Saturday, December 23, 2006

The Commish, a couple hundred dead Zombies, and the Scorpions

So Randy, Dante and I hit Dave and Buster's last night to meet up with Veezie and Vlad (who we lovingly refer to as VNV) and their son Julien. They had a party thang going on there and we decided to meet with them after so we could save the world and rid it of zombies. So while they're doing their party shinding, Randy, D-man, and I go down to the arcade to the bar and proceed to start drinking (D-man was on formula of course). Our bartender, Erika, cool chick that she was, tells us that the "guy from the Commish and the Shield" is walking around. So I'm like, "Michael Chicklis is here?" And sure enough, there he was with his family walking around playing video games with his son and daughters. I had a strong urge to run up to him and yell, "THING SMASH!", but against my own better judgement I did not. You know, I can appreciate Mr. Chicklis being in Hollywood, Florida "slumming" it as they say with us regular folks at Dave and Buster's. He seemed like a very nice guy and, although he looked like he could beat someone's ass in a heartbeat (he had a bod on him), he was very receptive to the people asking for pictures. Let me just say, I wish people would just leave stars alone when they are out in public. I mean, people were mobbing him at one point. It was obvious that he was there with family and friends. Leave the poor man alone for chrissakes. Ok, he's a TV and movie star, and yes, the Shield is a great show, but let the guy enjoy a night with his kids! If you're that much of a fan, write a fan letter or download some pictures.

Later on VNV joined us and we played some House of the Dead, Randy and I tagteaming one controller while Veezie was team leader and Vlad "protected the children". You have all of us to thank that the world is safe from weird bug eyed zombies and oogy mud swamp looking mother fuckers. We take payments in cash only and only in increments of $100 bills.

Today, Randy and I broke down and bought Singstar Rocks! for the PS2. Cheese factor to the nth degree but so f'ing fun that I think I peed my pants laughing more than one time (although that may be a side effect of having a kid). The best part of the game is the fact that you can play back the song you sang and hear yourself sing, AND add voice effects to tweak it. I must say that Randy's "Wind of Change" by the Scorpions was incredible, even more so after he tweaked his voice to sound like Soundwave from the Transformers. I mean, SOUNDfuckinWAVE sang the Scorpions in my house! I did a killer (forgive the pun) version of The Killer's "Somebody Told Me", but have yet to master Aretha's "Respect". Between Singstar Rocks! and Guitar Hero I and II, Randy and I are a veritable musical force to be reckoned with (Alexia, that challenge still stands!). I hear there are other Singstars on the way. Hopefully they'll do a Singstar 80s (which I will MASTER!) and a Singstar Country (which Randy in his redneckdom will probably Ace!).

Maybe if they create a Singstar Crying Baby, Dante could play too!

Sunday, November 5, 2006

Cock Rock with a side of Classical and a twist of Jesus

About a month or so ago, Randy approached me with this contest radio station 93 Rock was having. The prizes were 2 tickets to see this thing called the Trans-Siberian Orchestra. We didn't win the tickets, but after reading up on them and downloading a few tunes from Limewire (they played with Metallica, Dead Can Dance, and the like) we kinda dug them and decided to spring for the tickets and asked my mom if she could watch Dante for a few hours. We figured we'd be seeing and hearing a rock opera of a sort, mixing classical with modern, maybe even some cool covers, hang out with a cool crowd and maybe find a new band to check out from time to time.

We were off. WAAAAY off. Ok, maybe not WAAAAY off with 4 A's, but WAY off.

First and foremost, what ever happened to people "dressing" for the theater? I grew up with the tradition that if you were going on an outing, say a museum or exhibition or a concert or play, you would dress for the occasion. I mean, I'm not talking diamonds and Chanel, but something that, at least, does not resemble your sleepwear from the night before! I'm not just talking about this venture to the theater. Last year Randy and I saw the musical Wicked in Fort Lauderdale and STOMP!. For both these occasions, we "dressed" for an evening out at the theater. Meaning, me in a cocktail dress and heels and Randy in nice slacks and a polo. Still casually cool yet not looking like we just came from mowing the lawn. Still, though people were showing up in tank tops and shorts. It's the theater people!!!! And it's not just South Florida. I remember in New York, my day trips to the Metropolitan Museum of Art would always end up with me being disgusted by some fat slob admiring a Bruegel with a "Big Johnson" T-Shirt on and flip flops! Is it me? Is this something archaic that I just keep doing in hopes it will resurface? Half the fun of an evening out at the theater is breaking out that dress that you only wear for "special occasions". Although, these days I don't get out much so a "special occasion" could just be a trip to the gas station to fill up the car.

Anyhow, that was our pet peeve last night. Randy and I kept playing spot the "thanks for dressing for the event" game and I think the best one we found was the girl wearing a pair of shorts so short that we could all have qualified as her gynecologist, with a matching tank top and set of fake boobs that would make Mark Foley even cringe.

Ok, on to the show. Unbeknownst to both Randy and me, the entire first half of the concert was Christmas songs. Ok, Christmas songs. I have nothing against Christmas. Christmas is fun. I realize that Jesus is involved in Christmas songs and therefore have no problem listening to god and Jesus when it comes to Christmas music. So play the Christmas music and get on with it. Um, no. They had a narrator come out every so often and tell a story about and angel and the lord and love and praying and some father missing his daughter and..........oy vey enough already. My eyes were getting stuck from rolling so many times. If anyone is familiar with the Yiddish word, "shmalts", that's what it was. It was "shmaltsy". In its "shmaltsiest" form. Seriously, at one point I thought Randy and I were at a Christian rock concert and didn't realize it. Also, when the narrator came out he began this "shmaltsfest" in this like 1980s Vincent Price-ish raspy heavy metal Jack Black parody type of voice. I thought it was a joke and started to giggle, thinking back on groups like Man-o-war and Testament who always had some hardcore "metal" story to back up their songs. But, lo, my giggle was presumptive as this was not supposed to be a joke. It was SERIOUS. To which I giggled even more.

Then, the cock rock began. Picture every cheesy 80's metal concert anthem, stereotype, laser show, guitar riff, guitar solo, guitar posturing (i.e. let's fuck the guitar onstage cuz it's hot), head banging, hair flipping, lights and pyrotechnics. Then add a bunch of 40-somethings doing said things NOT in spandex, but in tuxedos. Add feathered hair and Jersey accents and there you go. The Trans-Siberian Orchestra. I thought I had stepped back in time to some weird Bon Jovi meets Van Halen meets Europe (remember them?) meets Ratt meets Iron Maiden meets Jesus meets Christmas meets Beethoven...I could go on. I mean, for the first half of this event, we were listening to some narrator ramble on about the lord in our prayers and then get bombarded with God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen in the style of Cannibal Corpse. Or better yet, the guitar "solo" of Good King Wenceslassaelslaewhatever reminded me of Van Halen's "Panama". Don't get me wrong, these guys were incredible musicians, but it was odd. Especially the first violinist. She head banged while playing. Seriously. And while she "rested", she held aloft her bow as if she were He-Man summoning the powers of Greyskull. Then BAM, she'd be back to rocking out metal on her violin, hair flipping and all. I mean, was she channeling Quiet Riot? Oh and by the way, she wasn't seated as at a regular orchestra. No, everyone just tramped around the stage posturing and "rocking out" on their little pedestals. Running across the stage, getting on their knees for the big solo, holding their bows aloft (again and again), sticking their crotches out. If it was supposed to be a joke, it would have been fantastic. Kinda like Spinal Tap or Hayseed Dixie or Satanicide (all hysterical "bands"). But these people were serious. GODLY serious.

The second half of the concert was more what Randy and I had hoped it would be, taking classical music and revamping it, for lack of a better term as I don't think classical music needs to be revamped, with electric guitars and such. Some Meatloaf wanna be guy came out and did Layla (which I think is a requirement now to be considered a band) and then they went off and did some Led Zeppelin (again, a requirement). When it was time for Mozart and the "opera" singer came out, you may as well have given her a stripper pole. In between her *ahem* singing, we had hair tossing, FEATHERED hair tossing mind you, Lita Ford-ish humping, hip swaying and booby jiggling. Ok, I can appreciate trying to bring classical music to the masses by adding a rock feel to it, but um, even Randy was like, "What the fuck is this bimbo doing and can some one buy this poor starving woman a cheeseburger and some clothes"? Then it was on to some dueling pianos, which mixed the classical style of one musician to the more modern jazz piano styles of the other (my favorite part of the evening), and finally ending with a GIANT laser light and pyrotechnics spectacular that would make any 80s arena band (think Asia, Boston, Journey, Def Leppard) wet their pants.

I dunno. I can't say I hated it. I can't say I liked it. I think it is geared more toward the uninitiated. Meaning, the classical music uninitiated. Vivaldi's "Four Seasons" are glorious as they are to me, but may not appeal to one who didn't grow up with classical music. By incorporating rock and modern remixes to such pieces, maybe that person will say, "Hm I wonder what the original sounds like" and find a liking to it. Who knows? I just wonder where featherd hair fits into all of this.

