A Short Statement From the Mayor, Regarding Camp Potomac Shambles

I'd like to take this opportunity to explain my behavior during that fateful week at Camp Potomac Woods. First though, you should know that yesterday's post caused me to pee my own pants with laughter for two reasons. The first is that I was previously unaware that The Lady peed the floor of a makeshift house, and the second is that my recollection of the Camp Potomac Woods experience is SOOO different from the recollection she would expect me to have, given my "this is the best place evvverrrrr!" behavior at the time. We had a conversation about those two things yesterday as soon as the entry was posted, and I think a transcript of that chat will explain it all.

Lady: I put up a new post

Mayor: that shit is funny

i just read it

Lady: yeah that happened

9:15 AM

Mayor: i don't think i knew that you peed the floori do know that horse camp sucked ass though

it was not fun

Lady: oh yeah?! I thought you loved it!

Mayor: i got thrown off and got my hand stepped on

Lady: oh yeah!

Mayor: that fucker broke my finger

Lady: i do remember that

Mayor: and i told them i didn't want to do the jumps anymore

9:16 AM and they told me i had to

so i climbed back on and cried the entire time that it rode around the ring jumping over stuff

pretty sure i did swim camp the year before actually

Lady: ok def didn't know that

9:17 AM so we all had a bad time?

Mayor: hahaha yeah i think so

Lady: we had to wear these swim cpas that smelled like fish, it was gross

Mayor: i mean, i wasn't traumatized or anything...because after we left the horses i got to play and eat lots of mashed potatoes and bug juice (aka kool aid)

yeah the caps were gross...different colors for different levels of ability...all staaaaaanky

Lady: i think I had fun some of the time

9:18 AM yeahhhh

I think I was in an advanced level of ability

having been on swim team
and like, actually good at swimming at that point Mayor: you would've had a red cap then, i believeLady: yeah!

I did have a red cap!

Mayor: hahaha

it's funny how different my experience was though

the year i did swim camp, mom and dad both drove me there and they were acting all weird

9:20 AM and i was pumped about camp...sitting in the middle seat of the van reading the brochure about what promised to be the best week of my life

(which probably took the entire 1.5 hour ride or whatever because i remain, to this day, the slowest em effing reader ever)

anyway there was a piece about "home-missing"

9:21 AM and i asked what that was, because the concept of missing home was apparently something I couldn't grasp

and mom explained that sometimes you miss your bed and your parents and the rest of your family and home-cooked meals (read: hamburger helper), and that that can make a kid sad

and i said, allegedly, "I don't get it. Why would I miss you?"

9:22 AM and i believe mom cried

9:24 AM Lady: hahahahahaha OUCH

9:25 AM It's so funny, they were always sad to see you go places but when it was time for me to go places they had already experienced the leaving-a-child-somewhere-overnight thing so they never acted weird

Mayor: hahaha

yeah b/c [our older brother] never did anything, so i was the test child

Lady: haha true!

Mayor: and they would be like "oh man, this is such a big deal!"

and i'd be like "guys, calm down, i'll see you later"

Lady: yeah I never got that haha
I mean, we were both pretty independent kids though, I wasn't really attached either
Mayor: i think basically after I traumatized them like that, they'd act cool b/c they thought that's what they were supposed to do

b/c the kids make the rules!

9:27 AM Lady: that's how you gotta parent!

like mom said I always ran away from her as soon as I got ot preschool

Mayor: hahahaha

Lady: like the "BYE SEE YOU LATER MOM NO I DON'T WANT A HUG BYE"

Mayor: i'm sure that made her feel rull good

9:28 AM Lady: well, i was 2 or 4 so I don't feel to guilty

3 or 4

Mayor: hahaha

2 or 4 was funnier

Lady: well fuck

9:29 AM

Mayor: i was always like "thank you very much for bringing me here, as i'm not yet old enough to drive. i appreciate that you want to hang out with me, but i'm previously committed to eating paste and building things with blocks, so i'll just catch up with you this afternoon, ok?"
Lady: hahahaha exactly!Mayor: and mom would be like "ok fiiiiiine."

Lady: I mean it's probably hard as a parent when your kid is independent but better for the kid really
Mayor: yeah and ultimately better for you...but probably not the easiest to accept at first Lady: I can't believe you didn't know the pee story
that's a classic moment9:30 AM Mayor: yeah i don't know how i missed that oneLady: you gotta remember the tears though

because that involved you haha

Mayor: haha i do

they pulled me out of some sort of awesome play time

9:31 AM and, as previously stated, i didn't get the home-missing thing

Lady: I'm not sure it was missing home so much as it was having a miserable time and not wanting to be there

Mayor: so i was like "em, get it together, this is awesoooooooooooooome! Mom and dad aren't here!!! Wheeeeeeeeee!"

