar, so that was nice. Then he sang a song about love and I suppose it was sweet, but it just made me realize how lonely I am and how I've reached that desperate-feeling point of "fucking strangers out of loneliness isn't THAT bad of an idea." I know. It's pathetic, really. But it's my new reality. The loneliness, not the stranger-fucking. I never thought I'd care about having a boyfriend or not having a boyfriend, but my daydreams have embarrassingly increased in boyfriend-having. Then I drank a beer and started wondering if being a "bad mamma jamma" is really good, or if mamma jamma-ness is a quality I'd like to possess. Some things never change.

Dork

2006-01-26T12:55:00.000-05:00

One time in 5th grade, this kid called me "dork" over and over again for about a half hour until I cried.

About a year after high-school, that same guy came into the video-store I worked at and told me how awesome Lord of Illusions was.

We'll Take the Physical Challenge

2006-01-24T15:09:00.000-05:00

When I was about 11 or 12, I waited in line for six hours at a mall to audition for Double Dare. The first phase was a one-on-one interview with a producer. I wanted so hard to be cute and clever, but I got nervous and totally blew it. I was just annoying and naturally didn't get picked to go to the second stage of the audition.

Here's the thing: I'm 28 and I still think back to that day and come up with ways that I could've nailed the interview.

My First Entry

2005-12-08T10:43:00.000-05:00

I'm going to tell you people something about what's it's like to live in this city. To do so, I will use the underrated form of stage known as the One-Act Play. I proudly present:

"Underground Blues"
A play in one-act
By Geoff Wolinetz

Curtain rises. We see GEOFF, a jaunty, affable, strapping young man of 29, sitting in a subway car. He's listening to an iPod and reading the New York Daily News, a newspaper. Sitting opposite him is DISGUSTING WOMAN. She's a professional lady dressed for an office job that apparently doesn't afford her time to take care of her minor grooming habits at home. She has a nail clipper in one hand and is working assiduously on the nails of the other hand.

As she clips away, a renegade nail escapes the clipper and flies across the car into GEOFF's lap. He looks down into his lap for a few seconds, before realizing what has occurred. GEOFF picks the nail up off of his lap and gags.

He glances up at DISGUSTING WOMAN, who continues to cut her nails.

GEOFF
I believe this is yours (throws nail at DISGUSTING WOMAN, hitting her in the forehead)

GEOFF continues to read the paper

FIN

Story by Sophocles; Screenplay by Freud

2005-12-07T10:23:00.000-05:00

Last week I had a dream that I was married to my Mom. Then last night I dreamt my Dad died.

My dream-writers are such fucking hacks.

Clean and Bright

2005-11-29T16:51:00.000-05:00

Last week I heard on NPR a special on the anniversary of the release of "The Sound of Music" as I was getting ready for work. And they played a snippet of "Edelweiss." And my eyes started watering to the point where a bit of my mascara ran.

The thing is, there is no reason for this. I have not lost anybody recently who it would remind me of (and I'm sorry, Darci.) The movie has never really meant anything special to me. I am not suffering postpartum depression.

This is pretty much me. I cry about once every three years, but I get choked up, constantly, for no reason.

That's all I got today. That, and I am wearing a hat made out of tinfoil to keep the government's rays from entering my brain.

these foolish things

2005-11-21T18:17:00.000-05:00

It's weird how memories work.

You know how you have specific memories tied to events and songs and things that don't make sense?

When I was in high school I lived at a lake and one day I was driving around with a friend of mine and we were singing along with the radio to Dude Looks Like a Lady. It only happened once. It's not like that was a favorite song - it was just a random event.

Then I was in Texas a few weeks ago and went to the lake where I used to live. And I was in the car, and we turned a corner and I saw this one house that that I've driven by a million times, including the one time that I was randomly singing Aerosmith with my friend one day a hundred years ago. And as we drove by, I immediately started singing Dude Looks Like A Lady in my head. Because of the one random time that that happened 15 years ago.

It seems my memory of a house I've driven by a million times is forever tied to a random, and not even significant event that occurred once. And no one, not even my friend who was in the car singing along, would understand why.

Last night I saw Steve Martin playing banjo on TV and I started crying because it made me think of my dad who just died. Because the first time I ever watched SNL I was 4 and Steve Martin was hosting and my dad was excited to see it, and he told my brother and I all about Steve Martin and how funny he was. And he let us stay up late to watch it. And Steve Martin played the banjo. And we watched SNL every week after that. And so now when I think of Steve Martin playing banjo, I remember my dad letting me stay up late to watch him on TV. And I started crying.

