Friday, September 29, 2006


We are the Truth Tellers

If you want people to believe you are a truthful and honest person tell them very critical things. The harsher you are the more you come off as sincere. Even if your insults are all lies. People are much more prone to believe negative things than positive things.

Thursday, September 28, 2006

Greeting Cards. They Could be Happier

A friend of mine came out of "the closet" recently. Another friend, Claire, sent an email to our recently openly gay friend. The email was not well recieved. She meant to be supportive and happy for our friend, but alas he took it as glib and unfeeling. I felt for Claire. I don't think it's her fault. I blame Hallmark. The really need to make "So, now your gay" cards. And even if they're insensitive like, "Congrats on sucking dick!" you can say, "That was the only card they had at the store."

They could make cards like, "You're Gay! Of course we still love you we always thought you were gay when you were telling us you were straight."

Or gift cards: "Today you are a gay. Congratulations!" An then they provide the little flap for you to stash the check.

Fake Gift Cards: "I would have put a check in here, but then I realized you're going to be living a double income life with no kids. "

"So you say you're a homosexual. I think that's gayrific."

Wednesday, September 27, 2006

And Another Thing...

Conventional wisdom says that if a romantic interest does not call you or return a voice mail message you left with a phone call that the romantic interest is actually a romantic non-interest. The non-callers don't love you. I say hogwash.

In response to conventional wisdom I pose this question to all my readers and those not reading. When was the last time you called your grandmother? Hmm? Well? You all seem guiltily silent. I guess you haven't called because you don't love your grandmother. What was that? You say you do love gammy, but you've just been really busy. Oh. OK. I guess that's fine. She only defended you when your father was going to send you to military school for not eating your vegetables. She's the one who said, "We're on vacation let the kid have Coco Crispies." But you're busy. I get it. In the world of love it's OK for you to not to call the people you love, like grandma. Grandma should still know you care. But if some shmo you just met drunkenly in a bar a week ago doesn't call you back well he/she just doesn't care. Hypocrite.

"But, Rachael, my grandmother's dead." OK fair enough. However, did you ever stop to think your romantic interest is dead. He/she was hit by a bus yesterday morning. Tragic. He/she was in the process of calling you back, not paying attention to the traffic, walked right infront of a city bus and died. Since you never called again you don't know that and now you're the asshole who didn't send flowers to the funeral.

"You know Rachael, the phone line rings both ways, Nana could call me." Yes, and you could call the drunken dude/dudette--who's last name you don't know-- even though you already left a message.

"Rachael, my grandmother is still alive but she's a horrid bitch." Well, I guess that's where you get it from then. That's why no one's calling you back.
Different topic. Bravo to the young man at Mo Pitkins Tuesday evening who spoke to me after my show. He told me that I was very funny -- of course-- and then proceeded to give me his card. But, instead of him pussing out and asking me to put him on my mailing list he said, "Drop me an e-mail maybe we can go biking sometime. And I'm totally going to check out 'I Love Jack' this weekend." You guys should totally check out "I Love Jack" this Sunday October 1st at 8pm and meet the dude who properly knows how to pick up female comedian after a show. Then watch as I break his spirit by informing him we can only bike as friends because I'm in a committed relationship with Jack.

This week's guests: Mike Dobbins, Zero boy, Dave Hill,Eliza Fario-Santos, Carolyn Castiglia

"I Love Jack" a live radio variety show
M.Shanghai's Den (129 Havemeyer Street--Williamsburg)

Monday, September 25, 2006

Those Bums! (Yeah, I know I had similar post last year)

Before I met my boyfriend Jack, I had great trouble picking good men for romantic relations. I never could figure out what was wrong with me. I never learned why I kept picking so poorly. And then today it hit me. I'm a NY Football Giants fan. These men put me through the emotional ringer each fall. They've been doing this to me every fall since I'm seven years old. I feel it's how I've now patterned my relationship with men.

This season began with our honeymoon period, the pre-season, where they went undefeated. But, we all know that just like the begining of a relationship pre-season means nothing. No one plays their first strings for longer than the first quarter during pre-season, just like no one shows who they really are in the first month of dating.

