My Record Cake Collection

The Story of Record Cake

Once upon a time I had a really, really good friend that we’ll call Marvin. In retrospect, I thought more of my friendship with Marvin that he did.

I have lots of friends, so the friend part isn’t really the story.

Anyway, Marvin was a guy and I happen to be a girl. Marvin also happened to have a girlfriend. We’ll call her Betty. I met Betty on a few occasions, but Marvin insisted that Betty didn’t like me and she thought there was something going on with us. There wasn’t.

I find that it makes it incredibly awkward to hang out with your guy friends’ girlfriends when you know they don’t like you hanging out with their boyfriends AND suspect you have ulterior motives. I didn’t.

Let me interject that I’m the kind of person that brings in chicken biscuits from out of town because your favorite biscuit place closed down their local locations. Or maybe I’ll bring you coffee mug emblazoned with your favorite team and filled with M&Ms in their colors just because I had a layover there. I’ve even been known to ship Kroger brand tea to a friend who has moved to a land without Kroger because she’s convinced it’s better than anything else in her market (even though I suspect it’s just one of the few tangible ties she has to her childhood). I’m not saying this to brag, because it’s really a selfish act. It makes me happy to make my friends happy.

Because of said desire to do random things for people, it’s not really surprising that when Marvin and Betty broke up right before his birthday, I showed up at midnight to usher in said birthday with a cake, decorated to look like a vinyl record. A nod to his treasured collection. His cake was, of course, subsequently posted on Facebook, where Betty saw it. Betty wasn’t amused.

Betty, like me, enjoyed tweeting. One day, as I cyberstalked Betty to see if there were any good breakup posts, I noticed that the conversation between she and her friends seemed to be discussing me, my dinner and anything else I had offered up to the black hole that is the internet. They were convinced I had been sleeping with Marvin and blamed me, in part, for their break up. I even had my own hashtag, #recordcake.

I bumped into Betty a lot over the next few months. Apparently, we had a lot in common. After one incident wherein she stormed out of a bar and a few near misses with her friends drunkenly calling me out (which she apologized for), one night I decided to try and talk to her. Slowly, the way you might approach a wild bear if you were so inclined, I walked up to her in a crowded, dark bar.

I explained to Betty that nothing had been going on with me and Marvin and told her I hoped we could at least be civil, since her new regular hangout out appeared to be my “Cheers”. Betty agreed and we became Facebook friends.

We exchanged the occasional friendly post and she offered to cook me dinner and bring me books and trashy magazines after I had surgery. Soon we were making plans for concerts and celebrating birthdays. When my car was demolished by a tree in a storm, she was there to pick me up that night so I could watch a playoff hockey game and drink a much needed beer.

I think everybody on both sides is a little impressed at how close we’ve become. Everybody but Marvin, that is. As it turns out, Marvin was exacerbating any actual tension between the two of us and was probably the only one that thought we shouldn’t be friends. Our regular bartender might actually agree on that point just because we are a lot of t-r-o-u-b-l-e when we want to be.

Last night, I found out that Betty had reprimanded a guy in a bar last week when I wasn’t there and he’d said I’d be pretty if I lost weight. She knows I’m pretty amazing just the way I am. Betty is a pretty awesome friend like that.

Marvin, on the other hand, is now married, which I’m happy for. He also quit talking to me last January when he decided to get serious with the new lady, who I genuinely enjoyed hanging out with for a time.

I could look back on this and be mad that somebody was a crappy friend, or just sad that he and I aren’t friends anymore, but things happen for a reason. I got a cool friend out of the deal and I’ll never be sad that I made an effort to let him know that he was important to me at the time.

The point of this story, if there is one, is just that you shouldn’t hold stupid grudges against, and otherwise judge, cool people just because somebody else says you should; and you shouldn’t let people, even your friends, get away with hurting you, either. That, and I think it’s pretty cool that I had my own skanky girl, home wrecker hashtag.

The point of this blog is just to share the stories. I have a lot of them. They’re all my record cakes.

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Fame Whoring and Growing Up

Yesterday I saw a video of Courtney Stodden (17yrs old) and her loving husband, Doug Hutchison (51yrs old), who is dressed as Santa Claus. Courtney, in typical fashion, is dressed in a tiny red bikini and sits precariously on Santa Doug’s lap while she rocks around and gyrates, in what I naturally assume is a desperate attempt to keep from falling off his lap and into the snow. Brrrr…

Courtney is such a generous girl that she offers to turn the tables and visit Santa instead this year. She wants him to experience the full effect of Christmas and lets him know that she wants to slide down his chimney. What a sweet girl!

