On Race

Part of this rant comes from an overreaction on my part to the posting of a friend on Facebook (some of the text is from there too). And part of it is something I've been bottling up.

I'm tired of complaints that people are advocating voting for Barack Obama because of his race. The majority of them are discussing the significance of what electing a minority would do for our country. Though race should not be part of the consideration of how we should vote, we are allowed to consider the implications of his potential presidency.

Skin color absolutely should not matter. It should not matter whatsoever. But it’s naive to believe that it is a relic of our past. Racism still exists in this country, and it's not some big secret that we’ve hidden away in a vault. The rest of the world is well aware of how America has treated racial minorities in the past. We are not so far removed from the days where water fountains, schools and buses were segregated. Jim Crow laws were on the books less than a century ago. The KKK still exists. My own family has experienced it directly.

Racism is rarely as overt as it once was, but it is still here. It cannot and should not be ignored. The subtle form racism takes today is sinister and pervasive in its own right – as it exists now, it can nearly be impossible to nail something down and point it out as “hey, that’s racist!” But it doesn’t mean it’s gone. It would be a disservice to Americans to turn our backs and pretend it doesn’t exist. If we say it’s not there, then nothing can be done to address the problem. Ignoring it will not make it go away. I hope that there will be a day when we can say that man-and-womankind has transcended race, but we are not yet there.

Our country as a whole is not yet above skin color. We’re not above gender. We’re not above religion or sexual orientation. If skin color didn’t matter, this would not be a historic election. If skin color didn’t matter, this wouldn’t be the first black (well, bi-racial), person at the top of the democratic ticket. If gender didn’t matter, Hilary’s near win in the primaries wouldn’t matter. Palin’s nomination as the VP candidate would be just another day in American politics.

Skin color should not be a factor in our decisions on November 4th, but ignoring the significance of the election of a black man to the highest office in our country would be tragic. It would be a slap in the face to the people still alive today who have had to look overt racism in the eye. I will not say, “yeah, so?” to anyone that takes pride in a black man’s nomination. I will not say that a country that may go from saying, “Hey you! Go to the back of the bus,” to “hello Mr. President” has not accomplished something great.

Luckily, for those of us who don’t give a *bleep* about race, Obama is a fantastic, qualified candidate with forward-thinking ideas. As an unintentional side-effect of an Obama presidency, we could show the world that we are another step closer to making race a non-issue.


Sometimes I feel like I'm the only one still pissed off about this:

"I hate the gooks. I will hate them as long as I live."
-John McCain, February 17, 2000


Point of Saturation...

I've reached it. That moment where all of the political coverage is overwhelming and infuriating.

I can't wait for this election to be over.

Oh, and as a side note, for my birthday, I want Obama as prez. So...get to work, people.


I need some sleep

Seriously, I'm exhausted. I just noticed that I am taking 17 credits. That's four classes and a senior capstone project. I'm also working full-time, have a long commute, and things have been draining-ly melodramatic. I'm not a big fan of drama. When it hits me, it's usually the result of someone else's problems.

Speaking of other people's problems, the economy coverage on the news is driving me nuts. It's so up and down that it is even freaking out my boyfriend. He's become a CNN news ticker in my Gmail chat window: "The Dow is up, down, credit freeze, Campbell's soup up, bailout bill pass...fail, McCain erratic, etc." Later he turned to me to start talking about how his family is losing a ton of money in the stock market. He was depressed and ranting. I said, "honey, I know you're worried, but I'd love to have money to lose. So would my parents." I felt like a dick, but he told me it helped put it all into perspective.

I hope I thank everyone in my life who has lent a sympathetic ear often enough. After spending my life playing the therapist, it's nice to know that there are a few individuals who are actually willing to listen.


Never Again

I don't intend to EVER EVER post anything like this again, but my mom was curious, and I found her a link to the goods. Apparently schtuff went DOWN a few weeks ago when I was at Target and ran into Jessica Alba, her hubby, baby, and the paparazzi .

I'm torn between whether or not I think the behavior of the paps is disgusting, or that it's something the actors/singers/etc. invite by going into the biz. Besides, there are plenty of celebrities who aren't photographed by the paps constantly - rumor has it that some people call them ahead of time to let them know where they will be. So maybe we're just the disgusting ones for buying into it?

