Disney Rehash

I did some more thinking this weekend, about how discontented I am. And as a member of a very selfish generation I've once again decided to shirk to blame. Disney, this one's on you too.
Every girl you've offered me was a malcontent. She didn't just want to be the best she could be, she wanted to get the heck out of town and start all over. Because she simply couldn't be held back by the support of a dopey father. She went out into the world to begin something new. It's just that something new always happened to be mucking up her entire life. And isn't that the dream?
If you don't believe me. Ask these guys.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w-V4KEnbYo0&feature=related

Listen, guys, there are rules

Listen up, I have real world knowledge. I know a thing or two about a thing or two. And of course, I'm adding to that list daily. Daily, guys. Well, maybe not daily, but surely weekly, right? Last week, my etiquette skill-set was broadened to DANCE CLUB RULES - but not just dance club, SOBER DANCE CLUB. (As a clarification, I was sober. The only sober one)

1.) GOTTA GET DAT SKIN: Dressing for the occasion.
Turns out, if you wear jeans and a reasonably cute shirt that covers your body and flat shoes, (optimal for dancing) you are OVER dressed. And by over, I mean, coverage wise. To fit in, one must wear ridiculous heels. Also, short short short short short dresses or skirts with tight tight and low cut shirts. Here's an example, I watched someone try to get to the ground floor from the third level of dance floor, and guess what. I saw her whole ass. Yep. Entire thing. So did everyone there, except, I might be the only one who remembers. Also, she didn't have underwear on. I'm glad I got the back view.

2.) PUMP IT UP: Having sex on the dance floor.
This is appropriate. I didn't know that until Saturday night. At a dance club, laying a woman down on (ON) the dance floor and rubbing pubic symphises together is okay. Not just rubbing, grinding. Hard. Grinding hard. This happened. With three couples surrounding me. I even watched one couple pretend to do (graphic link)  cunnilingus. It wasn't hot.

3.) ALL THE SINGLE LADIES: Don't bring your partner to the club.
I, personally, didn't have my man because dance clubs aren't his thing, but my friend Heather did. I overheard her, at least 3 times say, "I'm here with my husband." In turn, the pursuing party gets pissed and promptly finds another girl to grind. (see rule #2).

4.) I WANNA DANCE WITH SOMEBODY: Laughing at jokes.
This rule is split into two parties. I'm on the side of laughing at inappropriate jokes made by the DJ. However, many around me did NOT think Whitney Houston jokes were kosher this soon after her death. It was hilarious, though. No one seemed to be mad at me for laughing, so, honestly, for this one, follow your heart.

5.) SING IT OUT: Singing with strangers (even drunk ones)
Journey, Dexys Midnight Runners, Vanilla Ice - it's okay to know all the words. And when you do, sing the shit right out of them. Look to your left, look to your right, look out into the crowd - everyone is singing and singing loudly. It's amazing. Honestly. If people aren't too busy having dance club sex, they love that you love the song that is on. Eye contact will be made, eyes will get bigger with enthusiasm and together, you will sing. It will be wonderful and rewarding, and I'm not kidding about this. Here and there, throw a point toward the person with whom you are singing. They love it and so will you. Let the universe align while you are singing one hit wonders and classic rock. It feels like, even at 2:30 am with puke on the toilet seats and slutty girls and nasty boys gettin' busy near the speakers, it's okay to be at a club.


Hope this helps.

John Wayne Gacy Jr.: Sick...fascinating

I'm relatively awful at making friends. As evidenced by my last eight months in Indianapolis where I've made exactly no friends. Outside of the obvious issue of me never really leaving my apartment. I have this problem when I do meet people.

Guys, I love serial killers. See?! That's the problem. I don't love them. Well, no. I do. In a "as a human I should love all people" sort of way. But I do like them. See?! No. I don't like them. I think they're fascinating. The mental state of serial killers enthralls me. The psychopaths. The sociopaths. Call them what you will. The complete lack of empathy. Not just a lack, but a near lack of understanding of empathy.