Then I started laughing because I'm retarded.

Everyone Else Likes Sex Too

2005-11-17T18:23:00.000-05:00

RE: Blowjob literature

I agree that all these books about women and all the sex they are having is kind of wack. Without getting all meta-feminist about it, the idea of women’s empowerment seems kind of watered down lately.

If you, as a woman, make your own choices and define your own sexuality on your own terms, you’re all empowered. Of course, if you, as a woman, act in a self-destructive manner, make unwise choices, or adopt the entire buffet of male-dominant, frat-boy, corporate degradation as your modus operandi, you’re STILL empowered. Essentially, anything a woman does without being forced at gunpoint is “empowering”.

“I refuse to accept the roles society has set for me as a woman by making my own choices about my identity, my career choices, and my personal social relationships. I’m empowered!”

“I choose to be a stripper and reverse the course of the dominance and oppression of the male gaze by owning my own sexuality. I also subvert the role of capitalism in the commodification of sex by making lots of dough. I have a vibrator. I’m empowered!”

“I chose to work all day perpetuating wealth inequity at an investment bank, and then go out to bars wearing a t-shirt that questions the intelligence of other women, get drunk and act exactly how Maxim magazine has conditioned all these overpaid office workers to expect a woman to act, and then give one of them a blowjob in the restroom. I’m empowered!”

I’ll buy the first one, in the classic feminist sense, and I’ll even buy the second one, in a Second-Wave, “the sistahs are doing it for themselves” kind of way. But you see my point. There appears to be an unlimited supply of women, at least in midtown Manhattan, the cultural home of ‘Sex & the City’, for whom any act whatsoever, from marriage to buying a box of envelopes at the drug store, qualifies as a bold, kick-ass blow against the patriarchy. Girls rule! I’ll take three of these $4 cups of coffee, please. Take THAT, oppressors!

I guess this kind of griping is more of a critique of consumerism and its ability to absorb and cheapen any expression of the human condition (see also: feminism, songs about heroin, punk rock, war, etc.). Or maybe I am just crabby.

My Guiltiest Pleasure

2005-11-16T17:06:00.000-05:00

I just realized what time it is: its the time of the year when dated, made-for-TV Christmas movies play at all times, day and night. Hooray!!

You know the ones: the overworked publishing exec who hasn't got time for a boyfriend is visited by the invisible spirit of her younger self... At first she's annoyed and tries not to look too crazy in front of other people, but soon she realizes all the things she's been missing out on, and stands up to her boss, or stops stealing ideas from her assistant, or whatever. And the guy whose book she's editing goes from the most annoying man ever to Mr. Right. And then she calls her brother on Christmas, and instead of him telling her to go fuck herself, he lets her come over for dinner.

Or some old man is ruining Christmas for an entire town until a little girl touches his heart and he decides to forego the billion dollars in profit he was counting on and instead, buys her a pony. And his son marries her Mom.

It's basically always a modern-day, Lifetime network A Christmas Carol, but with D-list actors and commericals. And they're all the same. "Will there still be a Christmas this year, Mommy?"

I'm writing one where Jared Leto is going around town, giving all the young girls HIV. Then a judge sentences him to intern for Juliette Lewis's organization which has finally raised enough money to travel to the North Pole, find Santa Claus, and convince him to cure AIDS.

The scene where he breaks down in the barn is so killer. Rudolph nuzzles his tears, and Leto finally realizes that he doesn't want to die.

Opposize it!

2005-11-10T18:03:00.000-05:00

Today I started a conversation with, "I saw Carrot Top on Regis and Kelly this morning..." and you know what? I didn't implode.

So tonight, I'm going out to see a friend of mine be a DJ. I know. That's against my rules, too. But I figure, considering how my day started, this could actually be "opposite day" and I should act accordingly.

,ox
Icrad

What The Hell Was I Thinking?

2005-10-27T20:23:00.000-04:00

You ever have those crazy moments where for a split second you think the most ridiculous thought ever, and then immediately realize you are retarded and should probably crawl back into bed?

For example: you see someone walking up the street from some distance away and think to yourself, "Hey, that looks like [friend]." So you study the person as they walk closer and suddenly realize that while your friend is a tall, balding skinny 30-year-old white guy, the person approaching you is a 65-year-old Asian man with a hunchback.

You know what I mean? Like there is no alternate universe that exists in which there lies the remotest possibility that this person in any way resembles the person you thought it was, only moments ago. No matter how many times Bakula Quantam Leaps his way through a rip in the space-time continuum, this is an outcome which is less probable than my ability to name a single Oak Ridge Boy. Unpossible.

