Wednesday, June 25, 2008

Who Steals My Purse Steals Trash

"Who steals my purse steals trash;
'tis something, nothing;'
Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands;
But he that filches from me my good name
Robs me of that which not enriches him,
And makes me poor indeed."Othello Act 3, scene 3, 155–161
I have never understood the need for joke-stealing. Its the age-old story of back-stabbing and two timing that no one ever speaks of because they will seem petty. I have never held back on this blog and I will not stop today!
There you are at a casual dinner party (or raucous beer fest, take your pick) and you make a quiet joke. Your "friend" next to you hears how funny it is, repeats it at a louder decibal, and becomes the man/lady of the hour--the joker of the evening, the grand Puuba of Funny. Everyone loves him/her and you are just the quiet moron he/she brought along for his/her ride of comedy. You drink more and keep asking yourself, "Why didnt I say that louder? How can I make them know I'M THE FUNNY ONE!" You cant. You drink more, and while your friend basks in the glory of his/her comedic genius, you're table dancing your pain away and making out with everyone in the room. Age-old story in which I have seen and been apart. I ask you, WHY DOES THIS HAPPEN!?
The alternate joke-stealer is the guy in your cubicle who you use one of your finest jokes on. He laughs, he thinks its funny. In fact, he thinks its so funny he just happens to use your joke, plus his slanted smile, on your boss. The boss laughs and Joe-Creeper becomes #1 Intern. You, in turn, become Intern #2 who couldnt make a baby laugh at some keys shaking in their face. You can't go back in time and reserve your humor for the boss, you can't beat the crap out of Joe-Creeper and you can't hide the fury that burns within you for this joke stealer. He told the joke to the right person at the right time and you are nothing but an intern. Cry yourself to sleep, but make sure you seek revenge always on Joe-Creeper.
Sometimes, in worse situations, its not just jokes but full ideas. Complete ideas in which you created are credited to some jerk who was slick enough to give him/herself the credit to the right people. I have had such ideas stolen from me. They were brilliant gorgeously crafted ideas. The ideas turned into reality and I felt proud for my blossoming creativity. My problem; I crafted them with a shifty son-of-a-monkey who in turn pretended he crafted them on his own. My creation was his and his creation was mine. I was left looking, once again, like the drunk moron dancing on the age old table of life waiting for the shifty-son-of-a-monkey to recognize me. He never did. I can't go back and claim those ideas as my own; it would seem petty now.
However, I will say it takes a different breed of human to not only accept someone elses' jokes, or ideas, but to take owernship and pride in them. All of the above thieves have not only stolen, but claimed and revelled in ideas in which they took. It takes no conscious, giant testicles and a cold-heart to feel you have the right to something someone else produced. Its plagiarism in a verbal manner. If I took everything off Wikipedia, tacked it into my paper and then showed my paper off to other students shouting "HA! I'M BRILLIANT" wouldn't I seem like an idiot? Than why, why do we let joke stealers slide? How come we dont scream "I JUST SAID THAT! YOU JUST SAID IT LOUDER!" Why do we hide and blame ourselves?
Deep down, its because we know we'll make 1,000,000 more jokes, or come up with 1,000,000 more ideas, and the thief will be riding the one they stole from you for years.
To honesty and to good jokes,
~The Lady~

Thursday, June 12, 2008

To Flaming Youth


O shame, where is thy blush?
Rebellious hell,
If thou canst mutine in a matron's bones,
To flaming youth let virtue be as wax
And melt in her own fire. Hamlet Act 3, scene 4, 81–85

I do not do well in heat. My body, my hair, and my overall being just don’t match up with overly hot and humid weather. If I were a can of hairspray, I would be highly flammable. If I were a dog, I would get overheated easily. If I were a homosexual, I would be of the flaming variety. I just don’t do well in the heat. Granted, neither do old people nor children locked in small cars but I don’t hear them complaining. Which brings me to my top ten list: Top Ten Things to do When the Weather is Scorching Hot.

10. Run around in the sprinkler…that your neighbor puts on even during the drought. Scream and yell in your bathing suit as you jump through the crisp cold sprinkler squirts. When your neighbor reprimands you, tell him you’re with the Sprinkler Control and that he cares more for his grass than the environment. Then run away, with your arms flailing, screaming “SPRINKLER CONTROL” whilst making siren noises.

9. Eat water ice…that you’ve stolen from a small child—preferably a toddler. The smaller their hands the easier to steal from them (this is a well known fact documented in the Encyclopedia of Being a Bad Person).

8. Turn on your air conditioner…to 20 degrees. Pull out your parka and tack an “Eskimo Home” sign on your front door. All the neighbors will be jealous when you get hypothermia.

7. Go to the beach…and pretend you’re a beached whale. People will try desperately to cool you off with buckets of water and throw you back. Plus, the news crews will be all over this nautical event.

