In the spirit of Halloween, I went scrounging through my old pictures to find out what I used to look like when I dressed up.
It’s pretty bad. I mean, really.
First up, this wasn’t for a special occasion, this is what I wore EVERY DAY.
No, I’m not a tiny Amish nun but thank you for asking. That Strawberry Shortcake towel is my luxurious, long hair. Obviously. I wanted long hair and didn’t have it because (according to my mother) I refused to brush it. If I refused to brush it, she refused to let me grow it out. This apparently stayed in my subconscious when my hair reached my waist in high school. Take that!!
Next we have: Little Bo Peep goes grocery shopping.
At least, that’s as near as I can figure it. I’m wearing a dress and a matching freaking bonnet. I’m not sure that’s even legal now. But in 1983, why not?
A year later: Another hideous dress!! This time with a wee bit of costume jewelry!
Really, that dress is beyond me. Did someone make it? Who made it? Were they blind?
Of course, I’m not much better at dressing myself. This is what I came up with one year for a Mardi Gras parade.
Yes, that is indeed a purple sequin mesh/net shirt. Please note the addition of glitter war paint dramatically streaked across my cheeks and some heinous clip-on earrings. That’s RIGHT.
I would like to point out that my father was willing to go along with it. Not only did he allow this outfit, he played along.
As you can see, he used color hair spray to make his beard blue and pink. Because that’s how we do.
You may ask yourself, “Where did you obtain such things as a purple sequin mesh/net shirt AND a gold sequin belt?” Honestly, I have no clue. It couldn’t have been from dance recitals, because that was all tutus and what not. And the costume jewelry came from my grandmother, but I’m certain she didn’t have a stretchy sequin belt stashed away in her cellar from her youth. It was the 80s, maybe this stuff was just commercially available everywhere.
And now, my favorite costume of all time. One year, age 8, I tell my mother that I want to be a witch. Okay! She’s going to make me a skirt. With pointed edges, because pointy-edged skirts are what witches wear. And black stockings! Yes!
The result, though, looks less like I’m about to stir a cauldron and more like I’m a tiny woman of the night. Boy, those skirt slits went higher than we anticipated. And those are fishnets, by the way. And yes, I grabbed a magic wand from the magic supply closet, but at that angle it’s looking a little like a cigarette holder. AWESOME. I can’t believe I was allowed to leave the house like this.
So . . . this is probably the most unexpected, awesome thing. Dr. Frankenstein has arrived to fix my household appliances.
My friends Heather and Casey came to town to visit (yay!). Upon arriving, I informed Casey how upset I was that my very expensive, overly loved primo bar blender I got for Christmas 2 years ago has been dead, died, kaput. For a while now. Casey, being the guy that he is, asks if he can tinker with it. Sure, I say. Go nuts.
He informs me, after a brief inspection, that my blender has blown some fuse inside. He holds it up victoriously and I say disbelievingly, “That was the problem??”
So after dinner, Casey takes a trip out to Walmart to see if they have a fuse. He also picks up new vacuum cleaner belts that he happens to find there because I had been bitching how I couldn’t find any yesterday at Target. He officially rocks.
Upon his return the following happens. Casey: Okay. They didn’t have the fuse but . . . they had a $5 surge protector. And some soldering material. And a lighter that might do the job. So, uh, I can try this and if I totally blow it up I swear I’ll buy you a new one. But it’s not currently working anyway, right? Me: What are you asking me exactly? C: Well, if this works, and it’s gonna work, you can use your blender. It might glow a really neat light when you use it. Are you okay with that? Me: What??
After 10 minutes, of asking if it’s going to blow me up or catch my kitchen on fire if I try to use it once they leave, accusing him of being a fly-by-night weirdo who makes explosive devices in the kitchens of friends, I agree to let him do it. Heather assures me that after 2 years of living with him, she’s not been killed.
And he does the following (I had to quote him because I couldn’t possibly summarize this): “I sharded a surge protector, cut out the fuse, soldered it in where the blender fuse used to be, heat-shrinked it, and turned it on. And if the fuse blows out again, just open it up and flip the switch.”
