Indie Bloggers: The Arbitrarian (Weekly Digest)

The Arby: 9/15/07 - Newness

2007-09-20T00:31:35Z

Saturday, September 15

Newness

Oh, hello there. My old friend September has made an appearance again, thus the beginning of new things. January might be the official start of a new year but September...oh, September...it peeks its little head out and demands to be noticed. So we all give into its will and begin things anew. September means neverending busyness while trying to get back into the swing of things. It's difficult to say the least, to go from the bliss that is summertime and the living is easy to Fall and the living makes me want to remove my [insert body part here] with a [insert name of pointy, sharp object here]. So yeah, I'd figured I'd do a little featuring of new(ish) members of IB to help them feel welcome and at home. And to start things off, the WSG says it best. I like perfunctory especially when it best describes my feelings on moving.

And speaking of moving, I've moved into a place with a cat. I am normally good with cats, I used to cat sit. They like me, I like them. Though when I moved, I encountered a cat that seriously needs to get laid. Suddenly, I'm not so much a cat person as I am a person who likes to spray the psychotic cat with water every time it gets within seven feet of me. But hey! I'm not the only one, for Ashlie isn't one either, but for far better (and stranger) reasons.

When Eric asked the man to explain the situation the man turned red and stammered that he just needed to follow him NOW. Weaving through the gathering line of passengers he made his way over to the seating area where the man feebly pointed to the "situation." Sitting facing the window in plain view to all around was a woman breast feeding.

And on that note, let's move onto something a little less disturbing like, Girl Scouts perhaps? I actually used to be a Girl Socut, I'm talking for well over a decade I was involved in the organization and it hurts my head to think about it. But the thought of Girl Scouts, hurts Gina even more.

It was rather like a Greek myth, incorporating the River Styx. There I stood, the fallen hero, the would-be Girl Scout, the forever Brownie, watching all the pony-tailed souls cross the river and go into Hell. Where once was one -ie girl, there now was Sisyphus, forever required to push cookie sales without narry a kickback. And where once there was a Girl Scout Mother, there across the stupid bridge in front of all the parents and the recently lost souls of brand new Girl Scouts, there now was only Cerberus, the three-headed hound of Hades. Damn them all, ALL of them and their little dogs, too!

And speaking of Girl Scouts and their cookies - really now, it is the BEST PART - you wanna know what happens when someone eats too many thin mints? That person will probably gain a few or seven pounds. Which, no, those pounds cannot just be willed away, Somebody's Princess. I've tried. It doesn't work.

This frustrates me greatly as dieting and exercise are neither activities that I enjoy [in the slightest]. Whenever I claim to be buckling down and committing to a healthy regiment, I immediately grab for a handful [or box-full] of food...like Monday's Puffins fiasco that I'm ashamed to report. I think it's fair to say that small, delicious, bite-size carbs belong only on the grocery store shelves and NOT in my pantry.

And in closing and apropos of absolutely nothing else, the 80's. Oh the 80's. Not kind to a single one of us. But this is one of the best representations of 80's hairstyling that I've seen since Kris and Stacy's 'Bang Off'.

See, I came of age in the eighties. That decade dictated, to me, that good hair was achieved with scalding hot curling irons, mousse or gel, and a lot of hair spray.

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The Arbitrarian: That's Life

2007-09-04T14:53:18Z

Thursday, August 30

That's life

Had I known that summer would go buy so fast, I would have cherished it a bit more in my youth or at least taken a little more time to just sit around doing nothing. Alas it is over now, not that it makes a difference when you pretty much do the same thing everyday, except now things are ramping up and the ever pleasant return to school returns. There's a small part of me that misses going to school and September meaning newness then the rational part of my brain that is happy to be paid to do something for eight hours a day. So it all works out nicely.

In that same vein - kind of, maybe - Julie Pippert recently wrote of her daughter's start of kindergarten and what I appreciated most about this was the truth in that kindergarten sets the stage for the rest of our lives. The meeting of new people and teachers, the beginnings of making attempts to fit in and find a comfort zone. The fact of the matter is that no matter what it's always one person alone trying to vie for the attention of one other and holy hell, it's hard. Whether it be at 5, 25 or 35 there has always been and will always be a relentless competition:

I'm in a big pond now, I thought, and there will be tons of these. I know they thrive in this type of environment, so they'll be plentiful and visible. A tangible craving for the homey, safe confines of my boutique preschool washed over me. If I felt it this keenly, I can only imagine how the kids feel. I hope the teacher likes the sort of mom who is more ploughhorse than thoroughbred. I don't snort and stamp and look real pretty, but I can cut through rocky soil.

My command of effortlessly segueing is rather for naught as I attempt to traverse from kindergarten being the start of the rest of our lives (Makes you want to hug a five year old, doesn't it?) and the end of a relationship. Except to say that kindergarten sets the stage for inevitable relationships that will be forged from then on out or that sometimes boys just suck. You think they might improve over the years, but no, many of them are five year olds trapped in a 30 year old's body. It's a damn shame too the way in one fleeting moment things can go from superbly wonderful to not so wonderful:

His eyes remained closed as he sighed deeply, and right before he took another drag of that cigarette...he finally looked at me. All those words he said..."it's over", and "someone else", and "I'm sorry"...came crashing down on me with that one look, the same way the raindrops crashed down on the trees yesterday afternoon. When everything was perfect.

