"Sex on the Beach?" "Anytime, baby!"

Some other random stuff to talk about....

Monday night I went to Energy when I didn't have to work at Dark Lady and first thing I see? Two girls I went to high school with!!! We chatted a little bit, got caught up...I'm so different now from when I was in high school. I used to be nerdy, definitely not-so-much with the hotness, a total prude, and more than anything I was a people pleaser. I mean, I was so intent on doing what everyone expected of me that I didn't even realize I liked boys. Duh, much?

And now look at me. I'm like the total opposite -- though I'm definitely more me. And people like me better. Let that be a lesson to you. Those Above The Influence commercials are actually kind of on to something. :-P

Actually, Topher knows somebody I briefly went to high school with too, came by Dark Lady while I was working one night. It's always interesting because there's a "What the fuck??" moment. And of course they're always like "I remember when you were 'straight'!" Which, yes, I remember when I was "straight" too, kay, thanks. :-P

Anyways, the girls were mildly shocked when the exchange that's the title of this post took place. :-P

On a completely seperate and very much shallow note: I hate clothes this season. I was forced to buy some stuff from A&F a week or so ago to fit in with this season's key look. The clothes are so blah, and I usually like at least some of the stuff. This season, there's nothing.
Then the other day, I was at the mall and I poked my head into the Gap. Hated it all. Looked in American Eagle and I liked one pair of jeans. I never really like what they sell at PacSun, but it was no worse than anywhere else. Hollister was full of crap (but it usually is). I went into Guess...and I loved everything.
Unfortunately, I can't afford anything there. But if I had money.....ooooooooh!!! I loved it!

And here's the "It" Girl gossip from my point of view....
Now, ya'll know I looooove Lindsay Lohan. But dear God I hope she gets jail time. It might be the only way to get her the help she needs to live until I make it to Hollywood.
Britney Spears...I used to hope for a comeback from her, but it just seems like she is too far gone.
Paris Hilton....is a lying skanky hobag. She hasn't changed since jail. Who's shocked? Nobody.
Nicole Richie, darling, my second favorite....why have I not heard anything about you lately??? And why have I not heard more about the medical problem doctors were investigating, that was preventing you from gaining weight? (And before the skeptics jump in and say that problem was anorexia or cocaine or something, I'd like to point out that there are other medical problems that can prevent someone from gaining weight. Point in case, mine. So shove it.)
Lance Bass....are you kidding me? How does he get such hot boys??? Oh, right, famous.

Central PA Pride is this weekend. Unfortunately, I won't be there. But it sounds like it's going to be amazing, I so wish I could. Club XS is kicking the weekend off with a drag show featuring all the best drag queens from Baltimore, so that's hot.
The next morning there's the parade (and the protesters!!) and then there's the festival. There's a stage for all the drag kings and queens. This year they are actually bringing in some headliners -- Frenchie Davis for one!. Then, of course, Stallions is having a wild party. But Club XS is too -- and they're having DJ Seth Gold for theirs.
Agh, I wanna be there!! Alas, I can not.

Monday Memory: What Happens When You Ignore the Red Tape

Before I start Monday's Memory, I want to reassure you, I will post about this weekend (I'll be postdating it.)

Also, I want to send my prayers out to everyone at Virginia Tech. One of my friends is dating a guy there -- fortunately, he's okay. Heck, he was probably still on my campus at the time. :P

Today's memory was picked due to it's relevance regarding other current news: this frikkin' Imus scandal. I've expressed in comments on other blogs my opinion regarding this -- an opinion that is not about to change particularly due to the fact that Al Sharpton's attitude reminds me of this situation.

My high school? We were the Rebels. Not that we were always rebellious, (though we could stick it to the man if we wanted to) but that was the name of our team: The Rebels. Always had been, and as far as we were concerned it always would be.

So imagine our surprise when the rumble started. Someone, an alum (who had been known for thriving off of drama), had showed up at a school committee and expressed his opinion that "rebel" was racist, because the Confederacy were called "rebels".
Of course, one of those anti-racism organizations (I can't recall which one, but I know they have had something to do with Jesse Jackson) leapt at the chance to try to force us to change our mascot name. The name they suggested? The Southies. (I'd explain why, but that'd be giving out a little bit more personal information than I want to. :-P Course, this does kind of give away a lot anyways but I'm hoping none of you are psychopaths who will use this to piece together everything else about me :-P?)

So an assembly was held to explain the name change. Obviously the administration was helpless to stop them, and we understood this. They couldn't be like "It's not racist!" because nobody ever agrees that they're racist. Our own beureaucracy was tied up in other people's red tape over this one.
Word flew through the student body. We knew what had to happen.

After about a ten minute conversation about changing the name, where the administration sat down and took the bullshit that was going on without saying anything (the coach was all "I don't want to hurt anyone through the name of my teams, that was never my intention" and that was about as "It's NOT RACIST!" as any of them got.)
Then they opened up for questions, putting a mic down front for people to line up to.
The seating nearly emptied out from everyone standing up. The representative from the anti-racism organization nearly had his eyes pop out of his head, but he was in for a bigger surprise.

"Do you know the definition of rebel?" one person asked.
"Yes, I believe I do," the representative answered.
The student pulled out a dictionary, opened it to a bookmarked page and read: "Rebel. Noun. 1. A person who refuses allegiance to, resists, or rises in arms against the government or ruler of his or her country, or, 2. a person who resists any authority, control, or tradition." He closed the book. "It didn't say they had to be white or have black slaves."
So there was a resounding cheer.

