Zombie Hutch

I didn't want to leave my last angry, whiney, and worst of all generic post up at the top of the blog for this long, so I'll just write a quick explanation as to why I've been so MIA lately.

Hutch is now...a zombie. You may send flowers and donations in her name to the charity of your choice. She died of complications following a brutal month-long battle with what seemed like the common cold, only with super-duper powers of resistance, soul-sucking, voice-stealing, and mind-numbing. As far as doctor's can tell, she choked on a globule of mucous and never recovered. This unfortunate incident was made even more tragic as, despite her death, Hutch lives on. Slowly dragging, making strange gargling throat sounds, waving her arms spastically (a trait that carried over from her short but profound life).

Hutch as portrayed by an Asian lesbian

in the upcoming bio-pic "Zombie Hutch:

If she were an Asian lesbian"

It's a reimagining. Like the Wiz.

The most devastating thing about her passing and yet not passing, is that she no longer has the energy or brain power to create words, much less the motor function to sit down at a laptop and type out witty platitudes like "Beware of exposed vajayjay." Her massive and merry band of followers have scarcely had the strength to go on without their daily (sometimes weekly) dose of Sporadic Sporkitudes.

While Zombie Hutch has shown no interest in consuming the brains in others, she has had the pleasure of passing on this super-strain of cold to others, including family, friends, and co-workers (who may or may not have started it first). So beware if you hear shuffling, Queen Latifah in Last Holiday pre-makeover heels, the nose-blowing that strongly resembles a classic mustang engine firing up, or the asthmatic donkey-like voice as she attempts to go about her human job as a customer service associate. In this position she is able to infect a vast sum of unsuspecting customers who are clearly unaware that they are being serviced by a slowly decomposing corpse. One such client was even gracious enough to provide grapefruits to Zombie Hutch's office, in an effort to cure her and her fellow undead co-workers. They were delicious, but the violent strain lives on in the former blogger and couch potato-enthusiast.

Here she comes in her spiffy but ill-fitting suit and working-mom heels! For the love of god, save yourselves!!!!!!!!! (Might I recommend bathing in Purell and Airborne?)

But seriously you guys. So much mucous. But hopefully I'll fall into a routine at some point with this job and being undead, and I'll resume my regularly scheduled BS-ing.

Allow me to rant a bit...

Today has just sucked (other than spending the first part of it with my wonderful Mama Hutch and fellow gang members). I feel like whining because I should be ironing my new suit and I think I'll avoid that by throwing a colossal hissy fit. A hissy fit, in list format.

1. My throat feels like "death shat on me." (Thanks to my friend Kirsten for that little nugget.)

2. I'm still achey and weak from this dragged-out cold, but I don't have insurance so I'm hoping it's not something more serious than laryngitis.

3. I have no voice because I used what was left of it debating with my dad last night about heteronormative gender roles and feminism. It was already going, and now it's gone. And I have to go to work tomorrow and spend a large portion of the day rasping into the phone.

4. My plane was late, and check-in/security took way longer than usual.

5. Confession: the seat belts on airplanes just barely fit me. I am that reviled, disgusting creature who is so large, she will soon probably be asked to purchase an additional seat which I so can't afford. It's humiliating fighting with the seat buckle, just barely getting it to close and then have it snap open again. When I switched to the seat next to me, it closed just fine. So it wasn't me! But in the meantime, this was mortifying. It's like the time I couldn't get the seatbelt on a roller coaster to close and they had to stop the whole ride to help me. My face was bright red and sweating from the effort. Kevin Smith, I feel your pain. Pray you never have this problem and stick with your new year's resolutions.

6. Because I still am harboring this cold like a fugitive, my ears still refuse to pop, giving me a massive headache and echoing in my ears.

7. Baggage claim took forever. Taxi line took forever. It's 39 degrees in Burbank, not exactly the kind of weather you want to stand out in a thin, joke of a pea coat.

8. When I arrived at work to pick up my car, they told me they almost towed it. Wonderful, thanks for the heart attack, security.