Friday, October 13, 2006

Stupid People Shouldn't Breed Part Deux

So I got a telephone call from a political survey organization the other day regarding the Broward County school district and the FCATs. If you don't know what the FCATs are, they are the Florida Comprehensive Assessment Tests. Yes I know, you're saying "Huh? I still don't get it". Well, this blog isn't about them, so look it up. Besides, my views on the FCATs and the quality of education in the public schools here are so lengthy and involved that I would need at least 8 days to fully explain to you why they both suck and frankly, I have a 3 month old baby so I'm lucky I get these 20 minutes.

No, this blog is about the woman who gave me the survey. Everything was fine, despite her pronouncing my name "Aleeeeseeeeea", "Alicia", "Alexia" (you go girl), "Allison", and "Allissa", until the end of the survey when I had to answer some "personal" questions. Her last question to me was, "What is your religious affiliation", to which I replied loud and proud, "I am an Atheist".Dead silence.

Dead silence for like 5 seconds. Then I hear, "Um, what is that?". So I repeat myself, thinking that she heard "I am an eraser" or "I am an ickthyologist", and say, "I said , I am an Atheist". To which she replies, "Is that part of Christian? Muslim? Jewish? or Other?". Um, ok. Has this person never heard of Atheism? I mean, I'm not a Christian, Jew, Muslim, or Other yet I've picked up a book or two in my life regarding such subjects. Hell, those books are the reason I AM and Atheist you know? I mean, how can I not believe if I have not read up on what there is ( supposedly) to believe in? I then try to explain it to her in broader terms like, "I don't believe in God, Allah, Jehovah, Irving (worshipped by a lesser know religion called the Irvingites of South Newark), or any other incarnation of a supreme being. I am a Non-Believer." So she says, "Then I guess I'll have to write it in. How do you spell it?"

I also read an article in Newsweek about how the religious right deems Atheism in this country as a traitorous act and on the same level as terrorism. Well smack my ass and call me Benedict Arnold then.

Wednesday, September 27, 2006

Stupid People Shouldn't Breed

I was inspired to write this blog by Susan, as she called me yesterday to comment on my previous blog and to ask me if I was serious about those two idiots not knowing that the Titanic sunk. Our conversation led me to tell her some other funny stories about Stupid People and, after laughing our asses off for a few minutes, I decided that when I had a chance I would share them with the rest of the class. Susan, I apologize in advance for boring you with this story you have already heard, but deal with it sister.

I just want to start off that either people have gotten more stupid or lost their complete and utter sense of humor lately. I swear, you can't even joke around anymore without someone biting your head off and taking it seriously these days. Case in point:

So I'm shopping at my local grocery store and there's this completely annoying cashier lady there. I do believe I have written about her in a previous blog; she was the one that told me I shouldn't drink if I was nursing and tried to put my booze back. Anyhow, I sidle up to the register with my stuff and she starts screaming down the aisle, "where's my baby? where's my baby boy?". Um, excuse me, but yes lady even though you look pregnant EVERY day coz you're a big fat ass does not mean that you pushed my son our of your nasty hoo-ha. I know, I know, technically neither did I (C-section, remember?), but I've got the scar, the stretch marks, and the pregnancy pictures to prove I birthed him lady, so quit screaming all this "my baby" crap or you'll get a nice baguette shoved up your ass. She shuts up finally about the "my baby" junk and asks me how he's doing and is he sleeping through the night. Me, being me, I tell her, "Oh yes he's sleeping just fine. I usually put a pillow over his face and punch him a few times to get him to shut up and then he goes to sleep. It's probably because he's unconscious but hey, whatever lets him get some sleep is what I say".The idiot took me seriously. No joke. Fat Ass McIdiot took me seriously and started yelling at me in the checkout line. I was so shocked that, believe it or not, had no clue what to say. So I finally said to her, "I was kidding you idiot! I only punch him once! No no no, really I am just kidding". I pay for my groceries and I think the whole thing is over, right? WRONG. Fat Ass McIdiot goes and tells the grocery store "security" guard that I abuse my child and I get stopped at the door!!!!! I then proceed to get a lecture from Deputy Douchebag from Scream about how in this "post 9/11 time we need to watch what we say". Um, what the fuck does 9/11 have to do with anything? Better yet, if I was abusing my child, what the hell does 9/11 have to do with that? Does the Taliban gain its power everytime a mother beats her kid? Did the terrorists carry pictures of women slapping their kids around to boost their evil-ness? Did the towers collapse because someone's mommy spanked them? Um, no. So again, I ask, what the hell does 9/11 have to do with it? So Deputy Douchebag issues me a "warning" and tells me to move along. A warning? What the hell is a "grocery store warning?" Does it mean that next time I come in, I can only go down the even aisles? Does it mean that I must stay away from all dailry products until a certain time that I am "unwarned"? Will my grocery bags be jailhouse gray and have serial numbers on them? Will I have to change my name to Stumpy and play the harmonica near the frozen foods? Seriously folks, if you had asked me how my baby was doing and I answered you in that fashion, would you really think I was serious? Do you actually think that someone who beats their kid would advertise it? As Susan said to me yesterday, who has ever heard of a mother announce, "Ok everyone, I just want you to know that the bruises on my kid here are from me beating the crap out of him with a shoe and tomorrow I plan on bashing his head against a tree and telling everyone he fell." Makes no sense, right? Yet Fat Ass McIdiot and Deputy Douchebag seem to have though I was serious. Give me break! Between political correctness and people just having sticks up their asses all the time, you can't even be funny anymore without having a GROCERY STORE WARNING put on you!!! Especially in this "post 9/11" world we live in.

Ok while I have it in my head, what the fuck is up with everyone starting their sentences with "Since 9/11...." or "In this post 9/11 world....". I mean, when the politicians were doing it, it annoyed me. Now it seems that everyone does it. "Since 9/11 I've gained 300 pounds and joined a cult"! "Since 9/11 I like to play with myself in the shower"! "In this post 9/11 world it's always better to brush your teeth from side to side instead of up and down"! Please! Enough already!

So that's about it in a nutshell. Either people have lost their sense of humor or I'm missing something. I don't know, but I thought it was funny. My dad and mom thought it was funny. Randy laughed his ass off and Susan thought it was hysterical. I guess Fat Ass McIdiot and Deputy Douchebag need a life.

Tuesday, September 26, 2006

Titanic: The Artifact Exhibition

We went to the Titanic exhibit at the Miami Science Museum and Planetarium on Sunday. I have always been fascinated with the Titanic; from its discovery and salvage operations, to the personal stories behind its passengers. It's always been a little eerie for me as well when I view the underwater images. I don't know why but, as with the Crusades and my 14th century Flemish painters, I get all goosebumpy and tingly all over when I see anything about Titanic. (Except maybe that movie with Leo diCaprio and Kate Winslet, which I thought was a CGI gag fest that should have gone down with the ship. No joke, I remember being on line to see it and casually saying to the person I was with, "You know, the ship sinks in the end", and this man and woman behind me getting extremely pissed off that I gave away the ending. Seriously. You gotta love the American educational system, it sure spawns some winners.)

Anyhow, I have seen a Titanic exhibition back in the day already but I can't remember when and where. I do remember that I was young enough to have been there with my mom and dad and brother, yet old enough to walk at least 10 feet away from them for fear of being "uncool". In any event, I do remember having already seen artifacts in person so I was pretty excited to see what was going to be on display here in Miami.

You know, for a 20 dollar ticket price, I wasn't that impressed. Both Randy and I were a little disappointed. Dante loved it, as the exhibit was set up as though you were moving through the ship's various areas (the deck, 1st class, 2nd class, 3rd class or steerage, the boiler room, etc.) Dante was especially enthralled by the boiler and engine room area as it was completely flooded in darkness except for a few spots of deep red light here and there. Also, the simulated roar of Titanic's engines (what those poor men had to listen to as they fed the fuel for the great ship) certainly was a new sound to Dante's ears and he was definitely entertained. Between the cool sounds and the funny lights, our baby was in curious land and took everything in.

As far as Randy and myself, it was "just okay". As I said, the exhibit was set up as though you were moving through the ship; each artifact display reflecting which part of the ship you were in. There were also reconstructions of what first class, second class, steerage and crew cabins looked like. It was interesting to note that in first class, the surrounding ambiance was lovely chamber music (probably played by the doomed orchestra who went down with the ship) and as one moved through the ship and changed classes, the music became fainter. By the time we got to steerage, the hum of the engines drowned out that lovely chamber music. In any event, the artifacts were really nothing that hasn't been seen before. Whether on a Discovery channel documentary or on the IMAX screens. The fact that they were up close sure made them more interesting, but as I said, it was nothing that floored us. Some of the first class jewelry would have been nice to have in my hot little hand, but other than that, how many times do I have to look at the White Star Line plates and forks?

