December 27, 2006

The Story of Us

Posted by Miss Jaime at Wednesday, December 27, 2006 6 comments
Nine years ago, a Yahoo! search changed my life.

This was before IMDB and WikiPedia, so if you wanted information -- you had to be a little more creative to find it. I typed in 'Kevin Williamson' into the search engine and one of the hits lead to a website. Nothing spectacular -- a biography, a filmography and a couple of photographs. Though simple, I was impressed by the passion poured into the project, so I did something rather uncharacteristic -- I emailed the webmaster.
He responded and we started communicating via email. In addition to a respect for Williamson, we also discovered we had a lot in common:

We were both 15 (born a day and a month apart).
We both adored the Back To The Future trilogy to near-fanatical proportions.
We were both going through the American high school experience and trying to figure out why nice girls and guys finish last.

Thanks to AOL Instant Messenger, we had some amazing conversations and our friendship grew. Despite our similarities, the idea of pursuing a romantic relationship never occured to either one of us. He had his life, I had mine and the notion of these two very separate lives ever intersecting was pretty unfathomable.

Life interjected as it tends to do and we lost touch for a little while, but whenever we did catch a spare moment and the chance to catch up again -- the conversation would pick up where we left off and was always effortless.

Then, earlier this year, I switched cell phone providers and found myself with a new phone number. I sent out an email informing friends and family of the change and accidently, sent the form email to Dan as well. He responded in kind and not soon afterwards, we began talking on the phone.

As expected, the conversation flowed completely naturally, often ending due to dying cell phone batteries. A few months later, he started batting around the idea of visiting Florida and asked if he could crash at my place. I agreed and we arranged an actual, physical meeting.

I was a nervous wreck at the airport. Hummingbirds were loop-de-looping in my stomach and my hands were carved from fault lines. What if we didn't get along in person? What if he thought I was a complete idiot? What if our quirky chemistry worked on the phone and online but not face-to-face? However, all these fears effaced the moment I saw him walking up. I ran towards him (spilling a scalding latte all over my hand in the process) and gave him a hug.

Less than six hours after he landed, we were sitting at the Hard Rock Bar at CityWalk. I can't remember what he said, but I remember thinking, "I could fall in love with this guy." Startled by this revelation, I shoved it aside, but stuff like that doesn't stay buried for too long.


The next night, we found ourselves laying eye-to-eye in my room. The tips of our noses were practically touching and I was feverishly hoping that he'd throw caution to the wind and just do it. I waited. I waited some more and then, being blessed with a reckless, impetuous nature, I took the plunge and kissed him softly, sweetly and squarely on his mouth. A few seconds later, the reality of my actions hit me and I broke away. I started to apologize for being so rash, but I only got as far as, "I'm..." before he kissed me. A real kiss -- one that makes you feel like you're dissolving into molecules. One that makes you feel like every fiber of your being is comprised of the bubbles in a champagne flute. It was the most incredible kiss I've ever experienced in my life....and it scared the hell out of me.

That kiss amplified the voice in my head that had been growing exponentially louder and louder since being in the Hard Rock Bar. With each subsequent kiss [and there a few], the voice grew louder and louder until it was shouting inside of me like a barful of noisy drunks at happy hour.

The entire next day, I tried to keep it under lock and key. I didn't just want to blurt out what I felt...and of course, that's exactly what I ended up doing.

Before my eyelids fluttered shut for the night, I wished Dan sweet dreams, a good night's sleep and I told him, between yawns, that I loved him. Then, I promptly fell asleep. Five minutes later, the severity of my actions finally caught up to my sleep-addled brain and jolted out of my somnolent slumber. I denied saying it at least a hundred times -- how could I have done this? I spent all day walking on eggshells and biting back my tongue. I had probably terrified this poor guy. He was taking the first flight back to Philly. Oh God, he probably thinks I'm a lunatic. Then, he asked me if I meant what I had said and I couldn't lie -- I did. I was falling completely in love with him.

I guess in my panic and my frantic rush to do damage control, I didn't hear him say he loved me too.

We call it 'density' -- George McFly's nervous mispronunciation of 'destiny' and it knocks me out every time I think about it.

What if Dan had never made that website? What if I had never emailed him? What if he had never emailed me back? What if we hadn't continued talking after our initial contact? What if I hadn't accidently emailed him my phone number? What if he had never come to visit?