Lo and behold, I have a blender again. I admit to being a little terrified of using it, but I’m gonna have the fire extinguisher handy. And it doesn’t glow, but I’m kind of okay with that. That might have made me even more nervous.
If he didn’t have such a good job already, I would tell him he has a prolific, if scary and weird, new career.
I’ve been wanting to see this movie for a while, and it popped up on my Instant Netflix today! And I was so recently charmed by another real-time review of Lost Boys, that I figured I would do one for this movie. It has such a brilliant, cheeztastic premise; how could I resist?
We begin with an aerial shot over some snow-topped mountains. This is how you know you’ll be watching a movie about nature. The music is creepy, and kind of sounds like something from a Harry Potter intro or a Tim Burton movie. I’m not really understanding that choice, but okay.
00:32 Electric Youth is in the house! I refuse to refer to Ms. Gibson as “Deborah.” I don’t care how much she whines, I ain’t doing it.
01:10 The view keeps switching between deep ocean and mountain scenes. All of nature will be addressed here. I’m just waiting for a shot of a lion on the veldt and narration by Sigourney Weaver now.
01:21 Nothing has even happened yet, and I’m already cracking up because the visual effects are by Tiny Juggernaut.
02:18 A helicopter and a caption that says something about sonar testing. I’m pretty sure the pilot is wearing pink lipgloss. It’s pretty shiny and very fetching for a man in a helmet. Read the rest of this entry »
Last night I’m playing with my cat and her new favorite string. Suddenly, and I don’t think this is my fault, she runs over my foot. This results in long gashes going across the tops of four toes. This quite naturally hurts, so I start screaming and carrying on like a giant girl.
C, hearing the commotion, saunters on over. I pick up my foot and wave it at her. She says, “Oh, geez, she just scratched you.”
Of course, that’s when blood starts gooshing out of my foot. Hahaha, that’s what happens when you make light of my injuries! She sprints to the bathroom and returns with a considerable wad of toilet paper which she then strategically smooshes around on my foot. Thusly staunched (sort of), I announce that I’m going upstairs to stick my foot in the tub, pour some peroxide on my foot, and clean the cuts out. She tells me that she has just finished putting Drano in the tub, but I can certainly hop up on the teeny wittle counter in the downstairs bathroom and put my foot in the sink. For those of you without a visual, the counter pretty much is the sink, so what she’s actually suggesting is that I either: 1) do a weird combination ballet move/flamingo stance and clean my foot or 2) somehow stick my foot into the sink that my ass would be sitting in. Neither of these options is sounding really attractive, and the blood that had been held at bay by a wad of Angel Soft is now threatening to end up on the carpet. So I demand that she go into the kitchen and fetch the big pot. Which, of course, turns into “What pot?” “The BIG pot!” “The one you make pasta in?” “No, the OTHER big pot!” “The new one?” “NO, the one that would fit a foot!!”
Correct pot having been located, she fills it with water and somehow hits my foot because while I’m expecting her to, you know, put it on the floor, she’s holding it mid-air and raising it to meet my foot. I swear, she defies all logic in my world. The cool water feels lovely, and it’s really neat how little pink bubbles seem to be coming out of my toes.
She goes upstairs for supplies and comes back with the following: a roll of gauze, some Neosporin, handsoap, a giant pack of bandaids, and an Ace bandage. For real. She’s nothing if not prepared. She then attempts to wash my foot which means she’s attempting to not only touch my foot but she’s about to touch the things that hurt and that is not allowed. Ask my mother how many times I locked myself in the bathroom with an injury as a child. No one touches my scrapes, my splinters, and certainly not the bloody cuts that hurt. So I snatch my foot away and, okay, yes, splash her in the face a little. It isn’t on purpose so I don’t see why she gets all huffy.
Once I feel sufficiently de-germed, she pats me dry with a towel (after I object, of course, to the first towel because I claim it’s too “linty”). And then I am gracious enough to let her put bandaids all over my foot. I decline the gauze, tape, and Ace bandage, though it’s a sweet gesture.
And then, for the rest of the evening the cat stays near me and even sleeps next to my foot on the ottoman. It’s a weird sort of protectiveness, even though she’s the one that did it. C claims that the cat feels bad, but I know better. I caught her sniffing the bandaids and trying to claw the back of my foot when she thought I wasn’t looking and I’m keeping an eye on her.
