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Tuesday, February 28, 2006

McPleaseStopTalking

“Okay, here it is, your choice... it's simple, her or me, and I'm sure she is really great. But Derek, I love you, in a really, really big pretend to like your taste in music, let you eat the last piece of cheesecake, hold a radio over my head outside your window, unfortunate way that makes me hate you, love you. So pick me, choose me, love me.”*-Meredith Grey

There are people that I sincerely just don’t like. For one reason or another, I find these individuals annoying and wouldn’t be too upset if they were to move to Kazakhstan. In fact, I’d give them a fuzzy wool hat with ear flaps to keep them warm during the cold eastern European winters. Bon Voyage amigo!

That said, someone has been irking me since last night. To the point where I’ve been thinking about how much I vehemently dislike her (Not as much as this line cutting dumbass, who doesn’t know how to count votes. But I’m not bitter.), that I feel the need to dedicate an entire post to her. Not only for my own enjoyment of kicking some anorexic looking whore while she’s down, but also because it is imperative that I find out whether or not others feel the same. Am I alone in my detest for this woman or are there others out there who feel like she should be put to death.

I suppose I should let you all in on who the culprit is: Meredith-fucking-Grey. I can’t stand her and I wish I could like her and cheer for her to get into Patrick Dempsey’s pants, but I just can’t. I mean the mere thought of she who cannot be named, lest you want me to go into a long tirade about why people should eat and be less whiney-puts me into- well- a long tirade. The thing is that I can watch those around her. Oooh the Izzy, Alex saga continues. Thankfully George doesn’t have syphilis this time! Addison has poison oak on her cooch, poor thing. And the list goes on and on. But with Meredith, well we’ll put it this way. Remember, during the Code Black episode, when the surgeon tells her that when people blow up, it’s referred to as “pink mist”? Well, I was kind of hoping that the ever anemic Dr. Grey, would turn into pink mist. I detest her.

When I’m drunk and watching her whine about her karma or some such shit, I yell at her to eat a god damn sandwich! Just like that. But with more of a shout and less of me pounding my fingers into the keyboard. Every week, I think that maybe I could learn to like her more, you know, give her a spin if you will; instead of focusing on just those around her. It never fails, that week after week, she makes me want to gouge my eyes out. So what if I tend to be made to feel that way by a lot of people. The point is that she irks me. And really she shouldn’t because, HELLO! She’s not a real person. God, this isn’t going anywhere. I mean I could spend the next 12 hours writing about how much I dislike her, but it won’t get me anywhere. She won’t just go away. And technically, if she was mysteriously kidnapped by a disgruntle former patient, never to be seen again until November sweeps, then that would kind of ruin the show. And I like the show. I need more George and Dr. Bailey in my life.

Oh and McDreamy, if you ever get sick of lusting after stringy haired women who constantly pout and only have the ability to speak in a whine or really hyper fast; then give me a call.


*That quote is one that I still make fun of. “Pick me. Love me.” Gag me.

Monday, February 27, 2006

Love.Angel.Family.Jersey: Part II

"Family is just accident.... They don't mean to get on your nerves. They don't even mean to be your family, they just are." ~Marsha Norman
Tyrone (insert Erykah Badu song here) gets married and HB gets drunk and eats some cake. All is right with the world. I should also mention that 'political correctness' is lacking here in Barmore land. Oh and no more Jersey or Family for a very long time. Because seriously...
I've got one big motherfucking head. But who cares? Because my hair is straight and pretty and I'm pretty sure that these people attended Hogwarts at some point; because they can do some magic.

This is G (Garrett). G thinks he's hot shit in his fancy tux. Ok. Fine. You looked good. Poor thing had to shave off that beard of his for these nuptials. Don't worry, in about 6 more weeks, you'll have almost that full beard you've always wanted.


Daphney married Ty (who has yet to be pictured). Look, she's smiling and glowing and so happy to be married. I'm laughing. Poor poor girl has no idea what she's just gotten herself into, but I think she may have gotten a taste of it, when I was on my 8th vodka tonic. Love me some open bar. I should also add that Daphney is Hatian and speaks French and that G may have made a few off color jokes about Hatians that involved talk of shrunken heads and eating goat. We're such a PC family over here.


