North of the Border (A Harrowing Quest for Taco Bell)

Posted on September 13, 2011 by judisunshine

Can someone please tell me what self-respecting Taco Bell doesn’t have a drive-thru? Never mind, I’ll tell YOU. The one on Old Country Road in Hicksville (I think), that’s what…one…doesn’t. You know what I mean. Either way, that is the Taco Bell responsible for tonight’s version of “Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle,” as done by David Lynch.

See, I am broke, but still needed dinner, and decided to get Taco Bell tonight, because it’s cheap, and because I’d already had Burger King earlier today. Don’t judge me.

Anyway, I pulled into the parking lot, and much to my dismay, realized that there was no drive-thru! Travesty! Out of principle alone, I obviously could not support that Taco Bell. So I decided that I’d just find another one. And this is what led to my taking the Cross Island Parkway home from Hicksville to Levittown.

What happened was that I decided to take Old Country Road down a ways, and somehow ended up on 107, which at some point apparently stops being so much a “road” as a “gateway to hell.” I quickly assessed that I was in a Bad Neighborhood — the North Shore. I realized this due to the combination of twisty roads and mailboxes seven miles from the houses. OH NO! I hate the North Shore! But whatever, soon I would hit a major road. Or at least a Taco Bell!

Nope.

Adding insult to injury was the fact that I couldn’t turn around! And for people who spend a lot of effort keeping others out of their world, the North Shore folks sure do make it hard to leave! The roads were so curvy that turning around would have been mad dangerous, especially since it was raining. So, since I had no desire to re-enact “Creepshow 2,” I had to keep going.

Finally, I saw Route 25A, which seemed safe to me, because during the summer of ’96, I got lost in Suffolk every single time I went to an audition, and Route 25A always helped me find my way home, if not to the audition. So 25A it was!

The only problem is that in an unprecedented moment of locational clarity, I realized that I needed to go west. So I did. Meaning, I would not be hitting Suffolk. But I WOULD be hitting the scariest bridge in the world. I have no idea what bridge this was, but all of a sudden, I was in a work zone, and the road was covered with 7,800 neon-orange kegs! And there was like, NO space. And it was raining! I was terrified! It didn’t help that my iPod was on shuffle, and currently playing “18 and Life.” I finally turned down the volume, and breathed like a lady in labor on TV.

Finally, it was over, and I was not dead. Also, signs of life! A Mobil station! I went in to get gas, but not to ask for directions, since I didn’t want to be all, “Ummm, WHERE THE HELL am I?” So I just paid for my gas, while thinking how crazy it was that I would probably never lay eyes on this gas attendant again, unless of course I was trapped forever in the North Shore like “The Blair Witch Project” or that one Luke Wilson movie.

Obviously, I should turn around after getting gas. Surely that way, I’d find my way home — retrace my steps! Only I couldn’t, because no WAY was I pressing my luck on that fluorescent bridge again! I had no choice but to keep going forward.

Then all of a sudden I realized I was in Queens. Bad, because I live in Levittown; good, because I knew that if I could manage to not end up in Manhattan or the Bronx (it’s happened), that I’d hit the Cross Island, which is omnipresent in Queens. And sure enough!

Happy though I was to be definitely heading back to my apartment, I was very not happy to be driving on the Cross Island in the rain, because it was all shiny and hologrammy, like one of those folders from 1991. Not the Lisa Frank folders, the other ones. And that is not a good way for a parkway to look, you know? I really was just guessing as to what constituted a “lane,” because the white lines were lost under the shininess.

Also my iPod was continuing its newfound tradition of dickish whimsy. Obviously, I did not want to hear “Lose Control” while driving in the rain on the parkway where basically everyone I know has been in an accident. Obviously, I also did not want to hear “Into Dust,” or “Accidntal Deth” (real spelling), or “Stop Breathin’.” Finally, “One Moment in Time” came on, so I sang along, to celebrate my triumphant return home.

What I realized while on the Southern State Parkway was that I still had no Taco Bell! And no way could I go back home without it! Problem was, I only knew the exact location of one Taco Bell for sure, and that was in South Merrick. Time for another detour!

Man, was I happy to be back on land. Merrick has never been lovelier to me. But THEN some bimbo in an SUV is all riding my ass, and I chuckled to myself, because she had no idea what I’d been through that night. Hologram roads, tiny orange bridges…I was not intimidated by her stupid big car!

Laaaaaa! At long last, I got my Taco Bell! For a moment, I was conflicted. Should I try the new Zesty! nachos? But then I realized that tonight hadn’t really been my *night,* and I did not come this far to risk an inferior nacho. I stuck with my tried and true Nachos Bell Grande and some tacos, and headed back to Levittown.

The Gulf station where I turn on Hempstead Turnpike has never looked more beautiful. So much so, that I barely minded the 27-minute wait at the light. During this time, I realized that the volume on my iPod was still down from when I was ordering at Taco Bell. I decided to see if it was still being cute. Sure enough, “Cemetery” by Architecture in Helsinki was playing. From “In Case We Die.” Lovely!

I didn’t die though (TONIGHT), and I did eat my Taco Bell. Of course, I got full after a few nachos, so I’m saving the rest. I’ll eat it tomorrow. That is of course, if I don’t decide to go to South Carolina for some Checkers.

© April 1, 2007

Posted in Driving & Other Transportation, Food, Going Out, Miscellaneous, Music, Restaurants | Tagged , , , , , | 3 Comments

My Comical History

Posted on September 10, 2011 by judisunshine

Many of you know that I have been a voracious reader since I was three and a half, and while I’ve always loved books, what I really loved as a child was when I got my hands on the comic books. Some of my favorite, most simple of memories, are of rainy days spent reading comic after comic.

My dad had many boxes of comic books from the ’50s to the ’70s. And before you get too excited, a) my dad was not a comic collector, he was a packrat comic reader; many of the covers were ripped off, and very few of the comics were in decent shape; and b) my mom accidentally sold most of them at Yard/Book Sale ’88.

My rankings of Dad’s comic collection were as follows:

Most Beloved

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Archie.

Dad’s collection had a heavy emphasis on Archies. Good for me, because I’ve always been, and to this day am, most drawn to “real people.” And relationships, of course.