9. Thankfully Stan started (which he doesn't like to do after several days of being neglected), but then when I got out of the front gate, this ditzy soccer mom in an SUV backed into my bumper, literally all up in Stan's grill. I honked at her, but she claimed she couldn't see me. Well you can't see something if you're not looking, honey. Luckily this was like 1 mile an hour and neither us, nor our vehicles were harmed. There will probably be an incident report tomorrow morning waiting for me since it took place on company property, but we didn't want to deal with the hassle.

10. I was so shaken from the accident that I almost rammed into someone else when turning onto the street. And I never am that careless. I hate being honked at. I take it way too personally.

11. So I get home and it's 54 degrees in my apartment and my heater is barely good for raising the temp 3 or 4 notches. Ffffff-reezing!

12. My friend is coming to stay with me for a couple of days until she finds an apartment. I'm happy to have her, but I fear that I will just be a big, old, frozen solid block of crankypants who can't talk and can't listen because her ears have still not popped. Not to mention, I'll be working like crazy to prove that I'm not a slacker at my new job. And there are dishes in the sink and trash piling up and I really don't have the energy to deal with them right now.

13. Oh, I'm still depressed about my grandfather's funeral during which Papa Hutch gave a heart-wrenching eulogy that haunts me to this day.

14. OH and Mama Hutch and I went suit shopping on New Year's Eve, which was miserable because I'm two different sizes and completely out of proportion in many areas. Shopping for something specific as a plus-sized woman at her holiday heaviest is not fun, let me tell you. You'd think every store would carry a plain black suit in every single size, but nope. No they don't. And even with extensive tailoring, the ones I ended up with are both snug and pouchy.

15. One final thing: I'm exhausted because I kept having to wake up to go pee in the middle of the night because I was good and drank buckets of water to get over this black death. Whoever said "Drink plenty of fluids" clearly had an iron bladder the size of the hoover dam.

Ok, I think that's everything that's irritating me. Other than fighting the scam website which totally screwed me out of 200 bucks and AT&T for charging me a massive late fee when they never sent me a bill in the first place. Bollocks bollocks bollocks. 2011 was supposed to be different, Universe. You better get'cho shit together. On the plus side, I did spot a little kid wearing a tin foil hat at the airport, presumably so aliens couldn't read his mind. My team.

Hopefully I'll be in a much better mood for my next post, but in the meantime, Happy Friggin' New Year.

Penguins, Nuns, and The Nintendo Workout

I got a Wii Fit for Christmas, which is basically my mom's way of saying Merry Christmas, now get off yo' ass! (Just kidding, she would never talk like that in a million years). But who am I to turn down free exercise/gaming equipment? So here is how I started my new Nintendo-inspired workout:

This dude is just begging for a swift kick in the ass

with a frozen boot.

1. Turn on Wii.

2. Sit and wait for it to warm up.

3. Wince as the Wii Fit balance board goes "oooooh" at my heft.

4. Walk away as the annoying little cartoon guy blabs about posture and eat some See's candy.

5. Come back and hula hoop until I just can't hula hoop no mo'.

6. Run in place (Then reward myself with more See's candy)

7. Attempt to do yoga, but just get pissed off at the douchey male trainer and the bitchy female trainer. (In the argument over which is worse, douche vs. bitch, the jury is still out).

8. Eat some more See's candy.

9. Put in Just Dance 2.

10. Shake my blues away for an intense 35 minutes, whilst working up a surprisingly good sweat.

11. Congratulate myself with some more See's candy. Boo, all gone!

I don't know if I can keep up this rigorous schedule, but I do know that it's awesome! Gyms should start offering the See's Candy/Wii Fit/Just Dance diet and exercise plan. It will overtake Curves in popularity, if not effectiveness.

Other notable mentions in the Christmas gift category:

Well, they're not Nude, but they do have big guns.

1. Nun Shrinky Dink earrings and a Nuns with Guns cigarette case (which I will use as a wallet), thanks to my big brother who knows me better than I thought he did.

2. A homemade penguin apron courtesy of Mama Hutch (righteous.)

3. A penguin stuffed animal from Aunt Bonnie

4. A penguin mug (from cousin Brittaney via Yankee Trade)

5. A penguin spatula (also from Mama Hutch, I have a thing for spatulas. It's a long and amusing story which I might tell some other day. But it involves the day my first niece was born, a build-a-bear stuffed duck, and a purely ironic expedition to find porn in Ashland, Oregon.)

