Cheeseblarg's Ornament-O-Rama Project

If you'll remember from my many mentions, I was raised Jewish, which means that we didn't have Christmas trees... what with the not celebrating Christmas and stuff.

But now that I am an adult, and my family either lives with me or a couple blocks away, I insist on celebrating Christmas every year. I must make clear, I am totally in it for the festivities, and not for any religious reason at all. I will seriously celebrate any holiday where I can give or get presents, and make ridiculous amounts of food.

I don't begrudge other people their faith, as long as they are not jerks about it, in which case I might say snarky things behind their backs, but I just like being nice and celebrating things, so now my family is forced to celebrate Christmas (which is actually awesome this year since Hanukkah is super early, it would be utterly disappointing to twiddle our thumbs all through December).

In the past couple years, I have made do with my paper craft Christmas tree.

It is super cute, and I love it, but I wanted a REAL (fake) Christmas tree, so when everything was discounted after the holidays last year, my mom bought me a half-priced tree friend. Since, unlike everyone else in the world who has a lifetime's worth of decorations saved up, I have... none, I got myself a few ornaments as the leftover Christmas stuff got more and more reduced. However, since I'm a nerd, I ended up with about 7 ornaments that pleased me and stayed within the ever sucking budget of a starving artist.

Quick math problem here:

LOL I can't count.

As bitchin' as my Stay Puft Marshmallow Man ornament is, I don't think it is going to carry the whole tree, so I am launching, RIGHT NOW:

The Cheeseblarg Ornament-O-Rama Project.

As you have seen from my previous posts on the subject, I am working on my own ornaments, but I was reading Sonja's blog, Pintester, and I thought it would be awesome, and likely hilarious, if she and I got together to challenge people to make ornaments for my first ever family tree, since I feel like the Cheeseblargians and my fellow Pintestes are my internet family anyway. And since she agreed, here were are!

While I would love to have nerdy ornaments that are catered to my favorite themes:

• Zombies
• Bacon
• Cats
• Dinosaurs
• Cupcakes (or sweets in general)
• Ghostbusters
• Doctor Who
• Back to the Future Trilogy
• Beetlejuice
• Star Wars and Trek
• Video Games
• Llamas
• Narwhals
• Anything I have mentioned loving on da blarg
• Absolutely not a whale under any circumstance

I will pretty much be happy with whatever I get as long as it is not particularly religious, or a dead animal that hasn't been properly taxidermied, or a live animal, or actual poop, OR a swastika ... even a really cute swastika. No matter how badly crafted it is (pin fails are awesome), I will totally put it on my tree.  Unless it is a whale... in which case I will cry and cower in a corner.

I will be making a post on Black Friday with photographs of each ornament on my tree featuring links to blogs or shops of anyone who has sent me an ornament, so that your pages receive extra traffic, and hopefully sales (if you are a seller of crafts).

So there is your challenge: Ornament me!

The Fussy Details:

• Ornaments need to be to me by November 21st. I want to have plenty of time to arrange and photograph ornaments, as well as code the subsequent post.

• Please, be sure to include your name, email address, and blog address (and/or online shop address) with your ornament so I can give you proper credit.

• Please, don't send me things that you want back. I hope to make these ornaments part of my yearly tradition.

• You don't HAVE to make your own ornament-- I will happily accept purchased ornaments, BUT I need you to include the maker in your credit information so everyone gets the traffic they deserve.

• I will also accept garlands and other things that trees traditionally wear (except toppers... I will cover that one).

• All packages can be sent to:

J Rose
[address redacted]

And finally, for my readers, please consider blogging about your ornament making experience and entering it in Pintester's "Pintester Movement," should you get inspiration for your ornament from Pinterest.



Here is a link to Cheeseblarg's Ornament-o-Rama board on Pinterest, also, in case you would like some further inspiration.

Portal

Do you ever have those dreams where you're in school and you're supposed to be going to a certain class but you realize you haven't gone to that class in like... 8 weeks, and so now it feels like it would just be embarrassing to show up and be all, "Hey, algebra class, I'm back...oh... we have a test? Shit. Also, why am I only wearing a towel?"

Yeah, well that is why I haven't posted anything for like a month.  I took the 22nd off because it was husband's birthday, and then it spiraled into, "Well, shit, I can't go back... I don't have an excuse for not posting now." Only, I do have an excuse...

That is not entirely true, I guess. I have a whole list of things I could write about that I haven't... like the fact that there is a portal to another dimension that has followed me around since I was a child.

In 1984, my parents bought me and my sister a Barbie Silver 'Vette. It was entirely bitchin'.

source

Unfortunately, when we went to put it together, there was a piece missing, the roll bar that held the back window on... not that that really bothered Barbie much. She was well aware that rolling her Corvette without the roll bar was going to do her no harm because her head is made of soft plastic, and it had seat belts. It was just kind of a bummer because the box was sealed, and a piece was missing. I still had loads of fun playing with it for the next 8 years.