I think the best part of the exhibit was the Boarding Pass. As we entered the gallery, we were each given a White Star Line boarding pass with the name of a passenger, their cabin and class, and a brief history of who they were and where they were going. At the end of the exhibit, we were to look on the Saved/Not Saved roster from the ship to see if "we" made it off Titanic or became one of its victims. My boarding pass belonged to a woman in second class, travelling with her husband and newborn son. Randy's boarding pass belonged to a man in third class travelling with his 2 sons. Can you guess who lived and who died?

As a woman in second class with a baby, if you guessed that me and my baby lived, while my husband bit it, you are correct. If you guessed that Randy and his entire family were goners you are correct as well. Seriously, as soon as I saw that I was a chick in second class and Randy was a man in thrid class, we both knew who was going to make it off Titanic. It was interesting to see on the passenger rosters what huge discrepancies there were between the classes in regards to lives saved and lives lost. In first and second class only about 130-150 people actually died (most of them men), while in steerage and crew 537 and 699 were lost. First and second class were able to save 199 in each, whereas the lower classes only saved 100 or so. As steerage was the class carrying most, if not all, the immigrants coming to America in search of a better life, it makes it that much worse seeing all those names of the lost.

Fun Facts:
First class tickets in April of 1912 cost an average of $2,500, which in today's economy averages out to about $48,000. The two deluxe suites on the Titanic that cost $4,500 at the time, would now run about $78,000 in today's market. A steerage or third class ticket cost $45.00, which translates to about $620 today.
Lillian Gertrud Asplund, the last American survivor of the sinking of the Titanic in 1912 died in May 2006. Asplund, who was just 5 years old, lost her father and three brothers, including a fraternal twin. She was the last Titanic survivor to remember the actual sinking. There are a couple of women still alive who were on the Titanic but were just little babies and do not remember.

All in all, I wish the exhibit had had more oomph to it. I found it to be a little monotonous and subdued. The personal effects, although few and far between, were lovely, from the cufflinks, to the small child's toy, to the gorgeous gold bracelet with "Amy" written in diamonds. The personal effects are always interesting, as they bring the humanity behind the disaster to light. The names of the passengers are not just names on a roster, but rather real people who lived, breathed, and unfortunately for most, came to a tragic end that night. After almost 100 years underwater, Titanic still commands the opulence and amazement it did in her heyday.

Tuesday, September 19, 2006

I Spy

So being the good citizens and new parents that we are, Randy and I decided to go to our first Neighborhood Community meeting last night to see what it was all about. I had some issues regarding the "transactions" that were going on on our street and I also wanted to ask if we could get speed bumps put on the road so the dudes going 800 miles an hour would slow down to a decent 700 as there are tons of kids always playing outside. (I know, I know, I've somehow become "parent-ish" since Dante was born, go figure).

Our first impression as we walked in was, "wow is everyone here 152 years old?". Seriously, I think Randy, Dante and I were the only people there NOT born during the American Civil War and who did not remember the assasination of Lincoln. Of course, we got a few stare-downs as we walked into the room; Randy with his "Day of the Dead" T-Shirt, Dante in his black "Ozzy watches over me" onesie, and me, well just being me and breathing was sufficient. A couple of the "board members" were young; some preppy chick who kept fawning over our baby, a woman in her 40s who tried to discuss clubbing and bar hopping with me (don't ask me why), and a 30-something gay guy who was adorable, but I would have much rather seen him on Queer Eye. I also think he was in the closet, which seemed impossible to me as he was WAY more fabulous than me and that usually spells gay, but none of the Civil War veterans had a clue.

We sat down and I started feeding Dante, mostly because I wanted him to not schmickle (my invented Yiddish word for "fuss") but also because it was time to feed him. So the meeting starts and everyone gets up to say the Pledge of Allegiance. When I say everyone, I mean not me. What are we: 3? In Elementary School? Who the hell "pledges" anything? What the hell does the Pledge of Allegiance have to do with planting flowers in our neighborhood and/or the discussion of trash pickup? Seriously, I've never said nor done the Pledge of Allegiance, which was a huge issue with my teachers when I was in elementary school and my parents had to be called in and all that jazz and it was this whole deal. (Long story short, my parents told everyone to shove it and that I didn't have to say it if I didn't want to). First of all, I pledge allegiance to my family, my husband, and my son. Anyone else, I may consider it, but not really. Secondly, I don't pledge to a piece of cloth. Thirdly, we are NOT one nation under god with liberty and justice for all. God has nothing to do with me, and I could care less about some made up dude. Liberty for all? Not quite. And Justice for all? Great Metallica album, NOT really a representation of this country.

Anyhoo, they say the pledge and go through their orders of business (planting flowers, trash pickup, etc.) and then the fun starts. Basically it turned into "If you see any of your neighbors doing something bad or something you don't approve of, turn them in". I was like, what is this, the NSA? Is the Patriot Act being enforced in my 'hood? Do I have to take the skulls off my roof? Are we being targeted as "godless heathens" who disrupt the moral fiber of society? Thankfully, not this week, but there was alot of discussion about some dude's grass 2 streets over being too long. Scandalous, I know. Then the "guest speaker" made a little speech. Basically he was a cop who, in a nutshell, told us to report any "suspicious" activity and if we wanted to be Citizens on Patrol to speak to him. Um, ok. Then some lady and dude in the back, who I think were a little drunk or a little retarded or both, piped up about "suspicious" activity on their street involving long-haired dogs, a tin roof, and chow puppies. I'm not kidding. I swear I think they thought Al-Qaeda was breeding terrorist dogs to shit anthrax ridden poop on their lawn. They then revealed that they were Citizens on Patrol and that we should fear them for if we do anything "suspicious" that we'd soon find ourselves at Guantanamo. (ok, maybe I'm exaggerating but these people were wacko.)

My impression of this town meeting was basically, "Let's spy on everyone and be big baby tattletales so we can get brownie points from the board and the cops and maybe get our name on the Adopt-A-Street sign". Seriously. I talked to this one guy afterwards who was kinda off to the side like Randy and I were, and who seemed to be our age, and he said he came to the meetings just to see the people go at it, and to make sure that no one was talking about his house. Needless to say, I think we're going to keep going for the same reasons. I don't like the idea of spying and tattle taleing. Personally, I don't care if your grass is too long or you have a bag of trash out one day before trash pickup. We mind our own business, especially because we're the house with the Halloween decorations up all year and the freaky goth folks living inside. I will only speak out if I see abuse in the home and/or drug dealers on my street, other than that, do whatever you want.

I hope this turns out to be Peyton Place!

Sunday, September 3, 2006


DON'T apologize or make excuses for me. If you don't like the way I dress; the way I look; my tattoos; the color of my hair, then don't invite me to your social gatherings.

DON'T tell people that I'm "normal in other ways" when introducing me. As far as I am concerned I am "normal" in every way and you're the one with a few screws loose.

DON'T use me as your comic relief. I can guarantee you that I am always smarter than 95% of the people in the room no matter where I go but am dismissed as the "weird chick" and written off as an idiot because assholes like you need to trivilialize my degrees of study, my appearance (yet again) or my political ideals. (Just for your sake, G.W. Bush in NOT the greatest president; abortion is NOT murder and even if you believe it is and are against it, then just don't fucking have one but leave the CHOICE up to everyone else; the war in Iraq is NOT justified and 3,000 lives are NOT worth it; Islam is NOT a terrorist religion; not all black people are on welfare; and your life does not suck because the immigrants and affirmative action made it that way.)

DON'T inform a table full of people that you're going to be the "one to change" me and bring me to god, and that you pray for my salvation every night. Pray for me all you like, but face facts that I am an atheist and the threat of hellfire and brimstone means about as much to me as a grilled cheese sandwich. (Although a grilled cheese sandwich sounds really good about now.)

DON'T inform me that if I don't plan on taking my son to church that I am a horrible mother and that you're going to "kidnap" him and take him yourself. First of all, touch my kid without permission, be prepared to lose your life. Second of all, if and when my son asks questions about god and religion, Randy and I will be the ones who teach him, NOT you. Also know that my son will learn about ALL religions, from Christianity to Judaism to Hinduism to Islam, all the way to those who worship the Great Pumpkin. He will not be taught that anything other than Catholicism is evil and if he so decides to explore a faith, I will support him 1 million percent and give him every avenue to see where he fits in. Until then,

DON'T push god on my kid, OR on me.

DON'T make fun of gifts my husband buys me and imply that I'm "turning him into a freak like" me. If Randy wants to buy me a coffin purse because he knows I am the Queen of Halloween and I would like it, then that's his business.

DON'T roll your eyes and degrade him, me, or his gift giving.

