Sarah

I had the weirdest dream last night. In fact, all my dreams are weird. They must be symbolic but if they're symbolic, I have no fucking clue what they're trying to tell me. Here's an excerpt:

I was sitting in my grandma's living room with my aunt. I put a shoe on my right foot and then she helped me with the other. But instead of a shoe, she was applying some sort of decals, the length of my calves to toes, to the side of my legs. [The strangest part is that I just accepted this as normal].

Then she said, "we need to get you a new man. You know what we need to do that?"

My grandfather peered around the corner. I responded to my aunt "Grandpa?"

She said "no."

"A ferris wheel?"

"No."

"An apple."

"Yes."

So... Does anyone know how to get a guy with an apple? Maybe I should ask McGuyver. Or Eve...

Posted via LiveJournal.app.

 

With a sinus infection! :0(

For the second year in a row I am going to be out of town on a business trip (yeah, that's right. I go on business trips. Don't laugh.) while the SXSW circus comes to town.
 
This makes me happy. And sad. At the same time.

Happy that I can stick my nose in the air at all those "South By" showgoers and with a great big hmmph! say "Excuse me, I have ridiculously important meetings to attend on the east coast. Have ffffffun at your little show. MmHmhmhmhmh!"

And sad. Because I secretly envy those badge-adorned dillholes. And more importantly because I'm going to miss out on Sons & Daughters, The Black and White Years, and MGMT, That really hurts my feelings.

Someone must go to these shows for me and report back!

Hmmph.

Has anyone else seen these Wheel of Fortune commercials on TV? They're actually very hip and funny! Which is weird because WOF is such an old fogie show.
I mean, don't get me wrong! I *love* the Wheel. It's about the only show I watch religiously, since it's on right when I get home from work. But. I'm saying. It hasn't changed shit since the 80's. Except when it upgraded from paper letters to virtual letters, rendering Vanna's job completely USELESS! I wonder how that meeting went over...

Z's WOF Commercial - LOL this one is the best. Y is a total cock smoker.
There is another one I can't find that has the $5000 wheel slat and the Letter G standing next to each other, acting like gangsta rappers.



Related:
Family Guy WOF Spoof
UK WOF (It's like looking into an alternate universe!)
Japanese Game show that hits you in the nuts if you answer wrong!

These are all headlines from men's profiles on Yahoo Personals and PlentyofFish.
I especially enjoy the ones with poor syntax. :0)


For sale: Me

Let's explore the world!

Help other, u will get Helped

Living for every moment with you

can believe im doing this again

Heavy Metal Thunder

boy howdy!

Cleverly disguised as responsible adult

Surprise Me

A Dummy Says What?

New sunshine day

cowboy looking around

Searching for a Genuine Angel :)

Clark Kent plus Otto, the bus driver=ME

I wanna go fast.

NO DRAMA PLEASE

Nice guy finishes last,let change that!!

hey there buy u lunch

big bad bear, hunting for you

CHAPTER ONE
Fuck trains.

And fuck train stations with no platform.
My disdain for trains is deep-rooted. I want to like them. They’re convenient, cheap, nostalgic, and can offer a picturesque view. But. I’ve had one too many scarring experiences to relax enough to enjoy the scrolling landscape. If just once I could have a train ride like that one in Risky Business, maybe I’d be cured. But until then… shall we?

1997 - Little Silver, NJ to Middletown, CT
My cousin Peter and I were dumped off and left stranded a few stops into our trip due to a problem with our tickets.

1998 - New York City Subway
My Dad decided this wasn’t the right train after all and instructed us to quickly deboard. We all got off in time except my friend Kristin. She was banging on the doors in a panic as the train swept her off into the dark tunnel. As soon as I got done laughing I thought, ‘ya know, I’m glad that wasn’t me. Cause that’d be scary.’

1999 - Little Silver, NJ to Hartford, CT
During an equipment change in New York City, I left my oversized suitcase - too large to stow - at my seat while I stepped out onto the platform for a smoke. Probably too preoccupied with worry about my unattended luggage, I failed to hear the conductor’s final boarding call. I did however hear the train whoosh as it released its breaks and started to move. Life turned to slow motion as I dropped my cigarette, whirled around, and LEAPT for the closing door, Indiana Jones style.

[Cut to close up of door wedged open by Sarah’s ass].

Flustered and humiliated, I was yanked the rest of the way threw by a few strangers.

2000 - Hartford, CT to Little Silver, NJ
With no travel companions, no platform enabling me to roll my giant suitcase onto the train, and the upper arm strength of a Tyrannosaurus Rex, I realized my complete and utter dependency on the kindness of strangers.

July 2007 - Newark Liberty Airport to Little Silver, NJ
I stood punctually at the door with my trusty suitcase as the train slowed into Little Silver station. Aaaand stop. Wait. The door’s not opening! Wtf?!



I swung around and saw some passengers exiting at the other end of the car. I knew I only had about 15 or 20 seconds so I bolted down the aisle. Thank God my suitcase has wheels. But curse it for catching on every single arm rest!
OhGod!OhGod!Sonnova!OhGod!OhGod!     
Clunk.Clunk.Cluck.Clunk. …Phew.

Dec 2007 - Little Silver, NJ to Newark Liberty Airport
I sat in the backseat of my aunt’s new Subaru clutching my ticket as I tried to enjoy the humorous CD she put on while we waited for my train. But I was distracted by the growing anxiety in the back of my mind. I just fixated on the dinky, platform-less sidewalk adjacent to the tracks. And it didn’t help that it was dark. Rainy. Windy. Bitterly cold. Or that I had a 40-pound suitcase. Plus two shoulder bags. And my coat that was too damn small to fit over the sweater I was wearing.
My aunt commented at one point that my cousin Peter would help me get my bag on the train. I appreciated the gesture however given the fact that he is about 5’4’ and 110 lbs, my mind was still not at ease. Ugh. Better put my ticket back in my purse just incase.
Finally the train arrived. I jumped out of the car and threw on my shoulder bags. Peter lugged my suitcase out of the trunk and plopped it down. Then he opened his arms for a hug.


A hug. So I guess this means I’m on my own.


I decided not to ask him for help. Like I said, he’d probably have just as much trouble. I’d just figure something out. In the entire 30 seconds that I had.
With my heart racing, I ran to the train as it was slowing to a halt. The other few eager-to-riders and I were trying to determine which door was going to open and where exactly it was going to be once the train came to a full stop.
We formed a single file line and made our way to a set of two open doors. Ok. How’m gonna do this? I gauged the man in front of me. He looked maybe a bit too old to lift a heavy suitcase. I looked behind me. A women in her late 50’s and a young, elegant blonde in her early 20‘s. I turned back to the man but it was too late to ask him. Oh god. I turned back again desperately as the two women were about to board through one of the entrances.

