Scream (Not the Scary Movie)

I think there's something to the fact that when babies are born, they're screaming bloody murder. Just when they get used to the warm cushion of a woman's belly, BAM! They're struck with the harsh reality that is life, and there's nothing they can do but scream. Sometimes I wish there was a place I could scream, but I choose not to, because it goes against societal rules. If you walk around screaming, you'll get restrained. I can't scream in my apartment; the tenants will hear. I can't scream outside; the neighbors will hear. I can't go to the Hoboken pier and scream; people will hear and will think something's wrong. Maybe something IS wrong, but I don't want anyone else to know that. Isn't life just a lot of screwed-up people walking around, looking like they have it all together? But if I scream, my outsides will match my insides, and I'll look crazy. So sometimes I scream. Inside my head. Then I go on about my day, just another screwed-up person who looks like she has it all together.

My Bush Soapbox

I'm officially mad at the Bush Administration. Previously, I'd just gone by what I'd heard: He's against abortion, against stem cell research, etc. Many things that I'm a little more...for—cancer research and a woman's right to choose. Anyway, I've been reading The New Yorker beyond the funny little black-and-white drawings to brush up on my intelligence re: Current events. I came across an essay titled "Political Science, The Bush Administration's war on the laboratory." I nearly skipped over it, what a boring title. Personally, I prefer The NYer's fiction stories. Anyway, I convinced myself that in order to be a smarter girl, I need to read up on our leader, as big of a nincompoop he is. Listen to what I discovered:

A vaccine has been developed to protect women against HPV, the most common STD out there—more than half of us will become infected at some point. HPV is a primary cause of cervical cancer. Blech. A Bush Admin. crony said, "I object to vaccinating...against a disease that is one hundred percent preventable with proper sexual behavior." OK. What is proper sexual behavior? A condom? It can break. Waiting until marriage? The asshole can cheat. There's no surefire way to prevent HPV unless you just die a virgin. I also found out that since GW became prez, he's spent hundreds of millions of dollars on abstinence programs, and has cut almost that much in aid to groups that support abortion and the use of condoms. What the...? Peeps should know by now that if you tell kids not to do something, a lot of them are going to try it anyway. They're going to do what they want regardless—it's human nature. So let them do it as safely as possible, GW! In addition, federal health officials posted info online that suggested without valid evidence that abortion and breast cancer is somehow related. Liars! The Center for Disease Control also recently removed a summary of studies that showed that there was no increase in sexual activity among teens who had been taught about condoms.

I just don't get it. I know I'll never be able to convince Pro-Life believers the value of a woman's right to choose. That's fine, opposing opinions are fine, and I respect that. You can have your opinion, but not educating teens about safe sex in the hopes they just won't have sex at all? That's ridiculous.

Midnight TextFest With a Pseudo-Stranger

So I'm about to go to bed when I hear the familiar BEEP of my text message alert. It's Buddy. My first thought is that it's the roommate of The Ex Who Says We Never Dated. That Buddy liked to dive for buried treasure, which is another story in itself. Upon checking the number, I found that it's a Missouri area code. Buddy from Missouri? I wrack my brain. Ah ha! Buddy is a hot, Jared Leto-esque guy I met at Kelly's in Westport while home for the holidays...two months ago. We shared some laughs, a burger with friends at Denny's, and we went our separate ways. Why I have his phone number is a mystery. Our Midnight Two-Months-Later TextFest is as follows:

Buddy: I miss you.
Me: Thinking he has the wrong Tina. Wait. R u that guy I met at Kelly's?
Buddy: Yes ma'am.
It's not a mistake.
Me: Haha. Two months later. Um well if you ever want to come to New York it would b a pleasure to see u. I thought u were sweet. And hot.
Buddy: Well I really wanted to be your boy toy. You should send me a pic.
He did NOT just say "boy toy"! Hahahahahaha...
Me: I like toys.

OK, no, so I didn't really say, "I like toys." That would have been cool, right? Instead I said, "Haha am going to bed. email me and I will. " So not clever or witty. So not getting an email.

Lessons in Love: How to Pick Up a Frenchman

Saturday night, Dempsey's in East Village, 10 p.m.
Crista and I are hangin' at the Electronic Jukebox, as always, looking for only the hottest tunes Britney Spears has to offer, when suddenly, I am beckoned from a man at the bar. He's cute. Says something about Britney. We find out his name is Rich and is a French teacher in LI. He's with his friend, who's visiting from France. His friend speaks...only French.
Me: Bonjour!
Frenchie laughs.
Crista: My name is Crista.
Me: No, it's "Je m'appelle Crista."
Frenchie laughs. We chat with Rich. He speaks English. Rich says he "has my next drink." Crista and I retreat to our seats.

Crista: He's so into you!
Me: No, he's not! He likes you!
At our table, Crista teaches me how to flirt, like squeezing a man's bicep when walking by, pretending to lose an earring, etc. I love it. We devise a plan for me to get Rich. (HAHA, get Rich!) I get an idea. On a napkin, I write the following: Je voudrais vous donner ma telé! This means, "I would like to give you my phone number...or telephone, not sure which. On the back, I write my phone number. I walk over to Rich, napkin in hand.

Me: Excuse me, Rich?
Rich: Hi!
I hand over the napkin, French phrase side-up.
Me: I'm wondering, can you please tell me if this is correct?
Rich reads the napkin.
Rich: Yes, it is.
I turn the napkin over. The word vomit ensues.
Me: Well, I want to give you my phone number! I like, never do this, I'm really shy. (I say this while shrugging my shoulders, rolling my eyes to the ceiling, like only I do...at the most inopportune times.) But you seem really nice, and perhaps we can go out sometime?
Rich is in shock that this crazy girl with poor French-speaking skills approached him with incessant babble.
Rich: Sure.
I walk away.

Friends With...Presents

So I just found out today that The Ex has moved in with his new Girlfriend. Not so sure how I feel about that. Wait. Scratch that. I know exactly how I feel. I'm...irked. Granted, he was my Boyfriend in 2001, my Friend With Benefits in 2002, my Friend With Benefits Who Wanted to be More Than Friends in 2003, a Guy I Tried Dating Because He Was My Friend With Benefits Who Wanted to be More Than Friends so I Thought Why Not? in 2004. A week later I decided the "Why Not?" wasn't a good idea upon meeting someone else, so I broke his heart like he did mine way back in 2001...on accident of course. :( Then in 2005 he accepted my apology, and we were Friends With Benefits again. Only throughout the entire four years, I really did just want to be Friends. Without Benefits. Then he got a Girlfriend. And I've missed his Friendship. And...well, perhaps the Benefits. :)