Eerily enough, since we're on the subject of Kindergarten which led to many of the male species - NOT all, but MANY - sucking to bus riding. Which reminded me of two things a) I am physically unable to stay awake on any sort of moving anything. I just can't. Put me in a car and you won't hear from me until we get to the final destination and b) I've missed my bus/metro/train stop plenty of times because I'm just staring out the window thinking and half a sleep. Several of these missed bus stops were during my school age years. I'd be falling asleep, head rested on the window, watching the trees and mountains and next thing you know, the driver would be tapping me on the shoulder to gently let me off the bus right in front of my house. All of the other kids would be long gone. This trend has continued through adulthood though I am happy to report that I am not the only one who succumbs to a long soothing bus ride :

An extra half hour today sounded good. I didn�t want to move and I didn�t want to talk, and the best possible scenario would have been to just sit on the bus and let it carry me. I leaned my head against the window, pulled my sunglasses down over my eyes, and watched the streets and motorcycles and fruit stands go by, past my usual bus stop, and on and into the center of the city.

For the record, the whole falling asleep while moving thing was started by my parents when I was a wee HB. They would strap me in a car seat while mid-tantrum and drive around the block. Half way out the driveway, I'd be in dreamland. They still use this tactic today when they want me to shut the hell up. Regardless, I made parenting for my mother and father an ADVENTURE. Deep down they appreciate it, they just have a difficult time expressing their appreciation of a child as special as I. Speaking of which, I'm always fascinated by parent bloggers. Frankly, not the one's who go on and on about how big their kid's poop was that day (though I don't think I've ever run across one of those), but more the ones who are honest about how they feel about their children which can run the gamut from "OMG! I love Billy so much" to "OMG! I'm going to sell Billy on Ebay". Whatever the case, they are honest. The following is an excerpt from former catwgory courtesy of Vincent's Mom:

He always laughs at my jokes and doesn't care how i talk or act, as long as i am here with him keeping him company. He doesn't have the power to posses negative thoughts about anyone. He smiles all the time and doesn't care if we are just being bored together, because to him its all fun.

And last but not least, I am probably suppose to remain impartial but Mrs. Chicky has become one of my most recent favorite reads. Which says a lot because my Google reader looks like I have managed to find the most loquacious mother effers IN THE WORLD. Nevertheless, one of her recent posts was in regards to the dichotomy of the life she grew up in and the life she now leads. I swear I don't find these things on purpose but it resonated with me as my life now is a far cry from the one of yesteryear when my parents more often than not put things on layaway and my mother raised two children on 40K a year. It's unfathomable now and completely different from the way things are now. As a matter of fact, my mother is currently in Martha's Vineyard at her other house and I'm stealing away to San Francisco for the weekend. Sometimes, I long for complete simplicity though and no matter what the c haracters are always there and pretty much the same:

For instance, I have fond memories of a friend of the family who, when we had our yearly cookout at a local lake, would eat live dragonflies for my amusement. He'd pluck them out of the air, bring them close to my face so I could get a good look at them, and then swallow them whole as I clapped with glee.

And as always, these thoughts that might seem mundane are just a little slice of the big picture we call life.

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The Arbitrarian: On the Same Wavelength

2007-08-17T17:57:58Z

Thursday, August 16

On the same wavelength

So, it�s officially mid-August and yet it feels like Summer has only recently started. All of my colleagues have done their vacationing while I�ve been running around like a chicken with its head cut off. It�s been fun. Meanwhile, you pretty people, keep writing and writing and I keep playing catch up and suddenly everyone is married with 2.5 children and a brand new home.

Obviously not true, but the business and the continuation during the summer months has and will always astound me because I�m getting old � whatever, just go with it � and my stamina is waning. Also my creativity tends to get a little punchy punctuated by some quixotic leanings and then downright boring. But alas, thank the Lord for the blogosphere where one can never be bored and others can be capricious and I can just read and smile.

On THAT note, let�s get on with things, shall we? Because I�ve been having a bit of an issue lately with women. Though brevity is not my strengths, I�ll just say that no matter the situation and amount of denial women attack each other. It�s in our nature and we can all deny it until we�re blue in the face and then pull the �But not me!� card and yet we women all do it. I don�t know how men are, but women? We have the amazing ability to roll right over each other at times and I find it most distressing and unnerving. Thus my bit of elation when Mamma Loves brought up the subject recently and I did a little giddy dance because I�m not the only one who feels this way and nothing makes me feel better than knowing that I am not the only one who thinks one way:

Maybe it's because of my feminist leanings, of my approach to the world, but I don't think women do each other any favors by knocking each other down...by judging each other because of their decisions...by setting themselves apart to feel better about the choices they have made.

When I take my brief respites from contemplating why women are the way that they are, I contemplate change and moving and friendship. It's all in one little package for me as of late because I've recently moved back to my hometown with some of the same friends from years past still here and I often find myself wondering about the friends from this place that I have since become unfriendly with. The people that I might see at my 10 year reunion or maybe during Christmas, but there are loads of them who it feels like just vanished into thin air. And I must admit that at times, I think about them and during certain weeks in the month, I'm taken aback and filled with sadness that I've just let friends go. Alas, Piouscoy has gone through the loss of friends and writes about it far better than I ever could:

She looked around the classroom to make sure no one was listening and then she pointed at the boy sitting across the room who had two parallel lines shaved above both ears like Vanilla Ice. �HE�S the cutest one here,� she proclaimed, rather proudly.