Pretty spiffy, eh? Check out the fine, hand-crafted Mormon stitching!

When did I become the penguin queen? Sure I like penguins. I have penguin speakers in fact. But I wouldn't say they're my favorite animal. I don't have a favorite animal. I'm not a big animal person at all actually. But I guess if I'd have to pick one, it would be penguins. I can hardly escape them now. Their beady little eyes follow me wherever I go, judging me for eating See's when I should be Wii Fitting. I wonder if it's because I like nuns that everyone assumes I like penguins. They bear some similar characteristics. Black, white and judgmental. Anyway, I'm completely satisfied with this year's haul. And if nothing else, seeing my brothers, mom, and sisters-in-law busting a move on Just Dance for the Wii, was enough to fuel ten Christmases. If we gave my dad enough boxed White Zin, he'd get his groove on too, and then I'd never need another present ever again.

Yankee Trade, Jungle Style

I'm up far too early on Christmas morning, just like the old days. So instead of playing Upwords with my mom to kill time (a 4am Christmas tradition for a few years, because Upwords is so much cooler than Scrabble), I'm going to catch up on blogging. I've been a bit MIA recently, due to the new job (where I was promoted to Santa and pushed around a shopping cart full of UPS and FedEx packages wearing a Santa hat, instead of just logging and organizing the boxes like a lowly elf) and generally being lazy pants.

The other, less jolly reason is that my grandfather just passed away a few days ago. The only upside to lung cancer is that you get time to say goodbye. So my (sometimes) lovable curmudgeon of a grandpa got to go to Disneyland one last time (and gleefully rode the carousel over and over), eat pralines and cream ice cream, and make sure all of his guns were safely out of the house (retired cop, not a psychopath). Everyone has just been exhausted and emotionally drained, but Christmas comes despite heavy life events, so our family will celebrate the only way we know how: viciously and without mercy.

The grand Christmas Eve shindig takes place at our house with all my bazillion aunts and cousins, and various other family members. We have many traditions, like reading the nativity story from the Bible (even though most of us are agnostic/atheist), reciting the "Night Before Christmas," eating Aunt Carole's world-rocking bean dip, and torturing the grandkids by making them sing Christmas carols. My mom will seriously look over from the piano at anyone not singing and give them the elementary school teacher glare until they submit to a third verse of "Oh Come All Ye Faithful." It's awesome. And it's all worth it because the main event of the evening is... YANKEE TRADE!!!!

Yankee trade is known by many names (according to Wikipedia), White Elephant, Chinese Gift Exchange, Dirty Santa (sounds like a porn...), or Thieving Secret Santa. Basically, everyone brings a present, and then you take turns opening them. But if you don't like what you got, you get to steal someone else's. And it. gets. ugly. Every year we argue over what the rules are going to be, should there be a limit to how many times a gift can be stolen, do you open the gift before deciding to trade, if the gift bag is pretty who gets to keep it. And every year we decide on the most ruthless rules. Basically that there are none. Except eye-gouging. No eye-gouging. Gifts range from the silly (I once put in a romance novel called "Desiring the Highlander," tee hee, and last night my cousin submitted Tater Mitts, which also sounds dirty but are those gloves that can peel potatoes in 6 seconds), to the actually awesome (See's candy, the Ellen Degeneres Bluetooth that I won, and more).

My family is hilarious when they play Yankee Trade, because there are always tons of people, everyone's shouting and laughing and arguing but in a pleasant way. My grandpa was exceptionally funny when we played in years past. He did not like having people steal his crap, and to try it meant certain death or at least a good berating. (Imagine trying to take anything from a guy who strongly resembles Marlon Brando circa the Godfather). I used to get just as upset and cry if someone took my gift, so I don't blame him. When I was about 6 or 7, I threw a fit when a cousin tried to steal my minature lantern key chain and gumballs. I still have that key chain to this day, so you can tell who won that battle. This year I ended up with an adorable penguin mug and a beautiful glass pitcher.