Prime Archie choice reading was anything featuring the main characters. My personal favorite was and is Betty and Veronica. Of course. Worst off the top of my head (Robb, help me out!) was Laugh, followed by its Cousin Oliver, Pep. I’d read a prime-to-bad Archie five times, but at a certain point, I’d grow weary of Archie’s being such a moron and just wanted to shake Betty and tell her she could do much better. I was always a bit of a Betty/Reggie ‘shipper. Reggie was a total dick, but still deserved better than worthless Veronica. And guys like Archie give nice guys everywhere a bad name. More on that another time. So anyway, during these bitter times, I resorted to the redheaded (so to speak) stepchildren of the Archies. These included Josie and the Pussycats, Sabrina the Teenage Witch, and Richie Rich.

Yes, that’s right. In all my intuitive foresight, Archie was in my mind superior to what would become a successful future show and movie, a successful future television show, and a — well I don’t know if it was successful, but a) had Macauley Culkin, and b) bears the distinction of first movie I ever saw alone in the theater. Strongish to weak examples, true, but all of which pale in the bright light of day to these three words:

“Return to Riverdale.”

Selling Point: “We’ve got Lauren Holly! Only with soccer mom hair! Before her Jim Carrey connection!”

Yeah. Archie is cheesy, for sure. But I guess it makes sense; I’ve pretty much been fighting against the grain from the get-go, and I maintain that the Archie comics ROCK. To this day, I cannot resist a Betty and Veronica Double Digest!

Most Read Considering, WTF?

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Sad Sack.

I have remained true to my love of military throughout life. When I was little, I didn’t reject Barbies, loved them in fact, but sometimes put them aside in order to play with my toy soldiers. Which came first, the Civil War soldier set or the “Major Dad” mentally speaking, who knows. But what I do know is that my interest in war and how it relates to humanity may not exist without Sad Sack. It’s good to read about curvy girls getting permanent waves and falling off diving boards, but it’s equally good to read about skinny soldiers eating “slop” at the Mess Hall. I loved Sad Sack with a strange yet fierce loyalty and found his comics really comforting. When I was five. I don’t know.

Honorable Yet Creepy Mention

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Eerie

And the like. Dude. You know how most people at the coffeehouse will agree in unison that the ’70s had the best horror movies? Well, the movies had NOTHING on the comics. There was some terrifying shit in Eerie. One story that I can still picture to this day was was about this guy who plots with his friend to scam money, and he needs to get buried alive. His friend is all, oh yeah yeah I’ll be by for you after dark, and gives the guy matches and a watch to help him not get freaked out. Something about, at this time, you will be free. So they bury the guy and he’s fine, a little weirded out but fine. And he keeps lighting these matches. And the guy doesn’t show up on time. Lit match. Later time. Over and over. Then…THE LAST MATCH!!! And the guy’s all “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!” and this is pretty scary stuff to read when you are five.

Testosterone Fix

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Superman

And Superboy. And Supergirl. Supergirl generally pissed me off though, leading to a lifelong ambivalence of whether to be her for Halloween. But good old Superman. And I thought Superboy was pretty hot. Seeing as I was a little kid, I guess that makes sense. There were a few other non-Superman hero comics here and there, but mainly it was all about the Superman.

So why isn’t Superman “my” superhero? Stay tuned!

Tell me about your favorite comics!

© May 23, 2008

 

Posted in Childhood, Lists, Miscellaneous, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , | 10 Comments

Why I never!…? Part 2!

Posted on August 30, 2011 by judisunshine

Click here for Part One!

A Woman Over 30 Should Never:

16. Go braless, no matter her cup size.

Heh. Well, going braless is a great dream of mine, but alas. Though technically, I have some corset-style shirts that I don’t need a bra with, so YAY ME for fighting the system even in an event that should have been a lock!

Maturity: 6, Me: 10

17. Wear flip-flops in the office.

Now, I see that as being much more of an environment thing. At my old job, we were allow to wear flip-flops. Wait, actually we weren’t, but everyone did, especially Babz, who wore ONLY flip-flops! I wore them sometimes too, and was 30 then. So pffft to that!

Maturity: 6, Me: 11

18. Play with her hair.

Wow, I’m surprised this doesn’t say “have long hair,” since we after 30 are apparently supposed to humbly accept our “Thanks for Playing, Old Lady” parting gifts to society. Anyway, whatever. I play with my hair. It’s there, I’m fidgety, whatEVER! That’s what she said.

Maturity: 6, Me: 12 (in more ways than one, it would seem)

19. Wear butterfly clips or thumb rings.

I’m a bit confused, ’cause to me, butterfly clips mean alligator clips. Do you follow? But I don’t know if this just means clips with butterflies on them. Either way, whatever, I’ll wear what I like, and I think thumb rings are sexy. Plus, have I mentioned that I need to be doing stuff with my hands at all times?

Maturity: 6, Me: 13

20. Expect Daddy to get her car fixed, towed, or purchased.

Agreed, but I don’t think this is an age-30 thing. If a woman is old enough to drive, she should be old enough to be responsible for herself. Girls who “expect Daddy” to do anything irritate me to no end. And for that matter, so do girls who say “Daddy” to begin with. Especially to men they’re sleeping with. *Shiver.*

Maturity: 7, Me: 13

21. Buy a “Happy Meal” for herself.

FIRST OF ALL, BOOK, there is NO NEED for the sarcastic quotation marks! Happy Meals are Happy Meals, and they are awesome. I buy them to get Hello, Kitty toys, for that matter! Although I guess the point of this is that since we’re over 30, we shouldn’t try to be hot, so we should go ahead and supersize it, ’cause who’s looking anyway, right? A Happy Meal is the perfect size for me if I want to satisfy a McDonald’s craving!

Maturity: 7, Me: 14

22. Wear a pair of pants that she has to lie down to zip.

Just reading that sentence made me feel claustrophobic. But is there really ever a need for that nowadays? I own some tight jeans, but can get them on standing upright. Not to mention again, why, exactly? My hero Lorelai Gilmore wore tight jeans in pretty much every scene she was in where she wasn’t working, and she was in her 30s, and she looked way hotter than most 20-somethings! I think women in their 30s, if they’re — you know what, Ima wait till the end to talk about this. “Look, I don’t want to go on a rant here…” ~ Tracy Jordan

Maturity: 8, Me: 14

23. Believe what salespeople tell her about how she looks in that outfit.

Yeah. I don’t shop? In stores like that? To begin with? So. And anyway, I’m not an idiot, and I like what I like, period. I wouldn’t listen to salespeople about things like that anyway.

