Labyrinth. But with mattresses and nothing else, really.

Whenever I flip the mattress (which is more than you'd think. I love sleeping and my back hurts), I always think of that little gnome in Labyrinth who flips the stones on Sarah's path and changes her marks. Then I try to talk like that little gnome while I flip the mattress, and then my whole day is just better.

Stop Hating on Barbra. That's why the zombies ate you first.

Larry and I (and others we love) enjoy going to something called Rifftrax.  For those of you who know what MST3K is, you know exactly what I’m talking about.  For those who don’t, your life is incomplete.  Google one of these two strange looking non-words and start living, for God’s sake. 

  

Basically, we go to a movie theater to watch a movie whilst 3 gentlemen broadcast live from Nashville making jokes at said movie’s expense.  They used to have a TV show on Sci-Fi and….you know what, you have the internet, like I said.  Go, then come back. 

Anyway, last night’s was Night of the Living Dead, which is awesome not just because it gave birth to the zombie craze, which is really just a metaphor for the epidemic of complacency and consumerism, but because it was made in the 60s and stars a black man, and at no point is the fact that he’s black pointed out or made an issue within the movie.  In fact, George Romero interviewed that this guy was a friend of his, and he hadn’t given it much thought beyond that.  Awesome.  But not the point of this particular blog.

We expect the theater to be close to full.  It usually is for Rifftrax.  I don’t hate this.  Or I do, but I can’t control it (yet) so I try not to waste energy hating it.  What I DON’T mind wasting energy hating are people who come in late.  I don’t believe for a second that this is a one-time occurrence for these individuals.  They do it all the time with a blatant disregard for the people around them.  I hate it even more when they climb over people to randomly grab a seat right next to me and have the F**KING NERVE to say, “I’m sorry.”  Are you?  ARE YOU???? (ß TIP: I have responded to these inconsiderate mongoloids with this, or I have said, “GOOD.”  Both responses are very surprising to said people and typically, they just give you the hairy eyeball and shut their stupid faces.) 

But this woman.  THIS WOMAN, YOU GUYS.  She and her man friend walk in at least 5 minutes after the show has started.  They climb over others to sit right next to me.  When she sits, she turns to me and says, “Hi.”  Now I’m the one with the surprised look on my face followed by a hairy eyeball.  I guess it was better than, “I’m sorry.”  They start talking to each other in regular voices about how they are happy to be at this show.  Like you do when you are the center of the universe.  Then it actually gets worse.  She laughs at everything.  Everything they say, she laughs.  Her laugh sounds like George McFly’s only through a blow horn.   Now, I know I can’t condemn someone for something they can’t control.  (Unless it’s, like, serial killing.)  That’s what her laugh sounds like.  Fine.  Then she starts repeating the joke.  Every single joke.  Like her man friend only understands English when she speaks it.  YES, THAT WAS THE JOKE.  WE ALL HEARD IT BECAUSE OF THE SURROUND SOUND AND ALL, BUT THANK YOU FOR REINFORCING.  I want to ask her to keep it down, but I don’t want her to think I mean her laughter.  I know she can’t help that, but explaining to her exactly why she is an asshole will just make ME the annoying woman talking through the movie.  Do you ever just meet someone and have the immediate need to murder them?  Do you wish you could “Zool” people?  You know, ask if they are a god and when they say no, electrocute them with lightning from your fingertips? Is it just me? (NOW who doesn’t even have the right to condemn serial killers, eh?)  

My wonderful husband could see me trying not to commit murder, and said we should just move, even though we would have to move to the very front.  This is wonderful of him because he prefers sitting all the way in the back corner next to the homeless guy who found $10 on the street and needed a warm place to nap.  (That last part of the sentence is just another mile marker I passed on my way to hell, which would scare me if I believed in it.)  We move down to the front row.  We can still hear her, but it’s much fainter, so she won’t be murdered.  By me, anyway. 

I got really lost in my head at that point.  I don’t laugh at every joke.  I am filled with rage that I direct at total strangers.  Do I not enjoy things as much as other people?   Was there more of a reason I hated her in particular?  Am I really the bitter hag that I joke about being?  This woman was having the best day.  I’m pretty sure she pooped a little at one point.  And she probably made a joke about what a jerk I am for moving OH, I HATE HER SO MUCH YOU GUYS SHE IS THE WORST.  I can’t stand to watch an animal be harmed in any way in a movie, even though I know it’s fake, but I can watch Freddy Krueger stalk and murder teenagers (and they’re mostly girls, but I’ll get to that part) all day long.  It brightens my spirits. 