yeah...i distinctly remember being told that you were homesick and needed family

and i was like...uh...guys...i'm 8

9:32 AM Lady: haha i think I was just like I WANT TO SEE MY SISTER

because everyone in my camp was older than me and they weren't that nice

esp my bunkmates, who were the meanest

9:33 AM I think I made friends with other people

but those bitches

Mayor: yeah that blows...i think i was the youngest too
because it was like you either had to be a certain age or have finished a certain grade

so i went to horse camp with other kids who were like 9, 10, and 11

and i was 8

and tiiiiny

9:34 AM Lady: yeah i think you had to have just finished first grade

Mayor: like we had to help each other up on to the horses and i was totally worthless because everyone had 40 lbs on me

Lady: hahahahaha

you're like " I don't have much to work with here!"

Mayor: yeah i was like...how about i stand here and pet this guy while you go get a stool or soemthing?
Lady: hahahahaha helpful9:35 AM so how do you feel about wTCHING THE STEELERS GAME SUNDSY

sorry caps lock


And then the conversation went in another direction, as you can see. But I swear, I'm not the monster I was made out to be. And really, compared to the behavior of some other mayors, like the Mayor of Detroit, the Mayor of Portland, the Mayor of Los Angeles, and my personal favorite, the Mayor of East Cleveland, I'd say this is small potatoes.

Camp Potomac Woods, We Hold You In Our Hearts

Mayor McShambles and I never went to summer camp for more than a week. I have gone to week-long sleep away camps twice in my life and I think The Mayor tops out around 5 (most of which were sport-related, but I'll leave the decision to discuss her former athletic glory up to her). Sometimes I think it would've been cool if I got to do all the fun things I saw on "Bug Juice" for an entire summer. However, it is probably a good thing we couldn't afford 3 months worth of campfires and bug bites considering what happened the first time they sent me away for only one week. What would have been the summer of 1994, I had my first camp experience: Girl Scout Camp. Now, I was a wee little dibblet, having just finished first grade, and I was very nervous. I was going to have to sleep in a cabin with canvas walls (!), pee in a latrine (!), and be away from my mommy and daddy. I am not sure at what age children are usually sent to this type of setting, but my parents were ones to enjoy a fucking break foster a sense of independence, so I was the youngest kid in my camp. To add insult to injury, they had put me in the swimming camp because the others for kids my age had to do with crafts and shit (Yeah, right! I was a tomboy! I had a bowlcut until 1999, motherfucker.). I liked swimming and all, but I was in camp with a bunch of 8-year-olds who couldn't swim, so that was awkward. Not to mention my two of my three bunkmates were these bitchy little 2nd graders who made fun of me for being younger than them and my wit was not up to par back then. Throw a couple two, three wolf spiders into the mix and you've got my week at Camp Potomac Woods. I would love to say that I was a total trooper through this experience, but that is pretty far from the truth. I remember 4 separate incidents occurring that were particularly traumatic. They are as follows, in order from "not so bad" to "you are a heinous human":

1) The Gnat.
So I'm just a 7-year-old trying to learn how to juggle on circus day. I'm not having a lot of success, but I AM having a wonderful time. Next thing I know I've got a god damn gnat in my ear. In my ear, buzzing around against my ear drum, making me cry. They had to take me to the nurse on a golf cart and it was a big to-do. Embarrassing, yet horrifying. I hate bugs, especially when LODGED in any part of my body.

2) The Unidentified Mammal in the Rafters.
This was probably the second night of camp. As I mentioned before, our cabins had canvas walls. They were basically raised platforms with a roof and support beams. Anyway, I was lying there in my sleeping bag on a plank of wood, trying to not be homesick for the sweet daybed trundle that me and The Mayor shared (yeah, we shared a room AND a trundle bed...awkward). Just as I am about to drift off to dreamland, I see something moving on the rafters above me. Directly above my bed was a support beam for the roof and SOMETHING with FUR and A TAIL was HANGING THE FUCK OUT up there. I was terrified. Like shit-the-bed, shaking with fear. After I stared at this fur ball for about half an hour while it shifted positions, I got my flashlight out and tried to see what it was. Alas, the angle was bad and I was too afraid to actually get out of my bed. I lay there for 4 hours, frozen, watching this animal have its nuh-night time 10 feet above my face. This incident would inevitably lead to the worst camp moment on this list.

