One post on the subject should be enough…but it isn’t for my mom. Here is her second attempt at using it…
In response to my dad’s new shirt…
Mom: It looks a little tight…
Dad: Are you calling me fat?
Mom: You know why it looks tight? Because you have a mushroom top…mushroom top…mushroom top?
Tootsie: Muffin top!
HAPPY NEW YEAR!
This is a conversation that occurred between my brother and my uncle on Christmas Eve…
Brother: I can’t sleep in the basement because it’s too cold and the cold air is bad for my asthma.
Uncle: Pussy.
Brother: I have bad asthma! I had to go to the hospital last week because I was having trouble breathing!
Uncle: Pussy.
Brother: My dad and Tootsie had to drive all the way to school to bring me my inhaler in the middle of the night!!
Uncle: Pussy.
Brother: Hey, I am what I eat.
I wish I made this shit up.
“I stopped believing in Santa Claus when my mother took me to see him in a department store, and he asked for my autograph.” -Shirley Temple
I was about to start this post with:
I don’t hate a lot of things in this world but…
And realized that is complete shite. And yes, “shite” not “shit,” I’m reaching out to the Irish market. Anyway, that is complete crap, I do hate a lot of things, more than I’d like to admit, actually, but more on that later…so rewind.
I DO hate a lot of things but I especially hate when people take it upon themselves to be my doctors and health advisers.
Specifically?
Some dumb-ass whore took it upon herself to warn me about the dangers of diet coke while I was minding my own business at a holiday party.
First of all, it was a HOLIDAY PARTY. So the fact that I wasn’t giving a mall Santa a lap dance was already a few points in my favor. Not that I’ve done that…I had a friend once…a stupid, stupid friend…
Second of all, I did not know this woman, so back the fuck off and leave my DC alone.
I have a huge problem when people feel empowered by a “study” they read recently and decide to shit all over your perfectly fine bad decisions as if that is there job. See? I’m not saying that anyone is wrong or ill-informed when they vomit up newly learned, medical-ish facts. It is the fact that they think you give a fuck that bothers me. Or that they think you asked for there advice. Or that they think you want this stranger, who probably collects baby doll heads in their closet, to tell you how to live your life.
But lets also address the fact that they are also usually wrong. They read an article in “The Times” they say? Yeah, it was Cosmo Girl. The article says that soy is good for women, they say? Well it is good for young women but not for women who have reached Menopause. For those it can increase the risk of breast cancer. But, oops, they just left that part out. There’s a new diet where you only drink a mixture of lemons, maple syrup, cayenne pepper, and water, they say? Well, that one’s real…wait, I think I’ve done that…
And, while we are at it…are these people usually doctors. No. And being a boss when it comes to the game Operation doesn’t count. Neither does TiVo-ing General Hospital every day. Or the fact that you’ve performed the Heimlich maneuver on your cat. But if those all apply to you I want you to look really carefully at your life. I’ll provide the tissues for your viewing.
So not only are these people usually misrepresenting a so-called “study” (another word people love to through around, like “monogamy” and “diarrhea”) they are not qualified to fully understand the information they are spewing. And even if they are, let’s just pretend, they are still laboring under the misapprehension that you give two shits. And here is another thing about those freaking studies, they are always freaking changing!! Coffee goes from being the hero to the villain to the hero in the course of a day! Wine, and alcohol in general, is always switching sides! Cocaine…well there’s nothing yet, but I hear it’s making a comeback. Do I need to go back to the fact that I still don’t care? Even if you’re 110% right?
Now. Lets go back to the dumb-ass who belittled my beloved soda of choice. This is me setting the scene…
I was at a small little holiday party at a friend’s apartment. I was enjoying myself, minding my own business, drinking a glass of wine, and talking to friends I hadn’t seen in a while. Then she approached (you should be envisioning the music from Jaws). There was a bottle of Pepsi nearby and someone referenced it when out of nowhere this woman says, “Do you drink diet soda?” At that point I knew what was coming but I had to continue. “Yes,” I said coolly. So she immediately went to battle, “You need to stop drinking it! It is so bad, especially if you’re a woman!”
And that point all I was thinking was, “And what was your name?” But all I could do was nod along as she ripped on my drank.
