Wednesday, June 29, 2005

Diary of An Insomniac

I can't sleep. It's almost 3:00 am and i'm no where near being asleep...unless this is actually an incredibly vivid dream, in which case, i hope to never share with anyone that i actually dream about blogging. That would be a more depressing revelation than the time i dressed up in a clown costume to school and discovered when i got there that 1) no one else had participated in the Halloween costume contest, and 2) the contest was actually scheduled for the previous day. Luckily, that was also the day i discovered that creating a religion where you have to dress in a clown costume on the 29th of October is easy enough if there's really no other way to explain your idiocy. Kids LOVE to learn about new religions...it's a well known fact. Like it was yesterday, i remember the relief that washed over me when i overheard gossip about what cult i had joined instead of bets that my IQ was below 100. Unfortunately kids also have good memories. The following year when October 29th came around, i dedicated a lot of time and effort to the inspirational story of how doubt had driven me to defy my parents and community by leaving the "church." ---Needless to say, elementary school was no picnic.


Where was my point in all this?....Whoa, it's 3am! I should be asleep....adulthood sucks, and so does Tom Cruise for not believing in drugs (i could really use some ambien)...clearly, the man has not met the members of The Church of St. Hallow. I bet my cult could beat his up.

Saturday, June 25, 2005

A-B-C-D, Follow Me!

Putting aside the annoying fact that my brother-in-law still doesnt know my name and calls me 'dearest sis' despite my repeated warnings that his days with my family are numbered, he recently brought to my attention the proposed budget cuts for PBS...and as much as it pains me to say it, I think he's right to be worried.

I'm sure all of you already know about the budget cuts and have been standing outside the capitol protesting with your posters for hours, taking in no nourishment but water as a sign of defiance, singing Sesame Street songs in unison, and hallucinating Letter People (yeah. whatever happened to them?). For the handful of you that continue to eat and aren't singing quite as loudly, get it together, because it wont be long before you're old and no one knows what you're talking about when you ask "What kind of fucking animal was Arthur?"

Contact this guy. Now.

Wednesday, June 22, 2005

Holy Crap! I saw Al Sharpton!

And his hair is REAL. At least, it's real-looking. I went with my friend, Ann*, to a consultation for permenant make-up. (She's a natural blonde, see, so she has albino eyebrows). Between the tattoo parlor and the subway stop, Al Sharpton crossed our paths. It was amazing, and it makes me remember why I love this city. Not only because of the random interesting people you might run into, but because I can have two different faux hair stories from only one afternoon's worth of effort. I can stay in bed all afternoon tomorrow, since I've pretty much fulfilled my quota of excitement for the week.

Being unemployed and unemploy-able in Manhattan is an expensive experiment to undertake, but I recommend it to all of you who feel that your existence is a disappointment to your parents and a drain on society. It really puts things in perspective, and if you get surly enough, Al Sharpton might just pop 'round to remind you of how ridiculous you aren't. Yet.

Monday, June 20, 2005

It's about these sisters see, and they're in some kind of cult...with pants..but not any pants, my friend...magical pants!

As I sat through the life-altering movie that is "The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants," I thought about how I should start my own sisterhood.

I've been toying with some official names for my sisterhood, and these are just a few I came up with on my walk home:

1) The Sisterhood of the Never Again See a Movie With the Word "SISTERHOOD" in the Title.

ok. so i only came up with one. but i think it could be really....magical.

Sunday, June 19, 2005

Drunken Blogging

Generally, I'm against it. Just one thing though....

To the Muslim guy from Kosovo: I don't think it's fair that you got mad at me and stomped off just because i pointed out that "you weren't so muslim a second ago when you were dancing with me to Ludacris."

To D: I don't think its ever a good idea to call your mother at 3am to keep you company when you walk home from a drunken night of dancing, let alone mention that she is on the same line and can hear me only after i say, "hey D, glad to know you haven't died."

To C: dancing while standing up does not a lapdance make.

To K: I apologize for calling you at 3am...then calling you again to clarify my message....then calling a third time to make sure you understood that i was sorry about calling the second time (which is when you actually answered), and then calling you once more to apologize for waking you up.