It consumes my brain. I spend hours on wikipedia reading about them. Stumbling about sociopaths. That's not okay! It doesn't mean I'm a serial killer. I think it means the opposite.

I read about them and want to know so much because I can't wrap my head around the idea. It's sick, and yet I can't stop reading about them. I know more about psychopaths than most people I know.

Which is weird, sure, but I think it's only bad when I drop facts about specific ones into conversations. The people who know me mind less, because it's just like talking about sports or movies. No. It's not like that at all. It's weird. It's gross. But I can't stop reading about them. So to anyone who has ever met me, I apologize. You probably know more about John Wayne Gacy Jr. or the Bloody Benders or Dean Corll than you ever wanted to know. I can't apologize enough, but also did you know...

Disney says I need a pet and so much more

I got to thinking about Disney movies today. Outside of some of them being totally underrated because they're nothing like the story or just not flashy enough, I noticed something that I know influenced my brain. I could credit that to my family always having a dog, but I won't. I want to blame Disney for my seeming need to have pet.

Jasmine had Rajah the tiger. Pocahontas had Meeko the raccoon. Cinderella had all those mice. Belle had Filippe the horse. Rapunzel had Pascal the chameleon. Mulan had Mushu a dragon AND Crickee a cricket. Ariel, while half animal herself, had Flounder a blue tang AND Sabastian a crab Snow White had all of those woodland creatures. So did Aurora. Princess Eilonwy had Gurgi a dog. Esmerelda had Djali a goat. Olivia who was already a mouse still had Toby a basset hound. Wendy had Nana. Alice had Dinah.

What is that? Are girls so incapable that they cannot survive life without an animal friend? And why couldn't they find female human friends? Why are there no friends in the Disney world? Sure, Snow White had her dwarves. Aurora and Cinderella their fairies. Wendy had her brothers.

Where is the friendship component of life in Disney movies? It's really starting to bother me. I'll give it to Ariel because she's half fish, but why couldn't she make friends with any girls? Why doesn't she spend time with her sisters? She has six sisters, and the only time she spends with them is when she's getting ready in the morning, at which point she's completely ignoring them. All of them are surrounded by men. Men trying to control them or men trying to save them. Their mothers are evil. Their fathers are idiots. While Disney girls are getting themselves into all sorts of trouble that can only be rectified by falling in love after abandoning their evil mother or bumbling father the only real friends at their side are animals.

I recently had a debate with someone as to whether or not Esmerelda should be considered a Disney princess or not. It was decided she should be because she fit the bill. Because Belle wasn't really a princess, and Cinderella wasn't until the very end. But we can say Esmerelda is the princess of gypsies. She's put in danger by an evil man, and she's rescued by a gentler man she must fall in love with to be saved. Because that's what it is to be a woman. Your only friend is an animal, because animals don't quickly betray. Your father is a dummy or overbearing. Your mother is probably your step-mother, and she's undoubtedly evil. The only way you can live your life is if you fall in love, and the only way that can happen is if something truly dastardly happens to you.

I'll be a real woman some day.

Excuse me while I rant (aka: this is just the beginning)

I consider myself to be a connoisseur of sorts when it comes to customer service. I'm a consumer with lots of different businesses, but more importantly, I'm really ridiculously good at providing customer service. Really good. I'm not very good at lots of things, but this one, this one's my shining star. It's always been something I could do - relate and listen and care. I blame my dad, my dad's dad and mom, my mom's dad and my brother for this: we're all really good at it. When I was a social worker: good. When I was a server: good. When I library: good. So, I know bad service when I encounter it. And when I do, it's all-consumingly offensive. It's like a stinky, burning fart in the middle of a lily field. (Yeah, I did just say that).