Several months later, however (or maybe weeks, I don't know, time is exponentially more wibbly wobbly when you're an 8 year old), I was rummaging in a closet in my grandmother's den, and there was the friggen roll bar, just hanging out with some sensible shoes and a few scarfs.

In the past 29 years, I have had all sorts of things disappear and then reappear at a later time, but I was reminded of the 'Vette incident when we recently had our kitchen and pantry floors redone. My husband stashed as much as he could in cabinets and then moved everything else out of both of the rooms. When everything came back, the lids to all of our pots were gone. We looked through every cabinet, every box, in the basement, EVERYWHERE.

A month or so later, I was sitting next to the kitchen sink, waiting for water to boil, and I thought, 'Eh, I know we've looked under the sink a bajillion times, but why the hell not?' and I peeked in the cabinet and the motherfuckers were sitting right there out in the open.

Seriously, we had pulled everything out of there. They weren't there, and then, all of a sudden, they were.

I have thus surmised that it has to be an inter-dimensional portal that is responsible for the phasing of my belongings in and out of my environment. It is really the only thing that makes sense.

Not Trying To vs. Trying Not To

I have come across many people in my life who don't seem to know the difference between "not trying to do something" and "trying not to do something." For instance a person elbowing you in a booth at a restaurant, because you are left handed and the person to your left is right handed and you are trying to stay in your space but they keep ELBOWING YOU and finally you say "Hey, could you not do that please?" and their retort is usually, "I wasn't trying to elbow you..." with a shitty sneer, because they are likely your sibling and so they have that sneer for no reason you can ascertain because you are a darling little sister and/or brother and you don't know what you have done to deserve this treatment and it's probably just hormones but it hurts your feelings and arm, nonetheless, and really, their retort means nothing because what you wanted from them is that they try NOT to elbow you because you think your arm might be beginning to bruise.

So here are some handy graphics to illustrate the difference between "not trying to" and "trying not to" for people who may not recognize the difference:

(image sources:  Kim Jong Un & Dalai Lama)

Nope, Kim Jong Un is not TRYING to start a war. He wants to bomb the crap out of us, but not really looking for a war. Dalai Lama on the other hand, totally peaceful and awesome, and speaking of awesome...

(image sources Jennifer Lawrence & Ann Coulter)

I think we can all agree that Jennifer Lawrence is absolutely awesome without trying... and that Ann Coulter is absolutely succeeding at not being awesome.

And two videos to illustrate our last set, which also illustrates how to be a creepy Weeping Angel Kitty...

Not trying to make noise

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=47AH9LBqm8s 

Trying not to make noise

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fzzjgBAaWZw

The Day I Stopped Smoking Cloves.

A (n unfortunately true) Cautionary Tale

And in case you can't read my chicken scratch:

Remember that time in high school that I went to Dick Clark's American Bandstand 

to hit on my adult neighbor who was DJing there? And I was smoking clove cigarettes? 

And then I threw up in my hair? And  on the dance floor... and in their bathroom sink

because all the bathroom stalls were taken? 

Good times...good times.

Hanukkah 2012: 1st Night- Gangsta Hanukkah

HAPPY HANUKKAH, BITCHES!

I like you guys so much that I got you two videos to watch for this, the first night of the Festival of Lights.  They are verbally offensive, which makes for the best videos really... so unless you want your kids repeating  foul phrases for the in-laws, you should probably watch these sans kids (or people who get upset by the n-word). 

The Hanukkah Bush is a sensitive subject for me. Now, I grew up in Miami Beach, which means that pretty much everyone I knew was Jewish, and it also means that until I was a teenager and went to school in Greater Miami where they actually had Christians, I knew pretty much nothing about Christmas traditions... except for Christmas Trees, which I knew mostly, from "The Grinch Who Stole Christmas," because we didn't watch any other Christmas specials in my house. The Grinch, that was it. 

I didn't care about Santa, or wreaths, or stockings, but the idea of having a tree in your house that you got to decorate was of great interest to me. But my mom was having nothing of it.  My sister and I plead our case, but we were met with "There is no such thing as a Hanukkah Bush!" which I think was code for, "I'm not spending money to put a dead tree in our living room just so you can hang shit on it."

My first winter in my own apartment, I got my own Christmas Tree. It was totally worth it, too.

Don't forget... there will be a present every day for EIGHT WHOLE DAYS, so don't forget to come back after sunset each day!

The Best of the Bad: The Horror of my Youth

For Halloween this year, I wanted to share with you some of my favorite BAD horror movies. By bad, I mean of course, good, but bad.  They are not polished or necessarily deep, nor would the acting in them win any awards, other than a Razzie, mayhaps, but they are some of my favorites of all time.

(for those viewing by RSS, there are trailers for each video on the actual blarg)

The Stuff (1985)

The acting is really horrible (as you can see in the trailer), but it is really amusing, and only slightly gross.

Sleepaway Camp (1983)

This has it all, sex, gore, graphic nudity, witty teenaged banter, creepy older men trying to hump teenagers, bad acting, and it is fairly bizarre to boot. The ending has apparently made it a cult classic, so join the cult. The kool aid is delicious.