Anyway, you'll only get this once. Love it, hate it, whatev.

This is what I had to battle with at Target just to get my damn graphing calculator:



Intellectual Inferiority and Unadulterated Glee

I've always been convinced that I am secretly a moron. I'm sure some would agree. There is proof to the contrary - decent grades, published writing, etc., but I'm still worried that I'm infinitely dumber than I think I am. Worse - that others judge me for it. I used to fear the days in high school when I'd have to hand over my essays to someone for peer reviews. On some level I intentionally brought it on myself. I wrote ridiculous things, absurd things - I once compared the plight of Ethan Frome to a doughnut that fell off of the teacher's desk right as we began the assignment. By refusing to be serious about an assignment, I could write off failure as no big deal.

It was particularly awful when I was partnered with a friend for the reviews. Friends are especially well-equipped to judge me. Negatively. I remember wincing as I saw them pick up their pen to scribble a note on the crisp white pages. I always hoped to get back something that was still pristine, devoid of any marks that would be sure to tell me I was a douche-tastic bottom-dwelling turd, unqualified to clean a toilet a the local Perkins. (Which, coincidentally, I did for awhile. On that note, men are completely disgusting. You would not believe the kinds of things they leave in urinals. Anyway...) By the time my essays were finally handed back to me, the scribbling was invariably positive, but I was still convinced the grader actually felt otherwise. I was sure they were secretly judging me. Like those ladies at church with the raised, over plucked, drawn-in orange eyebrows, poodle perms and holiday sweaters. The ones who always seemed to have three vapid children with glazed over eyes and a Labrador. Or a poodle. To match the hair, I assume.

Luckily, I don't *always* feel this way. Sometimes the world shows me that there are in fact people dumber than myself. Sometimes the world hands me a golden nugget of comedic goodness that breaks through the gloom and monotony of daily life with the white hot passion of one thousand burning suns. For me, last night was one of those times.

I should preface this by mentioning that I am still in school. I take the majority of my classes online, through a brick and mortar college that happens to have an online program attached to it. I can't say I love all of the students - they are the same people from which I intended to escape when I left* Montana for greener pastures. I'm also displeased with the quality of the education I'm paying precious shoe money for, mainly because I feel neither intellectually challenged nor engaged. I worry that I'm not learning anything.

Here is the nugget of glory that made me first smirk, then snort, then belly laugh in a sort of seizure of snorting, giggling, chuckling, tears and that silent laughter where you just shake and make zero sound. My boyfriend probably thought I was dying.

Last night a classmate said:

"I really had a hard time thinking about what 'issue' is the 'most pressing in the world.' But to get this out there - 'world' to me is the entire planet."

Oh. My. God.


Derek Zoolander goes to my school.

*ran screaming from


Let's get some choos. Let's party...

Embarrassingly enough, my shoes literally fell apart last night at dinner when I was out with some friends. My feet were fidgeting under the table and I felt a snap. After peeking at 'em, I realized the part of the thong that connects between your big and second toes had pulled out of the base of the shoe. Sigh. My boyfriend was nice enough to sneakily run out to the car and slip me an alternate pair of wedge heels under the table. Sure, I was 4 inches taller when I stood up, but oh well. My shoe issues actually started earlier this week. I found hole had developed in my favorite, and only, comfortable pair of flats. With all my ankle troubles, I really can't do heels for awhile. The loss of two pairs of shoes totally decimated my options.

I finally sucked it up and went shoe shopping today with my boyfriend. He bitched and moaned about it before we went, even jokingly offering a friend $300 to take me instead. To his credit, it's totally warranted. I spent three days shopping with a good friend over Thanksgiving and tried on over 50 pairs of shoes. Out of that, I got one pair of flats (the ones with the aforementioned hole). I'm pretty sure my feet are built for fitting into heels, but my ankle is still recovering and I really can't risk the instability. Soon, but not yet...

Anyway, to my surprise I found five pairs I liked. Four dressy enough (not super dressy) for work, and one casual pair. I'm thrilled. I've had a real shoe deficit going on for a while now.

Introducing my new babies:

These next ones are infinitely cuter in person.

That last one doesn't look like a shoe!

Oh yeah. I forgot to mention. -- I also found a purse I liked for $20.