Shit. Bad choice of words I realized as the older women supported the younger woman’s back while she awkwardly jerked her body up the stairs on her clumsy legs.
They ignored me.
I mean, I can understand why the younger girl said nothing, but the older lady could have at least said “sorry” or “piss off” or something. Bitch, I thought. Ok. Maybe she doesn’t deserve that but I was feeling helpless and shunned. You know, like a minority.

With a final shred of hope and desperation I looked down the sidewalk, but the conductor was too far away. I realized I was on my own. With a deep breath, I managed to heave my bag up onto the first narrow step, leaving little room for myself. But I made it up. Fucking bag. Fucking train. Fucking arthritis. Fucking not having a boyfriend to do this for me. Or anyone for that matter. Yeah. I was feeling pretty sorry for myself. It didn’t help that I was already emotional that day about other bullshit. It is amazing though, the strength one can muster in moments of panic and desperation.
The doors whooshed shut as I pulled my bag up over the last step. Phew.
As I stood in the breezeway between trying to catch my breath, I watched the older lady seat the young women and then hurry back to exit the train. But the infamous doors were shut.


I did my best not to snicker at her crazed tone. Who is she even talking to? No employees were around. I turned and entered the car behind me, my burden rolling behind me. As the car door slid shut I heard her again.


The train ignored her and started to move. I didn’t know whether to laugh at the women’s misfortune or cry from being so stressed out. I pondered this as my bag caught on every arm rest. Goddamnmotherfucker!
Approaching me from the other direction was an obese woman in a conductor’s uniform and tacky Christmas earrings. I apologized and tried to half pull my bag into a row and move myself as well, so she could get by. But she just stood there looking absentminded. What’s she waiting for? My ticket? God damnit, woman! Let me get to my seat first! I fished through a shoulder bag as I grumbled,


…she said coldly.
Damnit bitch! I moved into the row again and yanked my bag in a little further allowing her fat ass to pass.
I sighed as I realized I wasn’t going to be able to fit my bloated bag into any of the rows perfectly. I opted for the handicap row at the back of the car since it had more room.
I flopped down and breathed a sigh of relief. Then I started to cry, feeling overwhelmed.
As if that’s not pathetic enough, I realized I didn’t have a tissue so I forced myself to stop.

**************************************************************
CHAPTER TWO
Scheduled: 7:55pm / Now: 11:35pm

Back at my aunt’s house we saw online that my flight had been delayed several hours. But she cautioned me to get there on time anyway, just in case they leave at the scheduled time.

[cut to airport]
Fuck airports! I wasn’t in the mood to enjoy any bit of it. I was still dejected from my train ride, and pissed at myself for choosing not to shower that morning. Or put on make up. Or where something attractive. And for letting myself gain holiday fat. I looked oily, disheveled, and fat. The security guard even looked a little taken aback as he shifted his eyes back and forth from me to my driver’s license.
Once through security I decided there was nothing better to do than eat. A slice of pepperoni pizza and waffle cone of frozen swirl yogurt later… I was just feeling fatter and oilier.

I headed to gate 86, located at the end of the wing, and down the stairs. I overheard a man call it “the dungeon.” Down in the dungeon, I looked around at the crowd of ornery people and baggage. The board was displaying the information for the flight before mine, departing at 10:35pm.

The dungeon was just too dirty and depressing so I ventured back up into the main concourse to look for something to do, or a abandoned gate waiting area that I could relax in.

I remembered they had a small spa nearby so I ducked in to see if I could kill some time and relieve some stress with a manicure. If anything, it would have at least made me feel a little more civilized, I thought as I glanced down at the chipped polish on my broken nails. Not that it would really do much to distract from my apparent metamorphosis into a werewolf.
A weird lanky dude was finishing massaging a customer.


In an accent that I maybe sounded Austrian…


He sounded like he wasn’t but said so anyway.
Ugh. Fine. Betch.
I rerouted for the bookstore. It was about the only thing still open. I was relieved to see they had a new Sylvia Browne book. Finally a little good fortune. I bought a crossword book too incase I lost the mood for reading.
By this time my flight had been pushed back even farther to 11:58pm. Tired and not caring anymore, I returned to the dungeon and plopped down on the floor with my new book. But my mind started to wander. I tried to think about all the things I was thankful for, like the $500 check I received from my aunt. I remember I didn’t have her address in my phone so I fished through my bag for the check with her address on it.
My stomach dropped.
Oh my god.
Please no.
Please god!
This isn’t happening!
Where is it?!
I pulled everything out. Twice. But it was no where to be found.
Maybe it was in my purse inside my checked bag. Or maybe it was in the trash at my Grandma's. Or maybe it was on the god forsaken train. I realized I would be fraught with worry the entire THREE hour flight home.
Could things get any worse?

Yes. Yes, the could.

*****************************************
CHAPTER THREE
Attention on the concourse. Now boarding flight 666 to HELL.

It wasn’t until after midnight that they finally started boarding.
I should have been home in bed by now, I thought.
I stood in the first class cabin waiting for the line to move forward. Lucky bastards.
A blonde girl with a eye mask on her forehead was sprawled out sideways in her cushy seat. I wondered if she was drunk.


I realized she was talking to me, as I clutched my new Sylvia book. I paused for a moment, distracted by her syntax.




She gazed off and said absentmindedly,


Ok. Ok. So I only thought the last line. …Five minutes later. Instead I just glared at her and followed it with an eye roll.
I got to my seat, which was located one row behind her, in the peasant main cabin. For some reason I was so bothered by her comment, and my lack of response, that I let it eat away at me, and so I fumed in my seat as I overheard her continue to make dumb-bitch comments.
I was however relieved to have an aisle seat, with a seat between me and the girl with the window seat. I laid my jacket down on the middle seat and got settled in.
I tuned out the flight attendant as she went on with her welcome spiel, but the words “four hours and twenty minutes” grabbed my attention. FOUR HOURS my ass! My flight out here was three. What are we gonna do, take the scenic route? Well, at least they have to serve us food. I mean, hell, on my three hour flight not only did they feed us dinner but they showed us a movie too. But seeing the pattern of events today, I realized it would probably just be peanuts. And I didn't smell any food. Or see any TV screens. I sunk back into my seat. Well, whatever, I thought. I’ll just sleep. Can’t be hungry if I’m asleep. Thank goodness I got a good seat.