So I think I'm just going to start calling this "Things I am thinking about and look! Other people have these thoughts too". Case in point I mentioned a few times during that giant estrogen filled conference in Chicago that I don't really write about being black and for ages none of my readers knew that I was black and guess what?! I'm black. I don't feel like it's a necessary thing to discuss ad naseum and if someone does point it out for me and if it's done rudely, then I reserve the right to write about you and why you're an asshat and that's pretty much the only time it comes up. That said, I have wondered in the past and currently as I get new readers, whether or not I have an obligation to point out the fact that I'm black and/or discuss it. Though my picture is on my about page so if there is any question, the answer is fairly obvious. Anyway...guess what?! Lawyermama, had the SAME questions that I did. Amazing:

Do bloggers have an obligation to write their racial/ethnic/cultural (not to mention sexual, etc.) identities into their texts? Do *readers* have an obligation to seek that information out? How do we navigate this issue in a community that allows - even encourages - certain degrees of invisibility?

I'm also on this travel kick lately and Austin will hopefully be one of my destinations (Dear Southwest: No matter what anyone says about you, I will always be there for you. Now please send more drink coupons. Love, HB) and it's a destination that Princess Pointful has just returned from. I've heard interesting things about Austin mostly about it's awesomeness, but never about the armadillos:

Lesson #1- If it weren't for their natural armour, evolution surely would have decimated the not-so-mighty armadillo. These fellows have the unfortunate habit of jumping into the air when frightened. They also enjoy roaming the Texas interstate. As such, when facing a large pick-up truck coming rapidly in their direction, rather than just staying put, where the truck could easily pass over them without damage- they leap into the air, directly into their front grill.

And finally, I also can be too nice, but not that nice. In fact Sizzle's friend might be a saint for overlooking the red flags but I'm with her, I see them headed up the mast and I'd take cover:

She�s a nice girl and she has tried to dismiss these red flags, attributing the lack of cuteness to the lighting and the comment to possible shyness and his bad breath to an addiction to coffee. It IS Seattle after all. But we all know that being �nice� is only going to get her so far.

I'd take cover with just my thoughts with are the same thoughts that everyone else is thinking. And I'm just amazed.

**********

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Indie Bloggers' The Arbitrarian: "Super Arbitrarian"

2007-08-11T19:15:14Z

Saturday, August 11

Super Arbitrary

The nice thing about being the editor of this here arbitrary act of bloggy goodness, is that it often gives me the chance to read a million and ten blogs (or 250, whatever) and then find some way to relate to each and every post I choose. So it�s not all that arbitrary, it�s more about something striking a chord with me and my saying, oooh, oooh, I totally do the same thing.

Take for instance the fact that Chris is a good tipper. I am anal about the tipping in that, you must impress me or I must have had at least two free drinks and some flirtation going on for me to tip you exceptionally well. While I�ve never had anyone deliver my furniture, unless you count the people from Ikea, which, hell, it�s not like they DO anything; I could imagine being rather annoyed if I had ordered something ridiculous expensive that NEEDED to be delivered and the delivery men effed up or complained.

I paid $200 to have these appliances �white glove� delivered into my house, don�t bitch at me. In retrospect, next time I will save my $200, buy a hand truck, and carry appliances into my house myself. And by myself I mean Rob.

See? That would be my reaction as well. I just don't do well with poor service. It makes me surly and evil. Not super evil, like Voldemoort, evil. But evil nonetheless. And hoo boy, look at that perfect segue (evil to Voldemoort, to Harry Potter, just go with it). Speaking of Voldemoort and evil, The Palinode has a list of possible Deathly Hallows endings all of which I took as serious possibilities. You never know where fiction can go:

Harry wakes up in an insane asylum. The reader finds out that the death of his parents caused a psychotic break from reality, and Harry�s been spending the last seven years calling the psych nurse Dumbledore, screaming in Latin and waving a stick he found in the yard at the orderlies. After a daring attempt to escape from Hogwarts Mental Hospital, he undergoes shock treatment and a lobotomy.

Oh and more evil - I'm all about the evil today, not sure why - there's this thing with my stomach. Wherein it seems to think that it should always look like I'm 17 weeks pregnant. Which, would be fine, if I were, but I'm not. So I sometimes have to have these conversations with my EVIL stomach about why it needs to get a little flatter or at least make me look about 11 weeks pregnant. Alynda also talks to her stomach and suddenly I feel less crazy about the conversations that my tummy and I have:

I think it�s time, old friend, that you accept the fact that I don�t want you anymore, and disappear. I�d like to have a waist sometime before I�m thirty.

Since 'we're' on the theme of Evil, how about umm job interviews or interviewing prospective candidates? I've only been on the former side, because I'm not important enough to interview, but being on that side gives me some empathy to those who have to endure that process. It's inevitable and all and yet completely nauseating. So I'm loving that Kerri brings it in from the 'other side', because it's equally as painful for the interviewer as the interviewee, save for the fact that the interviewer has a job and the interviewee is living on Ramen:

At one point during the monotony my supervisor and I turned to one another and made the universal unspoken sign for "Please, shoot me in the face." Or: "Kick me in the kneecaps, s'il vous plait." I'm not quite sure which. Thinking back, it might have actually been the universal sign for: "Let's skip the rest of the day, and go for margaritas on a shaded patio somewhere. Like Mexico."

