All I want for Christmas is… December 24, 2008

Ahhh, holidays. I love how it is so cut and dry; you either hate it or love it. I’m a lover of the holidays. I like the cold too. Only because I’m a firm believer that bugs should never be a part of my life. Ever.

Last night I was perusing articles on Jezebel.com, a site I frequent but lurking only. And there was one article about how one of the editors, who’s Jewish, kinda got off at the ability to ruin us Christian* kids’ idea of Santa. I was trying to remember the day that I learned Santa Clause didn’t exist. I would think this would be one of those pivotal moments of childhood, where you start to actually grow up and realize that make-believe is actually make-believe. It would be like, everyone knew where they were on 9/11 and everyone remembers when they found out Santa and the Easter bunny didn’t exist, you know? But I don’t know when it was. I actually can’t remember a time when I genuinely believed in a bloated man breaking and entering into my home in the most ridiculous way possible to leave me goodies that I’ve never told anyone but my mom that I wanted.

For the most part, I LOVED that I was getting presents. I was a spoiled shit growing up. Like I cared who was giving them to me. It isn’t like I rejected the idea of Santa though. I was never that kid that needed “proof”. I put out cookies even though I knew there were presents upstairs in my parent’s room. It was just accepted that this man was going to be in the house for a reason unknown and all this magic was going to happen or something. Whatever. I’m glad I grew out of that whole ‘just accept this as the truth’ phase. Too bad everyone doesn’t grow out of it. *cough*

Now with all that said, this story is a completely anomaly in my life. It doesn’t add up to much and remains a mystery to me. It is possible I could have been dreaming, but I can remember waking up. Like when you wake up but your eyes are still closed because you know what woke you up wasn’t supposed to wake you up. Now that I confused you with that last sentence, on with it.

My mom would always put our stockings in our rooms as like a road block to waking them up in the morning. So we would marvel at personalized toothbrushes and pencils for long enough to give them an extra half hour or so to sleep. At some point I must’ve been told that Santa doesn’t actually put them in our rooms but that an elf helps a brother out and does it for him. One Christmas Eve, (Which by the way, I think I was old enough that my parents didn’t even wait til night to put out the presents and we even got to open one on Christmas Eve. Plus I could see which meant I had my contacts in, had to be at least 6th grade.) I woke up to sound and like I said, didn’t open my eyes. I figured someone got up to pee or something so I opened my eyes and saw something in my room. My eyes adjusted to the dark and swear to all the things on this Earth, there was someone in my room. Not just someone, but a fucking midget. I silently freaked out because a real life elf was in my room. I closed my eyes and waited for some noise to cue that it left but I didn’t hear anything. And i could even feel the presence in my room, like it knew I saw it and was just waiting for me to look again. I think I scared myself back to sleep because I don’t recall anything else.

Maybe a midget used to live in my old house and died and came back to visit. Ooooh, I can see ghosts.

Either way, I think about this little guy constantly around Christmas and it pretty much blows. With that said, Merry Christmas and that good stuff.

*I feel funny calling myself Christian when I clearly do not believe in that anymore. Like Santa, I just stopped accepting it and when questions can’t be answered and logic outweighs faith, it feels just as silly to believe in a book of fables as it does to believe in Santa Clause. But for argument sake, I was of that faith back then and it just fits story-wise. Even though I fucking hated going to church.

And in a completely unrelated note, I gave in and love Rihanna now. I’m such a sucked for pop music.

Thoughts every holiday should evoke. December 1, 2008

I have this really funny private entry that basically outs that I hate half the people I converse with on the daily. Man, I crack myself up. But that’s not what I’m here for today.

Yesterday I had Thanksgiving part duex. The real one was mom’s side, this one was dad’s side. I enjoy the company of all my family and I’m not going to bore anyone with details of how great everyone is and all that yummy, cuddly bullshit. So, I’ll enlighten you on something that came up during conversation.

