Ultratart: It's Got Bite

No News Is No News

Sorry for the lack of updating recently. I've got a lot going on.

None of it is very interesting, though.

Carry on.

What I Learned At Work Today

Italy is mother-f'ing gorgeous.

Sherman Oaks is hotter than hell in July

I Am So Pleased...

...at what I just bought on eBay.

Voila:

I am so excited. I have wanted this poster FOREVER. And it is ENORMOUS.

101 in 1001 Update

Brush up on my French -- check! Or, rather, in process. I just got my "French Behind The Wheel" CD-set in the mail Monday. The only problem with it so far is that it's hard for me to practice my French whilst screaming at other drivers simultaneously. I need to work on that.

Also

In addition to feeling very serene, thanks to my new plan of just surrendering to everything and admitting I can control nothing, I have spent this entire week remembering that Harry Potter 6 is winging its way to me Saturday, and then forgetting that fact, and then remembering it again, gleefully. That makes me so happy.

...And Things Are Looking Up

I literally just got hit on by an 11 year old as I was leaving the beauty supply store.

What I Learned On My Summer Vacation

I recently realized something about myself, and it was quite freeing, actually. I realized that:

a) I don't know how to make myself like men [you know, LIKE like them] any more frequently than, like, every two years. I can not talk myself into liking people, and I just don't find people who catch my eye very often. I don't know why. That's just how it is.

b) If I do like someone, I have no idea how to get him to like me back.

c) If by some miracle, I like someone and he likes me in return, I have no idea how to get him to stick around. [I realize my use of "get" here makes me sound like I'm all at home reading The Rules, and planning manipulations and shit, when that is actually not at all the case. You know what I mean. There's really much more emotional floundering about and wondering I should call or not call or call and leave a message or just email or BLARG, even typing about that is so EXHAUSTING.]

d) If he does stick around, I have no idea how to behave in a functional relationship and not be a complete spaz.

Basically, in other words, I have realized and accepted that I know nothing about relationships at all and never have. Nothing. I have no insights at all. I can't give people advice. I can't make any kinds of "plans" to make things happen the way I want them to. Because I seriously know nothing. It's like alegbra: I can sit there and pay attention, but I might as well just read a book, because nothing is going to sink in anyway.

This is not at all depressing, nor did it stem from anything that's happened to me recently. I just realized it and it's actually quite relaxing. I feel so RELIEVED. Because I've realized that I no longer have to use all that excess psychic energy trying to figure shit out -- why X did Y or why don't I like Z or what if D thinks Q?  I'm never going to figure it out, so I might as well save my breath and just try and enjoy myself. Ignorance, after all, is bliss. I am just SURRENDERING to it.

At Least I'm Not Dating HIM

Normally, I don't post this late, but I had to write this down before I forgot it.

A man just forced me to leave a bar purely to escape him.

HSW and I were having a fine time at a local watering hole -- discussing what drug we would choose to abuse should we decide to have a downward spiral of addiction -- when we were approached by two men who were about five years older than we are. They seemed normal. Vaguely Chipster-esque, and not really my type, but fine.

They were not.

They were crazy.

In tandem, they had a conversation with us wherein they attempted to convince us that all women -- us included -- like to have their thighs massaged. When we told them we didn't, they tried to convince us that indeed we did, and we just needed more "self-confidence." Crazy 1 then started to tell us a story about how he pissed off a woman friend of his by trying to convince her that guys like to, and I quote, "mow more than blow." Which...I think, contextually, he meant they'd rather give than receive. But I spent the entire time thinking about the phrase "mow," and how I'd never heard that term, and how much I didn't want to hear it again. We were then informed that the thigh is as sexy as the neck and if I didn't want to have my thigh massaged, it was just because I was wrong. Yes. Wrong.

Then Crazy 2 asked if we were lesbians. Then he asked if we wanted to make out. With each other, not with him. Then he asked that, hypothetically, if we happened to be in a hot tub with Cindy Crawford [it's like these boys were frozen in 1990 and just defrosted last week, by the way. Crazy 1 told me I looked like Dana Delaney. Which is nice and all, but what the hell kind of timely reference is that? ], would we make out with her? What if she wanted a neck rub? Would we give her a neck rub?

Then Crazy 1 started talking about how USC is just as good as UCLA now and probably really better -- after I told him I was a hardcore Bruin. He said that Time Magazine said so. Then he asked me when I graduated. Then he asked me what my major was. Then he asked me where I grew up. Then he asked me where I went to high school. Then he asked me where I lived now. Then he asked me WHAT MY ADDRESS WAS.

I told him I wasn't going to tell him that.

