A Story Chris Told Me

It was 3:45 in the morning on a crisp night in Athens. Chris and Kyle (their real names) were enjoying a late-night/early morning beer on their second story deck. From said deck there is a beautiful view of their backyard, and a quite utilitarian one of Springdale St. The evening was unremarkable---they were having a laugh and toasting their youth when suddenly, there was a loud THUNK from the street side of the deck. "What the...?" Chris said to Kyle, and he immediately leapt to his feet (cat-like in his grace and dexterity) and crossed to the railing. Kyle reluctantly followed, smelling the ill wind of a patented It Was Chris's Idea. Below the deck on the front lawn stood a man with a brick. The man wore jeans and a black t-shirt and was posturing in a menacing fashion while staring Chris and Kyle down. He threw the brick at the side of the house and continued to posture for a bit. And then he left. Chris and Kyle looked at one another, at something of a loss as to how to proceed. Chris suggested that the most obvious course of action was to follow the Bricker and call the police. Kyle reluctantly agreed, the smell from earlier now singeing his nosehairs. On the way out the door, Chris grabbed the necessary accoutrements: a Maglite, a cell phone, and his spiked brass knuckles. Thus armed, Chris and Kyle set out. On the street corner was a Pack of Girls, adjudged by Chris to be a Pack of Girls walking home drunk from somewhere (a not-uncommon sight in and around the greater Athens metropolitan area). Chris and Kyle wandered down Bloomfield to Cloverhurst where they espied two young men in jeans and black t-shirts in the street. At this point, Chris telephoned the police and told them that a man had thrown a brick at his house and could currently be found on Cloverhurst, thank you. Thus began the confrontation. Chris yells, "Hey! I think you threw a brick at my house, man! And, well, that's our unicycle!" Indeed, clutched in the kleptophilic grip of said Bricker was the unicycle that belongs to Ben, the Downstairs Neighbor. Chris got close enough to shine the Maglite into the eyes of the Bricker. The Bricker was not as evasive as you would think. He insisted that he was drunk and not thinking clearly and that, "Well, I know how to ride a unicycle, so I thought I would take it." He returned the unicycle and apologized and at this point the confrontation ended. Kyle, all this time, has been shaking like a leaf and practically peeing himself. You see, Chris had kept the brass knuckles and Kyle had Nothing. He did make a valiant attempt at The Delicious Rhythm of Good Cop/Bad Cop (his words) by quietly telling Chris, "I think you can stop shining the flashlight in his eyes now." And now, enter the Real Cops. Apparently the Bricker and his cohort had been spreading the Brick love all over town. The Pack of Girls included one who had also known the wrath of the Brick and had her purse stolen from her bedroom to boot. Without so much as a "How do ya do?" the Bricker and Pal were taken into custody and charged with six counts of...something or other. Chris was given his own Day and a Key to the City. The headline the next day said, "Cops Nab Unicycle Thief."

Your Daily Dose of Subversion

With apologies to all my Republican fans, including my beloved and respected Parents, I would like all of you to obey the following commands.

1. Type www.google.com into your browser (or click on the convenient hyperlink)

2. Type "failure" into the search field

3. Click on "I'm Feeling Lucky"

4. Giggle at the page that comes up

I cannot tell you why this works, but it makes me smile.

Superstar

Had a Banned Movies Night this evening (and an aborted attempt to see A New World because I don't own a car and Chris didn't want to change his flat tire). Went over to Rentz's and Miss Edwards's apartment to watch Superstar: The Karen Carpenter Story. This is a movie from about 1985 or so which depicts the life of Karen Carpenter using Barbies as the actors. It's a banned movie because Todd Haynes never got permission to use the Carpenters songs. The evening started out lighthearted. We made a strawberry Barbie cake complete with plastic women thinking that we were in for 40 minutes of delicious kitsch. Unfortunately, the movie was about the horror of one of America's sweethearts wasting away before millions of adoring fans.

Appetites quite supressed, we watched with our hearts in our throats at the grotesque Barbie Karen taking Ex-Lax and eventually o.d.-ing on ipecac. Poor girl. My reaction was weird and didn't really hit me until later. I'm kind of pissed right now because I keep thinking of the media circus around Lindsay Lohan

and Mary-Kate Olsen

and Nicole Richie.