During dessert, the topic of not wanting to know what your kids are really doing came up. Like, drinking, drugs, stuff like that. My uncle’s philosophy is unless you get caught, you don’t have to share this shit with the world. I, of course, kept my mouth shut. Apparently my cousin was found smoking the weed once by my uncle and was in turn called a moron for doing such thing. While I realize this is a sentiment that many would pass on to their kin, I would not be able to. I can’t really lie like that. I can lie about unimportant things but I can’t lie about how things effect me. Weed has done nothing but enriched my life. For serious. I met a lot of great people and got a lot of work done. THC stimulates dopamine production in your brain, which in turn helps you concentrate. During the time that I was smoking the heaviest, I did my best in school. Who would’ve thought.

Now, most people call weed a gateway drug. It is. Well, it was for me. But no big deal. I can’t say I found anything those drugs did to be so wondrous I can’t live without them. But who says I would want to anyway? For 8-10 hours of life you get to escape and be someone else, so why not. Plus, none of these drugs have had any effect on my life. If anything I have ever done was hurting me in any way it would most definitely be alcohol. I’ve missed work, been to tests drunk and have missed deadlines. Different story for a different time, I suppose. But I will say this, I took my AMS final out of my head stoned and got a 98. I still wonder where those two points went. Damnit.

The first time I ever did anything outside of smoking was acid. It was quite the group, ten of us in all and only two have ever done it, or any hard drugs, before. We all made a pact not to fuck with each other, just in case someone had a bad trip and even the resident ballbuster was unusually nice to us. I’m going to say that we all had fairly low dosages of it, but that’s not saying we didn’t feel it.

We did some miscellaneous stuff, made grilled cheese, walked around, sit around, got locked out, smoked, etc. before some of us really felt it. Four of us decided to go on a trip to a dining hall for some reason. Maybe we were hungry but this seems debatable considering we would’ve been leaving a room with pizza in it. So we leave on our adventure and decide that the shortcut through the woods would help us out since we had no idea what time it was and the woods cuts about 10 minutes off the walk. So we’re walking and walking…and walking….and walking. Time was standing still basically and we were getting nowhere it seemed. One of my friends began to be scared being in the back of the pack and I was forced to stay behind him while holding his hand(aww, right?). So we finally get there and we all decide that there’s nothing that we want. On the way out, a muffin is spotted in a plastic container.

My scaredy cat friend goes, “We have to buy this muffin, we’re going to need it”.

I agree and get it. We walked back the normal way since the woods seemed even scarier…even though we had literally just emerged from them. Once we neared our building, we see a bunch of people we know. One of them is kinda pissed, he fell in a pond and had to go shower and change, thus he wasn’t able to get to any food establishment on campus to get something to eat before closing. Me and my friend just looked at each other. The muffin has fulfilled its prophecy. It was one of the most mind blowing moments of my life. He was even excited that it was a muffin! Perfect!

One of the people decided to tag along with us back inside instead of riding around on his bike drunk. While we didn’t really want him with us, we didn’t want to put forth any effort to make up lies about why he couldn’t follow. We figure we can just drop in to the ballbuster’s, and he’ll effectively scare him and rid him of us. It didn’t really work out that way though…

We got in his room and found that our dealer was in there and in some strange twist owed weed to him. Who are we to question? So we all somehow regrouped and shoved in a room is like, 15 of us smoking for hours. The drunk bicyclist began telling us how he used to smoke when he was younger but decided to quit. After some prodding we found out he smoked once at the tender age of 15 and then never again. Until that night. As a group, we were all pretty heavy smokers, multiple times a day, everyday raises your tolerance and we were able to smoke for hours on end without any unintended effects. For the drunk, not the case. It felt like hours but in reality was probably only 20 minutes of smoking and he had had enough. Before departing, he decided to enlighten us as to why he had to leave. And it went a little something like this:

“Sorry guys but I gotta go upstairs. I’m about to pop a boner and I’m gunna have to take care of this”.

Silence. Someone followed him out to re-towel the doors, but none of us moved. We maybe stared at each other in disbelief. The second the re-toweler came back, we all died. Laughing, crying, exclaiming. What in the world would possess someone to let a room full of basically acquaintances know that? Best. Line. Ever.I think this was the point that everyone decided this was worth it and would hardly agree in another round.

