Category — feelings

Well.

Things have finally settled down here at the O’ Hesselbees and I feel like we can FINALLY get back to business as usual on FOTC – i.e., hating things.

On today’s agenda of hating things is people at the dog park who do not want their dogs to play with other dogs.

Um.

WHY DID YOU LEAVE THE HOUSE CRAZYTOWN DOG OWNER?

Seriously, I get that your tiny little teacup whatever is afeared of big dogs and my dogs CAN be assholes most of the time but they were not assholes today so why did you bring your little tiny bullshit dog to the giant dog park and then AND THEN throw a ball around for your tiny little fragile dog to chase after and expect EVERYONE ELSE TO FUCKING HOLD THEIR DOGS BACK BECAUSE YOUR TINY LITTLE ENTITLED DOG IS SO GODDAMN SENSITIVE?

I am just asking.

Tiny dog: Maybe put it in a hamster bubble next time

Number One:

I love all of you so very, very much. In fact, I’ve written you a poem about my feelings. I wrote this whilst in the bathtub, surrounded by candles, and listening to Sarah MacLachahahalanannlach. Here it is:

BJ and the Bear was a really great show
But not as good as Simon and Simon,
Do you want to know which show I always hated?
Eight is Enough
And yet…
Eight is enough to fill our house with love
most accurately describes my feelings
about all of you.
Except the number is wrong maybe
because there are more than eight of you (I hope)
and I hated that stupid Nicholas
because he burned their house down.
Please don’t burn my blog down
with your love for me.
Butterflies.

Number two:

We got kittens!

On Saturday, we adopted two kittens – one for each of us. Dane and I have wildly different ideas on what makes a cat cute so therefore two kittens are what we now have. Dane likes the little short haired, skinny girl kittens, and I like the VASTLY SUPERIOR furry fat big headed boy kittens.

Here is Zelda

Cute, but inferior kitten

And here is (the good one) Whiskey

The clear winner

They’re both four months old but Zelda is half the size of Whiskey. He’s going to be gigantic. I am so excited for this I may start force feeding him like they do to geese. (Ha!I’m kidding SPCA!) Whiskey actually had some kind of disease as a kitten which he’s still being treated for with antibiotics and he has some weakness in his back legs which in no way stops him from chasing Zelda from one end of the apartment to the other at three o’clock in the morning. And then pooping really smelly, kitten poop somewhere near the ridiculously expensive new cat box we got them.

So, to sum up….I had the best birthday ever because of my perfect husband and the exceptional fantastic magnamaliciousness of you guys and also, we now have two kittens who may or may not be the worst idea we’ve ever had. I’ll keep you updated.

In other news, I am now old and I had a dream last night that when I smiled it created a black, diagonal crease on my face starting at my hairline and running all the way to my chin. So, if anyone needs me, I will be spending the rest of the day in the bathroom staring at the mirror and crying.

UPDATE! More kittah pictures. What? Shut up.

Set your laptop on a high surface – say, an armoire or Dane (ha! I kid) – and then record yourself going through the daily motions of vacuuming the cat and dressing up the dog. Re-play the video at your leisure. Recoil in horror at the awkward way you walk when you remember there is a camera in the room. Watch the remainder of the video with your eyes shut – the image of your chubby backside burned forever into your retinas.

Repeat.

I’m breaking up with food.

It’s back kids! Our favorite new column Ask Dr. Intern Meagan ™!
So go ahead and ask Dr. Intern Meagan all your burning, itchy questions and while you’re at it could you please ask her why the fuck my shoes aren’t organized according to Goethe’s 12 part color wheel like I asked?

Thanks!

First, some business.

Win a date with Superfan Erica! Click here. Cliiiiickkkk. Do it.

Next, I’ve been reading Updike’s Rabbit is Rich (well re-reading…sort of….I never finished it before due to a lot of pressing divorce issues, such as getting one) and boy does he nail the kind of spoiled, backward, insular, non-sensical thinking of young Portland people.

Nelson Angstrom, Rabbit’s prodigal son who does indeed return home from Kent State in a fit of anti-establishment angst and passive aggressive mewling, embodies every single hypocritical east sidecentric, anti-revitalization, the rents are too high for me to continue making my art in my garage while I work part time at Floyd’s person in this town.

