Today I met with Jake, an “Associate Planner” from a wealth management company who gave a presentation on smart financial planning at Active a few weeks ago. Since the words “planning” and “smart” more often pertain to my successful procurement of a sober driver for the evening than my finances, I forgave Jake the motivational quotes and marathon metaphors in his Power Point and took him up on his free employee consultation.
Man I’m Judgmental: Part II
It’s been a really long time since I’ve written about one of my stances. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had plenty of unnecessarily bitter opinions about life’s trivial annoyances since blogging about the mutual disappointment Jenny and I felt when America selected Taylor Hicks as its Idol (not that we were wrong; does anyone even remember Uncle Taylor and the way he embarrassed the family by dancing on TV anymore?), but I haven’t had the motivation to put any of them down on paper until now. Lucky for you all, I’ve been back in California for just under two weeks and I’ve already become so irritated by the driving situation here that I’m ready to boldly publish my latest stance:
The cell phone law in California is fucking ridiculous.
Can I get an Amen?
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the controversy over Obama inviting the evangelical pastor Rick Warren to deliver the invocation prayer at his inauguration in January. At first I sort of scoffed at all the political gays who were up in arms about Obama’s decision to include someone so openly hostile toward the homos on this important day. I mean, give the poor man a break – there are too many deeply divisive issues in today’s political landscape to find a speaker who wouldn’t be considered offensive to SOMEONE. He can’t have Wayne Brady lead the prayer for Christ’s sake. And sure, Warren has made statements lumping gays in with child molesters and sibling fuckers, but who hasn’t? As the passage of Proposition 8 reminded us all back in November, there are plenty of people in even the most liberal of states who find us undeserving when it comes to basic human rights because of our deviant lifestyle. Obama gave us a subtle show of support during his first speech as president-elect, let him court the other side in the name of political compromise this time around. Let’s swallow our pride and stand behind him with the hope that bowing our heads for a prayer from a homophobe will buy us some legislation from Washington that will significantly advance our cause – obviously we’re not doing so hot on our own.
God Bless America
Last night I went to the classy Blue Chip Inn of Monticello, Iowa to watch the presidential election. If the half-assed effort I put into my Political Science major yielded anything other than a degree that makes me virtually unemployable, it’s a healthy cynicism toward the political process, particularly the ability of one candidate to make any significant change. Still, as I watched Obama deliver his acceptance speech, I was drawn in by his charisma and passion (and the fact that he gave a shout out to the homos in the first few minutes), and I actually began to feel a sensation that resembled genuine hope. It could have been the beers talking – I was expressing my patriotism by downing Sam Adams Winter Ale for $1.75 a pint (hella value) – but I really did find myself getting the chills despite Barack’s occasional platitude. As I watched my country take an enormous step toward equality, I started to experience something that for the past few years has been unfamiliar to me: a pride in my president and my citizenship.
Longer. Less funny. More bitter. Part II.
Jenny’s US Weekly recently told me that my future wife Idina Menzel and her husband Taye Diggs are still going strong. I’m expecting her coming out announcement to rock Broadway any day now, but I am reluctant to report that I am not yet writing this as one of the paparazzi hounded halves of Mardina or Bluezel. Shockingly, I’m not dating any A-list celebrities at the moment, and frankly I’m becoming a bit anxious. It’s been nearly two years since the blog in which a younger, more brazen Marea claimed that her shitty job history would inevitably result in fame, fortune and a celebrity couple name fusion indicating an ultimate level of unearned Hollywood success.
An Old One (Circa Summer 2006): Wardrobe Malfunction
Today, against my better judgment, I decided to go dress shopping all by myself. Some background: my aunt is getting married on Sunday, and after a few unsuccessful attempts at shopping with my girlfriend who, frustrated with my indecisiveness, disdain for all things polka dotted (polka dots, as it turns out, are very in), and refusal to “suck it in” while trying on clingy fabrics, finally just stuck me in the tried and true dressy dyke outfit – khaki pants and a white collared shirt.
procrastinating…
As many of you know, I’m graduating this quarter, and all week I’ve been getting sentimental about my college career coming to an end. Case in point: I actually teared up at the gym this morning when I realized that I was probably doing my last on campus workout ever. So, as a tribute to all the good times I’ve had – getting over my chubby phase, rehabbing the chicken leg, Operation 10lbs. – I just wanted to give some quick goodbye shout outs to my favorite Rimac regulars who were there through it all. (Ok if we’re being honest, I didn’t get that emotional, I’m just avoiding writing a paper, so please indulge me. I know all you kids are procrastinating on “The Book” right now too, so this one’s for you, slackers.)
My longest blog ever is about flip cup. Does that make me sad or awesome?
While up in the Bay Area for Christmas, I attended a party at the home of a few of my brother’s friends and eagerly attempted what I have come to consider the world’s most impossible task: initiating a satisfactory game of flip cup outside my bubble of ruggers. This was not the first time I had burdened myself with the responsibility of being the coolest kid at the party (which in this case unfortunately meant being “the intense girl who broke up a perfectly nice game of beer pong and ended up yelling at everyone”) with disappointing results, but I still managed to come away baffled by the ability of seemingly competent-at-life partygoers to so thoroughly ruin one of my favorite pastimes.
Protected: The Few, The Proud, The Turleys (The password is what Shaina says to express her affection to us, all one word.)
“I’d like to give a shout-out to little ray ray and request the new Danity Cane”
Dear Radio Morning Show Hosts (particularly of the hip-hop persuasion),
I don’t like you and you don’t like me. You are higher on my list of “pet peeves” than personalized license plates, Ashlee Simpson, dogs in purses, and the phrase “pet peeves”. In my opinion, your job places you on a lower rung of society than say, the guy responsible for scraping puke off an arena floor after a metal concert.
Occupation: Cubicle Monkey 