And finally on my string of super arbitrary, terribly segued prose on evilness, I give you complete honesty. Actually it's not evil, unless honesty is evil, but it's something that I do. I get inebriated and suddenly I have the balls to confess all, which can be evil. Though the lovely Jamie Caudill said it best:

Some might argue that inebriation can generate a false sense of interest. The truth is, it just helps gather the cajones to deal with a genuine interest that otherwise would never be explored due to irrational fears.

And with that, I'll be back next week with our regularly scheduled Thursday abritrarianess (I just made that word up). So please keep writing well and I'll keep badly segueing. I love this little arrangement that we have.

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The Arby: Summer, summer, summer time

2007-07-16T16:29:59Z

Friday, July 13th, 2007*

Summer, summer, summer time

I'm sitting here watching my brother pack for Ghana while writing this. He's going for five weeks as his summer vacation/study (but they never really make you do so) abroad and I have the dubious honor of telling him that he probably won't need an outfit for each and every day of this five-week stay. Thus far his summer vacation is looking far more 'vacation-like' than mine, but I'm not bitter of course, because at least my pseudo-vacation will not require taking malaria medication

Over the last few years, as I've become acclimated to being an adult with a full time job, I've realized that summer comes with no fanfare. I'm just like "Hoo boy, It's hot" and that's all. I don't really ever vacation over the summer and then soon enough it's September and the days go by all the same. There's no longer that elation of it being summer and the subsequent three months of leisure and sitting on my ass. Instead I work and then work some more and take the occassional long weekend. But anyway, enough of me because Hey, Y'all! It's SUMMER!

Summer means camping. Something that I've missed doing over the last few years. I was a Girl Scout and though my enjoyment of using the bathroom outsside and tipping canoes over and cooking over a fire are not inherently learned, they're actually still some of my favorite activities (ok, maybe not the whole going to the bathroom outside thing, but whatever). Thus my jealousy when reading that Princess Pointful got to go camping. I got a little teary eyed:

I'm a little curious as to what to expect from this trip. My friend's boyfriend and his friends are the most Italian of all Italians-and apparently their camping dining consists of elaborately made pasta! Whatever happened to hotdogs? Isn't camping food supposed to be as low effort and as full of preservatives as possible?

And for the record, though I've made some rather exquisite meals while camping (Pesto anyone?) I don't remember elaborately made ravioli with spinach and mascarpone cheese or home made fusilli with fresh vodka sauce. But if one can do it, then embrace it and enjoy it.

My other stark reminder of summer was always the onslaught of tourists. Like one day I'd be walking down Independence Avenue minding my own business, enjoying some coffee. The next day there would be like 17,000 8th graders from Jackson, Mississippi who all think that congregating directly in front of the entrance to the Rayburn building would be a nifty idea. In short: Tourists are not a city dweller's best friend. Tourists make me want to puncture the tires on the 19 foot bus they rode in on. Apparently the influx of tourists is just as painful in Chicago as it is in DC:

It would just be so nice if my train wasn't 25 minutes late due to "heavy passenger loading," which means all you people with picnic baskets and strollers and American flags and sleeping bags clogging up the aisles.

I actually feel bad about that given that I'll be a Chicago tourist later this summer, but I promise to stick to cabs and walking. Pinkie promise.

I'm still sitting here watching my brother (nowhere near finished of course) and just remembered that other crappy thing about summer; the grass. The way it grows like there's no tomorrow and how thankful I am that he is around to do the cutting. But now that he's leaving, my mother has enlisted the help of a very handsome man to do our landscaping. Did I mention that sometimes the landscaper takes off his shirt? I am not one to do landscaping or mowing or anything of the sort. Funny, because I like nature and peeing over bushes and such but I refuse to mow the lawn. In fact my experience with a lown mower would probably go something like the Red Head Next Door's experience, except someone would probably lose a foot:

It was like the machine had a mind of it's own. Plus it was heavier than a dead body (or something). So I could barely move it around. I was throwing my whole body into getting it to move - then it turned into this pendulum-esque swinging motion. Back and forth, back and forth.

And people wonder why I generally tend to stick to my office during the summer. But of course I'm like the only person who is all "Vacation? Que es?" Unlike the others in my office who have families and free time and generally enjoy a little fun in their lives. So when I saw the mastery that Chickadee concocted, I suddenly came up with all sorts of ideas:

So naturally the first day he was gone, I got on his computer, opened up Word and added a new AutoCorrect setting that would replace his name with the word "diapers" each time he typed it

To recap; I don't take vacation and I'm also plotting evil against my vacationing coworkers. I am the most pleasant person EVER!

And finally the packing has finished and my brother has escaped to Manhattan and I am sitting here watching the fireworks on television because it's raining and my hair is fragile. Besides, last night I had my own personal viewing of fire works (which are illegal above the Mason-Dixon line) right outside the window of a child I was trying to get to bed. There's nothing more enjoyable than a crying five year old who can't sleep because some jackass is blowing off illegal paraphernalia right outside of her bedroom window. But I can't be too upset because like Love Monkey, at least it was my own private show. I should be appreciative:

So it's the 3rd of July, officially the night before July 4th or -Independence Day Eve. There's something about the night before a holiday that we Americans seem enchanted by-you know, First Night (aka New Years Eve) and of course Chiristmas Eve...Well apparently July 4th Eve has become a holiday in it's own right. The fireworks festivities have just concluded right outside my living room window.