DON'T tell me that taking my son swimming naked (him, not me) and then taking pictures of him in the nude constitutes child pornography and that I should be ashamed of myself and that you don't "ever want to see those disgusting pictures". He's a fucking baby. His penis is the size of a pencil top eraser (even less as the water was a bit cold...guys you know what I mean), and you're sexualizing it? Give me a break. 99.9999999% people in the entire world have baby pictures of themselves and/or their children naked. Holy shit, my baby book and my pictures from childhood would be scandalous according to you! There's even ones of me and my brother taking a bath together!

DON'T sit there and goo-goo gaa-gaa over how much the birth of my son means to you and how you're this and you're that when you've not lifted a goddamn finger and given us anything for him. Not even a box of diapers. People who I have not spoken to in years, our new neighbors, the lady down the street, all who have no relation to my son have opened their hearts and generously given us gifts. People at the grocery store made us a gift basket for chrissakes! All you've done is talk about how my son's birth is all about YOU. It's not that these people gave us gifts, the gifts are not important, but you have done absolutely nothing. Our nursery is furnished by Randy and me and everyone else but you. Dante's closet is filled with clothes we bought and that everyone else gave but you. The bank account we opened for him has been deposited into by everyone, but you. Oh sure, you're there when it's time to snap pictures or to brag to everyone, but where are you otherwise?

DON'T say you're going to get us a certain gift and then wait so damn long to get it that someone else gets it and then use that excuse as to why you didn't get it. I can understand that happening once, but 4 times?

DON'T be such a fucking hypocrite.

Sunday, August 20, 2006

5 AM "me time"

It's 5 am on a Sunday morning and it's essentially the only time I have that is mine alone. Randy is snoring away in the bedroom and I have just finished feeding and changing Dante and he's back to snoring away in his crib; completely sated with a choochie in his mouth and a clean diaper on his ass. Can you believe that no more than 3 years ago, when I was still living in NYC, I would be COMING HOME at this time. Susan can attest to that, having been my Batcave dance partner (Blue Lights!) for many years, and if we didn't go out to breakfast after Downtime closed, and the N train was running at a decent pace, I'd be stepping into my apartment in Queens just about this time of night/morning. I cannot believe how much everything has changed in my life since then. I think back on it and have to giggle. I move down to Florida with one husband, throw him to the curb not 8 months after coming here, and then end up with a new husband and a baby not 2 years later. If anyone had said this would happen to me 3 years ago while I was drinking a Kir with Susan laughing at Nelson's antics while listening to Ian spin The Psychedelic Furs and watching Alexia's 80's dance perfection , then I would have probably punched them in the face and told them to take a hike. Who knew? And I hate to say it, no actually I don't hate to say it, but I don't miss it at all. Sure, I miss my gang back in NYC, I miss the smell of bagels baking in the early mornings (no one knows a good bagel down here oy vey!), I miss mine and Susan's cheeeeeeeeese feasts, I occasionally miss the subway (but then I remember that not everyone wears deodorant and I would always find the crowded car that had no A/C in summer and no heat in winter), and I most definitely miss the Metropolitan Museum of Art and it's European Paintings and Medieval Arms and Armor wing (there are no museums down here that could even come CLOSE to the Met). But all in all, I am completely satisfied and happy with the direction my life has taken. Ok, ok so I can't put my best gothy chick outfit on and jet off to the Morgue on Wednesday and dance my ass off until 5 am, but honestly I can't get through one song without having to sit down, and everyone down here is 11 years old and I feel like an old lady at these clubs. Plus, making Dante smile and almost laugh (he has yet to master a full giggle...I've gotten some attempts while playing with him, but a full fledged laugh is still in the works) at 5 am while I'm feeding him and watching some cheesy infomercial about the Bedazzler beats anything these days.

Topic #2 while I still have some time. I've now noticed that everyone feels the need to tell me how to raise my baby and give me unwanted advice. Granted, I am a first time mom and can use any HELPFUL (notice I said helpful) advice, but lately I've noticed that everyone's a critic, and a crappy one at that. Example one, I'm at Publix the other day picking up some groceries. On a whim, I decide to grab a bottle of champagne and a carton of OJ so I can whip me and Randy up some snazzy Mimosas. As I'm going through the checkout line, the checkout lady who I will call Fat-Ass Get Some Teeth says to me, "Oh is that your baby? He's so cute! But you shouldn't buy this alcohol if you are nursing him. It's dangerous. I'll just put it back for you". Um, hang on there sister. First of all, although I realize that anything I put into my body will transfer in some form to Dante while he is nursing. Trust me, I love broccoli and cauliflower but I've had to cut down on them as they give Dante SERIOUS gas, but honestly is a Mimosa going to kill my son? Hell, our grandmothers smoked and drank martinis while pregnant with our parents so I'm not too concerned about having a bit of champagne mixed with OJ. Second of all, last I checked Dante was my baby and if I want to feed him chips and salsa while dancing the hula on my head that's certainly not FAGST's concern. Thirdly, who the fuck told you to take things out of my grocery cart and put it back for me? Don't ever mess with a big girl's food you know? I calmly put FAGST's in her place and told her that I wasn't concerned about a bit of champagne in my sytem while I was nursing because the Crack-Cocaine would balance it out. I swear, I think if this woman knew my name, she would call Social Services on me. She actually thought I was SERIOUS!Another example: my mom and I were having lunch at Denny's a few days ago and Dante started schmickling (my invented Yiddish word for getting fussy). So I pull him out of his carrier and soothe him. Not 10 seconds after I do this, this DUDE in the booth next to us informs me that Dante is cold and that I need to put a blanket and a hat on him or else he'll get pneumonia and die. Um, ok thanks for the tip Mr. You're Not His Father, but as I am holding my child in my arms and can tell whether or not he is cold or just schmickling because he is a baby, I would suggest keeping your idiot comments to yourself and focus more on eating your Moons Over My Hammie before I jaw you in the mouth. My kid wasn't cold, he just wanted boobie to which I obliged him and to which Mr. YNHF got offended because I was nursing him. Whatever. My baby needed to eat and I certainly was not going to go feed him in that hellhole they call a bathroom at Denny's.The other thing that I've been getting lately is the "Oh he's so big! You're feeding him too much" comments or the "Oh he's so small! You're not feeding him enough" comments. Since his birth at 7lbs 1oz, Dante has gained almost 3 lbs and is now weighing in at a HEALTHY (ask his pediatrician Dr. Grell) 9 lbs 9 oz. He is not overfed, he is not underfed. He does not need a blanket nor does he need a hat; his socks keep his feet warm and we all know that when your footsies are warm everything in the world is good. He can handle a modicum of champagne diluted through my bloodstream and then POSSIBLY transfering itself in millionths of potency through SOME of my breast milk (plus the crack-cocaine is still there to balance it out ). He is healthy. He is happy. If you are a grandparent/aunt/uncle/relative/good friend, we will listen to your advice and take it to heart. Anyone else, zip it.

Ok, enough with the typing, now I need to get some of that precious sleep everyone has been telling me about. Cross your fingers he won't schmickle for a few hours and I can get a good 3 hour nap in.

Thursday, August 3, 2006

Our first Outing as a Family!

This past Saturday I basically forcefully announced to Randy that we were going to the mall to "window shop" and test out our "emergency" credit card and that he had no means of backing out and saying no. People, I've been stuck at home for 3 weeks. I can't drive (something about pressing on the brake pedal would mess up my healing...don't ask me, ask my doctor), I can't lift anything besides Dante (once again; healing stuff, ask my doc), I cannot have sex and/or "relieve stress with a massage tool" (*ahem* you ladies know what I mean) and I literally cannot do anything besides whip out a boobie here and there and feed my child. So naturally I am going stir crazy. Thus I decided that I needed some sort of excuse to put on clothes that did not involve an elastic waistband and spit up all over the front of them and to put on some makeup and do my hair. Sure, it was just the Pembroke Lakes Mall, but I was dressed to the nines and it felt good. Plus, any excuse to test out the "emergency" (*ahem bullshit) credit card was fine by me as well.

I have to say, this having been my first official outing as a MOM, that I felt (and looked if I may say so myself) fantastic. I have already lost nearly 20 lbs. since Mr. Dante Lane was born, and I am actually thinner than my pre-pregnancy self. Now keep in mind, that when I say "thinner" don't start picturing some sort of toothpick chick. All of you who have known me longer than a year know FULL WELL that Alessia was never a toothpick, rather more "fluffy" in general areas. Thin on me is quite different than thin on a "normal" person. Anyhoo, with the 20 lbs. shed (and still going strong if I may add), I am now back into my pre-pregnancy clothes, albeit my stomach needs some work but again, no excercise until my 6 week checkup via doctor's orders (that bastard!!!). But I digress. In a nutshell: I felt like a smokin' MILF. 'Nuff said.

