For Real This Time

Park Slope studio.
October 1st.

Operation Escape From The Ghetto: SUCCESS!

Exposed brick, mothafuckas!!!

Observation

I'm so much more productive when I can wear my Converse in the office.

Zero Grounds

I'm too lazy and pissy right now to re-type all of this and lay it out in proper blog format, but if you were curious as to my strongly-held opinions regarding Park51 — the infamous "Ground Zero Mosque" — you may observe them here, on this badly-done MS Paint reproduction of the forum in which I do all my serious political debating: Facebook.

[Click to magnify to normal reading size. Selected comments unrelated to the outcome have been removed.]

The link to the original story may be found here.

(Also, in case you were wondering, that's Miss Kazakhstan during the national costume portion of the Miss Universe pageant in my avatar.)

Black Swan

Speechless.

God Damn Glam Nation

I know I have been sorely lax in writing up my Adam Lambert concert experience, and to those of you who have been waiting, I apologize for that, but there is almost no way to condense into words what spending 3 hours doing elaborately dazzling make-up and dressing like a Vegas showgirl high on peyote; 6 and a half hours standing on line in the middle of Times Square in 90 degree weather surrounded by frothing fans and curious tourists taking my picture; 2 hours lost in a crush of chubby teenaged girls who are seeing the show for the sixth time and delusional, far-too-inappropriately-dressed middle-aged women trying to push their way past said teenagers up to the front of the stage; and only one glorious and over-far-too-fast hour mesmerized by the overwhelming spectacle that is Adam Lambert was like.

I can, however, describe to you how much I hate people. I'm pretty good at that.

After stampeding our way into the theater once the doors were finally opened, everyone rushes towards the stage to claim the perfect spot. And these chicks — because they were mainly girls and women — were flat-out, claws-out prepared to defend their hard-won territory. Ok, that's understandable; after all, we had spent half the day waiting in sweltering heat precisely to obtain such a prime piece of real estate.

But this one woman...

I have no idea who she was or why she chose me, but this 40-something woman in a floral blouse, carrying a purse and a cocktail, decides to stand directly next to me and engage me in conversation. Her opening line is:

"Will you look at all these little girls? They're babies! Who wants to look out into the crowd and see them?"

My immediate reaction is to think, "Who the hell thinks he'd rather see you?" but I push the thought aside and just try to ignore her. After all, I am here to enjoy myself.

Then she asks me if I can hold her spot while she gets another drink. Hold her spot? How the hell do you hold someone a spot on the floor of a general admission show? Especially at the show of someone like Adam Lambert, who inspires The-Beatles-and-Elvis-combined-level hysteria? Yeah, sure, whatever, lady. Just go.

Sure enough, several minutes later I hear from somewhere behind me, "Excuse me...'scuse me...sorry...excuse me..." and my new best friend has pushed her way back to my side. People are giving us nasty looks and I want to explain to them that, look, I am an innocent party to this shit. I, unlike some people uncomfortably near me, have been to a concert in the last 2 decades and understand the rules of standing-room-only ettiquette.

Unfortunately, she tries to chat with me again. I'm texting my mom, who is somewhere up in the balcony, sitting down. I try looking around for her and BFF is all, "Ooh! Who are you talking to?"

"My mom."

"Your mom's here, too? Cool! Where is she?"

"Up in the seat section," I tell her. I don't add, "Where any sensible middle-aged woman who is simply here to enjoy the show and doesn't harbor fantasies of seducing a gay man 20 years her junior should be."

"That's so cool! What's she saying?"

Listen, you nosy bitch... "She says there are some boys making out right in front of her and they're the only guys she's seen here so far."

"OOH! WHERE?!?"

Jesus Christ, woman. I do not want to be privy to your perverse voyeuristic fantasies. I mumble, "I don't know," and go back to texting again so she'll leave me alone.

Me: "Crazy drunk lady down here thinks I'm her best friend."
Mom: "HAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Thanks for the sympathy, Ma.

Crazy drunk lady is now telling me, all conspiratorially, that we're not gonna let ANYONE get in front of us! No way! We can take these teenagers! At this point I am now visibly ignoring her, but she ignores the cues and keeps talking. [ED. NOTE: I almost just typed "stalking" — Freudian slip.]