6. Go the pool…and pretend you’re drowning. If for nothing else you’ll get a free hookup with a lifeguard (at least that’s what “The Sandlot” and “Baywatch” have taught me).

5. Drink water…gallons of it, until you die from Water-Poisoning. Can you say poster-child for hydration?

4. Wear 35+ sun block…and a visor, carry an umbrella, wear gloves, a turbin and footy pajamas (just to be safe). If the sun hits your skin scream “UVA EQUALS DEATH” and run into the shade as quickly as possible.

3. Lounge in a pool….of ice cubes. Feel the tingle of cooling down.

2. Wear deodorant…on every bit of your body that sweats (ie: anywhere that has a pore of some sort). Nobody likes a hot-stinker so make sure you buy surplus deodorant. Only you can prevent hot sticky messes!

And the number one way to stay cool in the Summer….

1. Read this blog. Are you reading this blog? Well, you’re already cooler than you were when you weren’t reading this blog! Is this a shameless play on words? Yes. Are you cool? Yes. Any complaints? I didn’t think so.

Keep cool (the catch phrase of the month heard from the mouths of everyone I pass).

~The Lady~

Wednesday, June 4, 2008

If Music be the Food of Love

"The man that hath no music in himself,Nor is not mov'd with concord of sweet sounds,Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils."
- The Merchant of Venice (V, i, 83-85)

A sentimental fool is this lady that I claim to be, crumbling beneath the beautiful lyrics on an old dejected IPOD and a song that had meant so much in a time that shouldn’t be forgot but, was.

The Ipod is a part of the technological age so shouldn't it be cold and unwelcoming? How could it create such an emotional response as say, a poem. Yet, as this lady reclaimed its songs, their past meanings and all the heart-ache that came with these songs resurfaced and grabbed hold of the place it had left alone for years—her heart.

Then she heard it. It was her song from a time passed. It was that song she played every morning to wake her, every afternoon to keep her sane and every night so she wouldn't feel lonely.

It starts with a voice and a guitar. Simple and yet complete. Words so clear and commanding they fill up the soul like the creek nearby that fills after a good rain. Very early on, the song reminds her of the days when she needed this song to push her through the place in herself in which she was stuck.

In that time, things had become different, strange and awkward. Things that once were, had disappeared with their cool even smiles and their laughter. Friends that once were vanished into a darkness that she could not find. She searched but they had left everything behind—they had left her. The music brought them back. They were there, smiling their cool even smiles and talking about forever. That kind of forever resonated and vanished with each chord strum by the guitar.

This song had seen her through the dark hole they had led her to—left her to. She was in it, alone and wondering when life would start again. How could she breathe without them and the things she had hoped would garner her better memories and happier times? When would life start? She hadn’t realized it had started while she was stuck in a hole she had created for herself. Comfortable in her discontent she stayed there, sweltering in her own disappointments. She was too busy waiting for them to come back to realize life was all around her—closing in like a warm blanket in the winter waiting for her to feel its comfort.

As the disgust of these feelings surge within her, the bongos kick into the melody bringing her back to the present. The singers' voice grows stronger. Guitar-voice-bongos; a combination she hadn’t remembered, yet the song still reflected her heartbeat and the surge of life it made her feel.

Then the drums, loud and boisterous added a complete circle to the lyrics and the message swirling, whirling as quickly as her memories. One by one the memories come, infringing on her peaceful thoughts and reminding her of every bit of every battle, every milestone, every tear, every drink, every moment, every smile, every embarrassment, every laugh, and every ache, every everything. Everything fills her heavy heart. Everything is swirling, whirling as quickly as the beat of the drums, the bongos and the guitar.

“Life is wonderful, life goes full circle, life is wonderful.” The “la-las” in between make the song reach to her even further. So simple and so clear they chant to her and lull her back from the sadness as they had once before.

Her eyes widen and a piano comes in playing simple keys she doesn’t know the names of. The keys pound into the soft part of her soul that she hadn’t revealed to anyone. Its that tender section of oneself that only a lover, a friend or a confidant can release. Yet, there it was being exposed by the keys of a piano.
She hasn’t heard the words in years. She has avoided coming back to the song that had once meant so much. What did it mean now? Could it mean as much as it did then?

It meant even more than before. It meant life, cycles, renewal, rebirth, and a reconnection with her old self to find her anew. This song was the glow of the morning sun without the promise ofthe sunset. It was the thought of life without fear of death, and courage without the fear of failure. This song meant everything. This song means everything. This song is her in the form of lyrics, a guitar, bongos, drums and a piano. It is hers and no one else’s unless they need it for a time. She would share it only for those who are stuck hard and unaware of what lies within them.