Then Crazy 2 started asking HSW if she'd ever gone "skinny skiing," AKA, naked skiing, and began to try to convince her that she should. Go skiing. Naked. She told him no. He told her she should. She said she didn't want to. He thought she probably did.

Then Crazy 1, once he found out I worked on Documentary Series Taking Place Over A Month's Time, started berating me for what he claimed was an inaccurate fact included in an episode of said series, despite the fact that he never SAW said episode, and despite the fact that said episode never even covered this alleged issue. When I told him he was wrong, he told me very patronizingly that I was really very very defensive, and I shouldn't be, because he was just telling me that I was wrong about A SHOW THAT I WORKED ON AND HE'D NEVER EVEN SEEN. He really didn't think I needed to get so defensive! He was just telling me where I was wrong. Excuse me if I got a bit aggravated when the conversation then moved to my own episode, and in the course of said conversation -- during which I got in two words for every ninety of his -- I mentioned some statistics about poverty and hunger in America -- a subject I just spent THREE MONTHS studying NON-STOP, during which time I basically GREW AN ULCER because I was working so hard to make sure the episode was TOTALLY FACTUALLY ACCURATE, up to and including like NINE FACT-CHECKING SESSIONS -- and he just patronizingly blinked and said, "you don't really believe that, do you?"  You see, kids, according to him, the poor are just LAZY. That's the whole problem, don't you see? Geez, I wish SOMEONE HAD TOLD ME! If only I'd heard that before I spent THREE MONTHS SLAVING OVER A DOCUMENTARY ABOUT THE AFFECT THAT POVERTY HAS ON AMERICANS. WHICH HE HADN'T EVEN SEEN AND YET KNEW I WAS WRONG ABOUT. DESPITE THE FACT THAT, DID I MENTION, HE DIDN'T EVEN WATCH THE SHOW?

I tried to change the subject.

But no.

Because this naturally led to him telling me -- patronizingly, oh, so patronizingly -- that 80% of Palestine residents polled want to bomb the United States, and then explaining to me how polls work [you know, like Gallup polls. Despite the fact that I told him specifically and very clearly that I was familar with the concept of polling, as I am a grown-ass woman who LIVES IN THE WORLD], and then he told me that this stat proves that, and I quote, "Islam isn't a peaceful religion and anyone who thinks so is wrong."

It was around here where flames started to lick the side of my face.

When I told him that I didn't think we should equate religious fundamentalist sects with a religion as a whole -- and also that I think Palestine's relationship with the United States is kind of complicated--- he said he thought we might be on different sides of the political spectrum. I then told him I was "a flaming fucking liberal," [which, honestly, isn't even that accurate -- I consider myself a moderate Democrat, but wanted to shut him up, and thought that maybe he would try to dial it down] and this led to:

a) how hard it's been for him to be a conservative the last few years. To which I said, VERY SARCASTICALLY, "yes, it must have been tough for you guys to win the election." He didn't respond to this because he was listening to himself talk about...

b) how we need to not put money in the school system and should instead just give people vouchers for private schools and let the public schools sort themselves out without any money from the government. When I asked what would happen to the people who can't make up the difference in tuition between the voucher and private school fees and have to send their kids to these public schools that have no money...

c) he told me that "liberals are all hypocrites." I blinked, and he assured me -- patronizingly -- that he didn't just call ME a hypocrite. I said I was pretty sure he did, as I just told him that I myself was a liberal and he just called us all hypocrites. He then decided to tell me all about....

d) how he hates that Hillary Clinton. Oh, and Ted Kennedy. And also Al Gore.

e) also, that Saddam totally has weapons of massive destruction SOMEWHERE, and even if he didn't, maybe he would have eventually and everyone who's so worked up about that whole thing doesn't get it

f) and that he is totally sure that Bush has never lied about anything, and even if he did, we should just trust him because he clearly knows what he's doing. He then LITERALLY suggests that I look up "lie" in the dictionary and find a way that Bush did that, because he knows I can't do it.

g) And, while he's on the subject, he's tired of all the liberals keying his car. [I don't know for sure, but I suspect "the liberals" aren't keying his car as much as  "people" are keying it, and it's not because he's a Republican, it's because he's a BLOWHARD and frankly, his blowhardism is a bi-partisan issue.]

h) By the way, speaking of liberals, he can't believe how the "liberal media" got away with pressuring Mr Terri Shiavo (!!) into taking out his wife's feeding tube (!!!!!)

i) Also, he seriously can't believe how "all the liberals" always "want the government out of their wombs."

This is where I cracked.