A guy that I randomly emailed when I was fifteen ended up being the best thing that's ever happened to me.

It sounds like something out of a movie...and when you take into account who we are and how it all started -- well, that's just perfect.

December 4, 2006

The only thing that matters

Posted by Miss Jaime at Monday, December 04, 2006 1 comments
Being grown up isn't half as fun as growing up.
These are the best days of our lives.

In This Diary.
The Ataris.

Baby, all I want for Christmas is...

Posted by Miss Jaime at Monday, December 04, 2006 3 comments

Three weeks until Christmas and I have no idea what I'm getting. I'm losing my touch. However, I did manage to get the following hints out of Dan. According to him, my present is:

  • Orangish-yellow
  • Four things in one
  • Something he himself would appreciate

I did a Google search based on this information and came up with a cat toy.

He didn't get me a cat toy. He wouldn't have gotten me a cat toy. He can't have gotten me a cat toy.....right?

Yesterday, I managed to get another hint out of him -- it's actually 55 things in four things in one thing.

Now, I'm a little scared that he forgot I was his girlfriend and thought I was his 7-year-old nephew and got me a Lego set.

So, since I couldn't even crack a case at the Olsen Twin Detective Agency -- I need your help.

If you were getting an orangish-yellow-55-in-4-in-1 Christmas present for your movie-loving-music-junkie long distance girlfriend, what would you get her?

November 29, 2006

Happy Birthday!

Posted by Miss Jaime at Wednesday, November 29, 2006 4 comments
Happy 19th birthday to my sister! I hope you have an amazing birthday in which you eat delicious food, rock out to the musical stylings of a Mr. Billy Joel and shank Whitey for keeping you down all the time.

November 27, 2006

Are you the kid from Chino who steals cars and sets people's houses on fire?

Posted by Miss Jaime at Monday, November 27, 2006 2 comments
Oh no!

"Last week, Robinson was at work shooting episode 11 of the new season of the struggling Fox teen drama, "The O.C." His last day for "The O.C." is Wednesday. Crewmembers learned this month that the network decided not to continue the series after these episodes run out in 2007."

What am I going to do on Thursday nights now? Who am I going to ogle instead of Ben McKenzie? McDreamy? Gil Grissom? Joe Scarborough?!

Why, Fox? Why must you snatch away everything dear to me? Greg the Bunny, Tru Calling, Arrested Development, Get Real, Party of Five, Kitchen Confidential -- all chopped by some idiot programming exec. Hmm...I wonder what it takes to be a programming executive, anyway? I mean, besides being completely heartless and partially lobotomized?

I'm gonna have to find something else to do with my Thursday nights now. Any recommendations?

I'll have the soup. What'll you have, King Louis?

Posted by Miss Jaime at Monday, November 27, 2006 0 comments
Imagine a bullfrog puffing up. Yeah -- that's what my throat feels like right now.

I am sick thanks to a particularly virulent strain of Gainesville germs. See, if you live in a college town, you become acclimated to the various airborne diseases floating around. However, if exposed to the airborne diseases from another college down, those germs will carpet bomb your body and break you down.

I need tea. I need soup. I need Love Actually. Luckily, The Best Friend is bringing me tortilla soup from Qdoba and Love Actually from Blockbuster when he comes home from class. He's a good man.

Cinco Linkos: Five random blips you should check out.

  • Uno -- airbrushing has become so standard in the media now that nobody looks like their photographs. Seeing as how I feel about as aestheically appealing as say, Britney Spears right now, I figured this link was more than apropos.
  • Dos -- Keeping with the whole 'rape and pillage my childhood theme' [I've noticed that almost everything I ever loved as a child is now bad -- Hot Topic has ruined my favorite movies via mass merchandising, Bob Saget is now performing 'edgy' comedy (it's not so much edgy as it is profanity-laced and we all know I have no problems with dropping f-bombs)], check out Robot Chicken's take on Calvin and Hobbes.
  • Tres -- Check out E!'s new show Starveillance. If for no other reason than to hear Tom Cruise say, "Incredible, tiny, goo-covered miracle. I love this baby! Whoo!"
  • Cuatro -- I discovered this guy courtesy of The Boyfriend [who, Billy Joel fixation aside, has really good taste in music]. Check out Sideways and Teresa.
  • Cinco -- Holiday scented goodies. I'm a sucker for anything that smells yummy. Although, I am a bit iffy about the peppermint.

