I am the crazy fish lady.
I had one fish. One. His name was Chrono and he was an awesome fish. And yeah, I know that fish don't generally have a lot of personality, but he seriously did. He knew when I was about to feed him and would sort of swim to the surface and pounce on his little granules of food.
And then he died this past spring. He was old for a fish so it was understandable, but still very upsetting because, as it turns out, I don't deal well with death. I buried him outside in a great quiet place because I couldn't bring myself to flush him. In case you were wondering, his name was Chrono because he was blue with red tipped fins. Chrono, the character from Chrono Trigger, had red hair and wore blue. It all makes sense. Shuttup, I'm just as dorky as you are.
So, my brother, as I mentioned before, got me Voldemort (whose saga can be found here). Voldemort is an awesome fish, but I am pretty sure he is slightly evil. I know this because he swims upside down and STALKS his granules. Yes, stalks. He hides in his plants and slowly ventures towards the surface where he then POUNCES. It makes me glad that I am bigger than he is.
Why am I the fish lady, you ask? Well, okay, here goes. You may want to take a bathroom break before reading this- it may be a while.
The Baker Painter went off and got married. By went off and got married, I mean that she and The Canadian were engaged for a long time and then decided to do it somewhat last minute. Angry Squirrel and I were witnesses at the courthouse. And then The Beer Connoisseur and The New Girl (who isn't so much the new girl anymore...hmmm...) took them out to lunch to celebrate. As it turns out, The Baker Painter and The Canadian are now all kind of adventurous and are moving far away just because they can. They cannot, however, easily take their two beta fish with them. So, now I am babysitting them indefinitely, although The Baker Painter promised me that if one or both of them passes away and heads out to the great fish bowl in the sky, she will not be upset.
Now I have Stan, Yet-Wah, and Voldemort living in my room. All in different bowls because betas will kill each other if they are in the same bowl.
Part of me wants to dump them all in the same bowl and video tape the giant fish-style gladiator event, but I cannot emotionally stand there and watch them kill each other. I mean, I did actually cry when Chrono died so there is no way I'd let them kill each other.
Speaking of death and killing each other, is it weird that the primary ingredient in these beta granules is "fish meal" immediately followed by "fish oil?" Mmmmmm...Cannibal the Musical better watch out- I may have to write Beta Fish, the Musical Melodrama.
Saturday, October 28, 2006
Thursday, October 12, 2006
Man Jewelry
Let's discuss Man Jewelry, shall we? Now, I don't mind the occassional piercing or necklace or watch, but there is a point wherein it becomes...utterly obnoxious.
The Tool, for example, wears what I will refer to as a "mass produced Pacific Sun Wear hippie necklace." Every day. With his work clothes. For some reason, seeing said necklace peaking out amoung the weird fuzzy, curly chest hair that reaches to his neck, really bothers me. Maybe it's that he's a large man who looks much older than he is. Maybe it's the carpet of chest hair that is ALWAYS showing from under his collared shirt. Maybe it's the fact that he wears it as though it is a badge to his true self and this office persona he puts on is a facade he must work under because he is in the corporate world. I'm not sure, but I do know that it makes him that much more of a Tool.
The Gopher is also one for the Man Jewelry. In his case, he has each cartilege pierced in the same place with the same gold hoop. And nothing else. In the right light, it resembles pot holders and it makes me want to pick him up by the piercings. As of late, he has also taken to wearing a pinkey ring. That's right. A pinkey ring. A fashion statement generally representative of WWII Vets and Mob Bosses, I have to say that it is my favorite of the non-smooth manaccessories.
I think there's a direct correlation between the amount of cheesy man jewelry and the level of toolness in this office. Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of acceptable pieces for guys to wear. In fact, a lot of my close guy friends have some really nice everyday wear that I think are great. Watches are fine. Piercings (so long as you're actually a piercing person and not trying hard to pretend to be a piercing person) are fine...this is generally silver and not gold though. Even a necklace or ring is fine. But when you pile it on to look like Mr. T. or an original cast member of Hair or a one-man display case for PacSun, we have issues.
Ok, mini-rant done.