Ignore the giant man, look at the cute little boy. You totally want one of your own. Too bad, he's mine. Ok not mine, mine, but my nephew. I also must point out that I haven't seen him in years, and upon seeing me, he hugged my leg. This child had no clue who I was and yet he hugged me. So much for stranger danger. And duh, he has a name-which I totally forgot to tell you all-it's Taye. As in Diggs. As in yup, he will grow up to be hot and sing selections from Rent. Awesome.

Ty (on the left) has a look that reads; 'my mother* is fucking 45 minutes late to my wedding.'

G's look reads; 'my mommy would never be late to my wedding.'
I immediately called my mommy to tell her that if she were late to my wedding, I'd break off her legs and beat her with them. Because that's the kind of loving daughter I am.
Also, this is about 500 + lbs of burly black men. They will both fuck your shit up if you leave a mean comment. Just so y'all know.

* We don't have the same mother, but Garrett and I do. [no comment]

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Thursday, February 23, 2006

Just a Number

"Thirty-five is a very attractive age. London society is full of women of the very highest birth who have, of their own free choice, remained thirty-five for years."-Oscar Wilde

While on my third (or fifth, but who’s counting?) drink last night I spoke with the lovely Marci. Marci who looks like she’s 25. Marci who confessed-ok, not so much confessed as much as I’m slightly slow and didn’t realize such things, but nevertheless, ‘confessed’-that she is ten years older than I. So 22 plus 10. 2 and 0 is 2 and the 2 and 1 make, hmmm. That’s what it makes, it makes ‘hmm’ and I had the look of dire shock on my face, because holy motherfucker she’s 32. She doesn’t look like she’s 32 but I neglected to get actual proof like a birth certificate or hear it from her mother’s lips, but she’s 32.

She’ll tell you that upon hearing this that I ran away. I did not run away. What part of ‘third (or fifth…)’ didn’t you understand? I had to pee. There was also mention about me being 22 that may have been a compliment, but see the former statement and you’ll know why I probably didn’t full comprehend.

Will I be that young and fancy free when I’m in my 30’s? I always need to know what will happen later. Waiting is boring and leaves way too much time for procrastinating. Instead I’d much prefer to know now what I will look like and/or be doing in my 30’s. I know, I know; youth is wasted on the young. Bite me. Kathryn-who is 31 and once again, insert picture of HB’s jaw dropping face here-says “look what you have to look forward to”, which is true. At one point, long long ago, I had visions of being married etc. by my mid-20’s. I think the phrase we’re looking for here is and emphatic; fuck no and doubtful, very doubtful.

People say that now 30 is so young blah blah blah, but it’s not just that, it’s the fact that even though I know many in their late 20’s and early 30’s, none of them act ‘holier than thou’ or treat me like I’m 14, which is honestly what I would expect [right now would also be an excellent time to mention that there are also those that are in their late 20’s and early 30’s that are actual real life adults with children and mortgages and I feel like I could never hang out with them on a social basis because dude, you’re somebody’s mother. Moving on.] Instead they are cordial and I am treated like an adult, which HA! I’m so not even close to, but on paper apparently I am one, but whatever, we can debate the merits of my actual adult status later, back to 30 year olds who look 20, which just begs the most important question; what are you people using? Is it that La Mer shit? Or are the powers of Clinique’s three step program just that great? Oh and also, how do you manage to stay up late and get to the gym every day because really I’m ass tired right now.

Please ladies, do tell. How do you do it?

Wednesday, February 22, 2006

Love. Angel. Family. Jersey.: Part I*

"Family is just accident.... They don't mean to get on your nerves. They don't even mean to be your family, they just are." ~Marsha Norman

So Friday went something like this: Ennui strikes (again!), realize that a certain someone is a big fat cocksucker, oh and my uncle died. My great-uncle who was BFF with my grandfather died**. Well hell. Guess where HB gets to go?? NEWARK (g-h-e-t-t-o) Ooh, lucky HB. So yeah, I’ve been chillin’ in Jersey for 24 hours sans alcohol (I also didn't swear alllll day. Which is a biggie for me. Well, at least not until the end of American Idol when I tried to vote and couldn't because the lines were busy. I said 'shit').

Save me.

Anyway, I feel like I’ve been gone for like 3 weeks, but no, it was solely 24 paltry hours in which I realized that I kind of maybe sort of just a little bit, miss my family. Even despite the lack of alcohol. I even got to see Garrett, who is now sporting a beard. And it only took him a whole month to grow it. Congratulations G! You’re almost a man.

