OBLOGMA

Happy Halloween!

I wasn't planning to talk politics at all on this here blog, but I feel the urge to comment on the Obamerical that aired Wednesday night. Maybe it's because I had just turned in my ballot, or maybe it's the fact that the election is now just days away, or maybe I'm just ovulating, but I really found Obama's message to be quite moving. There were multiple times during the message that I actually got teary-eyed. It's true that I'm a sensitive and emotional person, but I'm also pretty skeptical and I have this strong aversion to hokeyness. (It's why I usually stay far away from your typical romantic comedy.) But Obama's message really touched me, and it left me feeling emotional, scared, and most of all excited. I'm feeling pretty good about this election, like we really have a chance, like things can really change and get better. It's truly exciting. GOBAMA! You're pretty effing spectacular.

LET'S MAKE A CHANGE

I'm all for equality, trust me.* I try to pay for things roughly half the time, take my manpanion out for dinner occasionally, check people out as much as a guy would, brag to my friends about my conquests, etc. Now, you've already heard my spiel on female costumes. (Enough with the slutfest, already!) But women have had to struggle with their sexuality in a male-based society since pretty much the dawn of time, so I think it's only fair that we give men a turn. This Halloween, I propose a ban on slutty costumes for women and a movement to objectify men! Er, maybe "objectify" is too strong a word. Well, no—most men I know have absolutely no qualms over being objectified. So, let me present you with

'GIZZLE'S GUIDE TO HALLOWEEN COSTUMES—MALE EDITION

What follows is a photo montage of my pick for 2008 (drum roll, please)...

HOT PRISONER.

Oh yes. To provide examples, I have called upon two of my favorite hot men of all time: the delectable Paul Newman in the classic film Cool Hand Luke and the scrumptous Wentworth Miller (aka my boyfriend of dreams) from the TV series Prison Break. Enjoy.

If you're wondering what that sound is, it's the saliva dripping from my mouth into a puddle on my desk. No, it's fine—while you were busy gettin' your chain gang on, I went and turned the heat down in my office and splashed some cold water on my face.

Here are a few more ideas for hot Halloween costumes for men:

• scantily clad Barack Obama (what can I say, he's hot)
• naughty Joe Biden (or . . . not)
  
• animal in a cage (shirtless, of course)
• boxer (again, shirtless, of course)
• pool boy (hello! shirtless)
  
• UPS guy (variation: FedEx guy)
• hot cop
• hot professor
  
• hot working-class man (painter, mechanic, anything with a beater/jumpsuit combo and a 5-o'clock shadow)
• slutty nurse (works for guys too!)
• maid (hmm, I think I'm on to something)

I welcome any additions to the above list. So, come now, spread the word! Men, do your part to put the kibash on sexism this Halloween! And ladies, tell your men they won't be getting any if they don't slut it up on Friday!

Happy Halloween,
'Gizzle

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*Disclaimer: I am not a feminist; I just believe in balance, symmetry, equality. Thank you.

BLAHG

Take that, D'Artagnon!

Eew, it's Monday.

Remember when I referenced some unique 'Gizzlicious costumes from Halloweens past? Out of the blue, my parents just sent me this one from when I was a young'n. Did I mention I was a weird kid? I remember picking out that whore mask from George's and deciding to wear it along with my toilet costume. What I was thinking, I honestly have no clue. Well, chances are I just wanted a mask to conceal my true identity at school—the toilet costume was my idea, but I likely felt embarrassed once I had actually donned the thing. The reason I chose a hooker with a cigarette, that part is beyond me. Perhaps it was a foreshadowing of my adulthood? Just kidding. (Well, I have my whole life ahead of me, so we'll see.)