Movies that make you shake your ass, a 80s dance movie retrospective
There are two things that mark a true 80s dance movie: underdogs and cheese. The best dance movies are about overcoming hardship through the transformative power of dance. Dance that is cheesy, overwrought, and only very passably cool (and maybe only for a month after the movie’s release).
But I love cheesy dance movies. I’m not ashamed to say it. I will watch the worst movies made as long as there’s rhythmic movement involved. Plot? We don’t need a plot! Just tack on a remotely plausible reason for the dancing! It’s all about the DANCING.
Anyway, here is a list of some of my favorite “so bad they’re awesome” 80s dance movies. Some are classics, some aren’t. There might even be one or two you’ve never heard of. In which case, you’re welcome.
Flashdance (1983)
Oh, Flashdance. You inspired an entire generation to change their exercise routine and start wearing one shoulder off of a ripped t-shirt. You not only unleashed the secret of the bra removal, you turned it into a mid-date seduction technique. But the point of the whole movie is an inexplicable stipper/welder combination who dreams of something better. Naturally, she’s self-taught and encounters snobbery from the other ballet dancers (and even the snooty receptionst who we all wanted to punch in her pinched, non-dancing mouth).
But she overcomes! She goes in and dances her own style and wows the judging panel. She even makes one guy start blowing his nose to the beat—she’s that good.
Unintentionally funny parts
*0:40 I’m sorry, did she pull a loose record from her jumbled dance bag? Shouldn’t it be all scratched?
*0:52 Why is the snotty receptionist on the judging panel?
*1:00 The nervous, shaking fingers that make it difficult to place the needle on the record. Now that everything is just a slight nudge of a button, the image of fingers on stereo equipment is rarely used to reveal anything. The other time was in Fright Night when a long vampire nail seductively reaches out to press “play” on a tape deck. It was awesome.
*The obvious wig on the dancer
*The outdated dance moves that would, today, get someone shitcanned on So You Think You Can Dance.
But you can’t deny it. When the song hits its stride and the dancing lets loose, you cheer for her all the way.
Dirty Dancing (1987)
Now, this one has a more complicated underdog story. While in Flashdance the romance is peripheral to the protagonist’s dream, in Dirty Dancing the romance is created through dance. We all know the plot: privileged, sheltered girl meets a hunka burnin’ love at a summer camp. There’s a (gasp!) abortion that scares (yet oddly excites) the girl and necessitates that she spend a lot of time with the bad boy. Dancing. Dirtily. Oh baby.
Baby might be the main character, but all she’s having to prove is that she’s an adult or something and really isn’t the bumbling idiot everyone thought. The real underdog here is Johnny (Swayze). He just works for the man, occasionally gets taken advantage of by rich women, and gets shit on by Neil, the annoying manager on a permanent power trip. But Johnny gets his revenge. No, I’m not talking about deflowering Baby and having it thrown in her rich father’s face. He gets to dance his way dammit, in front of all the rich people. His dancing is actually a giant “fuck you” interpretive which brings everyone over the dark side of dirty dancing. And they like it! A lot! Everyone dances! His dancing makes Baby’s father forgive him (along with Robbie’s admission, but whatever). And again, no matter what you might have thought about the movie leading up to the final scene, you know that seeing them dance together and pulling off that damn lift makes your own heart get a little squishy.
Unintentionally funny parts *0:20 He beckons her by crooking his finger at her. I find this unspeakably funny and a little dirty.
*1:38 That swooning look she gives him.
*1:45 They are so enamored of each other, they forget to keep dancing!
*1:48 “Crap! Start dancing again!”
*1:50 “Ha ha! We’re dancing again and I am giddy with relief because this time you’re the one who screwed up our routine. La la la, not Baby’s fault this time!”
*1:59 Dirrrrrrty.
*2:04 That screaming girl should be at a sporting event or a concert. And even though this is set in the 1960s, she looks as if she’s screaming at Bon Jovi back when he had girl hair.
*2:12 Weeeee!
*2:20 Johnny leaps off the stage in order to show off his absolute freedom, his poo-pooing of the rules that asshats like Neil try to force on him. Let us all find something and leap from it (barring tall buildings) so that we may share in this exhilaration.
