Saturday, February 25, 2006

Don't be watchin' skeery movies!

I LOVE scary movies. I mean I LOVE them! Not the stupid axe murderer, slasher, blood and gore flicks, but true, honest to God thrillers that make you freak out a little bit inside. You know, the kind of movies that make you think: "Damn, that could really happen." Of course I believe that all creepy and supernatural things are possible so I enjoy anything involving psychics, ghosts, demons, parapsychology, religious history, the occult, and anything else that involves people coming back from the dead to kick your ass.

I have spent the better part of my adult life in a constant search for the film that will scare me so bad that I won't be able to get to sleep at night, or even better the type of film that will inspire a nightmare so vivid or horrific that I wake up in a cold sweat screaming like a crackhead banshee.

To date it has never happened...well not quite.

But last night I watched a clumsy little incoherent "thriller" called White Noise. The plot: When the unexpected happens, architect Jonathan Rivers (Michael Keaton) becomes a grieving widower, but a paranormal expert approaches Jonathan with the unlikely: the ability to hear his wife from beyond the grave.

Through a form of unusual communication known as EVP (Electronic Voice Phenomenon), Jonathan is finally able to see his wife, but in doing so, he draws himself into a much more complex situation when his curiosity becomes an obsession. His obsession leads him to confront those not of this world, who don't approve of Jonathan's interference with their destructive nature.

But this is not a movie review. This is a review of what happened after I watched the movie.

So anyway, I watched the film and went to bed. As I was drifting off into a not so restful sleep---I heard something. Or at least I thought I heard something, but whatever it was just stopped. But then, a few seconds later I heard it again! Alone in the dark, I heard something that sounded like a freaky little voice talking or screaming. "Did I hear dead people?" you ask.

Uhm, not quite.

As it turns out, my stomach was growling in these high-pitched squeaky noises that were so loud that they actually woke me up as I was falling to sleep. I know---totally anti-climactic.

Moral of this story: No Michael Keaton movies before bed!

Friday, February 24, 2006

And just when you were starting to think I was shallow...

I woke up at like 5AM and I couldn't open my eyes. It was like they were so dry that my eyelids couldn't slide over the surface of my eyeballs. When I finally managed to open them, I slid out of bed and went to the kitchen for a glass of water, then went back to bed.

When I woke up again at 9AM this morning I found this fabulous "still life" set up in my dining room: An empty bottle of champagne, a plastic sack full of clothes on the floor, the sofa cushions leaning against the wall, and my husband's folded work pants on the table.

What happened last night?

I vaguely remember playing a drinking game while watching the olympic figure skating competition. My friend
Julie made up the rules:
1. Every time a skater jumps, you drink.
2. Every time a skater falls, you drink.
3. Every time a skater spins, you drink.

I don't recall much after that. I know the cute Japanese skater won gold, and the mousey American got Silver. The Russian girl who won Bronze looks like my last roomate in Brooklyn....but that's another story for another day.

Oh wait---I do recall climbing on my sleeping husband's back and giggling hysterically while he moaned in dissapproval. (Sorry David) I think I might have even bit him. (Sorry again David)

Anyway- that settles it. That's the last time I play a drinking game with
Julie...while watching the olympics...for this year anyway.

Thursday, February 23, 2006

Cultural appropriation...or something like it.

Every year in my local shopping center they have "Western Days!" How or why this began I do not know, but it is becoming more and more elaborate each year. All around th shopping center there are ornate displays set up to show different aspects of American culture back in the days of the "Old Wild West". The results are both amusing and terrifying. The first year I saw the display my eyes nearly popped out of my head and I chipped a tooth when my jaw hit the floor.

In the chuckwagon display we see a cowboy relaxing by his campfire while a calf, that he has clearly just lassoed, smiles happily nearby.

Even more exciting, just down the way at the Tipi display, complete with a woman painted dark brown and wearing a pocahontas wig made of black yarn, children can learn to make "native" jewelery out of leather straps and feathers.

And let us not forget George Washington...


And of course...

Cultural appropriation: The adoption of some specific elements of one culture by a different cultural group. The term implies the theft of culture, without respect to its history and an ignorance of underlying cultural meaning. It can include the introduction of forms of dress or personal adornment, music and art, religion, language, or behavior. These elements are typically imported into the existing culture, and may have wildly different meanings or lack the subtleties of their original cultural context.

Monday, February 20, 2006

Fake Freckle.

When dyeing your hair, it's important to remove any drips of stray hair color immediately. If you neglect to do this you will suffer the concsequences: Rash, itching, swelling, tingling, burning, etc.

Or in my case, a fake black freckle on the center of my nose.

Monday, February 13, 2006

Random Memories.

Memory 1
My first year in college I had a small group of 5 friends. We were all Art majors and we did almost everything together, Eventually of course we drifted apart, but my junior year I was walking to an english class when I bumped into Matt, one of the guys from the group. We chatted for a bit and then went our separate ways. Two days later I picked up the morning newspaper to find that he had commited suicide by jumping into the dam of the Iowa river and drowning himself. He left a suicide note for his family. ---Wait--- it gets weirder. Two weeks later Matt shows up at his parents house---alive obviously. Apparently he had faked his death by leaving his shoes and a note on the bank of the river, and another in his dorm room. He wanted to escape his life, but quickly discovered it's difficult to get by when you're legally dead and have no ID.