It also posed as the beginning of the end, as the effects started to wear off, the fact that daylight was on the horizon was setting in and we all started nodding off and going our separate ways. I do believe it was 6:30AM when I left, and I woke up around 7PM. I had to make cookies, pfeffernüsse to be exact, for German class so I started on that instead of seeing how everyone else fared. While baking in the basement kitchen I was pleasantly surprised to be visited by one of my friends that was part of the adventure in the woods. He wouldn’t stop talking about how great it was and the fact that most, if not all of the other people are still not awake. I took the opportunity to bring them some cookies to wake up to, even if pfeffernüsse isn’t exactly a tempting treat.

After recalling the night, I think I have a new way of thinking about this. I’m not so sure that we were all really on board with this and started a little skeptical. Once we were going though, that’s what becomes the gateway. Weed has limiting effects on what it can do to you, but hallucinogens? Not the case. So my gateway was actually LSD, not this herbal remedy the world seems to be obsessed with. This are the types of drugs though that “open your mind” so maybe it takes doing drugs to advocate their usage properly or not at all. Hmm, taking drugs to fight drugs? Maybe I’ll write a letter to my Congressman.

I don’t think anyone could deny this. October 4, 2008

I’ve been thinking a lot about the way people perceive me lately. I think I come across as the kind of person anyone could get along with. Nondescript personality, sense of humor, willing to listen to your dumb stories. I kinda just lay low until I feel comfortable then I let out the lewd humor, the loud laugh. By then I already have you roped in and maybe even hinted the your first impression was the wrong impression. But people love a funny bitch, so I never had any problems when my crazy comes out. Also, the people that don’t like the crazy believe that I still have redeeming qualities like the ones I possessed from that first meeting. It’s a gift and a curse really. Even people I don’t like, like me. Well, anyway.

When I was in Florida I knew that I had to cut off the bitch and turn on the nice. I knew that these people were not as aggressive and thick-skinned as the people I’m used to so I put myself on hold. I was definitely holding back but not to the point that I was someone completely different. I just came across as a nice girl. Keeping with this I tried to not divulge my past. Drug usage, abuse, selling, alcoholism, stealing, scheming, etc. doesn’t really fit the person I was down there. Also, I didn’t really have the opportunity to do any of these things in a way that I would be able to keep my job, so they had to be nixed.

I don’t know why but keeping my mouth shut whenever somebody brought something up that I could somehow relate to my seedy past meant that I had never experienced such things. I would neither confirm nor deny anything and that to everyone meant that I had nothing to tell. I just didn’t want to be candid about my life at home but they saw this as innocence. It struck me as so funny that I just had to let them roll with it. I would stand there and laugh in my head while they went on about how I never did this or that and how I’m just not that type of person. It still strikes me as funny. That after all I went through, no one would know the difference. I did toy with the idea of using my time there as a sort of rehab, but fuck that. I did well on drugs socially and academically. All those anti-drug ads are laughable and untrue. I digress, I thought this was my chance to turn a new leaf and make friends that believed that I was as innocent and naive as a little girl.

Sometimes I feel bad because it felt like I was lying by not saying anything. How could I ever be good friends with people if I can explain the last three years of my life to them? I mean, I’m not losing sleep over this, at all; but I just wonder how different things would’ve been if I told them just one story. Gave them one night. Explained in depth my best friend. Just one little blip into my life if they would’ve seen that maybe who they know, who they met that first day, was really just the person toeing the water to see the temperature; not the person canonballing in the deep end.

I’ve been thinking about those glorious years a lot recently, as I have nothing else to do, and one story for some reason always comes to mind. I think it shows how wreckless we really were and how we don’t give a shit about who stands in our way. Let me set the tone.

It was myself and three others in a dorm room that none of us belonged in. Those friends went home for the weekend but knowing that that room was our mecca, they left a key. It had to be an ungodly hour of the night due to the lack of people and we were high as kites. Like, sit around and we can’t even talk high. It was amazing. We were all pretty content until someone broke the silence.