Frankenhooker (1990)

 The VHS box of this at our local video store, when I was in high school, had a button on it that would declare "Hey, wanna date? Got some money?" when pushed. This was repeated by me and friends throughout high school and college, which got me some weird looks, let me tell you. It is hysterical, though, and bizarre and icky (not really gorey like things are today, but icky all the same). And did I mention it is funny. Horror comedy at its best.

House (1986)

Again, funny, and scary.  There is some good creature work in this and it stars The Greatest American Hero! My sister and I watched this as young teens, and then made our dad watch it with us because we thought it was really good and really scary.  He spent the first 5 minutes asking us "Is this the scary part?" and declaring "This doesn't seem very scary." And then, he spent the rest of our teenaged years terrifying us by sneaking outside to press his face against random windows, since he looks like one of the scary characters in the movie. He might be the reason I have intestinal issues.


Invaders from Mars (1986)

This movie has always been one of my favorites. It is unfortunate that it is not on DVD, but it can be viewed in entirety on YouTube.  It is a  remake of the 1953 Invaders from Mars that nods to the original. This movie fascinated me as a kid, and is more suspense and creepy sci-fi than flat-out horror, really, though it does have some creepy creature design done by Stan Winston who is responsible for some of the best special effects in cinema (Alien, The Thing, Edward Scissor Hands, seriously, the man is legend).


So, now that I have shared my favorites of the B rated horror classics, that I hope you will check out for Halloween, what would you recommend I watch?

J-san Learns Japanese

I am learning Kana while hanging out with my friend for my annual birthday trip.  Kana, for those of you who are not the sort of person who has all the written languages of the world memorized, is what part of the Japanese written language is called.  It breaks down to Hirigana and Katakana, both of which I am currently trying to learn.

As usual, I end up sounding like I have Tourrette's while attempting to read out loud.

I went to Japan when I was 3.  I don't remember much but toys and big silver and glass buildings, and lots of neon.  My mother informs me that I threw up in my father's pocket while in a Teppanyaki restaurant, before I freaked out screaming, terrified of knife throwing ninja chefs. I can't be sure that the same wouldn't happen if I manage to get back there, but I would love to go!

One-Uppers and Grief Shamers

While writing my post about Suffering Magnets, I came to the realization that I may be a One-Upper.

You know, those people who tell you something of equal or greater horror when you tell them something bad that happened to you?


I don't mean to be a One-Upper, it is just that people tell me something has happened to them and then, in an effort to relate, I tell a story about something similar that has happened to me, which usually tends to be a bit more terrible because, as we have established, things are always bafflingly fucked up in my life. So I hear the words just flowing out of my head and I think, 'SHUT UP, JUST SHUT UP. They think you are playing the Grief Olympics.. they think you are an asshole, just shut the hell up'... but OMG it just feels so good to share grief, to remove it from your stupid jerk head and let it out into the world like a little grief dragon, to let it stretch and spread its wings after keeping it cooped up in your belfry of a brain ALL THE TIME.

I'd like to quietly listen and say, "Oh jeepers! That is just so awful, you poor person, what can I do?" but it is rarely what ends up happening. Even though I try... really really hard.

 But in no way am I trying to be a Grief Shamer.

Grief Shamers are the type of people who won't let you have a second of complaining without reminding you that no matter what you are are upset about, other people have it 7 billion times worse so you should just STFU and be glad your grandpa was eaten by a tiger because your ENTIRE FAMILY could have been eaten by A STREAK OF TIGERS EQUIPPED WITH LASERS!

I don't even believe in shaming "First World Problems."  I think sharing suffering make it suck less and there is no shame in that. So, if people wanna complain to me about Bravo's Twitter team spoiling the winner of Top Chef for every time zone other than Eastern, like a bunch of assholes, or finding that their bag of chips is lacking in delicious powdered flavor, I have no problem with that. I just have a problem if you don't want to hear about the time my Chili Cheese Fritos were kinda flavorless, too, and were full of bees that stung my throat and I had to go to the emergency room, but I couldn't get in because it was full of wolves... with lasers.

Dr. Pants- Watching the World End : A Review... kinda.

Approximately 2 weeks ago, some version of this conversation happened:

I also informed the awesome Dr. Pants that I am terrible at reviewing stuff and fail, often, at doing things on time, despite best intentions. However, my desire to not embarrass myself by looking like some flighty jerk outweighed my overwhelming need to not prioritize things that I am not paid to do (because I am not being paid for this review, or compensated in any way, I really am doing it because their rocking concert in The Bloggess' bathroom turned me into a fan, and because I was assured that drawing songs wasn't a cop out) so here we go... BEFORE DEADLINE, BITCHES!

Watching the World End is Dr. Pants' new EP, scheduled for release on April 28, at which time you should totally go and buy the hell out of it. The EP is the third of a four-part series entitled THE TRIP.

The album is fun and funny, a mixture of funk and nerdy rock.  It consists of 6 songs, all of which I illustrated, and all of which are worth listening to. I know that doesn't sound like much of a recommendation, but as I advised, I suck at reviewing and when I say something is worth listening to, it means it is actually enjoyable and good.  Now on to my illustrations!