My Giants showed their true colors in the season opener, where they lost and not prettily to the Indianapolis Colts. After that game I felt maybe these guys aren't so hot, but instead of jumping ship I say to myself, "Ahh it's the first game of the season. My girlfriend, New England, had a rocky start after the pre-season last year and her boys wound up being OK." I decide to stick with my Giants the following week where I watch them stink it up for three quarters. I say to myself, "You know what? That's it! After today I'm done. Screw these guys. I don't need this shit." Next thing you know they score 17 unanswered points, tie the game, and win it in overtime. So, I start thinking I was too rash. These guys have heart. They come through when it matters (like a boyfriend who brings you chicken soup when you have the flu. Sure he had to play darts the night of your brother's wedding but he showed up when you really needed him.) I need to have more faith. I need to be more forgiving. How do they repay my dedication? This week they loose 42 to 30. Really?!!

I ask myself, "What the fuck am I doing?" All I want to do is get drunk and have my friends crank call my Giants at 3:00am with non-traceable cell phones. How could they treat me like this? It's like this every year and every year I come back for more. I know it's me. I need professional help.

I put up with them and their unpredictable behaviour because I like them. However, I like them for no rational reason. It's not even because we're from the same city. The Jets are from here too and they won today and yet I can't get it up for them. Let's face it. It's not rational it's just pheromones. If the 49-ers smelled like the Giants I'd be all over those guys. If it were logical I'd have jumped ship long ago. There are better teams out there--like New England's Patriots or Seattle's Seahawks. Why not start-up with one of them?

Sports fans would call me a fair-weather fan if I left my Giants for a more attractive and more successful team. A team that might respect me with consistent play, not be so callous with my feelings. I believe psychologists have a word for sports fans--enablers. My female friends would advise that I dump these Giants. They'd tell me my relationship with the Giants is abusive and co-dependent. They'd tell me to stop looking at football all together. There's nothing good to be found in that pool of teams. None of them win more than 3 superbowls in a row. They all fall on hard times and then claim they're rebuilding. My friends would remind me of my good friend the NY Yankees Baseball team. They'd say, "Rachael, you like the Yankees. You go see them play on occassion. Sometimes you'll watch a game at a bar. Why don't you take it to the next level with them. Forget those god damn Giants." And they'd be completely right.

There's only one problem. I really like football. I wish I didn't. I wish I could just forget the Giants. I wish I could forget the two superbowls they've won. I wish I could forget the many post-seasons we've had together. But I can't. I know they suck. But I also know somewhere deep down they do want to win every game. I have to believe they're trying. I have to believe! Just like Luke Skywalker had to believe there was some good left in his father. Luke's belief saved his father, I know I'm not a Jedi, but my faith has to be worth something.

Friday, September 22, 2006

Let's See What Happens

This evening I purchased Nyquil for the first time. I stepped into the 24 hour, Korean-run, organic market on Flatbush avenue. Like many bodegas in NYC they keep their over the counter meds behind the counter. I asked the clerk if they had any children's cold medicine. (You see, faithful readers, I can't swallow pills. Therefore I ingest children's liquid meds. I have masticated adult medication meant for swallowing whole. I usually chew the pills or capsules in conjunction with a cookie, apple sauce or icecream. But, no matter how much ice cream a person consumes the adult medication burns and scorches the taste buds.) The clerk looked behind him at the shelves of anti-histmines and pain relievers. "Uhhh. Hmmm. No." I noticed that Nyquil comes in liquid form. I said, "Hey what about the Nyquil?"
"For kids?"
"Uh. Well, it's liquid."
"For kids. I don't think so."
Then I had to admit, "It's for me. I can't swallow pills."
"Oh. OK."
So parents if you ever want to drug your children and you accidently slip and say the Nyquil is for them, just switch your story and say no it's for you and that you can't swallow pills.

Now, I've never taken Nyquil before, never mind written anything under its influence. Let's see what happens. I kind of feel like Byron on laudanum or absinthe or whatever it was he wrote on. Maybe I'm thinking of the composer Berlioz writing his Symphony de Fantistique. God, I'm so out of my head write now I might just be making up history. But whatever, man. I totally feel just like those guys. Woo Hoo! I'm creating under the influence. I'm a dangerous artist. Way more cutting edge than Byron or Hemmingway. Those guys never had blogs.

I've caught myself a head cold like a major league catcher catches a nasty slider. (I'm on Nyquil I don't need transistions.) My simile isn't even at all acurate, that's right I'm pushing the envelope. Kind of like Jim Morrison. Did they even have Nyquil in the 60s? Eddie of Eddie in the Cruisers is a pansy compared to me. James Buroughs might have been on herion but he didn't have a computer. I'm really livin' the life of a writer now.