[cue Giant]

A giant muscular black man donning a longhorn sweatshirt and ski pants - probably the only thing he can fit into - stood in the aisle at my side and with the goofiest fucking grin, pointed at my jacket on the middle seat.
Yeah..? That’s my jacket. Why is he pointing at it?
I moved my jacket into my lap and the giant man squeezed himself in between me and my row mate. His bulbous right arm extended PAST the arm rest and into my seat.
        

At first I was completely beside myself in utter frustration and wanted to SCREAM.
Then for a moment I thought the tragedy of it was so funny. What a great gag for a movie scene.
Then I started cry.

I buried my head in my hands so no one would see the tears streaking down my oily face.
By the time the plane was taking off I was numb.

As we got about 100 feet in the air, I heard the dumb bitch breathing heavy and moaning like she was getting friendly with her seat mate. Is this for real, I thought? The cabin shook from some light turbulence, something I’ve grown accustomed to. More moans.


I took some comfort in her discomfort and prayed for more turbulence.

Squished in my seat, a male flight attendant approached with a box.

You bastard.

I snatched the bag of peanuts and curled up awkwardly to the right side of my chair. I torn at the bag, thankful to at least get something on my stomach for the next four hours.

Alas, I could not get the bag open.

Figures

Alright.

I know I just said I was in love with Matt Bellamy. And I still am.

But. Well.

A girl can be genuinely, whole-heartedly in love with two men at the same time. Can’t she?

My latest crush obsession stalkee darling is Milo Ventimiglia, aka Peter Petrelli of Heroes. Oh my god, look at him. So sexy! With the hair and the eyes. *faint*

But soul mates aside, have you all seen this show? Hhooooh my god. Fricking phenomenal. Dare I say, better than… No. I cannot betray Joss.

Let’s just say, if Heroes: Season 1 was bound and locked in a cage that was suspended over a vat of hot, boiling lava (or whatever you put lava in), and Buffy: Seasons 1-7 WITH Angel: Seasons 1-5 AND Firefly: Season 1 were also bound and locked in another cage suspended over the lava… well, I would have a hard time deciding who to save.

I guess I could just save them both actually. I mean, there’s no one else around. I don’t even know why I bought that vat of lava in the first place. BUT. I would definitely have a hard time deciding which series got priority placement when returning them to the DVD shelf after freeing them from their cages.

Ugh. I’ll just alphabetize them.

Anyway. Back to Heroes. Ok, so yeah. I’m a little late in the game. I only just discovered the show a few weeks ago. (Thanks Doug). And I’ve only seen the first season. The majority of which I watched over the past few days. Yeah. Did I mention addiction? Because how else can I explain the depressive withdrawals I experienced each time I tried to rip myself away.

But now I’m psyched for Season Two. And fortunately it looks like the network is about to repeat Season Two because of the writer’s strike. Yay! I can catch up!

Ugh though. Another hour of television each week that will cut into “productive time.” Bad Sarah.

Other shows I’ve become enslaved to:

The Biggest Loser – This show is so inspiring to me. I seriously force myself to throw up after every episode and then weigh in too!

Dancing with the Stars – Although not so much now that that Cheetah girl got kicked off.

Phenomenon – But I think it’s ending soon. Or just ended. Anyway, how do they do that shit?!

Cavemen – Look! I don’t need to explain myself to you! Just leave me and my Cromags alone! Bech.

 

 

 

 

 

Our annual Friendsgiving this year proved to be much more enthralling than actual family Thanksgiving.

This year we were fortunate enough to celebrate our ever-growing Friendsgiving in a house! Caroline and Jonathan hosted the get-together at their new residence. Here are some favorite quotes from the evening:

Sarah (pointing at Scott's black fingernail): OH MY GOD!! What happened to your freak finger?
Scott: Huh? It's nail polish.
Sarah: Ooh.
Scott: Hah, you'd be really good working at the Home for Deformed Children.
Adam: Hah! I love that there's a Home for Deformed Children.
------
Adam: Knock Knock.
Mike: Who's there?
Adam: Interrupting gay.
Mike: Interrupting g--
Adam: Haaaaaay!
Sarah: Hahahaha! .........So I don't get it. Is it like you're saying you're gay or you're calling the other person--
Everyone: Oh my god!!!
Beth (to Sarah): You should never be allowed to tell a joke.
------
Mike: "Really? Because I thought that video of you tea-bagging a dog while wearing a bikini would have been proof enough."
------
Beth: "Ha ha holocaust!"
------
Scott (as some possibly-offended guests we're leaving): We did it!
------
Most over-used quote: "...and I put my balls on it."

I was halfway in my car in the clinic parking lot when a man walking by paused at my front bumper and turned toward me. With his thick rimmed glasses and flannel shirt tucked into his workin’ man jeans, he bared a striking resemblance to Hank Hill.

“They have waffle cones in the cafeteria,” he said with the same amount of enthusiasm an 8^th grader would express while reciting an excerpt from the Gettysburg Address.

“Oh, I-” …am trying to diet, I would have finished stammering but he continued.

“They’re about yea big around.” He demonstrated by making a circle with his thumbs and index fingers. “One scoop is two dollars.”

A beat.

“Heh, ok. Thank you,” I said finally getting into my car.

The spell broke. He walked to his truck and drove off.

I sat for a moment wondering if that just really happened. And why he thought I might have been appreciative of a good deal on ice cream. Despite the fact we were in a hospital parking lot, he must’ve spotted me and thought ‘now there’s a “healthy” girl that I bet’d go for a waffle cone.’

Hmph!

This past Tuesday at work, we had a sudden loss of internet and phone service around midday. But what made things more eerie was everyone's cell phone seemed to be out of service too. Well, everyone who was an AT&T customer, anyway.

I do think that it's silly how everyone these days automatically and immediately concludes that "It must be terrorists!" the minute some crisis comes up, but. I have to admit, with the cell phones being out of service too, I was slightly freaked out.

A few of us sat around idly in the meeting room contemplating on what the cause of this sudden outage could be.

"It's bees," I said playfully. "Killer bees from South America!"

"How?" a coworker said.

"They, like, buzzed up inside it," I replied.

"The internet?"

"...yeah."

"Tsh. That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

Oh really? Well let's just see what the San Marcos Record had to say about it. [click for article]

That’s right. I’m in love.

With God.

Yes. GOD.

My God.

Matt Bellamy, of the phenomenal Muse.

And… MY GOD!! is that boy one sexyass, talented rocker!!!

No. That’s not a question.

<---bask!

 
Friday 9/14 – ACL Day 1

At 5:59:55pm I was shoving my coworkers out the door harder and faster than-- well, we'll just leave that one alone. I thought about asking another supervisor to swap shifts with me for the day but then I thought I might have already used up all my 'bullshit excuse cards' for the month.