Robot Spiders 

This is by far my favorite song on the album because the story it tells is so much fun. Don't even take my word for it, listen for yourself!

Collections

This song has nothing to do with cats, I don't think, as it is an instrumental. I just wanted a reason to draw cat buttholes since all the cool bloggers feature cat buttholes and it makes them famous. Also, I like the idea of a living collection, because it is awful, just awful. Unless you collect cats, in which case, I don't mean to insult you, but really... there might be something wrong with you.

No Funkies

I am reminded of the hip coffee culture in my college town of Gainesville, FL listening to this song, for some reason.  It is entirely funky and so catchy I find myself singing it randomly. "We don't want no funkies in here."

Natalie

Very reminiscent of Weezer, this song is, and again, catchy. It also reminds me of the 80s, probably because it stirs up my first feelings of unrequited love when, in 6th grade, I was sitting and in my closet talking to Jorge Herrera on my cheeseburger phone and I said "Oh Jorge, I like you so much, I would do anything for you!" and he said "Oh really, well, could you tell Susan that I like her!" Susan was my best friend. I said "Ok..." and then hung up and cried for a while. This song would have made me feel better at the time. Especially if I had sung it while punching Jorge in the face.

Dog -> Hurricane

There are times when the melodies in this song remind me of Ween, and that is a good thing in my book. It waxes philosophic on the Butterfly Effect in true nerd style, starting at the title of the song that uses mathematical notation, and it makes me smile.  Especially when picturing a villainous dog. I know, these damned descriptions will do you no good unless you hear the songs.  That is the point. LISTEN TO THE SONGS... when they are available, of course. April 28th!

I Am Yours

This is a sweet and intimate upbeat love song and I am a jackass for illustrating it as I do with Spiderman and Harry Potter (complete with Triwizard Tournament Trophy), but it should not be news that I am a jackass.

So there you go. I appreciate being given the chance by Dr. Pants to share this music with you guys, and I hope that you will listen to the album when it comes out and you will enjoy it as much as I did. Also, I'd like a Robot Spider when available, guys. You know where to reach me for shipping details.

JRose in Wolf's Clothing

When I was a kid, I used to try to trick my mom into thinking I was dead. I would lay on the bedroom floor with my legs at weird angles and send my sister to go get my mom to report my untimely demise. I'd lie there, my tongue sticking out, giggling, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling as I waited for my sister to cross the expanse of our house to go get her. I don't think my sister was really selling it though because no one ever came running, it was always just a saunter in to the doorway, where she would look in, nod and then leave. She might have given me an "Oh no... JRose is dead." in a totally unconvincing voice... but I really wasn't that great of a thespian. I wouldn't bother with blood, or bones sticking out, or vacating my bowels. I pretty much stopped at not blinking and holding my breath, all the while grinning.

Some day, I fear, I will fall and end up dead on the floor and she will find me and think, once again, that I am kidding and I will lay there rotting until someone else notices.

_____________________________________________________

And once again, I am entered in an art contest that requires clicks to get me back to NYC. 

A click would be friggen awesome.

Just click COLLECT ME at the top to vote for my art to be shown in Times Square.

[link removed]

And tell your friends... tomorrow maybe, so they don't think it is an April Fools joke.

Why I am a follower RE: SOPA and PiPA

So I blacked out the blarg to support the total eradication of SOPA and PiPA (though I could totally go for some sopa, since it is so cold outside- that's a spanish joke). The thing is, I have been an artist for a very long time, and in that time, I have both had my art stolen, and been accused of stealing art. Every time my art was stolen, I used the laws ALREADY in place to get the work taken down, and every time I was accused of stealing art, it was because the person accusing me was an asshole.

For example, a gentleman posted a lovely nude photo of himself in a community I belonged to and I said, "My, that is lovely, may I paint it?" and he said
"Oh yes, I would love to be painted!"
And then I painted his lovely nude picture (digitally, because I paint digitally), and when I showed it to him, he said, "WELL, IF I KNEW YOU WERE JUST GOING TO PUT A FILTER ON IT I WOULDN'T HAVE LET YOU USE MY IMAGE!!!!!" presumably because he thought having an altered photo of him in the world altered his soul or something, though my painting was indeed a painting and not just some filtered image.
And so I replied, "I'm sorry, if I had known that you expected me to be unable to paint convincingly and realistically, I wouldn't have bothered taking time to paint your ass (literally) for free." and then I took it down, and then I told the internet about it 8 years later, because that guy was a douche.
There was also the craptacular time that my elementary school had a contest to draw a new tiger mascot for a wall mural, with a cash prize, and I was disqualified because they thought I had traced my entry instead of having drawn it from scratch. I had drawn it from scratch. Being a good artist doesn't pay sometimes.