Here's the history: I have acne. At one point in my life, I had terrible, horrible, bulbous acne that hurt and made me feel hatred towards myself and everyone else in the universe. I might have been vain, but mostly, I was heartbroken. When I was 12, I started using my first topical retinoid. When I was 18, my face exploded with "adult onset acne". I cried EVERY SINGLE DAY. I started going to Three Rivers Dermatology in 2002. This is when I fell in love with Dr. Sassmannshausen. He did things like listen to me cry and give me pep talks about my personality and remembered personal facts and tid bits. He wore funky ties and made jokes. He took serious and aggressive, but patient and comforting approaches. We, patiently, took my acne to the cleaners. He's awesome. I recommended him to at least 10 people in the last 10 years.

Somewhere along the line his practice has started taking itself way too seriously. It has a damn spa thingy attached to it (it's called Windy Ridge. WINDY RIDGE!!!), he has a staff of like 25 nurses and he's way too busy to interact effectively. This is great, right? His practice has boomed! Except, where does that leave the customer? Rushed and pushed around by nurses who cut off your sentences and have the same amount of bedside manner as a corpse? Yes. Sitting in a waiting room for 20 minutes to hold audience with the doctor for 2? Yes. Calling in to ask a serious question only to be redirected to 2 different people, ending up talking to the phone nurse who is, at best, kind of a jerk? Yes. Sorry, but in my book, this is not progress.

Also, while my nurse was updating my patient history today, she cut me off at least a half dozen times and NEVER let me justify my answers. Don't we all think it's important to note that histories are unique and side bars should be considered? It was infuriating. And to the point where I intentionally moved my body away from hers and crossed my arms. I wanted her to get the point that yes, in fact, she was cutting me off from my own appointment. She didn't seem to care. It doesn't matter, except that it does. For mainly two reasons:

1) I'm a long time patient. 10 years, guys. When I think about breaking up with Three Rivers Dermatology, my heart actually aches. 2) I actually paid them money to make me feel like a doofus.

On the upside, Dr. Sassmanhausen is still cool as hell. And we have a thick history. I can't sever that so easily -- but I can't continue to put up the notion that taking yourself too seriously, being cold and pre-occupied and being rushed and pushed around is to be considered professional. I had a horrible experience (2 within one month)and it's like this: What the hell?

I mean, he can always hire me for Customer Service Consultant, I'd be up for that - because some of these nurses have a thing or two to learn about humans. And I'm not talking anatomy.

He's just so adorable

Last Thursday consisted of several things. Work. Waiting in line. Talking to strangers. Wandering downtown Indianapolis asking for celebrities to flock to me. Waiting in blob.
But most significantly about 4:10 with my only two friends in Indianapolis I made my way into the Hilbert Circle Theatre. We sat in our seats in the center box at the back of the theatre on the floor. Well, we sat there and then got shuffled around by a lady with a huge vagomach. Then shuffled around by a girl and her boyfriend, but this time with three Russian girls. We finally settled into our seats after an adorable old man leaned over all of us to tell us if we left during a commercial break we could lose our seat. And if we shook hands with someone coming out of the bathroom we might pee hands.
We sat through the opener, who wasn't that bad, but wasn't that great. But I suppose that's the point. Give us a middling guy so the real guy is extra wonderful.
Let me tell you, Jimmy Fallon? Extra wonderful. The Roots? EXTRA wonderful. But the reason anyone even goes to Jimmy Fallon is because he's so adorable. He's pretty good at impersonations, but what he's really great at is loving his job. When a football player breaks a tricycle Jimmy Fallon laughs at the ridiculousness, not because he's horrible at holding character, but because he loves life. One has to hand it to Andy Samberg on that one. Jimmy Fallon is always excited about everything. Despite Taylor Lautner or Adam Levine or the emphasis on sportsball Jimmy Fallon remained entirely precious. Even when he nearly hit himself in the head with a plate all I wanted to do was give Jimmy a hug. In a completely uncreepy way. I promise. He's grown from the little laughing lamb he was on Saturday Night Live (yeah, that's right. I don't abbrev. that). Easily my favorite part of the whole night though was watching him nitpick about his hair and the sweat on his face or watching him laugh as we watched "the Real Housewives of Late Night." He just loves his job. And who wouldn't.
If you watch Thursday's episode and any portion of Sunday's live episode, or if you didn't watch either, I do want to point out that Jimmy Fallon should always wear a blue suit over a black or charcoal suit. He simply looks sharper in the blue.
It was not his most hilarious show, but it was the most wonderful time.
But I'm just going to say it, I wasn't going to, but I'm going to. Jimmy Fallon did not go out for drinks with us afterward, and I'm not remotely happy about it.

