Friday, April 29, 2005

dodged the bullet

I'm very excited. I got my period today! I know no one wants to hear about my menstruation but i'm excited because it was a little bit late and I had a little bit of unprotected sex...and i don't have $300. Pshew!

I don't know what happened. I used to be such a stickler for the protected sex. My motto "No condom no sex." I remember this one time I was fooling around with this boy and he was like, "We should have sex." I said, "No we can't we don't have a condom." He responded. "Don't worry I'll pull out." I started to worry about how i didn't have the funds to terminate a pregnancy, and how would I ask my parents for that loan. So of course I shared this paranoia with him while we were fooling around because I wanted to make the action that much hotter. My partner, not to be deterred, said, "Well, I'd pay for it." Which was a complete surprise because it wasn't like he had paid for dinner. I thought about the offer. He could pay for an abortion sure or he could...BUY A BOX OF CONDOMS. It's the economical choice really. I mean, I understand that protected sex isn't the most pleasurable thing in the world, but I think it might feel better than, oh, I don't!

Magic 8 Ball

Apparently the magic 8 ball can't devine shit. I might as well be praying to god. After my boyfriend didn't return an e-mail I sent him I asked the 8 ball if he was dead. The 8 ball replied, "yes." So I asked again this time I asked, "Is he literarly dead?" "Without a doubt," The 8 Ball answered. I asked one more time and again the 8 ball read, "signs point to yes." That evening I ran into my boyfriend. He was not dead. So I shot him. But it was in the shoulder, he's not dead at all.

Asked my magic 8 ball if it hated me. It responded, "without a doubt."

Thursday, April 28, 2005

In Central Park at Lunch

Just pondering on the idea of love, nothing fancy, grammatically correct, or necessarily humorous.

Talking on the phone last night with a friend the subject of love or seeking love came up. My friend is of the belief that you will find it when you are not looking for it. I feel this philosophy is an old wife's tale. Love is a necessity. To say you'll find it when you're not looking for it is to say to a hungry person you'll find food when you stop searching for it. Unless you are in some war torn country and fridgidares are falling from the sky, you need to put effort in to find food.

The other idea many of us have, including myself, about love--specifically romantic love--is that we give up on it completely, and decide to focus our energies on other things such as: career, hobbies, sports, creative endeavors, etc. I have personally tried this approach. Taking all that energy I spend worrying, pining, and sobbing about love and put it into comedy, writing, and karate. But it never works. First, off a person only has so much attention and effort to put towards a specific endeavors. It doesn't matter if there are 24 or 58 hours in a day. Secondly, those things such as career do not fill the same need. It's like being hungry and only drinking water, for a few days a you can put off starvation but eventually you'll die because you haven't taken in any nutrients. Our career and creative pursuits are good for us, but just like water are not enough. So after a week we have that longing feeling again.

What struck me today while I lay in the Central Park was that I do have love in my life. And most of us do regardless of our marriage or dating status. I feel the key is to put our energies into the relationships we already have. We have friends and family that care about us, whom we belong to, who need us and we need. Instead of focusing on the relationships we don't have, which may include a good parent relationship or sibling relationship we should (or at least I should you can do what you want.) direct our hunger for love to the areas of our life that already some vegetation. Make the time for people we have an affinity for and who reciprocate that affinity. Laugh over drinks or talk philosophy over ice cream with these people. Or even fight about politics.

Further, I think opening oneself up to the world might be a good way to go as well, albeit a completely petrifying act. And then the most scary part of all is to open ourselves up to the world. Strike up conversations with people that strike you. And, not for the purposes of finding a mate or a parent figure, but just because you think them interesting. You may only talk to them that one time or you may find a life long friend or anything in between.

I don't think I'll ever stop thinking about romance nor stop looking at boys with the idea of dating them. However, I think if I nurture the love I already have and open myself up to new possiblities of love, the fact that I don't have a specific type of relationship might not seem so sad. It's like I want a mint chocolate chip ice cream sundae with peanut butter and chocolate sauce (sounds gross but is so good), but if i can't have it I know that I do get to enjoy a healthy dinner. And maybe I'll even get a cookie.
perhaps one day i'll rewrite this to be funny. it'll be wrought with irony and cynicism

Wednesday, April 27, 2005


So I have yet to finish that piece I have entitled flying freedom. Temping is eating my soul and cutting into my creative time. So instead I'm going to stream of consciouness write about stalking. I have recently, given up the art form because I think I may have gotten caught. After more than 12 years of stalking I've finally been foiled-- god damn site tracking devices.