The Tool, for example, wears what I will refer to as a "mass produced Pacific Sun Wear hippie necklace." Every day. With his work clothes. For some reason, seeing said necklace peaking out amoung the weird fuzzy, curly chest hair that reaches to his neck, really bothers me. Maybe it's that he's a large man who looks much older than he is. Maybe it's the carpet of chest hair that is ALWAYS showing from under his collared shirt. Maybe it's the fact that he wears it as though it is a badge to his true self and this office persona he puts on is a facade he must work under because he is in the corporate world. I'm not sure, but I do know that it makes him that much more of a Tool.
The Gopher is also one for the Man Jewelry. In his case, he has each cartilege pierced in the same place with the same gold hoop. And nothing else. In the right light, it resembles pot holders and it makes me want to pick him up by the piercings. As of late, he has also taken to wearing a pinkey ring. That's right. A pinkey ring. A fashion statement generally representative of WWII Vets and Mob Bosses, I have to say that it is my favorite of the non-smooth manaccessories.
I think there's a direct correlation between the amount of cheesy man jewelry and the level of toolness in this office. Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of acceptable pieces for guys to wear. In fact, a lot of my close guy friends have some really nice everyday wear that I think are great. Watches are fine. Piercings (so long as you're actually a piercing person and not trying hard to pretend to be a piercing person) are fine...this is generally silver and not gold though. Even a necklace or ring is fine. But when you pile it on to look like Mr. T. or an original cast member of Hair or a one-man display case for PacSun, we have issues.
Ok, mini-rant done.
Sunday, October 08, 2006
Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday afternoons...
S&M. Stages and mothers. Two things that should never ever be combined because once they are fused, they create a tight, powerful bond similar to that of gorilla glue and wood. The mother cannot be separated from the stage.
Having had too much contact with these mothers as of late, I have divided them into four groups:
the overprotective, worrywart mom
the competitive mom
the "I take everything seriously when it comes to my child" mom
and, of course, the "my child is living the dream I could never live myself" mom
Now, of course there is some overlap. You can have a competitive, living the dream mom or a worrywart taking it serious mom or any other combination. The point is that for the most part, if you are a stage mom, you will fall into one of these categories.
The overprotective, worrywart moms are the ones who come into the administrative offices to sign their children up for theater classes, even though they can mail in their forms just as easily. They do this so that they may not only meet with someone to discuss the school and see who the teacher is, but also to ensure that the teacher is aware that their child is shy/quiet/often sick/prone to asthma attacks/allergic to bees/sensitive about his big ears and to see what the male to female ratio of the class is. Logically, the male to female ratio of a musical theater class for 7-8 year olds is, oh, 1:16. IF that. These mothers will sit in the front of the office for an hour and a half and hem and haw about the fact that little Timmy is the only boy signed up so far and that makes him uncomfortable. They will then ask that you go through everyone else's registration forms in the class and tell them what towns all the other children attending are from. This is necessary when coordinating soccer practices of other siblings. Once classes start, they do not leave the classroom until they are sure that little Timmy is not going to burst into tears. Timmy will not burst into tears. Timmy will start screaming and yelling and go into general disrespect mode. Timmy is a brat.
The competitive mother calls up for registration and immediately tells you that her daughter, we'll go with Sue, is amazing and should be in the 9-12 year old class even though she is just now 6 years old, because she is that talented. She is better than every other 6 year old because she has more experience and it just isn't fair that the other children should hold her back. This registration, which should take all of about 10 minutes, is a 45 minute ordeal complete with you having no choice but to say "Oh, wow" as enthusiastically as you can push yourself to be, when in actuality, you don't care that Sue is on Sesame Street, Martha Stewart, Jerry Springer, Oprah, or Conan O'Brian. Sue, meanwhile, is screaming in the background the entire time about how she wants to go play at some other kid's house and why isn't mommy paying attention to her? Can she have a cookie yet? Once class starts, she will start talking to any other parent sitting out there and immediately ask them about their child. This isn't actual interest; it's summarizing the competition and giving her an opportunity to brag about her child. A typical conversation goes like this:
Mother 1: Which child is yours?
Mother 2: The one in the pink in the front.
Mother 1: Oh, she's cute. How long has she been doing this?
Mother 2: Thanks. This is actually her first acting class.
Mother 1: I see. My Sue's been doing this since she was 6 months old. Someone told me she should be a Gerber baby, so I got her an agent.
Mother 2: Oh, really?
