Am I the Only One Who Doesn't Like Liz Lemon?

I decided that I don't like Tina Fey (the writer/actress, not the human being).

Not in the I-have-nothing-better-to-do-with-my-life-than-bash-celebrities-that-I-feel-threatened-by-on-the-internet-all-day kind of way. I respect the woman wholeheartedly. I think she is talented and seems like an A-ok gal (though I do believe that the downfall of SNL began when she became head writer...think about it).

Nah.

I just don't like her because I think she gives a bad wrap to intelligent, career-orientated, sarcastic thirty-something women.

Ever notice that ALL of her characters are in their late 30's, have no life, no sex, seem a wee bit desperate, and a whole lotta pathetic? You find yourself sitting there, watching her in "30 Rock", BABY MAMA, or MEAN GIRLS, sweating profusely, fidgeting in your seat, turning to the people next to you, screaming, "This is funny? THIS IS WHAT PEOPLE CALL FUNNY?"

Maybe I'm the only one who does.

Maybe I'm afraid, ok?!

Maybe when I watch these characters, I think, "Shit, that's me in twelve years- a slave to my thankless job, child-less, husband-less, and constantly reguritating awkward witty comments at any poor schmuck who walks by."

I don't want to be Liz Lemon!

NEVER EVER!

I see those women and their respective elder conterparts! Here in Texas they're tall, with slender non-child bearing hips. They have beautiful long silver hair and pentetrating eyes. Under the years of sun their leathered skin soaked in, you can see the beauty queen of their high school graduating class. They're maybe wearing dream catcher earrings they made themselves, because that's all they do now- hand craft jewlery. Years ago they were a marketing executives or actresses. Now they live in an Airstream trailer somewhere outside of town and only eat raw food and talk about all their former beatnik lovers they once had who went straight and have wives and children now. They have friends all over the world, but they spend their remaining days painting murals on their kitchen walls and talking to squirrels.

They scare the living shit out of me.

While I talk to them, I try to stomach the creeping sensation that that will be me when I'm 50.

I don't want to be someone's crazy Aunt! The one everyone talks about in hushed tones at family reunions.

Ah shit...I don't even have siblings!

Tour Guides at the Alamo...

...Don't like being asked where the basement is.

I already checked.

(One day, I will do a study on the percentage of people who ask that daily at the Alamo. I'm guessing it's somewhere around 7%).

People in San Antonio just don't get Pee-Wee!

However, the people in Austin do.

Austin hearts Pee-Wee big time.

Enough to have a PEE-WEE'S BIG ADVENTURE bike-in this weekend.

Yeah, you heard me. Bike-in.

The Alamo Drafthouse and Rolling Roadshow presented an outdoor screening of the classic movie on a patch of eastside grass. A soggy patch of eastside grass. You see, it rained earlier that evening and most folks thought the event was cancelled, so the excitement leading up to the event was dampened by dampness. However, that didn't stop the hardcore PW fans from showing up in full costume and quoting every single freaking line in the movie. I have to say, the highlight of the evening was watching the crowd's response to Pee-Wee singing, "The stars at night are big and bright...." 

The evening was a blast and it was so refreshing to be around a large group of people who laughed at all of Pee-Wee's lines, who cheered when they saw Danny Elfman's name, and clapped at Phil Hartman's cameo at the end. Having grown up in a very pro-Pee-Wee environment, it warms my heart to see people who love our little hero just as much as I do (but not more than I do.... I will fight you.)

The film was shown in 35mm which meant there were some hiccups along the way, but at least we got to see the wonderful gaffs that didn't make the DVD version (a crew member's leg in the bike's debut scene and Pee-Wee's bike chain being pulled from out of frame).

I have to say though, Austin has a lot on Los Angeles, but Austin has got nothing in the Pee-Wee screenings dept. Every year, the Hollywood Forever Cementery series hosts a screening of PEE-WEE'S BIG ADVENTURE where typically Paul Reubens and most of the cast show up unannounced. 

Alamo, next time you have this screening, why don't ya extend the invite to the big man himself?

TRIVIA QUESTION: What is Pee-Wee's father's name?

Austin- Day 231 (A Love Letter)

Dear Austin,

We've been dating now for 231 days! 

I can't believe it! 

Remember the day I showed up on your doorstep, a lost but eager child? My car was filled to the brim with only what I could carry. I had no job lined up, no friends to carry me through. I left behind the life I knew to take a chance on you, Austin, and it was worth it!

That day was the first time I ever laid eyes on you... and it was love at first sight.

That's not to say there wasn't a bumpy honeymoon. I often doubted my dedication to you, my mind was frequently tempted by my former flame, Los Angeles. L.A. would string me along, seduce me with her layered mystique and you've been patient with me, Austin. You've understood my complicated relationship with L.A. A love-hate tango that will probably never dance away. But you stuck by me and my love for you has grown stronger. Every day, you inspire me with your selfless ways and creative energy.

I've turned a blind eye to your flaws, just as you have to me. I forgive you for your laziness, your confusing road signs and service roads, 6th street, enormous feral cat population, and stupid combo of high temperatures and high humidity.

I look forward to growing older with you, though it SCARES THE LIVING SHIT OUT OF ME, to think of staying in one place for any length of time. No matter what happens between us, Austin, just know that you have given me so much and I'm willing to stick it in for the long haul (though there may be times I have an occasional drunken hook up with Los Angeles- I'm just throwing that out there).

My Kidneys Bring All the Boys to the Yard

Like most young people, I never give my urinary tract much thought.