Let me point to the fact that I wasn’t drinking diet soda. Not even remotely. But still I deserved this attack. She was older then me, close to my parents age so I felt obliged to sit and listen but I tuned out the second the conversation started. Allow me to count the ways she was an idiot:
1. I wasn’t drinking diet soda. I just had to say it again.
2. When I asked why it was bad she didn’t tell me she just let her voice get louder the way politicians do when they are trying to prove an empty point. “AMERICA.” “DEMOCRACY.” “PUPPIES ARE CUTE.” She also loved to through in the phrase, “It’s especially bad for women!!” I feel this is a common ploy in conversations about healthy lifestyles. If by “woman” you mean I have a vagina, then yes, I’ll give you that. But if by “woman” you mean I’m gullible, have zero common sense, am sympathetic to other women, and am bad at math and science, then no I refuse to concede.
3. She was the one who brought the soda to the party. “What?” you say. “That is ridiculous, I say!” I know, dude. It was.
4. She wasn’t a doctor. Wasn’t in any way involved in the medical profession. Nope, not in the sciences either. Not even remotely. Nope, she worked in the arts and had two eyes and a partially functioning human brain. Apparently that was all she needed to tell me how to live.
I’m sure there are many of you out there who believe diet soda is bad for you. Hey, guy, I KNOW it’s (most likely) bad for me. It is a bubbly, brown drink that is made of nothing more than chemicals. Nothing besides water should be zero calories and I know that. But I like it and I’ll be damned if you’re going to take that away from me!! I’ve sat around as all you wankers ate salads with french fries on them (it’s called the Pittsburgh Salad). I didn’t say anything when you pierced your ears while you were drunk with a rusty push-pin. I watch, tight-lipped, as you reach for your seventh cigarette that hour. I turned a blind eye when you made your own drugs in a dorm bathroom. SO YOU ARE NOT TAKING MY FUCKING DIET COKE AWAY FROM ME! It might be crap but it is my crap and I’m allowed that!
The thing is, annoying woman who I hope to never see again, we all know deep down that shit is bad. Salad with french fries? Aw, honey, that’s not a salad. That’s a bad decision hiding under lettuce. You want to pierce your own ear? I’ll go with you to the hospital tomorrow when it’s the size of a golf-ball. And who at this point doesn’t know the dangers of smoking? Really? If I literally watched someone crawl out from under a rock and grab a cigarette I might be compelled to point out the warning label and speak to them in whatever Nell-esque language they learned under there about lung cancer. And the home-made drugs? I would address it but I don’t really know how.
We all have our vices and we all know that they’re vices. If you want to call my diet soda a vice and exhaust my holiday cheer by poorly explaining why, go for it. Then I will go for your throat and give myself at least 30 seconds to escape as you regain the ability to breath.
I chose to spend the day after Thanksgiving (yes, I obviously forgot to post this for a bit…) coming down from my turkey high pleasantly on the couch watching The Bourne trilogy. I am very aware that these movies are not exactly new, but I live by my own clock, baby.
I had seen The Bourne Identity (the first movie) when it just came out but was watching the last two FINALLY.
As always happens when I watch a movie involving the CIA or the FBI, I leave it thinking “I want to be a spy!” I make serious plans to study Martial Arts, learn how to shoot a gun, and start learning a new language (all important spy skills). Lucky for me I already know how to shoot a gun (yeah, I’m awesome) but I can’t shoot one like Jason Bourne! AND I LOVE JASON BOURNE!
And it is always so depressing when I finally realize, “Hey, Tootsie, you know this isn’t actually going to happen, right? That this is the same as when you played “House” when you were little except now it’s weird because you have a college degree and are in your 20s.” Luckily I have a B.F.A., Bachelor of Fine Arts (might as well be a Bachelor of Fine Farts for all it’s good for) so everything from playing make-believe to being a night-time “dancer” is fair game, but it’s still depressing.
But what if it doesn’t have to be make-believe? The CIA and the FBI are real, they must need some new agents once in a while. Why can’t this dream of mine come true?
EXACTLY, no one. It can come true! I do speak Spanish, they must need some agents in Spanish-speaking countries once in a while for burrito-smuggling (yes, I’m obviously avoiding the topic of drug smuggling…except right now…because I just wrote it).
