Monday, March 27, 2006

Tears of a Clown

next to me are 8, yes, count them, 8, soggy, sodden, snot filled kleenex. now you are probably asking yourself, what brought on such a crying jag?

did someone near and dear to me pass away?


did i lose my left hand in a tragic paper shredding accident, thus rendering me unable to knit ever again?


did someone change the constitution so that bush can now run for a 3rd term?


i just finished watching "Billy Elliot" for the 3,872nd time. and i cried just as hard as i did the first 3,871 times. i start blubbering about an hour into that movie and just do not stop. if you ever want me to burst into tears on the spot, just utter this one line. when Billy is leaving, and his little gay friend, Michael, stands on the wall and yells, "Oy! Dancing boy!" at that point i am crying so hard that i lose my vision and stop breathing.

sounds a little dramatic, i know, but i have always had strong reactions to sad movies. and even some not so sad ones. when i was little i HAD TO see every Benji movie. and my mother dreaded those movies like paris hilton dreads a pap smear. i would just BAWL all the way thru those movies. and she would sit there with me in the theater, passing me kleenex and apologizing the other moviegoers around us for the spectacle i was making. the worst was "For the Love of Benji." you know, the one where the family goes to greece, and benji gets lost, and no one will feed him, and he meets a little girly dog, and she becomes his little girlfriend, and he steals the sausage from the outdoor market so she can eat, and the whole time the bad guy wants to put an evil computer chip in benji's lil paw? you know, that one. shit, i teared up just writing that.

the worst i ever embarasseed her was at "E.T." i was about 12 years old and my older brother had already seen the movie. he knew mom was taking me to see it and he felt honor bound to warn her. he told, "mom, i hate to ruin the movie for you, but there is something you have to know. ET is going to die and Jelly is going to lose her mind. but, you have to tell her that he will come back to life."

mom thanked him for the heads up, and we went on our merry way.

yup, sure enough, ET dies and i am in FULL BLOWN HYSTERICS. i am talking heaving body sobs and almost screaming. my mom leans over and tries to whisper to me, "it's ok. he is going to live. he will be ok. your brother told me. it's going to be ok." (please note that these are not my memories, this is only what i have been told because i was SO FUCKING HYSTERICAL that i honestly have no memory of any this.) so, she is trying to whisper this to me to calm me down, but she doesn't want anyone else to hear.

this is when the usher comes down the aisle and asks my mom if she needs to remove me from the theater. my mom assures him that she has this under control (yeah, right) and she pinches me HARD to get my attention and tell me that ET is going to live. at some point, it must have sank in and i calmed down.

and then we get to the end of movie and ET leaves, phones home and all that. and i am right back to square one. i was EXHAUSTED when that movie was over.

that was more than 20 years ago, and i can't say i have gotten much better. at least i have learned to watch the sad movies at home. and that is partly due to vanity. see, i am not one of these women that looks beautiful, haunted and tragic when she cries. nope. my whole face turns red, my eyes swell shut into little slits and my nose just does not stop running. oh so pretty.

thank god for Netflix is all i'm saying.

Sunday, March 12, 2006

We Keep His Balls In A Glass Jar in the Pantry

pity Poor Jim. he is my best friend of a bajillion years. we practically grew up together. Poor Jim is married and has 3 three beautiful daughters. he is drowning in a sea of estrogen.

he USED to be manly. he hung out with his buds, drank beer, pumped iron and watched sports. slowly, but noticeably, over the years, we have castrated him. now, he knows the names of all the Powerpuff Girls and can probably do nicer french braids than i can.

we were talking on the phone friday night, and he was telling me that a few days ago his wife was being a raging, hormonal, monster. he said, "i don't understand it. when we got married, she said she never got PMS."

i said, "and you BELIEVED her?" (insert me laughing hysterically for 10 minutes) dude, we ALL say that. otherwise we would never get another date. just operate under the assumption that all women are psycho hose beasts at least two days a month and you will be fine. damn, just wait until your daughters start in with PMS."

"one of them already is. there are days where she is nagging and bitchy."

"you are just five years away from going on an Iron Man retreat, aren't you? i can just see you, naked in the woods, playing bongos around a campfire, crying because the women in your life don't understand you."


Wednesday, March 08, 2006

I Heart Irony

this pic was taken earlier this week at a party to promote awareness of global poverty.

is anyone else scared that Lindsey Lohan is skinnier than the starving African kids in this pic?


the kids probably thought they were at a party to raise money to buy the skinny white girl some Twinkies. then they saw her $800 Manolos and got confused.

Tuesday, March 07, 2006

Hi, My Name is Jelly and my Mom Thinks I Am an Alcoholic

i will freely admit that i have one, sometimes two, drink(s) at night before i go to bed. it's to keep my heart healthy, you know. really. that and i have an unnatural love of Stoli Vanil vodka. i mean, have you tasted this stuff? it's like happy in a bottle.

i also have a large Big Gulp type cup that i fill with regular diet coke. i need the caffeine to sleep. i drink so much diet coke all day long that another 44 ounces at bedtime has zero effect on me. the kidney stones make a lot more sense now, don't they?

but, my drinks i make in a regular size drinking cup. so, every night i am juggling two cups. the mondo sized diet coke and the NORMAL sized cup for my tipple.

the other night, i was filling the 44 ouncer and pulled a classic butter finger move and spilled the whole damn thing all over the kitchen counter. huge mess. as i was mopping it up, my mom asked, "did that have booze in it?"

so, mom thinks i am filling the aquarium sized cup with vodka. nice. i guess if i want to walk around the house with a bottle of Stoli and straw, no one would be really surprised. it's nice to know i have that kind of freedom.