And who are you to judge?

Okay, I just need to address this really quickly. I've been reading up on the buzz about New Kids on the Block reunion and when people comment on the articles, it is from both good and foul mouth individuals. To the foul-mouth individuals, I just have a question. What the fuck is your problem? I don't understand why you can't let people have their enjoyment. The NKOTB meant something different to a lot of people. Now that they've decided to reunite, I don't see any reason to put them down about it. If a band like Sting broked up and got back together, would people really be talkin shit like this? Making comments that they will never make it? As if you're somebody special who is valid enough to make such a comment like that??! And what the hell is up with people commenting that they're not exactly "Kids" anymore and that they should change their name to Old Men on the Block? Hello!? What about Kid Rock? Or that movie The Heartbreak Kid? Or Kid n Play? I don't hear anyone saying they should change THEIR name. Cretins.

Their music was what I turned to during some low points in my life and excuse my lame ass for appreciating their voices and making me feel cradled when I needed to cry cuz you know what? Sometimes, you just have to cry! Sometimes, you wish you were back in time, living the simple life, enjoying simple pleasures, ignoring the problems that are yet to come as a adult. I don't see what's wrong with having them be associated with a time when life was simpler for all of us 30 somethings who had their music to love. What's wrong with loving a band? Have you never loved a band or been to a concert and enjoyed yourself? What, are you too cool now, huh? I'm sorry for this retarded rant but I'm raving about the thought of going to their long-awaited concert (finally) after my mom refused to let me go as a teenager.

sigh...

All I'm saying is, we ALL need to get away from our cruel realities once in awhile. If you don't want to, just let the rest of us enjoy it and keep your dirty mouth shut!

Assholes.

NKOTB Reunion

Okay, you KNEW I had to talk about this. The web is all a buzz. I don't know what to say about this relic of a phenomenon. The infamous "Blockheads" come lurking out from their hiding places, seeking to find one another and recreate a long lost community. Yes, I admit it. I am certainly a part of this community and I have been wandering, aching, searching for my counterparts who have yet to reveal their true selves to my blatant identity as a New Kid fan. My circle of friends are aware of my past loves, current loves, and perhaps even my secret loves and no one has ever given me a reason to let it go.



So here I am, watching the newly created video that has just been put up on the web of http://www.nkotb.com/. I didn't expect much more than a skant paragraph of vague news about reunion. I didn't expect a short and sweet video clip, rewinding my emotional age to 16, giving me chilling goosebumps on my numbing cheeks, and watering my satiated eyes. It said, "They rose from the streets of Boston...To Become the biggest band in the world...They influenced a generation...They sold over 70 million albums and grossed more than one billion dollars...5 Multiplatinum albums, 10 Top 10 Singles, 5 Number One Singles...Then they walked away from it all...Millions of fans around the world await their return...Are you ready?"

Some may say this is pathetic, pitiful, annoying, retarded. But why? If the Beatles were to reunite, what would fans think of that? I'm sure Beatlemania would crawl out of its enclosed space and take over the middleaged world of underground pop. The negative criticism does not hinder me. I was 16 when I had this unconditional passion. My pink plastic NKOTB water bottle still sitting at my bedside table proves it. Without passion, we become a cold, cruel, heartless individual with no one to share their life with. We become my coworker.

From nkotb.com http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HG9IqibdUsI

I'm quite unrequited, thank you

I recently wrote this short play. The unrelenting topic of looovvvveeee. I cannot comprehend the exact reason why I chose to write about a topic that I obviously have no hint of a clue about but it's allright. I made it through. It took an anxious year but I finally got it done. This studio put on some play readings and while they read mine, I started to experience the inconvenient overemotional side of me when it came crawling out of its merciless hole. Because of this short play, I think my personality is being branded under the category "nerd" but no problem. I'm pretty proud to have that description attached to my resume. I was completely overwhelmed when a friend of mine asked if they could turn my script into a short film. I'm not sure if they will do it but they'll let me know. That was such an unexpected compliment.


I'm contemplating what my next script will be about. I think I'll try my hand at a little love-related dramedy. I know this topic is played out but I'm not ready to write about something amazing like "The life and times of a slow jam tape" or anything untouched like that. I'm sure that film would take up a lot of unnecessary money since there would be no doubt that I'd have to get a legal jargon-filled release form signed by has-been artists who will hoard after me for money like vultures. I think I will hesitantly pass.