Political Rantings

I'm not going to claim to be an expert on politics. But I have plenty of opinions.

I'm really, really tired of the way things have been going.

I'm tired of hypocrites saying that the democrats are bastards for increasing the size and scope of government and accuse them of infringing our our personal lives. You know who is infringing on my personal life? They are. They are the ones who are the infringers (my own word)!* They increase the government's control over my life while saying they stand for the exact opposite.

They tell me that I cannot choose whether or not to have a child, they tell me I cannot watch porn, they dictate what can and cannot be on my television (oh no! boobs and swearing BAD, violence and gore GOOD!), they tell me who I can love, who I can marry, what I can smoke, which (if any) god I should believe in, how I should love god (should I choose to believe him/her/it/them), they label me a communist, they fear sexuality - there are states that ban the sale of sex toys (and to steal a line from the Vagina Monologues, I have yet to hear of a mass murder committed with a vibrator). Get out of my life. How dare they.

They say they're fiscally responsible and therefore smarter than democrats when it comes to the economy, but look at the mess we're in. And how dare we bail out a large corporation. These people tout the free market, but we, the taxpayers, have to pay for the messes some companies made? Eighty five *billion* dollars. And yet we shouldn't invest a smaller amount of money into health care for the people. So that people can get basic preventative care and actually save us money - money that is currently spent on emergency room bills that could have been prevented. What's so scary about an ounce of prevention? Apparently suggesting it makes me a communist gay baby killing godless heathen.

How dare they tell me that gay couples are threatening the institution of marriage. You know what threatens marriage? All those divorces those same people are having. Not that I think people shouldn't divorce, but I'm just saying... If your own marriage is in shambles, or if you've remarried 3 times, you're probably not in a good place to be giving anyone advice. Bah.

How dare they suddenly claim to become feminists, just to tout someone with a résumé that is severely lacking. A vagina doesn't make you a feminist. It is NOT sexist to be critical of a person applying to be the backup for one hell of an important job. It IS sexist to vote against an Equal Pay Act. It IS sexist to say women aren't smart enough to make hugely important decisions about their own bodies. Their own, private bodies. Back to my point about increasing the size and scope of our government...

I'm sick of being accused of hating America. I don't see how caring about what happens in this country makes me anti-American. Apparently every parent that ever told their child they shouldn't touch a hot stove actually hated their children. Those a$$holes.

I'm sick of people being so afraid of words. I'm sick of being hated for speaking my mind. I'm sick of having my morals called into question.

If you don't like what I'm saying, ignore me. Or argue with me about my points, not my character. F*** anyone who wants to say that I'm a worthless human being. Luckily the chances are that if you read this far, then you're not one of the people I'm ranting about.

One last gripe. People who are willfully ignorant. I'm okay with it if you disagree with me. I'm not okay if you refuse to acknowledge hard facts. Or if you somehow think that being in touch with "real" people means you can't be intelligent or articulate. Being smart does not mean a person is out of touch. Or that they are elitist. I especially don't understand the people that think being smart actually makes you stupid. Understanding complex issues and using big words does not make you some out of touch moron. It doesn't mean that there aren't a ton of out of touch morons out there, but education levels and political leanings have absolutely nothing to do with that epidemic.

That's it. I'm done. I am fed up and needed to say my piece. I've spent years doing everything I can to be polite, but I just can't do it any more.

*Apparently "infringer" is not a word of my own creation. Awkward.


A week(ish) in review...

Here's the dilly, yo...

Monday I was digging the holiday vibe and dreading going back to work, so I nagged my boyfriend into leaving the house to serve as a distraction.

We went out for lunch.

While we were there, my boyfriend said, "Oh look. It's Ben Stein." I looked over and, sure enough, there the 'publican was, with a skinny blonde in tow. (I didn't bother photographing him myself, because, well, he's a 'publican. Ick.)

Ugh. Snarky (and quiet) comments (on our part) ensued. Luckily I still managed to enjoy the mabo don I had. Yum.

Tuesday I noticed that there were more signs of bananas in my apartment's courtyard.

I swear that thing is going to open up and say "FEEEED MEEEE" a la Little Shop of Horrors. Anyway, it's nice to know that, despite the smog, stuff can still grow in this city.

