make it good

I really do amaze myself sometimes. How is it I can be so pragmatic and unemotional about certain things, but then completely lose my mind when it comes to a few select others? I guess "lose my mind" is the wrong expression. I don't think crazy thoughts about these delicate issues, but I seem to constantly be feeling strong feelings that manifest themselves in uncomfortable physical conditions, like a constantly tightened diaphragm, shortness of breath, stress stored in painful lumps at the base of the neck. My rational mind knows what is happening, knows it is powerless to control the situation in any way, but my cardiovascular system and adrenal glands don't see it that way. My body sees this thing as a constant threat to its wellbeing, perhaps its very existence. So how do I eliminate from the body the thing that has permanently altered the mind, like a rare hallucinogen? The cerebral effects are somewhat pleasing even when they are unwelcome and unexpected, but the physical overstimulation is more than I can stand. I ache all over.

I'm not really scared, either. It is merely uncomfortable.

This all could just as easily be the fresh array of symptoms from some degenerative disease that has been dormant until now.

Strange, though, how it coincides with this utterly absurd time in my life. I wonder how this absurd time will measure against all the others I've already lived through. Does this take the cake? Mmm, cake. I had a chocolate muffin from Robeks today.

I feel like I need a full body cast just not to melt into a puddle of human fragility. I need something solid to contain my strange ethereal essence. Feeling connected to everything all at once, even on a purely philosophical level, is exhausting... As is pining away for something you can probably never have.

Also I am newly addicted to Nat Shermans.

Merry holidays!

false gods?

uncomfortably numb

Ariana Huffington encourages people to blog their passions.

My passions have never been easily articulated. Activities that I enjoy immensely can also bring me emotional agony. My only passion is experience - the solid, tangible feeling of "doing something" and deriving sensations and thoughts through that action.

I love to read and write, but not when my mind is preoccupied with longing.

I love to sing, but not when the sound of my own voice makes me cringe with disgust.

I crave attention and affection, but resent it when it's given as a matter of routine.


I love to learn, but can't seem to find any practical use for my knowledge.

Being back from my short trip to New York feels surreal. This is the life I thought I was used to, but it only took a couple of days in a totally different environment to make me feel like a stranger here. I suppose I always felt that way, but didn't allow this awareness to creep into my conscious thoughts. At least in a big, bustling city I can be one among many strangers. Here, I am truly alone.

Listen to the latest podcasts, won't ya?

http://www.switchpod.com/p19578.html

my beautiful disorder

For what seemed like the hundredth time, I was reading today about personality disorders, or PD's, as they are lovingly dubbed within the psycho-therapeutic community. More than anything else I fit the profile of a person "suffering" from Histrionic Personality Disorder. The word "histrionic" itself stems from a Latin word for "actor", and quite logically, this disorder is characterized by theatrical, animated behavior, the need for attention and acceptance, and inappropriate seductiveness and sexuality. Incidentally, this is a disorder apparently plaguing the female population... Meaning that any time a woman expresses any sexual tendency or extroverted behavior, she is abnormal. In the ancient world, it was referred to as "wandering womb". By the middle ages, any behavior perceived to be improper in women was blamed on witchcraft, moral weakness, and demonic possession. In the age of psychoanalysis, such great minds as Sigmund Freud and Wilhelm Reich blamed women's "weak nervous systems" and "penis envy" for their troubles. Apparently it was strange to them that women that lived either as idle slaves (wives if the wealthy) or actual slaves (wives of the poor), were bored and unsatisfied with their lot in life.

As I read such garbage and reflect upon my life thus far, I realize just how deep-rooted and corrupt society's attitudes are towards women. Virtually every conflict I've ever experienced has stemmed from such thinking, perpetuated even by women themselves. We are taught to hate ourselves for our natural desires, our appearance, our mental flexibility. Even our brave new "modern" world offers no real solace. We question our every move, wondering if we'll be perceived as improper or too aggressive, or too passive, or just plain dull. Whether we are politicians or doctors or housewives, the stigma of weakness and being inherently flawed follows us everywhere.

It is prudent to note, too, that all the major world religions, including Buddhism and Hinduism, help to instill this view of women in our collective psyche. This helps to explain why someone like Sarah Palin was so poorly received by most rational women. Her belief in a patriarchal religious system supercedes her empathy toward other women and their struggles.

In any case, I'm not sorry. My histrionics keep life fun.

i like it

about chicken?

The other day my husband made me watch a random documentary available for instant viewing on Netflix about chicken(s).

It started on a happy note, showing how chickens live on small farms. People apparently become very attached to their avian friends, cooing to them lovingly, holding and petting them like little lap cats. This one old woman even gave a hen of hers mouth-to-mouth resuscitation after she got caught in a sudden snow while brooding in the small wood around the farm. The poor hen froze to what seemed like death, but the old woman thawed her out and breathed life back into her. I really hope she only uses her hens to lay eggs. It would really be a shame to slaughter someone whose beak you've pressed against your lips in a gesture of ultimate love.

Other stories included strange men who had unhealthy attractions to cocks... As in roosters, you sickos! They would raise prize fighting roosters, clearly to compensate for some lack in manliness on their part, but unable to afford a luxury vehicle to replace this cock obssession... It struck me as very peculiar that these unattractively mustached men doted on their cocks to distraction, raising them like their own children, showing them plenty of affection... only to send them into a violent, bloody, untimely death.

The saddest of all, though, were the factory chickens. It showed lonely rows of eggs in giant rotating incubators. Then the baby chickens would begin to hatch, in an empty metallic space, surrounded by what must appear to them to be a sea of other baby chicks, but with no mother hens in sight. Then the conveyer belt would send them, scambling over one another, down a chute to a sorting facility, where hair-netted ladies would grab the babies by whatever appendage was handy and pluck them out of the steadily pouring stream of fuzzy yellow life, and throw them into one of several bins or piles, like they were mere objects being readied for packaging. By what criteria they were sorted, I cannot even begin to imagine. All the chicks looked fragile, and yellow, and tiny, and squeaked incessantly. But the factory workers just grabbed them and threw them according to some pre-established order, no doubt mangling and maiming them in the process. Then it showed the sad, pale, confused adult chickens in the factory, sitting atop one another, scrambling for air, for food, for comfort, for anything that didn't feel like raw panic. An endless sea of struggling, suffering, debased creatures - they reminded me most of the pale skeletal ghosts of people in Nazi concentration camps: forlorn, betrayed, alive, but just barely.

There was more to the film, but I had to stop there. The tears started to choke me. The idea that this is the way food is produced for mass consumption is sickening to me. I got into the habit of saying that I gave up eating meat mainly for health reasons. People tend to react to that in a positive, encouraging manner. Caring about one's health is admirable. Not eating meat for moral reasons, however, provokes hostility. Forced to examine the moral correctness of eating their precious McNuggets or rotisserie roaster, people get defensive. It's hard to imagine that something so delicious can be a sentient, noble being. Being a coward, I would learn to shy away from total honesty, and just stick to my health story. Now I feel a bit more compelled to be perfectly candid and tell people I encounter that not only is eating meat unhealthy, but that under current conditions, it amounts to endorsing mass genocide of the most wasteful kind.
The bill passed in California providing for more rights for factory chickens is definitely a step in the right direction, but I still can't help but feel that somewhere down the road we went totally awry in how we deal with our food. Killing animals for food has been an integral part of human evolution, but we never used to care so little about doing it.

listen!