If you thought maneuvering through a crowded mall with just yourself was tough, try doing it with a baby in a stroller. When did everyone decide to walk .0000000000001 miles an hour and look into EVERY shop window? When did everyone who walks in front of you weigh like 500 pounds and take up the whole aisle? Even better, now the Starey McStarers who used to stop and glare and Randy and me for being such an odd couple (Queen of Halloween dates Blue Collar Frat Boy), now they have to stop and contemplate that this unholy union has spawned and brought some sort of devil worshipping Jack Daniels drinking baby into the world. The funniest is when people would say, "Oh it's a baby in there". I mean, were they expecting a pound of liverwurst? And I love people who say, "Let me guess, you named him Damien". Um, no we didn't you douchebag.

***side note: Do people read books anymore? Do you realize how many people have NO IDEA who my son is named after? If I had a nickel for everytime I've said, "my son's name is Dante" and someone says "like the football player", I would be richer that Bill Gates. Come on! Ok, I can understand having never read The Divine Comedy, but having never heard of Dante, the author? That's like never having eaten chocolate!!!!! So, if you have never read The Inferno, Purgatory, or Paradise...please...get off the internet...get a nice cup of whatever you drink and curl up and read!!!***oh, and also, I wish, that after telling people his name is Dante Marcello, people would quit saying "Damn that's like a pimpin' name". No, it's not. If you've ever seen an episode of Starsky and Hutch you would know that Dante Marcello is NOT a pimpin' name. Silky, Huggy Bear, Mr.Smooth, D-licious, those are pimpin' names. My son's name is classic and timeless and honors 2 very influential people. Pimpin' it is not.****

But I digress again. Sorry, I just don't get to have many adult conversations these days. Lately I've just been walking around the house singing songs about Mr. Yakkie McShitty or Smelly McFarto in my best falsetto to which said subject of these songs does exactly those things. Alaso, when Randy gets home from work, I'm usually waiting for him at the door to "hand off" the baby to him so I can get some semblance of sleep. Our conversations are limited to "hi how was your day", "I'm going to bed" and "No honey we still have to wait 3 more weeks before we can do THAT!". So bear with me while I branch out in every direction.

I actually started writing this blog today to discuss how impressed I was with how the view of parenting and families has changed. I say this based on the bathrooms at the mall that day. There's this thing now called a Family Restroom and it is fantastic. It's basically a separate area where bathrooms are non-gender specific and are big enough to accomodate both parents and child. Bathrooms are equipped with changing tables and sinks and smaller toilets for smaller children, along with a regular toilet for the grown-ups. There is also a separate Nursing Room which is nice for the shy moms, but as I see it, I should be able to nurse wherever the hell I want. I'm feeding my child and people who have issues with that should get over it. I say this because recently a woman down here was nursing her child in a bagel shop and WAS ARRESTED because people complained. To me, that's crap. She was feeding her baby, not auditioning for Tits on Parade. Anyhow, I really like the concept of a Family Restroom because it broadens the spectrum of what a family can be. There is no boundary here as far as who can go where (except the Nursing Room obviously). Family can now be defined as two moms or two dads or a single mom or a single dad. I really appreciated that. I am sure I am deliving much deeper into the meaning of the Family Restroom, but I am sure any alternatively compiled family would appreciate not having to figure out "Do I take my son into the ladies room? Do I take my daughter into the mens room?" and so on. Basically, it seems as though Family is no longer defined by mom, dad, and baby and I can appreciate that. Why I see this in the development of a restroom? Blame it on post partum hormones.

We had fun at the mall. I got a fabulous pair of shoes and a new purse (which I need like a hole in the head), Randy got Guitar Hero for the PS2 which is hysterical, Dante got an Ozzy Osbourne onesie at Hot Topic and we ended up spending too much money on things we didn't need with money we don't have, but it was all worth it!

Sunday, July 23, 2006

Staples: The Office Superstore

So I got my staples out last Tuesday. Yes, I said STAPLES. Staples, like I'm some sort of book report that needs to be turned in. I had 17 staples (that's ten plus seven) holding me together on the outside and god knows what on the inside. The staples had to be removed, whatever stitching they used inside me would dissolve on its own thankfully. Let me tell you, I had yet to look at the incision, usually having Randy or my mother inspect it for any infection and/or bleeding. I couldn't bring myself to do it. I was dreading the staple removal mainly because upon discharge from the hospital I was given, in a handy dandy sterile sealed pouch, the ACTUAL tool that would be used to remove said staples. I was given instructions to bring it to my clinic appointment 4 days later so they could "unstaple" me. I must have looked at that contraption every night. It looked like something out of Hellraiser or Hostel and I certainly did NOT want it anywhere near my incision. So, the day of "The Removal", I decided to be brave and when I stepped out of the shower I looked at the incision.

Um............ok..............WHAT THE FUCK!!!!! First of all, my pregnancy belly had deflated, leaving this half skinny half flabby roll of jelly around my middle. On top of that, my stomach is now covered by the Nile and its tributaries in a lovely purplish/red map. Gorgeous! What was once my not-so-flat-but-certainly-not-a-gut stomach is now this oogly boogly jiggly mess of, of, of, of SOMETHING! And then, I peered lower and saw.................................IT. Ok, nothing prepared me for being The Amazing Stapled Girl, but let me tell you some conclusions I drew upon seeing my incision:
  • 1. Hip huggers pants are OUT.
  • 2. Bikinis are OUT
  • 3. Being naked in front of my husband is OUT
  • 4. Being naked in front of myself is OUT
  • 5. My dreams of being a Victoria's Secret Model? OUT
  • 6. From now on, when receiving oral sex, I will be smiling in TWO places
  • 7. I know know what chopped meat feels like

So I did indeed get the staples removed which wasn't bad at all. Please, after 32 hours of labor and a C-Section, I figure they could have shoved a metal rod up my ass and I would have giggled girlishly. It was cake, and for all the bitching and moaning I'm doing about my stomach and this hideous scar (which after I get the "all clear" to go to the gym in 6 weeks I will be able to tone up) nothing beats the reward of my son in my arms as I type this: one hand on the keyboard, the other holding him.

Hip huggers? Bikinis? Never wore those before so who cares if I can't now. Being a Vicky Secret Model? Screw it, anorexia was never my thing. Being naked in front of my husband? Hell, he didn't care about the huge preggo belly, and he doesn't mind the jiggly now. These things don't really matter and I would get 5 million more scars for the look I'm getting now from my son (who is probably taking a huge poopy in his diaper, but his face is adorable.)

Friday, July 14, 2006

Earth Population: One More

Just wanted to let everyone know that Dante Marcello Lane was born Tuesday July 11th, 2006 at 4:32 pm. He weighed 7 lbs. 1 oz. and was 19 1/2 " long. He is healthy and happy and finally home.

I was induced on Monday when I went to the doctor for the sonogram. I labored for over 30 hours (contractions started on Sunday at 3:30am) and had to undergo an emergency C-section due to some problems. I didn't dilate over 6 centimeters and Dante was face UP instead of face down to get through the birth canal, which was causing major problems. My Obstetrician called it a "sunny side up" delivery. He told me that when they cut me open, Dante was just starting at him like "Hi Doc!". He also let me know that I was rambling about blue spaceships and ponies and such due to the major amount of drugs I was under.

I'm not going to lie folks, it was a hard and difficult labor, even before I went for the C-section. I had great coaches, my mom and Randy were fantastic, and put up with me screaming "no no no no no no no" when the contractions got really bad. I know I boasted about trying to "go it natural", but I must admit that even I had to concede to the epidural. Labor and delivery was tough guys, but I did it and I am proud of myself. I have 17 staples and a very big smile incision on my tummy to prove it and a beautiful baby boy.

Pictures to come within the next couple of days.

Wednesday, July 5, 2006

The Waiting Game

I am due to give birth in 2 days. 2 days. Not 2 weeks, not 2 months. 2 friggin' days. There is no turning back now. A human being is going to pass through a very small opening on my body and then my life is going to be 3 million percent different for the rest of my existence. I guess second thoughts and doubts are out of the questions now, aren't they?

2 days.

It's the waiting that sucks. You know you have something majorly important to do that is going to hurt, be traumatic, and produce something wonderful, so you just want to GET IT OVER WITH!

But, I sit and wait.

2 days.

Thursday, June 29, 2006

Denial and Other Rivers in Egypt

Today is my birthday. No, no, no, don't say "great!" or "yay!", or "Maybe I should send her some money?" Well maybe the money thing, but please, do not cheer. I am in complete and utter denial about being 32 years old and therefore will NOT admit nor participate in any birthday shenanigans (unless they, of course, involve large amounts of cash and/or cake and ice cream with pickles, preferably in that order).

I cannot believe I am 32 years old. I mean, it was yesterday that I was frantically holding my tape recorder up to my stereo to try and record "Axel F" when it came on the radio. And when I did get to record it, since my stereo didn't have an internal recorder, half the song you can hear my mother in the background yelling at me to clean my room. I was cool then! It was the 80s! Check out THOSE stylin' boots. I was pretty rad for a 10 year old.