Or maybe I did pick the right career. If I’m an actress I can superficially pursue all of the ridiculous careers I’ve been interested over the year. And maybe, just maybe (definitely) my desire to be a spy is directly proportional to my love of spy MOVIES. I don’t want to be a spy I want to be the chick who gets to mac on Matt Damon while jumping off buildings. Yeah, that’s definitely it.
I mean, when I watched The Beautiful Mind I wanted to be a Schizophrenic for weeks, so…I probably should’ve realized then that it was more a desire to play that role than to literally be that person.
“I thoroughly disapprove of duels. If a man should challenge me, I would take him kindly and forgivingly by the hand and lead him to a quiet place and kill him.” -Mark Twain
Yes, it has been a long time since I’ve posted something.
Even my last few posts had been in my glass “break in case of emergency” box along with a liter of vodka, a luna bar (for protein), a Russian Passport for a Tootsya Woovich, a samurai sword, and a very detailed list of everyone who has wronged me. I just haven’t felt much like writing. So writing has joined the long list of other things I don’t feel much like doing:
THINGS I DON’T FEEL LIKE DOING:
1. Showering
2. Looking for an apartment
3. Wearing pants
4. Taking to people
5. Leaving the house
6. Getting up to go to the bathroom (do people ever get catheters purely for convenience?)
7. Exerting the smallest amount of energy to do anything at all…
Of course, I have been doing these things (…some of them…), I just don’t WANT to. I have the chronic Mondays.
But I have finally been inspired to write due to the horrifying fact that in the precise town I live in there one, count ‘ em, ONE BOOKSTORE.
THIS IS HORRIFYING! I live on the East Coast, outside a medium-sized city and there is ONE BOOKSTORE in almost a 30 mile radius. What is wrong with the world?
The thing is that deep down I have known this for some time, I just refused to acknowledge it. This is a temporary living situation for me, I’m moving pretty soon, but I’ve been here for a year and have been trying to ignore the cracks in the facade, but this just put me over the edge.
And what made me realize this was that I was at the bookstore (I repeat, the ONE BOOKSTORE, so that really slims down the possibilities) and they didn’t have the book I was looking for. Normally, I would hop in my car and drive 5-10 minutes to the other store. Or, even better, if I was where I used to live, I would walk 10 minutes and, BLAMO, other bookstore! But the fact that the only option was ordering it really made me sad.
It’s not just that there is one bookstore in my town. Oh child, no. There is one shared bookstore for all the towns that border my town as well. I want to say 7 reasonably sized towns that all surround a pretty large city. That is more wrong then glitter on a woman over 40.
But let’s examine something: why the hell AM I so sad about this?
First of all, I love to read. And I go through these phases where I just can’t stop reading, which is actually kinda great because I go through many non-reading dry spells. So excuse me for having a lady boner for literature and just wanting books at my fingertips!
Secondly, I love the experience of going to the bookstore. If I have the time I can spend ages in there just browsing, reading the first pages of a hundred books until I make my decision and then once I feel secure in the book(s) I’ve chosen I slyly sneak over to the magazine section and read trashy tabloids, which are perfectly juxtaposed against Hardy’s Tess of the d’Urbervilles (I do that on purpose) under my arm.
And lastly, not to get too over-the-top on this, but what does that say about the type of place I’m living in? Do people just not read here? Is it just not the thing to do? Of course, there could be a few small book-stores that only the natives know about but I really doubt that.
And I wonder if I’m the only one who cares about the absence of alternate bookstores. Maybe I just belong in a different era where not everything is a super-store (because obviously the one bookstore here isn’t a little independent shop) and there aren’t TVs distracting us from every other activity. And trust me, I love me my TV, I spend way to many hours drooling in front of it, but nothing can every detract from a good book.
The other day my mom told me she was buying the movie version of Gone With the Wind and the check-out girl saw and said:
Girl: I’ve never seen this! Is it good?
Mom: Yes, it’s a classic! But not as good as the book!
Girl: There’s a book…?
Shoot me.
Mom: Hey, don’t you want some of this soup? It’s really good.
Tootsie: Nah, last time I had it I was sick so it left a bad taste in my mouth.
Mom: You need to have an emotionally corrective experience with it.
Science is a magical thing.
Well, I suppose the whole point of magic is that it goes beyond the laws of science, but still it is pretty magical in a non-Harry Potter way.
I have been having small realizations lately about the fact that humans are just animals.