So do I seem bitter? No, I'm not bitter, I'm just a bit on the cynical side. Give it a month and I'll be all, "let's drink beers on the deck! Whoot." Until then Happy Summer, party people!

*post originally written July 3rd, but due to my mad HTML coding skills, or lack thereof it didn't get posted until July 13th. So a big ass, mea culpa, on my part

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The Arbitrarian: Let's Talk About Me

2007-06-29T13:22:09Z

June 29, 2007

Let's talk about me

A few years ago I was in Sevilla on a trip and my friend Mike brought his guitar. After several drinks and a round of sing-a-long in the hotel�s restaurant, Mike decided to play his favorite song. As a former musician, it�s the opening chords that get me. Those first few bars of music that can at times, impale my heart and suck me into the music. Mike�s favorite song was �Wonderwall� by Oasis. When began to strum, I could feel every single fiber of my being revert back to the seventh grade. I wore baggy jeans and flannel and backwards hats. I had big boots and did I mention the flannel? I had a crush and was teased mercilessly and at the age of 12, I thought that Oasis and Greenday, spoke to me and my life as a troubled youth growing up in upper middle class suburbia. So when he started to play that particular song, all I could do was catch my breath and then heave a sigh of relief for not being �that� person anymore. I wasn�t 12 anymore (I had just turned 21) and I wasn�t trapped in a middle school with people who looked at me with disdain and I found equally abhorrent. Nevertheless it was the way in which the chords literally struck a chord in me. I downloaded it when I got back to the states and every now and then, it will pop in a random iTunes shuffle � along with a myriad of songs � and I can practically feel myself headed right back to a former time and place.

Given how arbitrary this process is, I often segue through posts in my particular and patented brand of complete randomness. I use a very scientific method of closing my eyes and clicking the mouse around, if you ever wondered how posts are chosen. I can digress quite easily and am often caught saying �wait, what was I telling you about again?� So imagine my surprise and sheer joy when discovering three posts about music:

When it comes out of nowhere and the memories that it can invoke:

Misplaced music is the one you are not expecting to hear; maybe it�s that song you can�t hear ever again because it was too tightly associated with one particular person � and it suddenly attacks you in the form of bad elevator music when you least expect it, drawing the breath out of you as though you�d been punched�

How re-hearing a song will force you to fall in love again (SEE: My love with Peter and Art)

I put the CD in my car and just fell in love again with Kenny, and now I am going to proudly proclaim that you may add Kenny Rodgers to my cheesy-but-good list, along with Tom (Jones), Barry (Manilow), Neil (Diamond) and anyone else I may have forgotten but am undoubtedly on a first-name basis with.

Or how it reminds us of someone or something (SEE: I call my dad every time I hear Ton Loc�s �Wild Thing� or anything by Rick James)

I hear a song and want to call my dad to play it for him. Or, I'll be listening to a band I know he knew, and I want to ask his opinion. After all, he was the major influence on my indie music tastes.

And while we�re on the subject of me (because I�m a blogger therefore inherently narcissistic) and my very arbitrary way of picking out things; imagine even more surprise when I found out that I�m not the only person who, in the past, has become so anxious and upset over work that it�s cause full on panic (!!!):

I'm an anxious person to begin with, but this job is really messing with my sanity. I go to bed worrying about the next day, I wake up very early in the morning with a pit in my stomach thinking about it and now I have a nervous muscle twitch in my stomach from it. I know I sound like a drama queen, but I would hate to feel this way for the next few years.

I�m also not the only person who has grown to loathe airports and TSA and the FAA and the guy in line in front of me who take 14 hours to count out change for a pack of gum. Though unlike Lisa, I�m probably far more likely to use my patented brand of violence and vitriol after enduring a hellish time in an airport.

I let this go because what�s the point but then tell this guy my story, including the �and your website was broken� bit and he gives me the �Ma�am�, telling me he can refund me my ticket and I can go fly with somebody else if I want. Look, bud, believe me, I would. But I can�t get anywhere. I�m in fucking New Jersey, if you didn�t notice.

*******

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The Arbitrarian: A Very Special Episode

2007-06-22T01:20:42Z

June 20, 2007

A very special episode

Back in the day, like four or so years ago, Facebook had just come out and it was like a really big deal. You could share whatever you pleased and then had the pleasure of knowing that the only people that could actually see it were those in your network. Thus limiting photos of your drunken rampages at the Kappa party, to those who went to your University or High School. The former group already knew you went running through the Quad naked and those of the latter group now think you�re kind of cool. Today, everyone and their baby�s daddy has Facebook. What I find intriguing are the people that are really into it. Which is why I found myself kind of surprised � and in no offense to him � how really into it Mike is:

Certain things have suffered since the laptop went in for work: I'm behind on my Facebooking by about three days. Thankfully I can still add contacts by responding to cell phone notifications, which until yesterday I thought were one step beyond pathetic, and now? HELLO PATHETIC! Nice to meet you!

Though he is my Facebook partner in crime, when it first came out, it was like No Parents Allowed, let me tell you about the orgy I just witnessed. Now even I�m considerably tamer when posting things to Facebook.

Of course that doesn�t keep me from sharing on my own blog or being full to capacity with honesty when I admit to things that probably put into question any sort of good judgment:

I ended up making the difficult decision of having my former boss� driver bring me to BWI and back so that I could make it to Happy Hour before everyone was completely shit faced. OR bribing the bouncer with $120 in cash and I was dead serious.