I can also distinctly remember being that bitchy 14 year old teenager and driving my poor mother crazy while torturing my brother at the same time. Back then, judging from the picture, I was mainly concerned about the best way to scowl and how big and tacky my earrings could get. Posing for a picture was, quite obviously, worse than any torture the Spanish Inquisition could have ever imagined, and my entire family were dorks for trying to commemorate such a occasion. Weren't the teen years great?

Or maybe I could go back to being 21? My 21st year was awesome. I was finally finding myself and who I was and I was going through my industrial/lesbian looking phase, to which I can only attribute to the fact that this was also the time in my life where "no" was not part of my vocabulary. If it was any sorts of illegal or alcoholic, I would say "yes please" and then wake up a few days later not remembering that I spent the night on the floor at Wetlands after a Skinny Puppy show. It was also that time where I looked like the poster girl for Lesbians are Us. I am surprised that I had male sexual partners. Even now, when I look at this, I'm like "who's the dyke?" But 21 was great! Saw so many great shows in the city. It was the heyday of the industrial scene and everyone and everything in NYC was incredible. Can I be 21?

I guess there is no use complaining. I don't think I am asking for much. Maybe I can be 24 again? All cute and slim. I mean, I was so adorable, strange dogs would rest their heads on my shoulder and fall into peaceful and restful sleep. These days dogs just bark and me as though they are saying "Hey old lady! Hey old lady!"

Well, Happy NOT Birthday-unless-you-have-cash-and-cake to me. I refuse to be 32. Today I am celebrating the 11th year of my 21st birthday and we will leave it at that.

Friday, June 23, 2006


*Caution, this post will deal with SEX and dirty things*

You know how I mentioned yesterday about "angry sex" and getting it out of my system that way? Well, I have no idea what happened but Randy came home cranky as hell and horny as hell and we had super duper angry at the world but not eachother sex. I know, I know, Too Much Information, right? But I have to say that it did not take me 20 minutes to roll around! I was almost spry! I was almost lithe! I was almost "normal"! Plus, with my pelvis getting ready to give birth I was AWESOMELY flexible!

Ok but here's the down side. Randy, in his infinte wisdom and amorousness, decides to give me the map of CHINA on my neck. No, not in place where I can easily hide it, but right smack dab on my neck. It's like I'm those trashy heavy metal girls I went to high school, with their feathered hair and their tasselled leather jackets. The worst part of it all is that with the heat and humidity down here lately and the fact that I am 9 months pregnant, my hands and feet are swollen to the point that I cannot wear my wedding rings or any semblance of normal shoes.

So I get to go to the doctor today for my weekly check-up with the midwife. WITH THE MAP OF CHINA on my neck, PREGNANT out to here, and NO WEDDING rings on my hand!!!! Can we say "Look at the whore?" I hate not wearing my wedding rings. Randy's only been to the doc with me a few times (he works when I have the appointments so my mom takes me), so I doubt they remember I actually have a husband, and now I look like SUPER TRAMP (not the band, I like them) 2006!!!!!!

I'm going to go soak my hands in ice water in hopes that I will be able to squuuuuueeeeeeeeze my rings on. I'll still look like a whore, but at least I'll be a married whore!

Thursday, June 22, 2006

The Home Stretch and I am Pissed

I am extremely cranky. Not just, "get out of my face" cranky, but rather "get out of my face or I will pull every one of your teeth out with a rubber chicken" cranky. I have no idea where it is coming from, but it is horrible. I've been wearing a scowl for the past week or so and cannot seem to get rid of it. Randy could walk into a room and say "Hi Honey I love you", and I would want to throttle him with my bare hands while disemboweling him with a plastic spork. My mom, who normally gets on my nerves as most moms should, but in a regular mom kind of way, now has me on the verge of punching myself in the face everytime she calls to see if I am in labor yet. "No MOM! I promise I will call you when I go into labor!" doesn't seem to work on her, and add to the fact that my folks live less than a mile away, I could be settling into a nice nap when POOF! here comes my mom up the driveway with some sort of sweet chocolate thing or some big salty pickle/sandwich/disgusting concoction that I shouldn't be eating because I'm already as big as a house and the midwife yells at me for eating too much salt and retaining water and being dehydrated but it's so good and I could eat 5 million of them and fuck it I don't care I am pregnant and I love my mom for bringing them to me but IT"S DRIVING ME CRAZY!

*whew**take a breath**hooooooooooooooooooooooooohaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa*

So I am cranky. In a nutshell. My pregnancy books tell me that during this time it is normal to be crabby. Don't ask me why. Maybe my body is gearing up its adrenaline for when I have to push out a HUMAN BEING from a small opening. Maybe it's preparing my husband for the bitch-on -wheels I will be in Labor and Delivery. Who knows? I'm just cranky. Not even my favorite cream cheese and tomato sandwich soothed me this morning. I felt like throwing it at the mailman when he came by, all smug and mailman-ish thinking he was so cool with his mail and my mail, controlling people's lives who does he think he is carrying my bills around like he has the power to control MY LIFE?!?!?!?!

*whew**and breathe*

I think I may need to load up one of my extremely violent-kill-everyone-in-sight-even-nuns-and-puppies video games, put my feet up and release some of this ...................whatever it is. Or I could just have "angry sex" when Randy gets home, but considering it takes me at least 20 minutes to roll from one position to the next it would be more like "lethargic, look at Orca the whale" sex and that would certainly not fit the bill.

Or maybe I could just have this baby NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Monday, June 19, 2006

Nesting and Being Cool

I've been told throughout my pregnancy that towards the end of it, the mom-to-be will begin a process called "nesting". This involves arranging, folding, rearranging and refolding things having to do with the baby or the house or anything that can be folded or rearranged. Naturally, being the ultra hip, ultra cool, and super goth chick that I am, I scoffed at these notions; saying, "The day I start to nest is the day that I vote Republican and start wearing Laura Ashley dresses". Me? Nest? I'm too busy hanging skeletons and bats on the baby room wall! I'm too preoccupied with the newest dance track they're playing at the clubs I can't go to since I've gotten pregnant! I'm too focused on making sure that I have enough black nailpolish and hair dye to last me before I go into labor! NESTING?!?!?! Not me, not I, I am extremely too cool for that. Let the birds nest, I'll be fine right here.

So I thought............................

I admit it. I'm nesting. With a little more than 2 weeks to go before I am due to deliver (trust me I think he may come early), I have become what I have feared most: A Nester! Let's see, I have folded, unfolded, REfolded, UNfolded again to look at ALL the baby's clothes, blankets, sheets, socks, onesies, you name it. They have all been uber-folded and hung up by: color, style, relevance to gender, animal types, vehicle types, short sleeve, long sleeve, cute, not-so-cute, etc. etc. Randy thinks I have completely lost it. I also decided to rearrange the baby's room which led to me spending half a day moving stuff around (that I should not have been moving in the first place) only to put the room back together EXACTLY the way it started out as. All of our video games have now been alphabetized, BY CATEGORY, and I spent 2 hours last night renaming the files in my accordion file and arranging all of my taxes and bill receipts by date. I even COLOR CODED them! At one point, Randy came into the room and accused me of nesting. I told him flat out that he was crazy and that I wanted a divorce. He laughed, of course, knowing that it was crazy pregnant lady talk and informed me that in the entire time we have been together he has NEVER seen me rearrange the file folder. Ok, fine, he's right, I AM nesting.

Today, I have big plans. I dreamt about rearranging Randy's closet, so after I do his laundry today I'm coing to arrange EVERYTHING by color. Not because I'm nesting. No. Not nesting. I just have this "urge" (insert sarcasm here).

Ok fine. I admit it. The uber goth chick is nesting. I am nesting. I refuse to vote Republican, but I may consider wearing Laura Ashley if she made some of her frilly crap in black and red, as it may pass as goth-ish, kinda Stevie Nicks circa 1984 when she was obsessed with owls.

Wednesday, June 7, 2006

The Curse of the Remake

What's with all these remakes coming out all of a sudden? Why remake a disgusting awful movie into and even more disgustingly awful movie, OR why remake a fantastic classic into a CGI filled load of dramatic crapola that sucks ass?

