My Two Year Anniversary

Happy Anniversary to Me.

Incredible.

One Really Un-P.C. Conversation

S: “So I walk into the building and I see P sitting in the elevator and I say ‘Hey P! What’s goin’ on man? Why’re you sittin’ in the elevator?’

He peeks around and says ‘I’m stuuuck. Di elivaaator will nut crooowse…I’ve beeeen traaaayeeng but eet will nut crooowse…’”

M: “What are you doing?”
S: “What?”
M: “What is that? Is that an accent? Why are you talking funny?”
S: “No. I’m just imitating him.”
M: “Where’s he from?”
S: “Nowhere. He’s just slow.”
M: “Don’t do that again. It sounds more weird ethnic. Pakistan meets Japan meets French Canada. Don’t do it again.”
S: “Ok, well. He’s more elaaastic than slow, really. His words come out long.”
M: “ We’re going to hell. You first, though.”

Just. Wow.

This isn't a joke, but rather a real video from The Hasselhoff.

Hey. Did you know that Coca Cola owns Fruitopia? I just finished drinking my Blueberry Watermelon Wisdom when I discovered Coca Cola written all over the seal. I have a short attention span. I like pink.

Climbing (there’s always a first time…)

It’s become apparent that some of you actually pay attention. I’ve received several (14 at last count) emails from people asking me to write up both events I mentioned in my Don’t Do It Alone entry.

It’s nice to know you enjoy laughing at me.

What follows is a brief recount of The 1st Time I Indoor Climbed.

Here’s the proper way to climb up the wall: Flat against the wall, much like a leech, with legs out at a 90 degree angle from your body. Become one with the wall and use your legs to push up and your arms merely to locate and hold on to the strategic power spots. Then all you need to do is scoot on up the wall (the wall is your friend!). It’s so easy.

Here’s how I climbed that first time: Ass out & panicked. I used my arms to pull myself up, my toes – ok, my feet - weren’t on the wall (but my locked knees and pale face were pressed firmly on to, hurrah!) & feeling really uncomfortable in the external made-of-plastic diaper other people call a harness. My feet hurt and I discovered I was scared of heights. I kept having visions of falling to my death. On to the big sponges below. And that was all in the first three feet of the climb.

The proper way to come down the wall: When you’ve reached the top and your spotter is ready, simply lean back and assume the position of sitting in a seat. As your partner lets the rope ‘out’ you must descend by slowly pushing yourself (bouncing gently) off the wall.

How I “descended”: Much like the way I went up the wall. The descent is supposed to be smooth, but for some reason it wasn’t. This is because I didn’t assume The Seated Position and instead chose to assume The Starched Starfish Position thus forcing my spotter to bring me down as though I were on a fishing rod. I’m creative that way. I bumped the wall on my way down. With my face.

How to bring other people down the wall: Slowly.

And for this girl: Slowly? NO WAY! I just drop ‘em. Who needs rope, anyway? (& last I checked, “slowly” wasn’t spelled “f.u.n.”)

And…because am such a professional, I argued with the guy at the counter. I was convinced that the reason I couldn’t climb wasn’t because I was a wanker but because he gave me the wrong shoes. I said “they’re too small” and kept repeating it, like I was some kind of deaf person every time he said “they have to be small so that you can grip the wall with your toes”.

Mm. There’s so much humour in the life of a spaz.

Gerry Butler vs Bob

My friend Sim Sim has dropped in and asked me a question re the measure of female fantasy. That he would think I can provide an answer to female anything flatters me. And I don’t mean that in The Crying Game sense, but rather in the ‘no one should take anything I say seriously’ sense.

Anyway. In the comments section of Meet Tyler Durden, Sami asked: "I got a question for you, well maybe something for all women in general. I find, in my experience, that most women refer to fictional characters, movies and books, when describing their dream boys, why is that?

It is rarely that names out of reality are referred to when talking about their tall, dark and handsome. Is it the fantasy factor again? Or is it more the packages on TV and the movies are sexier than reality? "

Again, please understand that my response is solely my own > I would love it if you all weighed in and provided your own perspectives on this issue.