3) Tears.
By the third day, I was Sally SadPants. My bunkmates kept making fun of me, I was in swimming camp, There was an animal in my bunk last night, wolf spiders are EVERYWHERE...it was bad. Luckily for me, Mayor McShambles was at camp too! She was in the horseback-riding camp, which sounded so cool. Unfortunately, since I was a baby, I wasn't allowed to be in horse camp (jelly to this day). The Mayor was loooooooving camp. Who wouldn't? You're 8 and you ride horses all day and you're at CAMP! I was unaware of how awesome her experience was because she had refused to speak to me the entire time (to her credit, we were on opposite sides of the camp and did not really run into each other or have very many opportunities to speak...but when she did see me she wanted no part of my 7-year-old life, which was rude). I finally broke down and cried to my counselors. I asked to see my sister and they had to pull her away from all the FUN she was having riding horses to deal with my trifling ass. Needless to say, she was less than comforting. Embarrassing. The only thing that came from this was everyone in my camp seeing me cry and my sister being pissed about missing her super sweet horse-related shit. *sigh*

4) The Puddle.
I think about this incident often. I have waves of guilt about it. It's not my finest moment. I am especially ashamed at the deception I was capable of as a 7year-old. Nevertheless, it happened.

So about the fourth night, I woke up really having to go to the bathroom. The aforementioned latrines (!) were a little away from our campsite, so protocol was to wake a bunkmate and walk there together. My third bunkmate, Kelly, was a perfectly nice girl especially compared to the other two. She was my sister's age though, so it was weird that she was in swimming camp with the younger kids. We were the oldest and youngest, respectively, similarly outcast. After lying in my bed, hoping this feeling would just go away, I realized that was going to be impossible. I was very afraid of the dark forest around us...but apparently also very afraid of waking a sleeping bunkmate. I got out of my bed and gently tried to wake Kelly up. Barely touching her shoulder as I only mildly audibly mouthed "Kellllllllyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy." My pathetic attempt at rousing her was unsuccessful. This is when I panicked. What could I do?! I was still scared of everything about my bunk due to Incident #2! I can't wake up Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Bitch on the other side of the bunk. Should I go the the counselor cabin? That would involve going outside alone.....

At this point, I did the only thing I could think of in the middle of the tornado of anxiety I had created...and pissed where I stood. I stood next to Kelly's bed and PEED ON THE FLOOR. It happened almost involuntarily at first, but I kind of had to run with it. The damage being done, I changed my underwear and went back to sleep. I woke the next morning to my other bunkmates whispering "Oh my god, did Kelly pee on the floor?" "Why would she do that?! That's so gross!" "Why didn't she wake anyone up?!"

Without missing a beat I whispered "Oh she did?!?!?! that's so gross!!!"

Kelly awoke to awkward accusations of having pissed on the floor during the night, something she couldn't recall. Someone had to get the counselors to clean it up, all of whom were understandably confused at the thought of a 9-year-old peeing on the floor. And there was Kelly, looking embarrassed and confused as to how she sleep-peed next to her bed, totally believing she was the cause of this.

I let her take the blame. How could I admit that I had, not only, pissed myself, but did it next to someone else's bed?!

She became the 9-year-old who peed on the floor at camp.

All I can say is, I'm sorry Kelly. I'm sorry I let you become That Girl. I hope you can understand, now that you're an adult, that this was an act of self-preservation. I was 7. Please forgive me.

That being said, I can't take it back sooooooooooooooo, thanks for the funny story Kells Bells!



-Lady of Leisure

PS I have since gained control of my bladder during the night.

If I Were a Rich Girl (na na na na na na..you get it)

I have not yet decided what I want to be when I grow up. I figure that I am 1) only 22 and 2) that I shouldn't have to decide yet. My oats are not only the tamest oats around, they have yet to be sown! I have a general idea, however, that my life path will not involve me having a Scrooge McDuck-style money room where I can go for a swim in all my gold coins. Because I would like to think of myself as a democrat, I have made peace with the fact that I do not need to be super rich and can live a relatively simple life and pay my taxes for the good of the people. On the other hand, I am a 22-year-old girl who still swoons over pictures of male celebrities without their shirts on. I'm not above paying 10 bucks to see a movie for this reason (I am about to buy G.I. Joe: Rise of the Cobra on DVD). Sometimes, I'm just to fancy to think about having to grocery shop and save money and not buy things I don't need (I stand by the tap shoe purchase though. TRIPLE TIME STEP 5-6-7-8!!!) This trait means that I often fantasize about what I would do if I were to, say, marry a celebrity and go from Little Orphan (drunk) Annie to Richie Rich. I tried to compile a list of things I would like if I were rich dot com. Only, this list turned out to mirror the plot of Blank Check (a slide from the 2nd floor of the mansion into the pool, go-kart track and so on and so forth). I do wonder what it would be like to date a celebrity though. After much deliberation, I narrowed it down to 2 things that I really fantasize about doing with an impossibly wealthy boyfriend.

1) I would like this to happen:

2) I want us to do things like this:

I am, after all, low maintenance

A Dream is a Wish Your Uterus Makes

This past Sunday, the Lord's Day if you will, I had the most horrific dreams about my sins. I'm talking absolutely horrifying...worse than zombies (yuck) and hippos (the deadliest animal in the jungle) chasing me...way worse...and way more real...and they kept me from sleeping soundly, which I would say is generally my greatest talent.