November 23, 2006

Happy Thanksgiving

Posted by Miss Jaime at Thursday, November 23, 2006 3 comments
A somewhat incomplete list of things I am thankful for:

Reef flip-flops.
Alessandra Ambrosio.






















Verizon Wireless for keeping me in touch with the people I love the most.
Another Dolphins victory! [Miami: 27. Detroit: 10]
Every single Peyton Manning commercial.
The Boyfriend's Slimer impersonation.
The Boyfriend's kisses 'cause they make me dizzy, breathless and weak at the knees.
Actually, The Boyfriend period. He's an amazing guy
The Black Crowes.
The guitar solo after Stevie Ray's verbal interlude in the live version of Life Without You.
Celebrity gossip.
Mom and Paps. They're not just good parents; they're good people.
Sparky because she gets stuff that no-one else does [Like the To Me, You are Perfect scene in Love Actually]
Coffee that doesn't cause Jack Bauer-esque donkey punches to the heart [read: decaf]
Really good extra virgin olive oil, bread and mozzarella.
The Travel Channel for bring Anthony Bourdain into my life.
Dana for saying stuff like, "It looks like the weight I lost in my ass went to her face!"
Tackle hugs from The Best Friend. They're crippletastic!
Dana Carvey's Critic's Choice special. Eight years later and I can still recite every last line.
Ron Livingston.






















Mascara.
The internet.
The happy noises Phoebe makes when I give her bellyrubs and 'scratchies.'
Movies based on comic books.
Cooking yummy food and sharing it with the people I love.
My flat iron.
YouTube.

Life is all about the little things. Hope everyone had a great Thanksgiving. To anyone working retail tomorrow -- good luck!

November 21, 2006

Synonym for The Best Friend: Assbag.

Posted by Miss Jaime at Tuesday, November 21, 2006 1 comments
This is my cell phone on the floor of my bathroom.
Why is it on the floor of my bathroom?
Because it started ringing while I was using the facilities and The Best Friend, in all his douchebaggery, sent it flying underneath the door and scared the piss out of me. Take that however you want.

















In other news -- I am a little caramel icicle. You can tell it's really damn cold because I've forsaken my beloved flip-flops for boots.

I have no idea how I'm going to survive a week in Philly come March. If anyone's got any advice for me -- I'd really appreciate it. Thanks guys!

November 20, 2006

I've been looking so long at these pictures of you that I almost believe that they're real

Posted by Miss Jaime at Monday, November 20, 2006 0 comments
I have the cutest desktop ever.
I got it here [look for 'desktop frames']
You should get one too and show me yours 'cause sharing is caring.

November 19, 2006

That's three -- count it!

Posted by Miss Jaime at Sunday, November 19, 2006 4 comments
DOLPHINS: 24
VIKINGS: 20

Another win for the 'Fins! That's three since our bye -- Chicago, Kansas City and now, Minnesota.

Although the game wasn't televised at Lush Manor, I didn't miss a minute of the action thanks to The Best Friend's maniacal play-by-play via radio. If Florida experienced sub-zero temperatures, he'd be the shirtless, drunk dude with his body painted orange and teal.


In other NFL news:

Donovan McNabb tore his ACL and will be out for the rest of the season. It's a rough break for him, the team and Eagles fans. I actually really like McNabb as a QB -- he's a good, strong leader. Here's to a speedy recovery for McNabb.


In other random news:

+ Dear Gardenburger: I love you...and I think I'm turning into J. Wellington Wimpy.

+ Dear The Best Friend, The Boyfriend, The Crew and The Family: You are all going to gain weight this holiday season 'cause I'm gonna be baking like Betty Crocker on speed. I hope you guys like cookies and brownies 'cause that's what you're all getting.

And finally, this rocked my world. Hard.







November 18, 2006

Demons of Screamin'

Posted by Miss Jaime at Saturday, November 18, 2006 4 comments

Steven Tyler is 58. That's four years older than my dad.

Steven Tyler is four years older than my father and yet, I find myself looking at him and saying, "Damn, you're a good looking guy!"