What can I say? Desperate times call for most desperate measures. To recap: I�m all for Facebook sharing and looking like and behaving like an inept adult in times of quasi-crisis. The long, long list of things that I am not good at include � but are surely not limited to � A) making any sort of serious and possibly detrimental decision, without flopping around like a fish. Which would be the complete antithesis of Stacy, who has this way of composing thoughts in a coherent way, that makes me just sit in complete awe:

One of the options above will leave a person in a perpetual state of doubt and cowardice. Love never happens quickly. Everyone has different opinions, but I don�t care much for the notion of love at first sight. I think love comes through a series of ups and downs and being able to take what life throws at you.

And B) successfully being introspective, again, not without the flopping around and general panic that usually sets in while getting my thoughts out. It�s true what they say though (whoever �they� may be, but I�m sure it�s said), Kris is a girl that can sit back, dig deep and think, then put it all into this prose that�s neither superfluous, irritating or condescending. It�s just all so very true that it in fact tugs at my heart strings:

It is at times so strong and enviable that you often don't share the details with friends; it is a sacred secret much better kept close to the vest. It can be intimate, often dirty, but the two of you are undeniably tethered to one another by an unrelentless tug, even when 3,000 miles away from him. You want to be close.

On the long, long list of things (patting myself on the back) I can do (/patting myself on the back), would be embarrassing the shit out of myself and then laughing about it and well�of course sharing it, though I wonder if people read it as a �Hoo boy, is she pathetic� and not �Ha! Funny!�. The latter reaction I had with G�s �wardrobe malfunction':

I drive to the appointment listening to, no kidding, Sinatra, and feeling pretty swank. I swagger into the office and the girl behind the desk smiles at me. She grins actually, a full on ear to ear and I just assume she's digging the Vegas suit. So I stand there, hands in my pockets, swinging my tie, being cool. I'm Joey Bishop. I'm Dean Martin.

Now would be the part of this Very Special Episode of The Arbitrarian, where the music will swell and to a crescendo and then a ritard, while the father sits down with the plaintive teenager to give a meaningful life lesson, but this isn�t that kind of Very Special Episode. This was just a Very Special break in format and �feature� of the oft intelligent, thoughtful, and honest people behind Indie Bloggers. Hopefully this is a reciprocal arrangement; that you all enjoy us as much as we enjoy you. ***

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The Arbitrarian: June 13, 2007 - In Lieu of Rage

2007-06-14T20:15:09Z

June 13, 2007

In lieu of rage

It�s always a pleasure to walk into the office wanting to gouge your eyeballs out due to fatigue and genuine laziness and come to find out that Malia? She cares. She cares enough to send (post) the very best:

And they don�t match! Because no one makes sneakers in SETS OF FOUR! FOR HORSES! And he looks so scared. And a little confused. �Why am I a tiny pony in sneakers? Whyyyyy?�

And for that, I thank her.

But not as much as I�m kneeling at the alters of Carrie and Peter respectively. I�m just on this �I need to be put into a good mood. NOW� kick for today (I�ve been inundated with pop ads offering me free sex if that gives any insight to how my day has been going). Thus, when there is a Best of Craig�s List, I know that my day might actually get brighter:

If this guy gets a date off of this post, I will either officially lose hope or it will reassure me that I too will find someone. "Looking for a girl who is wooed by pandas, siberian huskies, chinzillas, internet memes, awesome music (flaming lips, at the drive-in, etc.)...My dream girl would do excited arms and yell too loudly when something cool is happening, get hopped up on caffiene and hurt her neck headbanging, and generally be the most adorable human on the planet?"

The sun might actually be in the sky instead of gloom and doom and someone looking out my window saying �Oh, it rains EVERYDAY here. You can�t plan a picnic for shit�; when I see that Peter watches Blind Date:

Our first date tonight is between Daphne, a former beauty queen and Peter, a ruggedly charming Canadian. Daphne's motto is "Sorority Sistas 4 Lyfe" and Peter doesn't like people very much. Let's see if the sparks fly.

The nice part is when there are people who are also full of ranty rage and sarcasm as well. Who doesn�t love imparting their sarcasm on the world or at least the blogosphere. I enjoy it immensely. Especially sarcasm and eyerolling to strangers who can�t mind their own business, now that is something that I am truly adept at. Though I�m thinking that Elise might be better:

"Uh, ok. I'd be more than happy to. You sit there in your car, and I'll sit in mine, for the next 5 minutes. We'll see how we feel. I'll write up a report for you! THE DOG IS FINE."

And finally this because Dude! It�s so true:

It's an intellectual crush, not so much in that you are hot for the guy's intellect, but in that you use your own to decide, "Hey, this guy has some awfully charming characteristics. I'm going to have a girlish crush on him." The Danny Seidenberg Effect doesn't apply to guys you are actually in a position to date, it merely exists to make daily life more interesting.

Right now I�m all about truth and funny in replace of blind white - hot flaming rage.

***

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The Arbitrarian: Let's Talk It Out

2007-06-10T20:43:53Z

June 7, 2007

Let�s talk it out

The great thing about the advent of the internet (Thank you, Mr. Gore) is the ability for people to say whatever they damn well please whenever they�d like and frankly however they�d like. Thus, we are rarely spared from genuine gems that force us to sit back and say �hmm�. Prose where instead of jumping up to comment with an �OMG!!!11! You are sooo funny�, but with an actual thoughtful response.