Meanwhile, there's a 15- or 16-year-old girl on the other side of me yelling to her friend, who is somehow a row of people behind us. "Do you guys want to stand together?" I ask, sliding aside a few inches to let the friend through. "Really? Oh my God, that is so nice of you! Thank you so much!" They are so ridiculously grateful for this small act of kindness that I feel like I just handed them both a winning Powerball ticket.

But then this bitch has to ruin it. "Hey! Why are you letting them in front of you? I thought we weren't gonna do that!"

We? Who is this "we" you speak of, you hag?

The friends are looking back at us with strange expressions now, so I lean forward and whisper, "It's ok. I don't even know who she is."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Oh my God, we thought she knew you! That's so weird."

You're telling me, kid.

The show still hasn't started yet when I notice a little Indian-looking girl with braces standing next to an older man who appears to be her father, a little behind me to the right. She looks about 13 and is about 5'3". She's standing on tiptoe to see the stage. "Can you see from there?" I ask her. "Do you want to move up?" She lights up like I just told her she's going to Disneyworld and turns to her dad, all excited, to see if it's ok. "I'll take good care of her," I promise, and move aside to let her through. She keeps repeating, "Thank you! Thank you so much!" and she looks so happy, I feel like I've been given the Nobel Peace Prize.

So of course, this witch next to me has to ruin it again. "What are you doing?" she scolds me. Then she says to the little kid, "It's a good thing you're short!" What the fuck, lady? She's like, 12! I'm practically cocooning this poor child with my own body to keep my promise to her father, and I whisper to her, too, "It's ok, just ignore her." The two friends look back at us and snicker knowingly.

And again, after all this shit, she then asks me to hold her spot for her while she goes to the ladies room.

Are you fucking kidding me?

The place has gotten much more crowded and I think, there is no way she's gonna find her way back up here if she leaves, so I say, "Sure! No problem," and wave her away.

Thank God. Problem solved.

But no.

Unbelievably, about 20 minutes later, right in the middle of Orianthi's set, I hear grumbling behind me and shouts of "Hey! What are you doing?" and I hear a familiar voice repeating, "Sorry! I'm up there with the girl in the hat!"

Oh, no. You did NOT just insinuate that I have any role in this fucking mess. "No, you are NOT!" I yell back at her. "You are NOT with me! I DO NOT FUCKING KNOW YOU!"

Amazingly, this does not deter her nor impede her determined advance. She actually gets right up next to me again, and PUTS HER FUCKING ARM AROUND ME, like we are fucking partners in crime, and says, completely fucking obliviously, "Hey! I'm back!"

Are you FUCKING kidding me?

I am furious. "Look, lady," I fume at her, "I don't know you. WE ARE NOT FRIENDS! I DO NOT KNOW YOU! And I know Adam is all about love and positivity and shit, but if you do not stop pushing me, I swear to God, I'm gonna start throwing punches."

I'm almost positive I heard someone applaud.

Thank you, Cleveland!

Ouch.

The other night I woke up at 4am, violently ill. There is nothing lonelier or more frightening than being sick in the middle of the night, all by yourself.

Fortunately (I guess), this isn't the first time this has happened to me, so I wasn't quite as panicked. This time, I was past the worst of it and back in bed — shaken, but basically ok — within a few hours.

Last time, I called 911.

I thought my appendix was bursting and I was going to die on my bathroom floor and no one would even know for days and then who was going to feed the cat? It turned out to only be either gastritis or a ruptured ovarian cyst (the doctors' certainty on this issue was really reassuring...), and I was out of the emergency room about 8 hours later. I felt like my stay had been interminably long, but a more seasoned Brooklynite friend of mine was impressed with the turnaround time: "They let you go the same day? How? Did you break out of there with the help of a rogue orderly and a weapon made out of tongue depressors?"

Earlier, though, I had spent most of the ambulance ride crying, from both the sudden, severe pain, and out of sheer self-pity for being all alone. Luckily, in a flash of momentary clarity, I had remembered to grab my cell phone on the way out of the apartment — I forgot my health insurance card, but I remembered my phone — and thankfully, my misery was lessened through an abundance of text message exchanges with my concerned family. Even from far away, they always find ways to remind me how much I love them. This missive from my brother being a prime example:

"Ms. Godan, we have your results, and there seems to be a small family of frogs inhabiting your abdominal cavity. Even stranger, the tests show that one of them is the reincarnation of the late Senator Paul Tsongas."

Just what I needed to hear. :)

Two Things No Woman Should Ever Have To Hear From A Medical Professional (Guys, You've Been Warned...)