I’ve been thinking a lot lately (more than usual, and that’s saying something) about the way women see each other.  I’ve gotten really sensitive to jokes on TV about things that are “girly.”  According to movies and TV, being “girly” means that you show emotion and enjoy things, and that is bad.  As a teenager, I was the girl who claimed to prefer hanging out with boys, “to avoid all the drama.”  It wasn’t that I didn’t have girlfriends, because I did, still do, and they are some of the greatest and strongest people I know.  Hi, ladies.  I love you.  (Hi, Mom and Sis!  You are why I’m on this tangent!)

Now when I hear girls say that, or especially grown women, it makes my ass twitch.  We are our own worst enemy.  We will go so far as to turn on each other so we are not seen as “girly” in order to impress men.  I mean, come on, why else would we act that way?  It is ingrained in us from a very young age that we need to be paired off with a man to have value, so we turn on each other without even realizing that that is what we are doing.  It is ingrained in men that if they show any vulnerability, they are acting like women, and this is bad.

I got way off topic.  I still hate this woman.  She ruined my night, not just by being obnoxious, but by making me question whether I was the problem for being so bitter.  To question whether it was easier for me to hate her because she was a woman being an asshole instead of a man.  I allowed her to get to me.  That was my fault. 

So, your assignments for today:

Women: Call a girlfriend and do something girly.  “Girly” covers a broad spectrum of activities according to the media, so it should be easy.  Try not to hate any women around you.  Girly is good.  It isn’t bad.     

Men:  Make yourself vulnerable.  Get excited about a puppy you saw on the street.  Carve a pumpkin.  Bake cookies.  Tell your best friend or your brother or your dad that you love him.  (Add, “man” if you have to.  I don’t care.)  Kiss your son.  Ooh!  Get a cat!  They are great and get a bad rap because of the whole “girly” thing!

I’m going to try to go this whole day without hating anyone, man or woman.  I work in downtown Chicago, so it’s going to be a challenge, but I can do it.

When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child...

When I was small, my parents quit smoking and took up jogging.  Not back to back.  My mom first, then Dad.

I remember my mom participated in some sort of marathon (probably 5k, really, but it seemed pretty extreme to me when I was, like, 5).   I’m from a small town, so the route went right past our house.  My dad made sure we were out on the boulevard waiting for her to pass by us.  A gaggle of people jogged by before we saw her, and my dad scooped me up so we could wave and cheer her on.  Red-faced and sweating, my mother laughed and shouted, “Anybody behind me, John?”

I don’t remember his answer, but mine was an enthusiastic and earnest, “Nope!”  

Sarcasm is learned, not inherited.

It’s a memory that springs into my thoughts so often, I’m writing it down.   

Woops, permanent damage there, just move on, I guess.

Saying that this week was a bad week for racial relations in the United States is the biggest understatement…well… of this week.  I’m not writing this to add my opinion about the Trayvon Martin/George Zimmerman trial, although I do think that talking about it is a good thing.  Growing up in the 80s and 90s, I was taught that I was supposed to be “color blind.”  I know that sentiment had good intentions, but I believe it’s a mistake to tell a child to sweep racial diversity under the rug like that.  To ignore it.  I am not color blind.   No one is, and I am wary of the ones who claim to be.   I encourage more conversation.  The more you talk about and understand what you are afraid of--and that’s what racism is, the less you are afraid of it.  0.1% of humans have escaped a bear attack by pretending the bear wasn’t there.  That is a statistic I made up just now. 

My children will have the same advantages I did.  They will be white.  It will be easier for them.  I’m not denying that.  I know what it’s like to grow up as a woman, so I’ve got that badge on my sash, but I won’t claim to understand what it’s like to grow up Black, or Latino, or Asian, or *insert all the other races I missed because I’m a jerk here.* I once witnessed my black friend get followed around a clothing store, while I was free to shoplift (and I did; I was 16, come on, so did you).  I don’t know how it feels to have to accept things like that. 

Or maybe I do, to a degree.  I know how it feels to NEED to be pretty.  How it feels to know deep down inside that my body type defines my worthiness of love.  That my big nose should be fixed before I deserved affection.  But I don’t understand what it’s like to be feared for an attribute that you were born with.  I’ve only been disrespected for it.  I realize the difference.           

In the midst of all the anger, I read maybe the most precious and encouraging thing I’ve ever read.  I read an article about children reacting to the Cheerios commercial that upset people because it features an interracial couple, with an interracial child.  One child said, “I thought Martin Luther King spoke against this and fixed this already.” 

I think that statement should serve as a reminder that this country is still a young shoplifting teenager.  The huge mistakes we made as a country really weren’t that long ago.  Our civil war ended not 150 years ago.  Louis CK says it best, “I’ve heard educated white people say, ‘slavery was 400 years ago.’ No it very wasn’t. It was 140 years ago. That’s two 70-year-old ladies living and dying back to back. That’s how recently you could buy a guy.’”