*disclaimer: although I will be commenting on the remakes, I have not seen, nor will I see any of them. I have seen the originals they were based on though so, as usual, I'm talking out of half of my ass when I discuss the remakes*

Case #1: The Omen
Ok, explain to me why anyone would want to remake this movie. The first incarnation of it in 1978 starred Gregory Peck in one of his final roles and was so utterly crappy that it should have been exorcized with Damien himself. Yes sure, I remember being a kid and we'd all run around screaming about the Omen and Damien, but we were KIDS. We were idiots. We were innocent (HAH!) little brats jumping at the noises that we heard when our closet door creaked. OF COURSE Damien is going to scare someone when they are seven! Hell, Gregory Peck's performance was just as frightening! Bottom line, it was a cheesy 70's horror movie. Keep it that way. Why remake it now? Are you going to make Damien even scarier by making him a Republican? And casting JULIA STILES as his mother? I'm sorry, is this The Omen, or Save the Last Satanic Dance? I would expect her to start poppin' and lockin' to keep the demons at bay. Plus, isn't she like twelve years old herself? And the kid who plays Damien is about as frightening as my Jack Russell terrier. Crap then, crap now.

Case #2: The Poseidon Adventure
Here we go with Hollywood deciding to take an absolutely FANTASTIC movie and fuck it up by remaking it, changing the characters, adding a love story and a minority here and there and turning a classic into a crappic. First of all, the orginal Poseidon had a star studded cast, incredible effects for its time, and a gripping plot. I mean, you've got Gene Hackman, Ernest Borgnine, Shelley Winters, Roddy McDowall, Red Buttons and so on. The 1972 cast was incredible. Shelly Winters made you want to rip out your heart and cry. Gene Hackman made you want to become a Marine and stomp around saving the planet. THIS was a movie! Now what does Hollywood give us today? Kurt Russell?!?!?! Now what the hell would Snake Pliskin be doing on a friggin' boat in the middle of the Atlantic? And who the hell is Josh Lucas? I think he played one of Becca's boyfriends on that Life Goes On show back in the day. Ok ok, Richard Dreyfuss is in it to add some validity, but honestly, the last thing I liked Dreyfuss in was What About Bob? and that was over ten years ago. Dreyfuss was in JAWS, he doesn't need to be on another boat. And judging by the trailers I have seen, it looks like there's a love story thrown in and an annoying kid. Thanks Hollywood. I'm seasick already.

Case #3: Superman
All I have to say about this is that even though he couldn't do it in life, Christopher Reeve is now rolling around in his grave because of this remake. So is his wife. Ok Ok, it's really called Superman Returns so it's not "technically" a remake but come on! This new Superman...who the hell is he? Brandon Routh? Who? He's been on Will & Grace and Gilmore Girls? BAH! Sign him up to play the Man of Steel! The only redeeming quality I forsee in this movie is Kevin Spacey playing Lex Luthor. He is such a genius when it comes to playing psychos that I think he's the only thing that will make this movie great. Needless to say, I ain't seeing it.

Case #4: The Hills Have Eyes
The original 1977 Wes Craven flick is a masterpiece in its genre. No glitzy special effects, just plain fucked up scary. Not alot of makeup was needed to make the mutated family look "mutated" because they were all really fucked up looking actors. Especially Michael Berryman whom you may remember as a mutant biker from Weird Science. The movie itself is one scarefest after another, but in its classic Wes Craven 1970s way. The remake? Well judging by the trailer, looked like a CGI'd half naked bimbo fest full of guts and blood. Ok, granted, it is a horror movie where you need your occasional bimbo and your standard bucket of blood thrown about, but there is that certain beauty, a certain je ne sais quoi of a 70s thriller as opposed to its remade conterpart of today. The Hills were better in '77.

Now don't get me wrong. There have been remakes and sequels that I have enjoyed, like Dawn of the Dead and its successors. I like them though, because their original creator George Romero was involved in the creation of the remakes and therefore was able to leave his mark in the new ones that made the originals so great. It is unfortunate that many great classics will be remade because now, with the highly developed computer graphics used in movies, directors will now think that what was cheesy and perfect in the 70s and 80s, needs to be computerized, revamped and remade into some sort of mega blockbuster. Oh please no. If they remake John Carpenter's The Thing, I will seriously have a fit.

Monday, June 5, 2006

Sexy Panties vs. Pregnant Underwear

I've been getting my suitcase ready for the hospital this past weekend as I am about 5 weeks away from my due date and, knowing that my mom delivered both my brother and myself early, I do not think I will be waiting the full 5 weeks before little Dante makes an appearance. So I want to be ready.

In order to pack my back successfully, I had a little list that I got at my Lamaze class so I was going through everything step by step. Everything was fine until I got to the underwear part. You see, since I started to be obviously pregnant (and not the sexy gal I was before), my underwear has changed drastically. As I was searching through my underwear drawer for things to pack, I came across these strange and wonderful objects that I hadn't seen in almost 7 months. They were silky! They were lacy! They were skimpy and thongy (is that a word?)! They were sexy! But most of all they were panties! You're probably saying, "Hey don't you still wear panties?". To which I must simply reply, "Hell, No".

One cannot allow themselves to describe what pregnant women wear as undergarments as "panties". "Panties" insinuates a sort of playful coyness; a certain girlish innocence; a small sexy little undegarment meant more to tantalize the viewer than to actually be an undergarment. What I, as a fully pregnant woman wear, CANNOT be considered a "panty". I think more appropriate words for what I wear these days are "parachute", "tent", "blanket", "behemoth", or just "holy shit did you borrow those from Andre the Giant?". NOT sexy. NOT skimpy. NOT thongy. NOT lacy. NOT silky. NOT PANTIES.

And I love how these companies market these dreadful undergarments. Do they actually think that by making them pink with hearts on them that you'll feel better wearing them? NO! It's more like, "Hey look at my fat ass in these pink heart gigantor grandma underpants...ain't I super sexy?". I tried to put on one of my pre-pregnancy pair of "panties" and almost killed myself on the spot. I have to wonder to myself if I will ever be that sexy hot mama that got knocked up in the first place.

So I finished packing, even after my terrible ordeal in my underwear drawer. The parachute underpants are packed and I'm sitting comfortably in a pair right now. Someday, somewhere, somehow, my "panties" will return to me and I can use these pregnancy underpants to dust the house and/or help some boater out with a new sail.

Friday, May 26, 2006

The DaVinci Code

I broke down and went to see the DaVinci Code. I wasn't going to. I really didn't want to. I enjoyed the book immensely and did not want that experience to be ruined. But we were bored (Randy's out of work for 10 days due to his stitches and risk of infection) so we decided to brave the perils of the movies on a Wednesday night. I say this because Wednesdays are Senior Citizen days at the Regal Cinema here and you never know if you're going to get that one 87 year old woman saying "What? What did he just say?" to whomever her caretaker is for that particular day.

Also, with all the religious hype the book received as well as the movie, I was in NO MOOD to deal with some idiot Jesus freak protester in my face about how the movie "insults his religion and makes God and the Church look bad". Not for nothing, but if you were worried about something insulting the Catholic Church and God, the DaVinci Code is certainly not even close to being in the Top 10. I would think that pedophile Catholic priests, The Crusades, The Spanish Inquisition, the pogroms that ravaged Europe, the countless murders, rapes, incests, and just plain old fucked up incidents in the Bible ( Hey dude! Go kill your son over here on this altar to prove how much you love God...oh you're about to slit his throat...baaaaah just kidding! I just wanted to see if you would do it-God). I think those would cause a little more problems for church and God, instead of a book and movie with Tom Hanks and that super sexy Jean Reno.

Anyhoo, if you haven't read the book, please do so. I'm not just saying that because you may be a bit confused if you haven't, I'm also saying it because reading books has become a lost art and not enough people read for the hell of it. Tangent for one second: I read this article in the New York Times Magazine last Sunday about how the book itself is becoming obsolete. Books now are going directly online and the beauty of cracking into a book is slowly becoming lost. So people, READ A BOOK! I don't care if it is Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance or Hop on Pop, just read for chrissakes!

Ok back to the movie. I have to say that despite all the horrible reviews it has been getting, I enjoyed it. I did. I'm a freak I guess. I think I enjoyed it because it deals with my passions: The Knights Templar, Art History, and Symbolism in art. Yes, I told you I was a freak. It was like I was back in school getting a lecture from my art professor about The Master of Flemalle's Merode Altarpiece and the symbolism behind the unlit candle. Fantastic! Most of you are probably shaking your head and saying to yourselves Flaming Master of what? This explains why I liked the movie. I'm an art historian for god's sake (no pun intended). When Tom Hanks gets a 20 minute lecture from Ian McKellen about the Magdalene and the Last Supper, I'm listening; I'm interested; I'm transifxed! Most other people would be saying to themselves, "when is Audrey Tatou going to take her shirt off?"

Alas boys (and women in "comfortable shoes") she does not, nor is there any hanky panky in this film, unless you count the naked cherubs in the paintings. Which, I am surprised considering that people will get offended by just about anything today, that no group has come forward to say that the artwork shown in the movie is to be cosidered child pornography and that the Renaissance masters were all pedophiles and so are we for going to see the movie. No joke, but albinos are now protesting the movie saying that it paints albinos as bad since Silas (a crazy religious fanatic who likes to killy kill kill) is an albino. Seriously. I'm not kidding. Albinos are pissed. I didn't realize there were THAT MANY Albinos in the world to get pissed about something so score one for them for teaching me something new.

