Monthly Archives: May 2012

True Blood – My Unhealthy Obsession with the Undead

True Blood – My Unhealthy Obsession with the Undead

So, I got fantastic news this morning but it was followed by a disturbing realization.

The fantastic news came in the form of a very personal mail from iTunes letting me know that Season 4 of True Blood was now available for download.

My knees went weak and I started to perspire as I’ve been waiting a year for this day to come. I have sorely missed Sookie and her unexplainable pull on a town full of hot vampires, werewolves and shape-shifters.

This, of course, is only the beginning of the suspension of disbelief as it turns out it’s her “fairy blood” that is the big draw. That and she’s a bit freaky in the bedroom (or on the ceiling or in a graveyard).

You can keep your lame-ass grandma porn with 50 Shades of Gray and give me some supernatural sex where you run the risk of becoming undead.

I may be wrong, but I don’t believe it’s possible to have an awkward sexual moment with a vampire. Except maybe for the smell. Seems like there’s got to be some odor issues with being dead and living underground during the day. Nothing a few hundred scented candles and a heavy dose of Febreze can’t fix especially if you are a ghoul who looks like Alexander Skarsgard. Hang one of those little tree car deodorizers on it and call it good!

The reality of this is, however, that all these blood-suckers would look more like Willem Defoe than Alexander Skarsgard. Not unlike the dream of most men that lesbians all look like Selma Hayak when in reality they are a closer match to Chaz Bono.

(I realize I’m talking about the reality of vampires – the absurdity of this is not lost on me.)

Which brings me to my disturbing realization – I have some weird thing for vampires. Allow me to dip my toe in the freaky pool for a moment here.

I know there is a whole sub-culture of Goth teenagers who are super into this stuff but I do not fall into this category at all. I would never have figured myself for a real vampire lover. But, I now must question this and potentially everything I thought I knew about myself.

Clearly, Dark Shadows had a much more lasting effect on my psyche than I would like to acknowledge. It molded me in ways I don’t know nor am prepared to dive into further. Plus, I’m not sure my health benefits cover this level of psycho-therapy. I need to read that Obama-care thing….

So, in the meantime, I intend to fully embrace and give in to my no-longer-secret obsession and hope for the day vampires become real and I get me some fairy blood.

And, that is a sentence I never would have thought I would write….

An Open Letter To….

An Open Letter To….

Wherein I respond to some of our weakest in the herd.

To the people who are in such a freakin’ hurry to get off the plane:
I understand entirely the need to get the fuck off the coffin-like cylinder you’ve been sitting in for hours. I am close to screaming myself. But, if we lose the concept of the zipper, we lose our grip on civilization.

To the people who are overly concerned about the use of the word “literally”:
I literally don’t understand how you can get your skivvies in a knot over this and not lose your shit when people say irregardless. Or, pronounce the “t” in often. You are NOT British. They get away with all sorts of shit because they sound cute. I mean that. Literally.

To the people who text in movies:
I can’t imagine anyone is really that interested in what your dumb ass has to say right now that can’t wait until the credits role. You suck and so do all your friends.

To the people who pick their noses in cars:
We can see you.

To the brainiacs who ask if my twins are identical:
I appreciate your interest in my kids and your delight when you find out they are twins  as we make our way through airports, in grocery stores and restaurants. I’m sure it’s well-meaning. But, I beg of you, look up the word “identical” in a trusted dictionary. One is blond and the other is brunette. They are different sizes. These guys don’t even look related to each other.

Go, look up the word…now… I’ll wait…

To people who cross six lanes to make their exit:
Believe me, no one will care if you are late. They are starting without you.

To people who take up two parking spaces because they think their car is so precious:
How do you not see that you are inviting a good keying when you do this? Nothing screams “please key the shit out of my fantastically expensive car” like being a douchebag who takes more than his allotted space. And, there is not a luxury car in existence that will actually make your small penis bigger. Trust me on this. To my knowledge (and I Googled this) they have not found a safe, medical way to link these two things.

On the flip side, a Prius does NOT give you a vagina. However, a Volkswagen Beetle evidently does.