And bunnies hop. Yeahkjo;o/khnlmp8mj dguha;g iogrjidrotgwroejtguoorkgtolrjmgtklrj
Shit. What time is it? Oh god it's 4:30. And there's drool all over the keyboard. I just lost three hours of my life.

Thursday, September 21, 2006

Not stabbed. Sick

I'm calling in sick to my blog today.

Wednesday, September 20, 2006

Not All Hotels Are Romantic

Monday night Jack calls me and tells me he's coming over and that we're going to have a romantic evening at my place. "I have a set" I said. "After your set. I miss you," he replied. These last couple of weeks have been crazy for both of us and we haven't gotten to spend alot of time together. That's how relationships roll in New York City. Ambition and obligations can the time you should be spending with your love.

We meet up at my apartment. Jack brought a movie and suggested we curl up on the couch together and watch. Sounds great. This is going to be a lovely evening together. Until he begins the movie--Hotel Rwanda. "Jack, this isn't romantic."
"I think as couple we should put or own egos aside and realize their are those who truly suffer."
"Sure, but that's not romantic."
"We'll see. Let's watch."
I have to admit sitting on the couch next Jack, crying and feeling disgust for the world I inhabit really wasn't romantic at all! I kind of felt like I should never have kids. And, that I should break up with Jack in the off chance maniacs begin a genocidal campaign here I don't have any strings tieing me down. Or have Jack holding me back from a swift escape.

The movie is very good, but I wouldn't reccommend it for a date.

Tuesday, September 19, 2006

My TV Credit (I may rewrite this later)

My friend Nicole doesn't believe that I was on The Richard Simmons show in 1983. I know that many things posted here seem unbelievable, but I can assure you, my loyal readers, and Nicole that I was indeed on Richard Simmons. (If my parents ever move into their new house I can get the vhs tape of it and upload the footage to YouTube.)

My parents and I went out to Los Angeles to visit my mother's older sister, Lori. As I was five years old I don't know who's idea it was that my mother, my aunt and I try to get on the Richard Simmons exercise show, I'm certain it wasn't mine. And I have strong doubts it was my father's. (Though, he does come up with crazy schemes to avoid his inlaws) I remember when we arrived at the studio where Mr. Simmons taped his exercise show my Aunt got cold feet. To get her to come on the show with us we had to promise we'd get ice cream afterwards. For a five year old that's a win win situation, I get to jump around for an hour and then I get ice cream. Suweet! For an adult it seems counter productive.

Prior to the taping they have the eager women ready to exercise in letards and leg warmers on nationally syndicated television sit in some type of holding area. An audience coordinator--the women wrangler-- noticed me. She told my mother in front of all the other woman, "I don't know if we're going to be able to allow your daughter on the show. Mr. Simmons has had some difficulties with children in the past. " My mother assured the woman I was very well behaved. I would not cry. I would not run about. And that was the truth I was a very well behaved child, it's as an adult I've become an obnoxious crier. The women wrangler was not so sure about this, but my mother the ultimate saleswoman. (My mom has sold everything from phones, to limosine service, to MRI imaging, to selling me the idea of a blind date with a boy who's never heard of Tito Puente and didn't know what the word 'serene' meant) This 22 year old assistant producer was no match for my mom. I was in.

Richard chose "enthusiasm" as that days theme. The first song we worked out to was a Manilow standard. Who has more enthusiasm than Barry Manilow? You have to hand it to Richard he knew his audience.

I have no recollection of breaking a sweat or loosing my breath, but Richard decided his class needed a break. It was probably somewhere near the first commercial break. He stopped the music and discussed with all of us his understanding of "enthusiasm." I believe we all had to shout the word in unison at some point and we had to shout it with enthusiasm. He then said, "You know who has enthusiasm? Children. Children have enthusiasm." He walked out into the sea of 80s active-wear, picked me up, brought me to the front of the class, turned me upside down, and said, "Don't they? Don't they have enthusiasm?" And at that time in my life I was very good natured and unguarded. I laughed and giggled. I was adorable. Then, he put me back in the ocean of jealous jealous women. The music came back on (It was some one- hit- wonder, soft-rock tune. All I can remember right now is the refrain "into the night, into the night." It had but not new wave synths) and Richard Simmons continued to work these women until their heart rate increased just ever so slightly. -- A star was born.

