Happy Drinking Game Friday gang! Guess who has an appointment with DC’s Reiki Grand Master? Yep. This guy. Thanks for everyone’s votes; I’m glad the idea of me getting felt up by a stranger is as exciting to you as it is to me. Although it came in second place, I might go to the psychic studio in Trinidad this weekend as well. We’re dealing with a curse here people…I have to cover all of my bases. Plus I have a houseguest staying with me and Martha Stewart defines being a good hostess as dragging your guest to the hard-core ghetto for a chakra re-alignment session and a possible chicken blood drenching. It’s a good thing.
Given this week’s darker subject matter, I was going to write this week’s drinking game about an occult related movie, but then I realized, it’s the most wonderful time of the year! Eff my curse! You’ve got cocktail parties to go to! Trees to trim! Rinks to skate on! Office Christmas parties to attend! Open bars to drink! Co-workers to make out with! Decisions to regret in the morning! So let’s all get in the holiday spirit with what I’m sure is Jesus’ favorite Christmas movie: Home Alone. It's time for The Home Alone Drinking Game!
Drink When: - Someone knocks over the McCallister’s lawn jockey - Someone alludes to Fuller wetting the bed or being a bed wetter - The word “pizza” is said - Uncle Frank delivers the powerhouse line, “Look what you did, you little jerk!” - Harry’s gold tooth is shown - Angels with Filthy Souls is on - Kevin talks out loud to himself - Buzz’s tarantula is shown - Marley salts the sidewalks (even though there are totally dead bodies stashed in his salt bucket, duh) - BUZZ YOUR GIRLFRIEND—WOOF! - Marv get hits in the head or face with something - Harry or Marv fall down the stairs - John Candy says the word “polka” - You inevitably weep like a child when Kevin is reunited with his mom on a snowy Christmas morning. I dare you, dare you, not to shed a tear.
Thank you so much for reading and we'll see you bright and early Monday morning!
As I mentioned earlier this week, I have bad luck. But like total life bad luck. I was born under a bad sign. You guys…I think I’m cursed. But like, I seriously think I’m cursed. Or my energy is out of whack and my karma needs cleansing or some shit. I was informed while watching an episode of “House” tonight with my mom that shortly after she got pregnant with me, she developed Pre-eclampsia, which means she was about to develop Eclampsia which basically means your pregnancy fills you to the brim with toxins and kills you. I HAVE BEEN A TOXIC PRESENCE SINCE MY CONCEPTION! That didn’t happen with her pregnancy with Becca! I suck so badly.
I do have a theory on how I got cursed: my mom maintains that she’s part witch and indeed comes from a family of people who practiced Kabbalah (a mystic form of Judaism. And they did it before Madonna made it hot and trendy, thank you very much.) I also know that my mom’s Aunt Florence (Aunt Flo…HAH!) greatly disliked my mother (a second-born daughter) and favored her older sister. ERGO, I believe that as a fuck-you to my mom, she put a curse on her second-born daughter. That would be this guy. Thanks a lot Great Aunt Flo! (Great Aunt Flo…HAH!)
But look here Florence, you old bat, no one puts a curse on me and gets away with it! I have jobs to get, apartments to dwell in and success to achieve! So come hell or high water, I will remove this curse and cleanse my karma and remove my energy block or whatever the fuck I have to do to make this curse akrite whether you like it or not!
How to Remove a Curse: So naturally I started by googling “I think I’m cursed.” The first hit was a Yahoo answers page: "Best Answer - Chosen by Voters God says, commit all your ways to Him, and He will give you the desires of your heart.
The direction of my life changed immensely when I turned to Jesus Christ. And it's not about luck; it's about God blessing me because He gives good things to His children."
LOLZ! No but seriously. Most suggestions for “I think I’m cursed” involve a lot of praying and attitude changing. Look, that may be all fine and dandy for the average Cursed-One, but I have a deadline looming. I don’t have a ton of time to pray to my Lord Tim Gunn to give me the strength to get over this effin’ curse.
Other unhelpful suggestions include: “Start thinking positive, we have much more influence over things in our lives than most people think we do.” Please see my past two blog posts.
“Another possibility is that you're just ‘in a funk’ psychologically and so a good licensed psychologist might be able to help.” I have a good licensed psychologist. He looks like if Vern Troyer weren’t a little person. The only thing he’s helped me do is imagine what Vern Troyer would look like if he weren’t a little person.