These children seemed baffled by the anger the commercial produced.  Let’s not tell them to be color blind.  Let’s tell them to try to understand it.  Let’s tell them all about the enormous mistakes our country has made.  That it’s up to us and them to make it right. 

I don’t really know where I’m going with this, but it’s my blog so shut up.  I'm not saying that this is an original thought.  I’m not even saying that I’m not racist, or even a little sexist, because that would be a stupid, pretentious thing to claim.  No one gets to stand on that soapbox.  I guess I just don’t want us to shut up about racial issues, women’s rights, marriage equality, and so on.  “Blindness” isn’t the answer.  Keep talking about it.  Be angry about it!  And then be hopeful that your children and your children’s children will be baffled that these were ever issues in the first place.    

And go eat something deep fried.  This is America.  It has perks.  You’ll feel better.  In your heart.  The metaphorical one, anyway.

http://www.ajc.com/weblogs/get-schooled/2013/jul/17/remember-cheerios-commercial-drew-so-much-criticis/

http://www.peacock-panache.com/2013/02/louis-ck-explains-historical-context-to.html

It's so shiny!

Here she is, guys:

Our new baby. We went with a 2013 Toyota Corolla. We did some research and this one should last long after we give it to our daughter (who admittedly only exists in our brains and *insert inappropriate and gross metaphor that will likely mortify our imaginary daughter here* right now). We're pretty sure she will be disappointed that the car doesn't fly or communicate with her like Knight Rider like the new cars will in the year she turns 16. Plus, she'll be all, "What's a Knight Rider?" Honestly, she's a bit of an elitist. Where did we go wrong?

Anyway, right now it's beautiful and we love it. We went from a gaping hole of no radio to all the radio!

We sort of CAN talk to it like Knight Rider! If Knight Rider could only call your mom and play music. Would have been a different show, really.

We were also able to get new phones with the rest if the insurance check. We downloaded an app that lets us see where the other one is, in relation to crimes reported and sex offenders' locations. It was here that Larry found this:

This is our stolen car. I can't get the "Circle of Life" out of my head.  This reminds me, can someone tell me how to take a screenshot on an android?

In other news, there is a large cluster of sex offenders living on our block. I think when our snooty daughter is actually born, we may have to move.

This morning was like any other.  Larry and I left the house at about 6:15 to go to work.  It was lighter out than usual.  Light enough that it was easy to see when we got to the spot where the car had been parked, it wasn’t there. 

Larry: Um. I think my car was stolen. 

Me.  Huh….

We are the proud owners of a scraped up dented white 1999 Plymouth Breeze with no air conditioning, no radio and a pathetic lack of hubcaps.  Also, I rear ended someone last year, so the hood can only be opened by a professional.  Needless to say, when we wiped the tears of laughter from our eyes, we hopped in a cab and called the insurance company.  They were so understanding and sweet and helpful that I felt guilty about all my giggling. 

It did occur to us when we got out of the cab at Larry’s place of employment that this wasn’t really funny, and a police report should be filed.  I volunteered for the job. 

As I entered the station, I realized that, although I have seen what Hollywood tells me is the inside of the police station 100s of times in the movies; in real life, I hadn’t been inside one since I was a child.  I vaguely remember being fingerprinted during a class trip.  I am assuming this was either to show pre-schoolers a good time, or to have my fingerprints on file in case I was kidnapped.  It was the 80s and kidnapping was the new cool thing to fear. 

Anyway, I began to file a report for the car. 

Detective in the Background [He was in street clothes and television has taught me that this is a detective]:  Hey, there’s only one of these red velvet donuts left.  I’m taking it. 

Officer Assisting Me: ….Well now you know that there is some validity to the stereotype…

Me: Ha!  Man, I just realized I’m starving.

Officer: Kevin, are there any more back there?  Bring them up.

So the cops gave me a donut.  I chose a cream filled long john because it reminds me of early morning fishing trips with Dad.  And now it also reminds me of the police station.  I once did shots on St. Patrick’s Day with off duty cops who were still in their uniforms.  This was better.     

By this time, a few cops were meandering around the counter.

Officer: Did you have any valuables in the car?

Me [After consulting with the devil and angel on my shoulders]: Nope.  Nothing that I can think of.

Officer: A newer radio?  Anything like that?

Me: There’s actually a gaping hole where the radio used to be.  It was stolen years ago and never replaced.

There was total silence.  And then, simultaneously, 3 uniforms, one Detective as TV Has Taught Me, and I start laughing.  Hard.  Like, pounding our fists laughing.  I think a full minute passed before it stopped. 