Wednesday* I ran out of eyeliner and ordered some new makeup. "Stray dog,"bad education, " "zero," and "orgasm" were the names of the colors. Who in the world comes up with these things?

"I think I'll name this one, 'penguin spunk'."
"Oh, excellent idea! So glamorous!"

Thursday I finally got a handle on all of my classes. I also got some very cool, free running shoes to replace my old, nasty (but still beloved) ones.

These things helped me run my fastest ever mile. Not that I'm fast at all...it was just fastER. 9:07. Not amazing in the least, but I've never been a runner-type. Never will be.

Friday was uneventful, though work was hellishly busy. We went out to dinner with some friends and I hit the gym.

Saturday (today!) was...irritating. I went to Target in West Hollywood to hunt down a TI-83 for my advanced statistics course. I got there and saw a swarm of photographers snapping away in the parking garage. They pushed past me to get into the elevator, so I gave up and used the escalator.

And there she was...

I should add that this isn't my photo. And it's not from today.

I should also add that if you see a headline along the lines of, "woman attacks Jessica Alba," you'll probably see a picture of me. One of the a$$hole photographers tripped me, and I fell towards her. Whoops. It wasn't my fault, I was totally trying to avoid the whole thing.

Unfortunately I couldn't find the calculator on my own, so a Target employee...who sounded like Hank Azaria in the Birdcage...took me around the entire store several times over to look for it.

I've noticed lately that even the straight guys in West Hollywood *sound* gay. Anyway, we kept coming back to the mass that was Jessica Alba, her paparazzi, her man, and her baby. I literally had to dodge and duck to keep from getting knocked over.

Luckily, I'm a ninja.

I finally got the calculator and rushed out when an enormous photographer (he looked to be around 7 feet tall) started an argument with the security guard.

It was weird as hell seeing all these people with backpacks, sprinting and stuffing their cameras away when Target employees came their way. My helpful Target employee was stopped by a rotund guard who said, "if you see anyone with a camera, tell them to put it away and keep it away, or I'm putting them in jail. Well, I'll arrest them, then put them in jail."


Anyway, it was a semi-eventful week, methinks. Hopefully next week will be a little less frantic.

*As far as Palin's Wednesday appearance is concerned, I am trying very hard to ignore her existence. Blech.


My apologies

I'm a) too lazy, b) too stupid, or c) both, when it comes to fixing the video size below. Deal :)

Just wait until 1:13


Random LA Photo

From one of my trips to the Getty Museum. I just felt like my blog needed some more pretty-action.


Road Trippin'

So, my boyfriend and I hit the road recently, guinea pig in tow, for a family reunion in Montana.

Here's Vegas, with a long exposure, taken from the road at night:

We got to G-town after about 23 hours of driving. On the way my boyfriend tried to smuggle me into Mexico in order to sell my kidneys. Luckily that plan failed, but we did end up adding 4 extra hours to our drive. Actually, as we started our drive, I said, "crap, I left the mapquest printout on top of the tv." He said, "oh don't worry, I know how to get there." Famous last words, yes? We finally noticed we were going the wrong way when we ended up about 20 miles from Mexico. I was not happy and he provided me the ammo with which to nag him for the next 80 years.

Evidence of our detour:

Once we made it to G-town, I said hello to my puppy doggy:

And a robot:

It's funny what parents will keep in a garage.

Later we met with the fantastic Alex R. for lunch and the fabulous Melanie H. for dinner. The next day we hooked up with my best bud, packed up and headed for Glacier National Park.

On the way, I saw a few horsies:

And some other pretty scenery:

Then we met up with my dad and little bro and had the best steak of our lives. Sadly, I didn't manage to snap a photo of it. I had a feeling my fam would judge me for documenting my food adventures.

The next morning, the friend and I took a hike:


Being an accomplished hiker and internationally acclaimed frontierswoman, I recognized some bear poo near the end of our hike. "It has berries in it," I said. "And deer poo is more pelleted looking. I think."

Shortly afterward it happened.

Friend and I were nearly eaten by bears. At least, the hikers that came running out from the trail she and I were just on almost got eaten. And by almost, I mean they saw them and came running out. Similar.

Afterward, friend and I stopped by the Swiftcurrent cafe where I had hot chocolate and biscuits and gravy. Nothing like gallivanting around the outdoors to ruin your diet.

