“Who’s Ready To Blow Some Pirates?”

There were never any good old days,
They are today, they are tomorrow.
It’s a stupid thing we say,
Cursing tomorrow with sorrow.

– Gogol Bordello, Ultimate

Okay, time for my Adventures In New Jersey. Here we go:

The Flight

I have to say that my flight to New Jersey was, without a doubt, the best flight I have ever taken in my life – and it was free! I had the very first seat on the plane. For the first time ever, I did not have a dumb-ass layover at dumb-ass O’Hare. I had a great book to read. It was sunny and pretty outside. We had a perfect view of Manhattan when we flew in, and the flight attendant sat next to me and pointed out celebrities’ backyards. We arrived a half-hour early, exactly when Steve was pulling into the parking lot. My phone rang right when I got to Steve’s truck; it was my Grandma. She said, “I prayed that you would have a good flight. Did you?” Two thumbs up for Jesus and Grandma.

Jersey City

Here is the thing about extra-big cities with trains and subways and lots of pizza places – they all remind me of London. I love the feeling I get from those places, but it doesn’t wow or overwhelm me the way it used to. You know what did wow me? The pizza Steve bought me, and Bridget’s brownies. That’s the first real food I’ve eaten in months. Delightful. Jersey City reminded me of Marylebone. Frank’s apartment was pretty cool. We hung out for a while, and then headed to Brooklyn for the Found party.

Brooklyn

Like I said, New York just reminds me of London. Scaffolding, subways, street vendors, fun purses, etc. It’s wonderful and fun, but since I’m from Missouri people expect me to go apeshit and gasp at everything and I just don’t. My city is probably bigger than yours, after all.

I DID love navigating through subway tunnels and running from train to train with Steve and Frank – it was such a familiar feeling and I was kind of overwhelmed with flashbacks and great memories of a perfect time in my life.

We stopped at the World Trade Center station, though, and that was sad and weird. Ground Zero looks exactly the same except there are some cranes and fences. I’m shocked that they haven’t done anything with it yet, and proud of New Yorkers for being brave enough to see that every day.

Found Party!

I still have blisters from the walk. However, Frank was a good tour guide and we got there just in time to see the show. Davy was nice enough to put us on the list. I was on The List at a New York party! We felt special, like the little boy in Almost Famous. The show was hilarious and Steve and Frank had a good time, which made me happy. Afterwards we had drinks and watched people play bocce ball and I got to spend time with Davy, who is like the nicest person you’ll ever meet.

Frank’s Place

I used to think I slept in London because I had no stress and a boyfriend. Now I know for sure that it was all of that city walking. I slept like a baby that night. The next morning Frank took us out for the Pancake Wrap, which is just as gross and delicious as it sounds: bacon, eggs and cheese, wrapped up in a big-ass pancake. It was glorious:

The Pancake Wrap makes me think of “The Pancake Rap”, which is not an actual song… just my idea for one. It would be performed by old school dudes like The Sugarhill Gang, and they would yell out things like “PANCAKE!” and “MMMMMAPLE!” Feel free to post your own lyrics in the comments section.

Steve’s Place

Steve’s place is farther away and is where I stayed for the rest of my trip. Usually when I visit a guy friend, I prepare myself for a messy apartment and overall grossness… but Steve’s place was really clean and felt like an actual home. His TV is as hot as mine. And look:

Who is that? Is that my dog from heaven? No, that is Steve’s roommate’s dog, Samantha. Samantha is the spitting image of my old dog Midnight, only twice as big. She looked, acted and smelled exactly like my old dog. I’m surprised Samantha didn’t make me sad… but she was so big that it made me laugh more than anything else. It truly felt like I was hugging a giant cartoon version of my old dog. How can you beat that?

Blackbeard’s Cave

Steve and I played mini-golf at Blackbeard’s Cave, and then kicked serious ass in the arcade. We got like a million tickets, thanks to Steve’s “Wheel of Fortune” skills. I traded my tickets for a heart-shaped bracelet and a finger puppet. Steve got an eye patch and a pirate-shaped bubble blower, which is when he said:

“All right… who’s ready to blow some pirates?”