Before we were finished, the officer got a call reporting a missing person.  She placed them on hold to finish up with me.

The officer was honest with me that it wasn’t terribly likely they’d find the car.  I bit back all the Big Lebowski jokes and wanted to make, took the report and left. 

I can’t believe how lucky I am.  I was the woman in the cop shop eating a long john and laughing about the idiot who stole our poor old beaten up car.  I wasn’t the one on the phone.  The officer told me they probably wouldn’t find my car.  They didn’t have to tell me they couldn’t find my husband.  My sister.  My parents.  My friend. 

Perspective.  I’ve got it. 

*Doogie Hauser Theme*

Les Mis (Abridged)

A conversation in bed with a groggy husband after coming home with eyeballs all bloodshot and puffy from seeing Les Miserables with the girls.

Larry: Less Miserabless...So it’s all singing?

Me: Yeah, it’s an opera. 

Larry: No talking at all?

Me: Nope.

Larry: Anne Hathaway was the lead?

Me: No, she dies like, half an hour in.

Larry: Wow, her part is small.

Me: But SO important. 

Larry: Yeah?

Me:  So she gets fired from this factory.  Wait, I have to go back further.  Ok, Wolverine is in prison for stealing bread and Gladiator releases him but is like, “You are on parole forever, so best of luck. Jerk.”  So Wolverine finds Jesus and decides to change his identity and do good for others.  Then Catwoman is working in his factory which always sounds bad but in this case it’s good because Paris is a total hole right now and it’s either: factory or be a whore.  She calls out for Wolverine to help her but last minute Gladiator shows up and Wolverine has to bolt.   So she becomes a whore.  He finds her later and she’s all, “Thanks, I’m a whore now.  And also I have tuberculosis.  And also I have a kid, so.  Yeah. Thanks.”  So Wolverine promises to take care of little Amanda Seyfried after Catwoman dies. 

Larry [singing]: I’m dyyyyyyying now.  Cough!  MeeOwwwww!

Me: Right, just like that.  So before Wolverine gets Little AS, Gladiator tells him they found the prisoner that Gladiator thought Wolverine was, and Wolverine gets all sweaty and guilty and is like, “Do I come clean and save this poor guy they think is me or bolt?  Sigh, I found Jesus and I’m awesome, so I’m gonna come clean and save this dude.”  So he does, then runs and grabs Little AS and they run off.  Nine years later Paris is still a mess and this political figure who spoke for the people dies.  So all these college boys are like, “LAST STRAW, KING ASSHOLE THE 15^TH or whatever!  VIVA LA FRANCE!  NO MORE EVERYBODY HAVING TO BE WHORES!”  But one of the Red-Headed ones is also in love with Little AS, who is now Grownup AS.  And he’s pretty torn up about dying for his country now.  But his hotter friend goes, “Man, get your head back in the game!” So Redhead joins up anyway and they build this barricade out of chairs and a coffin and there’s lots of singing by everybody here, including this one girl who is in love with Redhead, but he doesn’t love her back.  And the standoff has started. 

Larry: Get off our chair and coffin mooouuntaaain, you jeeeeeeerrrrrks!

Me: Exactly.  So Wolverine finds out that Redhead loves Grownup AS and is like, “Crap, I never let her do anything because I’m a fugitive of the law.  I have to make sure this guy doesn’t die.”  He goes to the barricade and lo and behold, they have Gladiator tied up there because he was double-agenting them and got busted.  Wolverine tells the boys he’ll take care of the nasty man.  But when no one’s looking, he cuts Gladiator loose.  Gladiator’s all, “I am SO still going to hunt you down, you know!”  And Wolverine’s all, “Who cares, I’m awesome, just beat it.” 

So they fight the royal guard and they all get killed including this little kid, like, cheap shot, show.  Except Redhead because  Wolverine drags him the hell out of there through the sewers and sure enough Gladiator busts them and Wolverine’s like, “Dude, stop it.  This guy needs a doctor.”  But Gladiator goes, “NEVER.  One more move and you’re effing dead.”  But Wolverine’s like, whatever, and leaves and Gladiator does nothing.  He’s so wigged out about how Wolverine is so much more awesome than he is that he SPLATS himself right into the dam. 

Larry:  AAAAaAAAHHHH!!! OOF!

Me:  Those are actually kind of his lines.  So Redhead is ok and he marries Grownup AS, but Wolverine is dying that day and they all cry, but Grownup AS finds out the truth about Catwoman and then Ghost Catwoman comes and takes Wolverine to heaven.  The End.  I left some parts out, but that’s the gist.