After the madness, the jungle mentality wears off and people are nice (sort of) to each other again. Deals are made, candy is shared, and everyone eats my mom's homemade cheesecake. People gradually clear out, since according to Carole, Santa won't come if you're not in bed by midnight. We take that pretty seriously around these parts. When it's just the immediate family, we get to open one gift, usually our Secret Santa present to each other. Then it's off to bed to sleep off the Bailey's and boxed White Zin (classy folk).

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!!

Should be interesting with five kids under the age of five tearing around the house high on sugar and consumerism...

Underrated Classics: Not Since You

While Sporadic Sporkitudes isn't a strictly film-centered blog (I tend to write about whatever pops into my head at the moment, be it amateur plumbing, karaoke, or Kobe Bryant-induced vomit), I am indeed obsessed with movies and enjoy spouting the occasional review of a film that strikes my fancy (see my Underrated Classics series: She-Devil, Brief Interviews with Hideous Men, While You Were Sleeping). A few days ago, I got my hot little hands on a screener of the independent drama, "Not Since You." It has been described as "The Big Chill for the 21st century." I'd say this is a fairly accurate comparison (it's thankfully less depressing but also has a less phenomenal soundtrack.) I will now attempt to give a fair, objective review that stays (mostly) on topic.

Obligatory Poster

The film focuses on an ensemble cast of characters who reunite at a wedding in Georgia nearly a decade following their 2001 graduation from NYU. Friendships are rekindled, relationships are formed and tested, old scores are settled and old scars are healed. The opening credits feature a montage of photos establishing characters and relationships in days gone by. The final shot is of the entire group of friends gathered in front of the former Manhattan skyline. Not only did these people experience the changes and inevitable drifting that accompanies moving on, but their lives were forever altered after September 11th. (I got a chilling sensation seeing this photo because I also have pictures of me on top of the World Trade Center in June of 2001.)

Upon an initial glance at the cast list, I immediately recognized Sara Rue from the short-lived but outstanding show Popular (as well the best line in Can't Hardly Wait, "SHEEP! You...are all...sheep. Baaa."). Another familiar face was Christian Kane, who I just saw in Angel this morning (What are the odds?). And while I didn't remember the name, I was instantly stoked to see Elden Henson, formerly the Bash Brother Fulton Reed from the Mighty Ducks (HECK YES!).

You go Fulton!

Slowly the characters, now a little older and marginally wiser, arrive on the breathtakingly beautiful Georgian estate to prepare for the wedding of Ashley and Daniel (?). I'm not quite sure of the groom's name because the film makes the interesting choice of essentially ignoring the couple getting married. It would have been nice to get to know their backstory, but since we already know how they end up, the narratives rely on the wedding party themselves. After all, that's where the drama usually stems from in the weddings I've been to. Something about the combination of booze, formal wear, and desperation brings out the worst in people.

Sam (Desmond Harrington)

The primary storyline features Sam, a dreamy but wounded lone wolf who remarkably resembles Smith Jared from Sex and the City, who still pines for his ex-girlfriend Amy, who is now married to Ryan (Christian Kane with an unfortunate-looking long haircut. Why do guys think that looks good?) What Sam lacks in personality, he makes up for in smoldering sexual tension with Amy as they get their groove on at the reception. That white boy has some moves! Their chemistry is so palpable that Ryan, nice but ultimately bland, cuts in during an awesome display of competitive male posturing. Who doesn't love that? But other than the ridiculously good casting of compatible actors, this narrative is somewhat lackluster and predictable until the very end. I was pleasantly surprised by the outcome, but I'll spare you the spoiler.

A damn good actor, but why the hair?

It does you no favors. Veto.

The other prominent love triangle involving Victoria, Howard and Billy, was a bit more interesting. Howard and Billy had been best friends until Victoria left Howard for Billy. Years had gone by since the two had spoken. The wedding trapped them all in the same place and provided ample booze to fuel the ensuing fireworks. Howard and Billy end up brawling on the dance floor. Later, Billy tries to apologize and asks Howard to be the best man at his own wedding. Howard realizes that he was holding the grudge for so long because he felt betrayed, not because he was really in love with Victoria. The dynamic between these two former best friends was that they fell out over a girl, who wasn't really worth it. As Victoria herself claims (in the world's biggest cliche), "you're in love with the idea of me." But it's true. Once Howard realizes that, he and Billy instantly fall back into their friendship as if no time passed at all.