OK, good luck with all that.
Sincerely,
The rest of us

And On the Third Day – A Follow Up On Our Beloved Cable

And On the Third Day – A Follow Up On Our Beloved Cable

…and it was buried, and that it hath risen on the third day….

It’s a Cable-mas miracle! Despite all our efforts at simplifying our lives, some angel from Cox Communications called and took our entire bill down by half if we came back.

In the interest of full disclosure and defense of my innocence in this plot, I passed this information along to Jim. I put my most appealing, saucer-eyed look of longing on my face and he went for it. Chump!!!

I readily admit that I am a very weak person. I’m pretty sure that’s never been in question. I have no will power. I have nil power if you will.

Another act of austerity I recently embarked on was a good cleaning out of my closet. What do I need with three black cocktail dresses? Ask me the last time I went to a cocktail party. Hell, ask me the last time I took a shower in the morning or wore a shirt without coffee stains down the front while you’re at it.

I dragged two garbage bags full of clothes out to the garage to donate. The result is that we never got to the thrift store to drop them off so I slowly started to pick stuff out again. Basically, I dress in the garage now. One more step down the slippery slope of domestic ennui.

Soon I’ll be dumpster diving for dinner.

So the first couple of steps toward the Summer of Austerity had some cramping. This doesn’t mean other things aren’t on the chopping block.

Next up is the gardener. Yes, we had a gardener. DON’T JUDGE US!

Sorry Lino, we had a good run. No, don’t say a word, just walk away. I will remember our time together and think of you fondly.

Eulogy for My Beloved Cable

Eulogy for My Beloved Cable

I love TV. Not all TV. But, I happen to be one of those shallow, useless souls who believe that there is actually some really good shit on the ol’ boob tube these days.

I understand many people have much better things to do with their time like cure cancer, fix the economy, spend time with loved ones, blah, blah, blah. But all those things generally involve other people and sometimes, you just don’t want to do stuff for other people. At least I don’t.

And, just as an aside to those who have never really succumbed to the evil empire of television and pop culture: I take pleasure in making constant references you will never understand. And, I refuse to let you feel superior to me even though we both know you are and that you fill me with self-loathing. Hey, if you choose to spend time with your kids instead of Ryan Seacrest, well…..that’s just a choice you have to live with. I’m just saying, I sleep fine at night.

Jim and I recently decided that this summer would be “The Summer of Austerity” (and I will be printing team t-shirts and coffee mugs, undoubtedly making millions just to be an asshole and flip off the Summer of Austerity).

This will be an attempt to see how little money we could spend over the summer and still live to tell the tale come September. Along with this, we also decided we would go without Cable for the summer. And by “we” I mean Jim.

(Jim is now interrupting my “creative process” by proclaiming that it’s not just about money but also about living a simpler, less cluttered life. Fair enough….that golf club bag sure makes a nice little home for that mouse family, doesn’t it? You are such an animal lover!)

And so, I ask that we take a moment of silence (and by “we” I mean you), bow our heads and remember the happy times and the joy Cable has brought to my life.

Oh, Cable, with your open arms and blind acceptance of all intellectual levels from comatose to barely functional. You teach me to embrace my laziness and stupidity with no judgment asking only in return that we eat Happy Meals and take Viagra. Preferably at the same time.

You’ve given me so many hours of enjoyment and escape. You’ve kept me out of the gutter by letting me watch people who are in it.

Cable, I bid you a teary adieu. Godspeed on your quest to find true love, singers who have the whole package and are not pitchy, and to teach us just how difficult it is to be a midget chocolatier with a hoarding problem….on crack….who is pregnant…..with quadruplets.

And now, dear friends, I ask for strength and fortitude in the Summer of Austerity. I will check in from the other side when I am allowed. Assuming we don’t decide “electricity” seems a bit over-indulgent.

Seacrest out.

My Mom Can’t Sing and Other Facts

My Mom Can’t Sing and Other Facts

“An ounce of mother is worth a ton of priest”
Spanish proverb

With Mother’s Day here, I feel compelled to write about the most influential person in my life – my mother. Her name is Viola and she just turned 89. She is in the final stages of dementia but continues to smile through it all like a champ.