(1) Why do women refer to fictional characters when describing their dream boy?
(a) The short personal answer is: When talking to a general audience it's much easier to tap into the Tyler Durden than it is to one of the two men I know personally. If I were to have written about either of the two men I reference, the reality is that no one on this blog knows them. They may have a general idea of one of them...but not on a personal level. And so, I chose to instead discuss a character in popular culture and to whom others may recognise / understand / relate.

(b) The more deep-rooted answer is: The reason I’m using the Tyler Durden character to describe one facet of my ideal mate is because I’m still single. I am a foolishly hopeless romantic and have deluded myself into believing that once I am firmly entrenched in a relationship, I will look at my significant other and think him my ideal. Always. And forever.

At that point, my writing would be along the lines of “…and my gorgeous alpha male husband…” or “H.O.T. = my husband” or “…my husband can kick your husband’s ass. Nya! Nya!” You get the point…

The bottom line is I’ve still not found what I’m looking for (thanks Bono!). In my mind’s eye, I have the measure of the man I want to hand myself over to. Referencing a character from a book or a movie provides some sense of tangibility.

When married, I will still reference general characters when speaking to an audience of people who know nothing about my partner; but in my head and heart, he is it. If he’s not, then I’ll walk. Actually, I just won’t get involved to begin with…

Clear as mud? Now, let’s get to the heart of the question…

(2) ...is film / the fantasy sexier than reality?

First, it’s critical we define fantasy because I believe there is a chasm between how men and women define this term. Men and women speak different languages and think in different ways. I think the trick is to bridge that gap without judging one another (or perceiving it as a threat to the femininity / masculinity of each another).

I’ve had this discussion with my male friends and asked “…do you fantasize?” The most honest answer I received was “Nah. We just masturbate. And besides. Why fixate on something that’s not real. If I can’t do it, I don’t want to think about it.”

Most of the women I know both believe and give in to the indulgence of fantasy. We define fantasy as an extension of our own reality. It’s our lives on steroids, magic mushrooms, heroin and cocaine. In fantasy, there is no disease, vice or regulation to possibility.

Is this because men and women are hardwired differently (nature)? Is it because men have been taught that nothing is beyond their reach, while societal constraints are placed on women (nurture)? I don’t know…but there’s probably some study out there that discusses this, just like there’s men out there who imagine the impossible, for the sheer pleasure of imagination.

Also, it is important to note that ‘fantasy’ is not just about the potential sexuality in any imagined situation, but rather the heightened super-human perfection of the self. And so ‘fantasy’ means being the world’s best writer, funniest comedienne, prettiest girl, the fourth member of The Power Puff Girls, kindest soul, fastest runner, sharpest strategist, strongest opponent, most vulnerable female, Oscar winning actress, rock-your-world girlfriend, prettiest crier, most nurturing mum, bestest friend in the whole wide world, able to leap over buildings, etc.

Not to mention the different layers of fantasy: (1) Fantasy With Potential (e.g. I want to walk on the moon); and, (2) Fantasy Without Potential (e.g. I want to leap over tall buildings).

But the original question posed fixates on the more illicit part of fantasy, and it is on that subject that I will offer my $0.02.

So my answer to your question is…
Yes: Film & fantasy are sexier than reality. Hence why we call it 'fantasy'.

Tyler Durden was hyper reality. His testosterone-driven character was slammed into two hours of testosterone-shot film. Tyler’s never bought me flowers. Or called me. Or asked me out to dinner. Because Tyler’s not real.

He is a figment of someone’s imagination, but for short moments in time, he becomes a part of my life and on to which I project what I want.

Note: I’m not fantasizing about Brad Pitt, the man, but rather Tyler Durden, the embodiment of certain characteristics.

But sometimes, there is fantasy around a certain actor / actress (which is: Fantasy Without Potential).

Let’s return to Gerry Butler and his leather speedo. Before meeting Gerry Butler, I thought he was a fox. I based that solely on my perception of what his PR people allowed him to show his audience. After I met him, I confirmed that he was a fox. But now that the restraining order has been issued, I’ll never really know.

Wait. What?

Sorry. Erm. Back to my point…
You lose yourself in fantasy when you’re bored and when there’s nothing in reality that can hold your attention or peak your interest. But that shouldn’t be perceived as a threat to the masculinity of real guys.

