Face Place and Myspace

Last night was fantastic – I saw a performance of “Picasso at the Lapin Agile”, hung out with Nate at his house, and then met up with the cast at Blueberry Hill. I got home at about 2, which is 3 1/2 hours before my alarm usually goes off.

When I woke up this morning, I realized the following things:

1. I would like to spend the rest of my life in a room full of comedians and performers, please.

2. I need to move to Chicago. I’ve been wanting to move there for a long time. It’s the best place to work on my creative writing endeavors while still having an actual “career”. Besides, that’s where the Funny is.

3. I’m going to start saving money now so that I can move to Chicago in a year. Unless I fall in love or something like that, in which case I will use the money to buy a puppy.

4. I like people who talk more than I do… especially when they make me laugh so hard that I can barely breathe, let alone speak.

5. There is nothing weirder than sitting at a table with a bunch of people you’ve seen on Myspace, but have never actually met: “I don’t know know you, but I know you.” “Did we go to prom together?” “Haven’t I seen a picture of you and a horse or something?”

6. Stories about personal encounters with Tara Reid will always be funny. FYI: Tara Reid laughs like a man and farts in elevators.

7. I could spend an entire paycheck in the Face Place photo booth. I really could.

8. You’re not cool until you take over the Cigar Room at Blueberry Hill with your friends and somebody proposes a toast “to the 20th Century!”

9. Those two guys sitting at the bar are not “gay and chatty”. No, they are not. They are hitting on you and trying to look down your shirt. STOP TALKING TO STRANGERS.

10. I love old people, and I am no longer afraid of becoming one (this is not because of last night… I jogged with some sassy seniors around the track, and they made me love life. Those were probably the most enlightening 3 miles I will ever travel, which is ironic because I was going in circles).

Under the Bridge

J: Man, some tattoos are just a bad idea.

Steph: I know. Did I ever tell you about Milo’s tattoos?

J: The “Churning Butter” guy?

Steph: Hee, yeah. We were outside smoking one night and he was held out his forearms, and he said, “You know what I’ve always wanted to do? Tattoo a huuuuge question mark on one arm and an exclamation point on the other.”

J: Heh. WHY?

Steph: Karl told me it had to do with some scary psychedelic philosopher guy… he’s explained this to me like five times and I still don’t get it. But anyway, Milo was a lawyer, and he said he wanted to be the “cool lawyer” who rolls up his sleeves, flashes his huge tats, and then breaks down your situation. Or something.

J: I would love it if my lawyer had huge sleeves of tattoos.

Steph: I know. But…

J: Yeah. It’s kind of cool, but it’s kind of like, “Okay…”

Steph: Right. So he tells me about the tattoos, and he was like, “I think it would be sooo awesome. What do you think?” And I said, “Yeah, I guess that’d be cool…” and then I changed the subject. And a few weeks later, he showed up and was all, “Guess what?”

J: Ooooh no.

Steph: Oh, yes. He had a big-ass question mark and a big-ass exclamation point on his arms. And as an English major, I secretly liked it a lot. And everyone had a different opinion about it, but when he left the room a couple of people were like, “What the fuck?” and I felt really guilty.

J: Like it was your fault because you told him it would be cool?

Steph: Yes.

J: But you didn’t think it was cool, did you. You lied to him to be nice, and now he has weird tattoos and it’s all your fault.

Steph: Exactly! I mean, I’m sure he told other people about his idea. And I think there were other people outside when he told me this. But I felt responsible somehow.

J: See, you’re too nice.

Steph: Nah, I’ve been kind of a dick lately.

J: No, no. You think you are, but you’re not. Trust me. You are way too nice. And it’s becoming a problem. Tattoos are just the beginning. We need to work on your niceness.

Steph: How?

J: Hey Stephie, I think I want to get a cool tattoo…

Steph: …

J: Say, “Of what?”

Steph: *sigh* Of what?