I need something stronger. I want to skip right to the hard stuff. I want a voodoo priestess to throw chicken blood on me and then I want to trip on Peyote with my Indian spirit guide and see the answers to life’s questions in the eye of a crawfish or something equally off-putting.
My resources are limited, however. A google search for “Spirit guide, Washington DC” only netted results for how to reserve The Sprit of DC for a night. If I want a relaxing cocktail cruise down the Potomac, I’m covered, but that’s not quite where my priorities lie at the moment.
After much on-line research, here are my final curse-removal options:
1.) Consult Psychic Katherine of Divine Psychic Solutions. Psychic Katherine can blanace my Chakra and metaphysically heal me over email. Or AIM. 2.) Ask the Temple of Yehwe. So, the Temple of Yehwe is a Haitian Vodou church founded in Washington DC in 1996. Their website has a handy “Ask the Temple” section where I could fill out a form asking them politely if they can remove my curse. The chances of me getting doused with chicken blood are probably not as high as the chances that they’ll think I’m joking and toss me out on my white ass, but I think it’s worth a shot. 3.) I also might have a shot of getting the chicken blood treatment if I go to the Psychic Studio of DC. Is it a little too close to Trinidad for my comfort? Yes. Do I have a sense of adventure and not a lot of time to work with? Yes & yes! 4.) Go to Mrs. Natalie of Georgetown. I’m torn about this option. Any psychic who can keep a boutique space open in Georgetown automatically impresses me simply on a fiscal level. But then again, any psychic who has a Yahoo email account and a “mention this for 1/2 off” ad loses some street cred in my eyes. 5.) A Reiki healing with Reiki Master David P. Wright at Blue Lotus Treasures. From what I gather from Wikipedia, Reiki is where someone moves their hands over you through which a warm tingly sensation is produced leading to healing and clarity. And let me tell you, it has been far too long since a man has used his hands to give me a warm tingly sensation (ZING!…I’m so sorry, it grossed me out too).
Inspired by Rachel’s wedding blog advice snafu yesterday, I realized that I have seriously underestimated the power of asking complete strangers what to do with my life. So here’s the deal, you tell me which way I should get my curse removed and I’ll do it, document it with my camera, post the pictures and write an entry about it. Here are your options again: 1.) Psychic email/AIM conversation with Psychic Katherine 2.) Ask the Vodou temple 3.) Go to the Psychic Studio in Trinidad (the dangerous hood in DC, not the Island, for you out-of-towners) 4.) Get a ritzy Georgetown psychic reading 5.) Get felt up by a Reiki Master
Post your vote under “comments” and I promise you I’ll go through with whatever option wins the majority of the vote. No pressure to leave a witty comment or feel weird if I don’t know you, it’s cool to just post a number anonymously.
Ok, my hippie karma-collecting streak lasted all of one day. I’m sorry oh Higher Power, but it’s just not me. I tried to be calm, positive and forgiving, but how am I expected not to rip people apart with my rapier wit when they so blatantly ask for it? Although I do want to collect good karma and land my dream job, I can’t abandon my position as President of E.M.O. (the End Meeks Offensive) or abandon my War on Social Terrorism. Wherever there is social injustice, I’ll be there. Wherever a co-worker is being passive aggressive, you shall find me. Wherever a Meek is ruining a good person’s day, I will damn well be there to knock the metaphorical books out of their hands and shove them into a metaphorical locker. I don’t care if I’m unemployed for the rest of my life, I will never declare a premature Mission Accomplished on my War on Social Terrorism as long as mean geeks like Anonymous ruin the day of kind and good people like Miss Cleveland Park on the blog DC Nearly Weds. Yea, that’s right, we have a cyber Meek on our hands. That’s the worst kind. My friend Rachel text messaged me last night that her wedding blog had a hater, and asked what should she do about it. I headed over to her blog to check out the damage expecting some ho to have commented, “HATEZ YO DRE$S” or something and was prepared to reference the T.I. song “Hi Hater” when I saw the comment Rachel was referring to. And by comment, I mean thesis. And one sentence in, I knew it was the work of a Meek. My blood boiled, my fangs descended all "True Blood" style and I sharpened my claws ready to rip this Meek a new one in order to make the world right again. If you were looking forward to the new more positive and family-friendly Meg, you might not want to read on. Sorry Meeky baby, this was long overdue:
Let me just clarify what the Meek got so riled up about: Rachel got a call from a talk show about appearing on a bridal weight loss competition and she posed the question to her blog readers if they thought she should do it or not. The Meek felt the need to weigh in on the matter (pun intended!).