This seems like a very common fact, something most people have come to terms with, but I am still blown over by this from time to time. It is usually in terms of violence and war when people examine our resemblance to the other creatures roaming the earth, to the very pets we keep in crates and put on leashes, but it is in the mating habits of humans that I have noticed these similarities and it really takes a lot of the mystery away. It is by examining these basic, animalistic traits that I am learning how ultimately simplistic men and woman are in the dating world.
The other day I was sitting at a Random Coffee Shop drinking my iced latte, reading a copy of Glamour like a G when I saw an extremely attractive male Homo sapien walk by. He had wavy, dark hair, beautiful, dark, intense eyes and was of an average height and build. But outside of those very basic features, features that could describe a huge percentage of the population, and a large percentage of the cartoon population, there was just something about him I couldn’t explain that drew me to him. And I heard this little voice in my head say,
“I want to make a baby with him.”
EXCUSE YOU, Brain? You want to what?! You hardly know the man, nay, you don’t know the man, so pull your hypothetical pants on (like the red cigarette jeans on page 54 of your magazine) and zip up. Also wipe up the hypothetical drool, Liver is smirking.
And just as I began to interrogate myself, my brain went mute and didn’t repeat the thought, though it had definitely been there. My attraction to him was just on a “I want to pass down your genes* to my children because they rock” basis but that is really at the root of every serious attraction.
*(and I am not referring to the red cigarette jeans…pg. 54…Christmas is nigh…)
We delude ourselves (excuse me for my use of the universal “we” if this is not “you,” if you are of an evolved breed of human who makes all the right decisions in relationships…eff you) by adding all of this fluff to our relationships but it really comes down to very simple ideals. It’s about survival, it’s about reproduction, it’s about pheromones, and not much else.
As a member of the female sex (as my driver’s license tells me) I have forced many a friend to sit by my side and agonize over why someone didn’t call, what the intonation of his “hey” meant, why he gave me a “double hug,” and I have been party to hundreds of conversations like that and they have gone on for hours!
Typical scenario #1…
“Why didn’t he call me back? We had a great time! He told me I was a lot of fun and that we should do it again, but he never called! He put his arm around me during the movie and gave me a kiss on the cheek!”
Girl answer: I don’t know sweetie! Maybe he’s just been really busy lately and didn’t have time to call, I’m sure he’ll get to it. it sounds like you have something really special there!
“Science” answer: You didn’t put out.
Typical scenario #2…
“Why did he break up with me!? We’ve been together for a year and he just breaks up with me out of nowhere!? We just got back from a very romantic trip to the beach and had such a great time! He’s always said how he wanted to settle down!”
Girl answer: He’ll come to his senses! He doesn’t know how big a mistake he’s making, walking out on you! He’s just not ready to commit and that is HIS problem, not yours!
“Science” answer: He doesn’t want his kids to need laser hair removal. Also, you probably didn’t put out enough…
Typical scenario #3…
“Why does he want to hang out? I always thought of him as a friend but he texted me and says we should watch a movie at his place tonight. He says that he wants to talk about something. What do you think it is?”
Girl answer: OH my god! I knew he was into you! Maybe he wants to start seeing you! He’s been so flirty lately!
“Science” answer: He probably wants to talk about how he hopes you’ll put out.
Of course, I don’t want to belittle actual romance and a shared bond between two people, but most relationships/one-night stands begin this way. I feel men are very in touch with that blunt, animal-like side of themselves and can very easily break down what they want in a given moment. Women, however, just pile on a bunch of glitter and cupcakes to glorify and complicate a very basic human need and desire. I’m jealous of men for their often frank evaluations of their needs and feelings in a given moment. And also, nothing is this cut and dry, either. I have guy friends who obsess over every moment they spend with a date and I have girl friends who do not give a rat’s ass how long that hug was or how many exclamation marks he used when saying, “can’t wait to see you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” 32…
All I’m saying is we all (all us we’s who do have the tendency to dwell) sleep a little easier if we just broke it down to the science of what is going on. All that matters is are you into him/her? Do you enjoy their company all around or do you want to just do the nasty? And, adversely, those things need to match up with how that person answers those questions. It’s really as simple as that. The actual chemical reaction going on in your body will take care of the rest.
Though we all know it’s not, it won’t, and a perfect scenario can still turn into poo. But C’est la vie!
Adventures of TootsieWoo 