“I’m hungry”

Oh no. That statement is as contagious as yawning in a pothead den. Then someone uttered the two words that you cannot deny, even though you are well aware of the havoc that it will wreck on your insides.

“White Castle?”

It was done. Over. There is no turning back from that point. Once you want it, you want it. Problem was, we were all carless. We knew one person that had a car and was always willing to lend it out, Jenny. She also had a huge crush on one of the guys I was with, Vlad, so she would definitely say yes to him. It didn’t hurt that she was tripping on some OTC drug when he called either. While on the phone he realized that we didn’t think of who would drive. There was only one person in the room that actually had a license, Jerry and he was so high he couldn’t form sentences. But we were all relatively coherent at this point so we figured he would sober up soon. Vlad lies and says that he has been in teh car with Jerry before and he is an excellent driver, and that she shouldn’t worry. None of us even knew he had his license til that moment in actuality, but that’s not important. So she agrees but Vlad has to go and get the keys. He goes and takes Luke with him so he isn’t alone with her.

Here I am getting ready to leave with Jerry in the room and he looks me dead in the face and says, “You have to drive. I’m so high, I can’t do this”. I tell him no, shut up it isn’t that bad, there’s no way you’re that much more drugged than the rest of us and we’re all near sober. He gets on my case for a little while longer then finally gives up by the time they come back. All is well as we start off our journey, but he doesn’t know where he’s going. He missed a turn and took the next one that we figured would get us where we had to go. While on this street, there is no lights or anything just stop signs. And there he goes rolling through the first one.

WHAT THE HELL, JERRY?!

It is at this point that he confesses why he didn’t think he could do this. He has driven high before, and it didn’t end well. He drove off the road and into a ditch. Oh wonderful. So we just have to keep him alert and tell him when a stop sign is coming. Vlad is in the passenger seat flipping out while Luke and I are in the back hysterically laughing at our situation. Jerry also reveals to us he can’t feel his legs. More laughter ensues. Finding this funny outloud is probably not the best thing, we should’ve been all pull over for a second and work it out or something. But fuck that, we’re high. Finally we get to White Castle after an unreasonably long drive. And get as many burgers as possible. Did you know that if you ask for no pickles that lowers the price?

I do believe we got a few burgers in us before getting back, and the ride home was uneventful. Once we got back in the room though and evaluated the situation, we were in tears laughing. So in a celebration of being alive, we smoked some more and ate our delicious burgers like there was no tomorrow.

An important thing to note: the car was on empty. But when this was pointed out Jerry and his infinite wisdom said, “Oh guys, it’s fine. You have to worry when it gets below the E”. This is something relevant to point out, as this is how we lived our lives. That while not this situation exactly would happen, something like it would but we never got caught. We never suffered any consequences of our actions. So there was no reason for us to stop doing anything that we did, no matter how heinous the action.

What if I had told that story to everyone in Florida? I feel like that story has a lot of undertones to it that make my friends and I seem like scum. Can’t really deny that I guess.

Let’s just say… October 4, 2008

I used to work at a cute establishment that is big among families. That doesn’t set traps to catch its mice.

My favorite part of my work day, bar none was my breaks. Not because they got me away from work, I mean it was hard to call it that, I loved my job. But I loved the break room/cafeteria. You could just pick a quote on the wall or stare at a movie poster and zone the fuck out for a good 30 minutes before returning to happy, charming you. There was a guy that worked merchandise in another area that at some point bought a universal remote to change the channel on the TV. For all us others sans remote, we would have to climb up on a chair and stretch to reach the buttons. I bring him up because I knew that it was him unknowingly ruining quite a few of my breaks.

Especially towards the end of my time there, I noticed the abundance of Nancy Grace in my life. I don’t believe that anyone should be subjected to that. One day while working a mid-shift I actually got my break before the cafeteria closed. I’m sitting there happily eating a dinner that was a rarity in my life at the time and this dude pulls out his remote and turns on Headline News. Oh no he di’nt. The TVs always start out on ESPN and ABC. If there’s a big sports going-on, that’s turned on. Plus everyone is usually too burnt from working to change the channel. So I’m convinced it’s this bitch making me watch Nancy Grace.