Oh, and guess where HB gets to go on Friday. Guess, guess! JERSEY. Because this is just the Best Week Ever and who doesn’t want to go to New Jersey twice in one week. But this time for my brother’s wedding. I’ve been directed, by my father, to bring a giant bottle of ye old Yellow Tail with me. So at least I’ve got that going for me.

Tonight if I can’t talk, it’s because I’m trying to get the vodka tonic to my lips as quickly as humanly possible. Like, if I can get in intravenously, then awesome. And not gonna lie, but a full two days without y’all kind of put me in withdrawal. I actually missed you! And even if you don’t realize it yet, you all missed me too.


*Part II will be after my brother’s wedding. It should be ummm…interesting…
**it really is sad though totally expected and yes I’m bummed, but too tired to be really serious.

Friday, February 17, 2006

An Epidemic

Having recently received this notification from the Center for Disease Control (CDC), I thought I would share with all of you. Apparently there’s this epidemic of some sort going around and it seems pretty scary.

Atlanta, GA February 17 – Researchers at the Center for Disease Control (CDC) in Atlanta, GA, have discovered a new virus that is quickly spreading through parts of the Northeastern United States. Thus far, very little information is known about this disease, but doctors are working to figure out its causes and finding a vaccine for this fairly new strain of virus, which has been known to affect 22-32 year olds. Symptoms include heavy drinking of red wine, a desk that resembles a paper factory gone awry, and the inability to fold clean laundry and instead keep it in a fairly neatly construed pile on the floor. Those affected can also expect lack of writing ability – not that they ever possessed such ability in the first place – and general malaise through out the day. Despite the little research that has been done, doctors have found that this vicious disease can be staved off, by excessive consumption of cake and thin mint cookies, a method that the CDC is hopeful will work, until they can find a complete cure. The CDC says that it may be years before they know exactly what causes Ennuiparapsychosis (The Ennui) but until then, doctors are warning that those in the described age range with those symptoms, keep a handy supply of cake around, in order to keep this increasingly common disease at bay.

All I could think when I read this was ‘wow’. According to this article, I might have Ennuiparapsychosis. Hopefully the cake will work for me, but I’m hopeful that a three day weekend will cure this really awful and scary disease. I hope none of y’all catch it.

Thursday, February 16, 2006

Arch Nemesis

An open letter to my former friend turned arch nemesis...

I have no recollection of our first meeting. I remember the walks that my grandfather and I would take to see you, but other than that, those first few years remain a mystery. What I do know is that since then, my attraction to you has been more than troublesome. And sadly for you, something that cannot and will not continue.

I will admit, that at first I found our relationship to be quite normal. Our visits were about two to three times a week. Knowing what I know now, I can’t believe I have survived this volatile and unhealthy relationship. As the years went by and I saw what you did to others, I wondered to myself why I hadn’t been warned of your apparent adverse effects. It’s quite scary really and I was wooed by you. I craved you. Hell, I still do sometimes. But on Friday when, in a hurry, I stopped by for a visit, I ended the evening feeling cumbersome and crappy. It was then that I realized that I need to have will power. I need to stand up to you and say no more! You don’t even offer anything for me, I’m only limited to enjoying just one aspect of all that you claim to offer. Why I kept going back is beyond me, but now I know that there will be no more of that.

Our relationship has been going on for almost 20 years. And though at times you have been there for me when I needed you, I’m afraid that this is now over. Though every time I see you-because, let’s face it, you’re everywhere-I will think of our past and will think of my Grandfather and our Saturday evening walks.

I’m sure we will meet again but for now, it is good bye old friend. Mostly because you are no longer my friend and haven’t been for awhile and I've been too naive to notice, but instead an enemy, but I promise, I will miss you and often hunger after you.

With Fondness,

Heather B.