Side note: my mother was not completely happy with my tv exposure. An English woman who cut hair at my Aunt's barber shop/salon had styled my hair into cornrows earlier that day. "It would have been so much cutier if your hair was down when he turned you upside down." I suggested we reshoot it, but who listens to a five year old. I sat contented with my dish of mint-chocolate chip ice cream. And my Aunt lamented that she was going to be soar tomorrow.

Monday, September 18, 2006

This Van is Not for Hire This Dude is Not for Relationship

My best friend Anna called me last night livid. She had just finished a date with some guy she met at a bar weeks ago. It was their second date.

"Rachael, this is fucking bullshit to the 'N'th degree. I go on a date with this guy, right? And remind you I don't really have time to date this weekend what with the big folk festival I am producing for Monday down in Cape May. I had errands to run, but I figured a boy asked me out I need to go. So I compromise with myself and invite him to do laundry with me and then pick up amps and lights for the show at the rental place. He agrees. After we had picked up the gear and dropped it off with the roadees we get ready to say our farewells. He turns to me and says, 'I want to let you know that I'm just interested in dating nothing serious.' WHAT THE FUCK?!! At what point did he get the idea I wanted to be his girlfriend? Rachael, I didn't touch him at any point on the date. I did mentioned how I was engaged to your friend James."

"No, Anna, I'm engaged to James."
"I know, but I thought it was such a funny story I pretended I was the one getting married in nine years. And that's not the point. This was only our second date in like 3 weeks--both of which were afternoon dates. I didn't even attempt to hold his hand. I barely remembered to ask him questions about himself, never mind ask him where this was going? His presumptiousness pissed me off to no end. It's like someone saying to you, 'You look really shitty in that outfit.' when you never asked how the outfit looked. If I asked you how I looked then I deserve the truth, but if I don't seek your opinion then shut up! I don't appreciate being rejected without asking for the rejection."
"So, Anna, what did you say to him?"
"I wanted to say don't worry I'm in love with someone else, but I didn't. Instead I made a face, tried not to laugh at him and said, don't worry I don't commit. I explained once I committed to some dude for two weeks and then I broke up with him. He asks, 'Why don't you commit?'
'Because I don't trust people.'
'Why don't you trust people? Is it because you think they'll go crazy and become violent? Or is it you think they might steal your identity and destroy your credit?'
'No, it's because people will betray me.'
What really pisses me off is I wasn't into him. I just figured I am supposed to date people. That's what I'm told single people do. I figured why not this dude. Just because after we made-out the drunken night we met I have since lost interest in sex, doesn't mean I shouldn't spend more time with him. I mean, he's not an accountant, he writes, he didn't seem like a pycho. Can we single people ask for more? Like engaging conversation, or want to jump his bones. Please, that's just greedy. And yet I would have prefered to socialize with you or taken a nap then deal with this dude.
So, I inconvienenced myself to go out with this guy and then he tells me he doesn't want anything serious. When did I suggest anything else? It's just my aunt's voice in my head (Anna was raised by her Aunt and Uncle) saying, 'Give him a chance, you're so quick to judge.' Why do I listen to that voice?"
"So how did it end?"
"He kissed me good-bye and asked if he could come to the show on Monday and bring friends. I was like, hells yeah. As long as he comes to shows and brings people with him, I have to date him."
"You're a folk music whore."
"Cock-tease, not whore. I'm not sleeping with a presumptious dater."

Thursday, September 14, 2006

Single Men Rejoice That I'm not Single

I've previously posted my rejoices of the fact I'm not single. I've discussed the horrors I've imagined that lie in the dating world. I realized today though, that there are probably single men who thank their lucky stars that I have a boyfriend. The most wonderful boyfriend Jack. Single men look at me and can sense that if I were actually single I'd probably try to turn my errands into a charming afternoon date. They'd think to themselves, "If she and I were in a relationship that'd be a fine way to spend the afternoon. But, she's the type of girl who would suggest dropping off promotional postcards in Williamsburg on a Saturday afternoon as an event for a second date. That's kind of bullshit." They'd be right. However, I'm sure single men would keep those thoughts to themselves, agree to go on the bullshit date, and hope I put out. And single men's hopes would be dashed because I don't live in Williamsburg and I'm not a fan of sex in public parks.