J: There you go! Okay, I want to get a tattoo of… of a… of a huge asterisk.

Steph: That would be AWESOME!

J: Jesus.

Steph: No really! I love asterisks! I love the way they look and their purpose in life and everything! I use them all the time! I would totally get that tattoo!

J: Okay, now we’re going to switch this up: I’m going to be you and tell you what you should have just said to me. Except I’m really me and I’m being completely serious when I say this to you. Don’t get that tattoo.

Steph: Why?

J: Because I was trying to think of a really bad tattoo, but we were just talking about punctuation so I’m stuck on that.

Steph: You can’t think of worse tattoos?

J: No, I guess I could. But an asterisk would still be lame. Oh, and you know why? People will think it’s a Red Hot Chili Peppers tattoo.

Steph: I could tell them what it is. It could be worse. I like the Chili Peppers.

J: Me too, but do you LOVE the Chili Peppers? Enough for people to even think that you have a Chili Peppers Tattoo?

Steph: Not really.

J: Exactly. And what if someone in the band goes crazy or something? What about all those poor people with Michael Jackson tattoos?

Steph: Haha. But do you know about the Chili Peppers logo?

J: It’s like an asterisk right?

Steph: That’s what it looks like. But you know what it really is?

J: What?

Steph: Guess.

J: Is it like a Native American symbol or something?

Steph: No.

J: A tiny little bomb? A baby firework?

Steph: No.

J: A star for people who can’t draw stars? That’s what it is, right? That’s how I draw stars. What is it?

Steph: …

J: TELL ME!

Steph: Kurt Vonnegut’s asshole.

(beat)

J: What?

Steph: It’s Kurt Vonnegut’s asshole.

J: WHAT?

Steph: You know how he does all those drawrings?

J: Yeah.

Steph: Well, he drew an asshole once. And now he draws it under his name sometimes, like when he signs autographs.

J: So it’s kind of a self portrait of his asshole.

Steph: Right. And the Chili Peppers saw it and based their logo off of that.

J: I don’t believe you.

Steph: I’ll send you the link to where I read that. And hey, do you have Breakfast of Champions?

J: Of course.

Steph: Okay. Do you have the paperback one? One of those newer ones with the big V?

J: Yes.

Steph: Okay. Turn to page 72.

J: All right. Hold on.

(beat)

J: *gasp*

Steph: See?

J: Whoa.

Steph: I know.

J: WHOA.

Steph: I KNOW.

J: Stephie.

Steph: J.

J: I love you.

Steph: Hee. And how much do you love the Chili Peppers?

J: A lot more than I thought I did. But you still can’t get the asterisk ass tattoo. I mean it.

When a band wants to become synonymous with a picture of your asshole, I think it’s safe to say that you’re the greatest writer of all time.

You guys really need to read Breakfast of Champions. There’s a drawing on almost every page. There are also words. Lots of good ones arranged in a fantastic order.

And seriously, how cute would a Times New Roman asterisk be on my big toe?

I’ll Be There – With Bells On!

I need someone with a digital camera to go on a walk with me. Right now.

This is what the sign in front of the Kirkwood First Baptist Church says:

This Sunday – 10:45 Guest Speaker

“CICOFF THE JESTER”

Juggling, Unicycling

and a Powerful Message

Is it rude to take a picture of this? I don’t care. I’m not making fun of him – I think this will be the most awesome church service in the history of Christianity. I have like 12 hours to document this sign on film and I need your help.

And if you’re looking for me tomorrow at say, 10:45, you know where to find me. I’m not even joking. Good thing I can walk there; I bet the parking will be a nightmare. I may show up early.

Thank you, Jesus. Thank you for Cicoff.

Hungary Hippos

Here’s an e-mail I just got from Jen:

So I was telling my friend at work about how Ray is going to Hungary to teach English.

And she says, “but isn’t she pregnant?”
“No. He’s not.”
“But Stephanie’s website thingy…”
“Oh. That’s Ra and that’s funny.”

