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.