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Wednesday, February 15, 2006

Throes of Hell

It’s sad that the allure of M-E-T-H-O-D Man can’t be an excuse for the remainder of the week. Sadly my dear friends, I am in a deep dark place where Adobe documents eat up my time and crash my precious hard drive and where I am unable to decide between this necklace and this necklace. Nevermind, I’ve chosen the latter. Compound all of this with the PMS that is the equivalent of sipping on gallons of haterade; and that there is me. My Valentine’s Day resolution-is there such a thing? If not, then I have created something new and wonderful not involving roses and baby’s breath-is to write in actual paragraph form and to contribute more. What I am contributing is for me to know and for you to find out. And having recently discovered the joy-perhaps sorrow, due to increasing procrastination problems-of Google chat, I can now incessantly harass fellow bloggers. Lucky mother fuckers. Speaking of which, my father has recently discovered Google. And subsequently put my name in and found this lovely bit here. But through this, I discovered not only do we share the same favorite movie and giving the finger, but also an intense love of Yellow Tail. Thus further proof that Garrett has been lying when telling me that I’m adopted.

Tuesday, February 14, 2006

M-E-T-H-O-D Man



I think Wu Tang is a perfectly acceptable excuse for why I can't keep my eyes open right now. All I have to say is that last night I saw grown women do things that I pray they wouldn't do if there weren't rappers around. And in the spirit of St. Valentine, I'm sure many of the aforementioned women would've given their heart, soul, and breasts (trust me, they definately showed them off) to have Method Man's babies. If that doesn't say 'love', then I don't know what does.

Monday, February 13, 2006

And on the Seventh Day, there was Snow

View from the Sable; 5th and Independence, SE

I get the feeling that somebody is staring at me...Union Station


Just in case I'm trapped at home for a few days



View from the Sable; Independence and Rayburn House Office Building

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Friday, February 10, 2006

That'll Teach Ya

It's 6:30 on Friday and I'm at my desk.
I didn't go to the gym this morning because I felt like I got run over by a reindeer Mack Truck
I ate two cupcakes from Cake Love, thinking I'd go to the gym later.
I've bitten off all of my cuticles.
My throat hurts.
I want to be drunk right now.
...Lesson learned, get thee to the gym in the AM, lest you want to gain yourself a fat ass because really people, TWO CUPCAKES. Gah.

I leave you with this. We can file it under: Things HB wishes she had written OR Yale Students are so totally more witty than American students OR Funny Shit, HB Dreams of better Satirical Writing.

Global Conflict, here we coooooooooome

CARL WILLIOTT

If you haven't noticed, there's a whole lot going down on the international scene -- I'm talking Chloe Sevigny on Vincent Gallo in "The Brown Bunny" levels. (Or perhaps you prefer "Monica Lewinsky on Bill Clinton.")

Many of us don't understand the implications of a Hamas victory in Palestine, yet we understand the consequences of Marissa Cooper answering her sister's cell phone when Johnny the Surfer calls it on "The O.C ."

But maybe if we pretend the characters in "The O.C" are actually countries, then we'll understand what's going on in the world.

Welcome to the I.R., bitch. This is how it's done in International Relations:

The part of Ryan Atwood would be America. The USA is new to the scene, really a touching rags-to-riches story. He's the main character, so the decisions he makes are central to the show. He quickly became a source of power, making him a polarizing figure with the other characters. He may be rich now, but he hasn't lost his street cred -- don't piss off America, because he'll fight you quicker than a drunk, hair-gelled Q-packer at Toad's to prove it. He has a history with France, Iraq and Israel, but we'll meet them later. First we have to meet his mentor, Sandy, a.k.a Great Britain.

Great Britain is wise, he has been around the block. Consequently, he decided to take USA under his wing, even though most of the other parents hate America. Sometimes USA drags him into trouble, but only because Britain is loyal like a dog. He's not like the other parents who think pontification solves everything; he leads by doing. Britain enjoys English ale, but sometimes he'll get a taste of an Irish car bomb.

Seth Cohen is Israel, the Jewish son of Great Britain. America is his best friend and bodyguard, which gets America into lots of trouble because Israel isn't very popular at school. Sometimes America thinks if he were to drop Israel as a friend, many of America's I.R. problems would be gone.

The object of America's affection, Iraq, is Marissa Cooper. For a while, Iraq was stable, at least on the surface. But once she was penetrated by America, everything exploded. Now Iraq is a complete whack job, making everyone and everything around her unstable. She feels that her mom, France, didn't do enough to protect her. The only person who has been by her side this whole time is America, although he is fed up with her antics.