*2:24 The concert-screamer is losing her mind.
*2:41 Oooh, thrusting. Which Baby finds amusing.
*2:53 “Come on!” You know that’s what he screams to his fellow dancers right then.
*2:55 The inexplicable “group mentality” portion of the dance number. Did they all practice this every summer, just in case Johnny was able to one day stage a coup? Or is the spirit of rebellion so strong and Johnny’s sweat so pungent that they all just fall into line?
*3:23 The lift!! The effing lift!! Come on, even the most cynical bastards get a little happy right now.
*3:33 “Oh my God, we did it! You didn’t drop me! I want you so much right now. Let us run away to make the sex.”
*3:59 Right there, the girl in the polka dots! Doriana Sanchez, the disco choreographer from So You Think You Can Dance. You can find her everywhere, eventually.
*4:07 Are these women lesbians? Sorry, “romantic friends?”
Staying Alive (1983)
The sequel to Saturday Night Fever sees our beloved Tony Manero trying to make it as a Broadway dancer. Like Alex from Flashdance, Tony is self-taught and trying to compete against people with absolute gobs of technique and experience. Cynthia Rhodes plays the slightly shabby love interest with a heart of gold. By the way, for those that don’t know, Cynthia Rhodes is the glue of 80s dance movies, especially since she’s in the first three movies of this list. Recognize.
Finola Hughes is the other love interest (because Tony Manero always has at least two women on the line) and plays the uber diva dance bitch from hell. In fact, she quite literally plays the queen of hell in the final dance number. AWESOME.
Anyway, Tony bucks all the odds and manages to become the star of the show. But that isn’t enough, oh no. Like Johnny Castle, he has to do it his way or it just isn’t validating enough. And he does, to the point of throwing his co-star off the stage and going into a crazy, shimmying solo.
Unintentionally funny parts
*0:02 The demons are groaning. Or is that moaning? These are some sexy freaking demons. Frankly, if hell is this much of an orgy, sign me up.
*0:10 The unitards that the guys are wearing, with the chests cut out . . . I don’t know whether the point is to make me giggle or do a demony moan/groan.
*0:25 What is that noise that chick just made? Putting my onomatopoeic skills to the test, I bring you “Oh-UNGH!”
*0:31 Finola Hughes and Cynthia Rhodes are giving each other stink eye. Keep it professional, ladies. You’re fighting over John Travolta, have some perspective.
*0:38 Here comes his shinyness now. Did they rub him down with Vaseline for this?
*0:42 I hear whip noises, but I see rope. ROPE. They couldn’t have at least painted the rope? I’m not scared of fat white rope.
*1:48 Heaven is a strobe light/laser show. Does that mean God is a DJ?
*2:13 I just can’t.stop.laughing. He is leaping with total abandon, isn’t he?
*3:25 Threw the Hell Queen right off the stage. Where she kind of rolled. This would have been more awesome if she grabbed some of those ropes and brought the curtains down on him.
*Are we all aware that this was directed by Sylvester Stallone? Really? This the secret vision of Rocky? I guess that explains the uber-glistening.
Sing (1989)
You want an underdog? Man, have I got the movie for you. Not only is there a bad boy/good girl romance, the entire school is trying to overcome something. And the worst thing, the absolute worst thing about having your school shut down, your neighborhood declared a pile of shit, and having to maybe not be around all your friends anymore is the prospect of having your talent show canceled.
Okay, I guess I can see that the show is symbolic, a final “fuck you” to the bureaucratic asshats who are closing down the neighborhood. I’m willing to give in. There are actually two scenes that are worth mentioning. In the first, the bad boy, Dominic (Peter Dobson), is caught by his teacher (Lorraine Bracco) practicing his dance moves. In a dark alley. Because that’s where you secretly dance, obviously. Naturally, she stops and challenges him to a kind of inspirational dance-off.
Unintentionally funny parts *2:48 The dialogue that crescendos right along with the music
*The super cool, dramatic lighting that you can only get in a back alley.
*3:07 Lorraine “Sopranos” Bracco flailing her arms at the beginning of the dance number
*3:22 Elvis!