And so when single men hear I have a boyfriend. They say to themselves, "Phew."
This Sunday 8pm "I Love Jack" Comedy Variety Hour (give or take) Welcomes special guests:
Dan Allen (Comedy Central), Adira Amram (Ars Nova), Carla Rhodes, (Rock and Roll Ventrilquist), Will McKinley (Sirius Satellite Radio), PJ Zeller (film: End of the Spear), Regie Cabico (Def Poetry Slam)
Hosted by Rachael Parenta (Richard Simmons Show 1983)
with DJ Your Friend Jesse (Creator of True Adventures in History Graphic Novel Series)

Maybe I Spoke to Soon or I'll Change My Mind Again

I was going to quit comedy after this evening. That was the plan, but I've changed my mind. And no, nothing good has happened. I didn't win any contest, have any comedy career opportunity fall in my lap, or suddenly think the myraid of phony comedians who's souls are rotting on ambition really aren't that bad. But I now know what I want the point of my comedy to be. I will make it my life mission and my comedy mission to drive that Neo-feminist, "he's just not that into" atitude toward love and relationships into the ground! Yes, that's right my comedy is going to fight a pop culture book no one will remember in two years. A book I haven't even read. This is what is keeping me in comedy. And I hope to also topple many governments with my brand of funny which I have yet to develop. So basically courageous love and anarchy will be my comedy arena.

I plan to post my intentionally unfunny thesis on love shortly. And then from there write hysterical jokes based on the intentionally unfunny thesis.

As I haven't quit comedy you shouldn't quit me. Check out "I Love Jack" Sundays at M.Shanghai's Den 8pm.

Working is Just as Bad as Drugs

Let's get down to it. Our governent gives the following reasons why they need to outlaw some drugs like marijuana, heroin, cocaine and others.

1. Drugs destroy a person's body
2. People on drugs lie, cheat and steal to get more drugs
3. People on drugs neglectic their family and friends
4. Drugs cause an increase in violent crime

If these were the true reasons then shouldn't most office jobs be outlawed as well?

1. Work destroys a person's body. The weight of an average American increases everyday and we're not getting any taller people. You sit on your ass all day peer pressured into not taking a lunch break which would allow you to get outside under the sun and perhaps walk.

2. People at work lie, cheat and steal. How many pens have you taken? How many copies have you made for yourself or stamps you used for those wedding invitations? Don't get me wrong I think you should steal from your job, but it's still stealing. Office politics is full of fibbing and cheating to get ahead and/or demoralize your co-workers. Oh and don't most companies employ sales people? Talk about liar? (sorry mom and dad)

3. People who work neglect family and friends. How much time does that investment banker working 80 hours a week have for his family? Who knows the words to "Cats and the Cradle?" Or how about the corporate lawyer. Or how about any artist who has to have a day job and then find time to pursue their art as a career. Those people don't have time to eat or sleep never mind love and care for others.

4. Work causes an increase in violent crimes. People like to work and shoot everyone in their office. Also may I mention all of those working for Haliburton. And many of the people who work for the US Government.

5. Wallmart is like crack it continues a cycle of poverty.

The reason many drugs are illegal in this country is because they interfere with people's "work" productivity. People on pot don't get much done, but people on diet pills or coffee are quite productive. However, this is not the reason we're are given to why some drugs are illegal. They never mention the gross national product. So let's call our government on their bullshit and stary lobbying congress to outlaw work. How can they argue with their own logic.

Wednesday, September 13, 2006

Death: Depends on the Day

A couple of weeks ago I camped in the woods of Maine. My boyfriend Jack had to meet me up in Maine later in the trip. He had a convention to attend. It ran long. The convention dealt with something like teaching deaf people without arms, living in impoverished countries how sign with their toes. The linguists wanted to unify foot sign language for the whole world—meaning, no dialects, one language of foot symbols for the planet Earth. Needless to type the convention went into overtime and Jack had to meet me in Maine instead of traveling with me.

My first night I slept alone in the woods. It was dark and quiet. For a city gal there’s nothing scarier. Well, one thing, when that silence is broken by an indefinable single noise. I knew it was some form of death. However, I was not about to go and check out what form of death had arrived in. I’ve seen enough horror movies (like 3) through my fingers to know a person does not go out and check things out. No, instead I turned on my flashlight because human-consuming animals and serial killers are like cockroaches and prefer the dark. They also prefer their victims dormant. It’s less of a struggle to rip life from a sleeping person. I remained awake in the warm glow of my flashlight and I lived. —Obviously because I’ve typed this post.