When the Texas Mormon Fundamentalists were big huge news, Nancy Grace couldn’t shut her face about it. One night I went to a smaller break room since those vending machines take credit cards. Nancy Grace is on talking about these kids and how they’re so young to be married and blah blah blah. Every person she had come on she would let talk for .5 seconds then tell them to stop because they don’t know what they’re saying and then bring out a expert on the subject to shut them down. Then of course she would question the expert’s facts because she’s a twat that can’t be wrong. So I had 30 minutes of arguing and Mormonism fill my break. Can’t say that left me in a good mood.

The next day, the next break, I go to the big break room, they have comfier seating. But how can you be comfortable when Nancy Grace is on yelling at everyone in this universe and all surrounding ones. 41 BROKEN BONES. 41 BROKEN BONES. BUT 41 BROKEN BONES! Everyone on the show agreed that that fact is astonishing but when they would try and be like “the fact that their was so much sexual abuse in young boys, is another thing that is outrageous too” she would shut them down. And not even with a “that’s not what we are discussing at this moment” she would start shouting at them 41BROKEN BONES! 41 BROKEN BONES! Until they eventually all fell silent to her scathing voice.

I went back to work after my break and couldn’t help but interrupt everyone with “BUT 41 BROKEN BONES!” for the rest of the night. I did think out loud a question that night though, concerning doctors on the Mormon’s compound and couldn’t really find a definitive answer anywhere later that night. But like some weird sign from above, on Nancy Grace the next day they explained who the doctor was on the compound and his credentials and everything. I don’t enjoy getting facts from Nancy Grace so I lie and say I forgot where I heard it from. So…this is between us.

The fact that a schmuck like Nancy can have a show is what makes it hard to watch the news. I love me some Anderson Cooper but find cable news hard to digest. So obviously left-wing or right-wing doesn’t make me tune in. Regardless of my stance on issues, I want some reporting that is facts. All the facts. I want the facts about McCain calling his wife a cunt. I want facts about Obama’s failings. And I want them on the same channel. Well, no I don’t really, that was just an example. Politics isn’t about past foibles and personality flaws. But politics is a whole other story that I will probably never touch because after studying other countries for years and earning a degree in their systems and relations, the US political machine is sickening and not worthy of time. It would be nice if others could realize this and then, and only then can a positive change be made. Idealism is stupid. I’m done on this.

And one more thing.Happy fourth of July.

Live life through chemistry! October 4, 2008

This gem of advice was spouted off to me by the one and only mom. She has a lot of vices in life, obvious just from the few things I have written. Judge shows are harmless though, I guess. Depends how you look at it. The drugs she chooses are pretty harmless too. The day she found out I had done Ecstasy at school she didn’t get mad or anything; she just told me that it was a dangerous decision and that I should take pills that doctor’s prescribe. I’ll take that one to the grave.

Any young adult given this advice from a parent would probably take off running with it. “Well you said I could”, would cover up their tracks and possibly lead down that rough road ending up on Intervention. But I don’t think I’d be happy just on quaaludes and Vicodin. You take those and its completely different from LSD or shrooms or Ecstasy. It’s an event on designer drugs. You prepare yourself mentally. You stock the fridge with OJ and get the correct objects necessary for the highest levels of enjoyment. Mostly pot and straws. Taking a Vic would be like popping a Tylenol and then going off to do your normal routine. It just makes life feel easier. A much easier crash too. But when you’re thinking about abusing your body the last thing on your mind is tomorrow.