I'm really annoyed at my weight because it causes me to have a warped interpretation of my self-image, which is essentially the underlying message of my script in the first place. It takes me to dark, unpleasant places I have chosen to ignore but have now surfaced as a public comical satire for all to behold and jarring my self-consciousness to protect my vulnerability. It wasn't necessarily my so-called life on paper but rather, it was my so-called vices creeping out of my fingertips. I hated those eventless nights where I would sit in front of the blaring television and my idle laptop, straining my brain on what the next line will be. When I revisit this journey during the revision, I'll remind myself to take some expired store brand aspirin.

Spit Game

I don't know what's going on but lately, I've just been kinda phlegmy. Most every time I cough, I need to spit. And mind you, that is not ladylike, not in the least. But then again, who ever said I needed to be? So what if I cough? Don't you? And don't you also get that salty glob of goo bouncing on your tongue while you're driving? It makes me a bit nervous on the freeway because I get paranoid that once I roll my window down to eject the human slimeball, my speed combined with the wind will cause my salt goober to land against my driver side rear window, thus forth, freaking out whomever is sitting behind me looking out the window at the time. If it were me sitting back there, I'd be thankful that I left my window closed because I would be sleeping and if I left my window open, I would most likely have swallowed that potentially viral mucus because I might sleep with my mouth open.


I wonder who would feel more awful, the driver who spit, or the passenger who saw it spread across her window seat view, blurring their vision of how much of a percentage off their sale is at Ikea. What an indecent distraction from daydreaming. I'm gonna go with the passenger. I think the passenger would feel a sense of uncomfortable awkwardness, like when your underwear sticks to your crotch in public and you can't pull it out without anyone noticing so you just have to let it marinate.

This is only because 1) the driver probably doesn't know where their gift landed, and 2) the passenger might be a carpooler who doesn't even know the driver and would fail to react as a homie and say, "Oh my GOD! That's gross, man. Your spit just landed on my window." Nope. A carpooler would just ignore that it happened and once they get out of the car, they'd go to their office or pull out their cell phone, and tell everyone they know about the catastrophe that occurred this morning. It's not exactly the kind of conversation you want to be having while you're on a date.

If I were on a date at the local high-end wallet-slimming trendy hot spot, I would rather conversate about the proper way to pop a pimple than talk about swallowing someone else' liquid bacterial package. Although both conversations are quite distasteful, at least I can relate to disputing your friendly neighborhood T zone violation. If my date ever brought up spit, then I'm going to throw up shit.

Dear Fan

In response to the Hannah Montana Body Double scandal.

Dear (ex)fan of Hannah Montana/Miley Cyrus, I hear that you are "furious" that Miley Cyrus uses a body double in order to change from Hannah to Miley. I know how you feel and am terribly sorry that you feel cheated because you're right. You paid a lot of money to see a great show and the use of a body double is completely unheard of in the world of entertainment. Artists are supposed to be able to change faster than the speed of light as if by Superman's standards since they are all magicians.

I'm sure all of Hannah Montana's fans did not know that she is really Miley Cyrus and that wig can really fool everyone. Boy was I shocked. I could not tell that Hannah is actually Miley even though they have the same face. I am such a fool. I've done theater work and I know that transitions can be quite complicated and must be done as accurate and as quick as possible but within reason. Have you ever thought about going into theater? Maybe you shouldn't since you may not have those magical genes that you seem to believe entertainers possess. I'm actually quite flattered that you believe entertainers have such aptitude but I have to let you in on a little secret. The magic that they do? They actually just create illusions. "I" to the "L" to the "Lusions." But apparently, you are having "D" to the "E" to the "Lusions."

Take the trick of sawing a woman in half. Did you know that there is a body double in the second half of the box? The body double sticks their feet out while the top half sticks their head out and voila! They are separated as if by magic but they are really two people. Just like Miley's body double is merely a solution to a difficult transition that she uses to create an illusion for you. Are you surprised? Have you fallen and can't get up? There is no reason to get irate. Maybe sometimes, we play the role of the fool ourselves or perhaps, you have blessedly inherited the idiot gene from the Almighty. I'm sure it will skip a generation and your mutant children will possess magical genes and they can change clothes, put on wigs and makeup in 1 second by freezing time.