We packed up and headed over to the motel/hotel/resort/whatev. where the rest of the fam were meeting up. On the drive, we saw a grizzly near the side of the road. Almost eaten again! After we got to the whatev./resort/hotel/motel I decided I wanted to go on a horsie-back ride. After some convincing I got the friend to join me.

I later regretted this, as I almost killed her. Stupid allergies. Zyrtec, Benedryl, Cortaid cream, eye drops, a shower and an emergency inhaler later and my doped up friend retreated to the cabin for a relaxing coma as I went out for a family picnic:

The purpose of which was to remember my grandma by telling outrageous stories. Who knew 80-somethings got a lot of play on cruises? Note. To. Self.

We spent the night in a swanky cabin:

Then headed back for G-Town. I didn't realize that people kept elk in pens:

After G-town, it was time to go home. It was a lot of driving for such a short trip. I'll do it all again around Christmas, and I've decided that I need to travel more. To someplace other than MT.


July 4th

Do other countries make as big a deal out of their "independence" or equivalent days as we do?

Oh well. I made this from plain vanilla cake mix (added some almond and vanilla extract for a little more flavor), cool whip and berries. It was surprisingly good.

Happy you-know-what day!


"I wanna make love in this club...in this club...in this club...in this club...so on and so forth...etc....in this club"

What exactly constitutes appropriate bar and club attire in this city? In Montana, you can wear a sweatshirt, jeans and snow boots - as long as you do your hair and add makeup. Boulder, CO was similarly casual, though you would probably don a nicer shirt, better shoes and add a necklace.

My impression of the club scene here is, frankly, a bit trashy. Too much skin, frightening amounts of cleavage, shirts worn as dresses - sans leggings, and high, high heels. Makeup applied with spatula, big earrings, big hair and french tip nails. None of this is my style (except maybe unintentionally big hair).

What to do, what to do?


I am always surprised when a weekend goes really smoothly; no drama, no bumps in the road. I admit, I don't go with the flow very easily if I have made plans. If I plan to have no plan, I'm fine. But if you tell me you're going to go to dinner with me Friday night, I look forward to it all week. I think about what I'm going to order, what I'm going to wear, how much fun it's going to be. Then, if you cancel, I'm pretty disappointed. Especially if my backup plan ends up being sitting at home, watching my old Tevoed copy of Harold and Kumar Go to Whitecastle.

Luckily, this weekend was wonderful. I met up with my boyfriend's childhood friend and his wife on Friday - we had a lovely time eating out at this strange restaurant here in LA, the Formosa. Surprisingly good pad thai, for future reference.

Saturday the boyfriend and I braved IKEA, to hunt down a suitable futon sofa for my best friend's impending visit. I went crazy and chose a big, purple sofa to replace our wimpy loveseat. Pleasant surprise - the place wasn't packed. We also found a garage sale down our block, to which we donated the old love seat. Much easier than locating a proper dump, or inviting strangers into our house from craigslist. Shortly thereafter, we went out for food with Raging Texan and J00wish, and proceeded to Wii up a storm with MarioKart and Super Smash Brothers. Despite my disdain for pink, I always insist upon being Princess Peach when playing Mario Kart. I think it's my desire to flaunt the "girl power" thing. Or something.

Sunday I lounged on my big purple couch, nestled on it and leaned against our bookshelves. (I think IKEA has furnished 90% of our house.) It's amazing what a big comfy sofa does for homework productivity. I spent 6 hours doing homework and watching the following: Harold and Kumar go to Whitecastle, Van Wilder, and Just Friends. There is something about bad movies that really helps me get through homework, and I don't mind having Ryan Reynolds (who was in all three) filling up my television screen. After that, my boyfriend made a delicious Caesar salad, I worked out and went to bed.

Very pleasant, albeit not terribly exciting.



Who knew that my philosophy on life would come from Mr. Conductor at Shining Time Station?

Life is nothing if not absurd, absurdity is nothing if not humorous, and comedy is really fucking fucked now that we lost George Carlin.

Give Grandma hell for me, kay?


Things that suck about working in an office environment #21,004.