In any event, the movie is engaging, but the book is better. I don't understand why people are in such an uproar about it though. The idea that Jesus was married and fathered a child with Mary Magdalene is not a new one. It certainly isn't impossible and I don't think it is insulting to be a father. Divine or Mortal, one cannot assume that all Jesus did was hang out with 12 apostles and perform miracles. He had a JEWISH MOTHER! She was probably on his ass 24/7 bugging him, "When are you going to stop hanging out with all those boys and make me a grandmother?", "You could have been a doctor, but noooooo you have to go turn water into wine!", "What did I do to deserve a son that hates his mother so?". Come on, you can't tell me that Jesus did not have a woman in his life. Regardless of what you believe, all joking aside, the ideas put forth by Dan Brown in the DaVinci Code are neither scandalous or new. The theory that Christ was indeed a father has been debated for centuries and should really not be such an issue. The movie itself never comes out in favor of either side and actually leaves it up to the viewer. So decide for yourself but don't call this blasphemy and don't waste your breath protesting it if you haven't seen it. It's a good semi-action semi-historical fiction flick. BUT READ THE BOOK FIRST!

Wednesday, May 24, 2006

Emergency Rooms and Pregnancy

Randy had to go to the Emergency Room yesterday. Seems like a saw at his job decided to take a bite out of him rather than the aluminum that it was supposed to be cutting. It took a nice chunk out of his thumb, requiring four stitches, but Randy (being the manly man man man manly man that he is) just laughed it off and said "Whutever darlin', 'twarn't nuthin'". As for me? I was in a panic. You see, I got a phone call that woke me out of a dead sleep that morning and my husband's first words to me were, "Don't worry, I'm fine", which in MY world means, "Honey I'm bleeding from all orifices, my car blew up, I'm chopped in half, and I'm becoming a Republican". So, of course, I panic.

I get to the Emergency Room to meet him there and since I am 34 weeks pregnant everyone assumes I am there because I am in labor. As I try to explain to everyone rushing up to me with wheelchairs and wet cloths that I am there to meet my husband who was viciously attacked by a power tool, I get no flicker of understanding from any of them. Rather I'm bombarded with "How far apart are your contractions?" and "Are you in pain?". Finally the troops recede and I can get to Randy who is sitting on a chair, white as a sheet (although he'll never admit it), with a bloody rag around his hand. And then they call him in and I wait.

As I wait, the "look at the pregnant lady in the E/R" starts again. I literally had about 7 strangers come up to me, rub my belly and ask me if I was in labor or if the baby was coming. Now mind you, these strangers were all in the E/R for some reason or another and they were coming up to me to rub my belly. What if they had some sort of weird cootie virus and were spreading it to me? And who the fuck goes up to a stranger in the Emergency Room and TOUCHES them? I mean, there was a chick in there with some great tattoos that I wanted to talk to her about, but HALF HER FACE was bloody . Did I say, "Hey nice ink, what's it about?" or did I politely try not to stare at her when it looked like her nose was about to fall off. I think you know which route I took.

After an hour or so, Randy finally comes out with his bandage and we are on our way. I told him that the next time we go to the E/R it had better be because I am in labor 'cause I'm not going to deal with touchy feely E/R again.

On a side note: Randy is fine. He has to be out of work for 2 days and then go for a wound assessment. The stitches will come out in 10 days. His only complaint is that he can't play video games. But he does enjoy the fact that, since he can't get his hand wet, I have to get into the shower with him and bathe him. Rowr Rowr!

Tuesday, May 2, 2006

Can I Change My Mind?

Randy and I had our first Lamaze class last night and, although I enjoyed the breathing and relaxation techniques our instructor taught us, the BIRTHING video was a completely different story. I've changed my mind. Take it back. There is no way I am going to be able to go through birth. I mean, that woman's lady parts were HUGE and there was a HUMAN HEAD coming out of them!!!!!!!! Can I tell you that I started crying during the birth? The instructor thought I was getting emotional because of the "beautiful experience". "Beautiful" my ass! I told her I was crying out of sheer fear! She laughed and said that's why Lamaze teaches you how to relax. Sister, if you think a couple of "deep cleansing breaths" are going to alleviate a PERSON COMING OUT OF MY VAGINA then you smoked way too much pot in college. I wonder if Star Trek technology can be invented before July 7th (my due date) so I can just beam this little guy out of me. What's his name, the Irish guy, the transporter room officer....hang on it will come to me, Miles O'Brien can lock on coordinates inside my uterus and just beam the little bugger out. What did Randy think of all of this? He thought it was "cool". Yea, sure. It's really "cool" when it's not your junk that is getting all stretched out and a PERSON IS COMING OUT! We did have fun with the actual Lamaze techniques. He rubbed my back, I breathed, and we bonded. It was actually romantic. I'm still scared shitless, but what can I do? It's a little late to be worried now, lol.

Wednesday, April 26, 2006

Silent Hill - The Movie

Ok so I went to see Silent Hill the other night and I have mixed reviews. Having been an avid fan of the Silent Hill video game series since it began, and having played SH 1 through 4 multiple times, I was very wary walking into a theater to see what filmmakers have done with Silent Hill.

I think it is extremely difficult to translate video game to film and have been extremely dissapointed in the past; Mortal Kombat and both Resident Evils popping into my mind immediately. The most recent game to movie transition of Doom was not that horrible to me and once I got over the fact that I could not control it, I actually enjoyed it. But Doom, on film, could never be what Doom was as an FPS in my dark living room.

So I decided to give Silent Hill, the movie a fair shot and not be overly critical. The trailer I had seen showed some promise although I did notice that Hollywood in its infinite wisdom changed things a bit. I noticed that the film was a mixture of SH 1 and 2 , most obvsiouly the appearance of Pyramid Head. Ok so here goes:

LIKES: I liked the Silent Hilly-ish things about the movie. I thought the effects and the settings were almost spot on with the game itself. One scene in the hospital was almost a perfect replica of what you get in the game. I also liked the transition between "normal" and "nightmare" mode. To this day when I hear a fire siren, I want to run screaming for the nearest exit. I heard that siren in the theater and I knew that she was going to be into some serious shit. I also liked the creature effects, most importantly Pyramid Head. That guy gave me nightmares when I played the game and he gave me nightmares after seeing the movie. Blame it on me being pregnant and overly sensitive but he STILL scares the crap out of me. I absolutely LOVED his appearance in the movie and I also liked how, just like in Silent Hill 2 the game, you never really know who the hell he is and why he is what he is. Gore factor on a scale of 1-10 got a 4 until the very end of the movie when all hell (literally) breaks loose and then I give it a 9. A bit reminiscent of early Hellraiser, but who am I to complain. Visually, the movie was great. However.....

DISLIKES: Okay, where the hell did these people go to acting school if they did at all? The chick cop had less facial expressions than Haley Joel Osment in AI (which ain't saying much) and the police detective sounded like he was reading off of a cereal box. I wasn't expecting Shakesperean soliloquies, but come on! Also, the story outside of Silent Hill..................bbbooooorrrriiiinnnnggggg. All the superfluous crap with the husband and the detective and the "real" Silent Hill could have been scrapped. I was so bored during their jabber. I just wanted them to get back to Rose looking for her daughter in "wacko" Silent Hill. Also, I don't remember there being a whole mess of people in Silent Hill, the game. You come across Dahlia and a few others but this was like a party in the movie. Oh, and changing Harry into Rose pissed me off too. Why they had to change the lead into a woman I don't know. You only get a woman in Silent Hill 3 and that was not even my favorite of the games. I think that if the movie was as confusing storywise as the game it would have been better, but as always Hollywood has to tie it all together into something that makes sense.

SPOILER: I think the ending will tie into a sequel that has more to do with Silent Hill 2, the game in which the main character receives a phone call from his dead wife telling him to come get her in Silent Hill. I got the feeling that they ended the movie the way they did to lead into that sequel, since this first movie began like the first game did.

Sunday, April 9, 2006

Baby Kicks that Make me Pee

So I was awakened this morning by a kick that sent my left leg into some sort of 1980's freestyle pop and lock breakdance.I didn't much mind that, hell I was never good at breakdancing when I was 10, so maybe if I can master it at 31 I can start a new trend. What I did mind was that Mr. Baby here decided that, after kicking whatever nerve triggered the ghosts of Turbo and Ozone (if you get this reference then I love you), that he would kick me directly in the bladder so that I may have to rush out later today and buy some adult diapers.So attractive eh? The picture in your mind of a big ol' pregnant chick wetting the bed. Fortunately, I made it to the bathroom since I've taken to sleeping on Randy's side of the bed which is closer to the bathroom door. Sure it's closer to the door by about 2 feet, but those 2 feet matter when I've got FIFA in my stomach.