Along the lines of Halloween costumes and my previous post on the subject, I was delighted to come across this bit from Wm. Steven Humphrey's Halloween Costume No-No's in the Mercury (http://www.portlandmercury.com):

If you're really unsure about costume decisions, start with what NOT to do. For example, don't dress up like Sarah Palin unless you're putting a really creative spin on it (like dressing up as "Sexy Trig"). OH, and that's another thing: Don't dress up as anything "sexy" (like "Sexy French Maid" or "Sexy Lawyer" or "Sexy Little Red Riding Hood") unless you're legitimately sexy and are 100 percent convinced you're going to sleep with me. If you're somewhat sexy, then only dress up like off-kilter sexy things, such as "Sexy Robocop," or "Sexy Randy Leonard" or "Sexy Staph Infection." ... (And no, I haven't decided what I'm going to be yet, but I'm leaning toward "Sexy Nancy Pelosi.")

Moving on, over the weekend, my manpanion, my boypanion(?), my dog, and myself headed out to Sauvie Island for the corn maze and pumpkin patch. I have to say, it was a pretty good time. The boys got awfully rowdy in the corn maze; there was a lot of shouting, joking, roughhousing, and corn poking. Also, Manpanion threw Boypanion into the corn stalks at one point, so BP and I secretly organized a plot against MP, where on BP's signal and coincidentally just as MP started waxing cocky about his corn maze skills, we bumrushed MP and pushed him into the corn. It was pure satisfaction. We also each stole one ear of corn from the stalks in the maze to have for dinner that night. We thought we were so smart. Turns out, we weren't (more on that later).

We took a hay ride over to the pumpkin patch and took our time choosing pumpkins. The place was super crowded, and I swear at one point I heard a mother call out to her child "D'Artagnon, put that pumpkin down!" Seriously? D'Artagnon?? In case you don't recall, D'Artagnon is a character from The Three Musketeers. I also love the scene in Waiting for Guffman where Corky St. Clair (played by Christopher Guest) provides this gem:

What the city council did was really give me a challenge, and it's a challenge that I am going to accept. It's like in the olden days, in the days of France, when men would slap each other with their gloves ... say, y'know... "D'Artagnan!" ... y'know, "how dare you talk to me like that, you!," and smack 'em!

Love it. So, anyway, following our adventures at Sauvie Island (which also involved getting shot at by a duckhunter at the Blue Heron Herbary—well, OK, we didn't actually get shot at, but the dog was definitely convinced!), we went home to carve pumpkins using the carving kit we got at the farm. MP did a tree sillouette, BP did a pirate ship, and here is my spider pumpkin (a little blurry).

Then I attemped to cook the boys dinner for the first time ever. One thing I was counting on to complete the meal was the corn we had stolen from the corn maze. Unfortunately, after 1/2 hour, then an hour of cooking, the corn was still completely hard and was sort of an unnatural orange color. Diagnosis: inedible. My mom told me it must have been "field corn," which is apprently fine for animals but not for human consumption. Bummer. Stupid karma.

And now I'll leave you with this image of the late, luscious Paul Newman as it hangs on the wall in my dining room. He was a talented actor, a truly good person, and pure sex. He was the only 83-year-old I would have married in a heartbeat, no question. Mm-hmm.

BLOG ABOUT IT

Everyone complains about their job, and I am no exception. I definitely get burned out. But I have to remind myself what a good deal I really have. Cases in point: One, my office is super chill and laid back. Two, my workmates are typically pretty chill and laid back too. Three, I am working from home today. I usually work from home two days a week. Why? Because I can. I work from a laptop, so wherever I go, my work can come too. That brings me to Four: Yesterday, I had sent out my regular Thursday email warning along the lines of “Working from home Fri. Have a good weekend.” As I was leaving the office, the admin asst told me I was going to miss a birthday party we were having for my friend/coworker. (Also, I’d be missing tiramisu. Note: My mom makes the best tiramisu, so I never buy it anywhere myself, but I will partake if someone else does.) My boss got in on the conversation and suggested, “Why don’t you just come in for the party and then go back home?” I responded that I really could just come in; I mean, working from home is just a luxury I allow myself here and there. But she insisted, “No, no, just come in for the party.” How cool is my boss? So, that’s what I did. I rolled in at 11 or so, ate some tiramisu, gabbed with my work peeps, snagged another little piece of tiramisu, and came back home.