Like today, I am running around on zero sleep and having moments of bewildering insanity. The frustrating kind. The kind that makes you spend 10 minutes looking for your glasses until you realize you are already wearing them.

Here's what I did today.
I am leaning against my car, having a smoke. I look down the street to the area where I usually park. I see a car, not much like my own in shape or style, but vaguely resembling mine in color. A woman is looking into the window of that car. A look of concern clouds my face, and I think to myself, "Hey! What's that bitch doing nosing around my car?!" Then a second passes and I realize, "Oh, that's not my car. That doesn't even look like my car. That is probably HER car. And oh yeah, I'm currently leaning against my own car." Remember? From the beginning of the paragraph?

Yeah.

My point is: I am really tired.

You like sex. Okay. I get it.

2005-10-19T20:36:00.000-04:00

KP: Don't you think this whole trend of girls writing frankly about sex is getting a little tired?
Me: OMG - YES! I'm glad I wasn't the only one to notice. Seems like every other day some lady writer wants to tell the world how awesome she is at sucking dicks. I get it. We're impressed. You've shocked the prudes and intrigued the dudes. Mission accomplished. Now try writing something that isn't (A) Boring, (B) Overdone and (C) Probably a lie.

KP: Don't you have something about blowjobs in your Kittenpants bio?
Me: Okay, yes. But I wrote that five years ago before every vagina-with-a-typewriter came along and decided to do the same.

KP: So you don't like that women write about sex, or you're mad that they're stepping onto your turf?
ME: No, no. It's not my turf. Someone else claimed this turf long before me.

KP: But some people would consider you to have a sexual tone to your writing.
ME: Whatever. I guess it's part of my sense of humor. I make an occasional joke about BJs. I don't write essays and books about fellatio-as-an-art form, or anything.

KP: Why not?
ME: Are you paying attention? Because it's done. It's over. It's boring and doesn't impress anyone anymore. Maybe women think they need to write about sex in order to gain any sort of notoriety. I disagree. I admire people for being sexually frank, but if you're not offering anything new to the conversation--any sort of new perspective, then what's the point. Remember when Will and Grace came on the air and got all kinds of attention? Then the other networks tried to come up with copycat shows. So they're like, "Hey! It's John Goodman. Remember? From Roseanne. And he's gay!! Isn't that funny? Huh? He's GAY! Ha ha ha ha ha! Get it?"

Only they didn't get it because it wasn't funny. Just being gay isn't funny. You have to be funny first, then gay. Or something.

KP: I don't watch Will and Grace.
ME: (Sigh...) I know. Okay, listen. You know how you want to give Margaret Cho some sort of props but every time you watch her stand up you are incredulous that anyone is laughing?

KP: Yes! Because--
ME: Because all she does is mention something nostalgic and the audience laughs their asses off. Like she says, "I was watching Three's Company. Remember Three's Company?!!!" And then everyone dies laughing.

KP: I know!! What the fuck? Yes I remember Three's Company. And...?!
ME: Right. Well it's sort of like that. Like now all these women are like, "HEY I WROTE THIS ARTICLE ABOUT BLOW JOBS!" and then people go "Aw no you di-int!! Girl! You are SASSY!" And then everyone takes turns patting each other on the back until eventually, someone's hand penetrates someone else's rib cage resulting in some sort of tragic, painful death.

Well, that's how it happens when I imagine it, anyway.

KP: I guess you're right. It is really getting tired. Like making fun of hipsters, or "clever" haikus, or putting a question mark after "The End." Or interviewing yourself. HA! HA! What a stupid and pointless waste of time. Hilarious.
ME: Exactly.

The End?
***

This is what it's like to live inside my brain.

Asleep Me is Even More Crazy

2005-10-13T15:11:00.000-04:00

Last night I had a dream that I was rescuing dogs from the ocean. 24 dogs, in all. They were having trouble swimming, which is retarded because most dogs are stronger swimmers than me. But whatever, it was a good dream. I had lots of dogs and I lived by the beach.

Then later in the dream I was driving home and saw a guy with a big sign on the side of the road. The sign said "THINGS TO DO: 77 CENTS" (only he used the cents symbol). The guy was a real person in real life who I've never met before, so it's weird that he was in my dream. Regardless, I thought it was the best sign in the whole world, and applauded his efforts, from concept to execution.

Things to do: 77 Cents. That's fucking brilliant.