Maturity: 9, Me: 14

24. Have big hair (The ’80s are over!”)

I do not have big hair.

Maturity: 10, Me: 14

WINNER: ME, WOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!

And yes, that was shorter than expected (that’s what…), but here is where we find out how to be a MAN over 30! So I cannot play along, but you can play along at home, boys! (That’s…HOW DO I STOP!!! Heh.)

Onward!

A Man Over 30 Should Never:

25. Give names to his private body parts.

Should they name their public ones? And what if they named them when they were 16? Should they hold a ceremony to un-name them? These are the hard questions that no one asks. No pun intended.

26. Wear pants low enough to reveal his brand of underwear.

Wasn’t this covered in “Clueless?”

27. Wear baseball caps backwards.

Okay, this is a really tough one for me to answer. Because although I have really awesome friends who wear them and look good, I understand the overall spirit of it, outside of sports situations. But it would depend on the guy, for me.

28. Share alcohol with pets.

Hee! Again though, I must ask, is it okay to do it when you’re under 30?

29. Wear more than one article of clothing with a sports team logo on it.

Eh. Whatever. If he wants to, I don’t care.


30. Hang black light posters on his walls.

Hee! Well, you know, if a guy is awesome enough, I think he could pull it off! Black light can be a lot of fun!


31. Rely on someone else to feed, clothe, or bandage him.

Agreed. Although I like cooking for and taking care of my boyfriend 🙂

32. Wear ponytails. (This goes double if he’s gray or follicularly challenged.)

You know, on the one hand, I agree with the spirit of this, but on the other hand, after 30, if a guy has a ponytail, he’s really committed to that and chances are is either a musician or a hippie or both, and I’m not gonna step on that, he’s loving life! Plus, are we really going to question the awesomeness of Willie Nelson?

33. Watch cartoons without any children present.

BOLLOCKS!!! Why? I personally want a guy who’s in touch with joy, who is not childish, but childlike in lots of ways. I have never had any interest in pairing off with someone boring. I want my guy to be fun! And happy! So if cartoons makes him happy, whom does that hurt?

34. Live with his parents for any reason other than house arrest.

Nice in theory, but it’s a brutal time, economically, and I am in no position to judge this. Unless he’s just a douche, in which case, yeah, the mommy daddy thing isn’t helping him.

35. Require house arrest.

Okay.

36. Skateboard.

Again, why??? Maybe if he has kids and is doing mad dangerous tricks, then sure, but that’s a responsibility thing, not an age thing. If skateboarding makes a guy happy…he should skateboard.

37. Name pets after LORD OF THE RINGS characters.

Now here’s where you should have used quotation marks, Book, not with the Happy Meals. Or italics. Not caps, though. Anyway, this is a pretty tough one. Guys over 30 who are too into LOTR can sometimes be creepy, but at the same time, they’re amazing movies, and I’ve never read them, but amazing books from what I understand. Classics, at this point. Soooo, really, go with your heart on this one. If you’re cool, your obsession is fine by me.


38. Know all the characters in the Marvel universe.

So again, if they knew them when they were younger, should they seek out the Haitian from “Heroes” to erase their memory? Either way, I disagree. Guys who are super into comics and superheroes tend to be some of the coolest guys EVER. And no, I am not being sarcastic.

39. Read the comics first.

If this said, “Read only the comics in a newspaper,” I’d say okay maybe. But why shouldn’t he read the comics first? Sheesh.

40. Suck the filling out of a snack cake.

I notice this wasn’t on the women’s list — ahem.

But um, yeah, I’m not a fan of guys publicly…sucking, you know what I mean? Like who suck everything off their fingers and stuff like that. So I’d personally prefer to not witness this, but if you do it in private, I won’t judge you.

41. Leave .2 ml of milk in a carton and put it back in the fridge.

Okay, “Everybody Loves Raymond” all of a sudden, Book. No, they should not. Are you happy? Can we move on?


42. Play air guitar.

I’m not gonna lie. I’ve always found air guitar a bit awkward, regardless of age. And real guitar playing is hot. So do that.

43. Suck helium from balloons.

Hee. Hee hee hee hee hee hee.


44. Wear anything with Velcro.

I disagree. If a guy makes it to 30 and wants to rock some Velcro, he is probably someone I’d like to have drinks with.

45. Determine cleanliness of clothing by the sniff test.

You can draw your own conclusions from this, but I’d just be grateful that he sniffed at all, if you know what I’m saying.

46. Antagonize zoo animals.

I wouldn’t want a guy at any age who’s not nice to animals.

47. Drink depth charges or do Jello shots.

I had to Google “depth charge,” and got 2,700 different definitions, but I guess it could apply to any “bomb” (Jager, Irish car) type of drink. And whatever. I don’t like overgrown frat boys, but I don’t see why you can’t have these types of shots for fun sometimes.

48. Spend an entire conversation reciting lines from movie dialogue instead of actually discussing something.

Wow, yeah, I agree with this wholeheartedly. I have a VERY low tolerance for this. I love geeks, and I love movies, but that drives me absolutely CRAZY.

49. Go on spring break to hit on 18-year-olds.

Um…well, no, of course not. That is REALLY CREEPY.


50. Play videogames until crippled by carpal tunnel.

Oh, whatever. You’re gonna get carpal tunnel somehow, you might as well have fun. I love gamers.

51. Wear leather pants.

The guys who can pull off leather pants are few and far between. But the ones who can aren’t the kind to stop being able to at age 30.

And here’s where we switch to what “grownups” should do. No telling what “grownups” means in this context, but apparently…


Grownups Should Never:

52. Follow Jimmy Buffett on tour.

Who else is going to though?


53. Use phrases like “fo’ shizzle” and “da ‘hood.”

Um.


54. Go punk. (We repeat: the ’80s are over!)

You can’t really “go” punk, but…I’m depressed now.


55. Add the word “like” to, like, anything they say.

I use it deliberately, Book >:o

56. Dive into mosh pits or body surf at concerts.

‘Cause of the fragile bones, prolly.