The next person came up. "You know, the rebels you're thinking of...they were in the South. You know this is Rhode Island, right? We've had rebels here. You know what we were rebelling against? Britain. You might know that little war, we call it 'The American Revolution'."
Resounding cheer.

The next person was one of our black students, actually. And not one who was ever particularly bright (although we had some geniuses that were black, don't get me wrong here!). "I've read a lot about rebels," he said, "In history books. And in newspapers." He pulled some newspaper clippings out of his pocket. "This article is about rebels in the Congo. This one talks about Zimbabwe." And he went on. He had seven articles about rebels in Africa. He finished by saying he was proud to be a rebel, because it meant he was more like the people still in the place his ancestors had come from.
HUUUUUUUUUGE cheer.

Not long after him, was a friend of mine -- obviously Irish in ancestry (if you know what I'm saying -- she totally looked it). She got to the meat of what disturbs me about the attitude of people like Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson.
"You want us to change our name to Southie," she said, staring the representative straight in the eye, "You're not from around here, right?" From that instant we knew where she was going with this. She was making a point I'd been planning on making, and she was definitely better suited for it. It's pretty common knowledge, at least in the Boston area (including Rhode Island) what Southie means.
"Yes, I am," the representative said.
"Then you know what Southie means. You know that it's a derogatory term for Irish people, don't you?" The term is basically never used now, but it originates from the fact that Irish people used to (especially around the Industrial Revolution) live primarily in South Boston (an area called Southie). "So, I'm wondering," my friend continued, "Does that mean racism only counts if it's white people being racist against black people? Is it okay to be racist towards other groups? Is it okay for you to be prejudiced? It seems like it."
The representative knew he could not deny knowing that term, so he said, "I hadn't thought of that." Which, funnily enough, is the same excuse our administration used. "Southies was just a suggestion."
"And we're just suggesting you leave it as Rebels."
We gave the biggest cheer I've ever heard, and then started into our school's official cheer.

That was pretty much the end of THAT assembly. Needless to say, to this day, my high school is still the Rebels, and I had never been prouder to be one.

Memory Monday: Reshaping the Land

This is kind of a mean memory, but Brendan and Cody stirred it up this past weekend. I told them this story and decided I HAD to share it with all of you.

I'm changing names to protect the innocent and not-so-innocent.

This one is from high school, because I don't believe in chronological order. :-P (Kidding, I believe in it, I just don't practice it!)

The backstory here is this: there was a kid in my high school. Enormous. To date, the largest person I have ever seen. He must have been over six feet tall, and as wide as he was tall. We will call him "Leo Lyins". Leo's a hot name, so he's redeeming himself ever so slightly by being called that. :-P
Anyways, he was a giant. A big, round, giant whale. Like, now that I'm more mature, I feel bad for him because of his incredible obesity and his blot-out-the-sun quality. He had to go sideways (and ducking) through doors. I don't know how he sat in desks, and I suspect he didn't. And, immature and mean as we were, we frequently joked that if he fell he would dent the ground. I feel comfortable telling this story because I am positive that no one, no one, who reads this could possibly be that large. And, "Leo", if you read this (which first of all, you're totally straight and we never spoke so why?), I'm sorry that I'm so amused at your expense. I freely admit to being a bad bad person.

So, one day, I am sitting in class minding my own business. Suddenly, and from nowhere, there's this seismic SHAKE. Now, there had recently been some kind of earthquake in the Atlantic that we had been able to feel in some parts of good ol' Rhode Island. We assumed it was some kind of tectonic shock or whatever, left over from that.

So, about fifteen minutes later, class lets out. I go out in the hallway and a friend of mine calls me over in the hallway. He'd been in the classroom just across the hall. "You will never believe what just happened," he tells me, trying to hold in his laughter.
"Okay, tell me," I reply.
"Leo fell in class...and there's a dent in the floor!"
Like the somewhat reasonable person I can sometimes be, I assumed he was kidding. No way would that really happen. But I had to get to class, so I didn't investigate. Yet.

At the end of the day I headed into that classroom and sure as the sun rises, there was a large dent in the floor.

I have no way to know if that truly came from Leo, but I will always remember that. Even though my illness will forever keep me from getting fat -- and I won't even be "average" til age slows my metabolism -- it is because of this that I consider diet and excercise to be vital. I don't always (i.e. rarely) eat healthy, and my excercise tends to be my work and walking everywhere but the idea is there: I can never be that. I do not want to dent the floor.

"My fingers catch the spark at the thought of touching you..."

So, I have an interview tomorrow. How exciting is that? My first newspaper interview where I'm on the interviewee side!

Apparently, my school sends out a press release about the student-directed one acts to the local papers of all the directors. Our local paper decided it sounded interesting, so I showed up Wednesday with a message left for me at my house by our local newspaper. Ashley is the reporter's name.
I just got off the phone with him. We arranged to interview tomorrow at noon. He wants to talk about my one act play, my theatrical aspirations....
Guys, I'm news!!

Meanwhile, I was made to feel slightly horrible last night. Someone IMed me, I didn't know who they were. So, I asked. They said we graduated together. They said they saw my new pictures on Facebook (pictures of the club), and "liked what they saw". Apparently, there was another closet case in my high school class (though I could've told you that...). Through guessing, and talking, I narrowed down who this person was to one class I had with them. I think they're one of two people...but I'm not sure. And they wouldn't tell me. How ridiculous is that?
I'm sure I'll find out eventually.