Therefore this week will be a bit of a break in format as they are five arbitrarily chosen posts from fellow Indie Bloggers, none of which I had time to actually comment on because Hello, job, nice of you to stop by and force me to work for my paycheck. WTF?? The kicker of this will be that you will have to read all of these posts all of which will force you well shit, that might be a valid point.

Kim and not the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad, internet man

That was the whole email. THIS was his first impression. He didn't even start with a "Hi, my name is so-and-so." He dove head first into, "I'm an antisemitic asshole!" And, yes, genius, I'm sure we'll run into each other at a game sometime. FedEx Field is tiny.

My comment: Another reason for why I don�t date or even attempt to do so, out of complete fear of ending up getting some complete asshole who is perfectly OK with being one. It�s a shame that this was via email, but if you do happen to see him out and about in Landover, give him a nice swift kick in the ass.

Vodkarella�s Opinion and sometimes I just love a good comment thread

I was offered a $10 Amazon Gift Certificate to write about these sites. I would have done it for free. Our kids are in crisis. To be honest, I really don�t think it should be up to our schools to pick up all the parenting slack they have been picking up, for years. Why do schools, which are faced with tighter budgets, less time, less staff, less resources, have to pick up all the crap we are supposed to be doing as parents? Sex, drugs, food, exercise, why aren�t kids learning these things at home?

My comment: I really don�t know anything about the social system of Canada, which is sad and yet very American of me. I do know that things in this country are rather fucked up thus making it difficult for many people, no matter how hard they try, to get a leg up. But I do agree that it is possible. I�ve seen and lived through my parents going from next to nothing to encouraging me to attend a school where tuition is the GDP of Djibouti. I�m not sure what the answer is or how, except that there does need to be more done at both school and at home and with the government as a whole.

Observing addiction

OK, we were usually drinking excessively also, but I honestly didn�t realize until about 7 years into our being neighbors that he was an alcoholic - and only when he told me that I�d never seen him sober. Never. As in 7 years of being his neighbor. That was a real shock to me, and he only admitted it to me then because he was starting to have some serious health issues and the very beginnings of some crazy alcoholic dementia episodes.

My comment: No matter what the problem may be, alcohol or some other addiction or personal problem it is just hard for people to notice their biggest faults and in the end, the people who are closest and most supportive end up getting hurt the most. Even if it isn�t on purpose � I�m sure you�re friend didn�t do things intentionally � it still hurts and leaves a sting and more often than not irreparable harm even if you do end up being understanding. There�s still that leftover �what if?�

A ma-what-a?

I just think these arguments make liberals seem like intolerant, uptight, humorless idiots who don't have anything better to worry about or have any real problems to work on. Are we protecting anything by having these arguments over and over? Do we ferret out real racists with this language policing?

My comment: I�m a bleeding heart liberal too! AT times I find the pointing out of these gaffes to be helpful and useful � like during an election � but then there are the times where I�m like WE GET IT, so and so is a possible bigoted racist, but I hear that there was a bombing in Basra for the fifth day in a row so really, I am so over it. It�s fine the first 10 minutes, but by minute 11, it�s just kind of annoying.

Literally, stretched to the limit

When The Man knocks on my door, demanding payments, trying desperately to squeeze blood from a stone and my hands shake as I write the check and I ask The Man, desperately, not to cash the check until Friday. Money spent before it's even had, I think to myself: How much longer can we live like this? Life shouldn't be this way. It's not what life is about. Is this my idea of the "American Dream"?

My comment: I literally just went from living paycheck to paycheck to being maybe OK between paychecks and yet still, my heart hurts a little bit when unexpected things come up that are necessities because I�m too busy flipping out that there won�t be enough in my account to cover things like both a medical and car insurance deductible. Those sorts of things. So very necessary and yet I find myself fervently praying that I get money before a second notice. Given my age, I doubt this feeling will end anytime in the near future. But I hope it does soon end for you.

***

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Indie Bloggers: The Arbitrarian - May 31, 2007

2007-06-01T01:03:11Z

May 31, 2007

Two dimensional

First thing�s first, I read this by �Twas Brilling and nodded my head vigorously in agreement:

Alas, it's not the first time. I always kinda had a thing for Eric from The Little Mermaid and Prince Philip from Sleeping Beauty.

I mean, have y�all ever seen Eric and taken a good hard look at him? The man is hot and he�s too busy focused on a woman whose options are no voice or no legs when he should be focused on people who are equipped with both. I also am in desperate need of a lobotomy for giving more than 20 minutes of my thought process to just how good looking Eric is.

I�m wondering now if this was/is a problem? He was just very chiseled and put together. Even back then, he totally had the �Metrosexual� thing down pat. Today � again if he were not a two dimensional figure � he�d be great friends with Guiness Girl�s coworker:

Behold, Exhibit B. A crappy picture, but a picture nonetheless. What can I say? My cell phone�s photographic capabilities are somewhat lacking. What you see here is the collection of dress shoes underneath UberHipster�s desk - with each shoe lovingly protected by a cedar shoehorn.