57. Ask parents for $20 to go out for dinner.

Well, no. And where are they going out for dinner with just $20? YOU HAVE TO LEAVE A GOOD TIP, DAMMIT!


58. Text, IM, or e-mail NE1 using 2 many Net abbreviations. LOL cu zzz

“Net”?

Although I agree with this one, after a point. I do enjoy the ironic lols and (less) ironic omgs, and have loosened up over the years. But I knew a grown man who emailed like that and it was annoying like, he couldn’t be bothered to type out a word. Nothing can make me lose a hard on like reading “Cya l8r.”


59. Indulge in bubblegum–either the chewing or the listening kind.

WHY! WHY! WHY! WHY! WHY!


60. Display theme park paraphernalia in their homes or on their bodies.

Depends how, why, where, yada yada. Shannon has lots of Disney stuff displayed, because she loves it, and it’s pretty! Some people wear Mickey sweatshirts and it’s depressing. Demetri Martin wears one and it is awesome. I think this is more of a case-by-case type of thing. Plus, I would never rule out the option of wearing or displaying something from Islands of Adventure, ’cause that place kicks all KINDS of ass.

61. Attempt to audition for “American Idol.”

Well, yeah. You’re not allowed if you’re over 29. So again. WhatEVER.

62. Bite their nails and chew down their cuticles.

I don’t really know what to say to this one. I don’t do it, but…I just have nothing to say. This book is making me tired.


63. Use “Peace” as a greeting.

Do you mean as a salutation? Because I have never in my entire life heard someone use that as a greeting, only as a goodbye. And Jay just did it the other day on my voicemail, and I thought it was awesome! But I’d agree not to use it if it’s to sound cool and it’s not genuine. Like how some people can say “Later” and you will be like, “Bye,” but others will say “Later” and you will want to kick them in the eye.

64. Buy an outfit for a night, wear it with the tags still on, then return it.

I just think that’s wrong and unsanitary, period, but if you’re not someone who cares about that when you’re 24, you’re probably not going to be someone who cares about that when you’re…however old “grownup” means. Except you will probably be more orange.


65. Take any advice offered by a small gift book.

I am not even dignifying this with a rant.

~ THE END ~

Posted in Body Image, Lists, Miscellaneous, Women | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

Why, I Never!…?

Posted on August 29, 2011 by judisunshine

So recently at Borders, I came across this:

And since I am a masochist, I decided to buy it, and see how I measure up. But first, let me share with you an intro so horrifying, they may as well just hang it up at the entrance to the Haunted House at Adventureland (RIP Iron Maiden and Freddy Krueger pics):

Relinquish the rubber bracelets.
Kiss Hello Kitty goodbye.
Deep six the Xbox…
…Maturity is calling and it’s asking for you by name.

Sooooo let’s see if that’s true! ‘Cause I think I can outwit this “Maturity”!


A Woman Over 30 Should Never:

1. Dot her “i”s with little circles or hearts.

Heh. Well. Right away, I lose that one. I’ve been dotting my eyes with hearts since I was 13 and decided to teach myself every single handwriting from The Baby-Sitters Club. And like, Stacey was the coolest one, okay? And she had very neat handwriting AND was smart, good with numbers! Plus, her struggles with diabetes and her parents’ divorce. I wasn’t going to just like, abandon her hearted “i”s. Then it became more of an ironic thing, and now I do it just because it’s ingrained in me.

Maturity: 0, Me: 1

2. Wear glittery nail polish.

Screw that! I am currently rocking my requisite chipped pink nail polish (awesomest thing ever: Danielle, holding up her own chipped nail-polished hands: “Judi, we match!”) but if I was around glittery nail polish and felt like wearing it, I sure would! What, all of a sudden I am no longer Judi Posch but Judy Gellar? No.

Maturity: 0, Me: 2

3. Wear anything with Hello, Kitty on it.

Screw YOU, little book! Hello, Kitty is my great love, my great joy, my raison d’etre, if you will. LOVE LOVE LOVE. This book wants to really steal a lot of my joy, it would seem.

Maturity: 0, Me: 3

4. Wear a skirt that’s shorter than the height of her shoe heel.

Well…NO. No, she shouldn’t. A woman over gastrula should never do that. So many things are wrong with that concept and I’m not saying that to harsh anyone’s buzz, but either the shoe would have to be grotesquely high, or that chick has no ass. So either way, I see eye to eye with the book for the first time.

Maturity: 1, Me: 3

5. Pierce anything other than her ears.

I see the point of this, I do. It’s one of the reasons I never re-pierced my tongue. But if you are the kind of woman who can rock another kind of ring (although I will call genital piercings gross until the day I die), then go for it! I’m not, but I still love my belly ring! So whatEVER.

Maturity: 1, Me: 4

6. See “Titanic” more than once.

Let’s see, when was this book written…2007. Okay, that makes no sense and is a ridiculously outdated reference. Strangely enough though, I actually have only seen “Titanic” once, so…point for Maturity, I guess.

Maturity: 2, Me: 4

7. Get a lower back tattoo.

*Exhales.* Fair enough. Fair enough, little book. I’m still getting one though, if I so choose, but for now…

Maturity: 3, Me: 4

Uh-oh.

8. Blame anything on “baby fat.”

That one just seems dumb to me. I’ve never blamed anything on baby fat, and if anything, now that I’m 32, I am thankful for slightly resembling a grown-up Gerber baby, so.

Maturity: 4, Me: 4

9. Put her hair in pigtails.

Heh.

Maturity: 4, Me: 5

10. Own a bike with a basket or tassels.

I would LOVE to own a bike, period, especially with a basket AND tassels! Alas, I do not.

Maturity: 5, Me: 5

11. Go to the bathroom in groups.

(Original answer deleted, as I was reminded that I used to do this with Danielle.)

Maturity: 5, Me: 6

12. Try to get back into her prom dress.

WHY! See, this is why I knew this book was gonna be a lotta bullshit ™Lucio. There’s a very “Abandon all hope, all ye who dare to muck up the kinderwhore landscape with your advanced age” vibe going on. Seriously, screw off, Book. I’m not saying I’ll ever wear it again, but I WILL fit into my prom dress again! Heck, I might now. Eh, I’ll try once more in the summer. I want to be a rock star like Peggy Sue!