Yours Truly,

Miss Ava

Toys of my time have life in my mind

I have a love affair with my old toys. I was scrolling through Ebay and found all these toys that I had placed in the subconcious part of my mind. Now I have to spend my imaginary money to satisfy the imagination I utilized as a child and make these meaningless purchases. I love the Fisher Price Movie Viewer. I swear, toys at my age are 10 times better than the toys that are sold today. Also, the Fisher Price music box record player with the 3 mm thick plastic records, the View master with the circular reels of movie slides, and who can forget the long lasting, ever entertaining Spirographs? I love my era. Toys were tight. Today's toys have too many restrictions on them. Times were so much simpler back then when we didn't know about lead paint, small parts that may choke small children, and plastic bags had no warnings about suffocation. Why don't parents just watch their kids?

I'd be one of those cool moms. I'd be one of those moms that would let their kids eat stuff off the floor and then I'd stick my own dirty hands into their mouths to pull it out. I'd be one of those moms that takes their kids to the mall and let them run around in front of me instead of putting a dog harness on them. I think I would laugh rather than freak out if my child was trying to walk and fell down cuz I just think kids are super resilient like that. Besides, if they fell, it's not a big deal. They're not that far from the floor anyway so no harm done. And I would wanna make my child's hair all crazy, maybe put some pomade in there at age 2 to make them look gangsta. Then other kids will know not to mess with my baby or else they'll get pimp slapped. Something to that effect.

I wish kids would stop screaming in the stores. It really bugs me. The high pitched sound of their tiny voice can crack a contact lens. I was at the grocery store last night and some baby was puffing out tiny screams that pierced my brain and left me with a headache. I wanted to go over there and tell that kid to shut up but at the same time, if this baby was being kidnapped, I didn't want to get involved. So I stayed by the tater tots and tolerated the unconditional noise. It's moments like these that make me afraid to bring a child into this world. This world cannot handle another looney Ava. Besides, I'm predicting that the world will be unfit for humans someday. Aren't they looking for another planet that is fit for human life right now? I believe Mars was a close winner. That is one evacuation I do not want to live to see. I can barely stand a 1 hour plane ride so imagine a spaceship ride to another planet. How many light years is it going to take to get us there? And what the hell is a light year? Time or distance??!

Hint in the voice

Is it true that the deeper a guy's voice is, the deeper they can go when it comes to sex? I've never heard of that. Now I have to go and do some research and find out where this rumor began and what are the limits of its validations. Can you imagine our world if it were really true? Teaching this in sex ed at 5th grade would definitely be a scary lesson to endure. I can already hear the uncomfortable tone of the elementary school teacher's voice saying, "Well children, today we are going to learn about length and girth. As a boy gets older, their larynx gets bigger. Oh no, children. A larynx is your voice box. It has nothing to do with your private parts. Girls, pay attention. Now, when you get older and speak to a man, you'll notice that their voice is lower, and the lower their voice is, the better your sexual intercourse will be."
"What's sexual intercourse?"
"Oh, ummm, well, see, sexual intercourse is usually an activity that a man and a woman do when they love each other. You'll learn more about it when you start watching X rated movies when your parents aren't home."

Lame. Thank god I'm not a 5th grade teacher. But I know one. And I know she has to get a permission slip signed from the parents to teach sex ed to the kids. Sex ed is like a field trip apparently. I didn't go on that trip until I was in 7th grade. If I had known at 5th grade, I would not have freaked out over my first menstruation cycle. Dammit mother. I need vital information!!

Working out some issues

I hate going to the gym. I feel like a poser there. I tell myself every morning that I'm going to go to the gym after work. But throughout the day, I start looking for folks to kick it with so that I can find an excuse not to go. Usually, I end up not going. But it's those times when I DO go that make me cringe.

I get there, grab my savagely ugly hawaiian tote bag with my gym clothes in it and scan my card at the same counter guy whom I am absolutely convinced has noticed that I only come in about once every year to validate my membership. He's probably laughing at me on the inside, thinking I'm a sucker or just really persistent. I can feel his eyes recognizing me from when I stepped in 4 months ago, pretending like I'm a hardcore workout enthusiast. Only that, after a half hour or so, I'm out the door with my horrendous looking bag and my fake panting from a workout that couldn't extract sweat from condensation. I get in my car, turn up my slow jam CD, and drive into the dependable traffic that is bound to ensue and consume my every move.

There's this one dude at my gym who is there pretty consistently. How do I know since I'm hardly there? Well, he just happens to be there every time I'm there so I guess it's an educated assumption. Besides, you can't miss him. He's around 50 years old, his back and arms are tattooed so that all you can see in between are gold hairs, laden with salty white blood sweat, and he's got a major mistake of a perm. He wears this black tank top and these striped shorts to work out in. It really bothers me because I become traumatized by the puddles of sweat he leaves behind from every machine he touches.