The next day I began to laugh at myself. Not because I stayed awake with my flashlight, that is completely logical, as I’m alive, and therefore completely correct in my camping tactics. What I thought was funny was how during my regular NYC life I have seriously contemplated stepping into on-coming traffic and ending it all. (My fear of fucking it up and ending up a quadriplegic instead of dead outweighs my hatred of life and I usually stay on the curb.) But the moment I my life is threatened I immediately want to live. I will forgo sleep, I will run far and fast whatever it takes I’m ready to live! All those suicidal thoughts fly right out of my head. All the things I obsess about no longer matter. I guess I'm a control freak. I'll leave this shitty party we call life on Earth when I decide I'm not getting bounced.

So maybe instead of prescribing anti-depressants to people we just need to experience more life-threatening situations like camping by oneself.

Monday, September 11, 2006

Two Quotes- (monday was a long day)

Everyday is a new chance to get it right-- Holiday Mathis

Whatever you want most is going to be the worst thing for you--Barbara Kingsolver

Sunday, September 10, 2006

Execuse me?!

Friday afternoon I earned money moving computers out of offices and cubicles so some company could put in new carpeting. Me and the other four guys on the job entered the 17th floor and began wrapping up keyboards and mice and placing them in plastic bags. Some guy who works in a corner office starts harassing us. Yelling, he accuses us of theft. Apparently, his leather satchel bag has gone missing. I did not take well to his false accusations. I told him, "If I were going to commit a crime it'd be a violent one."

120 seconds later his co-worker revealed she had moved his bag to her office. He never did apologize.

Bust out the Champagne and Gnochi

I'm engaged! It's not as sudden as it seems. A month back I received an email from my friend James. In the e-mail he confessed a fear of winding up alone. He inquired if I'd marry him when he turned 40. I wrote back, "Wow! you're a good 4 years older than me. That's hardly fair to make me settle at 36 years of age when you get to wait until 40 to settle. I'll compromise and marry you when I turn 38." He wrote back that my compromise sounded fair. And that was the last we discussed of our possible nuptials. Until Friday evening.

An inebriated James called me, "Rachael, you're not going to play with my heart are you? You're going to marry me when I turn 40?"
"No, I'm not. I'll marry you when you're 42."
"OK," he said.
"And I want a wedding."
"I want fire jugglers at the ceremony and I want a young Dustin Hoffman look-a-like to interrupt the ceremony and scream, 'Elaine! Elaine!' and then we turn around and say, 'wrong wedding.'"
"I'm OK with that. But I want to live on the East Coast. And we're not having lobster or parts of lobster at the wedding."
"Dude, I don't want to pay for my guests to have lobster dinner. I want gnocci as a first course."
"Fine, but then we need to serve Swedish Meatballs."
"I'll concede to Swedish Meatballs only if they are served as apetizers, and the rest of the meal will be Italian. Oh and dude, you know how you don't like having sex once you're in a long term relationship?"
"Well, I get to have sex with other people then."
"I'm totally OK with that."
(Thank god James has weird intimacy issues and he won't be wanting to have sex with me and doesn't mind me having sex with other people. Otherwise, I don't think I would have been able to sell this idea of me marrying some other dude to my boyfriend Jack.)
James continued, "So we're all set then. In 9 years we're getting married."
"Oh god. I'm going to be 38 in nine years. That's it. Nine years and I'll be knocking on 40. When did that shit happen?"
"Yeah, so you better get ready to marry me."
"I'm ready."
And there you have it. I'm engaged! Yes, it is slightly a long engagement but for older people, such as ourselves, time is experienced more quickly. Exponentially faster with each passing year. Plus, we had no courtship, so it all balances out.

After I hung up with James I turned to Jack. "Honey, I'm marrying James in 9 years. He doesn't want to end up alone, but you and I, baby, can still have sex and hang out and all that."
"Rachael, this is why I love you. You are one of the few people who understand how important friendship is. That's why I'm glad you're not just my girlfriend but my best friend. Of course we'll help out James in his hour of need nine years from now."
And then Jack kissed me and turned off the light."

Thursday, September 07, 2006

Old Hat

People are up in arms about the latest season of the television show "Survivor." Supposedly, they've pitted the races against each other. Big deal. "Family Fued" has been doing that since the 70s, and "Survivor" doesn't even have any survey type trivia.