I raced home as fast as my 3-cylinder car could take me and quickly changed into an outfit that was both punk rock and sweat-manageable, in preparation for my first ACL Fest concert: The Reverend Horton Heat. My heart skipped a beat when I realized I almost left my golden 3-day pass safely on my desk. Phew!

I waited about as patiently as someone who'd swallowed 17 NoDoz pills, for a ride from a friend who'd allegedly been promised exclusive event parking. But I didn't have her phone number; she only had mine. With 45 mins to showtime, I decided to fuck it and take the shuttle from downtown like the rest of the peasants. Good thing too. My friend called later to inform that her parking thing didn't work out, as most things like that don't.

The shuttle actually worked out great on the way to the concert and I was dropped off right in front of Zilker Park. Zsa Zsa!

I was in a bit of a disoriented frenzy at first, being an ACL virgin and all. But soon enough they slapped an ACL wristband on me and pointed me toward the Austin Ventures stage.

I'd never seen the Rev live before so I was very excited. I got to the stage in perfect timing, just as the Rev and his band took the stage. It wasn't long before me and everyone around me were dancing like we'd been "reborn." The show was actually quite good and they played a lot of my favorites. Although I was disappointed that he censored himself on his 'fucks' and 'bitches.' I guess he was being sensitive to the youngsters sitting sidestage. Stupid kids. Always ruining good, wholesome swearing.

Afterwards it had gotten pretty dark and I wandered over to the AMD stage with a $4 Budlite to catch the end of The Killers, not really expecting great things. I'm a huge fan of Hot Fuss. Not so much Sam's Town. I was pleasantly surprised to find them playing some of their greatest hits accompanied by a killer light show! Not to mention their beautifully dressed stage, adorned with flowers entwined with tealights. They finalied with my favorite, All These Things That I've Done. It was really glorious. I wish I had had my Canon.

As the herd shifted over to the mega AT&T stage for the Bjork concert, I walked up to the Killers stage to get a better look. Or at least to feel like I had gotten really close. Some die-hard fans were still clustered at the base of the stage yelling something about the props. The stage crew finally took down the long-stem flowers and threw them out at the small, lingering crowd. It's funny, those kind of the moments, people act like they're being showered with 50 dollar bills. I even reacted on my impulse and fought some girl for a measly flower with a broken stem that had once been within inches of The Killers. It felt fun to have it for the evening, but it quickly lost most of its meaning when I got it home. I was going to press it in a book tonight but I decided that throwing it in the trash took less time and effort.

I'm not a Bjork fan but her light show looked pretty impressive and my friends were over there anyway, so I decided to catch the last few songs. She wasn't bad actually. I decided I would probably like her much better live than dead. I mean, than recorded.

After a few texts and with the the help of the handy "flag markers" (below) I was able to locate my friends in the sea of sweaty Bjork fans. By the way, having never been to an ACL concert before, I had never seen or heard of this "flag marker" concept. Just enough people carry around flag poles with balloons or banners or panties tied to them so others can easily find them. But it makes it quite useful for everyone else too. Like, "Hey where are you? I'm standing just a few yards behind the green panties and the flag of Norway."


As we exited the park, I scoffed at Mike and Samir for planning to walk back to their car parked across the river on W 6th Street, and bid adieu to them as I went to get in line for my Zsa Zsa shuttle.

After about 8 minutes of looking for the end of the endless shuttle line, I humbly asked for their forgiveness and if I could walk with them to the cars.

My feet were very upset with me that night and wanted to know why I just had to wear my new Converse All-Stars to match my outfit. My gym sneakers would have been a much wiser choice, as far as they were concerned. But my feet don't seem to understand that pain is beauty. Well, except when pain causes blisters. :o(

Saturday 9/15 – ACL Day 2

omgomgomgomgomg! All I could think all day was one thing: Muse.

I have never felt so passionately about a band or musical artist before. Movies are more my thing. Music? Yeah, I love my iPod. But I rarely have the desire to see live music. I guess I don't normally get that much out of concerts like say, Dave Matthews, who I love, but they just go up their and perform their songs and that's it. I could have been driving around running errands or getting wasted listening to their music and gotten just as much out of it. So I guess after seeing a few concerts like that I got it in my head that most shows were pretty boring. It wasn't until I saw Cowboy Mouth sometime last year at the Crawfish Festival that I began to change my mind. I went not liking their music. I left loving it. And with a newfound appreciation for live music and bands who put on a good show.

Anyway. Back to the most amazing band ever!! Ahhh! Still excited. Even though it was two nights ago.

Having a better feel for things, I headed for the festival feeling a bit wiser. Since I was planning on spending a full day there, I realized I had to dress more appropriately. A gray gym skirt, my black pirate-skull shirt, and sneakers. Sunglasses, no makeup, hair pulled back with a skull headband, and all exposed skin slathered in 45 proof sunblock.

I found one of the last kick-ass parking spots, only a short walk from the festival, on Gibson street, a tiny business neighborhood across Lamar from the Drafthouse.

I was feeling pretty good until, the closer I got to the festival, the more self-conscious I started to feel. I guess I underestimated how cute all the other girls were going to look, even despite the dreadful heat. Damnit. Why hadn't I thought of wearing a cute little sun dress? And if only I could pull off the bikini top and shorts look. Hmph. But I really couldn't stay depressed for long. I was after all going to see Muse!

Once inside, I met up with Scott for the Cold War Kids. I wasn't too familiar with them but they turned out to be be really excellent. Unfortunately, that was going to be my first and last Cold War Kids concert. According to Scott, they've broken up.

Next on the same stage was Andrew Bird. Scott was into him but I started to lose interest so I wandered off to get some food. I was quite impressed with the massive amount of local food vendors that had booths set up. Unfortunately, so was everyone else. I must have waited 30 minutes for some Amy's Ice Cream and a Chicken Corn Dog from Chuck & Larry's.

As I ate my food I happened to catch the tail end of the Butch Walker concert and was sorry I had missed it. It looked like a lot of fun.

Only a few hours to go and I realized I needed to force myself to use the port-o-potty before I claimed my ground at the Muse concert.

Hover-job indeed. And I will leave it at that.

Next I decided I needed to rest up. I was already feeling tired and I was looking at a good 3 hours of standing. I found some shade at the Rock n' Roll Oasis. Basically just a covered tent. B.Y.O.C. But alas, I had no chair. Or blanket or anything. Just God's green grass. Which, ever since I moved to Texas 9 years ago and discovered fire ants, I just cringe at the thought of making direct contact with grass. But I sucked it up and sat down anyway. Everyone else was and I couldn't see any bugs.