Meaning (& again I speak for myself here): While allowing ourselves the room for fantasy, that does not take away from the magic of a man in reality. Ergo, if I am sitting around thinking about Gerry Butler, and the man of my dreams asks me out for coffee out of the blue…Gerry Butler’s gone, baby. He’s history. Unless, of course, Gerry Butler’s the one asking me out for coffee (don’t laugh! ‘Tis a distinct possibility!).

What I’m getting at is that there’s nothing wrong with fantasy, so long as one understands it is just that. I’ll go so far as to say that Fantasy With Potential is an excellent thing and can serve as a driving force for people. But Fantasy Without Potential can be very damaging when the individual fantasizing confuses reality with fantasy and announces to his wife that he’s ”flying out to Tokyo where Angelina Jolie’s shooting a movie. I want to give it a chance because I think there’s a real possibility of us working out.”

And after years of marriage…Fantasy Without Potential will be inevitable. Chances are not in the first few years when the two are still gaga over one another and not even Gerry Butler in a leather speedo can rip your thoughts away from your man, but definitely later…just take a peek at all of the message boards about male celebrities out there. I would guess that most of the dedicated and heavy posters are either really young or have been married for years…

Better Gerry Butler (Fantasy Without Potential) than Bob from the office (Fantasy With Potential).

Can a couple of 37 years avoid this? Maybe...and I'll blog about that in about 40 years from now (I promise!).

Aside: Find it difficult to call him "Gerry", and must reference him as Gerry Butler...
...I hope that answers your questions.

Meet Tyler Durden

Y’all remember Shawn? He’s been MIA for some time because he’s finishing his screenplay (did you know that he writes scripts with the likes of the Shrek team...We have a regular celebrity cruising this place). Shawn’s been fixating on his work and I do appreciate that he still comes here and reads…

In an email he sent me this morning, he wrote: PS -- I do, however, have one question: When a woman lists "protection" as a prime attraction attribute she looks for in a man, what the heck does that mean? Protection from what? Wind? Rain? Roving packs of dingos? Great White sharks? Bonks on the head? Do women really feel so unsafe they prize a bodyguard above all else?

…so am going to answer the above as today’s blog entry…

And for the record, everything I am about to write is about me and should not serve as a generalisation re women. It is merely my personal perspective on how I relate to men and the kind of man I want in my life. Other women can speak for themselves…

It’s not that I feel unsafe (at least not here in North America where I don’t have to worry about rape as genocide and my man murdered due to his chosen religion) or actually need protection. It’s more that I want to make certain the man I’m with would – should the occasion arise – be capable of protecting me (most notably: physically).

This doesn’t mean I can’t protect myself, but it does mean that I believe he would afford better physical protection (perhaps even better social protection, but that is an extremely different dynamic & conversation which I can’t cover right now). Ultimately, I don’t want to throw down with anyone except the punching bag in the gym…but I like me a fearless, fierce & aggressive man.

In return, there are things which he could find inside himself (to a degree), but are better received from me. For me equality does not mean ‘sameness’, but rather, recognition that the differences inherent in both must be equally valued and revered. Within this discussion is a greater feminist argument to be made and for which I don’t have the patience this morning (and for the record, I don’t believe that a woman’s ability to bare her breasts on Girls Gone Wild is a measure of a progressive feminist movement. That measure comes in the form of: Women in office, the right to equal pay & education, etc.) .

The best way to explain this is to reference two of my favourite movies, the one I consider the quintessential chick flick: Fight Club, and Gladiator. The former rips in to the whole notion that men live in gyms and sculpt their bodies for the aesthetic (read: Mr. Universe) rather than out of necessity (read: war & hunting). In the later, Russell’s character embodies all of the characteristics I look for in a man (especially the short skirt).

But we don’t live in the age of Maximus, and so I find that I lean toward the aggression of Tyler (who > had he lived in the time of Maximus, would have been a less romantic version of…).

Tyler Durden is the anti-Metrosexual. I thought I used to dig the Metrosexual, until I was placed in some situations where the Metrosexual turned into the Superpansy. The Tyler Durdens of this world are primal and aggressive and they bleed and they don’t manicure their god damn nails. When faced with challenge and fear, they’re anything but scared…which, I think, is a rare quality in 2006.