Mother 1: Yes. She's been in countless commercials, she's doing Sesame Street, and next month she's going to be making an appearance on Ellen as a little star singer. She's been taking voice lessons since she was three.
Mother 2: Wow. Are voice lessons necessary at this age?
Mother 1: Oh, definately. If you're serious about it and they know they want to be a star one day, you have to start them as young as you can. You want to give your children every advantage so that when they're 7 or 8 and can start to audition for Young Cosette in Les Miserables, they have a fighting chance.
This is a method mothers use to intimidate one another and make the other mothers think that they aren't doing all they could be to push their children to make it. I mean, if by 5 years old, a child doesn't have an agent and has no idea how to act, then maybe she won't be on Broadway. Maybe she missed her chance to be truly great. Maybe she'll be stuck working in a dog food factory manning the production lines because her mother didn't think that voice lessons were necessary in kindergarten. This, of course, also plays on the fears mothers have that one day their child will need therapy and everything will be their fault.
The "I take everything seriously when it comes to my child" mom acts more like an agent than a mother. She will call up for registration and ask if she needs to bring a resume and headshots to the first day of class. No, she is not kidding. She will then go on for about 10 minutes about how wonderful her precious Nate is. And yes, her child's name is something douchy that will look good on the cover of Teen Beat in 10 years when he is the heartthrob she is grooming him to be. Like Nate or Corey or Ashton or Everett. He will, of course, drop his last name and go by his middle name, equally as douchy, so you end up with Nate Benjamin, Corey Lawrence, Ashton Scott, and Everett Michael. No Goldstein has ever been the next Leo. On the first day of classes, mom will seek out the director of the school, bypassing teachers and assistants, to discuss little Nate's potential directly. She has no regard for time and will literally talk to the director, regardless of classes starting or other parents, as long as she feels is necessary. This undetermined amout of time is genarally about 20 minutes per parent, which is great when the class is an hour long.
And finally, the "my child is living the dream I never could" mom will call to register her child and spend hours on the phone with you discussing how she has always loved theater. Her favorite role was Dolly in Hello Dolly and she really got a great number of compliments on her interpretation of the text, but unfortunately, a career as an actress wasn't in the cards for her. But little Emma (a name made popular thanks to the Friends phenomenon) is very excited to start her musical theater career and would really like to follow in her mother's footsteps. When you ask for an emergency contact number, instead of giving us her cell phone, she'll recommend contacting Stanley Lieberman, Emma's agent. While Emma is in class, this mom will insist on talking to you about the time she played Catherine in Pippin or Sandy in Grease and discuss all the things she knows and can help out with. She'll offer herself as a voice coach for the class or as an accompaniest, or a choreographer. She'll then want to know if you're planning on offering adult classes any time soon because, if not, she'd be more than willing to teach them. She did play Adalaide in Guys and Dolls before she got pregnant and had to give up the auditioning.
And these women, my friends, are the reasons why I will never ever, under any circumstances, be a stage mom. And also why I have taken to keeping a flask with me Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays.
Having had too much contact with these mothers as of late, I have divided them into four groups:
the overprotective, worrywart mom
the competitive mom
the "I take everything seriously when it comes to my child" mom
and, of course, the "my child is living the dream I could never live myself" mom
Now, of course there is some overlap. You can have a competitive, living the dream mom or a worrywart taking it serious mom or any other combination. The point is that for the most part, if you are a stage mom, you will fall into one of these categories.
The overprotective, worrywart moms are the ones who come into the administrative offices to sign their children up for theater classes, even though they can mail in their forms just as easily. They do this so that they may not only meet with someone to discuss the school and see who the teacher is, but also to ensure that the teacher is aware that their child is shy/quiet/often sick/prone to asthma attacks/allergic to bees/sensitive about his big ears and to see what the male to female ratio of the class is. Logically, the male to female ratio of a musical theater class for 7-8 year olds is, oh, 1:16. IF that. These mothers will sit in the front of the office for an hour and a half and hem and haw about the fact that little Timmy is the only boy signed up so far and that makes him uncomfortable. They will then ask that you go through everyone else's registration forms in the class and tell them what towns all the other children attending are from. This is necessary when coordinating soccer practices of other siblings. Once classes start, they do not leave the classroom until they are sure that little Timmy is not going to burst into tears. Timmy will not burst into tears. Timmy will start screaming and yelling and go into general disrespect mode. Timmy is a brat.