That was the best thing that happened on my trip. In addition to mini-golf and the arcade, Blackbeard’s Cave also had a childrens amusement park. To my delight, I discovered that I weigh less than the limit for almost all of the little kiddie rides. The only ride I am too heavy for is the one where you ride through the woods in tiny little canoe, past a bunch of random statues like giraffes and… a T-Rex eating a skeleton? It looked so sweet. One day, you guys. One day I will ride in that tiny little canoe. The kiddie park is also home to the most terrifying trash cans ever invented:

Overall, my trip to Jersey was super fun. Here are some other highlights:

• Steve and I watched Season 3 of The Office in its entirety. Despite living thousands of miles apart, we can now say we’ve watched every episode of The Office together (at least until tonight, when the new season starts).
• Steve ignored a “closed street” sign and drove through, earning serious ticket-writing hand motions from the cop around the corner.
• I caused a sexy scene in a stairwell in Brooklyn, and got admonished by a waiter.
• I caused another sexy scene in a surprisingly clean co-ed bathroom (also in Brooklyn) and got high-fived by like three people.
• Frank bought me Pocky – it’s become a tradition when we visit each other. Thanks Frank!
• A boy kissed me and remarked, “I can’t believe you’re real!” I told this story to Vee and now she says it to me every day at work.
• I dashed barefoot across the World Trade Center subway station. Gross, but necessary.
• Steve and I discovered and mastered the World’s Most Complicated SeeSaw.
• Steve spent our entire hour at the playground laying on a slide in the shade.
• I went on the swings for the first time in over a decade and feared for my life.
• I called the Wawa grocery store “Wamu”, which made Steve laugh.
• Steve took me to work at his radio station. Steve’s job is very cool.
• Steve saw two female co-workers with the company trailer and said, “I bet they’re going to crash that.” They crashed it.
• I attempted to stalk Ray at a Barnes & Noble, and got made fun of by two old ladies who work there. I miss Ray terribly.
• Steve bonded with a stranger on the subway over the awesomeness of Surf Taco.
• I demanded to go to Surf Taco, and Steve took me there twice. He introduced me to The Maverick, which is delicious.
• Steve and I are equally amazing at Connect 4.
• On the airport shuttle back to my car, I got asked on a date by a pilot who looks exactly like Michael Cera from Superbad. And yes, he looked as adorable/ridiculous as Michael Cera would if he dressed up in a pilot uniform. I said yes. That’s where I‘ll be tomorrow night.
• And this hasn’t happened yet, but Frank will most likely leave me a smart-ass comment after reading the above bullet.

Be A Pattie, Not A Patricia

“Somewhere in the sky, Earnest Hemingway is piecing his face back together so he can blow it off again.”

– Rob Sheffield

I feel like writing, but I still have not developed those pictures. Who knows? Maybe I will just write about the trip without any pics. I haven’t decided. Jersey blogs take a long time to write, and like any other project, I tend to procrastinate a lot. This makes me dive into books, music and other stuff with undivided attention.

One thing I’ve been wrapped up in is the book I bought at the airport, Wonderful Tonight by Pattie Boyd and Penny Junor. Unlike most autobiographies, this is one that people have been looking forward to for a long time. If you don’t know, Pattie Boyd is the ex-wife of both George Harrison (who wrote “Something” about her) and Eric Clapton (who wrote “Layla” to steal her from George).

I’m about halfway through and this book is pretty great – it gives you a glimpse into their lives without being trashy or invasive. When I dated Timmy the hippy, he had the greatest book collection about the Beatles and I loved reading all the stories behind their songs. This is another great one.

I don’t know if I’ve ever discussed my LEAST favorite book with you guys – that would be Strange Days: My Life With And Without Jim Morrison by Patricia Keneally. She was that reporter who hooked up with Jim Morrison and I could not believe how much her writing grossed me out.