I sat idly for awhile, just people watching, envying all the cute sundresses, checking my phone for service. Occasionally it would come back into range and I would get 3 texts at once as I scrambled to check the UT score while the signal lasted. Yay! We won!

An attractive girl laid a bamboo mat down next to me and sat. Hmph. Why didn't I think to bring one of those? After awhile a guy sat down near us and commented to the girl "Man, the heat is dreadful." From there they began conversing and getting to know each other. I hate eavesdropping when I don't want to. I tend to get lost in other people's conversations and for some reason that bothers me. I guess feeling invisible or something, even though I wasn't interested in them noticing me. But they were too close to shut out. They talked about the bands and about Austin. As I listened, I wondered if he started talking to her just to talk to someone, or if he was trying to see if he could get somewhere with her. He noticed her accent and said "Austrailian?" She said "No, Scotland." He replied with interest "Oh really, what part?" I wondered if he really knew enough about Scotland to recognize a "part" or if he was just being a clever conversationalist. She must have been wondering the same thing as she nonchalantly worked into the conversion that she had a boyfriend back home. After awhile she got up and asked him to watch her things while she went to get water. He said sure and slid over onto her mat. I almost laughed out loud when he repeated the same opening line to me that he had just used on her 10 minutes ago. "Man, the heat is dreadful." I gave him a half-hearted "yeah, I know." But in my sweat-drenched rags I was feeling a bit like second place. Or fifth. We briefly chatted about bands and Austin. Although just when I started telling him how excited I was to see Muse he put his finger up and eagerly took a phone call. Hmph. When he hung up I started to say "You said you're from--" but I stopped myself when I remembered that knowledge came from my eavesdropping, and I quickly changed it to "Where'ya from?" I told him I was from Connecticut and he said "Oh really? What part." HA! But before I could answer, first place came back with bottles of water for the two of them, and he immediately starting talking to her again, completely forgetting about me, as if I had just been the half-time entertainment. Tsh. I looked at my phone clock and decided I had rested up enough. Then he paused their conversation and asked me "Could you move over?" Whatever bitches. I have a front row to get to.

Up before Muse was Damien Rice. Never heard of him but I figured with a name like that, he'd just be some John Mayer wannabe. In fact, he turned out to be a them. And were in fact a talented rock band.

For some reason I thought the last 20 minutes of the Damien Rice show would allow me plenty of time to weasel up to the front row for Muse. But so did 200 other people. The final song concluded and the true Rice fans began to clear. I started to make my move just as I heard behind me "Go! Muse! Muse! Muse! Muse!" shortly followed by a stampede that was as maddening as I image the California Gold Rush was.

In our forward charge, there were sudden cries of disgust. The sought after front ground was all mud and the stench of urine and weed saturated the air. It was truly disgusting and most of all, I was pissed (so to speak) that I had been locked into the 8th row! I was sure that I was the most obsessed fan and that I deserved to be the closest!! Waah! Alas, it was the much smarter 60 or so people who had showed up early to the Damien Rice concert, that got the privileged front row Muse ground and the luxury of railing to lean forward on. Tricky bastards!

Some punks behind me were "cleverly" trying to promote the competing Arcade Fire concert, and anything else they could think of in order to get a little closer.

45 minutes to Muse. Here and there, a girl would realize she wasn't going to make it without using the restroom and gave up her position, allowing everyone to move forward an inch. One girl however was adamant and had her friend hold a towel around her waist while she peed into a bottle. I have to admire her dedication.

30 minutes to Muse. Some drunk, shirtless asshole, who didn't even seem like he knew what band was coming up, had it in his mind to get up to the front. "I'm the asshole," he announced as he shoved into me hoping I would just accept that he was an asshole and let him pass.

No.

Fucking.

Way.

ASSHOLE.

He shoved into me violently a few times but I stood my ground and blocked every way he tried. Others followed suit, and he ended up getting pushed off to the side with a bewildered look on his face. Jackass!

20 minutes to Muse. We were all getting pretty excited watching the stage crew set up. Including a grand piano with a clear top that reflected colored lights where the strings normally are. It was apparent we were in store for quite the show!

15 minutes to Muse. omgomgomgomgomgomg!

10 minutes to Muse. I realized I was pretty lucky, most of the people around me seemed to be friendly and thoughtful, though also trying to figure out a way to inch up closer.

0 minutes to Muse. Matt Bellamy, dressed in a tight white tee with rows and rows of skulls on it and slim rocker jeans, came on stage with his two band mates. Without a word they got down to business, blasting off with their hit single Knights of Cydonia. If ever a band deserved a light show accompanied to their music, it's these guys right here. In addition to the usual whirling, multi-colored spotlights, there were all sorts of funky lights in the background as part of the decor, and also a large screen behind the band displaying a video show. Not to mention tons of flashing strobes that immaculately pulsed to the beat of the song. It was an Epileptics worst nightmare, and a dream come true for me. I almost wished I was sitting far back on the hill so I could take the whole thing in all at once. But it was just incredible being that close to the stage and everyone around quickly forgot about the mud and the pee smell.

At the beginning of the Knights of Cydonia, the song climaxes just before dropping into a rock beat. (Am I misusing terminology?) Just as the beat hit, everyone in my area started jumping widely and some used the opportunity to lunge themselves forward hoping to get closer to the stage. With so little standing room, no one had a wide enough stance to recover their balance, and the crowd swayed uncontrollably. I started to panic, like an LA Riot had just broken out. What if I got trampled to death!? I thought. But fortunately everyone regained their balance and calmed down a bit. When I finally relaxed I realized in the frenzy I had been moved up to the 6th row! Woohoo!

Song after song, Muse wowed and rocked the crowd like nobody's business. I was able to capture a short clip with my digicam, of one of the climactic parts of their song Map of The Problematique. If you're not familiar with it, here's a YouTube video (that I guess someone unofficially mixed in some war footage?) and here's my short clip from the concert. Or not. I've tried to upload it to YouTube twice and both times it says "failed." Gah!

A few other videos of interest...
Knights of Cydonia
Feeling Good
Starlight
Cave
Take a Bow (Unofficial Video, but someone did a nice job laying this song over scenes from Equilibrium).

Alright! Alright! Alright! So I'm obsessed.

Anyway.

I was so happy that Muse had the good fortune to nab the coveted 90-minute feature showcase slot when the White Stripes canceled. Muse's show just wouldn't have been as impressive during the day.

After the show concluded, I just stood their in the wake and let people clear out before I tried to move. It felt like I had been standing upright in a locker for 3 hours. No room to budge and God help you if you drop something. It was nice to finally be able to move again.

After the area had been mostly cleared, I took the below picture of my sacred ground.