It's the mouth. It's gotta be the mouth. Dirty, sweet and completely, maddeningly sexy. The music too. Aerosmith's live shows are pretty much religious experiences. I saw them with Kid Rock back in 2002 and it blew my mind. Best show of my life.

So, it's the mouth and the music and and the fact that Steven Tyler epitomizes the very essence of a rock star.

I love the mythos of the rock star. We need men like that -- men with divine devilry dancing at their fingertips, shamans who can raise the dead with their voices and lift spirits with their words. Men who can breathe life into the world. After all, what's a guitar? Just some wood, six strings and a couple of knobs. But, in the hands of these musical magicians, a guitar becomes animated -- a bucking, thrusting wild creature who moans, screams, weeps and howls like women wish they could.

When did the rock star die?

One can make the argument that it all changed with Nirvana. The opening chords to Smells Like Teen Spirit were the death knell for the rock star. Cobain wasn't a rock star. He became one, rather unwillingly. Both crucified and glorified by the media, but he himself was never a rock star. It just wasn't inside of him.

So, who is it inside and will we ever see it again? God, I hope so...


Cock, Rock and Hennessy

We need to put the cock back into rock. What is rock n' roll? Stripped down, it's a blues euphemism for having sex. Pop got dirrty, Snoop's making porns, Nelly's taking off all his clothes 'cause it's hot in herre and R&B's always been about sweet, sweet lovin' all night long, but rock? It's been made into a eunich!

No-one's squeezing lemons till the juice runs down their legs. No-one's screaming like Prince to Gett Off. No-one's singing about being the lord of the thighs and big ten inch....records. Enough of this pansy caterwauling, enough of the Prozac-inducing sobriety, enough of the aggression and the "Mommy didn't hug me enough as a kid" crap.

There's nu-metal which, let's face it, is nothing more than hyperaggressive, distorted shit. No sexuality there [and no kids, the Slipknot lyric -- "I wanna slit your throat and fuck the wound" does not count]. Then, there's this whole rap-rock hybrid emerging from the murky sonic depths. Again kids -- Limp Bizkit's Nookie -- and while we're on the subject, why would a bunch of grown men want to associate their band with the word "limp" -- does not count. And emo? Don't even get me started on emo. As my kid sister says, "Better retarded than emo!".

Elvis sang, "Baby, let's play house". I don't think he was talking about holding tea parties.
James Brown got on up like a sex machine.
Aerosmith loved it up while they were going down.
Led Zeppelin had their spoon inside a jar at the candy rock store.
Hell, even the cutest boy band in the world, the Beatles were in on it -- "Please please me/Oh yeah/Like I please you." Sweet innocent veiling a far lustier message.

It's all gotten way too complex. For the love of God, just pick up, plug in, play some bastardized blues riffs and sing about men, women and sex. That's all you really need. Politics and protest songs are great. Ditto computers to enhance your sound, but someone, anyone -- strip down to the basics and make it happen! Anyone except Jack White of The White Stripes. You sir, are a raging douchetard and the fact that you consider Stevie Ray Vaughan a lesser guitarist proves that point.

Get it together, strip it down, crank it up and fuckin' A, just push play! There's a reason Elvis swivelled his hips, there's a reason Jim Morrison snaked around onstage in a pair of practically-painted-on leather pants and there's a reason Steven Tyler writes lyrics like "Pink like the bing on your cherry". It's rock, not rocket science and if it wasn't supposed to be about sex in the first place -- they never would have called it rock n' roll.

November 16, 2006

I believe with every breath I breathe

Posted by Miss Jaime at Thursday, November 16, 2006 2 comments
Annie Savoy: What do you believe in, then?
Crash Davis: Well, I believe in the soul, the cock, the pussy, the small of a woman's back, the hanging curve ball, high fiber, good scotch, that the novels of Susan Sontag are self-indulgent, overrated crap. I believe Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone. I believe there ought to be a constitutional amendment outlawing Astroturf and the designated hitter. I believe in the sweet spot, soft-core pornography, opening your presents Christmas morning rather than Christmas Eve and I believe in long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days.

Bull Durham. 1988.

It's a good question, Annie's question. One of those great seemingly simple questions that carry the weight of the world on their backs. One of those questions you can spend a whole week thinking about, I mean really thinking about, and never fully answer.