From now on, if you give me 77 cents, I will give you something to do. It'll be my new company. And when I make my fortune, 77-cents-at-a-time, and I go on some talk show for an interview, I'll tell Matt Lauer, "It was just this idea I dreamed up one night." And then I will throw my drink in Matt Lauer's face.

I'm not a big fan, Lauer.

The People That You Meet

2005-10-06T18:29:00.000-04:00

Sometimes I am relieved to find I am not an actual crazy person. Today a person came in my store and did a "Meatwad" impression for 10 minutes, then took off his shirt and asked me to pin the bottom of it for him. He then went up the street to Fancy and told Sally he was a psychic who gets no respect from other area psychics because he is THAT good.

Yesterday someone emailed me the following:

"...From the depth and range of your words, I doubt anyone really "knows" you. Not your mother, or father, even you are unsure. However, I know some things. I know you are scared of poorly lit, dead end streets. I know your nightmare is a gianormous, empty, dusty, dark rundown drive-in where you're all alone yelling "..is anybody here" into a rising wind. I know that you worry that one day you will suddenly look up and find yourself abandoned in your sandbox..."

And then there's the random "poop on your doorstep" incidents.

Sometimes I am afraid to leave the house.

Ciabatta is the new Chipotle

2005-10-05T18:41:00.000-04:00

These are words and phrases that I hate:

Ciabatta
Chipotle
Tune (as in "Let's play some tunes, dude!")
'Rents (short for "parents")
"Chillin' like (anything that rhymes with chillin')"
Gig

If you say these in my presence I will shoot hate bolts into your skull with my wicked telekinetic powers. Also, I will neither buy you a drink, nor make out with you in the alley*.

Just something to consider.

*unless you are hot.

Shitty Day

2005-10-01T14:48:00.000-04:00

I just wanted to share my shitty morning with you. I came in to open the store at 11. Its Saturday. It's gorgeous out. And someone had left poop on the entranceway to the store.

Poop. For real.

So I did the following things in this order:

1. Cleaned up the poop with a paper towel and a mop
2. Barfed in the entranceway where the poop used to be.
3. Cleaned up my barf with a paper towel and a mop
4. Washed my hands for 25 minutes.
5. Made coffee

The coffee is delicious.

Road House

2005-05-16T14:15:00.000-04:00

When I was a kid I had never seen Road House, but this other kid at my school saw it and said, "man, there's a lot of pussy in that movie."

So whenever anybody brought it up, I pretended to have seen it and just said, "there's a lot of pussy in that movie."

Hating the world

2005-05-13T15:54:00.000-04:00

Sometimes when people are really super nice to me, I am totally annoyed and avoid them at all costs. I don't have anything against them, I just don't have anything for them. I'd rather not ever see them again then endure their polite chit chat.

I'm finding I'm not always generous or kind or honest.

My Boss Rules

2005-05-09T15:46:00.000-04:00

I love my boss. She's so cool. Here are the kind of conversations we have:

ME: Linda, I have asked you 4 times to approve this letter. It's late and you yelled at me before for making it late but yo'ure making it late.

LINDA: I never saw this letter. Ever. In a million years.

ME: Well I sent it to you. Four times.

LINDA: THIs is ridiculous. HOw did this happen? I never got---oh wait. Here it is.

ME:

LINDA: ...

ME: ....

LINDA: ....

ME: Okay, talk to you later. Thanks.

otherwise all is well

2005-05-05T12:59:00.000-04:00

Ok, I'm warmed up now. Let's see....I drink too much, my job is dumb, and I sabotage all my relationships. Oh yeah, and I share my personal problems with total strangers. Yay! I fucking LOVE the internet.

Woe is Me

2005-05-05T12:12:00.000-04:00

Warning: this is a writey post.

I forced myself to be content for the last few months with what I have going on. Okay, I didn't exactly 'force' myself. I just figured that with school, the various blogs, the freelancing and so on, I could calm down.

But a few new things have come up, i.e. submitting stuff and reporting stuff wise. On the one hand, I'm excited about the new possibilities. On the other hand, I don't feel like setting myself up for rejection once again and I worry that I don't have time for any of this.

Also, I have a headache.

So that's that.

I am easily amused.

2005-05-04T15:44:00.000-04:00

I just read on the internet that there is a movie that stars both Michael Pitt and Jeremy Sisto and then I looked down to find I had grown a gigantic erect penis.

I came all over my "laptop."

entropy

2005-05-02T21:02:00.000-04:00

I live with six other people, so our house can quickly fill with stuff, and our refrigerators and cabinets especially require constant vigilance. My constant vigilance.

