Sarcomical

Why I May Never Feel Safe In My Car Again

Last night I went to hear The Sartorialist speak and give a presentation about his fashion photography of real people on the streets of NYC, Paris, Milan, etc. The man is pure genius and passion wrapped up in great hair and a fabulous suit. I did get to talk to him a bit afterward, but alas no photographic evidence was obtained, because it just didn't feel like a photo-op moment. He was incredibly funny though, and also very uplifting; he definitely encourages being confident in the uniqueness YOU have to offer when presenting yourself and your abilities to the world in order to pursue your goals.

THAT SAID...

I was kind of flying high after having some actual chit-chat with one of my modern photographic heroes (self-taught, by the way), driving home in the dark, only slightly de-buzzed by the fact that my Grand Plan to pick up pad thai & chicken satay from one of my new favorite places that I'm not often in the vicinity of was SQUASHED when I called to find out they had just closed 5 minutes before.

About fifteen minutes into my twenty-five minute drive, at one of the many stoplights along the way, I noticed something thanks to the glow from the taillights of the car in front of me. Hmm...looked like a bump of some sort on my dashboard, right up near the windshield in the left corner. My internal dialog picked up here as follows:

"Is that...a wad of fuzz? ...a bit of a leaf? Oh...it's not...is that a...? It kind of looks like a spider. Oh shit. ...No, it's not a spider. That would be disgusting. I don't see legs. If I see legs, so help me. I swear to God if I see legs I'm pulling over. ... ... OH MY GOD, okay it's a spider. It's a black furry spider. And I'm all alone. I'm trapped in a car on a very busy road in the dark all alone with a black furry spider and it's going to jump on me. It's going to jump on me and I'm going to hit something and potentially die because a spider in my car attacked me. Help! HELP! Okay, it looks like it's not moving. Thank God. Maybe it's dead? Hmm...a dead spider would be okay. ... ... NO NO NO!!! It just moved! When the car is stopped for a while it moves! It's coming toward me and I can feel its eyes on me. Oh Dear God please don't let me hit another red light oh pleasepleaseplease. NO RED LIGHTS NO RED LIGHTS."

This continued on the remainder of the drive, with me scrunching as far as humanly possible toward the passenger side while still being able to actually control the wheel. My entire body was tensed up and I think I was squinting. I had a brief moment where I thought, yeah, I could cry right now, but I didn't. Because I was pretty sure that thing would be disturbed by sound, which was why I not only had my entire body clenched, but also had the radio completely turned down. No, I couldn't take my chances that the spider would be agitated in any way.

You may ask "So, why didn't you just kill the thing? Aren't you being unnecessarily dramatic?" I'll tell you why, you smartass. First of all, I had nothing in the car I could reach for fast enough while I was stopped that would sufficiently squash it and maintain a sufficient barrier between my hand and its leggy, furry grossness. Secondly, I was never in a well-lit enough area (even with the rearview mirror light turned on) to really be sure I was going to hit it when I reached out instead of just smacking my hand on the dashboard, giving it a convenient bridge up my arm onto my face.

Even though I spent 15 minutes in terror, barely avoiding hitting the cars in front of me as I braced for each brake obsessively staring at my dashboard and leaning farther and farther to the right in order to avoid a face-sucking spider jumping at me, I did make it home alive.

And wouldn't you know it? That damned spider disappeared into the corner of the windshield one turn before I pulled into my street, and I couldn't find it when I got into the garage (full of worthy spider-squashing tools, of course). I can only hope it will travel back out of the car into the garage.

...Where it will probably come through the door into our house and get into my favorite chair. Waiting for me.

Two Little Pots, Potential Of

I got these two containers at T.J. Maxx. They go with that whole black, white & green thing I've got going on in my office. Now the question is, should I just keep them up there all sad and purposeless, or should I hide something in them? They're about five inches tall. Hmmm...what to hide, what to hide...

Some Things Friday #70: Soccer Studs, Crashes, and Nude Bras

Some Things I Love:

1. The bottom of the ice cream cone. You know what I mean...that part at the base where all of the ice cream melted into those little square holes. I can't WAIT to get to the bottom of that ice cream cone.
   
2. Shrimp fajitas. Olé! (I just had them for dinner. Jealous?)
   
3. Short fingernails. (The easier to type like a mad woman, my dear. And p.s. - guitar lessons hopefully this year? We shall see.)
   
4. Baby monkeys.
   
5. Sarcomical Some Things Friday Hottie of the Week: U.S. Soccer Player Carlos Bocanegra (thanks to my recent reader tip to check out Kickette!)
   

Some Things I Hate:

1. This new weather, lovely as it is, requires too much shaving for someone as lazy as this girl is.
   
2. Waking up from a really cool dream RIGHT before you get handed your Emmy / make out with your Hollywood crush / find out what your new baby looks like / bitch slap that snotty lady from the office.
   