The worst of these dreams was as follows, and it took place continually between the hours of 3 and 6 am.

***

I wake up, it's Monday morning, and I'm feeling particularly fat. My boobs look bigger, and when you're talking training bra scale, these things are NOTICEABLE! Also, I have a gnarly stomach ache. It occurs to me almost immediately that these changes are likely the result of my being pregnant. That thought causes me to vomit...or maybe it's not the thought of being pregnant....maybe it's the morning sickness caused by my REAL LIFE PREGNANCY! This obviously correct realization throws me into a panic.

[Zach Morris Time Out for a moment please...As mentioned by my all-too-kind sister yesterday, when something makes me uncomfortable, grossed out, or terrified, I do absolutely nothing about it. If I find a dead mouse in the laundry room, I don't throw it away or bury it in the back yard, I don't call my dad and tell him to do something with it, I don't suggest that our house might need an exterminator. Instead, I leave it where it is and decide that I will do my laundry later, after someone else has found and disposed of said mouse. There is no good reason for this behavior, but it is my reality. Ok, Time In]

Now, being a virgin, I should not worry about these things. And since Perfect Love Interest and I go on dates but do not actually touch one another apart from hand-holding, I cannot possibly be pregnant. But, since pregnancy scares me, and since they only cost $5/month, I take Anti-Babies (similar to anti-depressants but more effective, I'm told). These things make your body work like clockwork, so I should know for certain by Monday night that I am not, in fact, with child.

[Zach Morris Time Out...Don't be confused, I love kids. I absolutely adore them, I make friends with them in grocery stores and at restaurants with booths, and I think they're great. It's not the product of a pregnancy that freaks me out...it's the pregnancy itself. You know when you cut open a bell pepper and it has another little tiny bell pepper growing inside of it? That's cool. Crack open a human being and find a tiny little human being in there though? Not so much. I'm told that my feelings on the subject will change one day...so I'll let you know. Ok, Time In.]

So all day Monday, I freak out but expect that I'll be made to realize I was being crazy any moment. I go to bed Monday night thinking it'll be fine when I wake up. All day Tuesday, terror. I just don't know what to do. Then Perfect Love Interest comes home because it's Thanksgiving...and he wants to know what's wrong with me...and he tells me my boobs look big...which makes it even worse!! That really throws me over the edge, and I confess to him that I'm relatively sure I'm carrying his (slash God's) child. He is less of a hermit crab than I am, so he suggests we find out for sure. Does he drive me to the store to by an EPT? Yup. Does he go inside with me? Uh huh. Does he have a conversation with the nice 80 year-old white woman with a bonnet behind the counter about how we're just so excited that we're going to be a mommy and daddy? You betcha.

We go back to my house, I take this test, and I'm officially Prego. Awesome. I am horrified.

Now is when the dream starts to get weird. (Dun Dun Dun).

Perfect Love Interest is not horrified at all. He's PUMPED! So are my roommates. They say that our lease allows for children...YAY! They say that they're sure that I'll be able to find a way to support this child, and Perfect Love Interest says that we'll all be just fine...all five of us, me, him, our baby, and my two roommates...just one big, happy family. Everyone also tells me that they're sure I'll be able to get my abs back after a baby punches them from the inside for months and makes me double in size. I do not believe them, but their positivity is em effing unwavering!

[Zach Morris Time Out...This is exactly like when I was in 1st Grade and we had a Career Day at school. It was the kind of Career Day where you dress up as what you want to be when you grow up, not the kind where you go to work with someone. At the time, my sister would have been in preschool and my brother would have been in 3rd grade. We would all have been going to different schools at different times, so I can understand that maybe nobody saw me, but there were 3 grown-ups living in our house (parents and grandmother) and someone must have fed me Cinnamon Toast Crunch, so I'm doubting that that's how it went down. Regardless, I went to school in my bathing suit, claiming that when I grew up, I wanted to be a professional diver. This story is horrifying first because nobody said "way to shoot for the stars, retard, that doesn't exist...why aren't you dressed as a Marine Biologist like all the other girls here (thanks Free Willy)?" It's more horrifying though, because nobody objected to the fact that I had left the house IN A BATHING SUIT to go to school!!!! I knew it was a bad idea, and I thought that people would laugh and then I'd put on my coat for the rest of the day or something, but not a single soul objected. Nobody at home said "Don't wear that," none of my friends in their Sunday suits said anything during the walk to school, my teacher didn't even ask what the hell I was doing! But of course I didn't make it through the day...the Principal came around to our classroom to see what everyone was dressed as, discovered me, called me out in front of everyone, and made me walk home, change and come back. Ok Time in]

That experience was exactly like my pregnancy dream! Nobody thought it was a bad idea but me. Everyone said "awesome" and "cool" and "wow," and nobody said "Oh Sweet Jesus, would you like me to throw you down that there flight of stairs?" I was the ONLY one who knew to be terrified. And there was no way to get out of it because there's no Principal to send you home from Parenthood.