Actually, I could give a crap about it.

I'm glad I can still have that attitude because when I'm sixty-something and it starts failing me, I will greatly give a shit about it.

I will realize it's true importance only then when I'm sitting in a pool of my own piss confused as to how it got there.

My urinary tract has only come up in conversation twice and neither time by me.

Ok, that's probably a lie.

More specifically, my kidneys have been mentioned by two separate strangers claiming they were physic. Once when I was 11 years old and walking through downtown Cortland, NY, the other when I was 22 and jogging down Venice Beach boardwalk. Both went out of their way to gravely tell me that something was wrong with my kidneys. Both times I ran crying in the other direction.

You see, I've never had problems with my kidneys. I also don't necessarily believe in physics. I believe in being able to read people's auras et al, but am guessing (hoping?) that in both of my instances, they were seeing through to the person's aura behind me. However, I would be lying if I didn't say that both of my encounters left me slightly unhinged. Especially when your eleven years old.

How would you feel if you were minding your own awkward pre-adolscence business and some woman who did not look much unlike your dad's overweight brother that you hadn't seen in ten years said to you wide-eyed, "Your kidneys look bad. You should go have them checked out." I remember nodding and grinning like the dumb child that I was then booking it down the street. I flew right into my Grandmother's clothing store and said, "Grandma, that lady that sells headstones that looks like Uncle Lou, I think hate her." The second encounter didn't effect me as greatly because I was older and on Venice Beach Boardwalk. I'm lucky that that was the worse thing that happened to me that day! First time I went to Venice Beach I dug up a syringe in the sand, the last time I was there I was offered crack.

Currently my kidneys are in good health and happy as ever. I've received blood tests in the past and everything has come up normal. Sometimes I wonder where these two came up with the idea that my kidneys were cursed. Crazy psychics! Why don't you pick on someone....oh, be right back, really have to go the bathroom...

Young Hearts be Free Tonight

So, I have this umm...friend.
She met this man that she really really likes.

Instead of actually telling him that when the opportunity presented itself, she decided to write about it in her blog instead.
Makes perfect sense, right?

"I like you.
I obviously have the emotional maturity of a gerbal that's preventing me from telling you that.
It seems I'm only able to convey my feelings through texts, blog posts, and the occasional Facebook status update as of late.
That means that unless I grow some cognizant balls quickly, you will probably never know how I feel and walk away."

What the hell happened to you, Lau-, I mean, Lorraine? What happened to the girl who made herself a badge once that said, "The #1 Most Self-Aware Person in the World"? The girl who champions communication! Why is it, that upon being asked what she wanted out of their frequent rendez-vous, she immediately did an impression of a deer caught in headlights and proceeded to zero in on the soup she was eating and exerting all energy on drumming up a witty comment about the root vegetables in her meal?

I'm pretty sure she gave herself a good ass beating after that night. Yep.

Lorraine decided to contemplate the question I asked her in this post. She would have posted the answer here, but figured it would bring down the mood, and she didn't want to do that. The short answer is that she blames her father, but knows there is only so much blame you can affix to others before one needs to start taking responsibility for themselves. And there is only so much you can drink before telling a person that you like them without them knowing that you had to drink beforehand because you were so f'ing nervous.

So no more vacant stares off into the horizon. No more shrug of the shoulders. No more holding your breathe.
Now it's time to be a big girl.

Maybe you're scared because for the first maybe, just maybe, you're dealing with something real. Who knows?

Right, Lorraine?

Damn You Stevie Nicks and Lindsey Buckingham!

I blame you for my warped view of love!

You've doomed me to believe that I'll never know what real love is unless I have the urge to write 150 songs about some dude involving the words "angel", "destiny", "or crystal-something". Of course he would have to write angry, less poetic, monosyllable songs attacking my character and talent. I would have to wear layers of billowy chiffon and a hairstyle that looks like a goose down pillow exploded on my head; he would have to have a huge 70's white man 'fro, wear chest hair embellishing v-necks with gold chains, and platform shoes though he's already six feet tall. He would have to play the guitar with no pic and glare at me onstage when a lyric referred to me. I would twirl around a lot. We'd go do a line of coke, then go fuck backstage.

Yeah, that's real love.

Fleetwood Mac's reunion live show, "The Dance", premiered when I was fourteen years old. I don't recall listening to Fleetwood Mac before then but became transfixed when I saw the music video for the concert's "Silver Springs" on VH1's Top Twenty (I miss you late 90's VH1!). I saw this woman singing passionately about love and heartbreak and halfway through the set, turn towards the guitarist next to her and start screaming, "I'll follow you down 'til the sound of my voice will haunt you! You'll never get away from the sound of the woman that loved you!" Why was she yelling at this man? But more importantly, why did I find that man dashingly attractive when he's older than my Dad and I'm fourteen years old?

After that day, I went out and bought every Fleetwood Mac CD I could that would explain the story on why this woman hated this man so much. What I got was an overwhelming soap opera of sex, drugs, loneliness, and confusion. I WANTED IN!

I wanted to wrap myself around someone's dreams, take a silver spoon and dig my grave, ring like a bell through the night, and see my reflection in the snow covered hills. I wanted to feel like those people did and I still do. 

In my weak attempt to find my Silver Springs in the past, I probably created unnecessary drama just so I could feel something. 

Something I could take home and write about at the end of the day.

So my apologies to the couple of people that I brought into my imaginary Fleetwood Mac melodrama in my head. 

You wouldn't have looked good in a WMA (White Man's Afro) or silk v-neck shirts anyways.