So it’s gotten down to the low 50s in the last few days (30s overnight!), and in addition to the general feeling that the world has ended, there has been an inordinate amount of Uggs and fur-lined parkas, like we live in freaking ALASKA. Actually, it reminds me of pictures of US Weekly’s “Stars! They’re Just Like Us!” for some reason, where everyone is mysteriously wearing Uggs, a scarf and North Face fleece in LA to go to the grocery store in October. Why, LA, why? This also reminds me: did anyone see the recent picture in US Weekly of Kim Cattrall with a straw jammed into a Diet Coke with the caption “They get their straws stuck!”
Seriously? That’s how far they have to reach? THEY GET THEIR STRAWS STUCK. I, for one, don’t use straws in my cans of Coke, so you can’t fool me, US Weekly!
For the first time in nearly three years, we turned our heat on last night — a first since we lived in this house, and while there was that tell-tale burning of brand-new heat, I also realized I have no idea how to turn heat on without sending us into ridiculous bouts of dry heaving sweat. I woke up this morning to a sickening, bone-dry 89 degrees in our bedroom, which is ridiculous.
This is all well and good and highly amusing, but I have to tell you, I’ve spent the last hour completely and totally distracted by this short documentary on the … well, it’s on the iDollator community. And by “iDollator” I mean the people who are so completely and totally enamored with their RealDolls (And uh, if you’re new to the RealDoll World, please, a warning: NSFW!), i.e. their lifelike, silicone dolls, that they … well, they don’t have relationships with actual people. They take them out, they photograph them, they tell them they love them … and they have sex with them. As a man in the documentary puts it, “I can get attached to inanimate objects. I’m not like most people. I don’t need a real girlfriend.”
Uh, oh my God?
Look, if I stretch my mind wide open, I can see the … appeal of a RealDoll, I suppose. It’s a high level of masturbation, and fine, whatever floats your boat. But this … attachment thing goes so far beyond a mere sex toy, I’m at a loss for words. One man in the documentary brought the camera crew into his bedroom and announced he’d had a “lovely romp” with his … well, whatever her name was (A DOLL) and that she was in there “sleeping it off,” which of course, she wasn’t, because she’s silicone, but further, he changed her face to a silicone sleeping face so that he could pretend that she was. This same man regularly took “family photos”of himself and his two dolls in action doing things like reading the morning paper and doing the crossword puzzles.
And I’m going to apologize right now for my next statement, but one dude in the documentary is shown cleaning out the silicone nethers of the doll with a toilet brush, announcing, “She was starting to smell like fish.”
Hold me.
I’m sorry for suggesting something that is not only vile and strangely riveting, but will also suck up 46 minutes of your afternoon. But I have to tell you, please bookmark that site right now, because it’s creepy, sad and one of the most fascinating things I’ve ever watched. Plus — and I might be paraphrasing here — you get to see a doll repairman lament with total sincerity, “This vagina is totally blown out and I am fresh out of vaginas!”
Happy Friday! Whoo!
*Regina Spektor
January 3rd, 2008
See you later, 2007! Thanks for kicking my ass all over town!
Am I the only one who’s glad to see it end? Perhaps it’s better stated that I’m excited for 2008. Last year wasn’t awful, but it sure wasn’t the best year of my life, and to make matters worse, it ended on one of the most irritating notes possible — this note unfortunately involves family (in-laws!) and a “small favor” for them that turned into a two-day MiseryFest involving U-Hauls and movers and cleaning up an inordinate amount of garbage that I did not generate. I’d share more, but … well, mostly I’m afraid I’d go a little inappropriately buck-wild with the venting, which is unfair to everyone involved. I will get over this. I will!
(Also, and I’m writing this in a whisper: my in-laws moved kind of far away.)
Ahem. Anyway, did you have pork and sauerkraut to start off the new year? The Pennsylvania Dutch believe it’s good luck if it’s your first meal of the year, and though I did not usher in ’08 with sauerkraut, I did have ziti with sausage and peppers. I don’t think, however, that it counts, but given that it is infinitely more likely that twelve naked nuns will arrive on my doorstep fresh from Calcutta to offer above-asking price for my house than it is that I would get Adam to suck down some Silver Floss, it will have to suffice.
Although a random side note: I did notice that the sausage I broke apart for the ziti sauce was made with sheep casing, which: um, ew? EW? Or should I say EWE? (HA! I kill me!) This is the kind of information that would turn me into a vegetarian, but frankly, I couldn’t do it, and under normal circumstances, I have no desire to become one. I like meat a little too much, and while today, the baa-baa-casing is sending me into gaggy fits, I’ll forget about it tomorrow and will even have a hot dog before the month is out. I am also of the unfortunate variety who craves what she can’t have, right down to a burning relentless desire for McDonald’s the entire time I read Fast Food Nation.
Anyway, after more than a week away from work, I’m about as excited to go back tomorrow as I would be for a 5 a.m. root canal, although on second thought, the latter sounds more appealing, because at least it’s followed by an afternoon spent with soap operas and ice cream. This is just a wild guess, but I’m assuming that my day tomorrow will not be in any way touched by soap operas or ice cream, unless you consider an ongoing war with the multifunctional copy/fax/whatever machine to be soap-worthy. (“The copies are coming out of the right end! The copies are coming out of the right end! MON DIEU!”)
(Am still cracking myself up with bad jokes, I’m sorry. I’m punchy, and have also had wine.)
Back to 2008 — I’ll tell you one thing: it is bound to be full of change, and it both excites and terrifies me. Adam and I desperately need change, I think, in order to survive the coming year — not with each other, but from external forces, in other parts of our life together. Where we live, what we’re doing, who will be joining us (Maybe a baby? No one knows yet.) (Nope, not pregnant. A year is a long time!).
Growing up, I moved around a lot, shuffling between homes and would-be step-parents at the hands of divorced, highly mobile — and eligible! — parents. As a result, I’ve spent most of my life craving stability — one house, one town, one job — to the point where I am truly shocked at my willingness to try new things, new jobs, new states, new homes. I am often the very definition of risk-averse, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned moving many thousands of miles away from home to a hot, unfamiliar southern outpost — a move that, by many definitions, is an ongoing failure on multiple levels — it’s that risks are almost always worth it, even if the rewards turn out to be unlike anything you anticipated or even wanted.
Here’s to 2008, and all its surprises. I, for one, can’t wait to see it all unfold, and that’s an unexpected reward in itself.
*Sara Bareilles. I told you! Told you! I can’t stop, and it’s embarrassing.
January 1st, 2008