“I hate ticky tacky apartments and condos. I hate crummy old inner-city blocks getting all revitalized with swish little stores…it all reminds me of Kent. I came back here to get away from all that stuff. Somebody like Slim acts so counter-culture sniffing coke and taking mesc and all that, you know what he does for a living? He’s a biller for Diamond County Light and Power, he stuffs envelopes and is going to be Head Stuffer if he keeps at it for ten more years. How’s that for Establishment?”

I know, kiddo. It’s confusing when you don’t want to become the thing you hate but you also don’t want to be the thing you are. But jesus, please – stop wanting to keep Portland dirty and broken just so you don’t have to grow up.

It’s for your own good. Trust me.

This Thursday I’m going to be telling a story for Backfence PDX. (For info on what the hell Backfence PDX is, click here. DO IT. CLICK)

Anycrap, what I have to do, what all 6 of us will be doing, is telling a six minute story about summer and love without any notes or paper or hints or black tar heroin. And my particular story has the potential to be so embarrassing and judgment inviting that I can’t believe I’m going to tell it, but I am anyway. Because I am an attention seeking whore.

So that’s happening and you should all come down and witness my abject humiliation and extreme blushingness. My story is guaranteed to make everyone feel just a wee bit uncomfortable in the pants area. And I bet you dollars to donuts my story has more cocaine in it than ALL OF THE OTHER ONES COMBINED. So I win. Maybe.

There is going to be a winner, right?

Speaking of winning, the internet has clearly decided that the Dane Management of Kiala/ Kiala Management of Dane Month of Doing Just That (I should probably think of a better name) is a good idea. So we’ve decided to start on Friday. I’m scared.

This past weekend we went out like we do every weekend because we are so very popular and important. The reason I haven’t written about it yet is because I am trying to decide whether people mind becoming blog fodder or not. Also, I just realized I really like saying “blog fodder” out loud. Try it.

We go out with friends because it’s fun and it keeps us from laying on the couch for 63 hours at a time watching eleven seasons of The Shield with a bowl of tortilla chips resting on our bellies chests for easy snacking. We do not go out with friends because I need something to write about so teh internet will know how very popular and important we are (Did I mention that yet?). And still I have no idea if people truly like reading about what they did and how awesome they were (because everyone we know is awesome due to how popular and important we are) and knowing that a good nine three thousand people know about it now, too. And are judging them. Harshly.

I’m curious as to what your thoughts are on this, internet? Do you think people care? Does it make them nervous and excited like they might pee a little or punch me in the neck AT THE SAME TIME?

Until I decide what is the proper thing to do, based on your answers and most likely my perverse reaction to them which will be to do exactly the opposite of what you tell me to do, I will tell you this story about a party I went to my freshman year in high school.

I had transferred to Santa Margarita Catholic High School, which is a Catholic prep school for rich kids (we were not rich, but my Grandmother paid for it) in Southern California and I spent the first six months of the school year eating my pain away at Taco Bell so I weighed about 40 pounds more than I do right now. I had this leather bomber jacket like the one Kelly McGillis had in Top Gun and I wore it every day to school even though it was always about a thousand degrees in Trabuco Canyon but I thought it hid my fat parts. I was wrong.

So I went to this party at somebody’s big pink stucco house and after I watched the girls sing Take me Down To Paradise City at the top of their lungs we all went upstairs to watch a movie – probably Top Gun because the Gods mock me – and it was cold up there with the air conditioning on so some of the girls went down to get their jackets and one of the nice ones asked if I wanted mine and I said yes and told her, “it’s the leather bomber jacket” and the guy sitting next to me turned and looked at me with the most malice I’d ever seen in anyone’s eyes and spit out, “Shut your FAT FACE.”

I guess he thought I was being arrogant about my leather bomber jacket and who the fuck did I think I was, having a jacket and talking about it and being fat and having a fat face? And what makes me mad is that I didn’t say anything to him. I just TOOK IT. And I’m not writing this to have you all feel sorry for me and soothe my 14 year old hurts because that is bullshit. I am writing about it now because THAT is blog fodder.

Right?

People are still mad at me for comparing my cold to cancer (Well, not cancer – we can rest assured people still think cancer is funny or at least inconsequential) and AIDS. I have now been invited via another blog post to travel to Africa and volunteer with some kind of AIDS prevention and treatment center and then blog about how funny or not funny it is. This, I suppose, will Teach Me A Lesson about Taking Things Seriously.

God.