I had taken Vicodin with a shot of rice wine and thought that it would be a fun way to start off the night. Meds also help with your alcohol consumption somehow in some way, so this is one of the few nights of heavy drinking that I remember vividly. I had a whole bottle of champagne within an hour of taking the pill and then moved on to beer. I became very agreeable as a drunkard, which is quite out of character, and went to a few parties I normally would’ve been like hell no, sista. Walking into a rave party wasted is never a good look. Its all dark so the possibility of tripping over something was increased tenfold. The people there were weird and of course since I was not aware of the black attire needed, we stuck out because we were glowing. While outside smoking a joint the host came out and we continued bad mouthing, unknowingly. Instead of being a supreme dick he asked us what he should’ve done differently and kinda apologized that we weren’t having fun. He also realized that we were friends on Facebook and then kept on e-poking me for a good week. I slightly recalled friending him while wasted or high because he changed his name to Dumbledore. Who wouldn’t want to be friends with him? When he changed his name back I did that whole who’s this random dude on my friend’s list, but didn’t care enough to unfriend him. I’m pretty sure a few messages were sitting in my inbox ignored for a while too. Sorry guy, I’m not Jewish. I’m your anti-christ. I’m German.

Upon returning to my building it was obvious my partner in crime became a lot drunker than I had. We went inside and someone had perfectly lined up a few Vitamin Waters and a bottle of Fantastik at the bottom of the stair well. He walked in first and I was lagging behind far enough that I couldn’t stop him from what he was doing. He lit the bottle of Fantastik on fire, insider a stairwell, where I live. I immediately pick it up and bring it outside, leaving it on the cement far away from anything. We started getting into a discussion about how flammable of a liquid Fantastik really is. It some point I glanced over to the parking lot and almost shit my pants. We’re wasted, arguing in front of a lit object and there are three cop cars staring us in the face. And like an angel sent to us, a friend comes over the hill with a bottle of water. I grab it, put out the fire and we race inside.

Thinking that the safest place would be the most obvious place we run into stoner central. This room overlooks the parking and is right on the first floor. Obviously we just stressed ourselves the fuck out, so a little ganja to calm the nerves was necessary. It was much more than a little by the end of the night and I wound up hanging out with people that I normally get sick of after five minutes. But everyone is cool when high, it’s scientific.

The next day i was still wasted when my dad had called to tell me he was near. I made myself throw up and did my best to act sober at 11am. But when I walked outside and saw that half burned bottle I couldn’t help but flashback and feel a little drunker, a little higher, and a little more Vicodin-y.

A few weeks later, we were going to a party and got into the discussion again of the flammability of Fantastik. After a good five minutes of discussion a random man on teh subway puts his paper down and tells us that it is, in fact not flammable. I don’t know who he is, what his creditials are, or if he was just trying to make us shut up, but I do believe him.

While that was fun and no doubt exciting, I can’t say that shit wouldn’t have happened had I not been on Vicodin. I might’ve not remembered it and that would’ve been a crying shame, but I think I can safely say it would’ve happened.

Now with these other non-prescribed drugs its a completely different feel pulsing through you. You don’t want to go out and volunteer to go to Jew parties. You want to sit and be creative, or watch a visualizer when a song comes on with a ton of bass. You make sure you feel the drug, not just the effects of it. Does that even make sense? Its more about remembering the feelings as opposed to the events that went down. I remember when it was snowing inside and being amazed that I could do that to myself. It makes you aware of what is inside of you and is pretty spiritual. One of my friends didn’t believe in an after-life until he did some drugs and had an awakening of sorts. I’m not condoning drug usage, it can be harmful to the right person at the right time. But for me it hasn’t be anything but good. Shrooms left much to be desired but it was better than being sober, at least.

I figure I’ll eventually grow out of what I like now and become a housewife addicted to Vics. Mostly because that’s when you still have to get shit done and can’t sit around for 10 hours tripping balls. But for now, during my freeloading years, during these years when I’m nothing short of invincible and employers should be chasing down my raw talent, these drugs will do me just fine.

Funnily enough, while writing this I opened the medicine cabinet and found a bottle of Benadryl. I was so excited to take them because I haven’t been able to fall asleep before 5am regardless of what time I turn off the lights. Not only do I live my life through chemistry, I sleep through life because of chemistry.