Walking back to the car after the show actually felt pretty good on my stiff legs. I barely looked up the whole way as I myspaced a mutual Muse lover about how incredible the show was.

It was a shorter walk to the car that night and I was thankful for that, but as I entered the small neighborhood where it was parked (not so much a neighborhood - more like 3 short streets forming an 'H' with one apartment complex and a bunch of small businesses), I couldn't help but notice how dark it was. And how almost everyone else had gotten their cars and left. As I walked the connecting street, I did pass by a group of about 4 or 5 concert goers loitering around their car. No one was saying anything. It just struck me as odd; a group of friends standing around after a concert and everyone's quiet. Maybe they're smoking something? At any rate, it made me feel a little better to know that they were there. Ya know, just in case.

I approached the last street and saw my car sitting there all by itself at the end of the street. I was relieved it hadn't been towed. I wasn't entirely sure when I had parked it there if these couple of streets were included in the "No Parking in Neighborhood" thing across Lamar.

Suddenly, I saw a shady figure coming up out of the woods that my car was up against. As he came into the glow of the street light, I could see he looked kinda scraggily with a ragged bread and he was wearing a jumpsuit. He squatted down a few yards in front of my car and had something in his hands. A bloody wrench perhaps? Who knows. At any rate, I did not want to find out. But. My car was right there. I was only seconds away from finally sitting down. So I told myself to toughen up and just quickly walk past ol' Woody Woodlison. It'd all be over in a pinch.

But. Then again. Who the hell comes out of the woods like that this late at night? Wearing a jumpsuit? Looking all scaggily? Crazy people. That's who.

So I decided he doesn't know that's my car. For all he knows I'm just out for an evening power walk. I'll just turn right and walk up the hill toward the main street (instead of a left, past him, and to my car). And I'll come back in a little bit.

Just as I made the smart decision and turned right up toward the main street, the man stood up and started yelling at me in the most ferocious, murderous voice, and it felt like all the blood in my body drained. I could barely concentrate on what he was actually saying I was so terrified. I think it was something political. Like along the lines of society's view of him. But I can't be sure. All I know is, it was crazy-talk. And it was sinister.

I didn't dare turn around or even flinch once. I just kept my cool and kept walking like I was deaf as a doornail. Even though I was pissing myself, figuratively. Maybe even a bit literally too.

Somehow I could tell he wasn't coming after me. He just stood there, yelling at my back. When I reached the top of the hill I turned around finally. He was gone. Most likely back into the woods. Lurking. Just waiting for me to return so he could yell at me some more. And then rape me. And kill me. And... take my ACL wrist band!! Aw heeeeeellllll nooooo!!

In a panic I called Mike. I'm not really sure what I was expecting him to do from a mile or two away but it's all I could think to do at the moment.

"Go across the street to Maudie's [Mexican Restaurant] and wait for awhile," he said. "Wait for what?" I said. "He's waiting for me!" Just then I saw two guys walking by me on Lamar. They had backpacks on and most importantly, ACL wristbands. "I'll call you back!" I yelled and probably hung up before he had a chance to respond.

I flagged the two guys down and told them about the crazy man living in the woods and pointed to my car. "Please will you walk me to my car?" I thought maybe I sounded like I was trying to scam them or something, as there was no crazy woodsman in sight. But they were more than happy to oblige me anyway. I offered to give them a ride in exchange (and not like THAT, for the umpteenth time. Sheesh).

Just as I turned the engine on and locked the doors I looked over my should to see, low and behold, our favorite woodsman emerging from the woods again. "See! I told you! There he is!!" I screamed as I floored it out of there.

Well, on the bright side, as Samir says, at least I have a story now. And he has to go back to his woods.

Sunday 9/16 – ACL Day 3

Completely worn out from the day before, I was in no hurry to get back to another day of sweat and standing. On top of that the Sunday line up didn't impress me as much. Mostly because I didn't recognize many of the bands on the schedule.

Late in the afternoon I finally managed to get up and wash the dirt and sweat off from the day before. Which almost seemed pointless but it felt great nonetheless.

For the final day I decided there was no way I was going back without at least attempting to look cute. Sundress and flip flops. Much better. And yes, still wearing my skull headband.

I found parking far away on W 6th street and feeling much safer, decided to walk.

It wasn't long before I was sweating again. Damnit. Whenever I sweat I feel like I'm the only person sweating. I look around at other girls and their make up seems perfect, while I'm melting away. Hmph.

It was around 5 o'clock when I showed up and Mike and Samir were just getting done with Bloc Party and were ready for some food. I'm always ready for food so I was thrilled. We did a little shopping too and I bought some kick ass silver star earrings.

After awhile of chatting they went off to stake a good spot for The Decemberists concert while I went to see what Wilco was all about. They seemed to attract a crowd of 1000's so I was expecting good things. I couldn't have been more wrong. Am I crazy? Why is everyone so into them? I stayed for about 3 songs and then gave up.

I headed over to The Decemberists concert hoping to relieve my ears. I didn't know too much about them, other than Scott really likes them. Again, I felt like the crazy person in the crowd. While everyone else was singing along and cheering, I was just looking around me completely puzzled. So I gave up on them. Later Scottt informed me that he had been disaapointed too and almost left but things got really good after the first 3 songs. Ha. Oh well. I moved over to the My Morning Jacket stage. But Again. I quickly realized not for me.

I almost wrote off Sunday as being a complete waste when I stumbled upon the Ghostland Observatory concert. Holy crap! They are freakin awesome! By that time it had gotten dark and the Wilco concert next door had ended and the mob of people were flooding over to check out the sights and sounds of Ghostland. And holy crap! According to wiki, they are based out of Austin. Hot damn. They are definitely a one-of-a-kind duo, and maybe not for everyone, but I strongly recommend checking them out. It's basically a guy "singing" and playing guitar while another guy wears a cape and DJs. They were fantastic and totally made Day 3 for me.
I couldn't find any high quality videos of them on YouTube so check out Sad, Sad City on their Myspace.

I reunioned with Scott, Mike and Samir over by what was supposed to be the "highlight" of the evening -- the Bob Dylan concert. None of us really seemed to be into it though so we left. Sorry Marc. :-P

Well, all in all, I had a blast at ACL and I never thought I would say such a thing. I'm actually already looking forward to next year. I'm hoping to see the Yeah Yeah Yeahs and... the return of Muse!!

I am so freakin excited right now I could pee in my pants!

In fact, I just did. aaah, warm.

The cause of my pant-wetting gaiety? There is a 99.999% chance that I have secured myself a 3-day pass to ACL Fest next weekend!

Oddly a year ago I probably would have traded ACL tickets for a day-old ham sandwich. Please forgive my ignorance.