Basically, she spent the who book trying to convince the reader that she was cool. She spent half of the book namedropping, describing her outfits or dissing basically everyone Jim knew, which is how you know they all thought she sucked. And ugh, does she ever. I didn’t believe any of her lame stories or care about her and Jim at all. I spent the whole book whispering, “Jesus, get over yourself.”

I just looked up the Amazon reader reviews for this book, and they are beyond hysterical:

“If Morrison spent even half the time with her that she alleges, he must have been a very patient and tolerant individual. Or comatosed on booze.”

“Never has so much been written over so little.”

“Patricia’s book is entertaining but it is mostly fiction. In my opinion, the author really needs some psychological help.”

“This book is a wonderful study in narcissism. I found myself skimming portions of the books as I’m not into sword and sorcery fantasy.”

“Kennealy-Morrison has a curiously self-centered view of the world.”

“Maybe a teen or an early 20’s would find arguing, slapping, fighting, crying, encounters with other women, then having marathon love-making sprinkled with words of undying devotion exciting and passionate, but not a mature adult.”

“If this book is anything to go by, her intellect is stagnant and unsophisticated, and her personality is childish.”

“Patricia Kennealy, though she is a great writer, comes across in this biography and autobiography as a selfish, self-centered, hateful, catty and petty, over-critical, unforgiving, jealous, delusional and obesessive, essentially sad and lonely woman.”

“Strange Days: My Life With And Without Jim Morrison is a weird read.”

“We are treated to a running list of what Patricia wore at any certain event and, what drugs were consumed.”

“The title should have been My Ten Days With Jim Morrison and the Rest Of My Life Obsessing Over Him!!!”

“This woman is obviously not the person whom she is trying to convince the world that she is…. She’s more like a nightmare run amok.”

“Wow. Patricia Kennelly/Kennealy/Morrison(!) is kind of pathetic and insane.”

“I believe this book is written in a fantasy that she believed in.
Her crazy fantasy.”

Wonderful Tonight is pretty much the opposite of Strange Days. Pattie Boyd is unbelievably relatable and so modest and straightforward about her life – it’s a fascinating story and a pleasure to read.