If you think about it, dementia has its benefits. You can see the same movie or read the same book over and over and enjoy it just as much the first time as the tenth. And my stupid jokes and stories are always hilarious and fascinating no matter how many times I repeat them. So, in short, an 89-year-old with dementia is my perfect audience.

Here are some Viola-isms and Viola-facts:

“Always leave a bathroom cleaner than you found it or you’ll never be invited back.” To my knowledge, there are much bigger reasons to not invite me back to your home than this.

She has a terrible singing voice. She sounds just like Alfalfa from Little Rascals. It’s really quite disturbing.

Uncannily, she knew the moment I lost my virginity because I abruptly stopped talking about and asking questions about sex.

“Even the strongest man on earth cannot properly squeeze the water out of a sponge with one hand.” I have no idea how to prove or disprove this theory. But, she stated it with such conviction, I have to believe she has somehow witnessed this.

She taught me that to judge people was a waste of time. You wouldn’t judge a kindergartener for not acting like an MBA student so think about what “spiritual grade” a person might be in. (I am clearly in some sort of Special Education department.)

My mom always reminded me of Edith Bunker. Seemingly a bit ditzy on the outside but solid and smarter than everyone else in the room on the inside.

She graduated with a degree in Psychology with a minor in Latin Studies the same year I graduated from high school. She could psychoanalyze you in Spanish, thereby making you feel decidedly paranoid.

She regaled me and my friends at Mom’s Weekend in college about how terrific sex is after 50. The truth of this remains to be seen.

“I’ve taught my kids to be able to eat dinner with a king.” This skill has never been tested.

So, on Mother’s Day, I thank you, Vi, for being my biggest fan, my most honest critic, and my guide through the numerous missteps of my life with unwavering love and loyalty. I will always remember these things, even if you can’t anymore.

A Word About Vampires

A Word About Vampires

When I was little, Barnabas Collins rocked my world. I would run home from Catholic school and gladly dive from the divine light of our savior, Jesus Christ, to the dark underworld of vampires.

It was my favorite half hour in the universe. Dark Shadows was this weird acid-trip of a gothic soap opera that featured the tormented Barnabas Collins, the tortured and impassioned vampire and a pioneer for the piecey bang look.  It was scary and romantic and probably the worst show on television.

There is a huge cult following to this day and I know there will be a mob of angry fanboys with torches on my front lawn any minute now….(not to overstate the obvious delusions I have that anyone outside my best friends and family actually read this blog).

But, truly, I defy you to follow the Escher-like maze of a storyline. There were actors playing multiple roles, timelines that jumped from present to past to parallel universes to living to dead and back again.

I was a 6-year-old Goth and a tip o’ the hat to my mother for supporting my addiction. I’m sure it molded my love of The Cure. Picture, if you will, Robert Smith in a Brownie uniform.

So, imagine my sunken-eyed delight when I heard that Tim Burton was making a movie of my beloved Collinwood. And, with the singular Johnny Depp as well. Be still my bloodless heart!

(I wonder if Johnny Depp just sits in front of his mirror saying “You, my man, are freakin’ amazing. Is there nothing you can’t do?” I know I would do exactly that if I were Johnny Depp. Aren’t you glad I’m not?)

Now, I haven’t seen the movie yet but I do have an innate distrust of taking my beloved 60’s and 70’s TV childhood and slapping lipstick and a push-up bra on it. We never let anything age gracefully, do we?

It certainly didn’t do the Beverly Hillbillies Movie any favors. What? You didn’t see it? Point made.

See, one of the best parts of Dark Shadows was how absurdly bad it was. I’m not sure they could really capture the art of a boom hitting an actor in the head, the craft services dude eating a donut just to the left of the grand staircase, or the fly that continually lands on Josette’s nose as she pleads with Barnabas. Even a child knew they were witnessing something terrible and brilliant all at the same time.

But, because the FLIPPIN’ AWESOME Johnny Depp is in it and the FREAKIN’ BRILLIANT Tim Burton is at the helm, I will give it a chance. They are the two-headed idiot savants of creativity so if they can’t pull it off, who can? Maybe no one. In which case, perhaps we should leave bad enough alone.