I am not innately a fan of live music. Which is ironic given that I live in the proclaimed "Live Music Capital of the World." Being a Connecticut yankee, my idea of "taking in a concert" involves sprawling out on a blanket amongst friends, a good 100 yards from the main stage of an amphitheater. Not standing for hours on end amid a sweltering herd of strangers, 20 feet from a gigantic blaring speaker.

However, in the last year I have come to (re)discover the most incredible, mind-blowing musical act, and undoubtedly my favorite band of all-time, and next Saturday night I will be standing hours on end amid a sweltering herd of strangers, 20 feet from a blaring speaker, just to see Muse live.

I say rediscover because I remember when Cave, a hit(?) single from their 1st album, came out back in '99. However, I figured them a one-hit wonder since I never heard anything else from them or anyone mention their name. That is until Knights of Cydonia came out last year.

I think somehow my excitement for seeing Muse live has triggered me to be more enthusiastic about seeing other bands at ACL. Honestly, it's not that surprising, given the line-up this year.

Other performances I want to see:

The White Stripes
The Killers
Rev. Horton Heat
Arcade Fire
Arctic Monkeys
Spoon
The Decemberists
Clap Your Hands Say Yeah

The only way it could have been any better would be if Yeah Yeah Yeahs were playing this year.

I fucking hate you all and I hope you die a slow, painful, Raid-filled death.

I want to go to Paris so bad.

I know that sounds terribly cliché. But, fuck off. It's Paris!

Eh well. Even if my job did pay out the ass, I just used up all my vacation time in NYC and NJ. Pictures from that trip are up on myspace.com/msbeaverhausen and myspace.com/hartshornephotography.

Highlights from my trip:

Tuesday
-Met up with Marc who was vacationing in NYC at the same time
-Carnegie deli @ 1am. The Woody Allen could not fit in my mouth
-Stayed in a ritzy hotel, The Roosevelt

Wednesday
-Hot guy who looked like Tom Cruise a la Risky Business, took our picture on the subway
-Coney Island on the 4th of July. Embraced the trash and polluted sea air. Ate a corn dog from Nathan's. Rode the Cyclone. Worried I had gotten brain damage from the Cyclone. Waited in a 10 minute line to use a scary public toilet.
-Rode the subway and walked through a maze of streets to get to the much anticipated Grimaldi's Pizza, only to discover a 2 hour line. In the rain.
-Ate at a so-so Italian restaurant, Angelo's, above David Letterman.
-Watched a mediocre display of fireworks at the UN.
-Drank at the hotel bar

Thursday
-Had the best breakfast at a local deli: ham, egg, and cheese on a white roll. mmm
-Interrupted mass at St Patrick's Cathedral
-Met Adam for lunch at Coffee Shop
-Blew $137 at H&M
-Wound up in Jersey
-Ate damn good pizza and saw Ratatouille

Friday
-Beached myself at the beach
-Transformers

Saturday
-Hair-do
-Arrested Development marathon - new fav show!

Sunday
-More beaching of self


So yeah. That's it. Way more fun that it sounded. And now it's Friday night, 12:27am and I'm sitting at home in my pjs. Seriously! How is everyone out of town this weekend! Bastards. I mean... I miss you!

I have nothing interesting to say. :(

Bleh.

I keep trying to kick start my diet again. I had a real ambitious start going on it last week for about two whole days, but that came to a *screeching halt* when my relationship came to an equally screeching halt. Drama ensued. Calories were welcomed back. Alcohol was consumed. Sleep was had. Friends were there (and I truly thank you all for that - you mean the world to me). And now I'm on the road to recovery. Again.

But I can’t seem to get the diet thing going again. Nor the exercise. Today I planned to “be good” and eat my low-fat, whole-wheat, soft chicken taco for lunch but, there was virtually no arm twisting involved when my boss offered to take me to lunch to Mamacita’s Mexican Restaurant. And Mamacita’s is one of those places where you continue eating, even when you’re full. Or maybe that’s ANY Mexican restaurant.

Or, maybe that’s ME.

In any case, try as I might, I could not finish my delicious quesadillas (which, I enjoy pronouncing, kwes-AH-dill-uhs). But I hate letting things go to waste – like food, water, and child labor – so I had the waitress box up my leftover comida and, if anything, I would just donate it to one of the many homeless people I see everyday panhandling at the corner of William Cannon & I-35 while I wait for the unforgiving stop light to turn green enough times to get past it.

On the ride home from work, I let my knees take the steering wheel while I fished the to-go box out of my trendy, plastic HEB lunch bag. I even decided to throw in my un-eaten low-cal taco for good measure. I was actually kind of excited, and proud of myself for taking the time to do such a good deed. Normally, when I encounter homeless people at stoplights, I feel extremely awkward. I feel bad that I’m sitting there in my air-conditioned Jetta, with my clean clothing and my iPod and my purse fulla’ maxed out credit cards – while they’re there. On their corner. No food. No money. But what can I do? except try to inch my car past them or, if there’s no room, ignore them, while I pretend to look completely enthralled with something on my Blackberry. I do however always try to sneak a peak at their sign.

But today was different. Today, I was going to roll down my protective window and acknowledge a homeless person! Today, I was going to even give them some food. Today, I couldn’t *wait* to get to that notorious corner and say “Hey man! Have some food and God bless YOU!”

Today, that corner was homeless-less. 

GAH! Where’s a dirty, starving homeless person when you need one?! That always happens to me! The once-in-the-blue-moon that I have food to give them, they’re on break! I thought about just leaving it there, on their “doorstep,” as it were. But then it would probably get bugs all over it. Which, I’m sure the average starving homeless person would overlook. I, however, with my germaphobia, would die of starvation.

So, I thought, shit. Out of courtesy of donating ant-free food, I have to go find a fucking homeless person to give this to! Gawd.

Fortunately, I spotted one right away. On the mother-fucking-opposite side of the freeway! I started to say, ah screw it! But then I felt guilty. And annoyed that I had gone to ALL this damn trouble to get this homeless guy some half-eaten Mexican food. God. I hated him already. Make me go all the way around, just to sit through this wretched William Cannon light on the OTHER side! Then I gotta turn around and go back again! What an asshole.

But. I was determined.

As I rounded the corner onto the southbound feeder road, I started to get the jitters a little bit. Not so much about whether he was going to jump in my car, hijack me, stab me, and rape me – but more anticipating the possible awkwardness of the transaction. Would he not pass my window at a convenient moment? Would the light magically be green long enough this time, not allowing me to stop? Would he still be there or would he be back on the other side now?! I was fraught with worry.