To my dad: Happy Father's Day and sorry about not sending you flowers and a card like i had planned. I also apologize for your much reduced testosterone in the past few years and the fact that you want flowers for Father's Day when my friends' dads want tools and grills...but i guess that apology is misplaced.

To my fifth grade English teacher: Fuck you for that B. I've had at least 6 strong drinks tonight and i dare you to find more than 3 mispelled words in this entire post.

Saturday, June 18, 2005

A Not-So-Subtle Cry For Help

I apologize to all (the millions) of our fans whose letters we have yet to answer. There's a perfectly legitimate excuse that I'm sure you will find fascinating. I have been taking part in a highly controlled experiment for the past several days. So controlled in fact that I have had little time to devote to the autistic children I tutor in the mornings or the gang members I recite poetry to after school.

But I digress.
The purpose of my experiment: To assess the effects of continuous reality-tv watching on my ability to function in my own reality.

My hypothesis: By watching others (not unlike myself) go on blind dates with several people at a time or remodel houses under serious time constraints and with limited budgets, I would become a superior being...functioning at a much higher level than my less-experienced-with-reality counterparts who would merely have their own life experiences from which to draw for guidance.

Unfortunately, I was remiss to discover that the results did not support my hypothesis. While I rated my ability to function in reality at a 4 (on a scale from 1-10) prior to performing the experiment, I'm sad to report that my functioning level is now a 2 at best.
I give you a conversation I had with my bank teller earlier today:
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BT: Hello, how may i help you?
Me: Well! If you pick me, I can offer you an extremely friendly interaction and a quick and easy deposit request.

BT: Um..ma'am, you are next in line. (noticing the blank stare on my face and after an awkward 10 second silence)....uh..I pick you.
Me: (screeching)...ah! you made the right choice! (then turning to the side to face an invisible camera) "I was pretty confident he would pick me. I mean look at the competition! He knows a good thing when he sees it!"
BT: Security!
Me: (to the security guard as i'm being escorted out) I noticed that the walls in here are pink. You know, sometimes color looks better if you keep it in the fabrics and furniture and stick to a neutral shade for the walls. It's more calming and makes the space look larger...I can come back and give you some pointers...oh..ok. no I understand. public safety, yes. ok. well, this was a great experience and I wouldn't trade it for the world. (door slams behind me).
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As I sat on the curb outside the bank, wondering what was taking the goodbye limo, I thought about how I probably shouldn't have cancelled my plans to give free piano lessons to the kids at the trauma ward. My experiment had failed miserably, and poor little Franky was no doubt huddled in a corner clutching his music notes, rocking back and forth, and wondering why yet another person had abandoned him. I felt terrible. Then I looked down at my watch and realized what time it was. Another episode of "Date My Mom" would be starting in 20 minutes. Fuck the limo. I'm walking home.

Monday, June 13, 2005

Smooth Criminal

Michael Jackson was found Not Guilty!* Now, I don't particularly understand the judicial system or the need for its existence, but that's probably because I was born in a corrupt dictatorship and raised with a love for public stonings (or "tough love" as my family refers to it.)

All the same, he is one lucky bastard, and I'd like to add that I, for one, always believed in his innocence. I'd like to add that, but I'd probably be lying. More than anything, like you, I'm just glad I wasn't too hasty about throwing out my rhinestone covered glove.

* the exclamation point doesn't indicate my excitement as much as it indicates my surprise. So if you think MJ was acquitted wrongfully, don't send me your hate mail....and um, stop spending so much time with your priest.

Thursday, June 09, 2005

Where the F*#! Am I?

"Did I do something wrong?"
"Yes, you did."
"I don't think so."
"What about the three children you have in the trunk of the car?"

This is part of what transpired when a mother in Maryland was pulled over for having three children in the trunk of her car. We'll let you read the rest over at
The Smoking Gun, but while we're on the subject of "things a mother shouldn't do", I'd like to remind my mother of the time I fell asleep in the car while on a trip, and she thought it would be funny to leave me in there until I woke up, which as it turns out, wasn't till 3am---in a hotel parking lot...