While I am obsessed with moving things out the door, no one else seems particularly concerned with the flow of things into and out of the kitchen. It doesn't seem to bother my roommates if an empty cereal box sits on a shelf, taking up space. Or if there are six jars in the fridge with a half inch of salsa in each.

Luckily, I love throwing things away! In fact, I cannot stop throwing things away. Lately I've caught myself finishing someone's orange juice or mayonnaise or bread, just for the pleasure of subtracting one container from the premises. I also like to combine things, as I did this afternoon, when I made two pancake syrups into one. Sometimes I'll throw something away just because it's bothering me. Like a stray salad dressing that's overstayed its welcome.

I work in secret, because my roommates might not understand or appreciate my methods. But, I've come to think of myself as the Good Trash Fairy, performing necessary maintenance for the greater good.

Ancient History

2005-04-22T14:40:00.000-04:00

The other day I was telling a story from when I was a kid. I actually started a sentence, "Well, when they first invented the VCR, ..." at which point I began to break down inside. And outside.

I feel so alone.

What's Wrong With Me?

2005-04-22T12:47:00.000-04:00

I think I might be dead on the inside. Do you ever feel that way? It's Friday. It's nice out. I have lots going on in the next few weeks. And still, I feel pretty empty, creatively. I feel like the vanilla ice cream at Baskin Robbins - good enough for most old people, and that's about it.

I also had a dream that I had to take care of a baby last night. I kept trying to get the birth mother to straighten up, stop acting a fool, and take care of her newborn, but after she put it in a pillowcase and started swinging it over her head I decided to step in. I can't fucking believe there is anything inside me that wants children, so what the fuck is that about? I mean, if I knew I would want babies one day, I wouldn't have aborted all those fetuses back before the long-term drug abuse (surely) scarred my insides.

I'm just kidding. I totally still would have. I have no sense of consequence.

I feel lonely.

Psycho Cuddles

2005-04-18T18:06:00.000-04:00

I just found these psychotic toys at SCHMANCY. The sheep has multiple personalities in its belly. The crocodile is a pillow biter with a severe anxiety disorder. And the hippo is autistic: he won't speak but he likes to solve puzzles.

I just thought if you were reading this blog, you could relate.

Update - I Win!!

2005-04-18T15:33:00.000-04:00

My roommate finally bought toilet paper on Sunday. We went almost a whole week. My other roommate avoided the situation altogether by leaving town for four days. I managed to make my secret roll last until sweet victory came Sunday morning in the form of six fresh rolls in the bathroom cupboard.

It's the little victories that count the most. I remain broken and unloved, but totally comforted on the backside.

Why?!!!

2005-04-15T15:39:00.000-04:00

Here are some questions I have.

1. The radio playing in my office is a little perplexing... WHY would an "oldies" radio station (and by "oldies" I mean 70s and 80s, not 50's and 60s) play the same songs every day? I'm assuming that in Top 40 radio there are all kinds of deals between record labels and radio stations limiting the number of songs you hear on any given afternoon to about 12. Fine. However, when you are no longer in the competitive world of billboard 100/ratings radio - when you are free to play whatever songs were hits twenty and thirty years ago, then why would you insist on playing the same three Lisa Lisa and Cult Jam songs every motherf*cking day?!! Lisa Lisa didnt get that much play in 1985 when those songs were in the top 10. EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. Then it's "Looking For a New Love" then "Caribbean Queen" then "Funkytown" and finally "Let's Hear it For the Boy." And WHY am I the only person in my office that is driven nuts by this? Everyone else is singing along off key while I pray for my iPod batteries to hold up just a little longer.

2. WHY won't you fucking buy a roll of toilet paper? We ran out in my apartment on Tuesday. Which means we were running low since last weekend. And yet nobody will buy toilet paper. There are three of us in the apartment. I have bought the last 100+ rolls of toilet paper for our apartment (because I get this awesome designer brand) and I have ordered some more which will be in next week. But my roommates don't know that. They know I have been supplying the toilet paper all year, and that we're out now. And neither one of them has bought a roll in the past three days. WHAT ARE THEY USING?!! For shit's sake, we have a 24-hour deli right next door to us - we're on the first floor, even. It only takes half a second to go pick up a SINGLE ROLL. I'm not suggesting they buy a four-pack, even. Just a single roll. What the hell is wrong with them, and how the hell are they wiping? I have a half-roll that I 've been hiding in my room to tide me over. It's like Survivor, or some shit.