When making a beeline for the bathroom, after holding it in for hours in order to get several "urgent" tasks done, it is inevitable that someone will intercept you in the hall for one of two reasons: a) to send you back to your office to do another "urgent" task while your bladder slowly screams and you consider the social implications of wetting your chair or b) they want to talk to you about the cute things their baby has done since they were an egg waiting to be fertilized.

I do have an empty mug here.


How awkward would that be? For my coworkers to come in? I'd be branded with a yellow letter, P. I don't know if I want to be that guy. Or gal, rather.


Golly gee, ole buddy, ole pal

A problem has arisen. Between full-time classes, full-time working and the freakishly long commute, I seem to have forgotten to go beyond meeting my coworkers and actually find friends. This was effortless in the latter part of high school and early college days.

Is it just me, or does this routinely happen to every twenty-something who relocates to a new town after college? I find myself over eager whenever I run into someone remotely close to my own age. "OMG you like paperclips? I LUUUUFF PAPERCLIIIIIPS!!!!!!" I don't intend to be that slightly off-putting overeager type, but here I am. Have I become some kind of hovering creep, or are the folks here less willing to meet new people? Is it the Los Angeles attitude, or is it my own doing? Maybe it's just my sheer lack of time.

Thank goodness my boo (best friend of ten years), is coming out for a visit over the 4th of July weekend.

Hopefully, once school comes to an end, I can start getting out an doing things. An improv comedy class is on my to-do list, and with the Groundlings freakishly close to my home, I may as well audition for their basic class. I think film festivals will be move #2.


Paper Mario: First Impressions

First of all, I want to say that I am a woman who considers herself to be a bit of a videogame geek. I clung to my Game Boy as a little girl, I envied everyone's Segas, Ataris, and Nintendos, and I cried for hours when Aeris died. I become conflicted when it comes to my thoughts on feminism and gaming, and I'm sure they'll come up soon enough, but I essentially want you to know that I love losing myself in this stuff. It's one of my favorite laid back things to do (ditto to hitting up the beach). I get a bit annoyed when people act like it's a novelty, and I also hate it when people call me a n00b and give me crap for not knowing that all your base are belong to us. Or insert some other random game reference here. Seriously, you'd think I, like, zoned a hoard of Lvl 55 Orcs and then slapped a kitten huffer while pissing on their precious Penny Arcade. Of which I am a fan, btw. And Sluggy. Old Sluggy. I also want to clarify that I'm not one of the gamer girls that closes herself off from society, hates pop culture and has a million pictures of pixies on her myspace page. I have dated plenty, I love me some Jimmy Choos, and unlike some geeks, I have seen the light of day. You also won't see me at ComicCon. No offense.

Anyway, back to Paper Mario.

First thoughts:

The intro is annoyingly long. I can't decide if I love or hate the mustache humor. In some ways, I feel over it, in other ways I'm eating it up because it feels lovely and familiar. Like your mom. (See what I did there?)

It stays dull until you can flip into 3D. The awesomeness commences.

The star power is awesomer than awesomeness squared. Wow. I love breaking stuff in games. Always fun. In addition, Mario occasionally finds a band of little Marios - he has an ass-kicking posse!

The talking parts are my least favorite. Some of the jokes are cute, but they aren't particularly clever, we've heard most of it before.

Even if you think you hate it, stick with it until you meet the ubergeek and his virtual dating computer program.

More to come...unless, like most bloggers, I promise you something, you get excited, and then I never follow up on it. It's like a cock tease, but sadder and there aren't any tassels.


The end must be nigh...

I wrote five whole pages on the aforementioned infographic of Mr. Burt Reynolds and his Mr. Awesome Mustache. And I even had the balls to turn it in.

'Stache this

Here's the thing: I've taken what feels like eleventy billion undergrad classes. I am so beyond sick of them. Every assignment is tedious and I stare blankly at my computer, willing the words to just plop onto the page themselves.

So now, here's an infographic I just created for my Visual Communication Class. Time to write a few pages of analysis on this sucker. Oh yeah...I take my learnin' real seriously.