First of all, a simple yes or no really would have sufficed Meek. Christ. I tried to read your response and lost interest after the first sentence: “Considering our generation's enthusiastic abandonment of personal privacy for overwhelming (and electronic) candor, going on a show and revealing your weight, wedding date, and personal struggle to get fit seems like a logical continuation of the trend.”
Holy SAT prep course, cool out. When someone has to break out the Nerd-English-English-Nerd dictionary to translate your comment, you might just want to not comment at all. Because to me it all just sounds like “blah blah blahblahblahblahnerdtalk” and I don’t even know whether or not you support Rachel. I just know you irritate me.
Next, you would comment anonymously. I honestly have no problem with people posting anonymous comments here on 2b1b (and I encourage it!), unless you're trying to start shit with me, as you were trying to do with Rachel. If you’re starting shit, reach your hand down your pants, grab your nutsack, and leave your name. Because you’re a Meek, you probably have a totally unfortunate nerd name like Beatrice Gaymeister, but it’s the Internet. The Internet was made for nerds like you and you can create a fake little username like 2Smart4U to post under so people can respond while not knowing your real identity (so we don’t snap your glasses in half in real life.)
You point out and judge the shit out of Rachel for losing her privacy via her blog and theoretical appearance on this TV show. Look nerd, not all people are civilians by day and super heroes by night; life isn’t one big comic book. Rachel doesn’t have anything to hide; she’s networking because that’s what socially capable people do. She’s already injected herself into the public sphere by creating a blog, so I don’t think her life will crumble if she’s even more accessible via a TV appearance. She’s putting a small part of her life out there so other people can relate and give her feedback, try not to piss your khaki-pleated-pants at the concept.
Meeky goes on… “Often people see being on television as its own end. Why? The ironically anonymous commenter above me wrote, "you are so hot...so work your stuff on national tv!" Why? So more people will know you are hot? For average individuals who have nothing to contribute to the world of daytime television, nor anything to gain besides some gifts you would get anyway from your registry, the only point of being on television is an indulgent narcissism. If you are a narcissist, or an extreme materialist, then television is the way to go.” See now I understand why you posted this under “Anonymous.” Because if you ever said that to Rachel in my presence in real life, I would give you the hardest backhanded bitch slap of your life. You would fly out of your sensible penny-loafers. Meek, you are socially retarded. I’m not kidding, if the chick who posted this comment is reading my blog right now, I want you to go to the bathroom, look at yourself in the mirror and say (out loud,) “I am a social retard. I am the problem. I have no right giving someone a solution.” I’m serious. You had to be home schooled because people in normal society know that it’s not polite to refer to a stranger as “an average individual” with “nothing to contribute to the world of daytime television” and call them an indulgent, materialist narcissist. What the fuck is wrong with you? If I could reach into my computer and give you an atomic wedgie, I would.
Then you go on for a few days about the health risks of shows like “The Biggest Loser” and how 20 pounds is a lot of weight to lose and blah blah blah blah. I’m sure you had some scientific and psychologically sound points there but after reading a few lines, I got a bloody nose and re-grew my virginity from absorbing your Meek-ness.
“…if you are the type of person who would go on television to find a man and get married (a la "The Bachelorette"), then go on television to lose weight. If you value your private life, your health, and your future more than fame and material goods, then you should stay away.
Besides, you should be focused on getting married and not with your next scheduled appearance on television.”
WHAT. IS. WRONG. WITH. YOU? Rachel just wants to lose weight, have fun and win some door prizes! Why? Because she’s a super cute fun girl! It’s not a big deal! She’s not getting a televised gyno-exam or puking her DNA all over your television screen with her Social Security number tattooed on her forehead, so don’t worry that she’s putting her “private life, health and future” in jeopardy. Christ! I would go on, but I've run out of insults and I think this spanking has been bad enough. Now get out of here with your TI-83 calculator and bad attitude and learn how to interact with people.
I have really bad luck in life. If something can go wrong, it will. The worst-case scenario will inevitably happen. And then my pants will fall down as an added bonus. This has definitely provided me with many comical stories, and for that I’m grateful, but right now I don’t have time for my bad luck. I need to get a full-time job to move into my sister’s apartment. And I have a deadline: January 1st. I went on a really good interview last Thursday for a job that I would blow a midget for. I expect to find out if I get a second interview this week and at this point I need all the luck I can get.