Naturally, the shows get put on and yes, there is a final dance number. A couple, actually. But it’s the final final one that counts. People cheer wildly, some even cry. Maybe you will, too.
Unintentionally funny parts
There are none, because this number is AWESOME and inspirational and you will love it. They are dancing and singing and it is glorious. There is, however, one funny moment completely on purpose involving a cop and one of the school board asshats.
Girls Just Want to Have Fun (1985)
Before Sarah Jessica Parker ignited debates and murdered fashion sense as Carrie Bradshaw, she played a dance-lovin army brat whose biggest dream was to make it onto DTV, a dance program filmed in Chicago. Lucky her, her family has just moved there! But her overbearing military dad won’t let her go to the auditions. So her new best friend, Lynne (Helen Hunt), convinces her to sneak downtown and try out. She makes it through auditions and is paired with bad boy (natch) Jeff for the final competition on live television.
Unintentionally funny parts
*The whole thing is a montage of dance styles.
*1:35 Punk dancing!
*1:59 Helen Hunt is dancing. This might be the only time you ever get to see this.
*2:43 Jeff sees Janey as the dance goddess she really is, even though she’s wearing a uniform.
*3:23 Running around rhythmically on stage and then crashing through some paper into a shaft of sunlight means a guy is not only a dance god, but probably has a giant penis.
But okay, Janey and Jeff finally make it to the big show and are pitted against Janey’s nemesis, Natalie. Natalie is a rich bitch debutante with an automated closet, just so you know. Through many trials and tribulations that include revenge at a party, petty disagreements, Janey’s getting caught sneaking out, and her subsequent grounding they are able to come together and dance, dammit. Also witnessing the dancing suddenly makes Janey’s dad all supportive or something. I think.
Unintentionally funny parts
*0:25 He’s hanging on to her like she’s a cranky toddler. My mom used to drag me out of stores just that way.
*3:22 Natalie’s “ungh” thrust during her dance number
* 3:27 The obvious difference between the slow, half-witted turns of SJP’s close up and the up to speed version of her double
*4:09 “Let’s do it.” That’s your battle cry? Really?
White Nights (1985)
Well, as far as underdogs go, you can’t beat political persecution. This movie is a little less cheesy than all the others because the plot is actually interesting and the actors are solid. Mikhail Baryshnikov and Gregory Hines are the main characters, Isabella Rossellini and Helen Mirren are supporting. That is a fairly powerhouse combo of real dancers and actors.
Baryshnikov plays a Russian ballet dancer who fled the country and emigrated to America during a tour. His plane crashes in Russia, they figure out who he is, and keep him there because in Russia he’s considered a criminal. Hines is an American dancer who emigrated to Russia after his disgust with himself and his country following the Vietnam War. Also, they are white and black, respectively, and dance in completely different styles. They couldn’t be more different!
Still with me? Oh, good. So! Hines is assigned to Baryshnikov to convince him that dancing in Russia is the best thing ever and he should stop plotting his escape. The mean old KGB guy is now threatening Hines and his wife, and at one point takes the wife away in the dead of night.
So Hines and Baryshnikov have to learn how to work together. This means they have to dance together in order to show their newfound cooperation to the KGB guy (who watches them on secret camera all day).. No, really.
Unintentionally funny parts
*0:12 That little face makes me giggle.
*0:39 Double crotch shot of two very famous dancers
*1:00 That little fist brought just so, ugh. Dance power!
*1:05 First of all, Baryshnikov is tap dancing. Mkay. This is fine but it suddenly makes Hines, who is a beautiful and amazing dancer, look almost clumsy. Weird.
*1:22 This is not funny at all. That little hip move of Baryshnikov’s still, to this day, makes me swoon a little. I don’t know what it is.
*1:56 Run!
*2:04 KGB man wants to dance, but he only knows how to box. Sad.
Baryshnikov hooks up with his former dance partner (Mirren) who now has some measure of freedom and power. Of course, she’s really bitter about the inquisitions she dealt with following his hasty and criminal departure. She just wants him to stay in Russia and behave. How does he convince her to help? With the power of dance, of course! He shows her what freedom means by moving unconventionally and breaking with all of his ballet training. And she is moved to tears.