When I approached the line of cars, indeed the light had magically turned green long enough for me to pass though, and he had his back to me as he walked back to his post, sign folded under his arm. In my rearview mirror I saw anxious motorists behind me. Frustrated, I decided to just floor it and forget it. But then I thought, no. Fuck flooring it. This fucking guy is getting this fucking food, even if it means holding up fucking traffic.

I won’t bore you with the short, simple exchange that actually took place and how it gave me a tremendously good feeling deep down yadda yadda yadda.. but instead I will conclude with Scott’s “Seinfeld ending.”

Sarah
Hey man! Here ya go! 

        He takes the box and opens it. Sarah beams, watching him in anticipation.

Homeless Man
Got any mustard?

Sarah
No.

Homeless Man
Hm. No, thanks.

Someone recently asked me what it is that women want. And for the millionth time I responded,

"Hell if I know."

Personally, as a woman, I think women are retarded.

Almost as much as men.

But through my years of misfortune, misunderstanding and mishaps, I came up with the following blurb that sufficiently represents my two cents, paid to the order of The Dating Game.

I didn't necessarily write it with men in mind, nor women for that matter. Rather, I subscribe to the idea that we're more alike in our humanness, than we are separated by our gender.

But just as a disclaimer to you, gentle reader, when I wrote this self-proclaimed masterpiece, I was mixing tequila shots with horse tranquilizers.


Things you should emphasize in yourself

Confidence
Confidence isn’t about walking around with your chest puffed out with a condescending air wafting off you. As trite as it sounds, it’s simply about believing in yourself. Loving yourself as you are and letting go of your inhibitions so they don’t hinder your personality. I think Jack Black is a perfect example of how confidence can be sexy.

Humbleness
Too much confidence can be perceived as arrogance. That’s why you should balance it out with humbleness. It basically let's people know that you don't think you live on a pedestal. Sometimes it can be funny to jokingly put yourself on a pedestal, just as long as you are willing to let someone kick it out from under you.

Wit
A sense of humor is wonderful, but wit is even better. If you know anyone who is witty, you may have noticed how everyone wants to be their friend. Everyone loves to be entertained and laughter is the best medicine. Just be sure you’re not doing it at the expense of someone else's feelings.

Self-Deprecation (in Moderation)
You shouldn’t overly emphasize your flaws but don’t try to deny them either. Make a fun joke about it. Just don’t go overboard or people will think you have a complex. If you’re sensitive about a particular aspect of yourself, the best thing to do when someone pokes fun at you is to play it down by making a joke about it, as opposed to getting defensive. Or if you can think of a fun counter-jab, go for it. The objective is to eliminate awkwardness or tension about the subject, and again it demonstrates to others that you have confidence in yourself. If you can accept yourself despite your flaws, others will too. I think Conan O’Brien is an ideal example of how this trait can be very appealing.

Independence
Most people don’t enjoy feeling smothered in a relationship or the feeling that you’re codependent upon them. To avoid this, work on being an independent, self-sufficient human being. Remember, you are a whole person and you don’t need someone else to complete you. You complete you. So before you look for someone else, find yourself.


What S/He Wants From You

Elevation
Make him/her feel special! S/he wants to feel that you’re with them because you want to be with THEM, not because you couldn’t be with someone else.

Thoughtfulness
Do something thoughtful that shows him/her you wanted to make them happy and were thinking of them. Or that you took time to consider what s/he would want. It really doesn’t have to involve money. The more creative the better.

Honesty
This isn’t just about not lying. It’s about being genuine too. Mean what you say and say what you mean. And of course, be yourself.

Respect
Have interest in what s/he’s saying, value their input, and be thoughtful of their feelings. Some people think woman like men to be assertive. And that may be true to an extent, but not at the cost of respect.

Flirtiness and Charm
Most people are somewhat protective of their romantic feelings for others. It’s a balancing act, trying to communicate to someone that you’re interested in them without creeping them out. But if you don’t test the waters with a little flirtiness and charm, they’re never going to get the message. Don’t lay it on thick. Smiling, making eye contact, being funny, and the occasional, non-intrusive touch on the shoulder can go a long way.

When You’re in a Relationship

Communication
Seriously. This is HUGE. So many fights start because people don’t communicate. If you are upset by your partner, yelling and name-calling doesn’t resolve anything. It puts the other person on the defense and draws attention away from the real issue. What I recommend, if your partner upsets you, first, don’t just assume that they did this to purposely hurt you or that they intended to do it at all. Just simply state what you observed and how it made you feel. Or ask them how they think it made you feel. It sounds so robotic and formal but it really works. If you can present the issue to them seriously without disrespecting them, their demeanor will match. Basically, if the relationship (or friendship) is worth anything to you, try to work WITH the other person to resolve problems. Not against them.

An Essay by Christopher Walken

Do you enjoy eating hot dogs? I hope you won't be put off by my frankness when I tell you that I absolutely love them. In fact, I enjoy no food item more than a freshly-boiled hot dog. Now, I've done a lot of movies, and it's true that I've worked with quite a few celebrities who did not share this opinion. I'm sorry to say that these people have always angered me. There are two types of people in this world: those who eat hot dogs whenever it is possible to do so, and those who opt to do other things with their free time.

Who do the latter think they are kidding? What pastime could be more rewarding than the consumption of hot dogs? I haven't yet found one, and I don't expect to in my lifetime. Unlike other foods, hot dogs can be eaten at any time, in any place, and it is not necessary to cook them. Now, I ask you: Why not eat hot dogs? They are delicious. I carry a bag of hot dogs with me wherever I go. I eat them from the bag whenever I get the urge, regardless of the circumstances. When I make a movie, my hot dogs are my co-stars. If, in the middle of a scene, I decide I want to consume a hot dog, I do so. I waste the director's time and thousands of dollars in film stock, but in the end, it is all worth it, because I enjoy eating hot dogs more than I enjoy acting. This bothers some people. I was supposed to portray Batman, but when Tim Burton learned of my hot dog cravings, he asked Michael Keaton to wear the cape. To this day, I am peeved about this. When we filmed The Dead Zone, I ate over 800 hot dogs a day. It was necessary. My character needed to come across as intense as possible, and I found the inspiration for that intensity in my intense love for hot dogs. The director, David Cronenberg, said that he would never work with me again. I kept eating hot dogs when the cameras were rolling, and that seemed to bother him. I say fuck him. He doesn't even like hot dogs.

I would like to end by emphasizing once again that I really like to eat hot dogs. If any of you people disagree, I loathe you. I despise you. Not only that, but I also despise all your loved ones. I want to see them torn to pieces by wild dogs. If I ever meet you in person, I'll smash your brains in with a fucking bat.

Then we'll see who doesn't like hot dogs.