I imagine myself accidentally touching that sweat because I didn't know he used the machine. I imagine the sweat festering on my skin and me wiping my face with my hands that are drenched in another man's sweat and how it disgusts me and the only time it wouldn't disgust me is if he were my man but he's not because he's white. And it's not that I'm reverse racist but rather, I prefer to be with someone with some melanin. And I validate my non-reverse racism by my numerous crushes on white celebrities such as Paulo Costanzo, Joey McIntyre, Jensen Ackles, Michael Cera, Casey Affleck, and Topher Grace. The only time another man's sweat can stick to my skin is if I'm having the best sex ever and I don't give a fuck WHAT types of fluids land on me. Drip drip on hesitant lips...

Fat cuz I'm single or single cuz I'm fat

Okay, let me just get this overwith already. I am 30 and single not because I don't want to date, but rather, it's because I'm fat. :P Haha! There's no way I'm gonna go out with anyone feeling like this and it radiates. Seriously. I won't go. I keep making excuses not to go to the gym and yet, I always find myself not at the gym. So, I guess I'm successful at keeping myself fat. What a dork. It's cool. A part of me seems to be happy this way. As my best friend would say, it's a personal form of contraception. I'd say it's the best form. I don't have to worry about it failing me. I don't have to purchase any high priced form of prophylactic. I don't need to make sure I bring it with me on a date. It's 100% guaranteed!

I was reading this article last night,"Obesity is 'socially contagious' " http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2007/07/070725175419.htm Basically, there was a study that found that if your friends are fat, you have a higher chance of also being fat. Well, since some of my closest friends are fat, it seems that there is a high chance that I am fat. Hmmm...let's ponder on this path for a second. I'm competely obsessed with weight, I have cravings for fresh baked goods any given time of the day, and there are multiple unsuccessful attempts at weight loss in my physical routine's history. It is highly likely that these characteristics are present among some of my overweight friends.

I guess that's just a formal way of saying "Birds of a feather flock together." Well shiet, hella yah! I don't need a 32 year long study to tell me that I tend to pick bigger friends because we like to hang out together gorging on a cheesecake! That's the best part about our social circle! Can't do that with skinny people. And I don't have a fucked up boyfriend who might scrutinize my subtle weight gain, giving me shit for crushing his lap, thus forth, bruising my ego and lowering my self-esteem so thank god for that. Skinny people are obsessed with their weight too but are a lot more subtle. I say fuck it! Life is too short to miss out on that bomb ass cheesecake! If I ate some delicious cheesecake and died early, then at least I will have died happy. What's the point of watching your waist if you're gonna be thinking about it for the rest of the day? Take a bite! Just satisfy your craving and be HAPPY, goddammit! Making cake out of cheese? It's god's gift to humanity.

Shave or not to Shave?

I've been thinking a lot lately about shaving my head. "What the hell? Am I crazy??!" Yah, I think so. It's not so much for getting attention or adding any strain of charisma to my personality. Rather, I just think my parents should have done this a long time ago. Perhaps maybe when I was a baby? That way, my hair will grow out thicker. Right now, I am stressing out because I'm not getting enough sleep, work is retarded, and my diet is in the toilet. Nothing healthy has been on my agenda for years and it's really starting to catch up with me. So of course, to revamp myself, I figured I'd start from top to bottom. What's up top? My hair.

The second dilemma is whether or not my boss would get pissed at me for doing this. Not that it's any of her business but my shaving my head would probably add some life to our department. Although, knowing how old-fashioned they are, I would probably be forced to buy a wig and wear that for the rest of the hair growing term. You know, when I went to AsiaSF, those gender illusionists really had the best wigs I had ever seen in my entire cultured life. I've seen some good wigs and I've seen some bad ones but honey, these rocked and it looked so incredibly real that they motivated me to want to shave off my real hair and put on some acrylic hair.

Who knows? Maybe that is real hair donated by kind individuals who have been blessed with long locks of Fabio looking tresses and are trying to do good by donating to Locks of Love. But I don't have cancer. I'm not dying. I don't have any terminal diseases whose treatment has side effects that would make me want to die anyway. I'm just your average, nonconventional worrywart trying to up their self esteem by getting fake hair, a new body, and a new attitude. But don't come up to me and start asking me when I'm going to shave it because it just might encourage me to talk about it, hence leading me to actually maybe do it. Oh, too late, we're talking about it now. And I'm thinking, it's winter. It's too cold to have a shaved head. Shoot, now I'll need a hat. The shopping list for self-renewal is endless!!

