And a partridge in a pear tree

During this season of Yuletide cheer and resolutions soon to be forgotten, I figure it would behoove me to share a few tips with my faithful readers. I am an excellent source of social grace, not because I generally possess it but because I am exceptionally sensitive to others’ shortcomings. If you heed my advice I can guarantee that I will not fantasize about egging your house or forking your yard. In addition you will have the joyous satisfaction of having my seal of approval and being a Good Samaritan.

Without further ado, the 12 steps you can take toward me not wanting to egg your house:

1. Do not tape that Volvo commercial with that alien child telling that incoherent story about a man with a tiny head and make me watch it over and over (this should be a freebie)
2. When we are at dinner please do not ever answer the phone (unless you are waiting for a call about your mother’s condition in the hospital)
3. Do not whine (especially if it is to get me to do something like vacuum)
4. Unless you are my mother, my teacher, or boss do not tell me what to do unless I ask
5. Do not vanish into thin air without any sort of explanation
6. Do not tell me something that you think I want to hear, say what you mean and MEAN it (this also should be a freebie, but apparently it is quite difficult)
7. Don’t ever be rude to a restaurant server unless she is rude to you first (this actually applies to anyone in the service industry)
8. Do stop to admire at least a few pets and babies during your day to day life
9. Do offer to carry something for a little frail lady
10. Do exchange kind words with a few strangers per day
11. Do offer to get everyone in the room a beverage when you rise to get one for yourself
12. Do return phone calls, e-mails, and messages in a prompt manner, if I am reaching out to you it means I miss you and want to hear from you

Get Ready for a Big Gulp of the Haterade!

Dear Babel,

I hate you. You robbed me of two perfectly good hours of my life during which I could have enjoyed any number of other films that would have been more carefully crafted than yours or at least most likely would not have made me want to hang myself from the movie projector. Did you not attend grammar school? During these glorious years I acquired many skills, one of which was how to formulate ideas. You see ideas (or thoughts) are generally things that you think of that are new and innovative. Generally you will think of one and then say aloud to your friend or neighbor “I have an idea”. At this point you will share this idea and it will elicit a response such as “Oh good idea” or “I don’t like that idea”. Never when you have an alleged “idea” should someone, such as the audience at Babel when informed the movie was based off the idea of some overpaid birdbrain in Hollywood, say, “What was the idea?” That means there was in fact no idea at all. Another concept covered in grammar school was the “idea” that in order to write a story there are a few guidelines one must follow. The first is that there should be a beginning, middle, and end to the story. If a story has a particularly poignant, yet abstract idea, perhaps this structure can be forgone, however as previously mentioned, for Babel this was not the case. There may have been a feeble attempt at an idea, but it was clouded over with absolutely asinine scenes filled with nude Asian preteens, make out sessions over bedpans, and a pre-pubescent Moroccan boy spying on his naked sister. I am fairly certain the point/idea that this movie was inspired by is the fear and misconceptions that most Americans have in terms of different cultures. I know you were trying to show how the media misconstrues events. I know you tried to humanize the issues of terrorism and immigration. But honey, you failed. I am no filmmaker, but I can tell you that this movie was so horrifyingly bad that as a die-hard liberal you couldn’t even convince me. Babel you were so awful I would almost consider becoming a Republican because of you. I hope you are happy.

Love,

Marissa

Did I mention I love fuzzies???

As previously mentioned I adore little fuzzy animals! I just recently started volunteering at my very own Humane Society of Broward County. This basically means I get to play with fuzzy little kittens all day long. There are so many adorable animals, I hope if you are ever looking to get a pet you check out your local humane society! Check out some of my squishy friends( portrayed below) that I bonded with this past Sunday.

Fuzzy Wuzzies!!!

Election Day!

As you may or may not know I recently moved to Florida. This was and continues to be a very big deal for me because as one friend pointed out to me I am essentially the very incarnation of the Northeast. I am a cable knit wearing, foliage loving, clam digging, lobster cracking Northerner with a wicked affection for hippie towns and politics bluer than the Nantucket Sound. When I first learned that my new home would be Florida I was frightened the only clubs in town would be the NRA and the the KKK. I’ll admit I was slightly ignorant, but seeing the color red on any map makes my head spin with visions of Cheney and Rumsfield (good riddance) dancing round my head. It didn’t help that there have been a few voting scandals in the past as well. There are actually people walking around that don’t vote, using the excuse that their vote won’t be counted anyway. Faith has been lost, but I am here to tell you it can be restored. On Tuesday I experienced the most uncomplicated voting experience of my short, but important voting lifetime! Although the issues were obfuscated, probably due to the fact that candidates’ campaigns were based more on character claims than issues, there was not a chad (with or without child, hanging or not) in sight! I breezed through, pushed a couple of buttons, and pressed VOTE. After pressing this lovely button, I walked away with the satisfaction of knowing I had done my part and that I helped make the state a touch bluer. With Tuesday’s results I feel reinvigorated about our Country’s future. But I am also weary. It is clear that the president’s popularity was rapidly decreasing and that the faith of the country was wavering. I fear that the Democrats have achieved this success based on the recent failures of the Republicans. And although I am pleased with anything that makes Democrats look more competent I hope that we have the change that this country so desperately needs. A toast to our success! And a toast to our future successes as well!!!