But the point is, SOPA and PiPA want to make it so that this site could be taken down if they even suspect that I am breaking someone's copyright. No due process, no questions, just gone... and that is not okay.  There are already laws that cover piracy and maybe we copyright holders need more avenues for recourse, but creating sweeping laws that take away our freedoms in the hopes that it might help get rid of copyright violation outside the US is ultimately not helpful. They need to find a better way. So, that was what that was all about.

p.s. Don't forget to get your animal high fives in before midnight my time. cheeseblarg at live dot com

A.A.A.D.D.

Dearest parents (especially mother), you should either not read this or, if you insist upon doing so, you should take a lot of illicit date rape sorts of drugs before reading this so you don't recall it and never discuss it with me. Let's go with never reading it, okay? Awesome. 


I'm not kidding either. 
Okay, on to the post ...


I was just reminded, when the boy I had a crush on in middle school added me on Facebook, that I was a fucking psycho when I was a teenager.  I think I owe pretty much everyone with a penis (who was not an immediate member of my family) that I knew from the ages of 11- 19 a major apology.  See, when I say "the" boy I had a crush on, I mean ONE of the 7 billion boys I had a crush on, but  definitely the one I spent the most time terrorizing, from my recollection. No, wait, the one I spent the most time terrorizing in eighth grade, and also part of 7th. I terrorized the hell out of a bunch of guys. I had a problem... we shall refer to it as attention and affection deficit disorder (AAADD).
I was  really bad, as a teenager, at ascertaining when someone was attracted to me. That is, people for the most part, weren't attracted to me, but if they were willing to make eye contact with me, or respond to me when I spoke and I found them even the remotest bit attractive, I was pretty sure they were in love with me. Or maybe it was that I was pretty sure I was in love with them, and any modicum of attention convinced me that the feeling was mutual or could, through repeated pestering and writing of REALLY bad poetry, be cultivated.

If you could imagine Chris Farley.. hell, you don't have to imagine. Here is a clip.

Yes, that was me, only quite a bit cuter. But the thing is, there was no chance of me having any sort of normal relationship with anyone at that time because responding to me was enough to set me off in a pattern of psychotic smothering attention. If I could just get my foot in the proverbial door, they were sure to adore the ever loving shit out of me... but the reality of it was, they were more than likely terrified of me, because my attention was fairly terrifying. And that was when I wasn't thinking of anything more than just holding hands and pop kisses.  I was probably about 42 times more terrifying when I was trying to seduce every male who interacted with me, not excluding my 9th grade Math substitute, some weird French guy who owned a leather furniture design company who may have been in his late 40s, my best friend, who was a male (the poor guy), C.B. Barnes, and our 25 year old neighbor.

Of course, people who WERE actually attracted to me, I was oblivious of.  If they approached me first, I was suspicious and bitchy.  Yup, bitchy is the word for what I was, in that it is a word that doesn't start with a C that would probably be a better word for how I acted, but people seem to have an aversion to that word for some reason that I am unable to fathom. Anyway, I mean that I was a jerk version of crazy when I wasn't being otherwise crazy and writing, have I mentioned, REALLY horrible poetry... like the kind where each line starts with a letter of the boy's name, and which I carefully calligraphized on floofy purple stationary that I might have rubbed on a perfume sample page of a beauty magazine so he knew it was from a girl and that I then stuck in his locker. After I stalked him and saw that he had seen the poem and hadn't come running to confess his love for me, though he was one of the most sought after boys in school and I had no concept of "out of your league,"  I then carefully extracted said horrible purple calligraphied poem out of his locker while pretending to go to the bathroom, so that it couldn't be used to humiliate me any worse than I had already done myself. Wait that wasn't clear. I meant, I asked my teacher to go to the bathroom so I could stop by his locker and go mission impossible on it, not that I was pretending to pee while I was shoving my fingers through the air holes of the locker to get the embarrassing fucking thing out.

Anyway, yeah, sorry boys, and maybe some girls too, for making you uncomfortable and for being unable to handle having female hormones. I'm much more balanced now, though I am still prone to bouts of adult AAADD... I am just aware of things like restraining orders and mace now, so I have toned it down and there is nothing to be afraid of. And also sorry for the poem. You didn't deserve that. Nobody deserves that... nobody.

Why you should leave aversion therapy to the professionals.

I hate black pepper. You know, the seasoning, that everyone in the world uses, that makes people sneeze? Yes. I hate it. And I hate it, I realized a few years ago, because I was conditioned, as a child, to hate it.

Here is a pro-tip for you: If you decide that it is a good idea to do DIY aversion therapy on your grandchild to get her to stop sucking her thumb by mixing something bad tasting into nail polish that is placed on her thumbnail, don't use a common spice that will be in her food for the rest of her life. Unless you want to be a dick, in which case, go for it.

Evil Mike: A Cautionary Tale

The summer before my 10th grade year, I met my first boyfriend, Evil Mike*, over the phone while at my friend Veronica’s house.  Because I was awkward and weird and had REALLY low self-esteem, I immediately agreed when Evil Mike, after talking to me for a week or so, asked me to be his girlfriend.  This happened over the phone, of course, and I had not actually seen him yet, as the internet didn‘t exist so I couldn‘t force him to send me a picture before I accepted. I thought he was funny enough though, in a fart joke sort of way, and his voice was very attractive, which, you should know, is never indicative of how someone actually looks, but Veronica had assured me that he was “totally fine” so I figured I was good.