To make matters worse for Iraq, her little sister, Kaitlin Cooper a.k.a. Iran, is just plain awful. There's no other way to put it. It wasn't always this way -- she was tight with America and had a nice sibling rivalry going with Iraq. Then puberty turned her into a raging bitch … no, a bastard. If there were ever a girl that could be called a bastard, it is Iran. Immediately after puberty, she went to war with Iraq and began hating Israel and America because she knows if they aren't around she will wield much more power. Iran is doing everything she can to mess with Iraq, America, Britain, and Israel right now -- because she is socially backwards. Iran should think twice before she continues down this path, though, because in due time she will provoke the wrath of America.

Russia (Johnny the Surfer) felt he could give Iraq things that America couldn't. Unfortunately, he is a lame-ass. The guy brings nothing to the table, so in the battle for Iraq, he lost to America. In fact, he's basically America's bitch. He recently stirred things up by getting fresh with Iraq's sister, completely oblivious that Iran is just using him as a pawn in her devious scheme to rule The I.R.Summer Roberts is Italy. Italy is the beauty who is always there to help out America and Iraq. On the surface, Italy is very different from Israel -- they have two completely different backgrounds and religions -- but they do have some similarities deep down, which is why they make a good couple.

Kirsten Cohen would be Spain. Spain was very close to Britain, America and Israel, but she went through a rough time -- after getting bombed, she withdrew and quit trying to help America's relationship with Iraq. Spain has been relatively quiet in recent episodes.

Julie Cooper (or France) used to have it all; the Queen of the Parents. Now she lives in a trailer, loathed by all. One thing she hasn't lost, though, is her arrogance. France hates America because he screwed up Iraq. She will do anything to regain her clout, which includes getting closer with people like Iran and Russia. She has also used Spain's recent vulnerability to get closer to her.

Taylor Townsend is Saudi Arabia. America and the gang are sort of forced to be friends with Saudi Arabia, but they haven't forgotten how she backstabbed them. She is probably bipolar -- she'll blow you or blow you away, depending on which Saudi Arabia decides to show up.

Last, but least, we have Canada, originally known as Chilly. Canada is one of the least important characters on the show. His main role is to be the dork everyone laughs at.

I hope this rundown of international relations will help to dispel the "ignorant American" stereotype. (I knew my poli sci major would come in handy some day.)

And if you're wondering where my vast "O.C." knowledge comes from, well, my girlfriend gave me a refresher course. Seriously, I don't Tivo every episode. I don't wish Sandy Cohen was my dad. I don't drink every time someone on the show says "Newport" or every time Seth makes a pop culture reference.

I swear.

Carl Williott originally submitted this article as an AmStud paper.

A List of Grievances

Like a good neighbor

A conversation between me and my roommate about our neighbor upstairs…

“Are you talking about the man/woman whatever, who stops around for like two hours in the morning? Which is fine on a weekday, but on weekends it sucks”

“can’t stand it. And he’s always slamming the damn toilet seat too”

“what can they (Condo Association) do about it?”

“Don’t know, but they’re handing out house noise rules again”

“I suppose the adult thing to do is to just go up there and knock and tell him politely how much he’s disturbing us. And if that doesn’t work, I’ll bust out my nine and show that motherfucker how annoying he is”

“wow. You are on something today”

“crack”

For the Tourists

I’m sure that you enjoy standing around looking at the Supreme Court, it’s really pretty and all at night. But for Christ’s sake if you stand on the middle of the sidewalk when people are obviously trying to get home, I will have no choice but to barrel over your five year old. And possibly give you the finger in the process. Depends on how nice I’m feeling.

And other random assorted things:


People who ask me how I’m feeling about things that happened like days ago
People who don’t let me help
And People in general
Oh and Peter Gallagher dude, get thee to a new show. Now.
And Fox Broadcasting; I’m over Bill O’Reilly, he sucks, everyone knows. But I think maybe you should start thinking about the writing on the OC. It used to be good, but since Johnny makes the fourth boy ravaged due to Marissa Cooper; I’m thinking they’re in need of some new material.
And one more thing, GREEN MEANS GO!
And Cake Love is so very yummy. Really yummy. I swear I didn't eat two cupcakes.

Thursday, February 09, 2006

Use Your Words

"Words are but the vague shadows of the volumes we mean. Little audible links, they are, chaining together great inaudible feelings and purposes. "~Theodore Dreiser, 1900

When Karen asked whether or not those with blogs and/or personal websites felt like we ‘wield any power’ by virtue of what is written on our sites; I responded that I didn’t felt like I had any power and that what little ability I may have in connecting with people, was because I write about a ferociously unstable period of time that pretty much everyone goes through. Other than that though, I pretty much say whatever I’m thinking at the time being, only slightly bordering on completely obscene or TMI.