Tammy Bruce is just one in a chorus of Liberal-hating, "freedom"-loving conservatives. Just like her counterparts, she is extremely unpleasant, has a very bad sense of humor, and exudes an aura that is the antithesis of sexy. There's just one thing that makes her "special". Unlike most other self-proclaimed conservatives, Tammy Bruce is a lesbian. The fact that by her own philosophy she should fear and hate herself seems to be lost on her, and that is why she is a prominent topic on the most recent edition of The Mariya Alexander Show.

Check out the podcast here:
http://www.switchpod.com/p19578.html

Or find it on iTunes. Simply search your iTunes store for The Mariya Alexander Show and catch up on all the podcasts you've missed.

an old short story remnant

I began my working career at the ripe age of 16, and was always very proud of it. My mother convinced a good friend of hers, a middle aged, mustached and moderately paunched Greek man named Andros to hire me as a hostess at his restaurant, but I immediately started to think of myself as prime employable real estate, sought after by companies nationwide. That same notion of indestructibility still haunts me today, but at 16 and quite unpopular among my new American classmates, I was glad I at least had something to be proud of.

I was an awkward teenager, very thin and brittle looking, and at the time was slowly trying to wean myself off of padded bras and gel inserts. It just looked unconvincing – a walking stick figure with a sharp chin and pronounced nose, and perfectly round spheres protruding from a clearly defined ribcage. This, of course, didn’t stop Andros from being enthralled with me. When he saw me that first day at the restaurant, Chef Dino’s, his shockingly beautiful hazel eyes lit up like two votive candles in front of a Byzantine icon of a lecherous saint. His thick mustache quivered with delight in what should have been a disturbing manner for me at the time, but I was just so desperate for someone to like me, that I actually stuck around and let him show me around and brief me on my duties.

“Ah, hunnee, look at you! My God! Those beautiful eyes, those lips, AAH-HA-HA, you are like an angel!”

I stared at him blankly, waiting for him to regain his composure and actually teach me something about my job.

“Look at that soft skin of yours,” he cooed, “God, what I wouldn’t give to be young again and have a chance with a little minx like you!”

His tendency to refer to the Lord while verbally molesting his new young employee was unsettling, and perhaps should have been enough to make me walk away, slowly, without turning my back for a moment. I suppose I ultimately must have found his naïve, idiotic rambles flattering – or rather wanted to believe that it was my sheer beauty that provoked such outbursts. Sure, this man had a reputation for being a self-proclaimed womanizer, but I was the youngest one to ever affect him this way!

After saying a few more words about the possible color of my panties, and what a lucky guy my boyfriend is if I have one, Andros finally calmed down a bit and got down to business. It was my job to greet the customers, seat them in the appropriate section so that no waiter at any given time has too many more tables than the others, and to ensure proper operations in his absence. I would process all cash and credit transactions, close out the register at the end of the day, and lead the wait staff in setting up the salad bar in the morning, and dismantling it at night. He had the utmost confidence in me, and proved it by grabbing my hand and putting it over his hairy chest, which presumably contained his heart, which I was then to feel beating with excitement and joy. I mainly felt his wiry, partly gray chest hairs, and smelled his pungent cologne, but can’t recall much about his heart’s health and condition. I comforted myself by remembering that since he was charging me with so many managerial duties, he would most likely not be working with me every day, and prayed for the ordeal to be over.

I had found it strange that Andros was willing to trust a teenager to be in charge of his establishment in his absence, but after meeting the rest of the staff on my first day, I understood. They were all very nice people, my team at Chef Dino’s, but had all by that point reached a certain level of jadedness and emotional discontent that often prevented them from paying attention to, or talking about, anything but the numerous personal problems they were having. There was Sherrie, a white-haired woman in her 60’s who chain-smoked and lived with a flaky roommate and five cats. There was an older Greek gentleman only known by the name of Mr. Vassily with enormous ears and absolutely no neck. There was also Carlos, a petite, meek-mannered man from El Salvador who always had a dreamy expression on his fairly handsome face, but barely spoke a word of English, and then there was Christopher… Christopher was also from El Salvador, also had a problem with the English language, but whereas Carlos was polite, compact, and overall pleasant, Christopher was elongated, pale, hook-nosed and cheeky, with a mouth full of shiny gold teeth. I, of course, kept my opinions of him to myself. Christopher, however, found it necessary to express his feelings for me immediately, and all the time from that point on; usually with grand gestures like bouquets of red roses and poorly scribbled love notes scattered throughout the restaurants for me to find, written exclusively in grammatically unsound Spanish.

In general the clientele at Chef Dino’s was mainly senior citizens from a nearby retirement community. They would hobble or limp in, sometimes in optimistic groups of three or four or at least in pairs, but mostly taking sad and lonely tables for one, and after greeting them and finding them a seat they didn’t mind, I would watch from the bar as one of my fine waiters worked for their meager tips off of orders mainly consisting of coffee, toast, and the occasional Rueben sandwich. The restaurant actually had a pretty good menu of traditional Greek dishes, and other more substantial fare, but for the most part these old farts knew nothing of it, and the waiters all hated them for it. If Mr. Vassily wasn’t out on the dining room floor, or out in Saint Dino’s Cathedral, as I referred to it due to its long aisle between pew-like rows of booths which led to a small apse-like open area in the back with a few tables scattered about, he would join me at the bar for a drink, especially during Sunday brunches. I was 16, but that didn’t stop him from offering me beer or champagne, which I was only willing to accept in coffee cups, for fear of being discovered. He would grumble about how unfairly Andros treated him, something about disrespect and injustice, while pulling bottle after frosty bottle of beer from the cooler and gulping it down like a desert nomad who just stumbled upon an oasis. It was strange to see a man dressed in a black tuxedo-like suit, looking as dignified as a mad opera singer or impassioned symphony conductor, act like a street corner hobo, but I wasn’t about to complain. I enjoyed the feeling of boldness and power that clouded my head as I drank my contraband coffee-cup alcoholic beverages right in the open, in front of naïve old people catching the early bird special.

an international affair

I sort of miss livejournal. Every day, I used to look forward to being able to sit down and write. For some reason this blogger business isn't as compelling to me. Maybe because livejournal had communities, and great photo-sharing capablities. Maybe because I managed to grow a decent little readership (for me, anyway) over a three-year period that made me feel obligated to deliver. For some strange reason, I had the distinct impression that the people who subscribed to my blog had sincerely grown to care about me, and were invested in me the same way I invest in my favorite TV characters. On here it feels lonely. No one cares.

But time keeps slipping, slipping, slipping into this so-called future.

But tonight was a blast from the past. My precious Rongles called me at exactly 5 PM. My phone died as it began to singe my ear at exactly 8 PM, just as Gossip Girl was starting. It was an international call.

He mentioned that his health continues to slowly deteriorate, and as always, the thought that I can do nothing to stop this made my heart skip a beat. The fact that the overwhelming sense I am left with after our conversation is pure peace, peace at the thought of knowing true comradership, is a testament to how little his ailment has affected his brilliant mind. In reality - in physical reality - it's probably a lot. Like his body, his brain has been altered greatly by everything he has been through. It absolutely amazes me that not only has his brain adjusted, but his mind, his intellect has thrived with less and less physical real estate to run its operation. As far as I know, I'm running on all cylinders, and I can barely keep up with him. He is the only human being with whom I have been able to stay on the phone for hours - nay, even prolonged minutes - without awkward pauses and grasping for things to say. Let me be very clear: the nature of our conversation is never swapping pleasantries or drunken escapade stories. Talking to him makes me feel like I'm an Athenian boy in Aristotle's academy. Or Aristotle, getting ready to lovingly pat a young lad's firm behind while giving him the gift of thought and reason. Or was that Plato? Plato was definitely a big, lecherous queen.