I love Furballs!!!!

Since I know that the entirety of my reader base consists of my family, you know how much I love animals. I don’t know from where this love was spawned, however it is extremely present and this love combined with my mild undiagnosed ADD affects my life daily. For example a normal day to day walk/convo with me will go as follows, ” Oh my god I am so sorry that you saw your boyfriend Billy making out with your cousin Rita last night… OH MY GOD A PUPPYYYYYYY (insert five minutes of baby talk and petting). Seriously I am really sorry about that, lets talk about feelings, “OH MY GODDDD A BASSSETTTTTTTT Hound” ‘ You get the picture. But I can’t help it, its as if when I see a little furball prancing along on a leash I temporarily black out and when I come too I am covered in fur and have a drunk happy smile on my face. I just love these guys, there little paws and fuzzy faces, and squishy tummies. Its probably because I am a very tactile person and they are just so SOFT!!!! I know I am not alone in these feeling (maybe in the extremity) as there are many statistics showing how higher levels of happiness and healthfulness can be attributed to pet owners. I can remember when I was having a particularly bad day my own late cate “Beauty” would always be sure to snuggle extra close (slash snuggle at all) and try to give me some extra lovin. Maybe Beauty couldn’t read a book or solve a math equation, but animals are extremely intuitive! Here is a fabulous little article about a program providing furry companions to war vets, which is great, but the pups are trained by Inmates! I love this wonderful idea. It is a win win situation. The inmates are able to do something practical and rewarding and are given companionship while the dog receives intensive training and then finally these well trained canines head out to help out the vets! It is nice to know that in a day where it seems generations are becoming slightly apathetic about doing their part and contributing to society at the least the fuzzies are doing their bit (however unwillingly). Long live the furballs!!! http://www.nytimes.com/2006/10/31/us/31dogs.html?_r=1&th&emc=th&oref=slogin

Homecoming 2006

As some of you may or may not know 1 week ago was my first experience attending my University’s homecoming as an alumna. I recall last year feeling a certain distate for those that returned for the game. I felt they were taking up unneccesary room in my bars and that they detracted from my overall enjoyment of the weekend. I did not understand why these individuals would feel they had the right to come back for this game and act as if they had never left school. Why wouldn’t they hang out in their hotel bars or other more sophisticated venues with the other alumni? Why would they choose to hang out with slovenly undergrads partaking in a weekend of binge drinking and other debaucherous merrimaking? Wasn’t the real world much more interesting than this contained community of mind altered non-reality? This is where my recent life experience becomes extremely valuable. The answer is “No”. In actuality the real world is not only not more interesting, it is in fact dull. As soon as I made my move down to Florida I booked my ticket to homecoming weekend. And after that ticket was booked every glich in my day was combatted with the thought that in 4 short weeks, three short weeks, 2, etc I would be going back to Ithaca. When the day actually arrived I was a mess. I tried cooling my nerves with a cocktail at the airport. This did not help and when my plane was delayed a fit of hysterics errupted. Another cocktail on the plane did not do the trick. But talking to every single passenger and flight attendant on the plane did. Not a minute after entering the plane I am pretty sure every passenger knew I had just moved to Florida, just graduated from Cornell, was going to my first homecoming and was most likely going to miss my connecting flight in Detroit. I had people mapping out the fastest route to the gate, I had people praying, I had people giving up their seat so I could get closer to the front of the plane to ensure a smooth exit from the plane, even though most others would be missing connections as well. Due to a small miracle and the fabulous persuasion of my dear friend awaiting me on my connecting flight I somehow made it and thus, began the greatest weekend of my life and my feeble attempts to trick the rest of campus into thinking I was still a student. Upon arrival in Ithaca New York, I immediately purchased a new Cornell sweatshirt, which became a permanent fixture on my body for the next week. Had I not stopped to take a picture or cry every 3 feet while trapsing around campus, I might have even fooled a few current students into thinking I still attended this Academic stomping ground. And the weekend itself it was in fact great. For three all too short days I felt like I had never even left. I ate at all my favorite restaurants, chatted with all my favorite teachers, had my favorite drinks at my favorite bars served by my favorite bartenders. And truth be told, if undergrads were feeling the way I did last year, I didn’t even notice, because I was having way to much fun. I have absolutely no qualms about returning to the exquisite event for many years to come and cannot wait for the day I give birth so that I can commence feeding my newborn “Cornell” propoganda to ensure his or her application 17 years from that day. I can just picture those “Somebody at Cornell loves Me” onsies now…

A little list

of things that piss me off. i know i know, to accomplish this is not a difficult feat, however since it brings me so much joy to complain about them, I feel it all comes out in the wash. The following are in no particular order.