THE END

-Mayor McShambles

(Bus) Love is All You Need

First, an order of business.

My older sister, the starter of this dying blog, has officially made me co-blogger. From now on I will be referring to her as Mayor McShambles because she has proudly served on the school board of Shambles County for years and has recently been elected Mayor of Shambles City. If she’s nice and buys me things, I may casually call her CuddleBug. I do want to explain, however, that my sister is not really that irresponsible. She generally has her shit together. On the other hand, she has moments that make me question how she, not only has a college degree, but can wipe her own ass. Por ejemplo, I came home for a friend’s wedding over the summer while The Mayor still lived with our parents. Not two seconds after I walk in the door, she says “Lady, I have something to show you….I found it yesterday.” She then lead me down to the basement where the laundry machines are, stopped, pointed to the ground and scrunched up her face while making a low “ehhhhhhhhhhhhhhh” noise. What was she pointing to? A dead mouse. As stated above, she had found this dead mouse the day before. 24 hours went by before she told someone. The first person she chose to tell 1) does not live there and 2) immediately screamed and ran out of the room while yelling “DAAAAAAAAAAAADDDDDD!!!!!!!!”

So, Mayor McShambles it is. Please be advised.

Moving on. I wanted to share with all of you one of my favorite parts of living in Pittsburgh: the public transit system. Now, I love Pittsburgh. I came here 4 years ago in a hoodie and some dad tennies and now I am a Steelers fan in skinny jeans. It has transformed me. The Port Authority of Allegheny County is another important part of this love affair. Not so much because it is efficient, clean, on time, etc. I would compare this affection to that one might have for a 3-legged dog or the Redskins. Kind of pathetic, but you love it anyway.

We all have our stories. Not long ago my friend sat in fresh piss as she took a seat immediately after a man had gotten off. The other day, another friend was offered the window seat by some guy. As she sat down she noticed a foul odor. Realizing she was trapped, there was little she could do other than look around uncomfortably. Suddenly she met the gaze of her seat partner, who promptly said “Smells like shit, don’t it?” She nodded, to which he replied “Don’t worry; I’m getting off in a couple stops.” As she tried to process the fact that a man had SHIT HIS PANTS right next to her, he followed up with: “You have pretty eyes. Are you in high school?”

My own experience happened last week. I got on the bus after working for 10 hours, so I was a little grumpy and tired. A couple stops down the road, a crazy guy hopped on and sat in the front. He spent most of my time on the bus loudly saying mildly rude things to people. I was pretty excited to be getting off the bus after about 15 minutes of that and pulled the cord for my stop. I walked to the front to wait to get off when, suddenly, crazy guy said “Have a good night!” I thanked him and wished him the same. He then stuck his hand out and asked my name. Recognizing that he had not been so polite to other passengers, I obliged and shook his hand. This is the point at which, in front of a busload of at least 30 people, he hugged me. He. Hugged. Me. Now, I’m not an affectionate person. I don’t like hugs from people I know. So a hug from a stranger? A crazy stranger, at that? Well, I didn’t know how to react to this surprise embrace.

If I had to compare it to something, it'd be this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uNbao12XqZI

I can't help but wonder...should I have asked him for his digits?

After all, when life gives to you lemons (homeless men), make lemonade (date them).

Unaffectionately yours,
Lady of Leisure

In the Spirit of Thanksgiving, We Speak of Indians

As previously stated (back in the day when I used to write about my life on a regular basis), Perfect Love Interest is in college. He’s finishing up at a highly respectable private institution on the East Coast in May, and he’s taking a hell of a rough course load between now and then. The spring semester will consist of a three-course schedule:

· Wilderness Skills – Meets twice per week for one hour at a time. Claims to teach leadership, correct zip-wiring techniques, how to cook hotdogs and marshmallows on a stick over a campfire, how to fashion a shelter from things found in the wild (or in your Range Rover), and how to scare away a bear. This course will culminate in a weekend camping trip featuring moonshine and mushrooms. Jealous? Me too.

· Fly Fishing – Taught by the same person as Wilderness Skills. Also meets twice per week for one hour at a time…on the same day actually with a two-hour break in between. My vast knowledge of fly fishing comes entirely from both reading and watching A River Runs Through It, and that vast knowledge tells me that Fly Fishing is mostly about beer-drinking and bonding. So, this one sounds like Perfect Love Interest’s cup of tea…and mine too, come to think of it…doubly jealous? Me too.