Anyway, I just wanted to say that right now I am happy. Does it make me an elitist to love my brain and to love others for theirs?

PS. Search for The Mariya Alexander Show on iTunes or at switchpod.com!!! All your wildest dreams will come true, my imaginary reader.

another blatant lie from the McCain campaign...

READ THIS

This just in: absolutely nothing new happened!

As always, no one won tonight's debate, and nothing makes any more sense than anything else. That's a nice, rational, real, concrete world we live in, isn't it?

I understand that we have the "right" to "believe" in anything we want to in this "god"-forsaken country of ours, but I don't see how we can expect to play any significant role on the global stage if we can't even agree on what we see as empirical, unquestionable reality.

It's sad that it doesn't surprise me, but of course all the post-debate analyses have expertly declared that there was no "clear winner" out of Joe Biden and Sarah Palin tonight, and that each campaign should feel "pretty happy" with their candidate's performance.

So in the words of Sarah-The-Retard-Breeding Palin herself,

UMMMMM.....

DUUUUH!

*WINK*

Our news professionals have really gone off the deep end in trying to stay neutral in this blatant war of the religiously motivated fanatical morons against the rationally thinking, normal human beings. To the Associated Press' credit, they did just come out with a respectable piece dispelling the mis-facts mentioned tonight (http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/debate_fact_check), but we all know that the average American isn't going to see that. All the "six pack Joes" out there watch TV and listen to what those dickheads named Topper, Brick, Chip, Chet, Brock, etc, have to say - and the message is that Sarah Palin's grammatically atrocious, nonsensical, but animated ramblings are just as valid as Joe Biden's specific, logically formulated arguments. She actually openly refused to answer questions, but was praised for it being a great strategy to not reveal weaknesses...
I don't think this is okay. They aim to not give an opinion that leans in any one direction, but they still sell their analysis in the form of personal thoughts - not hard facts. If they were to start focusing on those, however, they would be forced to say that Sarah Palin seldom made any actual sense, even within one phrase or sentence that she uttered at any given point; and they would be forced to say that at several points in the debate she openly refused to answer direct questions, reverting instead to the same exact lines we all so enjoyed hearing her use during her TV interviews... They would be forced to say that she winked a whole lot.... They would be forced to say that when Gwen Ifill asked her a complex question, at the heart of which was the question of whether she actually knows the vice president's role as designated by the US constitution (the one about Cheney's interpretation of the VP office), Sarah Palin actually shrugged and looked at Gwen helplessly for several seconds, before vaguely muttering something to the effect of "I agree with him", when the question never contained anything for her to agree or disagree with... And by the same token, they would be forced to acknowledge that Joe Biden knew exactly what Gwen meant, and spoke very confidently and concisely about the historical, constitutionally mandated role of the VP in the legislative process... Even a person of modest intellect can deduce that this was due to the fact that Joe Biden actually understands how US government works, historically and practically, and Sarah Palin does not, at least not nearly as thoroughly as one running for such high office should.

After all, she studied journalism. Her motivation was never a feeling of patriotic duty to serve her country. Everything about her demeanor and past career as a beauty queen and TV reporter screams of a desperate desire for attention and recognition for her god-given "talents". Actually, I don't want to downplay those. She is frighteningly cute. The entire campaign, I couldn't help thinking that what she really wanted to be doing was reading a beer commercial or lipstick commercial script or something. She just wants to be famous. She certainly has the aptitude for THAT. Hollywood, quickly, offer her a movie part already and get her off of our backs! I guarantee you she would withdraw herself from the race if they offered her a part in the next Shia Labeouf film.

Poop.

I know that politics is all BS and that everyone says things to get voted in and don't necessarily mean them, but wow. Doesn't it at least matter to anyone that Republicans aren't even saying anything that make sense in order to get elected? I mean, rhetoric or not, doesn't it sound better to hear someone say
"We want to bring hope by researching new energy, and providing universal healthcare, and giving women the right to choose what they do with their bodies, and giving tax breaks to people who commit to a college education"

rather than

"We want to give everyone guns, illegalize abortions, promote birthing retards but cut government funding for health care programs and social security benefits, and that's exactly what Jesus would do!"

No, but seriously.

Sarah Palin, unsurprisingly, sounds exactly like Cartman's mom. South Park will never be the same again. Her husband is a fisherman, and apparently likes to race snow cars. That was the bulk of her speech last night - inane ranting about her inbred, lumberjack family. Now the media seems to be praising her for "energizing" the republican party. I think that just like we shouldn't allow people to drive or operate machinery after a certain age, by the same token we should not allow those same old farts to vote. Then we would see how energized the Republican party would be. We're keeping people alive too long, we really are. Why should some ancient sack of flesh be in any way influencing what happens to me?

"Oh, I'm Sarah Palin! I wear a neat bun, and shoot defenseless animals whom I skin alive and bathe in their blood, but a retarded fetus is just too much of a waste of life! The world is suffering from epidemics of sexually transmitted diseases, but I want to do away with sexual education, and the teaching of evolution to boot! I was a part of the party that wanted Alaska to secede from the United States because that's how much I hate people who like gays and don't hunt"

"I saw Barack Obama touching people..""

I love Joe Biden, and no less so for the quote so cleverly featured in the title of this entry.

No, but seriously, I am embarrassed to admit that I, like the people allegedly touched by Mr. Obama, am experiencing strange warm feelings throughout the course of this Democratic convention. My cool, cynical, Facebook-ready third person outer narrator is ashamed, but my secret inner flag-saluting patriot is sticking feathers in her cap and calling them Macaroni. In other words, I am moved.

I do eventually want to see an America where more than just two parties dominate national and local politics, but for now I am finally excited about one of those two actually doing something in any way positive.

PLEASE VOTE OBAMA/BIDEN in 2008!!!

blogger's clog

I believe a particularly lazy (see: typical) psychiatrist would diagnose this general malaise and listlessness as depression, but that's really not the case. I am not unable to experience joy. I have happy little moments every day. I make clever observations about the world and smugly nod at my own wittiness on the hour, like weather and traffic. It's when it comes down to expressing it in here, oh my dear weblog, that my stubborn proud nature forces me to look the sad truth in the face: what's the damn point and who cares? Doing the weekly radio show has been satisfying my need for a cathartic ritual of mental diarrhea, but even that is starting to gnaw at my better senses. People only care about what you think if they think it can make them seem more important and special by caring about you think. Nowadays people rarely allow themselves to have a philosophical dialogue or intellectual connection with another human being unless she/he is getting paid handsomely for holding the views she/he holds. People always talk about how democratized communication has become with the advent of the Internet, but let's face it: even the "blogosphere" is becoming highly commercialized and neatly packaged. The most popular blogs discuss the most superficial aspects of the human experience: video games, TV shows, the latest fashions, politics - consumer products, basically. Philosophy seems to be dead. Every time I walk into a book store in search of some hidden nugget of mental inspiration, I walk away disappointed. Just more motivational, self-help, new age garbage lines the shelves, and everyone seems to be aboard the "this is the way things should be" train. It isn't the world that's dysfunctional. It's YOU. That's the message the powers that be send us, and on my worst days, I almost buy in.

But I for one have always questioned the fundamental structure of society and how it evolved into the mess we live in now. I just wish I had access to people who shared my desire to discuss and dissect the nature of things without being ridiculed as being pretentious. I'm just a curious, wide-eyed girlchild, lost in a sea of scary angry men.

There is one person who gives me hope.

http://www.alaindebotton.com/

People who think for thinking's sake still exist.

And now it's time to watch the Democratic convention.