1. From an ER physician during a manual vaginal exam: "What is that?"
2. From a comically accented Asian sonographer proffering a probe resembling a very large, lubed-up dildo: "I need you to insert this into your own vagina."

Well, thank God she specified my own and not somebody else's, 'cause that might have been embarrassing...

Signs, Signs, Everywhere There's Signs...

You know, sometimes I'm almost glad that the Westboro Baptist Church exists, purely for the comedic gold of the counter-protests. Take, for example, this priceless interaction caught on film and preserved for posterity:



Or this poetic display, eloquent in its simplicity:



The recent repeal of Prop 8 has served as a spark of inspiration for me, and so it is with great pleasure that I make my gloried return to the highly artistic medium of MS Paint...






I've got like, 9 more of these — stay tuned!

I Give Up, Too

Perhaps I'm being lazy by not actually writing anything and just posting a link, but just as Mr. Stewart lets Representative Weiner "do the screaming for" him in this video, so I will let Mr. Stewart express my utter rage and stupefaction over these actions for me — I couldn't put it any more perfectly myself.

I Give Up

You Are What You Eat

I stopped at Gristedes today on my way home from work to buy Oreos. I walked out of the store with fresh pasta, deli cheese, spinach artichoke hummus, and carrot sticks.

I have no idea how this happened.

I think it may be what they call a breakthrough.

Get Your Facts Straight/Gay/Whatever

Dear Prop 8 Supporters/Sore Losers/Bigoted Imbeciles:

Stop with your stupid "gay activist judge/government interference" arguments already. Prop 8 WAS government interference by "moral" activists and it was overturned because it was UNCONSTITUTIONAL. You know, like, against the law? Like not letting black people sit where they want on the bus?

"BUT THE PEOPLE VOTED!!!" Yeah! And you know what else happened when people voted and it got overruled? George W. Bush. The Florida Supreme Court ruled that its ballot recount was unconstitutional, and Al Gore lost the 2000 presidential election, even though he had won the popular vote. Remember that?

Try thinking of it this way: If enough people voted "yes" to take away your guns, even though it was illegal, would you be ok with it? Or would you riot?

Yeah, that's what I thought.

Get over it,
BeccaGo

Cat Tales

hi. my name is boo. im a cat. im 4 and a haf yeers old and i liv in brooklin with rebecky. sumtimes wen she is buzy or asleep or at work i go on her computer or send text messajes on her fone. today i thot i wud make a blog.

i didnt alwasy liv in brooklin. i used to liv in the country house with dian and bruzza and the skinny one. sumtimes i go bak ther and visit wen im on bacation. i hav to take the trane to go ther. i am very gud and brave wen i am on the trane but i hate being in that fukken bag.

my favrite places in brooklin are the closet and the red chair. sumtimes i try to go in the tub but rebecky doesnt like that. one time wen rebecky was coming home from werk i snuck out the door and got out in the halway. it wasnt very exciting out ther and it smelled weerd. most of the time i just hang owt under the bed.

i like to chase string and skratch cardbord and push pens around on the flor and i like to run around very fast for no reeson. i like to watch survivor with rebecky to and i also watch the fier escape show. in the bacation house i used to watch the bird show and the skwirrel show during the day and the bug show at ni9te but i gess we dont get those chanels in brooklin.

i like to bet on sports games to. im usually pretty acurate with the ncaa brakets but a few yeers ago i lost three humdred bux to the rotwiler in 4J when the red bird teem lost the super bowl. that sukked.

i like to sniff shoes but im afrade of balloons. they make my tale get fat and then i hav3 to hide under the cowch. sumtimes i make rebecky sneez wen i get rite in her face. i dont no why that happenz but it usually skares me too and i hav to hide under the cowch agan. i also dont like wen rebecky puts on the fake wind wen its hot out. its noisy and i can feel it touching me but its invisible like a gost and gosts are skary so i hav to slink down verry low and run past it very fast.

my favrite food is rarbecue and my favrite moovie is Robocop. Robocop is awesum. sumtimes wen i am confused or afrade i ask myslef wat wud Robocop do? i dont alwasy no wat the anser to that wud be but its fun to pretend that im Robocop.

im gonna go take a nap in the lawndry basket now. thankx for reeding my blog.