The thing is that although I would give my left arm to run and win a public office, I can’t speak publicly or to anyone for that matter. The thoughts in my brain, never come across coherently and I end up sounding like I took a line of coke beforehand. It’s that bad. Though yesterday, I made a futile attempt at expressing my feelings via email and instant messenger and I came off not sounding like a crack head, but more like a bitch who proclaimed that she hated everyone and their brother. Which of course wasn’t my intention, especially towards two people that I absolutely adore, but there it was. I used my written words to make one of my best friends cry. Go me. Thankfully that situation settled itself out; but left me really questioning my ability to express myself through the written word. I mean if I can’t write anything out and I can’t speak without ‘himming’ and ‘hawing’ then what use am I?

Nevertheless, when I’m having these introspective moments, I realize that I do have some sort of power, both good and bad. Yes, at times it comes off as a complete crapload of randomness and other times you see that yes, thankfully, I have a point (like right now). I received a comment yesterday from someone who recently opened a BofA account and was wondering where in my entries I proclaimed BofA’s eternal damnation due to complete suckage. I smiled; because if my words have the power to destroy the BofA monopoly; then indeed my words do wield some pretty awesome power. Here I am, saving America from shitty banks, one customer at a time.

Wednesday, February 08, 2006

Humped

"Some persons are very decisive when it comes to avoiding decisions. " ~Brendan Francis

Would you rather spend your formative years with a person who has a voice that reminds you of nails on a chalk board but you know would do you some good OR with a person who makes you want to gouge your eyes out with a rusty nail but leaves you in a position to move a little easier? Tough call.

Would you rather spend a long weekend in Martha’s Vineyard being taken care of by your mother and purchasing 8 pairs of Reefs for $10 a pop OR in our lovely nation’s capitol where there is ample opportunity to make thirteen visits to Trader Joe’s?

And in completely unrelated news whatsoever; last night while walking home I cried out in horror-an emphatic Oh Fuck!-as I watched my neighbor get out of her car and drop a bottle of wine. It was in slow motion. I could see her awkwardly attempt to open the car door with her day bag on one arm and a gym bag on the other, bottle of red in hand. I knew what would happen but I couldn’t help, I could only watch as the bottle slipped onto the concrete and suddenly fill the air with the delicious smell of Pinot Noir. I hope she knows that I felt her pain.

Happy Hump Day!

Tuesday, February 07, 2006

Be It Resolved

"Manners are a sensitive awareness of the feelings of others. If you have that awareness, you have good manners, no matter which fork you use. " ~Emily Post

Subtitled: More inane thoughts from a naïve 22 year old; who thinks she knows everything. You are so very welcome.


I know it’s February. I am very well aware, what, with the 60 degree weather in all. But that’s beside the point.

So why don’t you get to the point?

I am, so chill the fuck out.

I’ve never been into making resolutions. It seems like a) a waste of time and b) everyone says, “I’ll resolve to lose 55lbs by March” and by January 3rd, that leftover rum cake is looking mighty tasty. But that never happens to me. Ever. Now that I’ve had time to think about resolutions and process the thought of them, I find that it has nothing to do with changing your entire life in the matter of one year. No, you will not find the solution to the Israel-Palestine conflict. Sorry, to burst that bubble for you. It’s more about making slight changes that won’t force you to completely give up your life, but instead do things that won’t make you want to spontaneously combust and/or drop kick everyone.

For example, I suggested to Peg that her resolution be that when she would like for her assistant or one of the many people that work under her (I know, she’s so bad ass) to do something; that she ask politely. Like saying “Please” not “You need to do this”. Because I’m sure those people in return are thinking, ‘I don’t need to do shit for you’. And I also reminded her that when she’s having a bad day, like I don’t know, her daughter just asked her for $500 and a kidney and is also a general pain in the ass; that she not take this out on those that work for her. But instead speak in a tone, which would make them be a little more willing to be nice in her time of need. Not, in a tone, that would make her coworkers have images of her being severely injured. Because that would be sad.