Unintentionally funny parts
*0:19 Apart from breaking into the world of tap, he has also been studying break dancing and is going to tentatively give it a try here.
*0:24 I’m a tortured infant
*0:26 Who grows into a cranky toddler. Tantrum! I don’t wanna dance in Russia!
I kid, some of this is amazing and I’m betting that Mia Michaels saw it in her formative dance years and said “Yeah! I don’t wanna follow the rules either!”
Fast Forward (1985)
Oh, honey. Really. I can’t even tell you how craptastic this movie is. That’s why I saved it for the end. For those of you willing to read this far, this is the lopsided cherry on the dance pile, the wonky pirouette of doom.
First of all, you should know that this is directed by Sidney Poitier which, I think, lends a certain credibility to the whole thing.
Fast Forward is a noble tale of 8 teenagers from Sandusky, Ohio. They are a dancing/singing group working hard, rehearsing daily in an abandoned building, dreaming of running away from home to a compete in a talent competition in New York City. Because talent scouts are always on the lookout for a dance group. They’re different, and edgy. Also, they are racially diverse.
So! They get there! The main guy, with whom two of the group members had an in, he’s all recently dead. The talent competition has been moved back by a few weeks. A decision has to be made, go home and forget about it or stay there in the big, scary city and wait it out.
I think you can figure out which option they choose.
While they’re waiting, they decide to dance on the street for money. Another dance group (my, but they’re just everywhere!) gets all angry at a club one night and the leader, Caesar (Michael DeLorenzo) challenges them to a battle. Our poor little group gets their asses handed to them by Caesar’s break dancing, nunchuk wielding, hair flinging group of inner city misfits. Yeahhhh.
The main choreographer of the Ohio group flips his shit at this outcome and figures that since they’ll be playing to a New York crowd, maybe they should learn some new moves beyond the quasi-contemporary stuff they learned from watching tv. So they all learn some hipper dance moves (compared to what they were doing, anyway) and then go back to the club and challenge Caesar again. And they win!
Unintentionally funny parts
* 0:05 That long haired chick in the leopard print from Caesar’s crew? Doriana Sanchez. I told you she was everywhere.
*0:24 When the girl in the blue and black stripes does that weird lean to the left, it looks like the exact same thing my mom does when she has to burp.
*1:30 Caesar’s girls really are a hot mess—all I see is frantic posing and messing up of hair
*1:43 The girl in the white jumpsuit from the Ohio group is the most ungainly, graceless dancer I have ever laid my eyes on
*2:28 When they spin while waving their hands overhead like that, all I hear is “Yoo-hoo!” in a kind of cartoon voice.
*3:21 What is that, mime? Why didn’t Caesar just punch him in the mouth, isn’t that what you’re supposed to do to mimes?
Again, the group has to overcome great obstacles in order to perform in the big show. But they make it, and they win by singing and dancing and showing these New York assholes that innovation combined with technique is an unstoppable force. Also, white leotards and little black jackets are super stylish.
Unintentionally funny parts
*I don’t have time to explain the old lady with spiked hair, just watch the movie
*Is it just me, or do the white leotards, due to the short little jackets, have the appearance of granny panties?
*The girls are also wearing little white lace gloves with the fingers cut off. I just wanted to point that out.
*2:26 Well, that’s a way to kill time, everyone stand in a line and switch places. It’s like the dance equivalent of not having a verse for a song, going “la la la” and then forgetting to write a new line before it’s time to record.
*3:05 Ahoy!
*3:29 Woo! I just did the robot for 3 whole seconds! Time to hyperextend in celebration!
*3:38 Well, yes, that is a head spin. But her little legs all akimbo crack me up every single time I watch it.
For those of you with Instant Netflix, Fast Forward and White Nights are currently available right this very second. Watch them now, thank me later.
Since we returned to Austin from our Louisiana trip, the lack of humidity here has just been killing us. Really, we had a few blissful days of sticky air and no cedar pollen back home, but as soon as we crossed the state line into Texas, the dryness just started to kill us.
So I’ve been fighting an impending sinus infection for the last few days. Last night I was feeling all feverish and blah-y and just, UGH. I was up until 4 in the morning and decided to lie down in the guest bed since C’s alarms were set for 4:30 (seriously).