Last night, I went to a burlesque show. Ah, Portland, you always have to be so cool and progressive. It's one of the things I love about you (your "devil-may-care" attitude), but this was pret-ty cheesy, I have to say. No offense to the girls, but they weren't terribly attractive and a couple actually looked like men in drag—I'm still not completely convinced. They were okay dancers, though, and it was mildly entertaining I suppose. (Hmm, it's a little sad that that's the best review I can give.) The music consisted of Bjork, Gwen Stefani, Tony Bennett covers (one was Bust a Move!), and stuff like You're Nobody Til Somebody Loves You and Easy Like Sunday Morning. The girls wore frilly panties, corsets, pasties, and hokey dance-recital grins. I gave it a chance, but I have to say it was lame-o. Soooo not worth $10, especially when you can go to a strip club for free, hold the cheese.

I have an action-packed weekend ahead, involving a chili cookoff, pumpkin patching, corn mazing, and possibly roller skating, so I’m sure there’ll be stories and photos to come. I’m excited about the pumpkin patch; there’s just something warm and fuzzy about the whole thing. Ah, I’m going to buy some spiced cider too, for post-PP relaxation.

P.S.—My quote of the day: "All this over a Labradoodle!"

CASPER THE FRIENDLY BLOGGER

So, Halloween is coming up. I’m trying to decide what to be. It’s currently down to either a vampire or an Oompa Loompa. For reasons I can’t recall, I happened upon this photo of Gene Wilder and some Oompa Loompas yesterday, and those terrifying little buggers are some serious Halloween. See for yourself. I mentioned this to my roommie yesterday, and she suggested we get really bad fake tans in preparation for this costume.

Oh, if you haven’t heard me complain about this before (and chances are you have), I’ll clue you in to how I feel about female Halloween costumes. First off, who the hell changed the theme of Halloween from ghosts, devils, and zombies to naughty nurses, French maids, and slutty bunnies? It’s freaking ridiculous. Yes, I know those things can be equally as frightening (Really, 250-lb kitty cat? Really??) but I’m somewhat of a traditionalist when it comes to holidays, and Halloween is supposed to be about the dead and other ghoulish things. A little respect? When did this day become a competitive slutfest free-for-all? Well, probably around the time I stopped trick-or-treating and started going to parties. But, seriously, it is testament to what a womanizing society we live in. And, furthermore, if you don’t have the balls to dress like a slut in your everyday life, you have no business trying to pull it off one day of the year. If you simply must slut it up, at least be a dead cheerleader or something. And one more thing: aren’t you cold?

Back to my costume. Let’s weigh the pros and cons:

V Vampiress: PROs

• It’s Halloweeny, in the traditional sense.
• It's pretty easy.
• I have a long dark wig.
• My roommate has a cape I can borrow.
• I get to wear fake pointy teeth and bite people!

Vampiress: CONs

• It’s not terribly original.*
• It doesn’t involve much.

Oompa Loompa: PROs

• It's weird.
• I get to paint my face.
• I get to wear that green wig I bought for St. Patrick’s Day but never used.
• I can sing things like “Oompa Loompa doompady-dee, if you are wise you’ll listen to me. You will live in happiness too, like the Oompa Loopma doompady do!” Fun.

Oompa Loompa: CONs

• It’s weird.
• I have to paint my face.
• It could be difficult and/or costly to put together.
• I’ll have to find some fellow smallish people to do it up with me.

Holy shit! I just remembered the boy I had a serious crush on for all of middle school, half of high school, and a little thereafter was nicknamed Oompa! Why was that, anyway? Jerms, if you’re reading this, I know you know. Enlighten me. And, by the way, thanks for giving me that clump of dirt from his bike that one time. Also, thanks for encouraging me to dump my “Oompa pouch” into Ellicott Creek that other time. A true friend you are.

I suppose this is enough procrastination for one day. Time to eat lunch and get some work done around this joint.

P.S.—Sexy Indian girl costume? So not PC.

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*However, I believe I have earned the right to an unoriginal costume, after such oddities throughout my life as mouse princess, toilet, and white trash.

