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Archive for November, 2008

My living room finally makes sense again.  I woke up two days ago to find a crusty english muffin at my bedside and snow on the ground.  As soon as I discovered this, I lept to the window and spread my curtains wide open to let in all the winter wonderlandish-ness.   I was elated at this fact because not only am I in LOVE with snow, but I’ve also had my Christmas tree up since about this time last year.  It gets to the point where you’ve waited so long to take it down, that it would be more sense just to leave it up.  I find myself in that predicament about once a year.

dead-santa

Speaking of the holidays, wait, were we?  Either way, I’d like to speak of the holidays.  I am a bit of a holiday freak.  When I say “holidays”  I’m not so much referring to Thanksgiving or Halloween or Easter or Canadian boxing day, pretty much just Christmas.  In fact, the only thing that pisses me off about the “holidays” is that they end.  In a perfect world, we would all co-exist in a constant state of holiday amazingness. 

I have alot against Thanksgiving:  1. its pointless.  2. nobody thanks anyone for anything.  3.  turkeys are a hassle.  4.  it takes up an entire month of what could be Christmas decorations and fills them with ridiculous things like cornucopias and corn stalks.   That being said, I’d like to wish you all a Happy Thanksgiving. 

Let me tell you how I spent my Thanksgiving eve: watching my best friend give birth. … well, first let me tell you how paranoid I am of having children (I think its equal parts the committment issue and the pain issue).  Anyhow, any shred of hope I had about having a child has been effectually lost after what I witnessed yesterday.  I had a feeling this would happen, but she’s my best friend and wanted me in there for comic relief.  So I told her stories (threw in a few Kenny Chronicles) and had all the nurses cracking up.  This continued all day and into the night, until forming my new favorite phrase to live by: “adoption- the painfree option.”

no-pain

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I shall now introduce to you the newest category here at The Daily Elephant:  The Kenny Chronicles.   What exactly are the Kenny Chronicles?  Well, due to overwhelming feedback on the blog I wrote last week referencing a dating conversation between my best friend “Kenny” and I, I will now be dispensing more blogs of this nature.  I’ve always got your best interest in mind.  If you didn’t get a chance to read the first one, please do so here because the second installment is comin at ya faster than an outta shape asthmatic kid chasing after an ice cream cart.

Kenny and I meet at a bookstore or Starbucks on a quasi-regular basis to discuss our issues.  I think we feel that the bookstore-ish surroundings make us more intellectual than we actually are, which in turn helps us more quickly penetrate to the heart of our problems.  Of course, this isn’t really successful because everyone (except us) acknowledges that merely sitting in a bookstore does not make you more intellectual.

lemon-cookieI arrive to find Kenny sitting out on the patio, sipping on an overly-priced mountain of coffee flavored whipped cream and looking rather introspective.  As I park my car, I instantly notice a drastic change upon my friend’s all too familiar face.  I don’t like change.  Before I sit down, I go inside and purchase the ridiculously too-big cookie of the day, which is always some random shape that makes no sense.  That day it was a lemon wedge.   And the following conversation begins: 

me:  seriously?  you got your hair cut.

kenny:   i couldn’t stand it anymore.

me: but Richie’s wedding is next week.

kenny:  I know.  but it’s sooooo hot outside.

me:  sooo hot?  my hair is black and 3 feet long  and you don’t see me buzzing it off do you?

kenny:  relax.  IT’S HAIR.  it’ll grow back.

me:  not in ONE WEEK!   how many months have I been saying that we need to get some good pictures at this wedding?  and you keep it long this entire time and a week before the wedding you get too hot.

kenny:  i know we need some new pictures.  we’ll get some.

me:  no we won’t.  because we cannot possibly have cute pictures with your hair hacked off like that. 

kenny:  it doesn’t look that bad?

me:  well it doesn’t look that good.  you don’t even look like yourself. 

elaine-from-seinfeld

kenny:  Yes i do?  how can i not look like myself.

me:   you know I like your hair longer and spikey.  when was the last time we took a good picture?  like two years ago? 

kenny:  oh, get over it. 

me:   I can’t believe you did this to me.

After we got that out of the way, I brushed the cookie crumbs off my sweatshirt and referenced how I seriously need to start working out.    Kenny talked about another girl that he isn’t dating, but if he was dating anyone right now, it might be her.

Check out more of the Kenny Chronicles:

How to talk yourself out of dating almost anyone

Black Friday, depression, and a Salvation army chair

A Bad Gordita and Some Classy Water

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So the other day I wander into the Salvation Army.  Why?  Because it’s across the street from where I work.  And because I’m looking for some props for a photo shoot.  Ok.  And because I’m poor.  Why do our conversations always consist of you making me feel like crap? 

the_salvation_army_thrift_store

Anyway, WHY i went there isn’t what’s important Inspector Gadget.  As I’m strolling around and sifting through the ginormous pile of other people’s crap, I am taken aback by the smell of mildew and grandmas.  I find a couple of cool lamps, a chair, and some other random things that might be useful for my plans.    I started to walk over to the book section, just to see if i could find some good looking books, and what happened next was completely out of my control;  thus, I do not take responsibility whatsoever.  [much like with everything in my life] 

So I’m standing there staring at a huge wall of books and so I start doing what any person such as myself would do: peeling off all the sleeves to see if there are any books that match the colors in my living room and/or office area (they’re only a buck, and how can you ever have enough?).  In case I haven’t mentioned it, I collect books.  No, not antique ones, or special ones, or limited editions – just ones that match my color scheme.   I don’t actually read them, so much as I  admire them on my shelves and let them give the impression to all the world that I am mind-blowingly intelligent.  Because in all actuality, I hate to read.  And queue the following conversation between you and I:

you:  but, wait, weren’t you an English major?

me:  why, yes.  yes i was.

you: isn’t that kind of a weird choice of major for someone who doesn’t like to read?

me:  why yes.  yes it is.

you:  so how did you get through that if you hate to read?

me:  well, first I used cliffs notes and then i just quit.

you: oh.  so this all goes back to you being a loser then?

me:  wait, what?  how are you cutting me down again? this is a hypothetical conversation!