Podcasts for Sunday 08-03-2008

Check out Sunday's show if you missed it!

Segment 1:

http://www.switchpod.com/users/mariyaalexander/08032008TheMariyaAlexanderShow1.mp3

Segment 2:

http://www.switchpod.com/users/mariyaalexander/08032008TheMariyaAlexanderShowPt2.mp3


Spank you very much!

cerebral flatulence

I could have sworn that just last week summer was beginning. Where has the time gone? Where? I have yet to enjoy even a single day of good-old-fashioned summer fun in the sun. So to make up for all the skin cancer I may not have been getting, I went to the tanning salon twice in the past month. I am a shallow ass-hole of a person, because I like myself so much more when I am tan and even-toned. The Semitic beak on my face still bothers me, but at least I've got my killer personality. Just the other day, in fact, I killed an entire army of invading ants. I can't believe I can love animals so much and hate insects that much more, especially ants. They're just like people. They capture slaves, they farm other insects, they serve a big bloated dictator and fulfill their societal roles without any forethought.
Did I mention I am actually in a great mood? There is clearly no reason for it, for I am still me, and I still hate this sick sad world, but yet I flash myself saucy smiles every time I pass a mirror. I am like a freakin' martyr, I swear - a shining example of laughing in the face of absurdity and unfulfilled expectations!

I am busier than ever. I'm tired. I'm giddy. I'm excited.

I'm ronery.

I miss my friends.

Thank you Jeebus for not letting Twitch get voted off of "So You Think You Can Dance"!

Speaking of lively competition, has anyone seen this yet:
http://www.japanesebugfights.com/ ?

It's morbidly addictive.

Speaking of other morbid things, check out my show Sunday at 1 PM!!!

Listen every Sunday at 1 here: http://stations.swcast.net/urbancowgirl777

Also, I am looking for a new book to read. After finishing the magical "The Testament of Gideon Mack" and the disturbing "Lolita", I am pondering my next literary adventure. Suggestions?

Irony Deficiency

I am sitting in a windowless dungeon of a room somewhere in the depths of the building housing my precious WJFK. My job is officially called "content editor" but more humorously referred to as "the dumper". Little do they know as they joke in this manner that dumping is something I take very seriously, usually while reading classic literature or solving sophisticated crossword puzzles. In any case this is an awkward position for me because while I understand my duties, I can't help feeling strange about having to essentially censor people at the precise moment that they're actually saying something interesting and provocative. So much for the land of the free and the home of the brave when silly little words like "penis", "vagina", "boobies", "handjob" and the like must be guarded against with the same vigilance we're dedicating to fighting global terror... Which is another crock of buttered excrement, if we're on the topic, which we're not...

Had a barbecue at mother-in-law's yesterday. Had a lovely discussion (and I use the term "lovely" very loosely) about the dangers of letting gay couples adopt children. Even the 84-year-old grandma chimed in, purely in Greek, to denounce the effect of those toxic gays on poor impressionable young minds. My husband and I attempted to stand up for our homo loving ways, but were outnumbered, so eventually just gave up. To drive the point home - that theirs is a red-blooded, all-American BBQ - several people tried to feed us skirt steak, even going so far as to hold it hopefully in front of our faces. We did not break. We pursed our lips indignantly and munched on the chickpeas and portabellos and potato salad we filled our plates with. There were also crabs and shrimp, and while I tried to partake in that, it was difficult. The shrimp were too big and too meaty, and I was unable to suppress my feelings of empathy for the poor dead creatures. And just imagine how horrible the steamed crabs were! I saw their guts and their gills, and realized once and for all that I'd effectively killed the carnivore instinct inside of me. I used to love munching on ribs and chicken bones, sucking the juices and meat shreds down my throat, but now the idea of it really troubles me. I am made of the same meat and bones as all those other critters, and I don't think I would smile upon being devoured in an orgiastic feast, being boiled alive! My addiction to baked sole filets and smoked salmon will be hard to break, but I'm seriously considering stopping it all together. Then I will be 99% vegan. I doubt I'll ever give up eggs. I'm not a masochist, after all.

In other great news, children's thongs are now on the market and available for mass consumption!

And for those blood-thirsty devils among you, check this out:

Japanesebugfights.com

It was featured in this Maxim magazine left for me in my "editing" cell.

Show Outline

I suppose the best way forward is the truth. They say that it's supposed to set you free, and though that has never been the case in my own life, I'm willing to give it a shot on the air tomorrow to entertain the masses. And by masses, I mean the 5-10 people who listen to my ramblings every Sunday. Whatever. The past however long has been a blur punctuated by various noteworthy yet utterly insignificant events, and by god, I will share them with you whether you like it or not!

First and foremost, what the hell was I thinking agreeing to work at 6 AM at WJFK tomorrow morning?! I was so eager to please, and so stupidly flattered by the offer of some ungodly, unwanted by anyone hours, that I blindly agreed to work them, and now I will enjoy another red-eyed, suicidal day. Everyone at the station congratulated me upon the end of my internship last week when they found out I'd be coming back for part-time work, but what did those congratulations really mean coming from the lips of on-air talent? "Congratulations! I'm very glad that I will never have to deal with your unsettling presence again, you stupid girl. Go and sulk in the background, operating machinery and feeling grateful for even being here like the rest of our happy-go-lucky board-ops."
Well the only problem is that I am delusional, and know in my heart of hearts that I am deserving of respect and glory, god dammit. I don't want to develop the pallor and passivity endemic in the radio techie race. I am a talent! Sure I may not have any movie films to review, and sure I am not a flamboyant homosexual boy with soft hips... but I love to talk into big black microphones all the same. If I were gearing up to do that at 6 AM tomorrow morning, I'd be happy. Instead I'll have to yawn my way through 6 long hours of playing other people's pre-recorded shows from CD's and making sure all the commercials play at the right times. THEN I'll have to drive down the street to another, lesser known, broadcasting facility, where I will have to conduct The Mariya Alexander Show bitter, tired and alone, heard by almost no one.

Since I haven't had the time or energy to book any guests, or plan any of what they refer to in the entertainment industry as "bits", my plan for tomorrow's show is going to be an honest hard look at my sad little life. Much like in the real thing, I will be alone. The room will be dimly lit, a little cold and musty. My hair will be a wild mess, and my thoughts will flow out over the cable and internet "air" waves like the pungent smells wafting through a hallway of an apartment building heavily populated by ethnic peoples. Like those odors, my words will disturb and displease many, but will be noticed and remarked upon by any who come across them.

Talking points for tomorrow's show:

1) First ever photography commission leaves me paralyzed by fear and sheer awkwardness, as it was given to me by very friendly, younger acquaintance of husband who creates these types of situations to cement a stronger friendship between us and him and his significant other (We like them anyway, is the thing)

2) Working at a hair salon has made me begin to rethink my whole "women are just as cool and funny and smart as men" stance. I can at least say with certainty that the current generation of late 40-somethings to 60-year-olds are forged in the depths of hell by Satan herself. Not that it really matters, but I am prepared to name names and reveal the most awful perpetrators of crimes against youth and beauty.


3) Emotionally ill loved ones - how to cope when you can't get dope. (AKA The split personality husband)

4) Proactiv - another gimmick that left me with huge painful zits bubbling under the surface of my tortured skin.

5) Being a size 0 but still managing to have fatty thighs and calves. What the hell?

6) Paying someone for the chance to do a migrant laborer's day's work in the strawberry fields: the benefits there of.

7) Feeling lonely and isolated even in the cyberworlds of MySpace and Facebook.... How does one throw decency and consideration out the window and boldly coerce people into doing what you want them to do?