Hee. I love Jen. And Jen and I both love Ray.

Yes, Ray is going to Hungary for a year, which means we will have to wait a year to party with him. That is sad, but I’m so happy for him and I hope he finds what he is looking for… in Hungary…

…this is usually the part where I would throw in a joke about where he’s going, but all I can come up with is, “Delaware. (beat) Hi. We’re in… Delaware.”

Ray knows his Geography and History like nobody’s business, so I trust that he picked a good one. And either way, I know for a fact that when Ray goes to Europe he has a blast. So you go, Ray. Way to go.

And Jen’s friend is not the first person to ask how Ray could get pregnant, or why I would need to go to New Jersey to see her if she lives in Texas.

~~~*~~~

Last night I hung out with Mike and that was really cool. I showed off my Voltron and the monkey collection, and eventually I pulled out that shoebox full of trinkets that I used to keep under my bed.

We spent the evening in front of a table covered with Happy Meal Toys, Star Wars action figures and Corona. Collectibles from Asia and imported beer from Mex-i-co. Classy.

“Is this weird?” I asked, as I flipped through my Beavis and Butthead trading cards. “I mean, I’m twenty five.” He said he was having fun, and I was too. I felt like I was hanging in my old basement again. Good times.

~~~*~~~

Today I was going to post an entry about what I was doing exactly ten years ago. I had planned on typing up that particular page from my diary.

I just re-read what I was going to post, and nuh-uh. Someday I’ll look back at the way I used to write and laugh about it, but it’s still too soon. I was embarrassed for myself.

It wasn’t a bad subject, though… I discovered that exactly ten years ago today, Travis called me from his friend Mark’s house and he put Mark on the phone, and Mark and I spent all night talking even though we had never met. We felt like we had known each other forever, and we hung up the phone feeling absolutely certain that we WOULD know each other forever.

We met a week later (at Brunswick Bowling Lanes! Holla!) and we went out for a year. He was my first love and my best friend and the only person I’ve called my “soulmate” without a hint of sarcasm or a Dawson’s Creek joke. Mark and I are still best friends. Mark and I are in each other’s Top 10 (in both Myspace and Real Life). I can talk to Mark in a way that I’ve never talked to anyone else. I can call Mark crying, and he will make me laugh in 10 seconds flat. I know for a fact that he’ll always be there for me, and I’ll always be there for him.

So Happy 10 Year Anniversary, Mark.

“I feel like getting some french bread. Wanna go to France?”

Last night Brad took me to the Tivoli to see Little Miss Sunshine and oh my god, you guys. Oh my god oh my god you guys you guys. It was so fantastic. Absolutely perfect. I haven’t felt like that since the first time I saw Amélie (where the entire theater burst into applause at the end and we couldn’t stop smiling the entire way home).

Go see Little Miss Sunshine. Seriously.

Proust gets brought up a lot in the film. Every time I think about Proust, I think about that time in Paris when the Jersey Boys and I went looking for Jim Morrison’s grave. We got lost in Père Lachaise and wandered around for like four hours. We stumbled across Proust and Moliére’s graves, and as an English major I tried to convince everyone (including myself) that their graves were just as important and cool. They weren’t. It was dorkorama and I knew it.

We gave up and right as we were about to leave, some guy appeared out of nowhere and whispered, “Are you looking for Jeeem?” Then he led us behind and across a few graves to a secret little hiding spot, and for a second we thought we were going to get mugged, but there he was. Jim frickin Morrison. I didn’t have a candle to light so I left him a cigarette. Proust. Psshh.

I am once again on my THIRD DAY of NO SLEEP, so I am pretty much the opposite of Little Miss Sunshine at the moment. After work I plan on turning off my phone, taking some pizz-ills and crashing. I don’t want to hear any bitching and I don’t want any drunk people banging on my window, please. Yes, I miss you. Yes, I would rather be out. No, I’m not going to the bars with you. Stephie no party. Stephie sleepy.