BLOG YA LATER

Hello, out there. My darling roommate (domestic partner) just started a blog, and she has convinced me to do the same. Hmm, I like to ponder and rant about things—why not? Everybody else is doing it, right? And I do love to express myself through the written word. In person, I’m a little slow on the uptake. I think I’m rather a strange one, a little awkward—my favorite description so far (thank you, copyeditor friend) is “charmingly quirky.” Yes, that’s pretty much me; even my mom concurs. So when I’m talking to people (as opposed to writing them), I tend to blush and can’t think of the right words to say. You have no idea how much it sucks to be a blusher; god, I hate that. It’s one of the main things holding me back from my ultimate dream: to be the next Sarah Silverman. Occasionally, though (and I love when this happens), I am on my game. I can be witty, sassy, and a right lovable smart-ass. That me is so great! Why can’t I be like her all the time? Ah well, what are you gonna do. I must be doing something right, because I have a gaggle of great friends and acquaintances, more-than-decent connections, interested parties, proud parents, an adoring niece, and the boyfriend. Yeesh, just saying the word induces this strange emotion that's a cross between trepidation and euphoria. How crazy that the opposite sex (or same sex, whatever your preference) can cause such a reaction from a normally rational and logical person.

Yes, I am becoming a girlfriend. It is happening. I’m doing downright nutty things like deflecting the affections of other quality men, enthusiastically participating in game nights with kids, and, on occasion, not having sex but being perfectly blissful with just sleeping together and cuddling. And I’m happy. Jebus.

Enough about that. More about me. I mean, if you’re going to read my blog, you should know things about me. Earlier I indicated that I’m a “rational and logical person.” If anyone who knows me well is reading this right now, they’re likely exclaiming something along the lines of “Ha!” or “As if!” and with good reason. While it’s true that I consider myself pretty rational, my logic can a bit skewed, and my emotions can definitely get in the way. What do you want, I’m a woman. (Gasp! No she dih'int!) OK, I’m against gross generalizations as much as the next gal, but I’ve known a lot of women, not to mention inhabiting the body and mind of one, and I’m sorry but we sometimes tend to let our emotions affect our decisions more than our logical sides. This isn’t always a bad thing, mind you—I’m sure some decisions should be made by throwing logic out the window. I’ll give an example: I would not be living in Portland right now, happy as a clam (and I mean that), if I had thought about the decision to move here logically.

I’ll set up the scene for you:

Little Me. Barely twenty years old. In a suburb of Buffalo, NY. Just back from spending the summer in LA. Feelin’ groovy. I meet a guy. He’s older, from the city, different. He’s got quite an edge. We start dating, and—you know how it is in the beginning—we’re all cuckoo for cocoa puffs over each other. So, when he gets fired and decides to move to Portland, I want to go too. Well, to be fair, I was planning to move anyway. I had seriously considered Maui (had a good friend there, plus, come on, the place is Paradise), but they had a six-month quarantine for dogs. She’d be on a separate island, and I’ve read some dogs die in quarantine. That was out. I was thinking of going back to LA, but the guy I had there, with whom it didn’t work out, was all “This is MY city” and shit. Whatever, dude, it’s fucking LA. But he had a point, I guess. So, Portland. I had never been here and, really, I knew nada about the place. The plan became for my new guy to set out on his own, driving, and for me to save up and meet him in two months. So, naturally, three agonizing weeks later, I flew out to Denver and met him there to drive the rest of the way together. OK, that is a story for another time. Let’s just flash-forward eight years (and three long-term relationships) to present-day me. I FREAKING LOVE PORTLAND. Moving to Portland was the best thing I ever did for myself. It is fantastic. A friend recently referred to me as “Portland’s greatest ambassador,” and I proudly accept. So, you see, if I had listened to my mother, I wouldn’t be living in this fabulous city that I love. Seriously, if Portland was a person, I would marry him or her. Now, this is damn long for a blog posting, I know, but it’s your introduction to me. So back off and just be happy you’re not reading someone dumb’s blog, eh?

I can’t believe I have a blog.

Yours truly,
'Gizzle

P.S.—Take it from me, don’t do drugs.