Now, this is what I remember from this morning as C came in to tell me goodbye before she left for work.
C: Hi babe, did you sleep okay? Me: No. C: Are you feeling all right? Me: No, I went to bed all crappy feeling and I thought I had a fever. I still feel kind of hot, actually. All my joints are achy, isn’t that weird? I don’t think I have the flu, though. Which is good. Who gets the flu in August? C: (turns around and exits the room while I’m still talking) Me: Bitch! I’m talking to you!!
So C gets home from work and this is what she says really happened:
C: Hi babe, did you sleep okay? Me: Ungh. C: Are you feeling all right? Me: I’M SO HOT!!! (followed by a rolling over and burying my face in a pillow, signaling the end of the conversation).
Okay, that’s not at all how I remember it. I recall being very lucid and eloquent about the exact nature of my discomfort and even offering various theories on why I could be feeling so badly. But . . . that does seem optimistic, doesn’t it? I’m going with C on this one.
Long after I had suspected that the Tooth Fairy might be a load of crap, I made a different discovery.
Let me back up. Like most little girls, I was fascinated with the things on top of my mother’s dresser. Little glass boxes filled with random, mismatched jewelry; a basket full of makeup; fluffy brushes; a little plastic McDonald’s coffee stirrer she used for mixing two shades of liquid foundation (this was the 80s when everyone was inexplicably pink-tinged and never looked right); pictures. I don’t think my mom wore perfume, but if I catch a whiff of the right moisturizer or Shaklee makeup I’m sent right back to my childhood.
But one day, I found another glass box. It was tucked away, a little further back on the dresser that was so much taller than me. And in it, were a bunch of baby teeth. Some of which had remnants of dried blood.
Now, I understand that some mothers keep that kind of stuff. But I had no clue at the time! What theory was I supposed to come up with upon finding her freaky tooth collection, what might a child in South Louisiana think of all this?
VOODOO.
Yes, I was convinced my sweet, church choir-singing mother was going to try to put a hex on me. No lie. I put the box back very carefully and kept my eye on her. I got suspicious when we had chicken, wanting to see if she kept the bones. When she put me to bed, I pretended to go to sleep and then snuck out to spy on her as she sat in the living room. I spent a lot of time crouched in the foyer, peering around the corner. I never caught her, but I did get to see some late night TV.
I’m sure I must have eventually asked my mother, like a week or two later. I remember her laughing really hard at me (though, to be fair, that happened a lot). And I’m certain she assured me that she had no creepy use for my teeth other than a warped sense of sentimentality.
Even though I’ve lived in Texas for just over 2 years now, I have yet to change my cell phone number. Not that this is the point, I’m just saying.
This afternoon, I received a text message:
“this ace? *l&k, denise*”
I don’t actually know what that means, but I ignored it.
10 minutes later, my phone rings.
Me: Hello? Female caller: Hellooo. Me: Um, hello? FC: Hi, who is this? Me: (I really hate when people call ME and then instead of identifying themselves, ask who I am). Who are you looking for? FC: Well, this is the deal. I accidentally gave this guy your number instead of mine. Me: Uh huh. FC: Has anyone called you? Me: No. Bye! FC: WAIT!! Me: What. FC: If a guy calls you asking for Brooke, could you give him this number and ask him to call me? Me: Are you kidding me? FC: Just give him this number. You’re sure a guy hasn’t called you? Me: (laughing before I hang up)
Oh please, now I’m a dating/answering service? No way. No way in hell, lady.
UPDATE: It’s 12:33 a.m. C just got home and I was relating this tale to her. Suddenly, my phone rings! C says, “I bet it’s the guy!”
I answer, lo and behold a guy asks if Brooke is there. “Wrong number!! CLICK.”
C says if he calls again I should answer “Brookview Convent, may I help you? Oh, I’m sorry, she’s taking her vows right now, not only of chastity but also silence. You should have called earlier today. Go with God!”
FUTHER UPDATE, Monday: The same girl starts calling my phone today. Like 10 times, seriously. I don’t answer. Finally, she texts me.
“Hi i talked to you yesterday about a number callin u…has anyone called you yet???”