And in case you’re wondering, Eugene Hutz has not had any groupies write a book about him, though one chick did make a movie about how hot and awesome he is.

~~~*~~~

So I have heard through the digital grapevine that Theresa is writing about me again. This is a girl I have never met who had a blog that was basically a demented rant about whatever I chose to write about on a given day. For example, that entry I wrote about being in love in the fall? She wrote about the same topic a few days later, dissing my observations and then later, dissing me while distorting the facts. Again, I have never met this girl.

I have no desire to have another “blog war” – I am not bored or angry or pathetic enough for that. I do have trouble letting other people have the last word when I’m sure I’m right – I had this problem with a friend of hers, which I think is what set her off again.

But I have virtually no patience for this nonsense, especially with someone I HAVE NEVER MET, so I felt it needed to be called out. Let’s be ladies, Theresa, and real writers for once. Come on now.

Lies I Told Frank

Last week I took my first vacation in over two years – well, the first vacation that did not involve a wedding of some sort. I went to New Jersey to visit Steve and Frank. I took pictures with an old-timey disposable camera, so I have to get them developed before I blog about it. In the meantime, here is a prologue to tide you over, plus a few confessions.

Lie Number 1: I swore to Frank I would never “kiss and blog”. That’s a boldfaced lie because guess what pals: I kissed two boys on my vacation. (Neither one was Frank.) This is worth noting because both were super unexpected, both called me “beautiful” and both of them made me smile and laugh a lot. They didn’t make me laugh because they called me beautiful, though I do think that’s a silly thing to say to a girl like me.

Lie Number 2: Frank teased me for wearing high heels to the Found party and I was like, “Dude, I wear heels all the time.” LIE. I wear them maybe like twice a week – certainly more than I did a year ago but definitely not enough to walk over 2 miles through Brooklyn, which is what we did.

I had blisters the size of quarters on both of my big toes and I was a total jerk by the end of our hike. However I felt better by the end of the night and even asked Frank if he could guide me to a Bulgarian bar called Mehanata, which is where my crush Eugene Hutz DJs on Thursday nights. I didn’t hear Frank’s answer, but it was probably along the lines of “F#@& you.”

Lie Number 3: I told Frank that the brownies his girlfriend made were “really good”, which is technically a lie because – and I swear this by the beautiful beard of Zeus – they were the best brownies I have ever eaten in my life. I did not get to meet her, but she already gets my seal of approval and I believe she is a direct descendant of Betty Crocker and/or Keebler Elves. Please send me the recipe ASAP.

Sail The Seven Seas At Least

I have now quit smoking for 5 days, and while I have cried twice, I have not yet spazzed. At the very least, I do not plan on blogging about 9/11 today. Or even Britney Spears. No disaster blogging at all. So that’s a good sign.

I’m sleeping and running and drinking lots of water. I even have Lorazepam in case I want to smoke again. Lorazepam is like marzipan for my brain. I haven’t taken any yet, but if I spazz at all then I know I’ll be fine. Benzodiazepines are MUCH more effective than the Cinnamon Altoids that the smoking cessation pamphlet suggested.

I know that I often brag about being single, especially the fact that I don’t have a guy dragging me to stupid crap that I don’t want to attend. However, I am almost wishing for a boyfriend today, or at least ONE single girlfriend (I honest to god have none of these and I miss them terribly), so that I could drag someone to Kansas with me for a day.

Gogol Bordello is playing in Lawrence, Kansas on Halloween. I am DYING to go. I want to get carnal with Eugene Hütz, and this is the closest he will be to me for years and years. But honestly, who is going to drive 4 hours and back just to see a bunch of gypsies with me? I have no problem going alone but I would definitely have to smoke cigarettes for a road trip like that.

And NO, I am not driving to Kansas with two people who are dating or married. You have no idea what it’s like to be stuck in a car with you people. Rhorf.

My crush on Eugene Hütz makes me sad. I am genuinely bummed out that he doesn’t like me back and I’m jealous of the pretty girls in his band. I feel like he already broke up with me. Perhaps it is for the best if I don’t go. It’s reminding me of why I banned crushes and relationships in the first place. I don’t like it when other people affect my feelings.

I suppose it’s time to pick a new crush that doesn’t hurt as much. I choose: Buster Keaton.

Maybe someday I will pick a realistic person. Someone I’ve met. Someone nearby. Someone honest and funny and motivated and silly and smart and basically drug-free and hopefully unequivocally tall.

But that would require trusting a boy, which is something I can’t allow myself to do anymore. No way. I’m no dope. I will stick with Buster Keaton.