All that and much much more on this week's edition of
"The Mariya Alexander Show"!!!!!

Listen live, Sundays at 1 PM!

http://stations.swcast.net/urbancowgirl777

DC Comedy

Blessed be the baby Jesus for letting me get out of work early today and take advantage of this beautiful, sunny day dedicated to the tragic demise of many fallen war heroes. I honestly can't believe how many people I heard saying "Happy memorial day!" to one another today. It's disgusting.

But since I don't care about people or memorials or wars, I'm getting ready for the first official outing with my newly 21-year-old sister. We're going to hit up an open mic comedy night in Adams Morgan, hosted by some of the lovely folks from http://dccomedy4now.blogspot.com . I am desperately trying to cling onto the few acquaintances I've managed to make in the DC comedy scene, because let's face it, if there is any scene to be a part of, the comedy scene is the only one where you can actually make fun of people for being pretentious, so I like it. The rave scene, my former stomping ground, was full of phonies (myself included), but no one was too keen on having that pointed out.

Comedy rules. Maybe if I get drunk enough I'll get up and say a few disparaging words about myself.... outloud this time.

.......

The best part of today has been that I didn't have to leave my cats alone all day. I slept in, foregoing the internship in honor of the anniversary of my birth, and cuddled with my babies. Then I watched them watch the birds and chipmunks and bunnies gather around the feeder we put in the backyard. They made quiet little squealing noises from excitement at seeing so many living creatures at once, and watching it all made my heart melt time and time again.

The faint aroma of imaginary success

Doing the show on my own this past Sunday was liberating, and by all accounts was decidedly better than every other show I had done with the former co-host. My comedian guests, Ian Salmon and Sarah Newell, were fabulous and very generous to spend their time with me on Sunday after doing a huge gig the night before - a Def Comedy Jam event! Look these people up on MySpace, they're really nice and fun, and overall I was very very happy with how the show went. I need to upload it for sure. This one I am actually proud of, minus me stumbling over the very long call letters and legal ID of the station at the opening of the show. It just sucks not having almost any time to dedicate to serious production work. It should already be edited and ready for your listening pleasure, but I am so tired, I can barely dress myself in the morning.
Which brings me to my next point. As much as I honestly heart the Junkies, and Bret O, and pretty much everyone at WJFK, I don't know how much more of this schedule I can take. My internship is officially done in a few weeks, so naturally I would like to have a sit-down with the PD and see if they can make any room for me at all there. I can't imagine not ever seeing any of the wonderful people I've met at the station. The thought of it really makes me sad. But come on, waking up at 3:30 AM three times a week for FREE?! I mean, if I can at least get some paid hours at the station, I could cut back more at the salon and live more like a human and less like a zombie. We'll see what happens. Maybe I'll become the most hated Junkette! Ha ha ha.

Whatever, it's time to brag. A famous person who may or may not have appeared on the show in recent weeks called me today! He actually called me! I am honestly floored by how kind and wonderful and cordial people can be, when you least expect it. Am I retarded to hope for an actual long-term friendship? Every time someone expresses any form of liking me, my first response is to laugh in my own face. But why the hell not? Total retards go around liking people and being liked back, so I deserve a little bit of love and respect too, and it might as well be from well-known public figures. Maybe if I got more of it as a sickly infant, I wouldn't feel so doubtful about it all now... Yes, it all comes back to the mommy issues. Wah, wah, wah! No, but seriously.... When I think about the fact that my mom got married and knocked up with me by age 20, I just feel bad for her. I really did ruin her life. No wonder she pawned me off to my grandparents for much of my baby-hood so she could at least finish college. She claims she's happy, but I know that when my birthday rolls around on Monday, AKA Cinco de Mayo, she will remind me once again about how the labor almost killed her. She just can't help herself. I know it was traumatic, but I can't spend my entire life feeling guilty for existing. Or maybe I can. My guilt levels are always at a nice, steady level, peaking in the red during holidays.

This coming up Sunday, another really funny local comedian will join me in studio. I met him at a bar downtown. His name is Peter. Before I even knew he was a comedian, he made me crack up while serving us drinks. He made fun of yuppy people in the neighborhood who call their children Dylan, Declan, Madison, and Carter without any provocation, without thinking twice that perhaps MY name is Dylan, Declan, Madison, or Carter. I liked that about him. He just knew it would make us all laugh. He made fun of us too, right to our faces. I respect that kind of person. So anyway, he'll be my guest and it's guaranteed to be a great show!

cringe

What a disaster this last show was. I feel truly embarrassed, and wish I could erase the day not only from my own memory, but from the memories of those unfortunate souls who chanced to hear the debacle.
Despite several warnings and pleas to my former co-host for proper, professional conduct, he hi-jacked the show and took it completely off the rails with his vulgar, simplistic, and completely out of place comments. The charm of working with him at first was that he was quiet and only spoke in response to my topics. I had always liked him during school and enjoyed the audio projects he created, so when I first thought of working with him, I couldn't even suspect that he would turn out to be such a loose cannon. Well, that's exactly what he was. He interrupted me, our callers, and made me feel truly comfortable. I wanted to cut the program short and run away crying, but alas, I had to sit there and wait it out. He was probably just excited and couldn't control himself, which is bad... but what if he ultimately doesn't care that I'm the one that created the show, and that he has to recognize his place in the scheme of things? That's much worse, isn't it? He just wants to do what he wants to do, and say the things he likes to say, which are pretty much too absurd and too foul even for me.

For the love of the baby Jesus, please tune in next Sunday and give the new and improved show a chance! There will be guests, there will be calls, and I'll actually try to round up prizes for anyone who even bothers to participate in the show interactively; i.e. calling in, e-mailing, supporting in any way. There will be no more wild, overbearing co-host. Only the strangely addicting phenomenon that is me ;-)

But the truth is I feel awful and nervous. I don't like conflict of any kind, so writing the email breaking off the on-air relationship was very difficult. I wish him all the best of luck, but I just know that I can't wait around for him to mature as a performer. I honestly hate this feeling. This is how it felt when I would first start dating someone and then realize within a day or two that he was creepy, while he was completely oblivious and thought things were going great. The break-up would hit him completely out of the blue, and after that point all the affection he felt for me would turn into bitter resentment. That's what I hope doesn't happen now. Enough people out there hate me already.

*sigh*

The Mariya Alexander Show - Episode 2

Join me tomorrow, Sunday April 13 @ 1 PM for another exciting hour of The Mariya Alexander Show featuring The Incredible White Bean aka Chris Green.

Is Barrack Obama really a long-legged mack daddy? Would you be a pedophile for a day if it meant you made someone's dying wish come true? Don't the poor women in Darfur deserve to not be raped and tortured as they forage for fire wood? (This one is serious.) There is no topic we won't cover, and no body part we won't expose as we court the attention of our fickle, barely there audience. Tune into:

http://stations.swcast.net/urbancowgirl777

or, if you're a resident of Fairfax County you can catch us on:

Cox channel 37
or
Comcast channel 27

every Sunday at 1 PM !!!!

If you have a charity or creative endeavor you'd like to promote, or if you have a great idea you'd like to hear on the fake radio, OR if you have no life and the generosity of Mother Teresa and simply want to help out with promotion and organization, please leave a comment or email me: mariyamedia@verizon.net.
Angry redneck stalkers need not apply. Stalkers of other varieties possibly welcome.