The competitive mother calls up for registration and immediately tells you that her daughter, we'll go with Sue, is amazing and should be in the 9-12 year old class even though she is just now 6 years old, because she is that talented. She is better than every other 6 year old because she has more experience and it just isn't fair that the other children should hold her back. This registration, which should take all of about 10 minutes, is a 45 minute ordeal complete with you having no choice but to say "Oh, wow" as enthusiastically as you can push yourself to be, when in actuality, you don't care that Sue is on Sesame Street, Martha Stewart, Jerry Springer, Oprah, or Conan O'Brian. Sue, meanwhile, is screaming in the background the entire time about how she wants to go play at some other kid's house and why isn't mommy paying attention to her? Can she have a cookie yet? Once class starts, she will start talking to any other parent sitting out there and immediately ask them about their child. This isn't actual interest; it's summarizing the competition and giving her an opportunity to brag about her child. A typical conversation goes like this:
Mother 1: Which child is yours?
Mother 2: The one in the pink in the front.
Mother 1: Oh, she's cute. How long has she been doing this?
Mother 2: Thanks. This is actually her first acting class.
Mother 1: I see. My Sue's been doing this since she was 6 months old. Someone told me she should be a Gerber baby, so I got her an agent.
Mother 2: Oh, really?
Mother 1: Yes. She's been in countless commercials, she's doing Sesame Street, and next month she's going to be making an appearance on Ellen as a little star singer. She's been taking voice lessons since she was three.
Mother 2: Wow. Are voice lessons necessary at this age?
Mother 1: Oh, definately. If you're serious about it and they know they want to be a star one day, you have to start them as young as you can. You want to give your children every advantage so that when they're 7 or 8 and can start to audition for Young Cosette in Les Miserables, they have a fighting chance.
This is a method mothers use to intimidate one another and make the other mothers think that they aren't doing all they could be to push their children to make it. I mean, if by 5 years old, a child doesn't have an agent and has no idea how to act, then maybe she won't be on Broadway. Maybe she missed her chance to be truly great. Maybe she'll be stuck working in a dog food factory manning the production lines because her mother didn't think that voice lessons were necessary in kindergarten. This, of course, also plays on the fears mothers have that one day their child will need therapy and everything will be their fault.
The "I take everything seriously when it comes to my child" mom acts more like an agent than a mother. She will call up for registration and ask if she needs to bring a resume and headshots to the first day of class. No, she is not kidding. She will then go on for about 10 minutes about how wonderful her precious Nate is. And yes, her child's name is something douchy that will look good on the cover of Teen Beat in 10 years when he is the heartthrob she is grooming him to be. Like Nate or Corey or Ashton or Everett. He will, of course, drop his last name and go by his middle name, equally as douchy, so you end up with Nate Benjamin, Corey Lawrence, Ashton Scott, and Everett Michael. No Goldstein has ever been the next Leo. On the first day of classes, mom will seek out the director of the school, bypassing teachers and assistants, to discuss little Nate's potential directly. She has no regard for time and will literally talk to the director, regardless of classes starting or other parents, as long as she feels is necessary. This undetermined amout of time is genarally about 20 minutes per parent, which is great when the class is an hour long.
And finally, the "my child is living the dream I never could" mom will call to register her child and spend hours on the phone with you discussing how she has always loved theater. Her favorite role was Dolly in Hello Dolly and she really got a great number of compliments on her interpretation of the text, but unfortunately, a career as an actress wasn't in the cards for her. But little Emma (a name made popular thanks to the Friends phenomenon) is very excited to start her musical theater career and would really like to follow in her mother's footsteps. When you ask for an emergency contact number, instead of giving us her cell phone, she'll recommend contacting Stanley Lieberman, Emma's agent. While Emma is in class, this mom will insist on talking to you about the time she played Catherine in Pippin or Sandy in Grease and discuss all the things she knows and can help out with. She'll offer herself as a voice coach for the class or as an accompaniest, or a choreographer. She'll then want to know if you're planning on offering adult classes any time soon because, if not, she'd be more than willing to teach them. She did play Adalaide in Guys and Dolls before she got pregnant and had to give up the auditioning.
And these women, my friends, are the reasons why I will never ever, under any circumstances, be a stage mom. And also why I have taken to keeping a flask with me Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays.
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