Quick! Put them in a great big spotlight so that we can Save Them from Themselves! Bring sandwiches! And self-esteem! And a new social concept of beauty! Such a crappy cycle. The alleged point behind using the Barbie dolls in the Karen Carpenter movie was to show how ironic it is that we vilify and/or judge women who go through things like anorexia and less lethal body image issues but we raise them on things like Barbie. Where do we women get these silly ideas that we should weigh three pounds and have enormous breasts!? The bitch of it is that I can know all this on an objective level. And I can know that the normal guys that I want to date really don't give a crap if I don't look like a Barbie doll. But damned if that helps when I'm trying on a swimsuit. Such a crappy cycle.

For the Seafood-Lover in Youuuuu

Tonight for Janet's birthday I made the scene at

Because we talked about how lame it is, I'll now list a series of inside jokes from the evening that none of you will find humorous since they are out of context and will have no inflection:

"What's the matter? Christ got your tongue?"

The W.T. Waitress

"I am the Admiral! I am the Admiral!"

"Amy, an uncomfortably long hug is called 'making love.'"

"We're going to have to go ahead and order a continual stream of biscuits directly into our mouths."

"There should be a section for 'Feasts.'"

"Where is that knife? In your sack?"

And on and on, ad nauseum. A good time was had by all.

In other news, I was at an ultimate tournament in Alabama this past weekend. Located at the beautiful Talladega Superspeedway,

Mudbowl attracted teams from far and wide. I played with the Savannah Savage Booty and we managed to win all our games until semi-finals which we only lost by a couple. I got my arm landed on! Yay! The weather was complete crap. I'm thinking 20 below with a windchill factor of 30 below and rain to boot. Sunday wasn't all that bad. But I was so hungover that it didn't matter one way or the other. Stormclouds were going to follow me around all day anyway. The party was pretty fun. Couple of kegs. A rented-out hotel. Ass Wrasslin' for your entertainment needs (I lost to Boobies McGee, but only after she cheated, and beat Renee soundly). After the drinking and the dancing, there was some kissing in an elevator with a boy who shall remain anonymous (I know that'll make Mama and Daddy proud). But I think the best part of the party was dancing with Colin with the Cute Earrings from Savannah. It's difficult to truly appreciate how badly the majority of the populace dances until you dance with someone who's actually good at it. So here's to you Colin with the Cute Earrings from Savannah. I will carry our special moments with me forever.

Now I guess it's back to learning the "law." Though at the moment I mostly just want to watch the Veronica Mars DVD Netflix gave me today. Sigh. Instead I will read more about the National Forest Management Act and our First Amendment Right to Freedom of Speech. Huzzah.

V.D.

So my Valentine's treat came via Mike "Nashonals" Nash in the following:

Yes. That would be my Boyfriend, Langerhans, and his Puny Wife who spells her name funny. Happy Valentine's Day to me. I can't believe he's cheating on me with his wife now. And if I'd been the one he was marrying, I would have been game to wearing the goofy cowboy hat too. Look at her. You can just tell she's only in it for the money. Trophy wives. Pshaw.

In other news, I have on my hands something of a Flower Fugitive.

A trio of purple irises were found in Russel's Bowl at my apartment yesterday evening. No "to." No "from." No nothin'. There are a few possible explanations which vary in likeliness:

1. Secret Admirer

2. Mr. Attractive came to his senses but is too chicken to actually admit that he was wrong and that I was the best thing that ever had the potential of happening to him.

3. The boy I was making eyes at in Savannah stalked my address, found out my favorite color, my second favorite flower, drove here, left flowers, drove away, is hoping for best.

4. Wrong address

5. Katherine

6. Other

Any information leading to the identification and/or apprehension of the Flower Fugitive can be left here with our utmost thanks.

Other than the Flower Fugitive, Valentine's was tame. I hung with Anna and watched The Constant Gardner which turned out to be the worst Valentine's movie, like, ever. We ate the chocolate given to her by her brother, her boyfriend, and her mother (she was kind enough to share since I got chocolate from no one; but, hey, I got anonymous flowers, right!...), drank some cheap white zin, and then did homework. Today, I feel depressed. But things are looking up. Got my hair did today and I'm going to a party Friday (for which I am making red velvet boobcake) and to Alabama on Saturday where I will again see the aforementioned boy from Savannah. Here's for hoping.

In any event, I hope that everyone had a sterling Valentine's Day. If anyone's significant other did anything particularly interesting, I, for one, would like to hear about it. What I would like to hear about even more, though, is if anyone did anything more pathetic than I did. Because that's what V.D. is all about.

Love to you all.