Talent Show-Off

So, a few years ago I was working as a bank teller (you know, because I have an English degree...) along with another girl my age named Danielle. Danielle was tiny and looked like an anime character and had this great raspy, little-kid voice and crazy, juvenile sense of humor. Upon my hiring, we immediately became best friends.

"Friends" may actually be too mild a word to describe our relationship. More like "co-conspirators." At one point, we weren't even allowed to work at windows next to each other. They actually separated us, like misbehaving kindergarteners. It was awesome.

Danielle and I became friends outside of work as well. Though I am normally terrified of going out with new people, especially by myself, I bravely accepted her invitation to hang out with her and her friends one weekend at Da Funky Phish, a well-known hole-in-the-wall place right near where I lived. In fact, the only reason I agreed to this proposal may have been because I had been to this place before, so I wouldn't be on totally unfamiliar ground. "There's this band playing that I've seen there before and the lead singer is HOT!"

A girl after my own heart.

Though I spent most of the evening perched on a bar stool in the corner as everyone else played pool, it wasn't a total loss: the lead singer was hot. Also, I was introduced to Danielle's boyfriend, Andy. Andy was in a band, too. And oh my...

Stop it stop it stop it — he is TAKEN. And she is your FRIEND. And you don't have many of them to pick and choose from. You will stop this RIGHT NOW!

Oh, but he was pretty...

So hanging out with Danielle became more comfortable for me, as long as she brought along her eye c-Andy. HAHAHA!!! GET IT?!?

...sorry.

Eventually, we started inviting the other girls from the bank to come out with us, and soon it became a regular thing: every Friday night after we closed, we'd hit up the little Irish pub down the block for Karaoke Night. (This did not always bode well for those working the Saturday morning shift the next day.)

Now, you may remember from way back that I am a slave to karaoke. I can't get enough of myself. It's embarassing, really, what an attention-whore I am. But whatever, that's not gonna stop me.

So on one of these girls' nights out, we let some of the boys tag along. Of course, Danielle brought Andy, who also brought some of his friends, all of whom immediately headed for the pool table in the back room. We girls, meanwhile, zeroed straight in on the song books.

I was usually the only one in the place who sang before she got drunk, so while the bank girls were at the bar, I sauntered up to the microphone for my rendition of the Fugees' rendition of "Killing Me Softly."

As I got going onstage, Danielle made her way to the pool table with Andy's drink. Now, according to Danielle's version of events, relayed to me later in the evening, he then says to her, "They should really turn down that background music. You can't hear Becky singing."

Danielle replies, "That is Becky singing."

Andy looks up from the pool table, drops his cue, rushes up to the stage to verify this claim, turns to his girlfriend and says:

"Damn. I want to fuck her now."

Ladies and gentlemen, to this day, I still consider that statement one of the highest compliments I have ever been paid.

Thank you, Cleveland!

NERD ALERT!

Yep, this is how I spend my weekends...

"EINSTEIN'S RIDDLE"
There are 5 houses on a street, each a different color. A man of a different nationality lives in each house. The 5 owners each drink a certain type of beverage, smoke a certain brand of cigarettes, and own a certain kind of pet. No owner has the same pet, smokes the same brand of cigarettes, or drinks the same beverage.

GIVEN:
1. The British man lives in the red house.
2. The Swedish man has a dog for a pet.
3. The Danish man drinks tea.
4. The green house is to the left of the white house [NOTE: the reader's left].
5. The owner of the green house drinks coffee.
6. The man who smokes Pall Malls has a bird.
7. The owner of the yellow house smokes Dunhills.
8. The man who lives in the middle house drinks milk.
9. The Norwegian lives in the first house.
10. The man who smokes Blend lives next to the one who has a cat.
11. The man who owns the horse lives next to the one who smokes Dunhills.
12. The man who smokes Blue Master drinks beer.
13. The German smokes Prince.
14. The Norwegian lives next to the blue house.
15. The man that smokes Blend has a neighbor that drinks water.

The question is: "Who has the fish?"

Your time starts...NOW!

Good God, Someone Help Me...

This is not a "real" post but I feel the overwhelming need to share it with someone because it's like in that movie The Ring where the only way to save yourself is to get someone else to watch the video and pass it on to them and I'm pretty sure I need to do something like that because FOR THE LOVE OF GOD I CAN NOT STOP WATCHING THIS:

Something So Outrageously Hot It Has Invaded My Very Soul

Please refer to this post while I take a moment to recover...

Good luck, and Godspeed.