Don't F*ing Mess with the Shortcake.

All right. This is an outrage.

I tolerated the trashing of Transformers being turned into a box-office bomb. I held my tongue when they sloppily digified Scooby-Doo and sank Inspector Gadget in the Hollywood sewer. But I refuse, REFUSE to stand idly by and watch my beloved childhood idol be Barbie-fied before my very eyes. It is sacrilege and it will not be tolerated.

Take a look at the "new" Strawberry. I mean, what is the DEAL with that garish god-awful early-90's hot pink? I don't know about you, but where I come from, strawberries are red, not radioactive magenta (I believe that is an actual Crayola™ color now). The original Strawberry was all wholesome with her disproportional oversize-head-to-sticklike-body ratio and simple red dress with the white smock. New Strawberry looks like a trollop.

It just ain't right. I shan't support this sort of manipulation of my childhood figureheads. The line is officially drawn. If my #2 happens to be female and if it ever so happens she would want one of these new tramp line of Strawberry Shortcakes, she's just going to have a little lesson about living with disappointment.

If I Could Fit Time In A Bottle...

it would be one of these:
Let's talk about the Reunion, shall we?

I went to it. I put on a tag bearing both my name and my senior picture. I had my senior pictures taken about a month after I got back to America from being an exchange student in Denmark in 1997. I don't know if any of you have ever been to Denmark, but if you had you'd have eaten the food and you'd KNOW that your choices are pickled herring or fatty fatty fatty foods with even fattier sauces. I gained 20 lbs over there. I lost it by October of senior year, but it was too late. Immortalized forever as a chubalub. So that was nice to see again.

Immediately I was recognized and recognizing. Ok, I'll admit in some situations I had to squint a lot, but in my defense, I was three cocktails in and I'd only actually gone to high school for about a year and a half...so some of these fuckers were absolute strangers as far as I was concerned.

There's really not a lot to talk about here. I know, you're disappointed. I didn't dance on any tables...not even a one. Brendan was good arm candy...I made him wear fitted clothes. Poor boy, when he puts on any garment tighter than 3 sizes too big, he gets claustrophobic. But back to me. I drank, I ate some food, I talked to some people I was really pleased to see, I pretended to be pleased to see people I really didn't remember...I danced to Thriller. It was an event. Never was there a more horrible DJ, however...in that it was very much like high school. At least he didn't play Stairway to Heaven or Green Day's Time of Your Life. Yes, both were a concern.

Some people had gotten wider, some thinner...some purchased whole new body parts. If I'd gone with anybody other than the people I went with...it wouldn't have been worth it. As it was, being with my core gang again...thick as thieves as we used to be...it tugged at the heartstrings a moment or two. But then I knocked back another glass of wine, squelching my nostalgia thusly.

One is allowed to make up words whilst one is reminiscing.

But I'm over it now. There are some gloriously unattractive photos of me floating around on the Facebook, for those of you who are my "friend". They will not be posted here. I have a dying plant to deal with now. My plan is to look at it hopefully so as to inspire re-growth of all the bits that are browning and falling off. My life is very full. If nothing else, this weekend taught me that.

This Is You All Up In My Business

This week blows. You ever have a week that just blows? And by the time it's Wednesday night, all you want to do is drink old wine and get through the next day so you can go with your coworkers to the Tillamook Macaroni & Cheese cookoff contest @ Kell's Irish Pub and drink yourself into overeating. That's all.

By the way, have you seen The Night of the Hunter? Rent it. Right now. I'm not even joking.

Consider that my review. I'm awesome.

AND for some reason we seem to have free HBO this week. Of all the bad timing. It's like the cable gods WANT me to punch them in the nads.

In other self-involved news, I have to go back on evil evil birth control pills because I keep getting hemorrhagic ovarian cysts. I'm not excited. I stopped taking hormonal birth control several years ago because I was the 5% that experienced horrible side effects for EVERY METHOD ON THE MARKET. But let me just say...hemorrhagic cysts are the devil. And I'm not talking about the Burgess Meredith or Elizabeth Hurley devil. I'm talking about the Tim Curry from Legend devil. You don't fuck around with that. Ever.
So now I will probably gain even more weight and go up another fucking cup size (I'm going to have to start wearing a back brace), but I'm sure Brendan will enjoy the halting of hormonal mood swings that inspire me to call him a girl to his face. And I'll actually have less pain in my life overall. So that's good. Plus no accidental babies. Don't want those until I'm ready to buy them.

Whut'up **w/ Pictures**

I'm trying to post and watch Aliens at the same time and it's not working. Strike that, I'm trying to post, watch Aliens, eat grapes and bid for vintage Christmas trees on ebay at the same time and it's not working. This could perhaps be proof that I am less than a stellar multitasker. So I'll comfort myself with a cookie.

Halloween's coming. I loves it. The Mis...Brendan and I will be dressing up as Juno and Paulie for the occasion. You know it's mainly to see him wear those shorts out in public. I'm so excited. That reminds me, if anyone has a suggestion for crafting a pregnant belly that involves something a little more realistic than a pillow, please pass it along. I promise to post pictures once the ensembles are complete. We will be stunning. Oh Halloween. I loves it.

In other news, I've been doing lots of things with pumpkins. Picking them out in fields. Carrying them to the car. Bringing them in the house. And carving them into ravens. Well, I carved a raven...Brendan carved Christopher Walken's face into his. You see, of course, why I adore this boy. We did the corn maze again this year with a bigger crowd...but the existence of teenagers can easily ruin any good time. Little curses, all of them. So I've been busy.