I respond, because I am sick and tired of this shit: “You have got to be kidding me. I’m not your answering service. Stop contacting me.”
Which prompts this from her: “Umm there really is no need to get rude…i was just asking u a simple question & yesterday you could hv told me u didnt want to…obviously u having some damn problems today…but no problem dude. — ima be aiight.”
Can you even believe this? Is this actually my life? YOU IMPERTINENT LITTLE TWIT SHIT. Really now, I am shocked at the behavior of some people. Soon after that, she started calling me again so I wisely blocked the number. People are WEIRD, man. But I’m absolutely thrilled to know she’ll be “aiight.” Tiny little idiot.
It’s no secret that I stay up VERY late at night. Sometimes I don’t go to bed until after the sun comes up. I try to reverse this and sleep along with the normal people. Sometimes it works for a while. But, left to my own devices, I snap right back to being a night owl.
That’s not the point. The point is that last night (this morning) I went to bed at 4 am, which is early for me! I had been lying there for a bit, about to fall asleep, when I had a sneezing fit. Of course, C wakes up a little bit.
Me: (sneezing uncontrollably) C: (groggily) Blarg. Y’ok? Me: Yeah, I’b fide. C: Really? Me: Yup, just sneezing. C: Ok. Do you want a towel? Me: Um, no. I’m going to get a tissue, though. I don’t think I need a whole towel. C: (suspiciously). O-kay.
At that point she quite literally falls back into her pillows and begins snoring.
So I asked her about it this morning (she’s making me us breakfast right now!).
C: Oh yeah! I remember that. Me: Why would I need a towel though? C: Because when you sneeze, you get really snotty and gross. Me: Wow, thanks. C: Just looking out for you.
I don’t know whether to be flattered at her attention to detail (though she’s exaggerating) and concern or be kind of insulted.
To begin, I am an avid reader of Pajiba. It is, first and foremost, a movie review site which offers “scathing reviews for bitchy people.” I adore it. Part of what I like so much, though, are the comments. I mean it, some of the writers on there are freakin hilarious. The kind of funny I often wish I could be but rarely am unless I’m trading one-liners with a friend or my mom.
A recent feature, Eloquent Eloquence, has been reinstated. It culls the top 10 comments every week and offers a list. I’m glad it’s back, I get to read what really are some zingers that I probably missed.
And today, I made the list. I seriously got so excited that I did a happy dance around my apartment and then called C. All she really heard was “EE! EE! I made EE!” I think she thought I was just making little dolphin noises at her and she made me calm down.
Anyway, this is what I posted, in response to another comment about Snow’s “Informer” (yes, that crappy song from the early 90s) asking what, precisely, “a licky boom-boom down” meant.
It indicates he employed the oral section, or front two-thirds (as opposed to the posterior pharyngeal section) of his tongue in a downward motion upon her “boom boom,” which is a common euphemism for both nouns and verbs dealing with sexual acts or body parts involved with sex acts.
However, the “a” that precedes the phrase “licky boom-boom down” indicates that this is a noun phrase. In this case, “licky” could be adjectival, modifying a compound noun, “boom-boom down.” Alternately, both “licky” and “boom-boom” may be adjectival, modifying “down.” But that moves “down” from a directional preposition to a noun, changing the meaning to a salivating, explosive pile of pillow stuffing.
Pretty sure that’s what he meant.
Anyway, after years of reading and giggling at the reviewers and comments of Pajiba, I was pretty excited to make the illustrious EE list. Having someone think you’re funny is always a nice thing.
In other news, C and I have been doing even more decluttering. As a shout out to M, no, we haven’t removed the giant blue rubbermaid boxes that are currently draped with fabric and serving as an end table, but we did open them and peer inside. It was not exciting, but it’s nothing we can throw away, so they’re staying there. Besides, if I got rid of them, where would I put that lamp?
But we did clear out even more books (amazing), re-organized my closet/the storage area, and found the under-the-bed plastic containers to put away all our winter stuff. I’m not so secretly hoping that by decluttering our space, I shall also clear my mind and get my damn thesis written. It’s all there (mostly), waiting to be written. Scattered notes, endless documents with grids and thoughts, and God only knows what else. You heard me, thesis. It’s ON.