As an aside and beyond the above, let me get to the nitty gritty of Tyler Durden. As basic instinct dictates, Tyler seems to possess both incarnations that meet my off-the-top-of-my-head needs of swaggering rightfully-cocky sex-bomb:



& raging animal:



(& remember: I think Brad Pitt’s kind’a ugly.) On a personal note, I’ve only ever met two men who fit the above profile(s). They are the archetypical alpha males and always, there is an aggression that sits right beneath the surface and in to which they could tap (and both have) should they need to.

Many women like the soft-spoken drunken and tortured poet (someone I got over when I was 22). I prefer the guy that’s spitting blood and with knuckles ripped…defying and challenging anything that stands between him & what he wants. (& I don't mean this in the Bushian way...but rather, with principles that match my own. And if I'm what's on the other side of that challenge and he's spitting blood in order to get to me, my heart's already racing and I'm already short of breath...)

Wow. I probably have a lot of daddy issues.

Honourary Mention

The Manolo

Don't Do It Alone

This a.m. I was wandering the streets of this great City alone on my way to work. I thought of the following two particularly funny situations: (1) the first time I went indoor climbing; &, (2) the time I fell while crossing the street.

Unlike regular folks, I have a somewhat vivid imagination and so what may have been a normal memory to someone else became hyper-imagined / in Technicolor to me. This morning. While I was alone.

Did I mention I was alone?

This is critical because I started to laugh. Alone. And although it started off as a giggle, it turned into an all-out guffaw over which I had no control (so bad was it that I almost drooled), while I was alone and with no one to whom I could turn and say “picture it”.

So, my small recommendation for this morning is: Don’t think ‘funny’ while alone and in public. (Unless you possess enough self-control to not laugh out loud.) Otherwise, and as I quickly discovered this morning, people will think you’re a mild handicap. And I don’t define that in the Webster’s Dictionary sort of ‘handicap’, but rather, in the ‘she’s laughing alone and should be pitied, don’t stand so close to her, maybe just throw some money at her oh my god, is she drooling?’ handicap.

Defining Attraction (what's yours?)

Over brunch this morning, we (some of the girls) had a charged conversation about what makes a man attractive to us. A couple of days back, I sent this article out to my friends and it served as the focus.

Take a moment to read it and come back when you're done.

We're waiting.

The conversation went a little something like (and I won't tell you which one I am):
"I read that article you sent"
"Yeah me too actually!"
"Which one?"
"The one about proof that there's love at first sight"
"Oh GAWD that one? That's such bullshit"
"Do you think they're still serving green beer?"
"It's 10 a.m.!"
"Yeah. I know. I don't want to order it! I'm just curious..."
"Why do you think the article's bullshit?"
"I don't know if it's bullshit. I think there's a lot of truth to it. Oh wow look at that girl's jacket. That's so cool but she must be freezing. Uhm. What? Oh. Yeah. That, uhm, like, it's so true. Men are more likely to fall in love at first sight, anyway. More than women, actually. Yeah, she's got to be cold"
"See that's it. That's exactly the reason it's bullshit. They're trying to tell you that one of the BIGGEST decisions you make in your life is totally based on your visual senses. Worse still that HE'LL make that decision based on how hot you are. And that means that if you're not attractive, you can kiss a rleationship goodbye! No more. And it's even worse with what you're saying, because you're totally buying into the whole 'beauty myth'"
"I hated that book. If you're pretty, use it. If you're not...whatever"
"I thought the book had some merit"
"It's a book? I thought it was a magazine. That would make a great title for a magazine to"
"To what?"
"Huh?"
"You said "...title for a magazine to..." and not "...title for a magazine too..."
"Oh. I think that's just Maha's typo"
"Oh, ok"
"So, like, where were we?"
"The beauty myth?"
"Look. It was neat and something I'd always thought may just be true, but other people just chalked me up to be a total dreamer, so I welcomed the piece"
"I can't BELIEVE you think it's true"
"I think it's true too"
"Wow. That's crazy"
"Have you watched Falcon Beach?"
"Isn't that a Canadian show? It probably sucks"

Ultimately, the decision was made that although true love may not be had at first sight, true lust most definitely would. As for what attracts a woman to a man this was sort of the general consensus (& in this order):

.1. Protection.
.2. Principled / strength of conviction.
.3. Confidence.
.4. Wit.
.5. Face / body.