Men are from Mars, Scott McClellan is from Fantasy-Looney-Land-Oogy-Boogey-Boo-Popsicle-Face-Town

What I like best about the McClellan stories on the news right now, is the fact that there seems to be this concentrated effort, a strategy really, to discredit him. And by discredit him, I mean they want us to believe it's an, "invasion of the body snatchers," sort of situation. Like little green men beamed Scott McClellan into their flying saucer, and switched him out with an alien disguised as Scott McClellan. Or maybe a supervirus, hidden deep in the earth for millions of years, infected Scott McClellan and is now controlling his brain. Or maybe Scott McClellan is some kind of Antichrist. Yeah...that's it. Antichrist. Shame on you Scott McClellan, for being a pawn of Satan and bringing down mankind. Bitch.



Like a rock. A snoring rock.

And that rock is my boyfriend.


I spent most of the evening cleaning the bedroom - sweeping, throwing crap out, organizing the large closet, dusting, wiping stuff off, and singing along to Chicago as it played on the little 13" tv we have on the dresser. I have been really, really looking forward to sleeping in a reduced dust environment, especially after a long, hot day and hours spent making a billion potstickers (from scratch).

My boyfriend has a tendency to go to bed before I do - which is fine. I tucked him in (ain't that cute ;-)?), and went back to the living room to finish watching The Soup on E!, followed by a rousing episode of Saturday Night Live, starring Steve Carrell. Sometime in the middle of my late night television coma, I hear him open a door, stumble out of the bedroom, grunt, go into the bathroom, close the door, open the door, go back to the bedroom and close the door. This didn't exactly raise any alarms with me - zombie boyfriend is fairly typical around 1 o'clock in the morning. Saturday Night ends and I head to the bathroom; brush my teeth, wash my face, wipe off the counter. Then I wandered into the kitchen, made sure the oven was off, turned off the light. I grabbed a slice of cucumber, for my guinea pig, dropped it off in her cage, then walked to the bedroom to tuck in.

I tried to turn the knob.


I try it again, in case I'm channeling my inner blonde and...


I panic slightly and knock.

I knock again. And again. I get a bit frantic and start to pound and suddenly I am incredibly aware of both the bony part of the knuckle of my middle finger and the surprisingly loud sound the hollow door makes. I stop, reflecting on the fact that the neighbors are probably wishing ill upon me and mine.

Just in case, I try the knob again.

No dice. The frantic feeling turns to rage as I realize that I'm not going to get into my cozy, cool, soft, fancy, fabulous, awesome, loverly bed in my super clean bedroom. I start pounding on the door, wailing on it with both fists, trying out different rhythms as I attempt to shake and pound it out of its frame. "Hey? Hey! HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEY!!!!! F#@K."

So here I am, typing on my laptop, in the living room, trying to figure out how to sleep on either the tiny rug or the wood frame, uncomfortable love seat we purchased from IKEA.

I am not happy.

Just imagine if someone broke in one night and I needed to rouse him from sleep to save me from a bad guy ninja - but instead my knight in fuzzy boxers snores through the entire ordeal. Or if there were, heaven forbid, a fire. What if I have an allergic reaction to my guinea pig, puff up like a blowfish and go into anaphylactic shock? Or, just humor me here, what if I WANT TO SLEEP IN MY OWN F@$KING BED.?!?!?! WHAT THEN, HUH?????!!??!!!


*Additional note: The worst thing is the fact that I literally just moved the air mattress from the hallway closet (re: accessible), into the bedroom closet (re: inaccessible) this very evening.


Stuff I like: Forward Montana

Many people in our generation feel like they are stuck on a media-made rollercoaster ride so very hostile, so full of scandals, war, lying politicians, pop-princesses, commercialism and/or robots, that they are emotionally exhausted and, on occasion, utterly overwhelmed. Some react with apathy and couch potato-ing (all the rage for those pursuing the slacker career track), while others react with passion, progressive action and bunnies. Forward Montana, a non-profit organization aimed at encouraging tomorrow’s leaders, belongs to that second group.

As is the case with the majority of people raised in front of their televisions, this organization hearts new media. It is the first line of attack for this group; virtually everything they touch involves methods and mediums that allow for maximum innovation, entertainment, and wit (re: generational references up to wazoo) in an attempt to get the young, progressive types mobilized. This group is a lot like the revival of the 80s-themed t-shirts and aviator sunglasses, they are culturally relevant and a bit goofy - but unlike Thundercats, political activism will never go out of style.