I believe I first started stalking in high school around age 15. It was sophomore year in high school and I had somehow learned Anthony P.'s entire schedule and committed it to memory. I would then go out of my way to walk down certain hallways at certain times of day to be in his presence. Sometimes, I would smile and say, "Hi." Other times I would pretend not to see him. I have no idea why I would put all that effort in to see him and then ignore him. (I have to admit at 27 I still find myself doing this. I don't know what my problem is). I spent most of my high school years obsessing on this boy. When I got my liscence I would drive by his house, always having a perfect story prepared to explain my presence in his neighborhood. I never actually ran into him.

My senior year in high school I was dating a lad, Brian C's, who coincidently and conviently lived just around the block from Anthony. (No, that is not why I dated Brian-- it should have been the reason, but it wasn't) One day when I was driving past Anthony's house I encountered Brian. Since we were dating I had to stop and chat. Brian asked me coyly, "What are you doing here?" He obviously thought I was stalking him--poor boy. I kind of panicked my bullshit story I had prepared for Anthony, "I was just dropping Rebecca off at friends house," seemed transparent. Brain would figure out for sure I was stalking Anthony. Leaving Brian no choice but to break up with me. Then who would I go to the Prom with! In the end Brian thought I was stalking him--the fool. A few weeks later I broke up with Brian (it was never going to work if I didn't feel the impulse to stalk him I obviously didn't care.). I wound up going to the Prom with Danny Lescht, my 8th grade boyfriend, whom I never stalked or kissed.

Anyway as the seasons cycled and I aged my stalking took me places: parks, bars, the lower east side, and even a festival or two. But it wasn't until cyberspace that I ever got caught. We've all googled someone and checked out what if anything is written about them. We've gone to friendster pages and myspace pages just to check out a boy, see his face. If you're good you can find out if they have a personal ad and see the last time they've logged in. (Adult friend finder is a little intimidating) . The boy (or girl) never knows you were there checking him out. But bloggs are a different story. They have sitemeters. Did you know sitemeters tell a person what network a vistior comes from. Which is fine if it's a private network in your home that is just a number. But I was stalking at work. HarperCollins leaves a trace. That means, they know. I loose, because I obviously care and haven't moved on--from any of them. So now I have to move on because who is going to get back together with their stalker? Besides me.

So I'm done people. My stalking days are over. It was a nice 12 year run. I'd like to thank to my friends who came with me to varying events. We have some great memories to last us a lifetime. Maybe in my retirement I'll dabble in a real relationship.

Monday, April 25, 2005

In the Meantime

Well, I still haven't finished my little essay/story about my flight back from tokyo last week. It was a crazy week. I hope to finish soon and then post something moderately, well written.

Meanwhile, I'm having difficulty with this blog still. I tried posting a picture in my profile space but could not do it. So now there is a random picture post. It is me in an eatery bathroom in New Orleans at Jazzfest 2003. This is my second consecutive year of not going to Jazzfest and that is just unacceptable. Next year, I'll be back!!

Happily, I found myself a bridesmaid last night. I now have someone to throw me shower and a bachlorette party. Now, i just have to find groom. Once he's found I qualify to win fabulous prizes such as blenders, place settings, wine glasses, lengerie, and cold hard cash. But that's not all, also included are several small parties topped off with one huge blow out of a bash.

If interested in being a groom feel free to contact me. You get 20% of the take plus a we'll go halfsies on the trip to warm, possibly-exotic location.

I am so single I have dreams about masturbating. (I wish that was just a joke)


Happy Passover everyone. Eat ice cream instead of bread.

Saturday, April 23, 2005

Wednesday, April 20, 2005


I lived in Portland, OR for a little over three years. When I moved back East I decided to drive across the U.S. My travels took me through Kansas. The by product of that decision is the following joke.

I got pulled over several times while driving the two-lane highways of Kansas. The most memorable traffic stop in that state was for failure to signal. Yes, as I drove through some po-dunct town at 10pm I failed to signal while getting my car into the right lane. Mind you my car was the only car on the road--for the cop's car was in the bushes. He pulled me over and told me, “You failed to signal and the summer is nearing- you know tourist season and all.” Come again. What? Was he saying that in the winter the 7 people that live in the town can go crazy. They can move from the left lane to the right lane and back to the left lane without using their blinker. Maybe even flip a bitch right in the middle of the road. Next thing they'll be tipping cows. Their state Motto should be "Kansas: our laws are seasonal"

The winter thing was only half of the 100% bizarro statement. He also said "Tourist season was nearin'" Who's going to Jetmore Kansas to sight-see? I was only there because I was on my way to the Atlantic Ocean and Jetmore was in my way. Perhaps those anti-abortion billboards that line the roads are a tourist draw--because they're hysterical. One read, “Abortion stops a beating, heart.” Yeah, so does my grandmother’s cooking, what's your point. Should we put up a billboard reading, "Don't eat Nettie Isaacson's kuggle." OK. Maybe we should. Bad example.