As for the men at the table, their top five 'what attracts a man to a woman' were quite different:

.1. A nice smile.
.2. Body.
.3. Sense of humour.
.4. Chaste / virtuous ("Not a ho" as it was so eloquently put).
.5. Brains.

Actual Conversations Had On St. Patty’s Day

.1. “How long is the wait?”
“90 minutes”
…and 3 hours later…

.2. Maha: “K. Tash. I really really wanted to stay for the night, but I actually can no longer feel my feet or my hands. And. I’m having trouble speaking because my face is frozen. I can’t even focus properly because there’s something wrong with my eyeballs.”

.3. T: “Can you pull my boot off? I can’t close my hands. I’m too cold.”
Maha: Not really, because I’ve lost all feeling in the mobile parts of my body.”

.4. Random guy in line: “We should start a bonfire.”
Random guy in line’s friend: “With what?”
T: “Where are those hot chocolate paper cups?”

.5. Random guy in line: “That woman’s smiling at me.”
“She thinks you’re checking her out.”
“Yeah?”
“Woah. Now she thinks you’re smiling at her. Poor thing has no idea we’re actually laughing at her. Wave. Be nice…and. Just. Wave.”

.6. Maha to Random guy in line: “Sorry. I’m not trying to cuddle with you, I’m just really cold.”

.7. Maha to T: “When you ask me to stand behind you, and I do…please refrain from throwing your head back while you laugh.”

.8. T: “Can you take a picture of me with that Asian guy?”
Maha: “But we don’t know him.”
T: “That’s ok. Can you?”
Maha: “Erm. Sure. Just go stand next to him and be inconspicuous.”

And here's her definition of incognito (a modern day Mata Hari):


.9. Maha: “I’m 31.”
Boy: “What?”
Maha: “I’m 31.”
Boy: “Oh my god.”
Maha: “That’s a strange thing to say.”
Boy: “Wow.”
Maha: “That’s not much better.”
Boy: “…”
Maha: “What are you? Like, ten?”
Boy: “…”

He stared at me for a couple of more minutes before he finally said “You’re so hot. For a 31 year old...”, and to which I responded: “You have to leave. Right. Now.”

.10. As I was approaching the washroom, I was cut off by a tall man who stood before me and proceeded to perform “the jig” (e.g. With both hands splayed forward, palms facing me, mouth hung open, eyes wide, he jumped from foot to foot, bringing his knees up relatively high to the beat of the music).
Maha: “Waaaooow.”
Jigger, who ceased jigging: “I’m sorry. I actually don’t know why I just did that.”
Jigeer’s friend: “What the fuck was that?”
Jigger: “Oh my god. I don’t know. I’m so sorry. Please. Uhm. Go ahead. You need to get to the washroom?”
Maha: “Yeah, I do. That was some dance.”
Jigger: “I’m a regular leprechaun. See?”

And he held up a paper leprechaun and started making it jig. The look on my face must have said it all, because he put the leprechaun down and said: “I’m not even Irish. You’re really pretty. Are you Irish? You don’t look Irish. You’re really pretty.”

I was speechless. Jigger’s friend grabbed him and said “Dude. We gotta go.” Before turning to me and saying: “I’m really sorry.”

It was one of the strangest nights out…

A Bisexual & A Pedophile In An Irish Bar

.1. In preparation for St. Patrick’s Day celebration, have been listening to The Latino Bisexual.

Some call him Ricky Martin.

The fast tracks on his new CD (released Oct ’05) Life are bum-shaking awesome. I encourage you to dl ”I Am”; it’s one of the best & most mindless songs I’ve heard in a long time.

The Latino Bisexual was the first celebrity I had a crunch on. I was 9 and he was 12 (he was so old) and I didn’t understand Spanish but I understood “pretty”, and he was just that. With his soft feathered hair and big puppy dog eyes, he reminded me of my stuffed animals and so I was under direct obligation to crunch on him.