Mom, is this the bible?

When you're in my line of work, you can hear some funny stuff - and, to be fair, you get to *say* some funny stuff. For example, the other day I overheard this gem: Kid: "Mom, is this the bible?" Mom: "No, that's a goosebumps book."!!

Today, this little girl came flying in through the department, ecstatic to be at the library (which is awesome). She couldn't really put into words how happy she was so she exclaimed: "I'm going to take off my shoes AND my socks." Quietly behind her, her mother said, "No, you aren't."

Also, during storytime today, we did a little change up to "If you're happy and you know it". I had approximately 90 kids screaming, "If you're a monster and you know it, give a ROAR::: ROOOOAAAAAR" and so on and so forth.

Are you jealous yet? Because most of the time, my days are spent finding World Record books, Dinosaur facts, talking with kids about killing zombies, and being a damn rock star at storytime. Can I tell you that I made so many kids "ew" and "ah" with delight because of a pop-up book? It's an incredible thing to hear so many toddlers absolutely lose their shit because of a book. A BOOK. Take that, iPad. (No offense, iPad. I want one of you)

Lastly, look at this poster of Justin Bieber. A kid did this. Straight up put lip stick on his pouty mouth and heavily doused his eyes with marker eye liner. I mean, don't be mad at me that I get to live this life. It's fun to be the cool librarian. It's fun to hear a kid say to his mom (about me), "she helped me find all these books" - if I do nothing else in my life, I know that my stint as a librarian is meaningful and important and down right awesomely hilarious.




sappy enough for ya?

Robots and Dinosaurs

I'm 24 years old. In a little over a month that will change. Last week a travesty occurred. I was getting into bed when I noticed a tear and a growing hole in my sheet. Now I don't believe in top sheets, so we're just talking about the fitted sheet. Flannel sheets, so not some piddly cotton sheet. Flannel sheets I've had for, well shoot, probably two years? It's encouraging to a degree, because now I know that when I am sleeping, rare as that is, I'm a power-sleeper. I'm a destroyer of sheets with nothing more than my snoozing body!

"Then why is it a travesty?" You're asking. Well, these weren't just flannel sheets. They were flannel robot sheets. Vaguely like this rug. Well exactly like this rug, only sheets, and on a lighter blue.

And I know as an adult I should learn to have sheets for adults, but I'm single. I don't have a roommate. I have a twin bed. So losing the robot sheets was a real blow to my sense of security.

So Saturday afternoon my mom and I went to anywhere we could think of. I had already conquered the internet shopping experience. Marshalls (where I originally purchased the sheets), T.J. Maxx, Target, Macy's, Penneys, Bed Bath and Beyond, Gordmans. We started at Target and ended at Target. I reluctantly went back into the store and bought white sheets with dinosaurs on them. Cotton sheets. Not flannel to better keep me warm in the apartment I refuse to heat. Cotton. Not robots. Dinosaurs. Don't get me wrong. I love me some dinosaurs. Jurassic Park is in my top 10. But they aren't my robots.

Plus! They mix dinosaurs with dino bones. Well, dino skulls. Which I feel is just cruel to the dinosaurs.

"Behold your future," said the sheet to itself.