3. WHAT will I have for lunch? What about dinner? I never know. Never! I have a box of frozen strawberry waffles, so that should get me through the next 8 breakfasts. After that, I'm totally screwed.

Fix Me

2005-04-15T13:07:00.000-04:00

Despite commenting on others, I've yet to post here. In order to catch up, here are some weird things about me that you can feel free to analyze and/or snicker at:

For most of my adolescent and teen years I compulsively counted syllables. Not like with numbers, but if someone was talking or I was watching TV, I would keep track of the syllables, usually by silently clicking my teeth together. "U" and "O" sounds got clicked on the right side of my mouth, while "I", "E" and "A" sounds got clicked on the left side. I thought that I'd discovered the secret to life, and if I ever lagged behind too much I'd die. Sometimes I still catch myself doing it.
I had a dream once that Christopher Walken gave me a blowjob. He somehow convinced me that it wasn't gay.
Until I was about 15, I was convinced my parents had hidden surveillance cameras around my house in order to catch me masturbating.

Red beans and rice didn't miss her

2005-04-12T16:05:00.000-04:00

Saturday afternoon I decided I didn't know enough sports trivia. So I watched and memorized CBS's "25 Greatest College Basketball Players." I really studied and practiced listing them in order. During commercial breaks I would re-list them in my head, even recite them out loud, while imagining different scenarios in which I might be able to insert this newly acquired info into conversation. I imagined the faces of those who know me, shocked that I could even name ONE college basketball player, let alone 25 greats.

Similarly, about five years ago I had a sudden panic that I might one day be challenged to recite the lyrics to "Baby Got Back," so I listened over and over until I had memorized the entire song. It hasn't come up yet, but I think I could still pull it off in a pinch.

For the record: Julius "Dr. J." Irving, John Havlichek, Isiah Thomas, Elgin Baylor, Danny Manning, David "the Admiral" Robinson, Ralph Sampson, Akeem Olajuwon, Christian Laettner, Elvin Hayes, Tim Duncan, Jerry Lucas, Bill Bradley, David Thompson, Patrick Ewing, Michael Jordan, Jerry West, Wilt Chamberlain, "Pistol" Pete Maravich, Bill Russell, Earvin "Magic" Johnson, Oscar Robertson, Larry Bird, Bill Walton, and Lew Alcindor (aka Kareem Abdul-Jabbar).

Sleepless nights, Bright ideas

2005-04-06T11:40:00.000-04:00

Since last November or so, I've been experiencing many sleepless nights. I'm traditionaly nocturnal so this is not a complete surprise. But I also loves me some sleep, so its been somewhat troubling.

Most of the time I sit in bed, crank up the headphones, and think of a million projects I want to take on. Occasionally I will have an idea so "brilliant" I will sit up and write it down immediately, only to discover a crumpled piece of paper with a bunch of nonsense on it a few days later.

One night I was listening to Cavedweller and I thought it would be fucking fantastic to edit together all three Lord of the Rings movies into one 45-minute short film, take out all the dialogue, score it with Cavedweller music and call it "Lord of the Cave." I couldn't stop thinking about it. I would re-listen to all the songs and place them with a particluar scene in the movie in my head.

I wish I was still the person with nothing better to do than these kinds of projects, ridiculous or not. I wish I didn't spend all my free time yakking on the phone, reading magazines, and watching Veronica Mars.

Who am I kidding? Veronica Mars is an excellent show! I'm sorry I said that. I never meant to hurt you, UPN. Please don't take away America's Next Top Model.

Anyway, I guess my point (if there is one) is that most of the time I can't tell if the ideas I have are the best idea ever or the worst idea ever. It seems like they are one or the other. Or both. Once I wrote a treatment for a screenplay called "American Funk" which was basically an "Enemy of the State" style run-from-the-government action film starring Mark Wahlberg as... Marky Mark. You know... Marky's in trouble, he needs help, and there's only one thing he can do: he has to get The Funky Bunch back together! Because in my world The Funky Bunch was more than a band (in fact, they weren't much of a band): they were an elite team of crime fighters. They were patriots.

But I neglected mentioning this to most people I know because (a) I don't want them to think I'm totally insane (too late) and (b) I don't want anyone to steal my idea for what could possibly be the biggest blockbuster hit ever. EVER!

American FUNK!

Someone help/stop me. Thank you.

Party Down!

2005-04-01T19:56:00.000-05:00

This morning in the shower I couldn't stop obsessing about the song "We're an American Band." I kept wondering about the lyrics. Does it go "We like to party down/We're coming to your town," or is it "We're coming to your town/We like to party down"?