3. Clothing stores for the young'ens that make me have to try on something two sizes bigger than I am everywhere else. YOU SUCK.
   
4. Computer crashes in the middle of VERY IMPORTANT THINGS.
   
5. Crushed and broken barbecue Baked Lays at the bottom of the bag. Hard to look classy while licking silver interior.

Some Things I Just Don't Get:

1. Adult women who still don't understand that WE CAN SEE THAT WHITE BRA UNDER THAT WHITE T-SHIRT. Listen, it's NUDE under white, ladies. NUDE. In fact, nude is better under pretty much everything except black. Do you really not know this? I've even said it here before. Please. Just stop it.
   
2. Contortionists.
   
3. Should I be concerned about the hissing sizzle sound when I spoon the Splenda into my tea?
   
4. Rosie Perez's career.
   
5. Why can't I convince The Husband that karaoke would, in fact, be a VERY FUN DATE?

Scruffy

I love him, even when he lets the beardage get a little bit Mountain Man-like. Listen, I'm not going to get picky about facial hair with someone who can make kick-ass scrambled eggs, build anything, make a suicidal computer come back to life, and can appreciate the entertainment value of a well-timed "that's what she said".

One-Word Sarcomical Sunday #17: More About Us Than We Ever Wanted to Know

On this week's One-Word Sarcomical Sunday, I'm digging deeper. Deeper into some of the more mundane/self-conscious/unattractive things that you weren't quite sure you'd ever really decide to share with The Internet. Why? Because those are the things all of us really want to know about each other anyway, yes? It makes us feel proportionally less mundane/self-conscious/unattractive in a larger company of the same. Isn't online community grand?

*Okay, here are the Newbie Ground Rules:

1. After reading my answers, copy and paste the list into your comment.
   
2. Change my one-word responses with yours (yes, only ONE WORD, even if it makes you want to pull your brains through your tear duct - and I design the statements to make it possible if you're clever enough, which of COURSE you are).
   
3. Submit your comment.
   
4. And hey, you can always post your finished list on your blog, too. (Yes, a post idea! You're welcome.) Link back here if you're feeling nice. Enjoy!

If you get something out of a vending machine, it's most likely the: Lays
A word you sometimes catch yourself misspelling: Unparalleled
You least want people to see you as: Irrelevant
You're a little scared of: Geese
The least attractive thing you do in your sleep: Scowl
The number of contacts in your cell phone: 94
How many of them are restaurants: 18
You lose your cool when someone: Lies
When you go to the drugstore, you often can't leave without buying: Balm
Your dance moves can best be described as: Safe
The majority of your underwear is: Unused
Something you eat even though you hate how bad it is for you: Franks
You think you're really not a great: Speaker
How much cash is in your wallet right now: $26
The majority of your shoes are this color: Black
You don't think you'll ever be able to get rid of your: Stubbornness
If your breath is bad, it's most likely because you had the: Onions
You feel embarrassed when you: Blather
The last public place where you used the restroom: Palomino
Something you don't like to debate in mixed company: Sexuality
You don't think you can pull off wearing: Fedoras
Something you own entirely too much of: Jeans
Someone you would love to see in concert who might bring down your street cred: Fergie
The last thing that you spilled on yourself: Mustard
If you were on a reality show, the producers would likely portray/characterize you as the: Wisecracker

technorati tags: One-Word Sarcomical Sundays

Proof That Damn Colbert Marketing Train Continues to Steamroll Right Over Me

That would be the Stephen Colbert Marketing Train, of course. Oh, I can't help myself. I love Stephen. And he's been heavily pushing these stupid Spicy Sweet Chili Doritos this entire month (see video below), and I couldn't take it anymore. I became obsessed. I wanted to try them more and more with each segue where he crumpled through a bag and made it look so utterly delicious. Finally, The Husband showed up with a tiny bag because he wanted to end my suffering.

I CAN'T FIGHT YOU, STEPHEN COLBERT. THANKS TO YOU THESE LIPS WHICH HAVEN'T TOUCHED DORITOS SINCE I WAS ABOUT TWENTY-THREE YEARS OLD ARE OFFICIALLY BACK TO ZERO ON THEIR DORITO-FREE STREAK.

Thanks a lot. (p.s. I heart your stupid Dorito-pushing face. Read past the Harsh and feel the Love. M'kay, bye.)

p.s. They were a'yight.

(Feed reader folks, there's a video here.)

technorati tags: Stephen Colbert, Indecision '08

Barely a Smile...

A Slightly Embarrassing Video of my Bedroom

...and what's embarrassing about it is the fact that I blink about a million times at the beginning, and also? ramble on about kitty litter, and also? sound approximately 14 years old, and also? have a bandana on my head. SIGH. I really hate watching these videos back; they thrust me to my highest level of self-scrutiny, so hurry up and watch it before I push it down the page just so that I can avoid it entirely.

The Most Common Nightmares...