My mom watches a lot of bad TV October 4, 2008

It started way back in the day when my Saturday nights would be filled with COPS and America’s Most Wanted. I wasn’t a normal child, I hardly watched shows driven towards children. I would watch Seinfeld and Fraiser. The first CD I was excited to buy was in third grade, Billy Joel’s River of Dreams. The boy I had a crush on received this gem around the same time and no joke, we would sing the songs in class. He had a big ol’ crush on me too. Can’t blame him.

I do believe her affinity for bad white trash filled TV grew to an all out obsession during the OJ trial. CourtTV was filled with respectable shows and mysterious cases, thus this channel couldn’t hold the mom back. The People’s Court with Ed Koch was first. I would watch too, he is definitely an interesting character and worth the watch. Then, suddenly, Ed was out and Judy was in. Well not really, different show but I’m pretty sure they were on at the same time. What a spitfire! I loved her. I still do! I aspired to be on the show with a petty claim case. She would yell at the defendant that they didn’t know their ass from their elbow, dismiss everything they say, and immediately rule in my favor. It would be the highlight of my life. I’d be 80 telling my grandkids of the time I actually got to meet the Honorable Judith Scheindlin, the biggest baddest (presumably Jewish) judge in the land.

I can’t really tell when the explosion happened, but it was during high school that’s for sure. My mom would be home intermittanly during the day and had somehow memorized the schedules for every basic cable’s court shows. Divorce Court, Judge Greg Mathis, Judge Alex, Judge Hachett, Judge Joe Brown, Judge Cristina (she’s Latina so you know she’s serving up the flava!). Those are just the one’s my mom likes including the aforementioned People’s Court and my bitch, Judy.

Being that I do nothing, I feel the least I can do is let my mom watch her bad TV while I grimace and bear it. Some fools were on Judge Judy last week–scratch that–every week. But these fools were so special. The defendant had to go by a nickname because her name was so incredibly Asian, Judy wouldn’t even try. I swear this woman is after my heart. So, anyway the plantiff wanted lost wages and pain and suffering monies because this bitch with a weird name had subscribed to “The Advocate” under his name and had it delivered to his office. It came in an opaque bag that he opened in the privacy of his own office. And she cancelled the subscription before he was even billed. Her holiness was all “you two are retarded for bringing this here get out”.  They were literally on the show for five minutes, if that. There was a commercial break right after the case was introduced. So face time was probably two minutes.

Judge Mathis is probably one that I would watch on my own time. Much love for Judy, but that love comes from the fact that she’s been around for so many years. Greg Mathis has that hilarity factor that no other Judge can touch. He openly tells everyone on the show that he thinks the fact that they’re there is ridiculous and that they look that way too. You can tell Judge Alex tries, but his overt whiteness gets in the way. Judge Hachett acts too much like everyone’s mother, she takes these cases seriously and gets all disappointed in bad parents and shit. I don’t want heartfelt when I watch these shows. I want vendetta and money that the plantiff doesn’t deserve because they’ll probably spend it on blow considering anyone with a decent bone in their body would go to a normal small claims court or not even bother hitting their neighbors up for the $100 they promised for the garage door the neighbor’s small, possibly autistic child dented.

I obviously know my way around a TV court show and I don’t think this is an honorable quality in the least. I do, in fact, watch horrible TV but I like my trash in a staged reality show form. At least these people have to clear drug tests and a psych analysis to get on my screen. Unless of course, they’re on Intervention. A life goal of my has become to watch a marathon of Intervention while using whatever said drug the Intervention is for. Minus meth, I’ll just smoke tons of weed during those episodes. And heroin. Maybe just pills during those. This goal takes too much planning to actually happen on my own so it’s not going to be anytime soon sadly.

There’s nothing like turning on the TV and watching a handful of people spell out their problems in front of a camera. It makes me feel instantly better about myself because most of the time I have things they don’t, including dignity and self-worth. Plus I don’t have to be validated by being on TV like these attention whores do. So, in conclusion, I love judging people that are so obviously lower than me. Once I seize to live with my mom I’m not sure I would really change the channel if I see a Judge on TV. Maybe it’s genetic. The judgemental part, not the fact that I’m obviously a huge bitch.

Post-script: George Carlin died! As reported by one of my fav bloggers