Because if it's "We're coming to your town/We like to party down," that's like an invitation. They're saying, "We're coming to town, so you know, hook us up! Come party with us! We love to party."

But if it's "We like to party down/We're coming to your town," that's more of a warning, right? It's like, "Hey, we totally party wherever we go, and we're coming over, so watch out."

Lather, rinse, analyze idiotic song, repeat.

I Just Wanted a Little Structure

2005-04-01T15:23:00.000-05:00

Everything is fine here, except for some non-ironic sadness about the Pope. I did see my doctor the other day and you know what she told me? For a week she wants me to a.) eat no sugar b.) eat no pasta c.) when I go out to eat, eat no starches. But it's such a crazy, retarded scheme that for now I have no problem with it because it's like this absolutely insane experiment that I find hilarious. I'm sure the sobbing will ensue sometime this weekend.

Everything Is Fine

2005-03-31T14:31:00.000-05:00

I'm doing pretty good today, actually. How are you?

Get Me Out of Here!

2005-03-29T16:35:00.000-05:00

Spring has sprung this week in Chicago and I went to the office and felt a nervous breakdown coming on: I needed to get the hell out of my four walls and get some fresh air. Then when I got outside I just wanted to go home again and smoke and be on the computer. This is not right. I think I'm just reluctant to face up to summer, that I can't hide beneath coats anymore and snuggle indoors.

Fortunately I'm going to the PAY doctor tomorrow so she can help me get back into the real world. I'll let you guys know if she has anything good to say. There is a chance that she might encourage me to give up refined sugar, though. THAT would require serious therapy.

Photoconfession

2005-03-28T21:32:00.000-05:00

My shelves sag with a vast and varied assortment of books, CDs, comics, etc., and, like all media junkies, I'm goofily proud of those collections. These are things selectively chosen according to my unique tastes, actively acquired, and purposefully saved and displayed. Just like a normal, functioning person.

These pictures do not reflect those things.

[Caveat: I have a roommate who is equally crazy/lazy, thus 50% guilty.]

I've been meaning to buy some twine. I'm pretty sure there's a ball of it somewhere.

You see, I read a newspaper every day, but recycling comes only Fridays. I usually remember this on Saturdays. Then Sundays, the newspaper is extra thick. And so on. I don't want these newspapers in my apartment anymore. I just haven't had the time or energy to bundle them up and haul them downstairs. If anyone wants to do this for me, I'll pay you twelve dollars.

Also in dire need of packaging and taking the hell out of here are all these unprocessed nickels.

Yes, and the ones hiding beneath the sink, too.

The Laundromat returns my shirts on these cheap wire hangers. I've now got a hanger-to-shirt ratio of like twelve to one. I think I might throw a party in the wintertime just so I can hang up everyone's coat.

If you're the type who winds up with lots of unintentional collections of tiny things (where do I put all these movie-ticket stubs?), then cigar boxes come in handy. Unfortunately, you then find yourself with a cigar-box colony.

And lots of coffee cans for containing things like hundreds and hundreds of pens, pencils, and markers, of which 90% have long since dried up, but really who has time to test hundreds of pens for ink?

I don't know when or why I dropped all these bottle caps in there. Maybe I thought I was going to do some stupid art project or something? I can't throw them away because I think there's some charity that will give a sick little girl a new kidney only if you mail them ten billion bottle caps.

Yes, the Leaning Tower of Pizza. I'm sorry, but I think just this once, the most hackneyed pun in history is actually apropos.

Again, that Friday recycling thing passes us by. Anyway, La Rondine makes a hell of a good slice of Sicilian.

I'm certain I will die lonely and alone, but I haven't decided why yet

2005-03-28T11:47:00.000-05:00

I can't decide if I'm more of a terrible person or a terrible writer.

I wonder about these things all the time. I know that sooner or later, everybody will hate me, but I don't know why yet. It will either be because I fail to live up to personal obligations, ignore other people's feelings, don't call my mother enough and talk endlessly about my own problems, or because my characters are not fleshed out enough, my sentences are too self-consciously clever and my writing style is obviously plagiarized from other, better writers.

I'm certain that some people already hate me for one reason and others hate me for the other, but what I'm really interested in is on which side of the fence popular opinion will land.

I think I'd prefer to be remembered as a bad person than as a bad writer. If I lost all my friends and my family stopped inviting me over for holidays and I spent the rest of my days lonely, eating Chinese food by myself in my bedroom, at least then I'd have more time to write.