I seem to remember in the past that I would often have dreams that I could actually recall upon waking. Over the last few years, however, that seems to have become more and more rare. I usually wake as if from a drug-induced coma, or feel like Rip Van Winkle - completely incognizant of anything that has occurred in the real world (OR in my dream world) since my eyes finally fell shut the night before.

However, I still have a few that recur time and again, leaving me feeling crappy and ready to bite off the fingers of anyone who tries to be chipper with me before I've had my good 3 or 4 hours to wake up and really feel like I'm part of the World Society again.

Most pointedly, I have those dreams about High School. You know which ones I'm talking about. You've had them, too. I guess Life figures High School is not traumatic and identity-scalding enough to go through just once...NO. We need to relive the potential worst nightmares of that puberty-marred time of life over and over again just to remind us that We Are Not all That and a Bag of Chips, no matter how Cool and Utterly Awesome we are in our current adult lives, we are still at the core adolescent babies wandering through the unknown hallways of life.

(That just sounded incredibly and surprisingly dark. Sorry. If you are now feeling sad, just think of Kittens! and Sno-Cones! and Rainbows! and Pound Puppies! Remember Pound Puppies? ...You okay now? All right, moving on.)

Aaaanyway...

My most common High School-related dream is the one where I show up to an unimaginably crowded school, fighting against hordes of people on their way to class, only to show up at my locker with only a few minutes left and realizing that I never got my class schedule. WHERE IS MY CLASS SCHEDULE?!? Sometimes I have it but it's blank. Other times, I have to go down three floors to the office and beg them to FIND MY SCHEDULE PLEASE I'M GOING TO MISS EVERYTHING! and they can't "find me in the system", or some office secretary won't get off the phone and look at me, or the copier is broken, or something like that. Then I end up wandering the halls desperately, thinking to myself "I THINK that was a class I was supposed to be in" and I end up sitting outside in the hallway trying to listen to the teacher so I don't miss what's happening. OH, and also I never have the right books, AND I never remember to bring a notebook and pen.

...Doesn't take a genius to figure out how I'm feeling about my life when I have those dreams, does it?

(heh)

So, tell me, what is YOUR most common High School-related nightmare?

technorati tags: High School, nightmares, dreams

Self-Portrait: April 9, 2008

(since I know some may ask, here's the info for this photo: Canon 5D camera; Canon 16-35mm f2.8L lens; natural light from window; camera settings 640 ISO / manual setting / 1/60 sec shutter / f3.2 aperture; edited for color in Adobe Lightroom - utilizing my preset; edited for soft-focus look in Adobe Photoshop CS3 - utilizing clone stamp tool)

technorati tags: photography, self portrait

The Current State of My Armpits

I got very excited this past weekend during a late night Wal-Mart run while I was staying with my sister. Entirely too excited. It must have been all the secondhand smoke from the dark country bar we were in for an hour and a half (NOT drinking, but eating three different varieties of fried foods - pepper cheese balls, onion rings, and hot wings). Either that, or it was the fact that I had been too close to the paint thinner earlier that evening.

Basically, I got giddy over seeing Vanilla Chai-scented deodorant as we passed the aisle. So giddy that I had to stop and sniff it and marvel over "sweet-smelling deodorant, it's like I've been waiting for it my whole life!" at 12:30 in the morning. And of course, I HAD to buy it.

Well...that and a container of soy protein shake mix.

The lesson here? Don't go to Wal-Mart when you really should just be unconscious somewhere under a blanket.

(p.s. I do have Vanilla Chai-scented armpits at the moment, by the way. Jealous?)

To Tattoo Yourself

I had an opportunity to go to a local avant-garde fashion show last weekend, and backstage was definitely interesting. I might post a few shots of the outfits later. For now, here is one of the makeup artists working on a model. When I went back over the photos I noticed her tattoo again, and I wondered what it was that made that little guy significant enough to her to put him on her shoulder blade for all time.

I've tossed the idea around in my head a few times over the past several years about getting a tattoo of my own, something tiny and non-imposing but significant in some way to me personally. I've gone back and forth and back again between thinking it's a great idea and thinking it's a stupid one. The problem I run into when I'm thinking it's the most brilliant idea of all time is that I can't come up with something that would be meaningful enough to me to want to live with forever.

Personally, for me to commit to something like that would necessitate that it be some thing or phrase that reminds me of how I want to live when I look at it, or reaffirms something I want to always be thinking...you get the idea. I wouldn't go to the trouble just for a little butterfly or some insignificant symbol. I have come to the point where I figure, no sense in getting one unless that Perfect Thing hits me one day. If it does, I'll know. If not, my mother can continue to live blissfully happy that her child is unmarred.

My question to you is this:
Do you want to get a tattoo one day? Even if you can't fathom it, pretend for a moment that you would actually consider one. What do you think you'd want it to be? If you have one or more already, what are they of? Which ones, if any, do you regret?