If only innocence remained as such…

.2. But with age comes attraction to foxes like Gerry Butler:



Who recently finished shooting 300 (in Montreal) where he wears a leather Speedo for the duration of the film. In his leather Speedo, Gerry Butler looks like this:



& like this:



Which is fine…but personally, I prefer it when Gerry Butler does the robot (& as this photo clearly illustrates, he does so well).

.3. Yesterday, I purchased a t-shirt that reads: Nerds need love too. Now I just need a hoodie with D.O.R.K. emblazoned on the back. If anyone finds one, please let me know.

.4. T has taken the day off work today and is heading out to the Heart & Crown at 1 p.m. to begin St. Patrick’s Day celebration. I’ll be joining her closer to 5 once I leave the office. Am feeling quite festive today and so decided to wear my green Care Bears t-shirt with a shamrock toting Care Bear and Lucky written on it.

I’ve not bothered with an actual St. Patrick’s Day celebration for the last few years; the closest I came was at the Montreal parade three years back, when I was accosted by a drunken Irish guy who wouldn’t let me walk away until I agreed to wear a headband that had two huge sparkly green shamrocks springing from it. They were heavy and every time I moved, it felt as though my entire head was bouncing.

I eventually forgot that I was wearing it and so kept it on for hours.

This year should bring interesting stories, memories & photos. Shall post whatever happens later tonight (I expect to be home relatively early as the girls are starting at 1 and most likely close to finishing by the time I arrive. Chances are, I’ll be stuffing them in to a cab by 7 or 8).

.4. Am uncertain as to how I forgot, but one of the most important memories from Denver is The Jesus. The Jesus who said: “…I’ll pull the fucking trigger 'til it goes "click"”, which is one of the funniest and most ridiculous lines in the history of film.



I was laying down when I heard it and laughed so hard that I almost choked.

Check this out! It’s just. Wow. WOW.

I wonder if they’ll let me join…I could work a purple body suit & a hairnet. But my body suit will read: “Mohammed”. And then I’ll get killed. Because it’s in Texas. Where they don’t like Islamics.

I’m goin’ to hell. But at least I’ll have a purple body suit.

22 Memories From Denver

So a wee bit about my trip to Denver, in point form so as to facilitate quick and easy retrieval of nonsense. But first, here are the three gorgeous men I got to hang out with all week (From left: Major, Rock, me, Homer):

.

This is a clearer photo of Major (he’s the hottie on the left). On the right is none other than Guy Smiley (I knew he was real!):

.

I’ll post a bigger one of Homer once his hair takes a nap.

Here are the most memorable moments from the trip (and it goes without saying: the simple fact of the matter is that I loved being swaddled by my family, and so in reality, every moment was memorable):

.1. Learning how to properly carry a kitty (& then cuddling with it). Quickly noting that it’s not a good idea to kiss said kitty while am wearing lip-gloss.

.2. Staring at water immersed snail eggs for so long that I almost hurled.

.3. Listening to my cousin Homer tell us he wants to move to a ranch (has no one informed him that he’s an Arab?).

.4. Listening to my cousin Homer argue. About everything and anything under the sun and over his hair. (I love you, baby.)

.5. Trying to purchase these particular stay-ups in the U.S. of A.



I hear that stay-ups are the devil’s playground and so perhaps this is why one won’t find them easily in the bible thumping areas. Everywhere I went, they only had regular hose (the kind that you can pull up to your chin, for fun. But I've never done that. Cus. That would be weird.) and those hose (heh) make me claustrophobic and wanting to freak out. And it was cold. But I went bare legged. But...it was really cold.

.6. Trying to purchase stamps in the U.S. of A. (watch the sales people twitch).

“Stamps to some place outside of America?” That’s what you use to send mail to Terrorists. That means “No, sorry we don’t have any stamps except ones for inside of This Great Country Of Ours. Oh Say Can You See The Brown Dude in Aisle Three…”

.7. The realization that my family’s single-handedly supporting the war on Iraq. (Because they own five SUVs). I too supported the war while there, because I ogled each one of the SUVs.