Uncle Sam is a selfish bastard who only cares about himself

I was late for my internship at WJFK on Monday because it took forever to get our taxes done. My poor grandma didn't realize what a circus she was in for. "You'll be out of here in like 40 minutes," she said, but NO DICE. With five W-2's between the both of us, as well as two 1099's from Thanasi, we were there until like 11, trying to knock down the monster debt to something a little more manageable. This meant I didn't fall asleep 'till like 11:30, which led to my not even reacting to my alarm when it rang to wake me up at 4 AM. I woke up in a panic about 5 minutes before the Junkies went live, and called Bret the producer, and of course, always being the sweetheart that he is, he said it was "Cool". I wonder if "cool" really means "I don't give two shits whether you're here or not, your presence is felt so little". I rushed over there anyway, with ragged hair and almost no make-up. I felt really out of sorts all day.

After listening to my show on Sunday, my parents complained that I made them look bad by confessing to the audience - all 10 of them - that we were very poor when we came to the US and that I had horrid, mis-matched clothes from thrift stores and the salvation army and kids made fun of me. In fact, they accused me of lying and exaggerating, claiming that I never wore second-hand clothes. It's amazing how little they remember about those times. I know they were busy working and trying to improve our situation, but my sister and I DID live through some frightening times. I even have a shirt that we got at some thrift store, or that the Jewish Community Center donated to us, still folded in my closet. I still wear it sometimes! My mother demanded I show it to her as proof, but I know that they won't acknowledge the fact that I was a complete and utter loser, mostly through no fault of my own.
"But we brought over our own clothes with us, that we bought in Turkey and Italy when we used to travel for our business back home!" they said defensively.
Yeah, well, the problem with those clothes was that they looked absolutely nothing like what the American kids were wearing, probably because everything I had was meant for adults, hung strangely on me, and by that point was obviously outdated. Every time I see old photos, I literally cringe, and I got to do a lot of that on Sunday! My parents are in the middle of remodeling their entire house, so all my old albums and yearbooks have resurfaced. I'll try to scan in some photos sometime soon so everyone can see what the fuck I'm talking about! It isn't a joke. I'm traumatized, damn it! And the yearbooks are the worst. All the inane, superficial comments, just so we don't have to feel alone... *sigh*

Oh well. Life sucks. Feeling alone is a permanent state of mind for me and I've come to accept it.

So, like totally K.I.T. and H.A.G.S. y'all!

HURRAH!

The first broadcast of the Mariya Alexander Show featuring the great White Bean AKA Beanus W, was a stellar success. This is especially true considering that I ran the board, fired sound effects and clips from a CD instead of a handy sound effect machine, and that we really didn't have the opportunity to practice or really plan anything major due to Beanus' circumstances with jobs and finances. We even had some phone calls! Of course my mom had to call in, even though she was so nervous, she just stammered her way through it and hung up quickly; and Emily from the salon called in, baby Jesus bless her heart; but otherwise the calls were from actual random listeners! A guy in Canada somehow stumbled upon the webcast, and a local woman also called, as did another girl whose show comes on after ours, and all to tell us that we didn't suck! Well, I can promise that next week we will not suck even more. We're going to get together and plan bits and topics, and do a better job of promoting. I waited until the last minute to let people know to listen because frankly I almost didn't want everyone to judge it in such a raw state, but I don't care anymore. It is what it is, and compared to the garbage that dominates most of the airwaves -on commercial and underground radio stations alike - our show definitely stands out. We aren't a "buddy" show with two brain-dead, identical clones talking about getting drunk together and hating people, we aren't uptight NPR-like drones who care too much about "issues"... We're just fun people who like gay pandas!

I DID mess up by arming the recorder and then not actually recording our show, so that sucks. I wanted to put it up on YouTube, but now everyone will have to wait until next Sunday to hear us live. I'll definitely make sure and record that one, so that should be up on YouTube and maybe MySpace? I guess now would be a good time to get some sort of podcasting site membership too. I'm so retarded at this part. I need a publicist and a producer! Any volunteers? We can't afford to pay you, but you will feel loved.

Also, if you have a band, or maybe you're a blingin' rapper, or maybe you have an interesting fetish, or just about anything at all that can make for good radio, please give me a holler. =)

Ta ta for now. It's time to go to Grandma's house so she can do our taxes. That's right. I got people.

"We will restore chaos..."

I found the most incredible British website with the most extensive collection of Bush-isms ever! They have clips that American media either missed or purposely chose to ignore, and they are all hilarious! I always knew Mr. Prez wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed - though a tool to be certain - but I have never ever ever heard anyone talk such gibberish in such a comical manner! There are clips in which it's not even possible to get a gist of what he's trying to say, that's how garbled his thoughts are. Congratulations America. You have officially elected a mentally retarded man to be your leader. Time to smoke him out! ;-)

So speaking of places you can hear such funny audio clips and more, my show proposal did get approved by the program director at Fairfax Public Access, so now I am waiting for a time slot to be assigned. I just received the letter on Saturday. I'm pretty excited. Good thing I've been spending every free moment stalking the internet for audio content and interesting stories. The Mariya Alexander Show will prevail - you mark my words, oh haters and silent admirers alike!

On the personal front, Janey's visit home was too short for how ridiculously saturated my schedule is. I really only got to hang out with her a day and a half, and naturally, we spent the last part of that time bickering. As soon as I picked her up from the airport on Wednesday afternoon, I had to run to work and stay there until about 8:30. And that's after already being up since 3:30 AM and doing my time at WJFK. It really is amazing that anyone could question my devotion to the station and to the show. I get up at the most ungodly hours to go work for FREE. I ASKED to be assigned to this show too. I could have chosen a different show to work with when I applied for the internship. I could have had more sleep. I could have had some semblance of a sex life. (Yes, unfortunately there has been a temporary drought for the past week, due to utter exhaustion.) I wanted to work for the best show at WJFK, though, and so here I am. Hate if you must, but I am anything but ungrateful and un-dedicated.
Boy, how I digressed! Anyway, so Wednesday went by, and Thursday went by even quicker. I worked all day, 9 AM until about 8:30. Then Friday it was back to the radio station in the morning, and then back to work at the salon in the afternoon. At least Janey and Thanasi and I had time to grab some lunch at Ri Ra before I went to work on Friday. Ri Ra is THE BEST Irish restaurant ever, by the way! Even their vegetarian options are delicious and flavorful. I always feel like restaurants don't even bother with trying to make their veggie dishes taste good - they just have them to be politically correct. This place, on the other hand, infuses each dish with flavor and fresh ingredients. And the waiters are so cute! I have a weakness for the Irish and their sexy accents. If you do too, go to Ri Ra in Bethesda and enjoy!