Of course the above suggestions for Peg were purely for her own good and had nothing to do with me. Nope. Never. I just don’t understand why people make these grandiose resolutions to lose weight, get married, find a boyfriend etc. But are incapable to resolve just to be nicer and to use their fucking manners. It’s actually a lot easier than resolving to not eat burritos anymore in order to get one’s ass in tip top shape.

And yes, I’m saying this all to myself as well. I’m sure Emily Post would be so proud.

Monday, February 06, 2006

Just call me Oscar


“When angry, count four; when very angry, swear.” ~Mark Twain, Pudd'nhead Wilson, 1894

I look mean don’t I? And downright scary and evil and like I have the maturity of a baby seal? No, that is not the face of a person who last night drove for an hour around and around Northeast DC trying to find 495. You need not tell me I’m a moron, I’m pretty well aware. And let’s hope that I don’t look like a person who would then decide that all of her friends hate her and why go to a stupid Super Bowl party in Maryland that I wasn’t even invited to. There’s no point in that really. We won’t get into my chronic foot-in-mouth disease by which I discover my Super Bowl party evite, in my hotmail account. The account that hasn’t been looked at since May 2005. *hangs head in deep dark shame*

Now only happy thoughts, like emails from Coach saying “Our gift to you”. But wait, if you look at the entire email as opposed to the little Gmail notification, you too, would realize that it says “Our gift to you: Free shipping.” *motherfuckers*

And to the spawn of Satan person from Bank of America who Googled “BofA sucks” and came to my blog; I strongly suggest you move to a new place of employment, before I begin sticking pins into my BofA voodoo doll. And you end up with a mysterious stomach illness. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. *shitheads*

Friday, February 03, 2006

The Owner's Manual

"Life is like playing a violin solo in public and learning the instrument as one goes along." ~Samuel Butler, "Speech at the Somerville Club," 27 February 1895

My new alarm clock came with an owner’s manual and the requisite warranty information. I didn’t read it, but it was there. My cell phone came with one too as did my digital camera. Again, not read, but duly noted. Pregnant women can pick up What to Expect when You’re Expecting from their nearest Barnes and Noble. And nine months later, What to Expect The First Year. And subsequent toddler editions. Now let me ask this, why hasn’t Random House published; What to Expect when you’ve spent all your money on Starbucks and you don’t make enough to contribute to your 401K, but you’re still expected to pay the rent Or possibly; What to Expect when you’re parents cut you off and they expect you to learn how to pay your own taxes and navigate the DMV by yourself ?

Seriously now; why hasn’t anyone thought of these things? Am I expected to actually learn about things like insurance and Roth IRAs and mortgages?

I always thought that adults had manuals. A book that says, “ok dumbass here’s how you purchase stocks while simultaneously cook a magnificent four course meal. And later we’ll discuss the proper way to clean up a milk spill and how to get the best price for car insurance”. I fear the day that I have to purchase a car or buy a car. What the fuck is escrow?

But prior to that, why didn’t anyone tell me what I’m supposed to do in order to become a semi-functional person? It was like May 8th came around, I lost my health insurance and my father’s exact words were “I wish you well ‘cause I’m tapped out”. Why isn’t there a warranty that comes with the Owner’s Manual of Heather Barmore that states “if you seriously fuck up, you won’t go to prison, but you will get a do over”?

Though, now that I’ve successfully completed my taxes and garnered myself a very lovely refund; I’m feeling slightly better and that maybe instinct and the wisdom of Peg will teach me such things. But I still feel there should be a book entitled “What to expect when you get your first gas bill”.

Pardon the Interruption

We interrupt your regularly scheduled bitching and boredom to bring you this special announcement by the Management.
Apparently it is just now 1997 in my lovely home and we, ladies and gentlemen, will be getting Cable and DSL. Halle-freaking-lujah

I can’t help that we’re cheap and lazy and that the thought of dealing with Comcast makes me want to gouge my eyes out while standing in hot coals.

Next up: Really HB, why don’t you have any money?

Thursday, February 02, 2006

And while we're at it, let's talk about my ass

“Don’t make fun of my hobbies. I don’t make fun of you for being an asshole”-Garden State

I’m finding that my threshold for bullshit is wearing a little thin. Blah blah blah, bitch, blah blah blah, The end.

Moving on, because it’s never about them, it’s about me.