1. Yesterday I was driving in my fabulous Honda rocking out to some jamming tunes. AKA a sentimental mix made during college since this is all I listen to these days. Anyway so I am rocking out/ weeping when I turn my head to see yet another F ing Hummer taking up the three lanes to my right. Oh god, not another one I thought to myself but continued to jam. Then I noted their license plate and saw that it was a “Save our Reefs” license plate. This is the part that irked me. ” Alright A hole, lets all get on that. Lets all put on some dive gear and rush off to save our reefs. How about instead of you paying $50 bucks for a license plate you stop driving around a vehicle thats bigger than my entire apartment, polluting my air, sucking up all of the gas in the world, and obstructing my view on the highway??? “(Side note I have nothing against the reefs, they are fabulous… and even though I harbor an inexplicable fear of the sea, I have nothing but the utmost respect for its inhabitants).

2. So my life is not so fascinating, I have a few days a week where it is wonderful and sunny and one of my few joys is to go and sit out by the pool and try to catch some rays (hey a girl can dream can’t she?) This past Sunday I am doing just that. It is 9:30, full sun, pretty much 500% humidity and I am relaxing on my chaise. The birds are chirping, I am sipping some cafe, life couldn’t be better. Thats when the little terrors arrive. A group of three boys that proceed to spend the next hour playing “Lets pretend to drown each other while screaming bloody murder”. Boys will be boys I suppose, but what gets me is their absent mother. She is sitting there with some aging gentleman discussing how kids have no boundries blah blah and how you can profile bad kids, etc. Come on!!!! Stop talking about the nation’s children and judging a book by its cover, when your own A Hole children are running around pretending to kill each other. Okay I judge that your bratty kids are cold blooded murders with no discipline! NEXT!

3. Designing Women. Seriously. Why is this show on Nick at Nite? This is really completely ruining my daily routine. Every night I would watch a couple of Roseanne episodes to soothe my nerves before bedtime. Its almost like a valium for me, it calms me… zones me out, makes me happy. Now every night I turn on my tube and what is one, but DESIGNING WOMEN!!!! Someone help me!!!! Get this program off tv, doesn’t everyone realize why this show hasn’t been on any channel for 10 years…. Its because it SUCKS! And it is way too emotional. I have already cried twice because of a traumatic scene dealing with AIDS and another about an abandoned child. I commend the program for tackling such important issues, especially the first time around, but I don’t need this kind of emotional drama. MORE ROSEANNE, LESS DESIGNING WOMEN.

4. This actually makes me happy. Three cheers for Panera Bread. I am usually not a sucker for any sort of chain other than my Dunkin Donuts, but this one is fabulous for one sole purpose. Free Wi-Fi!!! No more lonely days at home, I have an office!!! And it has free iced tea! Now I just need to see if they will make my copies and send my faxes….

Latest Aspiration

I just returned from my first Floridian manicure and discovered something fabulous. It was just like a Connecticut ian manicure!!! There is nothing more exciting than sitting with a stranger and not having any idea what she is saying or laughing about with her friends. It is also comforting to know there are indeed some Asians in Florida… must find out where they eat. Anyway I decided I need to become a foreign manicurist with my other foreign friends. How much fun would it be to gossip all day long and talk about the people that come in to your shop right in front of them?? I think it would probably be my personal heaven. Except for the nail painting part, definitely not good at that due to some shaky hands. Perhaps I could open a bakery of the same persuasion… And I am also not good at learning other languages so I will have to go somewhere where no one knows any English… details to come.

Baby Bella

Today as I was taking my daily break to gallavant over to my local Office Depot I began to reminisce about my very first automobile. It was a raw fall day with grey skies that had just started to pour out their fury onto the roads below. I woke up early before the rest of the town to become comfortable on the road. Her name was Bella (later to be the red rocket…not because of her speed, but the roaring sound the engine spewed when working to produce speeds over 50 mph). She was a 1991 red Honda Civic standard two door hatchback and I’ve never viewed anything more beautiful. I shared her with an older brother and sister, but once they ditched me for the big Apple she was all mine. On this first day out my nerves got the best of me. I stumbled and stalled, tried to start the car in third gear only to be caught in a fit of rumblings and vibrations. The day ended with a discouraged Marissa and my mom picking me up at the Mobil Station. I was soggy and slightly emotional but the next day I was ready to begin again. This day my desire for the open road outweighed my fear of it. And every day after this I was thrilled by the independence it provided me. Driving through country sides, by the ocean, soothed me and calmed me. To me the car was much more than transportation, but became my sanctuary. It brought me to friends, it housed my music, it soon became covered with clippings and photoes of my icons and interests. Beliefs were displayed on bumpers, excentricities hanging from mirrors. Driving that car made me feel powerful. It was a symbol of my independence. Pumping gas provided me with a feeling of satisfaction and achievement. A car is something different for everyone, a way to get to work, a way to escape from your home office (hypothetically), a status symbol, a way to compensate for your poor self esteem (achem hummer), but back then it was everything, it became and extension of me. Although I love my car now, probably more than most people, nothing compares to that first time I shifted smoothly into second gear, hair blowing in the breeze, tunes blasting to wash out the roaring engine, and most likely nothing ever will.