I�m just a girl who is all about men keeping themselves together. I mean if females are all but forced to do so, then men should as well. And that will be the end of my rant on people brought to you by the Walt Disney Company. Just think now of all the valuable brain space has been used to dissect Eric, when I could be contemplating more serious and pressing issues on the silver screen. Like perhaps the use of four letter words in movies:

So much so that I distinctly recall thinking that the movie producers must have hired prisoners to dub in all of the movie�s expletives. It was, I thought, the sole logical explanation, since, in my sheltered mind, only criminals would be so cavalier as to throw such words around. Seriously, I thought this. Convicts. Dubbing curses. Into movies

Perhaps beyond the use of four letter words getting to little ears and being used with such fervor, I should also be seriously contemplating another thing which caused vigorous head nodding. Because never before � or at least never in the past three months � have truer words ever been spoken:

It acts as a dirty version of a Baby Einstein, SPELLING EVERY OTHER FUCKING WORD out for its listeners. By the end of the song, you can spell Fergie, delicious, fergalicious, AND tasty - incorrectly, mind you. T to the A to the S T E Y ? Really? An e? Hmm. Maybe she's been spending too much time being "up" in the gym.

No seriously, I feel like I�m in some awful low level spelling class every time I turn on the radio and the grammatical errors. My lord, not that anything that comes from my fingertips is pristine and Shrunk and White worthy, but dude.Then I feel all inadequate with my flabby abs compared to Fergie�s rather firm six pack abs. So maybe my focus should be more towards that.

Oh I know! I�ll think about puppies! Puppies require the same amount of brain power as gorgeous cartoon men. Or not:

Well don�t let the goofy smile and neglectful chubbiness fool you. Beneath that furry exterior lies a cold-blooded killer. You can almost see it in those icy blue eyes of his. He�s watching you. Waiting. Biding his time. One second he�s playfully humping your leg. The next, he�s devouring your children, like the little steak-flavored rubber squeak toys they are.

At any rate, maybe I�ll focus my thinking power on the Middle East Peace Process or the 2008 presidential contenders or counting Weight Watchers points, but all of those things are better than thinking about Eric with his shirt off.

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The Arbitrarian: May 24, 2007 - Expect the Unexpected

2007-05-24T13:49:09Z

May 23, 2007

Expect the unexpected

I�m sure y�all have noticed just how very introspective I can be about things. Like �Oh, let me think really hard about life and then write about it in dreadfully boring detail for the internet, because obviously they have never experienced a thing�. God. I�d probably hate me too or at least give me a firm wallop to the baby maker for being all �thoughtful� and inquisitive all the freaking time. The point is that while I�m not particularly fond of my life all the time, I love to hear and read about how others deal with the little things that just pop up. The minor things, like how one goes through life making friends and expecting those friends to be there forever. I have had my share of �Best Friend� necklaces and now am truly unable to recall what happened to those friends, much like Ripe for Reading:

What binds us to friends of past and why is it that one feels guilt when the emotion is not truly genuine any more? That talking becomes a chore, that laughing becomes forced? What is it that changes the friends you once used to know and laugh easily with? How can a sacred bond of closeness float away?

When you�re young you carry some sort of assuredness that things are always going to be one way and etched in stone. Of course you become adult and realize that holy hell, things could not be more opposite but you still try to live your life to the best of your ability. Then poof one day a little hiccup, possibly by way of biology, and you are the proud owner of your very own resource sucker, like Dave for instance:

One day, biology was good to us and voil�, we had our girl. Don't misunderstand, we're darn lucky to have her; she's a gift, a funny, happy go lucky gift. She is also as resource intensive as a Hummer H1 (the big one).

Now don�t get me wrong, of all of life�s little hiccups, children aren�t necessarily a bad thing. I happen to like and enjoy other people�s children depending on the circumstances. There are just a lot of caveats that we won�t get into. Regardless I was always one who said that I would never have children. More of that set in stone bullshit and well I might as well have signed up for that tubal ligation at the tender age of 12. The whole basis of this was well what if I turned out to be like my mother. Or worse yet! What if MY CHILD turns out to be like my mother:

Just let that ruminate. My daughter looks like my mother in law and acts like my mother. Except now she can speak! No more furrowing. No more pursing. Now, her judgments are articulated. It's as if I have my miniature mother in my ear all the time.

I�m sure there were other reasons like, though �what if my child�s pediatrician is so blindingly hot that I am unable to go to an appointment without drooling or staring at his luscious locks?�:

Lest I remind you of my occupation for the past 8 years. I was generously compensated by a pharmaceutical company to do what? Oh, that�s right -TO CONVERSE WITH DOCTORS. I am the queen of talking to physicians! This gal can walk the walk and talk the talk with the most analytical and socially inept of all physicians. That is, unless said physician has McDreamy hair. Then, apparently, all bets are off.

So to cease with the rambling the point is that we don�t expect things to happen. We fall out of that stride of everything being just chill and good once we reach adolescence and Sarah is no longer a friend do to some incident during an Earth Science lab. That�s when we start realizing that nothing is etched in stone, it�s more like the best quick sand on earth, and thus we turn cynical and possibly pessimistic; we don�t expect for the good things to happen anymore, because life lesson (and hours of annoying introspection) have possibly taught us otherwise as Brainy Jane suspects:

The term � I don�t expect�� has become a staple in our verbal diet. As in �I don�t expect him to call�, � I don�t expect anyone to understand�, � I can�t expect you to help..�. These tiny little sentences are cropping up like weeds and it�s ruining the view.

The thing is though, that everything, everyday actually has the possibility to become new and exciting. And even if we don�t necessarily expect for anything to happen anymore, there�s really no harm in trying.

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