In all honesty, I have no idea why they happened to be whoring themselves out to paparazzi, and whoever else was unlucky enough to be nearby on this particular day. Maybe it was for their first Christmas card as a married couple, but I digress.

I fully understand that her parents gave permission for Courtney to marry her “soul mate” at 16, but this is disgusting and it still involves a minor. Even if they were filmed by bystanders as the couple participated in a personal photo shoot, shouldn’t the pictures still be considered to be sexual objectification of a 17 year old girl. Her parents may have signed off on her getting married, but I don’t think they signed her up for underage porn.

I’m not a prude by any stretch of the imagination, but I don’t get why the objectification of children is meeting such little resistance in society these days. It seems that children today are racing to get to what they perceive as adulthood (which seems to manifest itself in the form of skimpy clothes and babies at 16) and too few people are stepping up to remind them that they aren’t going to have any idea what to do with adulthood until they’re much older. My God, I’m 33 and I still don’t have the hang of it all the time.

I wish everybody would just stop pushing kids to grow up so quickly. I, for one, think my childhood wasn’t long enough to begin with.

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If We Only Knew Then

I found this older post written by someone  whose writing I love. It made sense then and makes even more sense this week as I close a chapter of my life.

I wish that when I was younger I could have met my current self. We would have sat down at a coffee shop so that I could explain life to young me in terms that only we would understand. It would have saved me a lot of hardship.

You can listen to all the sage wisdom you want, but things only make sense when you can explain them to yourself in your own words. For instance, I’ve been told for three years that Breaking Bad is the best show on television, but only after I watched it was I able to tell myself exactly why everyone was right. Other truths I know now that I can explain them: that I’m not missing any crucial information and that poker really isn’t all that fun; that heartbreaks do fade but they take about a year longer than you expect and by the time they do you really don’t care about it enough to notice; and above all else, life is simpler than you think.

I used to think that life was an intricate series of levers and pulleys, buttons and switches, Mexican standoffs and hostage negotiations. As I get older I realize that life is more Netherlands minimalist than Jackson Pollock. The problems don’t get fewer, and in fact they grow in number, but the way I index them in the database is different. More problems get filed under fewer category headers.

Things are getting simpler, and it’s making life better. Here’s the cheat sheet:

People want to be liked. We all crave attention and affection and we all reject shame. When we get embarrassed we send a thug version of ourselves to the forefront to do our fighting for us. We’re at the top of the food chain just under fear. We don’t want to be in a relationship to hear the words “I love you,” we want to be in a relationship to say the words “I love you.” We want to feel needed, and exceptional and we hate feeling insignificant. We want to ace a hearing test. We are binary creatures; if we’re the plaintiff, we want to win every dollar. If we’re the defendant, we want guard every penny. We want to make more money than last year. We don’t want to get cancer or die in our cars and we want the same for our loved ones. We go out on weekends to try and have sex while trying not to get punched in the face. We drink so we can be ourselves and not mind it so much. We’re desperate to be understood. We want to know someone else has felt it, too. We hate being judged unfairly. We want to make the person we heard wasn’t all that into us change their minds and admit they had us wrong. We want sunny skies with a chance of killer tornadoes, just to keep music sounding good. We take hours upon hours to admit to self consciousness. We don’t know exactly how to pleasure each other. We just want love. In any and every form.

(via jhnmyr)

Knock him for whatever you want, but the man understands my human experience.

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Pentagon, “It’s ok to be gay, just keep it a secret.”

It’s ok to be gay, sort of.‘ This is what I took away from the announcement that the Pentagon is rolling out new guidelines allowing homosexual men and women to enlist.

Does anybody have any idea how stupid this is? “One senior Pentagon official told NBC News that recruiters were allowed to accept applications from gay individuals, but those who were openly gay would not be permitted to enlist.”

First, how do they know they’re gay if they can’t be open about it? Is there a secret handshake?

Second, you’re only good enough for the US Military if you’re living a tortured life of denial? It’s ok to be gay, just don’t tell anybody? Those are ridiculous messages to send out to any American who is willing to enlist and serve.

NEWSFLASH: There are already members of the LGBT community serving in the military. Frankly, I find it amazing that so many of them are willing to fight for the freedom and liberties of a country that is still denying them theirs.

