Weinerville and Other Childhood Takaways

Elmer's glue is shit. Let's just start there. The stuff is garbage, no wonder we give it to kindergartners to create fake scabs (if you didn't do this as a kid, you are either lying or boring and totally can't sit with us), that's all it's good for. And, while I'm at it, safety scissors were only useful if you were trying to sprain a finger. True, a kid could never accidentally cut themselves, but they couldn't cut paper either.

And, for as long as I'm ranting, how in the hell did the Silver Snakes always make it to the temple? Occasionally, the Red Jaguars would get there but never anyone else. Especially not the Purple Parrots! Did you know they made a Legends of the Hidden Temple movie? How was it, you ask? No idea, I can't find it anywhere though people swear they've seen it...

Also, remember Nick News? And things like kids pick the president? Where are those programs nowadays? We need more Mr. Wizard's world and less Spongebob Squarepants (there, I said it) if we're ever going to make any real progress as a society.

To summarize: Double Dare, Reading Rainbow, Square One (how many of you remember that?), Carmen Sandiego, Are You Afraid of the Dark = good. (Also Roundhouse and Weinerville). Lazy Town, Caillou, Teletubbies (seriously, WTF?), Dog with a Blog, and any show that started out on YouTube = abominable.

Gotta Find Your Corner of the Sky

"....Sloppy, under dressed, immature, clumsy, guillible, naive, ditzy, and a bit...well, vague.." If this sounds familiar I'm guessing Rapunzel is your favorite princess and you've seen Tangled more times than you've spoken to your inlaws...or you come from a family like mine.

Now, before we go any further, let's make one thing crystal clear; My family is awesome on a level you can't even fathom. They have been the biggest, strongest influence in my life, and the majority of my good traits came from them. They are my be all to end all, my end and my (literal) beginning, and, yes, all of me loves all of them. However, the same cannot be said the other way around:

Wait. That didn't come out right. Of course my family loves me as much as I love them, however, I'm not sure they like me. Oh, they like the idea of me, just not the actual me.

When I was four I was a cat for a week; I slept in a cat bed (on the floor) and lapped milk from a saucer. When I was eleven I had my Quints dolls christened in church. My mom made christening gowns and we had an actual party! When I was 15 there was a girl in my history class who seemed to find hilarious to antagonize me on a daily basis. I didn't find it nearly as funny. So I sent her anonymous letters (color coded for each day of the week) and made her think she was being stalked. After two months, she changed schools, thus ending by problem. 

My point is, I've always been a bit off, and I thought my family accepted me as I am but, apparently They. Do. Not. Since I moved home they have been extremely supportive, of me being a lot less like me and a lot more like them. Apparently I am incapable of dressing myself, thinking for myself, and I talk too much (okay, they kinda have a point with this one). Also, I overreact and am embarrassment to them. 

Despite all this my family and I are extremely close and I love that we are, I think that's our best quality....And I can wait till I am able to express that love from a nearby (ish) zip code. 

And where might that be you ask? No idea, but I do know that when I get there, I am putting on a tiara, and never taking it off!

Come For the Drive By, Stay for the...Uniforms?

Scene: Two old G's on the 4 train. Reminissing about the good ole days when you could shoot a dude dead and the cops didn't know nothin. When you could roam the streets, takin shit. Ah, those were the days! Roll outta bed round 2, light up a blunt, rock that jacket cause you gotta represent, head out to own these streets...Wait, wait, wait, WHAT was that last part? "rock that jacket cause you gotta represent"? Am I to understand that hard core gangsters wore...uniforms??? So, shooting, killing, stealing, posing, all while looking like a team? No wonder these people are selling drugs, they've got membership dues to pay!

Actually, as I'm bringing you this (with all of the judgement and mocory it deserves) I have a bit of a confession to make; I, myself used to run with a pretty notorious gang. Like the gentlemen above, we too made an impact on society with our own sick abilities to avoid law enforcement and...nevermind, this is just plain dumb.

Today, on Public Eavesdropping

So I'm stomping through the city, seriously considering pushing people in front of cars for the capital offense of existing in the same space as me.

Spent the last 56 minutes and 33 seconds comtplating stabbing myself with my pen as a preferable alternative to the conversation I found myself trapped in with a survey participant.

Thanks to frontier Fanny, who is single-handedly going to save the our country (and the world at large, provided she can fit it in before the evening barn raising) by restoring corporeal punishment in schools (and wherever else necessary), closing all small businesses (because young people today are too lazy to work anyway) (what???), and giving Black Lives Matter a "strong talking to." (This I strongly encouraged because I would kill to see that), I didn't have a shot in hell of making the last 20 bus leaving me no alternative to calling my mother for a ride (which is more complicated than it sounds).

As I'm barreling towards Times Square I slowly become aware of an argument between an out of town couple. And, by argument, I mean a girl yelling at her boyfriend while he seemed not to notice.

Apparently, they are on vacation from Rhode Island and he has been "treating her like shit" (direct quote) all day. As if she wasn't explaining the situation clearly enough, the boyfriend, who you'll remember, had basically been ignoring her, decides to demonstrate the behavior for which he's being chastised by asking her why she's whining. He then proceeds to vanish, he walked away from her in Times Sq and disappeared from sight. Gone. Fucking poof!