Maturity: 5, Me: 7

13. Make cupcakes for a party that doesn’t revolve around kids.

Again, why? Cupcakes are awesome! See, this is…I’ll get into that more later.

Maturity: 5, Me: 8

14. Decorate with stuffed animals.

Fine, that is totally fine. I will always love stuffed animals, and will continue to buy and accept them if I feel like it, but I agree about the decorating thing.

Maturity: 6, Me: 8

15. Sport anything decorated with unicorns, flying horses, or rainbows.

Okay, first of all? The word is Pegasus. (Pegasi?) Second, whatever. Ima make a shirt with all three now.

Maturity: 6, Me: 9


~ TO BE CONTINUED ~

-January 24, 2008

Posted in Body Image, Lists, Miscellaneous, Women | Tagged , , | 2 Comments

A Thin Line Between Whee And Oops

Posted on August 27, 2011 by judisunshine

I suck at sports.

I mean I really suck.

I’m athletic, and surprisingly strong. I was a cheerleader for six years, and can be coordinated. I can even do things that just require hitting things and running around, like racquetball and fencing, or like my beloved Zim-Zam of yore.

But I cannot throw, and I cannot catch. Period. So basically that meant that in gym class, unless we were doing gymnastics or aerobics or weight training, I was screwed. Hearing encouraging cries of “You can do it!” and “It’s okay!” and “Good try!” could wake me from sleep like the darkest of night terrors. I hated gym. Because I hate to fail.

You can imagine, then, what I was going through in 1980 when I was on “Romper Room.” Miss Mary Anne declared, “Time to pair off!” And first of all, I HATE having to pair off. It’s always just so awkward for everyone involved. Plus, I’m shy.

I did find a partner, but the next battle was actually doing the paired activity, namely: throwing and catching.

And not even throwing a ball and catching a ball, NO. We were using those little plastic lacrosse-type sticks. So now you have a trifecta of terror for me: pairing off, throwing and catching, AND using sports equipment.

Brrrrrrrrrrr.

The next couple of minutes were spent throwing with mad caution, very gentle, tiny tosses to make up for my lack of aim. When the ball was thrown to me, I would of course miss, then have to run around for a bit as the plastic ball bounced all over those shiny TV-studio floors.

Until, my partner threw the ball and…I CAUGHT IT!

I caught the ball! All by myself! And you should have seen the look of shock on my face.

That one minor success was enough for me. I LOVED sports now!!!

The shock on my face shifted quickly to EXCITEMENT! I was DONE with the dumb tiny tosses. I was a jock now, !

So I FLUNG that ball as though I were going for some kind of distance — and height, for that matter — record. I watched the ball fly through the air, admiring my newfound power, but as the people in the studio audience avoided getting hit by the rogue ball, the look on my face switched to one of fear.

Sure enough.

Miss Mary Anne: Now, Judith. We must remember that we are indoors.

My face fell, and I turned beet red, feeling like Ramona Quimby when she’d let down Miss Binney. How humiliating! But at the same time, how exciting! How awesome it felt to just take something and throw it as hard as I could!

And thus it all began.

 

© January 23, (123!) 2008

Posted in Childhood, Sports, TV | Tagged , , , , | 1 Comment

The One Spice Girl I Am Not

Posted on August 27, 2011 by judisunshine

Many times, people will ask me about sports. Or they will try to engage me in conversations about sports. Or — and this is the worst offense of all — they will invite me over to ostensibly hang out together and just put on sports. The last one is the most heinous offense of them all, because sports games NEVER END. Now, don’t get me wrong! I have gotten into sports before, and I do desire to share things that are important to my theoretical loved ones. But don’t assume that I have any background information on the subject.

So for your convenience, I have compiled a list of everything I know about sports and/or how they have played a role in my life:

1. I was at a few of the ’86 World Series games and made cookies from scratch for each game.

2. Kevin Elster is pretty.

3. Mookie Wilson rules.

4. Keith Hernandez was on “Seinfeld.”

5. I was in love with Ron Darling.

6. Gary Carter is very nice, and I think he was the catcher?

7. I met Howard Johnson 3 times, twice at my school’s chapel because his daughter went there, and once when we had Saturday practice at one of the cheerleader’s houses. We practiced in her bitchin’ mirrored garage/workout room, then came in to take a break, and lo and behold, Howard Johnson was in her kitchen, chilling! He was very nice.

8. Although I cried when the Mets lost the ’88 playoffs, I was a bit mollified by the fact that Orel Hersheiser was a REALLY good pitcher.

9. My brother and I would ride our bikes to Stage every day in the summer of ’89 to buy baseball stickers.

10. Latrell Sprewell is insane, and kind of hot.

11. And was definitely on the Knicks, although I don’t know if he still is or not.

12. Ben Roethlisberger is from the Steelers and did something recently to piss off my friend Robin.

13. The Steelers won the Superbowl this year despite, I think, a curse of some nature?

14. Likewise, the Rangers won a Stanley Cup a couple of years ago, so Kris Breien can’t keep chanting “19! 40!” or he can, but it doesn’t pack the same punch.

15. There is a kid at the beginning of Debbie Gibson’s “Electric Youth” video who looks, as my brother pointed out, a lot like a young Pat LaFontaine.

16. Instant replays at the bar have caused at least two astonishingly airheaded displays on my part.

17. I told Sean I’d root for a team because he has their jersey and is a fan, and I am still totally going to root for them as soon as I am reminded as to who they are and what they do. Their name begins with a “B.”

18. Oh, in addition to Ben R.’s being on the Steelers and pissing off Robin, he is also a quarterback.

19. No one talks about soccer until the big important games (World Cup?), and then everyone pretends to have cared all along.

20. DARRRRRRYYYYYYLLLLLLLL!

21. I went to a bunch of Islanders games when my dad’s company had a skybox, but I was too young and stupid to appreciate the free alcohol.

22. I am not a Yankees fan for a few reasons, the biggest of which being that I like to feel needed, ya know? They don’t need me; they’re like Johnny Depp. Even though Johnny Depp would totally be into me if he got to know me. All the quizzes say so.