Crash's response is even better -- direct and completely honest. With the exception of the mention of the soul, there's no talk of theology, but rather a pastiche of the very essence of Crash.

That's what matters -- not the stuff you've been taught to believe. Not the things you've been indoctrinated with, but whatever you discovered of your own volition.

So, what do I believe?

Well, I too believe in the soul, but I also believe that music is truly greater than or equal to love. I believe in the guitar solo, real cherry Cokes made with grenadine and ridiculously impractical shoes. I believe in reciting every single line from your favorite movies, holding hands and that if you drive long enough with the windows down and the music loud -- it'll all make sense again. I believe in adding pepper to everything, in throwing your head back and laughing, that food tastes better when you share it and that flowers are a completely stupid gift. I believe there was a conspiracy to assassinate both JFK and RFK, that there is no greater pleasure than a pair of jeans straight out of the dryer on a cold day and that most writers are pretentious assholes. I believe in black and white photography, getting lost and finding yourself in big cities and a hero doesn't always have to wear a cape or stem from the imagination of Stan Lee.
And again, like Crash -- I believe in long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days.

Enough about me, though -- what do you believe in?

November 7, 2006

Exit the Federjerk,

Posted by Miss Jaime at Tuesday, November 07, 2006 5 comments


Britney Spears files for divorce.

Shock and awe, y'all.

Federline seems like a leeching toolbag and booting him out was probably the best thing that Spears could have done, both professionally and personally.

Seriously, though -- divorce is always tough and it's an especially lousy situation when there are kids involved.

Hopefully, the divorce proceedings will be civil and neither party will resort to low blows and public embarrassment. They already suffered enough of that during every episode of Britney and Kevin: Chaotic [zing!]

For more info, check out Pink is the New Blog. If there's a better celebrity gossip site online, I haven't found it.

November 5, 2006

And we're back in the game!

Posted by Miss Jaime at Sunday, November 05, 2006 1 comments

And at the end of the 4th:

Miami Dolphins: 31
Chicago Bears: 13



Oh....oh...what's that? Y'all hear that? It sounds like the Dolphins shutting down Chicago's chance at a perfect season again.

How sweet it is

November 3, 2006

Rockin' the suburbs

Posted by Miss Jaime at Friday, November 03, 2006 0 comments
The Best Friend: Is it wrong that I identify with all these organized criminals?
Jaime: What do you mean you identify with them?
The Best Friend: Well, I can see why they did what they did to get ahead.
Jaime: Man, that's crap! Poverty doesn't justify criminal behavior. I'm poor. You're poor and you lived in a shitty neighborhood. You didn't kill people or sell dope. You're going to med school. You're gonna be a doctor.
The Best Friend: Hey man -- hustlin's hustlin.'
Jaime: Dude, you have got to stop listening to the hip hop.
The Best Friend: "The hip hop."
Jaime: Shut up.

Guess which one of us thinks Hootie and the Blowfish rocks? Yeah...

October 30, 2006

Random picture post time!

Posted by Miss Jaime at Monday, October 30, 2006 2 comments
WORLD CUP 2006

To celebrate the World Cup final between Italy and France, The Best Friend, Pepe and I met up with Will and Paul at Alehouse. Football, beer and food so good/bad that it'll probably give you a coronary just looking at it? Ahhh, sounds like heaven to me

















The chicken nachos exemplify this good/bad food thing. A veritable mountain of chicken, chips and cheese, I swear I felt my arteries hardening when they arrived at the table...and I'm a vegetarian.

















Pretty much everyone at the restaurant except me was supporting the Ities. This is because everyone at the restaurant was stupid. On the money, yes, but still stupid.

















Italy won [those bastards!] and because he's part Sicilian and a big Mario Bros. fan, this made The Best Friend very happy.

















Will was happy too. He doesn't have any cultural ties to Italy but their win put money in his pocket and he got to make fun of me (which is always fun).

















I, on the other hand, was not a happy camper...until Zidane head-butted Matarazzi right in the solar plexus. That was awesome on a level comparable to Mortal Kombat and the only way that could have been better was if the crowd had growled, "Finish him!" afterwards.

