Monday, September 28, 2009

First Date = Porn....Obviously!

The first "date" I had with Brendan...twas muy interesante. Being a "new age" kinda gal...I picked the boy up in my pimped out Geo Prism. That's right...I said pimped had orangy colored racing stripes...ok, maybe it was just strips of rust...but the radio worked...straight pimpin'.

I drove to the house that Brendan shared with 2 other roommates that he didn't really know, and there he was..all 125 lbs and sideburns, sitting on the front porch. He said he was out there because he didn't want to be inside. "What's inside", I ask? He told me his roommate Gretal was having a "party". was a party.

Inside, stood an old 32" TV on a rickety TV cart. From the front porch I could see a glowing flicker running over the enthralled faces of about 10 party goers. It wasn't until I got inside the door that I heard the sound. It wasn't until a little farther in...that I saw the "theme" of this little soiree. Yup. Porn. It was a porn party. And the girl throwing this little bash...was about 4'11", and had brown bobbed hair and glasses. And by the way...she was a total porn loving sex addict...who I later found out...was a "screamer". With an innocent name like Gretal...I shoulda figured that out. I have a porn name and am a total prude...see the pattern?

Brendan doesn't remember it being gay porn...but for some reason...that's the porn genre I have seared into my brain. Maybe I just like to remember it that way because it would make it all that much more disturbing to tell about. Whomever was doing the dirty on TV...the fact that the audience was of mixed gender and all so very into the "performance"...was actually the most disturbing part. I don't think they even looked up when Bren and I entered the room.

There was narrative happening too. Not from the actors on the screen, but the 10 sitting around watching it. I won't's just all too much for this somewhat family friendly blog...and to be frank...I just don't think spell check would catch any of the assured spelling blunders that may occur. But for the purpose of painting a picture for you dear readers...pepper you imagination with lots of "ishy" adjectives and a smattering of 4 letter words and that should get you by.

Needless to say...I understood why Bren was on that front porch. Dinner somehow lacked its flavor, maybe because I was nervous sitting across the table from my new "beau"...maybe because every time I blinked I saw flashes of dangly "things" and the faces of the 10 that were watching those "things" dangle.

Yeah, that was our first date. The beginning of the end. (Just kidding Bren!) I think we might have made out after dinner....but somehow that has seemed to slip my mind....the pre-dinner show was just so vivid. There was just so much....(place "ishy" adjective and phallic resembling noun here)

That's all for now,

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Hot Cross Buns...

I am feeling very "uncool" as of late. I am in that blah stage of my life where my mind is getting slower, my body is getting veinier, and my wardrobe is in desperate need of a little Rachel Zoe. I want someone to tell me that I look "bananas"...and for it to be a good thing. Instead...I am that girl...that "uncool" girl...when I so wish to be ROCK 'N' ROLL.

I want to live on an album cover (with hot pink lips). I would hang myself on a wall or live in a plastic crate of some really snappy alterna-kid's basement. That would be Rock 'n' Roll.

I'm growing my bangs out...and I really don't want to grow my bangs out. Bangs are Rock 'n' Roll...but not on me...with glasses. On me...bangs are super dweeby. Right now they are the Divinyls chick's length. I'm "rockin' the "I Touch Myself" "Look". It's definitely a "look"...and not only do I NOT want to "touch myself"...neither does anyone else.

If I had an axe (of the stringed variety)...I'd hammer on that shit! I'd riff till morning light and sleep the day away as the walls continued to vibrate from my awesomenosity. Sweet dreams..."Sweet Emotion". Bic lighter kinda dreams...all lit for me.

Alas...I'm more of a cassette tape cover in a glove compartment kinda girl. I have those uncomfortably awkward mid face bangs. (So not Rock 'n' Roll) I have no axe...not even a ukulele...not even a kazoo. I'm more of a recorder kinda girl. (Brendan calls them a Flutaphone...dork!) Remember recorders...4Th grade...? Remember the feeling of actual shame from playing in the mandatory "band"? Yup, that's my life. I'm in a permanent recorder band right now.

It is my expressed wish and ultimate never...NEVER... look like this woman. Effed up bangs. A "Femmullet", and flutaphones slung across BOTH shoulders! She is a Rock 'n' No.

Hot Cross Buns!!

That's all for now,

Thursday, September 17, 2009

Ah...There's Nothin' Like A Day-Glo At The Beach...In Brrrrrrrrrazil!

Does a Brazilian wax take it all or does it leave a strip? I can never remember as I have never before contemplated maiming my genitalia in such a way. But now...having the opportunity to vacation in the place of its namesake...I am wondering....when in Brazil...should I "do as the Brazilians do" ?

Yes, I am going to Brrrrrrrrrrrazil. (make sure to roll the R's as you read this) And I am scared. I am so not Brazil. I am South Burlington, VT...I am like Duluth, East Bum F*ck. I am a plain Jane. I lack the sizzle. I lack the saucy. I lack the ay yay ay.

I have seen too many Victoria's Secret commercials. (aren't they all Brazilian?) I am not 10 feet tall, nor am I hairless in "my down there places" (is that T.M.I. ?) nor do my buttocks ever hide a thong between them for the public eye to see...or really ever for that matter. (thongs are a last resort before laundry day...and you don't want to be around me on that's not pretty) I don't really know what to expect. I am not comfortable in my own skin...much less viewing anyone else's. Where do I look while at the beach? The water better be flippin' fantastic cuz' I gotta feelin' I'll be staring out there quite a lot. I don't want to see Brazilian boobies or anything any Brazilian man (much less American man) may be showing. It's bad enough that I will inevitably gaze upon a banana hammock or two...let's just hope they're not white....actually let's hope they aren't white OR wet! ...And I am going with Bren's let's hope that none of the men decide to try a thong...that could be a deal breaker.