Alright, so to recap:  I like pretty books to put on my pretty shelves for my big, fat, fake life.  okay?  I can’t get enough.  So as I’m browsing the books, this man comes running down the ramp and says “wow, $0.10 a book today, can’t beat that huh?”  To which my response was “you’ve GOT to be kidding me!”  No.  folks, this was no joke.  Immediately, I started stockpiling them.   As I am racing to tear off every book sleeve possible before they closed, i am distracted by the following conversation between him and i:

book man:  find anything interesting?

me:  uh not really.  i mean, i really don’t care what they say.

book man:  (takes out a little gadget and scans a book)  well, i’m actually in the book business.  I sell used books.  This one is worth $94.00.  Anything I can help you find?

me:  well, i’m just looking for certain colors.  I only need them for my fake life.

book man:  (just laughing hysterically and sort of staring in awe) 

me:  ( after ten minutes of conversation and filling up TWO carts of books) ….well, I think this is all I can fit in my car, but i got some really good ones. 

book man:  Well good.  good for you.  it was nice meeting you.  you are a very unique and interesting woman. 

….And when i got home I sorted all 52 books into piles by color on my ottoman and sat down on my couch to stare at the victory I had just won.  As I was staring, I realized that now my own living room had acquired the smell of mildew and grandmas.  But it was worth it, all $5.41.

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Well, the election is over.  And although the world might be coming to an end, I will now be blogging more often.  So there’s always a rainbow, my friends, always.

 

So my best guy friend and I were discussing dating.  Not dating each other, but dating in general.  He shall remain nameless, but then again, I have remained nameless so the mere naming of my friend would have no meaning to you.  So I could technically name him, but I’m still not going to on the off chance you do know who I am and then you might figure it out.  But then again, if you do know who I am then you  already know who I’m talking about…  Well whatever!  Can you just stop being so difficult for one second of your life, and let me tell the freakin story! 

 

 

seinfeld

 

We often times find ourselves having these kind of conversations in hopes of figuring ourselves out and better understanding our issues so that we may become a beacon of light, a shining example for our gender.  Or we do it because we are the only ones who will not judge us for the ridiculous and terribly honest things we say.

 

elbowFirst, there’s something you’ve got to understand about my friend.  Let’s call him Kenny.  Happy now?  Well, Kenny once broke up with a girl because of her elbows.  And I rejected a guy one time because he was too Italian.  And I love Italians, so as you can imagine, this was a tragedy of mass proportion.   The point is, we are relationally challenged.  We’re very good at talking ourselves out of things using any justification at our disposal, and if there isn’t one available then we just make it up.  Most of our conversations resemble reruns of Seinfeld or something of that nature.  Get the picture?  Of course you do.  You’re bright.

 

So we’re sitting there, discussing our problems and an exchange to the following effect takes place:

 

me: ok.  so, again, why can’t you like her?

 

ken:  well, the personality is great.  face is great.  everything is great.  and I might even say it’d be the real deal if…

 

me: ….if what?

 

ken:  it weren’t for the gap.

 

me: what gap?

 

ken: the teeth gap.  can’t get passed it.

 

me: Ok, so to recap: you’re not going to date this girl, who otherwise might be the one because you can’t get passed the gap?

 

ken: no, its not just the gap.  but thats a big part of it

 

me: well that’s good to know.  I’m glad it’s not just the gap, but that it’s a whole slew of frivilous things.  you’re growing.

 

ken:  i mean, if i could just close it somehow. [holds up his first finger and thumb to form a gap]

 

me:  close it?  not gonna happen.  and you can’t suggest that.  no.  NO.

 

ken:  no?  but what if….

 

me: no. 

 

 

Check out more of the Kenny Chronicles:

 

A Conversation at Starbucks 

 

Black Friday, depression, and a Salvation army chair

A Bad Gordita and Some Classy Water

 

 

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I come from a long line of procrastinators.  My dad, for example, still hasn’t started socking away money for my college education.  This would piss me off if it weren’t for the fact that I quit college anyway to pursue creative endeavors (and also cus I ran out of money), which have proved to be much more interesting than social sciences or whatever fake career I might have gotten.

 

This leads me to my next point – Senior citizens.  Who the heck do these people think they are?  I’m on the phone with a lady today and she wants me to do a money transfer for her.  The conversation is as follows:

 

Me:  Ok, I can transfer $100 from your savings to your checking, and that will be a $3 fee.

 

Her: Well it shouldn’t.

 

Me:  What?

 

Her:  It shouldn’t charge a fee.

 

Me:  Why is that?

 

Her:  Because I’m a Senior Citizen.

 

Me: Um. 

 

Her:  I have a loan with you guys too.

 

Me:  Ok.  Neither of those things make a difference.  There’s still a fee.

 

This isn’t Old Country Buffet.   old-country-buffet

 

So, how old do you have to be before you start assuming that everything is just free? 

 

 

 

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