WEEKEND FUN

Every year we've gone to school, we've always been too busy with classes to attend any of the homecoming festivities. However, this was not the case this year. On Friday, UCF had a free concert featuring Amberlin, Mae, Story of the Year and Jack's Mannequin, so The Best Friend and I decided to attend.

















On our way to the show. I look like I've been honey-dipped.

















We got to the Memory Mall and realized just how old we are. We were the only two people who wanted to hear some Freebird.

















Mae took the stage....

















...and we weren't impressed. They were thoroughly generic.

Then, Dana called and said she was back from Rome, so we junked the show and went to hang out with her instead.

















I was starved so we headed to Qdoba for dinner. I like food and explained to Jerry where it goes -- in my mouth.

















If you love queso, you'll love Qdoba's nachos. I do not love queso.

In the pantheon of Mexican cuisine, here's how the totem pole goes:

Tijuana Flats

Chipotle
Moe's
Qdoba
Something you scraped off the bottom of your shoe
Something science can't even identify
Taco Bell

Tijuana Flats > EVERYTHING. Know this. Understand this. And the next time you go, check out the 'Don't Be A Chickenshit' Sauce. It's yummy.

















Kelly's one of my favorite people to eat with because she appreciate fine dining [and ermmm, queso] more than anyone I've ever met in my life.

















Dana bought us back boxed wine from Rome. She said she saw homeless people drinking it on the street. If it's good enough for the hobos, it's good enough for us [note: the only redeeming qualities of the aforementioned wine are a) it's cold and b) it's wet. Apart from that, it tasted like a combination of urine and anti-freeze]

And as usual, more dry-erase grafitti was added to the board. Instead of scribbling about bodaggets and bonches, though -- we went a sweeter route. I think this is because D and I both miss our respective boyfriends [Steve's in Sicily, Dan's in Philly].































RANDOM


















Yay orthodontia! Living with these guys is the best thing that ever happened to me. Without them, I would have never known the glory that is The Legend of Zelda.






















Zen from a Hooters wet-nap. That's deep on a whole 'nother level. By the by -- Big Daddy Beers = of my life. $5.00. 24oz. Happy Jaime.

And finally -- something a little more inspirational than booze and fake Mexican food:

















Steven Spielberg calls them 'God Lights.' I'm inclined to agree.

Happy Halloween! Be safe!

October 28, 2006

And if I stared too long, I'd probably break down and cry...

Posted by Miss Jaime at Saturday, October 28, 2006 0 comments

A lot of rock bands are too fucking wimpy to have any sentiment or any emotion....unless they're in pain -- Axl Rose.

Before he lost his mind and balls, Axl was actually a pretty passionate cat. A screaming serpentine slithering onstage under spotlights, a wild-haired, wild-eyed wildcat who wailed and warbled wicked vocals.

Writing about pain is easy. It provides a fantastic catharsis. Pissed off at your girlfriend/boyfriend/parents/boss/school/world? Tell them to fuck off and play in G....loud.

When coursing through the human body, pain is amplified. Being dumped is the worst pain the world. Nothing compares to it -- no gunshot wounds, no purple-black bruises worn like tattoos, no broken limbs. No-one in the history of human pain has experienced more rage, more grief, more heart-mutilating sorrow, more emotional anguish than you do at the moment your significant other decides they don't want you around anymore.

You cry -- sobbing heavily into tangled sheets until your eyes are raw and red-rimmed. You scream. You pout. You mope. You might even resort to physical violence and kick the shit out of that bookcase which you swear was laughing at the pathetic loser you've become.

Then, you pick up a pen.....

And proceed to purge all the pain and misery you've been self-indulgently wallowing in for the past week/month/year/decade.

You seethe and you compare your ex to vicious, disgusting beasts and various parts of the human anatomy. And you feel better. Not entirely because a little residual ache remains, but for the most part -- you are sated.

Easy as 1-2-3.

Writing about anything not shackled and bound by pain? Tough.

Not just tough, but blood-from-a-fuckin'-stone burdensome.

How do you write a real love song, anyway? An honest one devoid of saccarine promises -- sweet, but ultimately artificial -- and fantastic claims? A song that isn't trite. A song that hasn't been cribbed from an amalgamation of a lukewarm boy-band ballad and a Hallmark commercial?

If you're Axl Rose, you write Sweet Child O' Mine.

It's a simple song and that is part of its genius. All a real love song needs to do is the same thing real love needs to do:

Connect.