The reunion is next weekend. On the phone this evening, Amy g. asked if I'd thought about what to wear. This is funny to me for several reasons. 1. Why the hell would I think about what to wear a week before an event at a casual BAR with people who's opinions meant nothing to me ten years ago? And 2. Last week I had a dream that I went to my reunion without a shirt or bra on. Timely. I only talk about the blasted event for the benefit of those who like to live vicariously through other people's uncomfortable moments. Normally I am one of those people, so I'm empathetic to their desires.

There's also been some writer's block and general sickness (involving medication that wouldn't allow for drinking). But I feel as though you're all tired of my reasons for not blogging. I may have lost some of you. And I haven't even posted the CondiCast yet. Well, damnit. Sometimes you have to go to 5 thrift stores before you find a short pleated skirt and it's not even plaid. Some perspective. You're welcome.

Time to read all your junk. I've missed you. I think I threw up a little just now.

One Small Step For Man

My parents divorced when I was very young and to this day have very little in common besides the fabulousness that is me...well okay, and maybe the Waif too. However, there is one thing they DO have in common that they like to go on and on and, yes, on about. Their generation. Baby Boomers they call themselves. The physical symbols of prosperity after war. They could stay out playing with their friends til dark with not a care in the world. They witnessed the emergence of rock and roll, the birth control pill and integration. They had Laugh-In. Blah blah blah.

I've been thinking a lot about those claims lately. As someone born in 1980, I've always felt fuzzy about which generation I belonged to. Being from the NW, I don't think it's surprising that I identified with Gen X's pop-culture and mindset, though I was technically too young to belong. But Gen Y never held that much for me. Often people only a year younger identify with references that go completely over my head. In this regard, I'm a man without country. Except I'm a woman. And I'm not even remotely talking about countries.

Personal identity aside (it always ends up being about me, doesn't it), I'm here to say that my generation...we'll call it X/Y...is pretty damn awesome. I think you and I both know that a list is about to happen. Ok, so you got The Rolling Stones and Lenny Bruce. Polyester and roller disco. But really, I don't know that they trump:

1. The Nintendo
This shit brings people together. Let me rephrase that...DUCK HUNT brings people together. Nothing like pretend shooting pretend ducks after a long day of real life. And the Wii is trying to bring it all back. I've never actually played a Wii (I know), but they look nice and I might get one as an instillation art piece.

2. The Cassette Tape
Every car trip my family and I have ever taken has included both the Stand By Me and the Good Morning Vietnam soundtracks on tape. We would sing along to the oldies and try to forget that we were in some godforsaken place like Montana. Insert shudder. Before tapes, I'm thinking families probably had to actually talk to each other. Insert another shudder.

3. Slap Bracelets
You hurt yourself to take away the pain inside. That adolescent pain. But no one makes you go to a counselor because unlike cutting, the end result is an accessory instead of a flesh wound! And they come in florescents!

4. Thriller
I don't know that there has ever been a more influential dance routine in prisons, at weddings or on subways. That video scared the shit out of me as a kid, though. I also like that Michael Jackson is kind of the anti-Elvis, though you know if he'd lived long enough, they would've done some bastardish duet in the vein of Ebony and Ivory. Insert yet another shudder.

5. E.T.
I know you guys thought I'd say The Goonies, but really, it all started with this one. Though sadly, it doesn't hold up as well upon reviewing. But the ride at Universal Studios says your name as you exit! Hurray!

6. Stretchy Denim
It's no wonder our mothers and grandmothers couldn't wear "trousers" to school/work back in the day. A pair of Levis would chafe your damn leg hair off. Cowboys and boy scouts could use the friction to start camp fires.

7. TV Remotes
I remember I used to watch shit I didn't even want to watch on the same channel just so I wouldn't have to get up to change it. I saw a lot of M*A*S*H that way.

8. Cordless Phones
It's really quite difficult to go on and on about how your mother doesn't understand you when the cord will only stretch as far as the kitchen table. My shit-talking skills of today can be attributed to the fabulous gift to the world that is the cordless phone.

9. MTV
Though it's a shell of its former self...it was once a shining beacon of style, beauty and grace. All embodied in the glory that was Headbanger's Ball, Bevis and Butthead, The State, Singled Out and Daria and not to mention videos that CHANGED MY LIFE on a weekly to semi-weekly basis. I'm fairly certain I cried when I first saw the video for Jeremy. And then I thought deeply about things for several days.

10. Kevin Smith
I still quote Clerks and Mallrats. And I think we can all agree that only Kevin Smith knows how to adequately utilize Shannon Doherty. But then around 2000, something happened to him. Something bad. And it still seems to be happening. Sad.

11. The Fly Girls
You bet your ass this goes to 11. I was going to be a Fly Girl, you know. All those jazz classes...all those Heavy D and Young MC tapes...I was so close. And yet...nowhere near.

And here we are in the age of the iPod and an African Amercian Presidential nominee. Shit's lookin UP, people. And it's all being guided by the hands that brought you Nirvana's Unplugged album, sweater dresses and Tim Burton movies. We can't go wrong.

(I give this optimism about 22 hours, so enjoy it while you can)

Oh, and in case you don't know what a Fly Girl is.

I AM History

First order of business:
Vice-presidential debates TONIEEETE. People here are leaving work early. There are bars and independent movie theaters all over the city broadcasting it for the masses GRATIS. This is where I'll be throwing popcorn at the screen in disgust:

History in the making. I fucking hate that term. Every second is history in the making. That sentence that I just wrote is now historical. Whatever.

Second order of business. It's been a while since I've requested forcefully that you bow to the cuteness that is my nephew. Well the Face just turned two. I think it's time to revisit.

Cuteness as it emerges:

Cuteness as it stands today:

Cuteness eternal:
(Which means I'm going to find a way to keep him this age. I'll use science!)

And did I mention the Waif is knocked up with another? How will the world contain such cuteness? A question for the ages. Now we can all sit back and watch her gain, like, three pounds over the next 7 months.