Indifference: Nature or Nurture?

I think I’ll have to go with nature on this one.

I recently came across this picture of me as a four year-old and I had to laugh a little because I still have this look on my face. I realize now that I can’t blame my bored and indifferent look on having my hopes and dreams assassinated one-by-one because, apparently, this look has been there all along.

Way back then, I remember looking like this every time Big Bird had a scene on Seasame Street. Even as a four year-old I noticed he seemed to be over-compensating for his homosexuality by being so do-goody and happy. And I barely tolerated Snuffleupagus. What a waste of space. The adults on the show supposedly “couldn’t see him.” Every time Maria or Mr. Hooper couldn’t see him, I’d sigh and think to myself Christ on a cross. He’s right there, m*therf*ckers. I also noticed that Snuffleupagus didn’t have ears. Looking back, I understand that he probably didn’t want to listen to Big Bird drone on and on. I halfway blame The Count for my mathematical inadequacies. What was the deal with ONE!! uhh TWO!! uhh-uhh THREE!!! uhh-uhh-uhh. Do know how long it took me just to count to 10 like that? I’ll give The Count credit though - at least he could turn himself into a bat and fly outta that tired ass scene.

It should really be no surprise that Oscar the Grouch was my favorite. Sure, he was a little on the passive-aggressive side, but he was consistently surly and told it like it was. I appreciated that. I really wanted to get away from my little brother and my macrame belt (see picture) and hang out with Oscar in his trash can. I’m sure it was pre-Goth in there.

Here I am 30 years later. I have this same look on my face even as I type this entry. I look like this when I am in meetings, when listening to cubicle neighbors talk about their kids, and when I see words like regime in blogs. The list goes on. Lady Friend might even say I also have this look in the sack, but that’s okay because she has the same look too. It’s all about finding that precarious balance, people. Don’t let the look fool you though - I’m always smiling on the inside. You’ll just have to visit me inside my trashcan if you want to find out for yourself.

In closing, I’d like to leave you with a quote:

Have a rotten day.
~ O. Grouch

Happy Ending Without the Massage

Sweet JAY-sus, Mary, and Joseph, the POH-lice recovered Lady Friend’s car!! LF got the call around noon today from the lady cop who took the stolen vehicle report on Friday. The punk asses who boosted her car left it in a parking lot of an industrial park in Dundalk. An alert security guard at the industrial park actually called the police yesterday because the car had a ripped out ignition and had been sitting there all weekend. Since the car was stolen in Baltimore City and left in Baltimore County, there was a bit of a communication lag between agencies in letting LF know that they had found her car, but still…to get this kind of good news just 72 hours later is simply f*cking awesome.

The county officer who finger-printed and processed LF’s car said it’s not trashed and seems to be in good shape, aside from the obvious door and ignition damage. Of course everything inside the car was stolen, but there wasn’t anything in there that can’t be replaced. The cop told LF that when cars are stolen for parts they usually stashed for a few days just in case they are equipped with LoJack. If the car is still there after a few days, the car thieves come back and take it to a chop shop.

Over the weekend, we constantly wondered where the hell her car could be. Was it in pieces? Was it trashed beyond repair? Was it involved in any high-speed chases along I-95? I asked LF if it was possible that her Jetta got called up to active duty and was waiting for her in Iraq. That maybe she could do her security sweeps in VW style rather than ride around in a tired old Humvee. LF replied, “Yeah and with my luck you know my car is in Fallujah.”

So now the car is on its way (via tow) to the VW dealership. Thank you all for your thoughts and hope they find her car energy. Damn, yall are good. I also want to thank Durban Bud, my favorite man-loving blogger who always makes me giggle like a gay little school girl with a boy blog crush. If you haven’t checked him out already, you all should be ashamed of yourselves.

Thank you again. You guys are the best cyber friends a surly girl could have!

A Gorey Saturday

High stress + lack of adequate sleep + working on a Saturday due to an unreasonable project deadline = Me feeling like the Beastly Baby today.
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from The Beastly Baby by Edward Gorey

A Craptastic Day Begins

Lady Friend had her car stolen sometime last night/early this morning. It was parked along the curb right in front of her house. It’s just gone. Nothing left but some glass on the ground. Of all the f*cking cars in Baltimore City, they took hers. If you happen to see a silver 2003 VW Jetta with a bunch of military stickers on the windshields and anyone else driving it other than a beautiful European American woman, please call the POHlice. I don’t know the tag number offhand. There’s also a big ding in the back quarter panel on the passenger side.

Anyone out there living just east of Patterson Park be warned. The cop told LF cars have been getting stolen very recently along the 3000 blocks of E. Lombard.

Anyone Know a Rain Dance

Because I’m thinking a nice, steady downpour would allow me one night’s sleep. I went to bed three hours ago and now I just got off the phone with 911 for all the same reasons as last night. The same heroin harem came back, but in greater numbers. The police eventually came and they scattered and crept back in. The police did another lap and they seem to have left (hopefully) for the night.

All this sleep dep is making me even more surly and cranky than usual. I know you’re thinking Is that even possible? Well I surprise even myself from time to time.

I almost feel bad for my cubicle neighbors. What a hot, steaming mess I’m going to be when I roll up into the cube ranch six hours from now. If one person even says to me Smile! It’s Friday! there’s a good chance I’m going to wind up on the Channel 11 noon news for all the wrong reasons.