Side note.
The name above is actually my grandmother's name. My mother heard me tell this joke and said, that my grandmother will be thrilled to learn she's in my act. So my mother told my grandmother the good news. I felt a little nervous, I didn't want to hurt my grandmother's feelings. I asked my mother if she told grandma the exact joke. My mom responded, "Oh no. I just told her that you said her cooking murdered grandpa." Yes, mom that was much more tactful.

Tuesday, April 19, 2005

Super Sexy Bad Ass/The First Real Post

I've chosen for my first real post on this thing, a piece I wrote last month for Portland Uncovered. It's a sex industry magazine in Portland, OR. I'd also like to mention that the editorial is saved on my work computer. Also, don't expect this blog to be all about sex.
By Rachael Parenta

Basically, my sexual fantasy is this: A man 10-15 years my senior throws me up against the wall of my childhood bedroom while my parents are out of town. During the fantasy I realize there are no condoms in my childhood room and so I have to disengage from the intercourse, and settle for some alternative methods of stimulation. I know I should imagine a world where I’m sterile and all STDs have been eradicated; or, at least a world where I make enough money to terminate a pregnancy. But that is just how crazy I am, dare I call it deviant? I say yes. But others disagree, like this dude I dated. He thought of me as repressed and vanilla. I would not classify creating obstacles in my imaginary sex life as “run of the mill,” seems more like insanity to me. And we all know the crazy girls have the best sex.

What constitutes sexual deviance, anyway? Is sticking a gerbil up your ass deviant or is it the norm? I have yet to see a USA Today poll on animals in the anus. How do you know if you’re part of the majority? Where’s the data? Go ahead conduct a private study. Ask strangers from varying races and socio-economic backgrounds if they enjoy wearing tiaras and tutus during intercourse. Good luck getting results—people get all uppity and offended when you ask them about their dance attire.

Since no empirical data exists I say my critic should get over himself, because those who suggest playing office should not throw stones. He proposed just that over e-mail—as I was shirking my temp responsibilities. I laughed so hard I disturbed the office monkeys diligently working in their cubes next to me. The office is my hell. Imagining fucking under fluorescent lights; in a cramped, gray cubicle; serenaded by the low hum of 72 computers keeps me pretty dry. But then again I am vanilla, what the hell do I know! I guess hot, wild, deviant sex involves my man dressing like my supervisor; all gussied up in the sexually confused fashions of a misguided straight woman. Maybe he is a sadist and thought he’d get off commanding me to click the print icon for 8 hours as my soul slowly shriveled and died. Perhaps he thought it would spice things up by having sex with a partner who harbors a shitty, despondent attitude, only completes enough work to avoid termination, and never arrives on time.

I don’t know. I believe if a person wants to go out on a sexual ledge and do something that no one else is doing they should try playing Rachael’s HBO Comedy Special.” Seriously, I think that is hot. I’d have my partner play the production assistant who has to pick the cheese off my Caesar Salad. After my set he’d be waiting for me in my dressing room I’d tear his clothes off and he would fuck me, all the while screaming, “You’re the funniest! You’re the Funniest!” Or even hotter, play Rachael’s three-picture deal with Miramax Films. He could be the P.A. that brings me coffee, as I prepare for my big role in “The Rhea Perlman story,” where I play Rhea Perlman. He would watch my brilliance all day, and then we’d meet back in my trailer. I’d rip his clothes off and fuck him while he asked me, “Who knows your name baby?” and I scream, “Everybody! Everybody!” Now that’s a turn on.

So who’s the deviant one? Let’s do the math. I know approximately 200 people on this planet. Also, I am not famous (as you know because you have never heard of me) so, I would say that about the same number of people are aware of my existence. Two hundred out of the over six billion people that reside on this planet ain’t many. In fact it’s a hell of a lot less people than those familiar with Mine Sweeper. And, you know what? Vanilla tastes pretty good, especially when it is infused in vodka.
Who knew I was on the cutting edge of sexual experimentation.

Tuesday, April 05, 2005

Until the website is finished

It seems people are interested in when I'm performing. Or they are feigning interest. They ask me for my website. I then explain that I have a website designed but not built. A very generous man has designed and is building my website. Because he is doing this as a favor to me, I refuse to nag him too much on the subject. So today at work I've broken down and gotten myself a blog. This way I can post my performance dates and not feel so unprofessional.

Now, I'm off to figure this thing out.