I’ve been nursing a cup of tea for about an hour. At first it was way too hot and then it became just right and now I’m gulping it. It’s not working. I’m fucking tired because Amy and I had an enlightening 30 minute conversation last night. And I knew I wouldn’t go to the gym this morning, and guess what? I didn’t. So now I’ve imposed a moratorium on burritos. Though having just proclaimed that when I am rich, I will have my own Mexican chefs to build custom burritos in my Bethesda, MD home, I doubt that this will last. Pam asked what was behind my tortilla craziness. That’s right, my behind is what’s behind it and even in the immortal words of Kanye, I do want a tight ass. So there.

Oh and you wonder what bloggers discuss for 30 minutes, umm blogging of course. And site stats and popularity and this whole business of sharing our lives with the interwebnetosphere. The Queen of Everything and I-her court jester-came to an accord that what we write is what we happen to be feeling right then and there. It has nothing to do with “this is how I truly believe things will be forever, so woe is me” but more like “this motherfucker pissed me off and some Shiraz and incessant rambling is in order.” Last I checked, I was allowed to do such things. I’m on the offensive though. But I figured I’d be prepared for my first piece of hate mail.

And finally, the bad news around the interwebnetosphere has been unsettling. I don’t say “prayers” or “hugs” because some people don’t want to hear that. They don’t want everything is going to be ok, so I’ll pray for you. No. Sometimes it’s good to lament. And to my chagrin, I suffer from a severe case of foot-in-mouth syndrome. By which, I am forced to write emails that resemble the above and pray (I do pray; for little things though, like a vat of peanut butter and all the Coach in the world) that at some point I do make some sense.

Sadly for you, that time is not right now.



P.S. my stupid photo printer is blowing right now

p.p.s if you're stopping by, ummm do you have any chocolate

p.p.p. s. I have to go to the DMV tomorrow. Expect an intriguing post about how much I hate my life, the DMV, and everyone and their fucking brother.

p.p.p.p.s. tonight is CPK night. Thank God!

Wednesday, February 01, 2006

News Flash

"You must have control of the authorship of your own destiny. The pen that writes your life story must be held in your own hand." ~Irene C. Kassorla

When I read, I picture the author sitting at his or her desk typing away. Printing out the pages to review and then typing more. I always wonder what he or she is wearing and what they are thinking as they write a piece of literature that may quite easily bring me to my knees. I only read good books. I kid you not. I’m thankful now that I never got sucked into A Million Little Pieces of Bullshit. But that is neither here nor there. My point is that when I write it’s usually at a desk or in my bed. Cup of tea in my right hand and I play with my favorite curl that is in the back of my head. While I write, I wonder how the people that read-professors, you all, whomever-will react to what I’ve written. When it’s good, I smile as I go and when it’s bad, or I feel that it’s bad, I will spend the remainder of my day wondering to the point where it can distract me from whatever else I am doing. My subsequent thoughts are pretty narcissistic – which should surprise no one I suppose – but it’s more of “I wonder if they are wondering what I look like and what I’m thinking while I write this complete crap wonderful goodness. Don't worry, you can thank me for it later.

No, I don’t have it all together as Marissa suspected (which I might also add was my favorite guess). That comment made me think that my attempts to best encapsulate myself in this have been in vain. Unless by having it together means being the most neurotic person in all eternity who can easily drown her sorrows in a new pair of shoes or a bottle of shiraz; and in emergencies, in a well timed burrito. Then, yes, I do have my shit together. I don’t want people being impressed. It freaks me out. Only because I know that what may impress someone, only leaves me thinking “ok, so what next.” I have this immense fear of talking about the good things that come because I know that inevitably I will jinx myself. It’s not even a maybe. It’s a definite. It has nothing to do with me being happy etc., but more with me never being completely satisfied and what I fear; even more than failing; is that I will never truly be satisfied.

So, without further ado moi:

(I should mention that I really don’t like either of these pictures and the picture that I was to originally post with this was neither of these, but my computer is sucking a big one right now, so this is what you get)

(Oh, and we’ll save the “Why does everyone always think I’m white?” post for another day. I think it’s the golfing and the polo obsession and the upstate NY that throws people off, but then again, my name is fucking Heather)


(here is the post about me meeting Alfre Woodard. I was also forced to meet Cicely Tyson and sat behind Oprah's BFF Gayle at Rosa Parks' memorial service here in DC. And I saw Oprah's Swavorski covered shoes. But I can't find that post, so nevermind)







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