Nice Guys Finish Last Because Sometimes They Lack Speed

In a prospective dating candidate "nice" isn’t enough. I met a guy he was very nice, but he never learned to read. This other guy I dated, a sweetheart, but he smelled and liked dick. Yesterday at the bowling alley I saw this cute guy seemed really nice-- a family guy. I didn’t go over to talk to him though because…he was five. Sure we had a lot in common bowling, a love of coke a cola, our parents paying for things, but we’re in different places in life. He’s going back to school this fall. Will probably being going to school for 12 more years and then he’ll re-evaluate his options. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know if I’m going to get promoted to nighttime assistant manager at the bowling or what?

Wednesday, September 06, 2006

Read the Whole Thing But Also Click The Link

The U.S. government lies! I know. I know this is news. I’m sorry. The last thing I wanted was to be your older cousin who tells you there is no Santa, but it’s time that we Americans grew up. The truth is what our government tells us is not always true. In fact, I’m beginning to think that the government never tells the truth. Not ever.

Here’s how I figured it all out. My boyfriend Jack and I traveled up to Maine’s Acadia National Park last week. I needed to get away from my social periphery (who we all will be shivving in the gut or shoveling in the head starting September 17th 8pm at M.Shanghai’s Den thanks to my sponsor I Hate the Periphery Foundation). Our first morning there we hiked the coastline along what the park called “otters cliff” to otters point. We didn’t see on otter at either place. Is this how our government makes it’s billions by defrauding innocent tourists? Jack and I thought that maybe the otters were on vacation somewhere else, like New York City. I mean, if we could leave New York for Maine why couldn’t the otters leave Maine for New York? So we decided to give the park the benefit of the doubt and stay. The next morning we decided to ascend Cadillac Mountain, the highest mountain in the park? When we reached the summit we found no Cadillac. All we found were magnificent and awe inspiring views. Which would have been fine but the mountain isn’t called Beautiful Vistas. I thought I’d see a Cadillac perched atop a Mountain. There were no rock formations or vegetation resembling a caddy. I couldn’t believe my government would lie to me so blatantly so Jack and I chartered a helicopter to fly high above the mountain to see if the mountain itself looked like a Cadillac. We maxxed out or credit cards and took out a small business loan. We had to forge documents proving we actually had a business to loan against. Do you know how hard it is to forge documents when you’re camping in the woods? And after all that guess what. It looked like a mountain not a Cadillac!

And what the hell is an Acadia? Our government is just making up words now. They probably should call it Rockefeller’s Coastal Mountain Park. Because John D. was the one who donated the land that makes up the park. Or so the plaque reads in at Thunder Hole another tourist trap in the park. Yeah, don’t get me started about that bullshit. There’s no thunder. There’s no hole. It’s a place where the ocean makes a garbling sound at high tide. That’s not thunder. Thunder is something clouds do.

If the U.S. Government will go this far to get families to pony up $20 for a week of majestic beauty who knows what else they’re shoveling. Maybe the flag doesn’t stand for anything. It definitely doesn’t stand for one nation. It’s more like a nation and it’s protectorates and colonies, and military bases. And I don’t have liberty. In New Hampshire I didn’t have the freedom to drive my car at the speed I wanted to. And if there were any justice in this country my elementary school “friends” would have been sentenced to scaphism long ago. Beware my fellow Americans. Beware!

Tuesday, September 05, 2006

Ms. September (as opposed to Mr. October Reggie Jackson)

After watching the West Indians parade through my neighborhood friends and I headed to Coney Island to watch the Brooklyn Cyclones taken on the Spinner from Lowell. There was some disagreement in my party as to what a spinner was. Rob, thought a spinner was a toy similar to a top but made from sharp steel blades that could cut an eye of one's enemy. If one's enemy had drunken passed out on a hard smooth surface. Jesse thought a spinner was something along the lines of seamstress, because of Lowell's textile history. I thought it was the masculine version of the word spinster. The Lowell Spinners a team of men who will never marry.

After the game Rob paid a dollar to for me to throw 3 baseballs into plastic sheet. The purpose of throwing baseballs into a sheet is to determine how fast a person can throw a baseball. I don't mean to brag but I threw a baseball 40 mph. Which was just as fast as the 8 year old boy who went before me. I'm pretty proud of myself because the 8 year was bigger than me.