Yes, Clint Eastwood is my ultimate measure of sexiness, thank you.

I was still 14 when I agreed to his proposal of datitude, even though I was forbidden from actually dating, so our first date required the “best friend secret rendezvous” maneuver, wherein I’d spend the night at my friend Katriya’s house (because she was the friend my family liked/trusted the most) so I could do things my parents didn’t want me to do because they were bad bad ideas.  I got all dressed up in my sexiest acid wash mom jeans and an off-the-shoulder tube shirt with a horrendous flower pattern and applied my iridescent tan lipstick and off we went to meet him and his friend at Loehmann’s Plaza, where we were going to see Child’s Play III.

Katriya and I sat outside on a planter that doubled for an ashtray, nervously waiting for him to make his first appearance.  “Over there, that’s him!” Her voice was not kind  as she pointed at the pair of heshers coming out of the arcade.  “Veronica LIED!” I hissed at her as she began to laugh. Please let it be the blonde, please let it be the blonde, fuck, of course it’s not the blonde.  His friend was fairly attractive.  He, on the other hand, totally wasn’t.  He wasn’t much taller than I was, fancied himself a body builder, but his frame didn’t support it well so he just looked a bit like a tall little person. Beyond that, he had a mullet, but not just any mullet, it was a super mexi-mullet. And he was wearing a fitted jean jacket with Eddie Van Halen air brushed on the back of it. I wanted to flee. To pretend it wasn’t me, but it was too late. He had spotted me.

We bought tickets.  I can’t remember if he bought my ticket for me or if I had to buy my own. I spent the whole movie alternating between chastising myself for my desire to dump him on the spot because he was so repulsive to me and thinking how incredibly awful the movie was.  Really, have you seen Child’s Play III?! Serious crap! He spent the whole movie trying to touch my boobs and making me very uncomfortable by actually acting like he was my boyfriend. The only high point was that he smelled of Drakkar, which he might have bathed in.

Afterwards, we broke off from our friends and walked around the deserted outdoor mall. “So, what do you think?” I somehow realized he was asking me to assess his attractiveness. “Oh, yeah. You’re as fine they said.” I’m a liar, a dirty liar. Which should pay off right? Flattery and what not…  “And what about you?” Of course, he didn’t hold to the same principles that I did as his response was not flattering in the least. “Well, you’re not the beautiful flower they said you were, but you’re okay.”  He was entirely wrong.  I was an AMAZINGLY beautiful flower, and he was a jackass.

When I got back to Kat’s house, I called Veronica and informed her that she was a lying jerk, and she told me I was shallow (which I took to be a confession that she knew damned well that her pants were on fire) and she convinced me that I should give him a chance, which was a really bad suggestion, but somehow when you are 14 and you have really low self-esteem, you make really bad decisions, and instead of dumping him, like a sane person, I dated him for approximately two years.

Those were not two consecutive years, of course, because he would break up with me every couple of months/weeks/days because he was convinced I was either cheating on him at that moment, or was planning on cheating on him at any second, and I would cry and  plead with him not to dump me and he would declare that I just wanted to be with him because he was “sooooo fine.” Each time this declaration would come and each time it was really hard not to guffaw the moment he’d say it, but I somehow managed not to laugh openly at him and would assure him of all the stupid reasons I didn’t want him to break up with me, my level of attraction to him had ABSOLUTELY nothing to do with it.




* Evil Mike's name was coined after I started dating my husband, who is "good Mike" or just Mike.  But evil Mike was evil... or compared to all other Mikes who did not make my life miserable for 2+ years... Come to think of it, he wasn't really clever enough to be evil, I guess... he was really just a dick.. but Evil Mike has a better ring to it than "Dick Mike." 

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Remember, tomorrow is the last day to buy your Limited Edition September Sticker! 

http://cheeseblarg.blogspot.com/2011/09/september-sticker-sale-t-rex-wants-ice.html

The Mellowcreme Dilemma.

Brach's Assorted Halloween Mellowcremes candy makes me happy and reminds me of crunchy leaves, and cool winds, and corduroy pants, and the late 70s. It also reminds me that, although it is really cute and I love buying it, I don't like the way it tastes, at all.

Da dun, da dun...

Shark week has been near and dear to my heart since the first time I watched it, the summer before my 11th grade year.  As I've watched it through the years, it has always reminded me of my best high school boyfriend, Alex (who reads this blarg, incidentally, hi, Alex!) because it was in his living room, on his couch, that the greatness that is a week full of terrifying shark facts was introduced to me.
And sharks are friggen awesome.  I mean I wouldn't want to hang out with one necessarily, or like... be eaten by one... though it would make a good story, being eaten by a shark in Montana, far away from places where sharks live... but still, not really up for that. So yes, I like to watch things about sharks, because they are fascinating and it gives me great information on how to avoid being eaten by them... which again, is much less of an issue now, living in Montana, than it was when I was growing up 8 blocks from the Atlantic Ocean.