23. Luke from “Gilmore Girls” used to play baseball professionally. And he also guest starred on “Seinfeld!”

24. Harlem Globetrotters games are a lot of fun.

25. I could wear nothing but hockey jerseys for the rest of my life and be completely happy.

© August 14, 2006

Posted in Celebrities, Childhood, Lists, Miscellaneous, Sports, Women | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Runaway Twain

Posted on August 26, 2011 by judisunshine

I’ve had a knack from way back of breaking the rules once I learned the game.
~Mimi

As many of you know, I’m not so much a fan of “authority,” or “structure,” or “rules.” I am a people pleaser, and I do try to be a good person, but I don’t like to be micromanaged.

Plus, I grew up in a pretty strict school where I learned early on that the smartest policy was “Don’t ask.” Don’t you hate those people, who ruin it for everyone by asking? “Can we do this?” “Is it okay if we do that?” And of course, the most obnoxious cretins of all: “Don’t we have any homework?”

NO. You just don’t ask. You follow the explicit rules, but interpret the rest for yourself. Otherwise you end up getting told “no” to everything, to the point where you rebel in a stupid way, like wearing a turtleneck and a “stylish” blue oxford shirt on picture day, and then you get in trouble. While looking stupid. Totally not worth it.

So I really don’t know what in the world my junior-year English teacher was thinking when he gave me creative license in the important project on Huckleberry Finn. I really don’t.

See, I was famous in my school for not only being a crackhead, but for being a crackhead who wrote raps for any given reason. I’d written an epic rap about Shannon’s love life in eighth grade, and from then on in, “Get creative” equaled “I wrote a rap.” Specifically, about tubeworms for Oceanography.

And Mr. Johnson, my English teacher, knew this. He knew me. I loved him dearly, because he was awesome, but he had to know that if he said to be creative that he deserved whatever he got.

I was not alone in the project. Mr. Johnson had divided the class up and given each group in the class questions about Huckleberry Finn that basically met each student on his or her English class ability. Which might sound bitchy when I say that I was in the top group, but a) it’s relevant to the story, b) I only WISH I could have participated in some bottom-feeding math or science group rather than pretend I had any skill in those subjects whatsoever, and c) Really, few things compare to the financial and societal desperation of English majors, who are basically all Career Students, ’cause it’s our big life skill, school.

So but yes, I was in the top group, along with Dare, a serious, very capable girl who ended up valedictorian, and Bethany, who before she awesomely scandalized herself by dancing at the (GASP) prom and not being allowed to graduate with the class, was quite the teacher’s pet — good at school, nice and respectful. They were both very funny, but usually more serious than I was when it came to these things, and maybe Mr. Johnson was thinking that those two would balance me out.

He should never have underestimated my powers of crackheadedness.

The questions he gave our group were very deep and philosophical, because we were very smart and serious students, you see. I don’t remember exactly what the questions themselves were, but I do remember that rather than address the deep, serious questions in a thoughtful, thought-provoking, well-researched paper? We got sarcastic. We made a newsletter, because when I wasn’t writing raps in school, I was creating newsletters. And man, was this newsletter obnoxious. Basically, we used every aspect of a “newspaper,” and did it in old-tymey style.

The newsletter was actually good, and did answer the questions. But it was definitely obnoxious, like I’m sure Mr. Johnson wasn’t expecting to see his questions answered in Aunt Polly’s Peach Pie recipe, or the gossip column discussing whether Tom and Becky were still together. But that is what happened.

What also happened is that we were not satisfied with simply creating a sarcastic newsletter. We had to dress up in full hoedown gear and throw the newsletter out to everyone, while shouting “Extra! Extra!” and just in general enjoying the excuse to be really loud, something I’ve never grown tired of.

So it was enjoyable, dressing up and yelling with two of the quietest girls in school during English class.

But it was not over.

“Press play when I give you the nod,” I commanded my bewildered teacher.

Dare, Bethany, and I left the classroom. And I gave the nod. And bippity boppity bluegrass music starts playing.

And then we did an interpretive dance.

Not to be gross, but I seriously don’t know how I kept from peeing in my pants that day, I seriously don’t. We kept dancing — pretending to be a river, pretending to be a raft. It was amazing. Because it had nothing at all to do with anything, it was more just like…dude, creative license! Why NOT do an interpretive dance?

So dance we did. And we ended up getting an A. To quote Mr. Johnson, “It wasn’t what I was expecting, but what can I say? You got the job done.”

Life metaphor?

© November 27, 2007

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Junior Low :'(

Posted on August 24, 2011 by judisunshine

In eighth grade I loved a boy who, alas, loved another. His code name was Herbie, so that is what I shall call him here today. During this tumultuous time, I wrote a song about my sadness, called “Fading Shadows”:

All the time you ignore me
And pass me right by
I turn around rejected
And I almost start to cry

Then the hurt changes to anger
And I solemnly swear
That I love you no more
And I don’t really care

Ohhhh
Fading shadows
Of the way that I feel
Shadows are fading and I don’t know what’s real
I need time to get over you
I need time to heal

I think there was more, if for no other reason than I have always felt very strongly about bridges. But that is all I remember. And I will tell you this song was no joke. I was very proud, and even wrote piano music to go along with it!

However, all my creative efforts were for naught. See, I spent the whole year in eighth-grade love with this guy on my schoolbus. He of course crushed on this one girl that all the boys loved.

That I was used to, but then she liked him back and they went out, breaking my heart and also creating an uncomfortable connection in my mind with Rod Stewart’s “My Heart Can’t Tell You No.” Finally  they broke up, and I must give myself retroactive props for actually feeling bad for the both of them, looking so sad.

But we all must move on, and for me, I thought that moving on would maybe happen at Six Flags Great Adventure. You see, our mutual friend Christina was having her birthday party there. Exciting! And Herbie and I got along pretty well, but you know in “Friends” when Rachel’s like, “He needs to see me outside of work so he can start falling in love with me!” about JoshOOAH? That is totally how I felt. I’m not a morning person. There’s only so cute one can look when one makeups on the bus and is forced to wear a uniform.

But in real life? Herbie simply had no idea how curly I could get my hair, you know? I owned Benders! And also had planned a totally awesome ensemble that was a dangerous combination of 1989, weird sense of humor, and fashion inspiration from The Baby-Sitters Club. The skirt had ruffles, and was to be accompanied by my green Reebok hightops.