Heroin Harem

I’m in half a nod today. As I mentioned in an earlier post, I’ve been enjoying the relative night-time quiet on the block. I shouldn’t have said anything because I think I jinxed myself. Crack Lady has been MIA recently, which is good, but the prostitutes and pimps have set up camp. I woke up at 2:15 this morning to the obligatory yelling that goes along with living in many Baltimore neighborhoods. The thing was, this yelling wouldn’t stop. So I got up out of bed and looked out the window and there were five or six hookers and a pimp. The pimp had a three-foot long piece of pipe that he was swinging wildly in the air while screaming at the hookers. I didn’t even wait to see what happened before calling 911. I called 911 and told them a man was getting ready to assault some women with a pipe. Sometimes you have to embellish a bit to get the po-po to come in under 30 minutes. Still though, it wasn’t that much of a stretch because he really did seem to be about one more SHUT UP BITCH away from getting all Ike Turner on those women.

Thankfully, Lady Friend spent the night last night so I had someone to share the excitement with, although I’m sure she’s probably wishing this morning that she had stayed at her own place. As we sat there looking out the window and waiting for the police to arrive, we watched the hookers start smoking heroin as the pimp paced back and forth with his pipe. By far the most disturbing thing of the evening was when one of the hookers stood up and revealed a very pregnant belly. It’s hard for me to really even comment on that. I mean, what else can I say? It’s 2:30 in the morning, she’s about seven months pregnant, she’s smoking heroin, and a man is standing two feet in front of her threatening to whip her ass with a pipe. I sat there and wondered Does this qualify as a good night or bad night for her? What is the scale?

Finally the police came creeping down the block and they blasted those bright spotlights on the harem. The pimp and the hookers scattered just like cockroaches do when you flick on the kitchen light. We watched them scurrying for dark hiding places. I was shocked when I saw the police actually do a couple of laps around the block with the spotlights. This seemed to do the trick because the heroin harem never came back.

So it’s 3:15 in the morning and LF and I are wide awake discussing the Whys and Hows of prostitution. We simply don’t understand the concept of pimp. I mean, he’s not doing any work. It’s not like he’s out there getting his face fucked in a minivan behind a warehouse. How does he offer protection? He’s not getting into the minivans and Volvos and riding off with suburban strangers. Yet he somehow collects on the work of others. I don’t get it. LF wondered if any women just go out there sans pimp. I was like, “What, you mean like freelancing?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“Maybe you get benefits working for a pimp and that’s why so many women do it. Maybe it’s like working for a big corporation. Do you think he offers employer matching on 401(k)s? How long until you’re fully vested?”

“What about paid maternity leave?”

“Flex schedules and holidays?”

“So do you think the freelance prostitutes get 1099s from the johns?”

“Good question. If so, do you think they are paying their taxes quarterly?”

“Maybe, but with the cost of providing your own health care, it probably ends up being a wash, don’t you think?”

“Good point.”

We still didn’t arrive at any answers. We agreed that we’re like prostitutes too in that we work our asses off for someone else’s profit. I suppose the only differences between the prostitutes and the two of us would be our work uniforms - lycra stretch pants instead of flat-front khakis - and also the use of a metal pipe as a team motivator instead of posters of mountain climbers. All things considered, I’d rank my night as a good night on the scale. Sure, things could always be better, but sweet JAY-sus they could always be worse.

A Little Morning Inspiration

Some Afternoon Inspiration

I Love Tina

No, not that kind of Tina. I mean this kind of Tina. Wow. I mean, if this energy and passion doesn’t inspire you, I really can’t help you.

I look at this clip and I realize that, in 1971, Tina was about the same age as I am now. Um, yeah. Let’s see…what have I done with my life so far? Um…I have a cubicle…and a blog. Yep. (cricket cricket cricket)

I’m watching this video and I’m thinking I’d give just about anything to move like that, in those exact shoes and in that exact dress, for just one song. Oh, and with those exact legs, of course. I don’t even need to be Tina. Shit, I’d settle for getting to be the one Ikette you really can’t see too well. Who am I kidding? I’d be happy being a maraca.

So much muscular thigh action going on here. Sweet mother. If I didn’t already have The Affliction, I’d seriously consider acquiring it. Makes a girl like me get a little dizzy.

Makes Me Feel Like a Natural Woman

I took a trip yesterday to Usha’s to get my eyebrows threaded. Ladies (and this includes drag queens & metrosexuals), this is the best thing ever! Eyebrow waxing is so 2004. I like to get my eyebrows did every couple or few months to maintain a decent arch. With waxing, my skin had a tendency to darken a bit in the spots where the wax was applied, so I stopped going because I started to look like I had two sets of eyebrows. Not so sexy.

I found out about Usha when she appeared on channel 11 news during a beauty segment. Wow. I had never heard of threading before and was quite intrigued. One day I took the drive up Harford Road to her salon and I’ve never looked back. I can’t believe she only charges $12.00! I paid nearly twice that at Zina’s in Canton. Anyway, these pictures were taken about an hour after getting threaded. If I had taken these pictures about an hour after waxing, I’d still look like Renee Zellweger:

Almost zero redness and/or irritation!

Nice, smooth, natural arch - Bollywood actress style!