It turns out that new media hearts them back. A quick Google search of Forward Montana garners a plethora of hits, including featured spots on multiple political websites, blogs and networking sites such as Facebook, MySpace, WordPress, Wikipedia, Volunteerforchange.org, DCVote.org, Westernstatescenter.org, PICnet.net, futuremajority.com, and think.MTV.com, just to name a few. Take a gander at the online versions of various Montana newspapers and you could spend weeks sifting through the results. At the time this was written the exact number of articles they had in the Missoulian was eleventy billion. Don’t quote me on that.

Besides their love of the world wide inter-web, what really sets them apart is their fusion of music, art and politics. Typically, it is the artists who make bold political statements with their creations. In the case of Forward Montana, political activists reach out to the artists. It’s a symbiotic relationship; the artists get their work seen and heard, and the art brings the passion out in people. When that fails, Pink Bunnies making death threats seem to get people moving. Also, ninjas. To be fair, the Pink Bunnies are a very cute arm of the organization – they promote voter re-registration through hugs, love and the threat of violence.

Under the pretext of fun, Forward Montana recruits and educates people through a number of diverse events. The conversion of their own offices into art galleries has been renamed “Soap Box Art.” In homage to a Halloween tradition, Trick-or-Vote is an attempt to make the time-old tradition of knocking on doors to promote your politics a little more exciting. Plus goblins and candy are great motivating tools for the volunteers. There’s even an after party so they can let their hair down with music, costumes, and refreshments. The Naked Truth is a speaker series featuring experts from around the country and a well-stocked bar. Speaking of bars, they also host a Progressive Happy Hour ever Monday night at 5 p.m. at the Badlander in Missoula.

So, if you like soapboxes, ghouls, speakers, politics, beer, art, or bunnies, you may want to check out one of their events. You can also work for them, intern, or volunteer. If for no other reason than morbid curiosity, just do it. If you want two reasons, there is a really surly bunny just waiting to have a “talk” with you, your family, and your family’s family.

Don’t say I never warned you if you wake up with a carrot head in your bed.

Not Right. Not Left. Just Forward.



Eff-U Venus Razor Stupid-Head

I'm really tired of looking at the Venus Women's razor ads on my tv. Not that I normally harbor grudges against women's beauty products, but I really can't stand the things. All womens' razors, actually. I admit, I am completely guilty of stealing my boyfriend's razor. Over and over again. However, I will never touch his shaving cream.

It all started when I decided to stop using the disposable women's razors in favor of something a little nicer, thinking that the move would be an upgrade. I bought into the advertising of Gillette's Venus razor and picked one up at my local Target. It was supposed to simultaneously hug my curves for a close shave and protect them from nicks and cuts - awesome. I get home and test it out in the shower on my legs...not bad. I felt a little too much cold metal and a little drag around my knees to make me comfortable, but it wasn't awful. Then I went for the armpits. Suddenly I'm bleeding and there's stinging and yelping and hopping around in an attempt to rinse off conditioner and shaving cream fast enough to keep from bleeding to death in the shower. I briefly reflect on the Psycho-like trail of blood flowing into the drain, get out , drip water all over the floor (which I HATE) and run to the mirror. I lift up my arm and the water has smeared the blood all over my inner arm and along my side. I I grab some toilet paper to wipe off the blood and get a look at the wound - the stupid Venus gave me a 5-inch gash. In my armpit.

That was it for me and the Venus. Maybe I didn't give it enough of a chance, but after a week and a half of being unable to wear deodorant under my left arm, I was angry AND stinky and hairy. Well, on one side at least.

That same week I sneakily tried out my boyfriend's razor. Sweet, merciful heaven, it was perfect. No nicks, no cuts, close shave, and it looked all chrome-y and awesome.

I bring this up because I recently discovered that, even though men's razors seem to be far superior to women's, their shaving cream is horrible. I had noticed all the pain my boyfriend went through when he shaved - it didn't make sense to me, because his razor was ever so nice. Then, when I ran out of my own Skintimate shave gel, I reached for his stuff and was horrified. My previous razor no longer managed to glide effortlessly over my skin, NAY, it began to drag and catch.

I made him try my shaving cream a few weeks ago, and you know what? He loves it. Sure, he smells like lavender, but cologne and aftershave can cover that up. Plus his face is as smooth as a baby's poopy end.