.8. Trying not to hyperventilate while clawing at the side of a cliff with Homer on one side and Major on the other; both telling me I was going to be “just fine even if you fall the 15 feet. You know? You may have a better chance if you just run down the cliff.”

Isn't it sweet that my cousins think I'm Gumbi?

.9. Watching women react to my cousins Major & Rock. YIKES! I knew they were hot. I mean, I always knew they were gorgeous young alpha males, but I never actually encountered the salivating female populace that springs open at the sheer smile of either of these men.

.10. People still thinking that cocaine is cool. They’re easy to pick out in a crowd (just look for the ones with an L sign plastered to their forehead). Try having a conversation with them; They’re your general donkeys.

.11. Watching N.E.R.D.’s unrated “Lapdance” video in a bar filled with nasty men.

.12. Partying like it’s 1999. Literally. Major & Rock took me out on both Friday and Saturday night and I was transported back to university. On one hand, I can count the number of times I've been to a "disco" (thanks mom!) in the last 8 years (bachelorette parties & one birthday party). At none of these, did I dance. On Saturday night, I couldn't stop dancing. And not even on the dance floor. Just in this random spot. I love being a nerd.

.13. “Dancing” with Major. I still don’t know what that was. (I love you too, baby.)

.14. Discovering I have a porno face. Unlike Gerry’s porno mouth, I have a face that was caught on camera, by accident. I was blowing a kiss to Homer; there’s a delay on my camera >> and the camera caught me post kiss, pre closed mouth. I should walk around with that expression on my face >> maybe then I’ll get a date.

No. You won’t see the photo but I do have it. I couldn’t bring myself to delete it because apparently, she’s a real girl. Lucky is the man…

Just kidding, mom! (That’s only in case she ever finds this blog’s url.)

.15. Waiting (& crying) at home for Prada, Rock’s kitty-cat. I accidentally let her out (thought the door was closed, but it wasn’t) and waited with baited breath for approximately three hours until she came home. I thought the coyotes ate her.

.16. Rock’s Saturday night monologue(s). (And loving you makes three, baby.)

.17. Failing miserably while Ricky Garcia was attempting to teach me the Meringue. He doesn’t give up easily, but I knew he’d thrown in the towel when he offered “You’re a beautiful girl. You can dance whatever and it’ll still be cool.”

At first, I thought this was a compliment, but have since wondered: do I spaz out while dancing? Does being pretty cover the tragedy of my dance moves?

Shall videotape myself and get back to you on this. Am now completely freaked out am one of the women who thinks she’s got rhythm but is just a true sorrow to watch.

.18. Did you know that there are bullets that can be shot through 6 feet of solid steel and still remain on course for 2 miles post exit wound? Well. If you didn’t know that, and you are someday seated across from Homer, you’re best to know “not to argue with [him] ‘cus you’ll just lose. Dude.”

.19. Learning that Zenga’s is probably never a viable option.

.20. Going for a ‘scenic drive’ with Major where ‘scenic’ was half an hour, and ‘drive’ was an hour and a half. I was dizzy & thank God we have senses of humor.

.21. Staring at Homer’s hair as he walks. It’s some kind of wonder, dude.

.22. Not requiring sleep.

"Hiking" in Denver

These photos represent only one part of the hike. My cousin laid down at the edge of the cliff and hung off the side in order to take them. The best way to understand the steepness of it is to pretend you�re doing the same.





This is inside one small cave we found.


Story to follow...

Greetings from Denver

Am in Denver and currently enjoying my morning coffee out on my family’s patio. Arrived on Friday (but with some slight trouble > something I promise to blog about soon enough) and have been enjoying the sunlight and the +20 degree weather every day so far.

I have three psychotic cousins here (whose photos I will post soon), two of whom took me on a ‘hike’ on Saturday. What they didn’t tell me is that we would be doing the equivalent of off-roading, but on our feet. All too often, this was done on our knees, on our asses and on our stomachs. Naturally, we had to throw in a whole lotta free climbing. My knees are all bruised, my legs have gashes in them, all of my nails broke off (tore off is probably more accurate) and I feel great.

I won’t be blogging over the next few days (don’t commit suicide), but I will be thinking about you.