I have seen only one (one is enough) movie that took place in Brazil, where American tourists get kidnapped, tortured, and have their innards ripped out for sale on the Black Market. Maybe I watch too much TV...but Brazil has two strikes already. Paling in comparison to beautiful girls and skirting the possibility of random organ harvestation aren't on the top of my relaxing vacation "TO DO" list. (I know harvestation isn't a word...but it sounds so good and smart)

I am going for a wedding...ah the joy of nuptials under a Brazilian sun. At least I think it's a wedding...the invitation is in Portuguese. But, whatever. It's a November, so it's better than being here. (organ theft or no)

Will you all miss me? Will you all recognize me when I return all tanned and hairless with my ass cheeks all flossed and flappin'? there will probably be no tan...I have somehow developed an adult allergy to the sun and am forced to wear SPF 90 and long sleeves...and remember....I am growing out the leg hair for a little "harvest" of my own.

Do I need red lipstick? For some reason I think all South American women wear red Maybe I'll just get me some neon and spandex, feathers and LEE Press On Nails...anything to ignite my Brandi ay yay ay. Should the above slightly derogatory stereotype of Latina women prove to be false...I am going to look like a complete Brrrrrrrrrrrazil.

That's all for now,

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

Menagerie of Death

Most people love the "curb appeal" of their home. They plant flower beds, and window boxes. Their eyes twinkle as the sun glistens off a brand new brass knocker. Their grass is green, their pathway swept and shiny. There is a sleepy cat in the window. This is the average front yard of "most" people. But not mine
I have dead bugs stuck on my house. Burnt moth wings like paper mache swaddle my front porch light. Little black whatever bugs coat the windows and the eaves...polka dotted house paint, the kind that won't rinse off.

I have dead animals on my front walk. Moles and mice pepper the pathway. Chipmunks and birds...frozen in forever...left as a bow...just blood and feathers...and a pleased and chipper kitty staring up at me with pride.

I have a dead deer carcass rotting 30 feet behind the back yard fence, and a coyote that comes to visit it.

I have a husband that has taken a liking to using a large scooper (jai alai style) and winging the small dead animals into the woods behind our fence. They catch some pretty good air. He wants to get a BB gun for the "Hangers On" that the cats drag home. I don't deal well with the "Hangers On".

Dum da dum yard is a menagerie of death
Halloween is coming...I guess I won't have to decorate. I'm thinking about putting out twinkle lights this'll be the most morbid Santa scene in the neighborhood. Who needs reindeer when you've got 7 dead moles and a squirrel? I'll just add a little sleigh and voila! Home Sweet Home. there's dead stuff everywhere. So the lawn is a little crunchy when Brendan mows. The mailman has to navigate spiders and moth what? Right? There may be dead gifts from our "children"...but they're given with I love them...blood and all. We may have to resort to gun violence...but that's the price you pay when you have a "family". It may be a little gruesome...but its ours....

We're kooky and we're spooky...the Yeager Family...da da da dant...snap snap.

That's all for now,

Monday, September 7, 2009

Summer Lovin', Leg Hair Shavin, Sweater Knittin'

I don't want to hear another word about fall. I don't care about pumpkin pie or leaf peeping. I can do without turkey dinners and crisp autumn nights. Hell, I would invite the mosquitoes to my next BBQ if it meant just a few more weeks of summer. Glorious, wonderful, sunny, WARM summer. It's my kinda season.

Ok, so I didn't wear a bathing suit once this year...actually I haven't worn a bathing suit in about 4 years since my honeymoon...but that is beside the point. The point is...that in summer, the option to wear a bathing suit is there.

I just want to boycott winter. I am not looking forward to it. I am already beginning the arduous task of growing out my leg hair so I have something to do for the long cold months ahead. I plan to grow it, braid it, shave it, and knit it...into a sweater. Argyle baby! Yeah! Well...wait a minute....maybe I'll just leave it on...I'm gonna need the extra layer of warmth on my bird legs this year.

Shit! It's coming isn't it? There's no stopping it is there? I'm gonna be forced to eat pumpkin pie aren't I? If I change the way I look at it....will it change to summer? Probably not.

Screw it...guess I'll work on the pit hair too...Christmas is coming and I know a few lucky loved ones who could use a nice warm scarf scented with Secret Powder Fresh and Au D'Brandi Fabulous. If only I were a Yeti, I could knit one big scarf to tie us all together and we could all sing Kumbayah in front of an open fire. Ho Ho Ho. Let the growing begin....

That's all for now,

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

A Little Change Could Do Me Good....

A wise friend posted a very wise quote by someone I have never heard of...but whose words were needed...yesterday....that

"If you change the way you look at things,
the things you look at change."
-Wayne Dyer

Yes, I needed that. A reminder...that what I see, the things I perceive...are my own skewed visions...views that can be bent, marred, or buckled...or ones that can motivate, cultivate, and enlighten.
I have taken for granted many things in this life...never meaning to...but nonetheless...losing simple joy in what I have. I can be quick to judge. I get angry when the control in situation is not my own. I have seen shadows on cloudless days when I should be thankful to see the sun.
I know that I am not alone in becoming too indifferent. We all need reminders. I had a couple of particularly chaotic weeks...and in them...I saw not the accomplishments I had made, the people that I had helped, the man that I love, or the life that I have. I had everything skewed. I alone, let the chaos overwhelm me. I lost sleep, forgot to eat, grasped to control...and failed.
If I had changed the way I was looking at things...I would have realized that I was proving to myself and no one else...that amidst the clutter in my head, the pandemonium during my days...I was pushing through.
Thank you to my friend for putting a mirror in front of my face...because to change the way I look at things...I need to look inside and change the way I look at me...

That's all for now,