Now for the pay-off of this whole entry. If you've read this far and managed to stay awake, stay tuned just a bit longer, because my life is the most awkward, painful experience ever! So remember how I mentioned that I liked the nice Japanese girl who applied for the receptionist position? Well, as soon as I began to train her, she turned into that little creature from "The Grudge" and started to scare the living shit out of me and everyone at the salon. It really is surreal how I attract the most crazy of the crazies. Within a couple hours of being at the salon ON HER FIRST DAY, she began going for breaks every 15 minutes or so. She kept complaining of being tired and having a headache. Then she asked if it would be alright if instead of coming in at 9 AM when she's supposed to actually be there, she would come at 9:30. I said that no, that would not be alright because we hired her to work specific hours and she said she could do it. So then she confessed to being on several strong psychiatric medications which often prevent her from waking up at a decent hour in the morning. I tried to keep my composure and be encouraging, but frankly I knew right then that her time with us was to be short-lived. She then continued to regale me with stories of parental abuse and long stays at mental hospitals. Then, to top it all off, when I asked her to pick up the phone and start confirming appointments, she looked me dead in the face and said "Oh... I'm scared... I have really bad phone anxiety." Talk about lying at your interview! This girl may be crazy, but she was smart enough to lie to us and convince us that she had at least some basic social skills. We just thought she was foreign and cute with her accent. Turns out she's just off her rocker and can't even control the inflection of her voice because she's so disconnected from how normal humans interact and behave. She asked me in her high-pitched voice "Mariyaaaaaa, whaat do I doooo if I really liiiiike someone but he doesn't seeeem to liiiiike me at aaaalllll?"
"Who is this someone?" I asked her. "Someone you went to school with? How do you know him?"
"He's just some guuuuuuy that works at Trader Joooes. I reaaallly like taaaaalking to hiiiiim, but a coooouple of daaaays ago I toooold him abooouut a psychooootic episooode I haaad, and heee called me a psyyyychoooo." (She really draws out her vowels like that)
What the fuck was I supposed to say to that? That was her second day at work, and at that point we had all had enough. The clients were afraid of her, all the stylists were flabbergasted by her, and so the salon owners told me to call her and let her down gently. The salon environment and the extremely social, busy, PHONE-oriented work it involves simply wasn't right for a phone-phobic, episode-having freak. I really actually liked her on a personal level - she entertained the hell out of me and was so deferential that I could have really gotten used to having her around to cheer me on. But alas, I did what I had to do. I called her, couldn't reach her, so left a polite message on her voicemail telling her not to come in the next morning.....
That night (Friday), as Janey and Thanasi and I were chilling out with some beers and queers (okay, no queers), my phone rang at about 11:30 PM. It was HER! Boy, all that depressive niceness went right out the window! She was suddenly fierce!

"Whaaaat am IIII suppoooosed tooo dooooo?! Thiiiiis is veeerrryy unfaaaaaaair! I aaaalreeeeaaaaady quiiiiit my ooother joooooob. I waaaaant to seeeeee a coooopy of the emploooooyment contraaaaact!"

Contract? It's some shitty hair salon! She filled out an application, not a contract! No one owes her anything. It even says on the application that the company reserves the right to fire anyone at any time for any reason, and she signed it! I tried to explain all this nicely, gently, but she was relentless. I've never seen or heard anyone fight so fiercely against being fired. Finally I had to basically cut her off because I was beginning to nod off. It was late! I quickly said good-bye and hung up, cursing myself for giving her my cell #, and praying that she wouldn't find out where I live. Janey, my darling little sister, had a Japanese stalker once -a virtual stranger that became obsessed with her and showered her with gifts and late-night suicide calls. I remember this lasted for years. I don't have time for something like that right now.

On Saturday I had to work all day too, 9-5. This day flew by quickly, though, and brought a final solution to all our problems. I don't mean final solution as in the eradication of all the crazy Japanese girls, but rather as in the hiring of my dear friend Jenn to work at the salon. It just so happened that she left her old job a day or two before, and the timing couldn't be more perfect! The owners and the stylists really liked her, so we put her to work immediately after the informal interview. I could finally relax and cut back on my hours like I've been wanting to do!

After work on Saturday, we had to run to meet my parents for dinner at Tara Thai. We hadn't seen them in weeks, and they really wanted to at least get us all together while Jane was in town. It was a regular old dinner with my folks - slurping, burping and overeating (mostly my Dad's accomplishments). It was yummy and fun nonetheless. I love the casual relationship I've always had with my parents. We can literally talk about anything - sex, drugs, rock and roll - nothing makes them blush. So as we were sitting there and having a great time, Thanasi suddenly tensed up as he looked out the window.

"Oh shit, here come my mom and sister!" We all started acting like awkward teenagers trying to avoid someone - looking down at the table, whistling, shifting around in our seats. Then we realized that we were acting like jerks - we couldn't just avoid my husband's mother and his sister no matter how badly we wanted to. We ambushed them at the door and greeted them a little too warmly and enthusiastically. We forced them to join our table, even though we were half-way done with our dinner, and they looked like they wanted to cry and run away too. Everyone tried to make polite conversation, but I could tell we were all dying inside. So just as the waitress brought out mother-in-law's and sister-in-law's main course, my husband and sister and I did the best possible thing. We got up and left. We had to leave anyway - we had a friend's dance performance to catch at Joy of Motion, but the timing just couldn't have worked out better and funnier. My poor parents! My poor mother-in-law! They were left to navigate the murky waters of forced small talk on their own. I only wished we had a way to watch the whole thing come crashing down after our departure. I can laugh about it now, but I honestly almost fainted from anxiety.

The dance performance was an adventure too! It was a showcase of all the different dance styles offered at Joy of Motion, with each class performing a choreographed, complicated number for our amusement. With evidently no standards for any prerequisite level of expertise to participate in this show, you can imagine how hilarious it was to see people of all ages and shapes and sizes gyrate and contort to music together. I could have sworn I saw an old Jewish lady that goes to our salon doing the "jazz hands" and lifting up her skirt to reveal her scraggly legs during a big Broadway number.
The friend we were there to support was good, though. I've been out dancing with her, and already knew I could expect a good show.
Afterwards, her entire group wanted to go out and celebrate. We walked to a nearby bar/restaurant, and everyone spent about half an hour trying to figure out where to sit. We ended up breaking away from the pack and just went to the bar, where I met a pretty funny stand-up comedian/bartender named Pete. He was chubby, he was balding, he was angry - hilarious! I got his email and will friend him on MySpace as soon as I finish writing this epic entry.
And that's about it for my weekend. After having a few drinks, we left the merry group to celebrate and went back to the house. I amazed myself by staying up until like 1 and drinking several more Heineken Lights. I guess I was revved up from all the excitement of watching tutu-clad senior citizens and fatties prance around. I would definitely recommend attending such dance recitals often. They are cheap, if not free, and guaranteed to please!

Janey Poo and other types of poo too

My little sister will be here in about an hour and I couldn't be more excited! This creature has been a pain in my ass for so long, I honestly can't believe how close we've become lately. It's amazing what growing boobs and getting drunk together can do for a relationship. She's the one that has done most of the boob-growing in our family, so I can't take any credit there, but still. My little baby is all grown up! I can't wait to see her.

Today was my first day back at the station since the grand club-fest on Monday's show, and it was uneventful and quiet, which is good. As thrilling as all that attention was - the suggestions to fire me, the name-calling - my racing heart needed a little rest. The good news is that The Big O himself smiled at me and said hello very nicely when I greeted him today, complimenting me on a job well done, so I guess I really can't ever turn down his request for a sandwich as I previously planned on doing. ;-) Also, a friendly member of the custodial staff is now leering at me suggestively and calling me "hot" whenever he sees me. Ladies and gentlemen (mostly gentlemen), I have arrived!

Last night was fun. My dear Jenn came over and entertained me with stories of almost joining a Mexican gang in Cali while Mr. T was teaching his class. Then we ran to Chipotle and darted through the door literally as they were about to lock up for the night. I know all those poor people behind the counter were wishing they could spit into our food. Instead they seemed to have made my burrito extra spicy, which led to unfortunate circumstances during my private contemplation time this morning. How can something be even spicier coming out than it was going in?! Despite this, I just polished off the remaining spicy green salsa (medium by Chipotle's ludicrous standards) with some chips, and expect more pain to come later tonight. I never learn. How do Hispanic and Asian peoples deal with this problem? Are their rectums numb?

meat bikinis

This has really been an exciting day on many fronts. Besides the obvious on-air spectacle - the unveiling of this god-forsaken blog - I also contributed my share to fight racism in the workplace, and even went grocery shopping too! I guess if I make any comment on the weak criticisms I've received from the few unhealthily obsessed fans of the show so far, I should say that whatever somebody's opinion of me personally may be, their comments on my "grammer" are completely out of place. I received a perfect score on the English part of the SAT's, actually scoring in the top 2% of the country, and have never gotten anything besides an A on an essay or paper; so to all the rednecks with their flannel boxers in a bunch over sentences that may be too long for their comprehension: I cannot be deported because I am a permanent resident of these great United States! I endured persecution and prejudice in the Mazerland (say it with a thick Russian accent), and I guess I'll have to keep suffering the same fate here just because I have a sense of humor. So be it. But if I were an overweight, bald man who spent his time trolling online message boards (i.e. the Junkies message board... you'll know him when you see him), I wouldn't publicly announce my hatred of women and completely kill all the slim chances of ever getting laid again. Just a thought.