Dressing room anxiety

I have this guy best friend and we're cool and everything but I don't think I'm comfortable enough to be able to change my clothes in front of him. As a matter of fact, I don't think I'd be comfortable changing my clothes in front of anyone for that matter. I see people who willing to just strip their clothes anywhere and everywhere like at the mall because they want to try on a cool shirt. I'm thinking these types of people are either really conceited because they think they have a hot bod or really lazy to bounce around looking for the dressing room. Or, they're in a mad rush and need this particular item of clothing crazy quick.

You would never see a fat person start stripping in the middle of the round racks trying on all the discounted (discarded) clothes no matter how much of a rush they are in. But then again, regardless of your size, that's what a dressing room is for, right? It's the only place in the whole public department store where you could find some privacy. That's exactly the reason why I don't trust these dressing rooms, no matter how clean they may appear.

Can you imagine the types of things people do in there? Pimple popping, nose picking, foot scrubbing, pubic hair plucking, plaque removing, and toejam picking individuals probably flock to these rooms because it's the only place that they can be themselves without judgement. It's places like those that make me feel like Tony Shaloub from "Monk". You just never know when there will be germs around. I'd better start carrying some antibacterial tissue around with me so that I don't get some freak's toejam stuck on my socks.

OMG, how did I get to talking about toejam? I totally intended to talk about my best guy friend. My best friend is in a volatile relationship that makes me wonder about what keeps people committed to each other when they're no longer in love? It's like that song, "Break up to Make up" by The Stylistics. First you love them, then you hate them. That's a game for fools. I'm starting to think this is all just foreplay. I guess if you've been with someone long enough and you're bored enough, the only time you'd find them to be hot is when they're no longer yours. What do they call that? Forbidden love (lust)? Guess that's why students fall for their teachers, folks go for married individuals, or white guys go for Asian girls. That last one I don't validate. I'm just blabbering. I'm hoping that one day, I'll find someone to break up with, and get back together, and break up with, and get back together. But if that happens, I'm gonna be pissed. I think I'd rather opt to buy a dog.

Thoughts when you're sick

I'm sick for the 3rd time in the past 4 weeks. Today, it was raining like all the apostles were balling. All I could think about was my poor car and how I wished I could put it in the garage. Alas, I cannot. There is so much crap in my garage that there is probably a family of rodents chillin in the unused bookshelves and feeding off of the gazillion lbs. of discounted cereal we have expiring as I write. Every time a huge storm rolls into town, I like to think about the homeless people. Where do they go? What do they do? What should I do? Anything to help? What if they lose their stuff? Do they have to collect all over again? I guess so if you've lost everything. But then again, how can you lose everything when you have nothing? In this case, I doubt the Lost & Found can help. They'd be quite crowded if this were possible. And then there's those idiots who post things on craigslist's lost + found category. Um, yes, if I've lost my wallet with my ID, credit cards, and social security card in it (yes, I know I shouldn't have that in there. Someone please remind me to take it out next time you see me), the first thing I'd do is check craigslist to see if anyone found it. Yah, I'll most definitely do THAT.

Anyway, it's actually 3:28 AM right now. According to the timestamp, I started writing at 11:55 PM. That's what I get for multitasking with keeping up with Myspace and Facebook as two of those tasks. Boy, that sure takes some sweet time! I'd better use an alarm next time. Y'know, just to have a deadline. I can never make it as a journalist. How lame is that?

I think being a journalist would be a great job. Kinda like what Carrie does on Sex & the City? How cool would it be to get paid documenting my personal life? Of course, that would have a strict requirement that my life be interesting enough to produce a column in a trashy tabloid, that of which I will surely fail. For example, all I did today was watch television, eat macaroni with spam & cream of mushroom soup, and look out the window at my car. Oh, and I texted a few folks that I was sick and will not be joining them at the birthday party I was invited to. I should have gone too because I heard it was going to be a sausage fest. Voila, the example of a life less interesting than watching mold grow. I guess in order to creatively write that way, I'd have to have a lot more sex. Cuz sex sells, right? That's what I heard. Ahh, spam. And I tried to be pescetarian for awhile...it's sad that spam is what broke me.