The problem with quitting smoking is that it forces you to face all of the issues you covered up by smoking. Remember how much I DIDN’T care about this stuff when I had a cigarette in my hand? I mean, I would already be in Kansas. Instead I’m just sitting here, hating my job and hating life and hating everyone who talks to me.

Note to all my friends with babies (which is like all you freaks): when your kid wants to start smoking, tell them to look up these old entries where Aunt Stephie goes coo-coo-bananas from withdrawl. I will scare them straight. Do you guys think I will be back to normal by then? Oh, I hope so.

Fuck all of you for lecturing me to quit. Now look at what you have to read. Serves you right.

A Total Temperate Climate Shift of the Heart

You’re not hopeless or helpless
And I hate to sound cold
But you don’t know what love is…
You just do as you’re told.

– The White Stripes, You Don’t Know What Love Is

It’s a very bad idea to fall in love right when the weather changes.

The air smells different, the world looks different, and there’s a chill and a crispness that surrounds you. Things are getting brighter, either with leaves or flowers or the sun. Your skin tingles. Everyone around you is coming home, leaving, or changing their schedules. They’re all different and they look different. New haircuts. New clothes. New music, new TV, new books and new… everything.

When the season changes, the world essentially changes, too. So when you fall in love with someone at the beginning of a new season, it feels like they’ve changed your life when in truth they were just… there.

You probably shouldn’t fall in love with someone when you’re about to embark on a new career or major change in your life, either. You’ll end up giving that person credit for all the new luck, or you’ll blame them when things turn sour. “You’ve changed. You’re not good for me,” you’ll say after a bad day of work. Tragedies are the absolute worst place to meet people, especially if they’ll be around you for a long time after that. We all need disaster buddies, but don’t mistake the safety of the moment for a permanent attribute.

My ex-boyfriend and I had our first real conversation – the kind where you share secrets and ask questions and bond – on 9/11. I don’t remember who suggested climbing on the roof of our school, but that’s what the two of us did after everyone else went to bed. There was an unspoken rule to not talk about 9/11 at all. We tried to think of as many funny, embarrassing stories as possible to keep the mood light.

Regent’s College was bombed to the ground by the Nazis during World War II, so when I sat up there and looked at the sky, I felt a strange sense of security. I knew that eventually things would be okay. They would be different, but they would adjust and move on. What else can you do? You just have to rebuild. And there I was, in this awesome place that had seen fire and bombs and Nazis, for pete’s sake, and now it was rebuilt and covered with ivy and I was sitting with this new fascinating person and almost feeling all right.

That’s one reason why I loved him so, so much… in my mind, he’s attached to this moment that I discovered strength and security and sagaciousness within myself that I had never felt before. I used to think it was all because of him – that he made me stronger or safer or rational. I know now that’s not true.

I fell in love with him in the fall. That’s the same time I fell in love with TSGoC. There were big changes in the air, there were big changes in my life, and I needed a shoulder to cry on for one reason or another. The fall will always make me miss them and I find myself searching for someone new.

Now that I’m approaching autumn on my own, I’m realizing how much credit I gave them for things they had nothing to do with. Maybe I’ve just been going about this all wrong. Maybe it wasn’t even love to begin with.

After all, they certainly did not love me.

Thrilling And/Or Appalling Confession #1

Okay, so here is my first TA/OA Confession:

I want to “do” Eugene Hutz.

Even with the gold tooth. Hell, especially with the gold tooth.

This both thrills me and appalls me. Ergo, a TA/OA Confession.

Edited to say: OH MY GOD OH MY GOD YOU GUYS. I found a clip from Live Earth that features not only Eugene Hutz, but my secret boyfriend Cloud (wearing another vest). They both dry hump Madonna, which is tough competition but at least they have the same taste in women.

Awesome Teen Poetry – Vol. 1

Most of my teen poetry is beyond embarrassing. It’s just… it’s bad. It’s not bad enough to be funny; it’s just stupid.

However, a few are worth sharing just for the sheer angstitude. I’m working up the nerve to post a few of them. In the meantime, here’s a little gem I whipped up when I was 13. So kick off your Docs, turn up the Nirvana and try not to kill yourself:

Self Esteem

Slow
Low
Get up and
Go

Sad
Mad
You are so
Bad

Gross
Ugly
That’s why you’re so
Lonely

Bitch
Moan
That’s why you’re so
Alone

Nasty
Mean
That’s what I have to
Be

I yell
I scream
I am your
Self esteem

This was during my “minimalist” phase, I do believe, which is what should have sent me to the counselor’s office instead of that short story. Years later, I turned this in as English homework and received a B+, but the class explained to my teacher that “bitch” could also be used as a verb. He changed it to an A- and praised me on my “personification of emotion”. This was my education, folks.