Mom, if only i'd had the presence of mind to make an anonymous call to child services (and then feign sleep), you wouldn't be laughing it up at parties as you tell the story of your 12 year old daughter crouching in the back seat so criminals wouldn't see her because she was too afraid to open the door and go upstairs. I think you owe me. For one thing, you could at least add that I never knew the room number, and that staying in the car was a decision born of the will to survive rather than of cowardice. What kinds of parties are these anyway? Your friends are sick.

Sunday, June 05, 2005

Are you gonna take that?!

Riding alone on the metro at night is something I would recommend to anyone who wants a glimpse into humanity at its most fucked-upedness. Being an adventurer (and an alcoholic), I decided it would be a good idea to take the metro around midnight to meet some friends at a bar. My travel was going smoothly enough until I ran into three middle-eastern guys—no, men—who mistook me for their arranged virgin bride back home. At first I decided the best thing would be to ignore their admittedly smooth pick-up lines—it’s not everyday you hear a man say: “If I was your father, I would lock you in the basement to keep you safe from men like me who only want one thing.” You can see how difficult it was for me not to cave in to his advances and start making babies right there on the platform. Alas, I restrained myself and fought them off the best way I knew how….I stared at the ground, at my watch, in my purse, at the ground again and then walked away.

This harkens me back to the sixth grade, when Chiniqua Northorn punched me in the face in the girl’s locker room because I’d told on her for throwing my friend’s clothes in the shower. Most of the girls standing around were waiting for me to take action. “Hit her back!” they yelled, “Are you gonna take that?!”—No, I thought to myself, fuming…I’m NOT going to take that. Chiniqua will be sorry she ever met me. I picked up my bag, stared around for a while, felt my nose to see if it was broken (it wasn’t, I only have heredity to blame for its shape), and walked straight up to the gym coach and told on her…again.

Fast forward to ten minutes later—Ms. Burns’ English class—my nemesis Chiniqua walks up to me and bitch-slaps me in front of the entire class…all gasp, except Ms. Burns, who at that moment is conveniently standing outside the door. Again come the yells, “You gonna take that?!” and my favorite, “She hit you twice!”..by one helpful friend who maybe thought I had suffered amnesia and wanted me to fully appreciate the situation. But I hadn’t forgotten. Although Chiniqua was thoughtful enough to slap me on the opposite side of my face from which she punched me—the pain was still too real. I knew what had to be done. I mustered all my strength, raised my hand, and bellowed “MS. BURNS!”—What happened next is a blur…

All this to say that I am a coward. I am not confrontational in the least, especially when I have no friends to back me up, and as much as I looked around, there was no one on the metro platform I could go and complain to. Hussein and his two friends stumbled around after me making various lewd remarks and giggling like little girls. I remembered a trick my father taught me to tune people out—I started to recite poetry in my head…two roads diverged in a yellow wood and suddenly there came a tapping, as of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door, tis’ some visitor, he muttered as he lay in his blood on the highway...realizing that poetry was not my forte, I began to recite the alphabet instead and this worked until the train showed up.

As I sat on the train, I thought about many things… how men didn’t realize the fear they could instill in a girl by just talking to her when she didn’t want to be bothered, how my father must’ve had the shit kicked outta him as a kid, and how maybe, if there really was a God, Hussein and his posse would unwittingly run into Chiniqua Northorn that night.

Friday, June 03, 2005

Humor Jim

My friend Jimbob brought something to my attention that i feel all you lovely people living in the United States should take a look at: Best Film Ever!!!

We all know i'm not one to talk about a film incessantly until everyone i know goes to see it, but i really think it would mean a lot to Jim if all of you would go see the movie "CRASH" as soon as possible. Jim's made it his personal mission to garner support and money for this "incredible piece of motion picture art" (his words, not mine), and the least we can do is support his cause (he has so little to look forward to in life as it is).

Jim says it's "quite possibly the best film" he's seen all year, and he would be willing to repay you the "full purchase price of your ticket if you do not feel the same way." That sounds like a deal that can't be beat! (in the event that the deal does prove beatable by yet another greater deal, Jim is willing to match it. As you can see, this is really important to him)

We here at RBIE have decided to do our patriotic duty (did i mention that Jim is a war veteran?) and link to movie showtimes in DC and NY for any of our local readers. So go support independent films, and write your review here. Jim's phone number and address will be released to anyone who wants to personally thank him or get their money back.