· An Independent Study, the curriculum for which Perfect Love Interest created himself - This one might be my favorite, because it’s a weekly meeting (perhaps over cigars, glasses of bourbon, or steaks, because those are all things that gentlemen appreciate) during which Perfect Love Interest and his favorite professor will discuss current happenings in the Middle East. The teacher is a Class A Baller who fled Iraq at a time of government turmoil there (so….some time since 1958, when crazy motherfuckers began to be in charge of the country). He talks like Borat and he says thing like “Dee Jeewwwwww Businessman,” as though he might say “Dee Jeeewwwwww Businessman should be thrown down the well, so my country can be free.” He also calls Perfect Love Interest by a nickname that nobody else in the world calls him AND, when Perfect Love Interest says “I’m going to be missing the next week of class,” this Borat-teacher says “Go Aheeaaaadddd, Nickname.” No “please keep up with the readings,” no “Jesus Christ, you miss a lot,” nothing…just “Go Aheeaaadddd.” This man is a cartoon character, and Perfect Love Interest’s only substantive class of the semester will entail sitting and bonding with him once a week, while learning about fascinating things. Mannnnn the last semester of college is sweet.

Anyway, that semester is not here yet, and the current semester has a slightly more taxing courseload. It was supposed to be highlighted by “History of America Through Clothing,” which I was pretty excited to hear about. Sadly, Perfect Love Interest’s dad (who is the most fantastic gentleman I know and who is pictured here) is, for whatever reason, interested in his child learning things that actually might matter in some way, so the clothing course got the axe. It was replaced with something about Indians (feather, not dot), and it is the Indian class that recently caused me to be majorly devastated.

This class has one assignment all year: One 25-page paper on any topic you’d like, as long as it has something to do with Indians. Perfect Love Interest is writing about the way Indians (feather, not dot) are depicted in films…I believe he’ll be covering how the way Indian Directors portray their actor counterparts is different from the way Vanilla-Face directors do and a bunch of other stuff.

I’ve been tremendously helpful, as this poor man tries to write his paper. I have suggested that he watch the Twilight movie, and I even offered to go to the second one with him. Response: hostile disinterest. I have suggested a litany of other films for him to use as well, such as Free Willy, Free Willy 2: The Adventure Home, Free Willy 3: The Rescue, Free Willy: Escape From Pirate’s Cove, Pocahontas, and Man of the House, in addition to Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman, which can be purchased in a box set from Best Buy.

All of these suggestions have been shot down with varying degrees of ridicule. I’m just trying to make the paper more interesting to write, and finally agreeing that that is a reasonable goal, Perfect Love Interest came up with another idea last night.

“What about Indians in porn?” he said. “Are there any Native American porn stars?” “Do they dress up as Indians in their movies or do you only know they're Indians because they have weird names like Princess Swansong Swallowscum?” “Do they play stereotypical Indian roles (read: medicine man, savage, wise elder, whatever the eff female indian stereotypes there are, etc.”

“What piece of our history makes you think that I would know the answers to these questions?” I responded.

This point was well-taken, and I was then assigned to do a bit of research (because Perfect Love Interest is currently without internet access). So…first I googled “Native American Pornstars” and then “Native American Porn.” I found the following information. Some of it is disturbing, but I feel that my life is slightly richer for knowing it, so I share.

Caution: These things are mostly NOT workplace appropriate and some could change your life for the worst (read: make you gouge your eyes out, Oedipus-style).

1. The most famous Native American Pornstar (according to the frequency with which her name popped up in my extensive research) is named Janette Littledove. She has quite a long list of films on IMDB. Check them out.

2. There's a gentleman who was kind enough to create an entire website dedicated to Native American ladies, with heritage in various tribes, who have committed their adult lives to creating art of the adult movie variety. I wonder if he had to fight anyone the the URL: www.nativeamericaporn.com.

3. There are also sites dedicated to particular things that Native Americans may do better than those of us with the glue-colored skin. Check them out here (but only if you're over 18). Call me a prude, but I screamed like some had shot my komodo dragon when I opened this page. Perfect Love Interest can attest to that fact, as he was sitting on the other end of the phone laughing...because he's a monster.

4. Lastly, and slightly more tame, there are websites featuring people dressed as Indians. That's hot.

Anyway, I hope you feel both as enriched as I do for this new knowledge and also as jealous as I am of Perfect Love Interest's existence.

Happy weekend.

I Want You and Your Beautiful S(e)oul

So...the last time I posted anything to the Deathy Times, it was a mediocre entry at best, and it included a promise to post on a more regular basis. Well, fail.com, huh? I was obviously teasing you, all of you, you large group of Deathy Times readers, and I bet you've been waiting with bated breath for more accounts of my debaucherous antics. My intentions were good, I swear, but I'm not really one for following through...so while it shouldn't really surprise anyone that I've botched the whole blogging thing, I am sorry for the large number of tears I know that failure has caused.