~~~*~~~

My self-esteem is not as low and angsty anymore, thank god. Here’s a few reasons why it’s soaring today, despite the 2 hours of sleep I got last night:

• Five (!) people who called me skinny today, beating yesterday’s record of four
• An appointment to quit smoking (again) on Saturday
• Two hot dates this weekend
• Reasonably productive behavior, both at work and in life
• A new awesome friend that I like a lot
• Instant messages from Steve
• Text messages from my Top Secret Crush
• Lots of grown-uppy activities, like writing checks and buying cabbage

Life is pretty fun today, and it’s certainly a big improvement over being 13. Although, I guess since I’m basing my self-esteem on boys and being skinny, things haven’t changed at all since junior high. At least now I have a car and no curfew.

How Funky Is Your Chicken?

Last night I tried blogging while intoxicated. What would you call that? Blunking? I tried blunking. Remind me to never do that again. Here was my main blunking topic, which I can sum up in 1,000 less words than I did last night: I don’t like being drunk.

I haven’t been drunk since Christmas, and for good reason. I like nightcaps and buzzes, but I am also a fan of walking straight and talking straight and being able to drive at all times. I am also seriously hating the fact that I smoke, so not getting drunk will be convenient.

I need to take advantage of this new resentment. Once I quit smoking, I will basically be vice free again. I love being vice free. I love being in control. While I like to have fun and let loose, I hate having something take me over. I’ve seen a lot of great friends and amazingly cool people burn out from their vices, and that always makes me sad.

The freedom I felt when I was 18 and I scored beer or whatever is the same freedom I feel now when I don’t need anything bad to have fun. The Year of Awesome had been all about taking control of my life – whether it’s health or happiness or relationships. It’s time to take control of things that are bad for me, no matter how nice they make me feel.

I am also trying to not eat meat. I will still certainly eat it, especially if a cute boy or my mom cooks it for me, but I’m a little uncomfortable with meat at the moment and I’ll tell you why.

Last week on my way home from work, I was driving behind a big semi-truck full of birds. They were huge and they had white feathers, but I didn’t get close enough to see what they were. They were either unhealthy turkeys who have never been outside or, as Dan theorized, giant mutant hens.

They were stacked in tiny cages… about 15 rows of cages, 8 across and 6 high. That’s about 600 birds (or 1,200 drumsticks). There wasn’t any protection from the wind – the cages were all totally exposed. I can’t even drive on the highway with my windows down, so I can’t imagine how those poor birds felt. Feathers were flying everywhere, meaning they were getting ripped out at 65 mph and splooching all over my car in the process.

It was like that moment in The Matrix where you see those towers full of people in the incubator things… which I guess is a stupid observation because you were supposed to be like, “My god, they’re treating people like animals.” But the thing is, I have never seen animals getting treated like that, at least not in real life. It was truly one of the most horrifying things I’ve ever witnessed.

Even though I went to a university with like 8 PETA chapters and I had tons of vegan/vegetarian friends, I have always refused to read those pamphlets about KFC chickens and stuff.* I’m one of those kids who gets super affected by weird videos and other propaganda. I have the feeling that if I did enough research, I would go apeshit in terms of activism and trying to changing the world. I don’t have the energy or the optimism to be that type of person. I mean, I read about melting glaciers and I have to crack a joke. That’s how I deal.

I seriously cannot get those mutant chicken/turkey creatures out of my mind.

Don’t get me wrong… I realize that farmers are forced into treating animals the way they do. Raising livestock is a living, and those animals are technically products. You have to keep up with the competition, no matter what effed up methods they resort to. And I like meat; it’s delicious. I like eggs. Milk does my body good. Cheese is my life. I don’t think I could be a vegan even if I wanted to.

But for the time being, I’m capitalizing on my newfound love of tofu by extending it to as many meals as possible. For Jen and Ron’s Labor Day barbeque, I bought veggie brats and soy cheese. And you know what? It tasted pretty good and it made me feel good, too. Also, this may work to my advantage in other ways… low-cal diet food is nasty, but vegetarian food is actually yummy.

I will never give up meat and dairy entirely, but it’s just a new way of living that I’m exploring. That, and cutting the crap. They both seem like beneficial changes. Brain cells should be treasured, my friends. Abuse them wisely.

*I also went to school with the Unnecessary Prose Police, who would be quick to point out that saying “KFC chickens” is almost as silly as saying “MLB Baseball” or “ATM Machine”. Whoever named those things should have foreseen this issue. This is why I never use acronyms at work.