At this point, the girl is so upset she seems to freeze where she stood. Myself and two other women who have apparantly also been eavesdropping, surround her and start to comfort her, making sure she knows exactly what we think of her boyfriend. She needed to get to the 4 train to get back to her hotel so I told her to follow me. The other women gave her sage advice; go back to the hotel, pack up, and go home. Leave him here just like he left you. Only, we don't want him here either; hey asshole, wherever you are, hit the road jack, and don't you come back no more, no more....

Back in the Day....(Which Was a Friday, as it Turns Out)

Once upon a time (bout a month ago), in a land far, far away (nobody cares, New Jersey) stands a mythical castle where mere peasants can indulge in the finest of royal libations (for the low rate of $17.99) and cheer on a knight sworn only to you (depending on whatever color you're randomly assigned for the evening) in a fight to the death (or, you know, to the time limit or whatever) while you partake in the best feast you've ever had (that day).

Of course, I'm talking about Medieval Times! For those days when you simply cannot go another nano-second without donning an upgraded Burger King crown and risking an allergy attack to travel back to a time when folks ate with their hands and watched people kill each other for the hell of it.

But please, please don't think I'm hating on Medieval Times. I'm not, and I never would. Why? This is the one place (other than San Francisco) I can dress like the princess I am (cape, tiara and all) and not have people (read: members of my family) laugh at me. Also, I can drink wine out of a gigantic blue chalice and be regarded as "festive". 

So carry on Medieval Times, Huzzzah Yellow Knight!

Also, This:

Leo Rising: I want a scepter. 

Sales girl: I don't know what that is.
Bryan Owens: Bitch, you work at Medieval Times!

McDonald's, Pina Colladas, and the 4 Train.

It's Saturday afternoon and I'm leaving work. I'm in a bigger hurry to catch the 4 train than usual cause I have a pina collada in my bag and the image of me sipping it while I'm ignoring my fellow passengers is giving life right now.

This work week has been trying to say the least with canceled shifts, computer malfunctions, and Republicans in general. Also the Democrats...you know what? I hate them all (Disney Princesses should not become political analysis) but the piña colada made it all okay (well, almost). 

It wasn't the piña colada itself, I've been drinking them since I was old enough to reach the blender, it was the way in which said piña colada was acquired. Men in dark corners slipping dubious vials to questionable maidens before rushing off into the night...(my co-worker brought me a drink because I challenged him to). 

Anyway, point is, I'd had a hell of a week and a clandestine alcoholic beverage in my bag and all I had to do to exchange one for the other was grab a seat on the 4. The entire population of Iowa and Wisconsin stopping dead center in the sidewalk to take pictures of badly costumed characters, getting caught up in the bright lights of the big city, while I dodge them in pursuit of my drink. I am seconds from the Times Sq subway entrance when I feel it...the rumble in the pit of my stomach. 

It occurs to me that I haven't eaten all day, with the exception of half a donut and some coffee. I took the black tumbler out of my bag and inhaled, strong! This on an empty stomach probably wouldn't be the best idea. Ugh! Food! Now! Where? Where? Hot dog stand? The guy manning it has green gloves. Somehow I don't think it's a fashion statement. Where the hell am I gonna....MickeyDs. Why not. It's fast, it's food (sort of). 

I enter McDonald's which has apparently become pizza planet with none of the charm. Order kiosks, one dimensional characters, lighting that could land a 747, what did I used to love about this place again? A kid ran by pulling a cheap piece of plastic out of a happy meal box. Sigh. If only happiness still came out of a box. Oh wait, now it comes out of a bottle, or, more to the point, a black thermos. Now, on to the 4 train...

The Nerve of Some People's Parents!

The commute was a nightmare. From W.35th street to Bedford Park at a maddening pace. Then on to Whisky House, for my Aunt Colleen's retirement party....If only I could get out of the friggin Bronx! Seriously, it took 20 mins to get from Bedford Park to Woodlawn. Two stops. 20 mins. Also, I hadn't eaten all day so when I got there I wanted two things; food and a drink. Not necessarily in that order. No, wait. Exactly in that order. However, the first person I see when I walk through the door is my Aunt Brenda who exclaims "Happy birthday! You NEED a drink!" So, I got a drink and I was going to order food but my mother insisted that everyone was getting ready to leave so I was better off eating at home. Sound advice. After all, the festivities started at 4:30 and here it was 7 or so. So I sat there, took a few pictures, and waited to go home so I could eat. And sat. And sat. And sat. My aunt suggested I order food. Twice. But my mom kept insisting that we were leaving, and we did. I went home and ate boiled noodles w\garlic & butter (an awesome meal, don't get me wrong), assured that the party was over.

Well, it wasn't over. Apparently some people stayed. My sister. Some cousins. And my Aunt Brenda. They had fun. Lotsa fun. And alcohol. And FOOD. Good food. Wings and shit. I LOVE wings! Apparently they played jenga. They made a 32 block (or whatever) tower! 

So. Fun and games. Literally. And where was I? At home. Watching the news (because my mom won't turn it off).

Honestly, the nerve of some people's parents.