Is This How We Do It? AKA The Hermit-age

2005-03-25T11:37:00.000-05:00

OK so here is one. I've been working from home for the last week, which is fucking awesome (I can swear here because I can't swear anywhere else.)

The problem is, though, is that I'm getting gradually stir crazy. Watching TV and eating Cadbury Mini-Eggs gets less entertaining day by day, to the point where I feel gross and sad instead of comfy and smug.

But the more displeased I feel, the less I want to go outside. I'm supposed to see a friend today, go to a party and interview someone and I just secretly want to stay inside with Netflix even though I know I'll feel like a human puddle. Is my apartment a black hole? Is that the problem? Or am I just really my own abusive best friend? There is no way that I actually want to leave my cute apartment in the sky for a windowless office again, is there?

A terrifying dream

2005-03-25T11:02:00.000-05:00

I had the most fucked up nightmare last night - the kind of dream I can't even tell you about, because there's no explaining it away. There's no, "Oh, everyone has dreams like that - it doesn't mean anything..." because nobody does. It was seriously fucked up. It's the kind of thing that would change your opinion about me, forever--make you think twice before inviting me over to meet your kids, or your grandparents.

The awesome part is, that after I sort of woke up and had a moment to let it all sink in, I fell back asleep and had another nightmare about trying to explain the first dream to people I know. In this new dream I apparently hung out with Charles Barkley, and before I could even finish describing the first dream scenario, he punched me in the face!!!

Charles Barkley punched me in the face. That sounds made up, but it actually happened (in my dream). He was so disgusted at my other dream, he clocked me. Meanwhile, I don't even know what he's doing there. Maybe dreaming of Charles represents the anger I feel about basketball being on TV all the time. I'm not sure. But I know a hilarious face-punch when I dream one.

Let's Get This Party Started!

2005-03-23T17:17:00.000-05:00

So I noticed yesterday this habit I have developed over time which is infuriating in it's ridiculousness. I have this weird obsessive need for details about fictional people and their conversations.

For example: Say you're watching "SitCom X" on television. Character A says to Character B: "I know, I have to tell my girlfriend - she's going to freak out!" (It doesn't really matter what they are talking about - just imagine some drama.) Then the scene is over. The next time you see these two characters you get:

Character B: "Did you tell your girlfriend?"
Character A: "Yes. She stopped talking to me!"

Or whatever... You understand the basic scenario, right? Happens all the time - actions and conversations happen off-screen, and often that information is left up to the imagination.

Except that my imagination is working overtime. When something like this happens, I find myself wondering "How did he break the news? Did he just come home and blurt it out? Did he sit her down and preface it with, 'I have something really important to tell you...'? Maybe he took her to a restaurant, maybe they talked about it in bed. Maybe he called her at work."

I start imagining each of these scenarios, putting myself in the shoes of either character, writing imaginary dialogue in my head, editing and re-writing when I don't like the way it's turning out.

Eventually I become self-conscious as I realize what I am doing. Then I begin this whole other internal dialogue about how crazy I am and that I should really let this all go, because what difference does it make?!! These aren't real people! There is no "right way" that conversation happened, because it never happened! Duh!

Nevertheless, within minutes I am back to the imaginary conversation, reworking the details and the dialogue and the outcome until it is most satisfactory to me. By this time, the show is over and I have tuned out to the rest of the episode - I don't even remember how it ended.

"Did you see Friends last night?"
Yeah. I can't believe that bastard had the nerve to call her at work.

A new approach to therapy

2005-03-23T16:56:00.000-05:00

Hello and welcome to Repress Yourself - a new blog for those who need therapy, but are too lazy/cheap/agoraphobic to see an actual therapist. Please take advantage of this blog to post your innermost thoughts, obsessions, dreams, fantasies, fears, phobias, and the rest of the crazy shit swimming around in that skull of yours.

I've already reached a crisis point in trying to decide on the name for this thera-blog. My manic-depression is in full effect and I'm currently hysterically crying at the thought that maybe I made the wrong choice, and that you will think (know?) i'm stupid. I am frantically searching for someone else to blame.

For the record, here are some of the other choices I had in mind:

iwantmymommy.blogspot.com
backtothewomb.blogspot.com
iknowwhythecagedbirdsings-ithaslowselfesteemandissueswithitsfather.blogspot.com

I'm happy to take suggestions for a title change. That's just the kind of people-pleasing doormat I've become.

Love, (but i don't mean anything by that)
Darci