I’ve never been a big believer in karma because I feel like doing something good and trying to be a good person because you want karma points negates the karma you would get because you’re not doing it for the right reasons. Sort of like how I would never thank the AU shuttle bus driver on principle. Don’t thank the shuttle diver to make yourself feel better about having someone earn minimum wage to chauffeur you the half a mile from campus to the metro, thank them because you actually appreciate it, you smug a*hole. Or walk. God I hate white people.
Given my track record with luck, I need some good karma on my side and I need it fast. Therefore, instead of writing a catty That’s a lot of Look piece or ranting about people who don’t give the “courtesy wave” after letting them merge into your lane (WHO INDEED DESERVE AN STD, AND A RELLY EMBARRASSING ONE AT THAT), I’m going to write a positive, calm and zen-like entry giving recognition and thanks to the otherwise unrecognized things that enrich my life on a daily basis in hopes that the Universe will see my selfless gratitude and repay me.
I thank the Universe for: Kashi Go-Lean Crunch Cereal: Well shit you’re delicious. You taste like Sugar Snaps, but you’re healthier, and for that I thank the world for your existence. If I get scurvy and die of malnutrition, it’s because 2 out of 3 of my daily meals seriously consist of a giant bowl of Kashi Go-Lean Crunch cereal and a quad-shot latte. And you’re hippie commercials delude me into thinking that that’s a healthy and wise decision. God bless you.
NBC News 4 Anchorman Jim Vance: Jim Vance is a really soothing presence in my daily life and he’ll never even know it. I’m not quite sure what it is about his demeanor that makes me want to sit on the floor Indian-style, put my head in my hands and listen to him like he’s reading me a children’s book, but I appreciate it. I also appreciate the giant blinged-out diamond stud he rocks in his left ear. He makes the news soothing and mother-fucking gangster at the same time, and for that the man deserves an Emmy.
My parent’s cat, Evie: I used to think Evie was kind of an asshole because I’m 98% sure my parents could never love me as much as they love her. Then I moved home and got mono and I think she genuinely felt sorry for what a sad-state-of-affairs I was in and started giving me pity snuggles. Now we’re BFFs. She’s curled up in my lap like a shrimp as I type this. I’ve grown to fully accept the fact that my parents love her more than me. Hell, even I would choose Evie if we were both dangling on the edge of a cliff and only one of us could be saved.
The Washington Kids Post: I’m not going to lie, when I sit down in the morning with my giant bowl of Kashi Go-Lean Crunch cereal, quad latte and Washington Post, the first section I flip to is the Kids Post. I appreciate that the Kids Post takes whatever news story is most prevalent, dumbs it down real good, adds a few penguin illustrations and makes it seem less scary and depressing. As someone with ADD and an anxiety problem, it means a lot to me. I think the only reason I could intelligently discuss the election with people is because the Kids Post spelled it out in stick figures for me everyday. The Kids Post crossword puzzle also makes me feel pretty good about myself every Sunday. God bless you Kids Post.
Cab Drivers: I don’t know what it is, but cab drivers love me, and God damnit I love them. I can’t even begin to recount the number of meaningful heart-to-hearts I’ve had with cab drivers. I pay a therapist $200 a session, two sessions a month, and 3/4 of our session is spent with me awkwardly looking around the office desperately trying to think of something to talk about. However get me in the back of a cab and I open up like I’ve just taken a truth serum. My life is just one incredibly un-sexy episode of "Taxi Cab Confessions." One time I was talking to a cabbie about his native Barbados and he told me that he thought I would like life there better than New York because it was laid-back, like me. I actually told him, and I quote, that I “indeed have the soul of an islander.” First of all, who the fuck says that? And secondly, just on a factual level, I actually don’t have the soul of an islander; I’m kind of neurotic and high-strung. I don’t know why I adopt this Jimmy Buffet, open-book persona with cabbies, but I appreciate our time together. It’s less expensive than therapy and pine-scented.
The hot High Schooler who makes my mid-afternoon latte: I don’t mean for things to take a statutory turn, but the kid who makes my mid-afternoon latte at Starbucks is a-freaking-dorable and I want to thank him for brightening my day. He looks like Pacey from "Dawson’s Creek" and I think we can all agree that Joshua Jackson is bangin’ hawt. Not that I’m describing a 17 year-old boy as bangin’ hawt. Because that would be illegal. Starbucks kid also always looks incredibly stressed out, which I find endearing for some reason. Part of me wants to be like “It’s OK boo! Don’t be stressed!” The bigger part of me wants to be like “I will totally be your date to prom! I can buy you and your friends alcohol!”
BUZZ YOUR GIRLFRIEND—WOOF!
Posts