PLUS, I will do ANYthing at an amusement park; I love that adrenaline immensely. It’s actually probably a good thing that Action Park closed down when it did. Considering that I saw the bloody pictures on the line for the Alpine Slide, laughed, then went full throttle down the entire hill.

Even if Herbie never liked me as more than a friend, I genuinely liked him as a person, and everyone going. Plus, Lightning Loops was still around, and that ride ruled! The Great Adventure Plan was super win-win!

About a week before the party, I asked Christina about it and she looked visibly uncomfortable.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

She was all, “I don’t want to tell you.”

!

“No, you can tell me, what is it?”

“Herbie…isn’t going to go if you’re going.”

!

“What? Why?”

“He said he hates you.”

GONG!!!!

It was really depressing and confusing. Also, we didn’t even end up going to Great Adventure. We went to see “K-9” with Jim Belushi at the Valley Stream theater, then had a sleepover at Christina’s house. We watched Guns N’ Roses videos, and that was the night that I decided “Patience” was overrated. Though I have since changed my mind about that.

Slowly, my heart healed, and I was able to unrequited love again in ninth grade. More on that another time ❤

 

Posted in Body Image, Childhood, Entertainment, Friends, Going Out, Miscellaneous, Movies, Romance, School, Women | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Little Orphan Annie and My Grandmother

Posted on August 23, 2011 by judisunshine

anniealbum

When I was seven years old, I was OBSESSED with “Annie.” My grandmother, Mary Byrnes Collins, introduced me to the Broadway record, and I was never the same. “Annie” was my love, my life. I hadn’t seen the play or the movie, but that was neither here nor there. Something in me was always incredibly drawn to orphans. Those without a home, who had nowhere stationary to place their love, so they had no choice but to go through life embracing all that was around them. Never taking love, or anything really, for granted. Appreciating the spirit and grandeur of the smallest things in life that most people didn’t know how to.

I was not a spoiled child. Everyone I knew and everything I owned was special to me, no exceptions. Including — especially — my Annie ring. It was a cheap, gold-ish ring in the shape of the cartoon Annie’s head. I don’t remember who gave it to me, or when or where, but I do remember wearing it with immense pride and immense love. It was my most prized and beloved possession. My physical bond to all the things inside me I didn’t know how to vocalize — triumph of spirit, love through loss. Beauty through the D(d)epression.

In the summer of ’82, Robb and I spent a week with my grandparents at Hewlett’s Landing in Lake George. It was the summer home that my mother’s parents had had since my mother and her siblings were little. We’d “used” it for weeks here and there when my grandparents were elsewhere. This was the first time my brother and I stayed with just my grandparents, because my dad had a business trip somewhere.

It was great. My mom’s parents were totally different from my dad’s parents, who were uber-warm and mushy. My mom’s parents were chill and to many kids, seemingly cold in comparison, but even though I was young, I knew that my mom’s parents were mad cool. They didn’t need to bake me cookies and shower me with accolades. It was amazing that they taught me that both men and women could play sports, and that Miracle Whip and celery turned tuna fish into a delicacy. They rocked, and the week that I spent in Lake George with just them? Was great.

So I was happy, hanging with them, and never was I happier when I was a child than when I was immersed in water, especially Lake George. This One Day in the lake was no exception. I was next to the docks, doing I don’t know what. Living in my imagination. Wondering, as I did with every visit, exactly how long it would take to swim out to the island that seemed so close, but was too far to swim, and blocked by a Frogger-esque motorway of boats. I wondered how I could get out there, but was also completely content just floating, and imagining, and really having one of those Perfect Summer Moments, when you’re a kid, and all that matters is the sun and the water and the possibilities.

Until my Annie ring slipped off of my finger, out of nowhere.

Now, I had worn this ring since I’d received it, obviously. In the bath, the shower, the Warnos’ awesome pool — this ring was a PART of me. It seemed safe to wear in the lake, or I’d never have worn it there.

And I’ve always anthropomorphized things, which when mixed with deep abandonment issues…well, let’s just say that losing my Annie ring was intense, and unacceptable along the lines of when you see overinvested “Grey’s Anatomy” people giving desperate CPR to certain patients, because…dude is gone.

But this was different. This was my Annie ring.

I spent the entire day diving down for my ring. It is one of my most vivid memories. I was a total fish in the water anyway, it wasn’t a sacrifice or a test of stamina, it was just what needed to be done. Down, up, down, up…

…no ring.

And my grandparents were incredible. Here is where it mattered the most that they weren’t worrisome cookie-baking grandparents. Here is where they walked out onto the dock, said, “What’s wrong?” and I told them, and they, despite being tremendous creatures of habit and probably wanting to go inside and relax, understood that this was ANNIE, and just let me do my thing. I couldn’t let it go. I couldn’t.

I don’t remember when exactly I did let it go, the ring. I can still feel my water breaths, and the desperation with which I refused to let the Annie ring go without a fight. Not because I needed a ring on my finger, but because I was not about to leave this thing that I loved the most, in the lake I loved the most, to travel out to that island without me.

But I did. It did. And that was the day that I learned to let things that I love go. At some point, I had to tear myself out of the water and realize that I’d done everything I could.

That same year, in November 1982, I went to the city with my mother and Nanny Collins. The party line towed by my mother was that Nanny’s Christmas present was “in the city,” and we had to go to my mom’s job (also in the city) to pick it up.

Sure ’nuff. I LOVED the city! And if getting a sweater or something meant a trip there, then awesome! My grandmother was never one for the warm and fuzzy emotional presents; it was more like “Here’s a perfunctory gift, enjoy,” and it was all good.

On our way towards my mom’s office, the three of us started passing the Uris Theatre in Manhattan. Home of “Annie.”

Home. Of “Annie.”

This was even before I acted, but dude! Black and white shots of the orphans and”ANNIE” emblazoned on the marquis? I was enamored. I was transported. I was filled with the all-too-familiar sensation of yearning for something incredible. I stood there in the cold, knowing that many people would go inside, but no one would appreciate it the way that I would.

It didn’t matter though, honestly. All that mattered was that I was THERE. Magical!