Fortunately, I know someone with more than enough time on her hands to produce brilliant/hilarious blog entries. She is my resident lady of leisure sister, whose commitment to all things entertaining outweighs mine and whose commitment to her 9-5 job is mildly less taxing. She spends hours each week seeking out entertainment and sharing her findings with her closest friends (read: anyone who might one day be interested in those things that she finds amusing). Many of the things in which she engrosses herself are legitimately educational/cool/enriching (examples: she taught herself a back bend and how to read Korean)...others are not (read on)...but you can't win 'em all, right?

Anyway, from the entertainment encyclopedia that is my sister's brain, I bring you S(e)oul Searching:

For over a year now, I have been battling (and succumbing to) an addiction. Alcohol? No. Cocaine? Yeah right I'm broke dot com! I am addicted to...

Korean dramas.

When did this happen? Why did this happen? Korea? Seriously? When did you learn how to say "I'm hungry" in Korean? How can you read what it says on the sign in front of Seoul Mart?

I will not answer these questions both because they are unimportant and because I'd rather maintain my ladylike demeanor and not divuldge too much. Let's just say the internet, specifically YouTube, is a very large place, and I cannot be held responsible for the number of hours I spent on it during Spring Break 2008 when I was alone in my hometown. WELL, ANYWAY...the important thing is that I have logged a fair amount of time watching these shows.

A little background info: Korean dramas are typically 16-24 episodes long. Second seasons are rare. They are basically like a mini-series with a complete story arc. This makes it possible to see many different dramas and to watch a series in succession. Have you ever tried to watch the entire Sopranos series?! Who has 100 free hours?! Once a drama ends, a new one begins in its timeslot and they change all year round. There are no sweeps and things rarely get canceled (they are sometimes shortened or extended depending on how good the ratings are).

Luckily, there are people who are weirder than me who take time out of their lives to not only translate these dramas (for free), but subtitle them (for free) and put them on the internet (for free). The Korean drama internet world is full of enablers of my problem. They also allow me to tell myself that my consumption of their efforts is certainly not as ridiculous as the efforts themselves (right?). PLUS, I'm not obsessed with Japan, so that means I'm not a freak (*cough*).

Korean Dramas are addicting in the worst way. They play into all the emotions and fantasies that any girl could ever have. Think of the eye-rolling you may have received from a guy when you told him how much you liked The O.C. or Grey's Anatomy because they were just so awesome. It's like that...but in Korean! There are a lot of funny cliches that are used over and over again. So much so that people comment on how well a very obviously illegal u-turn to get to the airport in time to confess one's feelings before the other person gets on a plane to study abroad for 2 years is used, rather than the fact that it was used.

This got me thinking: What if I based my opinions or cultural understanding of Korea solely on what I had seen in dramas? Well, it would look a little something like this:

(Disclaimer: I am fully aware that these things are not true)

1) I would think Koreans were very patient. People leave to "study abroad" or "work abroad" for YEARS (why do you need to go to Australia to study photography?)! When couples finally are reunited, they make it seem as though they have not seen each other for this entire period of time. Wait a GD minute. You're telling me that this incredibly rich guy who is financing his girlfriend's travels doesn't have the money for a plane ticket to visit the bitch? I guess not. Well, patience is a virtue (apparently).

2) Everybody kisses like 7th graders. Now, as an American, I am pretty used to watching people making out on primetime TV. Hell, our television programming is often one well placed throw pillow away from actually showing people bumping uglies. Not in Korea. Forget sex. Just forget it. The culmination of almost all dramas is the kiss between the two leads. Don't get me wrong, it's completely satisfying. Well, until I realize that they are showing this kiss from about 20 different angles and in each one it shows the same thing: two faces smushed together with lips barely touching and certainly NOT moving. What do you call that? A lingering peck? I don't know, but that's about as much action as anyone gets.

3) Rich men with nosey mothers often employ women to act like their girlfriend to get said nosey mother off their back about getting married. You're 27. You're hot. You're Rich. You're being groomed to take over the family business. Your problem? MOM! Oh mothers, they think they know best. They want you to get married! They want grandchildren! Thing is you're hung up on this girl from your past who broke your heart. Luckily, there are any number of good-hearted, down and out women that you can promise large amounts of money to in exchange for a contract stating that you'll pretend to date. Despite her strong morals, poor girl has debt (incurred by an irresponsible, gambling father no less!). She needs the money to keep her house. You, being the smart guy you are, know that your mother will hate this girl as she is not of good breeding. That's just the icing on the cake. The contract will always state that you crazy kids may NOT, i repeat NOT, fall in love with each other. This clause is obvi broken and you're a better person! (if I move to Korea, will this be how I can make my fortune?)