Sweet Child O' Mine connects on the most basic level with even making mention of the word, "love." Instead of promising Erin Everly the heavens, Axl tells the truth. Being in love is wonderful and beautiful and hopeful...and, ultimately very, very scary. "Yeah, we're in love and it's amazing, but where do we go now?" That vulnerability helps define Sweet Child O' Mine as a real love song.

Love isn't giving someone the moon or promising them the stars. It isn't champagne, starlight and red roses. It's isn't pretty, placating perjury. At the end of the day -- love is about being completely honest in a way that you yourself might be scared to hear.

Despite the fact that Rose and Everly had their marriage annulled a year after they wed, despite the God-awful Sheryl Crow cover, despite the fact that Axl Rose ruined Axl Rose for me [Cornrow-sporting, Slash-insulting, date-cancelling, egomaniacal, Kanye-West-lookin' motherfucker. Fuck you, Axl. You didn't burn out and you didn't fade away. You just ended up becoming a tool. I may forgive you for the Chinese Democracy debacle, but you effectively ruined Axl Rose for me and I'll never forgive you for that.] -- I still love this song and honestly believe in it. It's a honest testament to love and...well, when was the last time you heard one of those that sounded that good?


October 26, 2006

If you put your mind to it, you can accomplish anything.

Posted by Miss Jaime at Thursday, October 26, 2006 0 comments


Back To The Future has been my favorite movie ever since I was a little girl. The first time I saw it, I was convinced that I was going to marry Michael J. Fox. You see, he was little and so was I and in my 5-year-old mind, it made perfect sense that we'd be together.

Eighteen years later, I know that nuptials are out of the question, but I still adore and admire Fox as much as I always did.

This is just one of the reasons why. The man is passionate, eloquent and a class act all the way through.

Stem cell research has the potential to change the face of modern medicine. Just imagine a world where diseases like Parkinson's, Alzheimer's and even cancer are nothing but shadowy memories of the past.

This is still America. This is still a democracy and the people are still in charge. Be the change you wish to see in the world. Get out there and vote. Do the right thing.

The Michael J. Fox Foundation.
Team Fox

October 25, 2006

I've got a mouth like a sailor who just lost shore leave

Posted by Miss Jaime at Wednesday, October 25, 2006 0 comments


Me: Michael J. Fox needs to get in the Delorean, go back in time and bitchslap all these fuckholes who insist on shit-talking about issues they know nothing about.
The Best Friend: Wow....
Me: I have rage issues.
The Best Friend: Yeah...I kinda like that, though.

Sidebar: Does ovulation make me a sinner? I mean, I'm not getting knocked up every month, therefore destroying precious babies eggs, so is that like, onanism for women?

October 24, 2006

All the stars and boulevards ain't close enough for you

Posted by Miss Jaime at Tuesday, October 24, 2006 0 comments
Rush Limbaugh is a pill-popping degenerate asshole. I realize referring to Limbaugh as such is akin to saying water is wet, but saying that Michael J. Fox was faking it in his campaign ad for Senate candidate Claire McCaskill (D-Mo.)? That's low -- even pompous, hypocritical douchebag like Limbaugh. I would ask how he looks at himself in the mirror every morning without convulsing with disgust, but I'm sure the copious amount of OxyContin he gobbles down numbs whatever meagre shred of humanity he has in him (if he has any at all).

Enough. I'm not wasting breath on a waste of breath like Limbaugh any longer.










Cobain looks like he's going to break in this picture. Like he's made of a thousand hairline fractures that threaten to shatter at any moment. It's beautiful and heartbreaking.

Certain aborigines believe that having your photograph taken will steal your soul. I don't necessarily agree with that, but I do believe that a camera, in the hands of guys like David LaChappelle, Herb Ritts and Mark Seliger, captures a part of your soul.

I wish I could write the same way Ritts and LaChapplle and Seliger take pictures [or took pictures in the case of the late Ritts]. I want my words to be as potent and vivid as their pictures. I want to capture life, but in a river of ink as opposed to on film.

In other news:

It is currently 65°F in Orlando. I love the fact that it's warm enough to wear shorts, but cool enough to warrant wearing a sweater. I love wearing flip-flops no matter how cold it gets and I love having all the windows opening, drinking Mexican hot chocolate and eating Hobo Meals for dinner.