I'll say it, I think Sara Rue looked better before.

But she's adorable regardless.

The story I was most intrigued by was the burgeoning relationship of the adorably shlubby alcoholic, Joey (Elden Henson/Fulton Reed) and the chipper Southern belle Sarah (Sara Rue, who looks gorgeous in the film, but I honestly think she was more beautiful with a little more meat on her bones). We find out from the start that Sarah has been waiting for marriage to have sex, but given the right guy, she'd "totally be inclined to expedite her schedule," (great line, by the way). Joey has shut himself off from the world after arriving late to work on September 11th only to watch his office come crashing down. The two of them have a very sweet, somewhat awkward romance. Both are undeniably likable and unpretentious. Their unconventional relationship was a breath of fresh air.

Undoubtedly the best scene was when they play Redneck Golf, essentially skeet shooting with ill-fated clay pigeons and over-sized rifles. The activity gives the film a greater sense of identity, taking place in the South and embracing its heritage. Not to mention, it provides an excellent physical representation of sexual tension, jealousy, and anger. Nothing is more cathartic than shooting a gun for the frustrated and suspicious Ryan. Sarah and Joey bond when Sarah teaches him how to aim. Billy and Howard have one more confrontation during this sequence and the rifles do a great job of ratcheting up the stakes. A gun goes off by accident, startling the entire party and increasing everyone's anxiety.

The loose ends are wrapped up during a poignant campfire scene in which most everyone has reconciled and accepted that though they have changed, their friendship has not (aww!). The bride and groom (in a rare appearance) give everyone a copy of the Manhattan skyline photo in rememberence of the last time they were all together. The next day before once again going their separate ways, they take a new picture to commemorate the eventful weekend.

Awww once more!

Overall, I enjoyed "Not Since You" immensely. The scenery was gorgeous, as was the score. There were memorable characters and unforgettable moments. It was beautifully shot, and wonderfully acted. And while there were some narratives that were a bit predictable at times, I firmly believe that you don't have to re-invent the wheel as long as the wheel you make is a good one. I hope to see more from Sara Rue who is criminally under-appreciated, as were many of the actors who have yet to see their big break. "Not Since You" is available on Netflix, so I'd recommend it for a lazy Sunday afternoon when you're feeling nostalgic about your own college friends and wondering what they're up to.

Aspirations of a Meter Maid

When I was little, the very first job I ever wanted to have (besides jet ski instructor, even though I'd never ridden a jet ski and wasn't sure such an occupation existed), was a meter maid. I remember seeing one their little cars parked on the street in downtown Sacramento and thinking that was the coolest ride ever! I didn't want the Batmobile or Barbie's dream convertible. I wanted a metermobile.

SO FREAKING COOL!!!

I thought I would just drive around in my little car all day and say hello to people. I didn't realize that meter maids are probably one of the most hated professions behind IRS agents and referees. As I grew up and learned to seek approval from my fellow man, this career seemed less and less likely. I can't stand being yelled at, or being the bearer of bad news. But I still wanted the little car. That's when I discovered golf carts. I don't play golf, never plan to play golf, and even mini-golf is boring and difficult. But I knew that someday, I'd drive one. I don't know what kind of satisfaction is derived from driving a smaller than normal vehicle. But I drove a go-kart once and it rocked my world. So imagine my delight when I discover that my new place of business owns not one, not two, but THREE golf carts solely for our discretion!!!!

MINE AT LAST!!!!!

And today I was handed the magical key to these babies. Happy holidays, indeed! I haven't learned to drive them yet, but I plan to as soon as I kidnap a co-worker and coerce them to show me. Violently if necessary. Who would have thought that this job I took to pay the bills would turn out to be the fulfillment of a lifelong dream? The people rock, the work is fun and stimulating, and there are treats everywhere ('tis the season after all)! And did I mention the golf carts? Days just fly by, and so far it's been just fine and dandy. I'm only three days in though, so we'll talk in six months and see how much the golf carts affect my contentedness.