My favorite shark fact: Sharks use electrical impulses to know where to bite, instead of their eyes, which are covered when they go all bitey to protect them from injury due to animals fighting back, because animals really don't like being bitten.

What's your favorite shark fact?

The Value of Pie

There are a few books from my early childhood that really influenced who I am as a person (and a writer, I suppose). Each taught me things that formed my personality and sense of humor.

The King Who Rained by Fred Gwynne

One of my very favorite books EVER.  Beautiful illustrations, and very funny. The King Who Rained is full of homophone humor that instilled in me a love of word play and of picturing things in the funniest way possible. I guess I stole my whole schtick from this book, looking back at it.

Tikki Tikki Tembo by Arlene Mosel

This book appealed to me because it had such beautiful stylized illustrations and a cute story based on repetition. I remember it being read to us in the library, possibly by my mom, possibly by the librarian;  It was a long time ago. I learned from it to be succinct in my writing and speech, to get my point across when it was most important.

Where the Sidewalk Ends 

So many people love this book by Shel Silverstein, so I do not really have to expound upon its appeal. I did learn from it, though, that poems are better funny than serious, and dear lord, if I had only remembered that lesson in my mopey high school and college years when I wrote terrible embarrassing beat poetry that I, at least, had the decency to avoid reading aloud at the many awful and painful poetry readings I attended.

Amelia Bedilia by Peggy Parish

I never actually read this book, but it taught me a very important lesson.  And that lesson is, some people are total jerks and suck at their jobs and will shirk their own professional responsibilities off onto first graders instead of actually taking responsibilities for their own mistakes.

Obviously, there is more to this story.

When I was in first grade at Maryland Elementary School in Phoenix, Arizona, I loved reading and I utilized the school library as much as I was allowed.  Being the nerdpants I have always been, I was very respectful of the rules and always made sure I got my books back on time, because that was the rule of checking things out in the library, and you're supposed to follow rules.

Now this was a time when computers were things that took up entire rooms and were not available for frivolous things like library catalogs, and so everything was done by hand. You would write your name on the book's call card and the librarian would take the card out of the little pocket in the back and she would replace the card with a brightly colored piece of paper that was covered in rows of date stamps, and you would look at the last stamp on the page and that would be when you had to have your book back by... or else!

And so it happened one day, when the library sent their little slips to the teachers that kindly reminded the students that they had clearly not paid close enough attention to the OR ELSE caveat of borrowing books, and imparted to them that in their joy of reading, they had forgotten to bring back their books on time, that I found myself totally confused at receiving a slip that called for me to return "Amelia Bedilia" immediately.  I had never heard of this woman nor the book telling of her, and so I may have just ignored it, knowing it was quite obviously a mistake.

Until I went to check out another book.

The head librarian at Maryland Elementary was not the nicest lady in the world which is a nice way of saying, she was kind of a heinous bitch.  She was, in fact, the very same librarian who had been a terrible ogre when my dad had attended Maryland Elementary school 20 years earlier  And the problem was, she seemed to hate children, which is not the greatest personality trait for someone who works almost entirely with children, but these things happen.

Standing there with a book in my little hands, I pushed it over the checkout desk, eager to devour its story, only to have the crotchety old librarian cruelly tell me that I was banned from checking out books. I stood looking at her bewildered and then, she pulled out a call card. "Amelia Bedilia" she said, waving it in front of my face. I screwed up my face not understanding how this happened.

"But I never checked that book out.  I wouldn't know Amelia Bedilia if I fell over her!"

"Well, here is your name, in your handwriting on the card!"  And it was, it really was.

"But I didn't check that book out! The wrong card must have been put in the back of the book I checked out. I meant to sign for that one, and I returned that one, on time. I really did!"

And she looked at me, only considering what I said for a split second before she told me that it was my responsibility to check the call cards in books I checked out and that I would have to pay to replace Amelia Bedilia before I could check out any other books because I had signed for it, which seemed ridiculously unfair to me.  Even at that young age, I recognized that it was her responsibility, as the adult and the librarian, to make sure her library was in order, and her mistake was now costing me actual money (that is hard to come by when you are six) and was denying me the ability to fill my head with fanciful stories and beautiful illustrations and important information about narwhals that I would need later in life.


For many years, I held a grudge against Ms. Bedilia, which is a shame, because it was just the sort of silliness that I should have loved- a series based around a maid who had no grasp of idioms and so did exactly as told "dress the turkey for dinner, draw the curtains, etc." And THEN she manages not to get fired each time by making a super tasty pie.  Imagine the life lessons I could have learned from that!

Book Report: Being Emelle

When I was in elementary school, we were assigned book reports to write, and frankly, I had no idea how to write a book report.  I was already aware of spoilers from my Star Wars debacle, and I didn’t want to give away any important details and so they all sounded like blurbs selling the book:

And so, I always got really bad grades on my book reports.