Jack's Mannequin on Friday! I'm excited. I love Andrew McMahon and it's been forever since I saw a live show. The only thing I'm not looking forward to is dealing with a bunch of "rawking" 18-year-olds. I'm with Greg Behrendt on this one -- I'm all about the adult rock show.

♫ Download:

Dark Blue
Into The Airwaves
Holiday From Real

You know what? Just buy Everything In Transit. It's a great album and if you like Something Corporate, Jamison-Parker, Augustana or just well-written piano-centric music, you'll dig it.

If you don't dig the music, dig the cause and check out the Dear Jack Foundation and Project Flip Flop.

In more music related news, I love Nonpoint's cover of In The Air Tonight. Phil Collins has never sounded so cool. If you haven't heard it, you can check out the track on their MySpace or you can pick up a copy of the Miami Vice soundtrack [which also features Moby, India.Aire, Goldfrapp and Mogwai].

Thanks to Jake for the heads-up and on that note, I'm off to enjoy the rest of my night.

October 23, 2006

Things I would hit like the fist of an angry God...

Posted by Miss Jaime at Monday, October 23, 2006 0 comments

Sprint just hired Ron Livingston to star in a series of commercials.

Despite what The Best Friend/The Boyfriend/Everyone else in my life says, I'd still hit it like a bag of hammers.

Goodbye, old friend

Posted by Miss Jaime at Monday, October 23, 2006 0 comments
A moment of silence for my flat iron. It died today after four years of loyal service.

I had an emotionally bond with it. It made me feel pretty. Having straight and shiny hair made me feel much more capable and in control [Ladies, back me up here. You know you've got those little aesthestic triggers too]. And now, it's gone. And my hair is fluffy.

Goodbye, old friend. Thanks for everything.

October 21, 2006

The reason a dog is considered man's best friend is because he wags his tail and not his tongue

Posted by Miss Jaime at Saturday, October 21, 2006 2 comments
My niece Phoebedog is the greatest creature in the world.

Yesterday when I saw her, she leapt three feet in the air from excitement. Three feet! I can't even jump that high.

Then, she proceeded to make the loudest 'Phoebedog noises' ever -- these usually consist of a cross between howling and attempting to speak. I'm convinced that she's going to be speaking in English the next time I see her.

Dana and Steve -- I love your dog. She makes me happy.

October 20, 2006

RAWKtober!

Posted by Miss Jaime at Friday, October 20, 2006 2 comments
The Best Friend and I spent some quality time at the Oktoberfest celebration in our neighborhood. The plan was to get all sorts of legless on some good biere, but since it was just the two of us -- that didn't pan out quite the way it should have.



I live in the most gorgeous neighborhood ever all thanks to HUD. Yay low-income housing!



The Best Friend is amped for ROCKtoberfest...I mean, Oktoberfest.



One of the community's numerous fountains. I wonder if you can make wishes in these things. What's the deal with that?



We encountered a very nice man making cotton candy. While I can understand its importance in the pantheon of carnival/fair food, I've gotta admit -- I've never been a big cotton candy fan. Kettle corn, on the other hand? I would tear that up.



Ahhh, fair food. Just looking at it will probably give you a coronary, but damned if it doesn't smell divine and taste delicious. This was one of the coolest fair food inventions I've ever seen -- a power drill used to cut up potatoes. Handy and yummy.



This reminded me of the Pirates of the Caribbean display at Downtown Disney.



Nothing says Halloween like a giant, inflatable gourd.



Trash is kinda scary too, right?



Carousel ponies. The only way to travel in style.



It wouldn't be Oktoberfest without men in lederhosen. Do those shorts remind anyone else of the Boy Scout uniform?



And what goes better with a frosty cold Beck's than a hat with a feather in it?



Prost! Now, we dance!



Is The Best Friend very big or are the mugs very small? Hmmm....food [or root beer, rather] for thought.



Ziggy socky, ziggy socky, hoi hoi hoi



And when I'm not chugging down mini mugs of root beer, you can find me writing front page stories for the Central Florida Future.

Annnnnd, I'm jonesing for Costa coffee. The one in the bookstore across the street from Trafalgar Square. Transatlantic coffee run, anyone?
 

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