There was more that I don't entirely remember, IF YOU CAN BELIEVE THAT, but that was the upshot. As soon as the words "out of their wombs" left his mouth, I turned to HSW and I said, "I'm sorry, but we need to leave now," and we took our bags and we left the bar entirely. I heard Crazy 1 telling people as we skedaddled that I just got up and left and he can't believe it and he doesn't know why I'm so upset and what's wrong with me and my question is WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU, DUDE?

I mean, believe whatever you want, seriously, because this is America and we are all free to believe whatever nutjar thought floats like a tumbleweed through our collective skulls [Exhibit A: TOM CRUISE], but why, Crazy 1 -- leaving aside how I agree with you on nothing and find your mow/blow/thigh obsession unpleasant and gross -- are you saying this to me in a bar, where --ostensibly --  you're trying to get into my pants? Because as I understand it, when single men approach single women in bars -- especially the bar I was at tonight, which is a bit of a pick-up scene -- they're usually not doing it for the exercise, they're doing it because on some level [from "eh, nothing else is going on and I'm drunk and what the hell, I might as well," to "please be the mother of my children, oh delectable goddess"], they might be interested in nailing you, now or in the future. You know it. They know it. Everyone knows it. AND ROLLING YOUR EYES AT BEING PRO-CHOICE IS NOT GOING TO ACCOMPLISH THAT WHEN THE GIRL YOU ARE CHATTING UP HAS JUST TOLD YOU THAT SHE IS A FLAMING LIBERAL. We are kind of SENSITIVE about our WOMBS RIGHT NOW. This eye-rolling is, at the very least, EXTREMELY BAD GAME-PLAYING. YOU NUTHOLE.

I kind of can't believe that I just gathered my things and stormed out of the bar in a rage. But  I knew that if I didn't leave immediately and without another word, I would have beat him about the head and neck with my hand bag. [And it was a literal rage. I was shaking with rage, almost more at the patronizing than the speechifying, although the speechifying was equally, frustratingly, ragifying, mostly because I felt like it was all so half-cocked and yet I was not allowed to explain WHY I thought it was not fully cocked and also because there is a time and a place for political discourse and/or drive-by politically-oriented insults and Saturday night at the local pick-up joint is NOT THAT PLACE and I just couldn't get over how RANDOM and ILL-ADVISED it all was, like  of all the girls in the bar to try to convince that it was okay for the government to be in her WOMB? YOU PICKED REALLY BADLY, DUDE. ABORT THAT MISSION, PUN FULLY INTENDED.] [And I really don't deal with being patronized to very well, especially when I have realized back around Mow Vs Blow that I am smarter than the patronizer.] [Plus, I have a tendency to get riled, although generally just in the comfort of my own home.] On the other hand, I'm thrilled that I managed to storm out without forgetting my purse and having to come back to fetch it.

I would give my right arm to talk to a normal boy -- any normal boy -- right now just to cleanse the palate [and I'm not talking political discussion, I'm talking, "I might go to Ikea tomorrow," or "I like cheese," or "If I were going to have a downward spiral, it would be crystal meth all the way."] but it's 2:30 in the morning.

And I am still all worked up. I need a nerve pill.

A Conversation; Or Why I Like My Boss

My New Editor: How old are you?

Me: I just turned 30.

MNE: No way! Are you married?

Me: No.

MNE: Do you have a boyfriend?

Me: No.

MNE: How come?

Me: I don't know.

MNE: Is it because you're too much of a career woman? [note: he meant this in a "too busy with work" way, rather than a "men hate sucessful women" way]

Me: I don't think so.

LATER, I TELL THE BOSS ABOUT THIS STORY. HE WAITS A BEAT AND:

The Boss: You should have said, "No, it's because I'm too much of a bitch."

I wish he had a blog, but I can't even talk him into Instant Messenger.

Apparently, it's Genetic

My mother and I were talking about Xanax [or, as I like to call it, The Pill That Lets Me Fly] on the phone earlier today for some reason, and she happened to mention that my grandmother -- who was a bit of a pill-popper, in that she took a Valium every other day or so, if she felt an attack of the vapors, or some such, coming on [my grandmother was a Southerner], or, really, even if she just felt like it for no good reason, and also in that, if she was out of Valium for some reason, she would just pop an aspirin with much the same results -- used to refer to Valium as her "nerve pill."

I am not a good enough writer to explain how much I love that phrase. I plan to adopt it immediately.

I am of the mind that the nerve pills are pretty good for you, really, seeing as my grandmother lived to be 94 and was extremely sassy for generally the entire time. I wish she was around to comment on Crazy Tom Cruise's irrational hatred for the nerve pills. I don't think she would have thought much of him.