“Just think, Judith,” my mother was saying. “All of the actors are in the dressing rooms right now, just waiting to go onstage…”

“Yeahhhhh,” I breathed, used, as a financially challenged child, to knowing other kids would reap the wonders of the world that I could only imagine.

And that was it. I was satisfied just to stand there, and behold.

And then my grandmother, Nanny Collins, piped up.

“Judith,” she drew out in her unique voice, “…Would you like to see Annie?”

WHAT!

WHAT!!

WHAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

THAT was my grandmother’s present in the city — a dream come true! She’d watched me mesmerized, listening to the soundtrack. She had witnessed me dive all day long just to get back the ring.

And now, she was telling me that we could go inside, and see what was, to me, the equivalent of magic in real life.

It was my first Broadway play, and it was unequivocally perfect. There are no words to describe what that night meant to me. Except that there were three generations of Collins women sitting together in the Mezzanine, because one seven-year-old girl loved Annie. It was the best night of my life for a very long time.

Then, on August 23, 2003, my awesome grandmother, Mary Byrnes Collins, died unexpectedly.

She was the last one we expected to let go of at this point. She was the one who would have been annoyed by tears, and sentimentalities, and platitudes. She was the one who would have wanted to out-live everyone.

The day of her funeral, her family and friends who remained, went to the church and all the proceedings. I saw her buried on the hill in Lake George, while my grandfather said goodbye to her, to the mountains around her, to Lake George itself, as he sold the summer home the next year before beginning a new life for himself in a new town.

It was beautiful. And I think it — all of it — would be exactly what my grandmother, Nanny Collins, would have wanted if she had to leave this party first.

There was a moment that day — one of those most perfect of moments that can only be experienced in times of utter loss — when I walked straight out into the lake, because I could barely deal with all of it. I couldn’t bear that she was gone, and I just wanted to be immersed in water, in her memory, in a place that had always made everything feel okay for a little while.

I just lay there, floating on top of the lake. In the spot where I lost my ring, where I wondered about the island out there. Was it awesome, once you finally got there?

I really hope so.

~ June 19, 2007

(Repost on August 23, 2011 — it’s been eight years to the date. Miss you Nanny, I hope you and Pop Pop have reunited <3)

Posted in Childhood, Family, Theater | Tagged , , | 3 Comments

Awkward.

Posted on August 22, 2011 by judisunshine

From Bridget Jones’s Diary:

(Her uncle): Come on, let’s get you a drink. How’s your love life, anyway?

(Bridget (to herself)): Oh God. Why can’t married people understand that this is no longer a polite question to ask? We wouldn’t rush up to them and roar, “How’s your marriage going? Still having sex?”

Well, first off, I totally want to start doing that, because that would be AWESOME, but while we are on the subject, here is a helpful list I compiled, entitled:

10 Ways To Avoid, If Not Awkwardness, Then At Least Unoriginal Awkwardness!

1. Keeping with the married-or-not theme, don’t say, “How’s married life?” It’s like, what kind of answer are you expecting there, you know? Either the answer is “Good,” which ends the conversation right there anyway, or you get the Oversharer who will tell you exactly why s/he hates his/her life, and you just don’t want to be on the receiving end of that conversation.

2. Don’t touch a pregnant woman’s belly without permission. That isn’t even an original one, but it’s amazing how many people do not seem to know this. But seriously! It’s like, you wouldn’t walk up to a non-pregnant woman and just rub her abdomen, assuming you are not on the bus in Oneonta, and you wouldn’t walk up to a woman’s newborn and start rubbing its face, so like, just CONTROL yourselves.

3. If you are in a restaurant, say Boulder Creek, and your food is running late, don’t go, “Are they out slaughtering the cow! Har har har har har!” because not only is that not funny, but that is just unsettling on a whole other level, and makes me feel like Silvio on “The Sopranos.”

4. Don’t LAUGH at someone while they’re working. I have enough problems without being outwardly guffawed at while cleaning tables because it is my job, like I’m probably smarter than you anyway if you are obnoxious enough to laugh at someone ’cause their job is blue-collar, and furthermore, I don’t go visit the insurance company and point and laugh at your clerical ass.

5. You know how Peek-a-boo is a hilarious game because it makes babies seem like the dude from “Memento?” Only cuter, and a bit more dumb? Well, keep that in mind when I say that breasts might yield a lot of power in some circuits, but they are not actually magical orbs that obstruct things like one’s vision. Just because I am not ACTIVELY LOOKING AT YOUR FACE does not mean that I — excuse me…one…cannot see you looking. I know it happens, but I’m just saying stop acting like you’re all stealth and clever about it, you know?

6. Unless you are mad close to someone, don’t go, “You look tired.” You wouldn’t walk up to a stranger and go, “My God, you are unattractive,” so don’t tell your waitress or cashier that s/he looks tired. Unless you are just one of those super-sympathetic mother bear types, in which case much more is forgiven, ’cause your life is much tougher due to all the empathy baggage.

7. Also, don’t make vague comments about one’s appearance, like, don’t say, “You got a haircut,” and leave it at that, because was it a bad decision or what! Say something nice, or nothing, or even bad if you’re sassy enough to pull that off, but say SOMEthing here.

8. Meanwhile, don’t be all, “You look different,” because self-identity is hard enough to establish without worrying that someone else can see into your soul and won’t explain what’s going on.

9. And finally on that note, it is fine and appreciated to acknowledge positive weight loss, but don’t be all obvious that you’re saying, “You lost weight!” but with your eyes, you are all, “Thank GOD.” That’s how Tracy Gold got anorexia.

10. I am a vegetarian at heart who gets sick if she doesn’t eat meat (This has changed! ~ Future Me), so I’ve been on both sides of this issue and feel I have enough objectivity to say, don’t launch into a diatribe on why meat is murder if you are a vegetarian, and on the flip side, if you find out someone is a vegetarian, don’t pull out your list of why that isn’t natural or healthy. I mean, if you are a meat eater who is concerned because your SO is being vegetarian by eating only cheese and French fries, then you can say something. And if you are a vegetarian who really cannot watch your SO eat a rare steak without feeling like you are all of a sudden in a scene from “Sin City,” then say something then, too. But if you meet up with a friend for lunch and she wants to get a garden burger, just calm down and talk about something else. Ask her how her love life is.

© July 8, 2007

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