She would share her song because it was her and it was powerful.
~The Lady~

"Life is Wonderful" -Jason Mraz
It takes a crane to build a crane
It takes two floors to make a story
It takes an egg to make a hen
It takes a hen to make an egg
There is no end to what I'm saying
It takes a thought to make a word
And it takes some words to make an action
And it takes some work to make it work
It takes some good to make it hurt
It takes some bad for satisfaction
Ah la la la la la la life is wonderful
Ah la la la la la la life goes full circle
Ah la la la la life is wonderful
Ah la la la la la
It takes a night to make it dawn
And it takes a day to make you yawn brother
And it takes some old to make you young
It takes some cold to know the sun
It takes the one to have the other
And it takes no time to fall in love
But it takes you years to know what love is
And it takes some fears to make you trust
It takes some tears to make it rust
It takes the dust to HAVE it polished
Ah la la la la la la life is wonderful
Ah la la la la la la life goes full circle
Ah la la la la la la life is wonderful
Ah la la la la
It takes some silence to make sound
And it takes a loss before you found it
And it takes a road to go nowhere
It takes a toll to make you care
It takes a hole to MAKE a mountain
Ah la la la la la life is wonderful
Ah la la la la la life goes full circle
Ah la la la la la la life is wonderful
Ah la la la la la life is meaningful
Ah la la la la la la life is wonderful
Ah la la la la la life is meaningful
Ah la la la la la la life is full of
Ah la la la la la life is so full of love
Ah la la la la la life is wonderful
Ah la la la la la la life is meaningful
Ah la la la la la life is full of
Ah la la la la la life is so full of love...

Sunday, June 1, 2008

A Stop of Wine, Mistress Maria

"Dost thou think because thou art virtuous
there shall be no more cakes and ale?"
-Sir Toby, "Twelfth Night"
Lately, there is nothing in this world I love more than my boyfriend. I mean, I've loved him since the day he stalked me on campus but, recently he has become someone that I love more than anything. After the many internal understanding that he might read this blog and, subsequently, he would learn of my love of the many celebrities I call boyfriends #2-#30, he read this very blog. Although I try not to disclose too much about myself on this, I will say that my boyfriend laughed at my posts. It was more rewarding than a paycheck on payday. Its one thing to have one or two avid readers but to have someone who knows you better than anyone else laugh outloud at your writing feels nice. It feels just as nice as birthday cake and a glass of wine.

Recently, a good friend of mine celebrated her birthday. As I have become a big fan of cake, and it was a birthday, I decided to pick one up for the lovely 20 year old. As the party of friends drank and was merry, we decided to cut the cake. Someone decided the cake slices would be as big as our faces and, thusly, we all got diabetes that night. The cake might have been delicious but, our plates were piled high with large slices and the sugar comas were abundant. As I washed it down with a fresh glass of Franzia's Sunset Blush,I realized how much I love wine, cake and my boyfriend.
My father called me a wino. In my defense, my father joined a wine of the month club for two months. It was the most wonderful months of my life. As we ripped through the packaging of our fresh box of 12 different wines I exclaimed, "Father, this is the best decision you have ever made." Second only to having (and keeping) me as a daughter, the wine-of-the-month was a fabulous idea for my Dad to come up with on his own. Each month, we recieved all types of delicious wines from all over the world. Shiraz from Australia, Cabernet from Italy, and Pinot from California delighted me every time we opened up the monthly box. Then, my mother found out about how much the wine of the month was costing and cut short our wine-loving livelihood.
The boxes stopped arriving at our doorstep. A 21-year-old didn't have to be present to sign for that precious box. The clouds loomed and God stopped smiling in the days to follow. Since then, Papa has hoarded every remaining wine from his club. Each time I secretly steal or open one he catches me, calls me a wino and reminds me that hes running low. I still steal them because--as he informed me--I'm a wino. I don't discriminate either. Boxed wine is the gift that keeps on giving. Whoever thought that 1 bottle of wine couldn't beat 5 liters is someone I must thank profusely. The boxed wine creators got me through my junior year of college. The boxed wine creators also created a reasonably priced way to pretend I was elegant whilst getting shitfaced. I'll pretty much drink cooking wine if it hits the spot. Next up, pure vinegar. And, with all that classiness bottled into one lady, my boyfriend still loves me for who I am.
Its also my boyfriend's fault that I've become obsessed with cake. His family has the most delicious cakes at his house all the time. I was never a true lover of cake until his birthday in which I ate my own slice and then asked the fattest question of his brother, "Are you going to finish that?" The lovely boyfriend and I also watched a cake contest on the Food Network for an entire afternoon (be jealous of our invigorating lifestyle) and it made me want to eat every cake that was ever made. There are so many sweet adittions to my life since I've met him and different cakes, and my new appreciation for cake has just been the sweet icing to our love. Also, we play Mario Party together and this pictures is the best cake for a couple with such nerdy inclinations.
To sum it all together. My boyfriend is a wonderful person who loves me for everything I am and every weird nuance I have.
All we need is love, let us drink and be merry, and let them eat cake!
~The Lady~
(this is a cake topper...that I love)