It is not like I wasn’t reading the books, or that I didn’t understand what I was reading.  I love reading. I love books.  I just don’t particularly trust myself to tell people things about books without giving away the plot.  I’m the same way with movies.  My reviews usually go:  “It was entertaining.  I didn’t want to punch myself in the face for having spent 3 hours watching it.”

And so, when my friend, who is a kick-ass author, asked me, at a dinner we were at together, if I would want an advanced copy of her book to read on my Kindle and maybe review here, I said, “Yes! Totally! Sure! That would be awesome…” I’m actually hoping to review some other books in the future, so it will be good practice, and then I realized she probably would not be very pleased with me reviewing her book in my normal manner, which would be:

“I read Being Emelle by E.M. Stoops. This book totally kicked ass.  I stayed up way too late reading it, and then I woke up early and read it some more even though I was totally tired and treated everyone like crap the rest of the day because I had to interact with them when what I really wanted to do was go back and read about Emelle, and OMG, are they gonna kiss?! They’d better kiss! 

I liked this book. You should read it to find out what happens next!” 

 But while all of that is true, it is not entirely helpful. So here goes.  In Being Emelle, you get to follow an awkward and intelligent Emelle from early childhood through adulthood, learning about his philosophies,  how he deals with the strained relationship with his father, his wonderful supportive mom, and the great dynamics with his best friend, Annalyn, and his other classmates. I, quite honestly, dug the hell out of her book.  It was sweet, and funny, and a little sad, and it was incredibly sexy, and a little kinky, and it flowed really nicely.  It is an advanced copy though, so it needs a tad bit more editing, but not so much that it affected my desire to keep reading. So if you have a kindle and you’d like to read it to, you can find it over on Amazon.com. At least check out the sample!

Being Emelle by E.M. Stoops

It is also available on Nook, I am being told- find it here!

This is not a paid review.  It is my honest opinion of a book written by a friend.  She didn't even buy me a cup of bacon to get me to write this.  I just received a PDF of the book to read.  If I am ever paid for a review, I will certainly let EVERYONE know. 

I Double Dare Ya!

As a kid, I was obsessed with Double Dare, and when I say “as a kid,” I mean,  I was in high school and was WAY too old  to be interested in the show. In particular, it was Family Double Dare that caught my interest, because I figured, if I were able to get on the show, somehow, my family would  be sure to be the biggest winners of all time.

Well, no, not actually.  As long as we never had to do a physical challenge where my mom and I were involved, we would have been the biggest winners of all time.

If you are unaware of the format of the game show “Double Dare” it worked thusly:

You were asked general trivia questions and you could either answer if you knew it, OR if you thought the other family were a bunch of morons, you could DARE them to answer the question, and then of course, they wouldn’t know because they were knuckle-dragging idiots, and they would DOUBLE DARE you back and then you would get four times as much money for knowing the correct answer.

If for some reason, someone in your family didn’t know the answer, which pretty much wouldn’t have happened in my family because, between the four of us, we would have known EVERYTHING because we are all trivia GENIUSES, you could take a “physical challenge.”  And that is where it would have totally screwed us.

Both my sister and my dad are sporty types.  My dad grew up in a family full of boys, the smallest of whom was 6 foot tall, and they were all athletes.  Two of my uncles were professional athletes, in fact.  As I have mentioned before, we lived with our grandparents, the makers of this hoard of hulking jocks,  for a year, and my sister was taught to play football by my uncle Mike, the college all-star professional NFL quarterback.  I, on the other hand, had a penchant for crying when injured, or frustrated, or looked at, so I did a lot of jump roping while everyone else practiced valuable physical skills.  The one skill I did manage to foster was catching, probably to avoid being hit in the face with footballs, but that’s about it.
My mom, apparently, was kept in a cage like veal while growing up because while she is smart and funny and a creative cook, she is about as uncoordinated as they come.

So, we could have answered any question, but when it came to “physical challenges,” which included things like flipping rubber pancakes across a stage onto a tray your parent was holding, using a giant spatula,  while blindfolded and then dowsing them in “maple syrup” or filling a bowl with green slime to a certain fullness using only your head that has a bucket strapped to it, before 25 seconds is up,  it mostly likely would have ended with death and destruction.

And then there was the Obstacle Course at the end.  The winning family (read: MINE, obv.) would go through a course of 8 different stations, alternating family members, where you had to collect (and in many cases, find) an orange flag from each in a total of  60 seconds.  And again, my sister and dad would have done great, though at 6’4” my dad might have had some trouble getting through some of the obstacles.  And I might have done okay (I had serious fantasies about the sundae slide, in which I would conquer it with my mouth… though I was sure it was most likely not edible, it LOOKED like a big sundae.  Hell, I would still like to dig through a giant pool-sized sundae in pursuit of an orange flag) but I had my doubts that my mom would have gotten through her share of the obstacles and we never would have won a 13 inch TV or a Panasonic VCR or a Conair Hair Dryer.

My family doing the obstacle course would have been NOTHING like this, at all

And there was also the fact that I was about 5 years too old to be on the show. But otherwise, biggest winners EVER!