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What in the hell is going on here?

They look like stoned vampires.

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Birds of a Feather

Within ten minutes, three different friends had posted these three pictures to Facebook. I think it’s pretty clear that I have awesome friends.


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I Have No Fucking Idea What I’m Doing

“I Have No Fucking Idea What I’m Doing’ is easily my favorite blog post ever written. Jenny Lawson is amazing and you should be reading everything of hers if you aren’t already.

My favorite quote from the blog (which could have been stolen from my journal):

“It’s been eating at me for the last week, but I think I’ve finally figured it out.   My five-year-plan is to never be the kind of person who’s stable enough to have a five-year-plan.  It’s technically the same plan I had five years ago, and guess what?  I’m totally on track.”

Read the post: I Have No Fucking Idea What I’m Doing

Read the blog: The Bloggess

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There’s No Crying At Britney

Last night I made the nearly fatal mistake of going to see Britney Spears. I thought it would be fun to transport myself back to the late-90s and hear some fun Brit-Brit. You know, back before she went all crazy and shaved her head.

I was wrong. It wasn’t fun, however, that’s another blog.

What I am still confounded about this morning is the crying girl in the bathroom after the show. There weren’t any straight men there so it couldn’t have been guy drama. It certainly wasn’t because she was overcome with emotion after hearing Britney’s closing song, Till The World Ends (By the way, I just had to utilize Google to see what the name of the song was as it sounded like 75% of the others I heard.). Perhaps she was just very sad because she, much like me after my first Fleetwood Mac concert, had waited so long for this day and it was over, but I don’t think that was it either. My guess is that Nikki Minaj’s opening set gave her a headache, which had blossomed into a full-blown migraine by the end of the night and she was in pain. I hope she feels better today.

I am continuing to cry silently, weeping for the loss of three hours of my life and $16 which would have been better spent on Harry Potter.

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It’s Not Always Noodle Salad

One of my favorite quotes from a movie comes from As Good As It Gets. I’ve always loved Jack Nicholson’s character, Melvin Udall, and his ability to break things down to an uncomfortably basic level. At one point in the movie Melvin, Simon and Carol are on a road trip to Baltimore as Simon is explaining his estrangement from his parents to his travel companions. Carol states that everybody has horrible stories to get over.

Since first seeing this movie on Valentine’s Day in 1998, I have heard Melvin’s reply when I hear people focusing on all the negative that has happened in their life.

It’s not true. Some people have great stories, pretty stories that take place at lakes with boats and friends and noodle salad. Just no one in this car. But, a lot of people, that’s their story. Good times, noodle salad. What makes it so hard is not that you had it bad, but that you’re that pissed that so many others had it so good.

My life has certainly not always been good times and noodle salad, but the past couple of years I’ve been making a concentrated effort to have more noodle salad to make up for the times like I’m having now (not horrific, but not great). I try not to dwell on the negative and I don’t broadcast every bad thing that happens in my life. Everybody is going to go through hardships, some more so than others, but you can’t live in it and it’s definitely not doing anybody any good to focus on everybody who seems to have it better.

There will be adversity. You will be faced with uncertainty, hard decisions and heartbreak. You will be held accountable for your mistakes, people will hurt you and, believe it or not, whether you mean to or not, you will probably hurt other people. In the midst of all of this, try to remind yourself that there are good times and noodle salad to be had, even if you have to make them yourself.

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Girls Just Want To Have Fun

If you’re a girl who grew up in the 80s and haven’t seen this movie, you’ve been slighted in one of the worse possible ways. Girls Just Want To Have Fun (starring Sarah Jessica Parker, Helen Hunt and Shannen Doherty, among others) captivated me at the age of 9. The first time I saw it I was hooked. It was like the cleaned up, non-abortion Dirty Dancing for pre-teens. To this day, I watch it every time it comes on TV and I’m pretty sure the DVD is lurking somewhere in my house.

I remember watching it one night and being filled with a sense of melancholy. I walked out in the our back yard in Austin, Texas, sitting down on the folding lawn chair and crying. A few minutes later my mom was out there trying to figure out what was wrong with me. I told her I was sad because nothing that cool was ever going to happen to me in my entire life.

Twenty-two years later, I think I am destined for something even better. I’m just still waiting to see what that’s going to be.

Girls Just Want To Have Fun – Trailer

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