I DO NOT THINK WATCHING A LOVED ONE OR ANY LIVING THING DIE OF A HORRIBLE DISEASE IS FUNNY. I think using humor to ease a bad situation is, however, funny and HEALING. It’s called gallows humor. Look it up.

And anyway, how did we get to this point? Comments taken out of context and reposted elsewhere, I guess – which by the way is just poor journalism – and reactionary blogging by everyone. I made a twitter comment about my flu, someone reacted to it badly, I reacted to their reaction, my readers reacted to that, and so forth. And that is how you start a war. It’s stupid.

Do these people really think that WE think a child wearing a silly hat who has tourettes and is dying of AIDS is funny? It’s not funny, although typing it did just make me giggle a little. And you know why? Because it’s inappropriate, like laughing in church (actually, laughing in church is the only appropriate thing to do, in my opinion).

I really did not want to talk about this anymore, but then I got called out again and I was all “It is ON” and my fingers were all “Let’s type this shit OUT” and also, no, I do not want the world thinking I’m some kind of hate monger who is evil and wants people to die of diseases so that I can make fun of them. Way to blow it all out of proportion, Portland.

Sometimes, I do not like the internet. I hops it gets the cancer.

Well.

We have fun here at the cookie don’t we?
Let’s have a little recap of what we learned today and yesterday…

1.) The Portland lesbian blogging community gets really, really upset when we make light of AIDS – but not so much when we make light of heart disease, obesity, mommy blogs, and cancer.

2.) Everyone is gay. With AIDS. That Kinsey was on to something.

3.) Saying things we’re not supposed to say outloud is liberating.

4.) I love my readers.

and

5.) Never assume that you have cornered the market on tragedy.

Who’s to say that your tragedy is more IMPORTANT than mine is? Why is AIDS the only thing these women are angry about? Why was my making light of cancer not nearly as angry making? Is AIDS still considered a gay disease? Does it matter if it is or isn’t?

It’s 2008 and we live in one of the most liberal cities in America. Nobody cares about your sexual orientation. WE ARE ALL A LITTLE GAY OR A LITTLE STRAIGHT. Get over it.

Anyway, it’s interesting to see how people go about the business of drawing a line in the sand. For me, nothing is sacred, so long as it’s funny. I give no power to “hateful” words unless someone personally attacks me or someone I care about – as in, “You are a whore and I am throwing AIDS at you because you are a fat dumb bitch.” Well, that’s just stupid and mean and PERSONAL. But if it’s funny and smart and poking fun at the world for taking itself too seriously, then I don’t give a shit. Poke away. Use all your words. Have a ball.

I didn’t insult anyone by equating my flu with cancer and AIDS. I’m just a baby when it comes to being sick. A sore throat makes me feel like I need a morphine drip, OKAY?

And that is all I’m going to say about that.

I am sick. And when I’m sick all I can do is talk about how sick I am and how much being sick hurts and sometimes burns my eyes and also, how I’m sick. And that is BORING, am I right? So I will attempt to not talk about how sick I am and how it BURNS. My eyes.

I had a deadline this morning for two film reviews and naturally, since I knew about them since last Thursday I got them both done right away Friday morning.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

No. I wrote them this morning. Because that is how I do it and THANK GOD no one from the Mercury reads my blog or I’d be in some hot wa-

Oh.

I actually spent the better part of yesterday picking away at one of the reviews but I was coming down with this flu aids cancer cold thing I have and so – oh! DIGRESSION. Apparently, according to some people on Twitter, making fun of AIDS is “Totally.Not.Funny.”

It’s not? Because I am fairly certain that Patton Oswalt, Sarah Silverman and anyone with a sense of humor will disagree with that statement. And since when did people start censoring other people on Twitter? Just stop following me for shit’s sake. And, AND..the statement I made was just the one I said up there…about having a flu cancer aids cold. It’s not like I wished AIDS on Twitter. Outloud.

Maybe this person was kidding, but it didn’t seem like they were kidding. I mean, people make fun of heart attacks and strokes all the time because that is how we deal with scary things in this world. Is it because it’s an epidemic? So now I can’t make fun of the flu or obesity or non emos rioting against emos? WHYFOR?

Also, this person is a respected blogger in the Portland Blogging Community (I KNOW. I’m already thinking it. So you don’t have to say it), which kind of blows because I don’t really want to start an internet war – AND I DO HOPE THEY WERE KIDDING – but I will. And you can be sure The Poor will pay for it in taxes and late payment fees. And AIDS.

See, NOW you can get mad.