Mixed Up Without My MixTapes

The only thing I miss about having a boyfriend right now is having somebody to give all my attention to. Somebody I can make presents for, or do nice favors, or just something little to let them know I care. That was always my favorite part about relationships… being able to make somebody smile. It makes me happy when I get to make him happy.

I have a lot of friends, but you can’t really spoil a plutonic friend the way that you indulge someone you’re with. And I have a lot more friends than I used to. It seems like the more I make, the less attention I can give the ones I have. I’m staring at my calendar right now, and this month is packed full of birthdays and showers and all that stuff, and I doubt I’ll have the time or the money to do anything special for all of them. Hell, I don’t know if I have enough minutes on my phone to give each of them a call.

Is this why some people ditch all of their friends the second they get a boyfriend or girlfriend? Do you just run out of energy or something? Maybe I just need less friends.

But I love all of my friends… they’re all so great and sometimes I feel like I don’t do as much for them as they do for me. I feel like I’m being a bad friend. And I know that they don’t notice, and most of them won’t send me a birthday card or whatever either.

But still… I have a lot of love to give, and right now it feels like I’m spreading myself too thin. I miss having somewhere to direct the majority of it.

I miss those awesome ideas that I used to get sometimes when I’d think of the perfect gift to give him or something that would make his day. I miss knowing exactly what would make him smile or laugh, and I miss cheering him up when he was bummed. I miss the grand gestures and the sweet nothings and everything in between.

I’m good at that kind of stuff. It makes me feel good. But sometimes I feel like I’m selfish because I’m not doing that anymore.

I don’t know. That’s my big revelation for the day. God, it’s been a long week. At least it’s snowcone day at work.

I haven’t thought of any weird things to google today, so here’s one I looked up a long time ago: the dot above an “i” is called a Tiddle. And now you know.

Dr. Hottest Thing On Skates!

Okay, here I am. Hi.

I don’t have any gimmicks or cute little stories today. I’m just typing. Typetypetype. I just checked the stats on here, and my hits doubled last month. So I feel kind of obligated to type. And ask once again: who are you? Tell me! Or if you are shy, let your alter-ego leave a comment. Otherwise, I feel like I’m talking to myself.

Is everyone checking this because I’ve been so antisocial? Or are you all sitting in front of your computer because you don’t want to go outside either? Man, it is so assy out there. Come sit in the AC with me.

I finally dragged my caboose out of bed this morning and ran. It was only a mile, but hey, it was outdoors during an outré heat wave after a month of sitting on my ass. If I wasn’t fanning myself right now, I’d pat myself on the back.

Josh brought me back a really pretty paper fan from South Korea. Then the heat wave hit. Good call, dude. I’m not being sarcastic; I’ve used that thing like every day. And it’s pretty.

You know what’s funny? Last week there was a day when it was 87, and everyone was like, “Ooooh, it’s cooling down.” Almost 90! Brrrr!

Whenever anyone in my apartment comments on the weather, I do my new favorite joke, which is to hold this:

… in front of my face and whisper, “You’re gonna die.”

Haaaa ha… it’s funny cuz it’s true.

But global doom wasn’t my point, sorry. My point is: I’m running! I left the house! I’m getting back to normal yippie skippie!

Tony surprised us by coming to town for the weekend, and he showed up on my doorstep with a case of beer, a stack of DVDs, and a credit card just waiting to buy me pizza. This is one reason why Tony is always always welcome anywhere I go. The other reason? Even if we were broke and sober and sitting on the curb doing absolutely nothing, I’d still have the best time with him. Tony rules, y’all.

And Jen gave me season one of Dr. Katz, which… I guess this is just for Jen, but GIIIIIIIRL, you have no idea how much I have been laughing. Oh my god, I have missed that show so much, and now I remember exactly why. Thank you so much. Jen and her DVD burner have officially cured me of depression. Brava, good lady.