Anyway, what I really wanted to say was that I just received the funniest email from a girl I recently interviewed for the salon position. We've been looking for a part-time receptionist to cover those precious hours that I'm interning and making so many people so angry, and this really attractive, stylish, articulate young black woman came in for a meeting. I asked her about her work experience, her ability to deal with insanely rich and finicky old ladies, and her answers were very appropriate. She seemed like the perfect fit, except that she said she has a full-time job and is only available evenings and weekends. After the owners and I complemented her and assured her that she would be an asset to our salon, we explained that we would have to call her after we find someone to cover the times I can't be there in the mornings and then would try to find some hours for her. We told her we would call her when that happened and sent her on her merry way. Well today I got a hilarious email accusing us of being racists because it was such a short interview, claiming we were surprised that she was "an African American woman" because she sounded so "Caucasian and professional" on the phone, and that her friend even suggested she contact the NAACP. I just can't help but run into crazies! I explained to her that all of us actually loved her and were upset she wasn't available more hours, but were definitely planning on calling her. I mean, what did she expect? It's a freakin' salon! It pretty much takes a couple of moments to ascertain that someone can successfully answer a telephone and book an appointment, but I guess she wanted us to really delve into the inner qualities and life experiences that would have made her a stellar receptionist despite being a disadvantaged black woman. She wrote back embarrassed and apologized. I sympathize with her hasty display of emotion so badly, I feel obligated to still offer her the job. She and I are sisters in our vulnerability - she is black, and I am a Ukrainian Jew who really loves hip-hop. I doubt she would take it, though, and I don't really want to work with the kind of unstable person who always feels so insecure in her own skin. We'll see what happens. Right now the morning slot forerunner is a Japanese immigrant with a really cute accent. She even signed the application with Japanese characters, which I thought was the coolest thing I've ever seen. As far as I'm concerned, she's hired based on that alone, but we'll see what the owners say after she comes in for a little trial run tomorrow.

Last night's "Family Guy", by the way, was probably my favorite ever. Peter's stroke face was genius.

May the baby Jesus bless you all.

God Knows You Lonely Souls

I'm exhausted - a walking zombie - but alas, I can't sleep without my beloved. He's away at the Torpedo Factory, making art torpedoes... or teaching random people how to sculpt the human nakedness. Either way, he isn't here, and I can't sleep without him. Thus I am caught in a cycle of sleep deprivation throughout the week, which culminates in a completely useless Sunday, when I lay around comatose and feel guilty for not accomplishing something during my long-awaited "free" time. Just like this past Sunday. What a waste.

There are just too many things to think about. I am not the type to know what to do about all of them, so I just sit and think and worry. Or run around and think and worry. I try to chip away, one little thing at a time, and I try to reward myself by allowing tiny moments of feeling good, but mostly I am just scared. But I keep pushing myself to do the pointless things I do anyway.

This Saturday is the last radio production class at Fairfax Public Access. I have to submit my show proposal and then my very own weekly 1-hour show will be bestowed upon me. I want to be excited, but I just feel numb. It's no huge accomplishment, really. No one really pays attention to public access/cable-cast/web-cast little shows, do they? I need a web guru to help me promote. Better yet, I need a hilarious, jaunty co-host, but where is he? I decided that I would definitely prefer a HE, because a SHE would compete too much. I need to be unique. So far I'm doing okay on my own with the little practice runs we've been doing on the air, but come on. How long can I sit and talk to myself before I start to lose touch with reality? I need someone who can at least argue with me a little bit, make fun of my utter insanity. Where could that someone be? Why do all my friends have to be so flaky and/or nonexistent? *sigh*


But enough whining. I really shouldn't complain. Things are moving right along. My internship at 106.7 WJFK is going swell. The guys, the locally famous Sports Junkies, or just The Junkies, as they are now known, treat me great... considering I am a girl. It's just really depressing to be surrounded by so many men and feel their physical attraction to me and their simultaneous indifference toward me in every other regard. They can't even fathom that I may know more than them about the world at large, or that my IQ is most likely higher than their IQs averaged... maybe even put together.. haha. But either way, they have no idea about any of this. All they want to know is when the last time I hooked up with a girl was, and do I prefer to have sperm land somewhere on my body, on my face, or in my mouth. I mean, the very idea that any woman actually likes for sperm to land anywhere near her is preposterous, but whatever. That's the world I am in. Sperm, and sports, and machismo oozing out of every crevice. And honestly, I wouldn't trade it for the world. Okay, I would trade it for the world and many different things in the world, but I wouldn't trade it for any regular office, or retail, or customer service job. And I ultimately really like everyone I work with on a personal level. It's just frustrating to not have everyone immediately recognize my greatness! But why should they? They need to see a finished product of some sort before they can judge me. So that's what I'm doing with this whole public access business. Hopefully some semi-decent demos will be made so that for once I can look someone in the eyes and ask them where they like their sperm.

Lindsay Blowhan

Okay, is it just me or is Lindsay Lohan aging prematurely? Those atrocious "Marilyn Monroe" photos of her do the complete opposite of flattering her flabby, freckly body. She's got droopy boobs, cellulite-ridden thighs, and absolutely no waist! And this is coming from someone who used to think she was seriously sexy! This may piss some people off, but she clearly looked her best when she was anorexic or whatever. Emaciated is the only good look for her. It's that damn rehab, I just know it! They always teach people to replace their "destructive" alcohol and drug addictions with something else. Most people turn to cigarettes and sugary foods, and thus die an even more miserable, untimely death than they would have had they just stuck to the Mary Jane or the peppy nose powder. Poor Lindsay. She has what my art professor husband calls a "peasant proportion" body type, meaning her torso is stout, and her limbs are short and stubby. Is there anything wrong with peasants? I don't think so. I like them as people and appreciate what they do, but do I want to look at them naked? Not usually, no. I blame this debacle on her choice of photographer. She worked with the same guy who shot the original Marilyn series which they attempted to recreate - Bert Stern. The only problem is that technology has since evolved to allow us to completely alter a person's appearance on camera for the better and he is clearly oblivious to it. He is also probably old and senile by now, and in his day fat, butter-guzzling ladies were the pinnacle of beauty and elegance. Someone really should have cautioned Lindsay against working with him. If she wanted to show her ta-tas, either Playboy or Maxim could have done a much better job on making her actually look like a 20-something year old rather than an over-the-hill trailer park mother of seven. That's all I have to say. I hope I never feel compelled to actually comment on celebrity news with such passion ever again.
Check out the photos here:
http://media.nymag.com/fashion/08/spring/44247/

PS. Tune into http://stations.swcast.net/urbancowgirl777

on Saturday Feb. 23 between 9 AM and 12 PM to hear a ten-minute teaser of my weekly radio show, The Mariya Alexander Show.