4) If you make a u-turn in the middle of a street in Seoul, you'll be totes fine. Oh no! I've just realized I love that girl! BIG OH NO! She's at the airport! She's leaving to studying business in London for 3 years! I have to tell her before she leaves! BIGGEST OH NO! I am on the other side of town! No worries Korean Drama Male Lead! You can just pull a U-y! There will certainly not be any cars coming, especially not during the day! I imagine Koreans are very aware that this angsty last minute move is likely to be pulled by any number of 20-40 year old men with a car in Seoul (depending on the distance from the airport) and drive accordingly.

5) If you trip and fall in Korea, your lips are likely to land on another person's lips. Most often those of the object of your affection. Careful ladies! Better learn how to walk in those heels, especially after you've depressingly drank a shit-ton of Soju, so as to avoid this situation.

There are any number of other things I could comment on, like women often getting transported from room to room by their wrist while they mildly resist or the vast amount of Man Tears (Man Tears? Oh! Awk! I G2G!). However, one thing keeps me glued to the screen of my 8-year-old Dell Laptop (my computer is old enough to be in second grade!). Each of these dramas follows my favorite plotline. A rich, arrogant, attractive man meets a poor, independent, strong-willed girl. They butt heads, they hate each other...then the good-hearted girl rubs off on the rich douche who, under it all, was a good guy after all.

Romance. Koreans. They know about it.

I could go on forever really, but I'll end with two things:

1) Don't knock it 'til you've tried it. You can begin here or here

2) My gateway drug of choice is My Lovely Sam Soon. Enjoy.

<3>

PS I'm sassy and poor...which one of you hot rich dudes wants to send me to study abroad?

I'm Not Dead (What Happened to The Deathy Times)

I'm fully aware of the devastation that has resulted from my becoming overwhelmed of late. Sadly, I have been legitimately occupied ALL DAY at work for the last few weeks, and bonafide responsibility has kept me from updating The Deathy Times on a regular basis, as was my habit there for a while. This begs the question, how in the name of God did this happen to me?!?!

The reasoning for this miserable life development is twofold...and really not miserable...but kind of.

First, I should explain my job. I work at a place that gets shit done...we're basically the best at what we do (which I will not explain, as I know this blog is likely to be faaaamous one day, and my anonymity will only make it more intriguing to its massive following at that time). We have a shit-ton of clients, and they love us and we make their lives better, so they give us a large portion of their dollars. The client that I work for is brand new to my company, and I was brought on when they came (so there's not a single seasoned relationship in the mix). Anyway, that was back in the middle of July...and on the 1st of August, the client's whole staff went on vacation for an entire month. Needless to say, this was the cause of my utter lack of responsibility during August--a freedom which allowed time for regular Deathy Times updates that have stopped abruptly since. Now that they're back, this client has plenty of work to go around...sometimes even more than we can handle...and The Deathy Times was the first poor soul to be strangled by said work.

Second, and now that you have an understanding of the nature of the beast, you should know that my Beauty School Dropout semi-boss was looooooving our lack of responsibility and of stress back in August. Sitting in her office, looking at the pictures of her vomitrocious boyfriend that she kept on her desk, on her cell phone, and as the background of her computer, listening to Celine Dion on her iHome with a candle lit, and generally being worthless and uneducated struck her fancy just like a turkey leg at the state fair! Note: I'm going for a trashy image here...you know...state fair, jean skirt, white haulter top that exposes a little midriff, hair pulled back with gel, belly button pierced, holding a turkey leg...this is how I imagine the semi-boss behaving outside of work. Anyway, as soon as the rest of the staff came back and the workload picked up (read: came into existence with the firey burning passion of a thousand motherfucking suns), she was a little shocked. SO...she left. I'm told that she marched into the HR office and said that our client was simply too much and that she wanted out...preferably before 12 noon the following day. That may or may not be true, but regardless, her wish was granted. I semi-believe it...and I say good riddance you retard. Thanks for...well...nothing. See ya never.

To make her departure even sweeter, I was promoted to her job, and I will be helping to choose the poor sucker that will soon take my former position. In the meantime though, I have the workload of two poor suckers, and I therefore don't have hours at work to spend creating brilliant descriptions of my life and the lives of those walking clusterfucks that I call my friends.

I do have many life updates though, beginning with those you were promised nearly two months ago (family 90th birthday party, the day I cried in a hair salon, and something else I currently can't remember). We will move from there to the day I tried to answer the door to pay for pizza with no clothes on, my family trip to San Francisco, things that have become popular in the world since I last addressed you all, and the fact that I had a birthday (and Perfect Love Interest's mother told me that I'm nearly of an age where I probably once thought I would have my life together). She was right both that I used to think that and that I'll likely be nowhere close for quite some time...I mean Jesus...I can't even update my own public journal on a regular basis, what was I possibly thinking when I used to tell myself I'd be successful and married by 25?

Anyway...more to come...eventually.