Memory 2
When I was about 16 or 17 years old, I was hanging out in the woods behind the local gocery store drinking & smoking cigarettes with a group of my friends. It was our favortie gathering spot because it was quiet and just dark enough that we could go unnotticed. We were all having a great time sharing a 2 liter bottle of purple wine cooler, when all of a sudden this guy Justin starts to vomit wine cooler all over the place for no obvious reason. After he was done puking we all just kept drinking like nothing had happened, and no one ever brought it up again after that day.

Memory 3
When I was about 4 or 5 years old, I was playing "trapeze" in the bathtub by putting one foot on each side of the bath tub and trying to balance & sing all at the same time--------but then I slipped and fell and hit my pee pee on the side of the bath tub. Game over.
My poor distraught mother rushed me to the ER where many Dr.s assured her that my vagina was not broken.

Thursday, February 09, 2006

What do you believe?

I believe that champagne and a few cigarettes is a balanced meal.

I believe in grocery shopping 7 minutes before the market closes.

I believe there should have been one Black girl on Sex and the City.

I believe that having sex in a car is a very good thing.

I believe that expensive jewelry is over-rated.

I believe every girl should own a book by Audre Lorde.

I believe people should be taught that God is not a judgmental asshole.

I believe that Oprah Winfrey should be wacked about the head with a 2x4.

I believe in sex on the first date. (possibly in a car)

I believe that self defense classes for school-aged girls should be mandatory.

I believe everyone should have one gay friend (or one str8 one if you're gay).

I believe that "feminist porn" is a good cure for insomnia.

I believe that everyone should try dancing to elevator Muzac in the grocery store at least once.

I believe that men should get bi-weekly manicures and monthly pedicures.

I believe that the best gifts often cost less than $4.99.

I believe Manolo Blahnik should design a stiletto heel that doesn't bruise the balls of my goddamned feet.

I believe that everyone should learn to play a musical instrument.

I believe I should have a live-in chef and a full-time cleaning lady or dude (preferably a blonde with huge pecs or tits, whatever the case may be).

I believe that Lisa Bonet, Cree Summer and I are destined to have a three-way.

I believe that cashmere is just wool for rich people.

I believe that every REAL man should try shaving his legs/and or bikini area at least once.

I believe in listening to one new CD by a FEMALE band/artist every month & stealing everything else off Kaza.

I believe that reality TV makes people dumb.

I believe in taking photos with an "old fashioned" film camera.

I believe that fashion is irrelevant.

I believe that fat girls shall inherit the earth.

Monday, February 06, 2006

Stuff I should have said ages ago.

I hate the idea that people take photos on their digital cameras when they know damn well they will never print or even use them. I don't think important moments should be captured just for the sake of visually owning them. That's not photography---that's just hoarding! So in the interest of NOT becoming one of those greedy people, here are a few select photos from the assload of photos that have been held hostage inside my camera phone for the past 3 months.

Les Galettes des Reines!

In France "The Feast of the Kings" is celebrated with during the entire month of January. After New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day, the bakeries make galettes des rois, cakes for the Kings. Each cake holds a small surprise, baked right into the cake. In the old days, the "prize" was a fève, a large, flat bean well loved here in France. Nowadays, the surprise is usually a ceramic figurine, more to please the children (or goofy grown-ups). The person who discovers the prize in their piece of cake is crowned King, le roi, or Queen, la reine, and gets to wear the paper crown that comes with each cake.

FrenchBoy's father wins every year--BUT THIS YEAR I WON!

My mother -in-law also won earlier in the week, but obviously I am the true Queen B since my crown is bigger and had glitter & sparklies.

Got snow?

We got a real live snow storm last month, which is rare even for this part of Northern France. Of course Je deteste la neige!, so I was in a crappy mood for nearly 4 days.


Note French father-in-law, Jean Marie, trying to play the guitar that I got FrenchBoy for X-mas. Also note the number of bottles of red wine on the table.

"Hurry find the keys! It's coming! Oh My God! Hurry it's coming!"

Doesn't this photo look like one of those scenes from a horror movie where the soon to be dead character frantically jumps into the car after being chased by a monster only to realize that he doesn't have the keys? I have no idea when, where, or why I took this photo of FrenchBoy in our car, but it's quite thrilling.

And that, my friends, is how it's done.

I showed you mine, now you show me yours.

Thursday, February 02, 2006

Seriously, Fuck Anemia

So as most of you know, I spent almost 3 months of 2005 trapped in a hospital room.
I had my initial surgery January 15th 2005 and came home from the hospital on Feb 1st. The chaos continued from there.

My OLD Dr. in Nancy (who I refuse to see now) never ONCE did a comprehensive blood work upon me. You would think that if a patient isn't healing after SEVERAL months he would have thought to look elsewhere. My iron is SO low, that my NEW Dr. said I could die of steak poisoning before I could eat enough steak to cure my anemia. A blood test could have shown us this MONTHS ago. Why didnt my old Dr. think of this?

I want to kick his scrawny-french -fancy-italian-shoe-wearing ass. But it would be a waste of time...his office is 1.5 hours from my house!!

So, I've decided that I'm going to write him a letter and demand that he reimburse me for the gas and mileage I put on my car .....and the HOURS I spent waiting in his fucking waiting room for hours on end over the past year!

The only bright side to all of this is that I have the satisfaction of knowing that I didn't pay one red penny for his so-called medical advice & treatment.

Vive la France bitch!