Clareified

Where does the good go

Archive for September, 2009

F-train cracks me, so consistently up

Thursday, September 24th, 2009 by Dawn Summers

Yesterday afternoon I was happily reading some news websites when the doorbell rang. Because I hate people (or maybe because people hate me) I do not ordinarily have guests. Because I don’t ordinarily have guests I don’t usually expect the doorbell to ring. I react to the doorbell the same way casino gamblers react to a fire alarm: pause briefly, arch an eyebrow, and then go right back to what I was doing.
Read the whole thing.

Old skool

Thursday, September 24th, 2009 by Dawn Summers


Don’t be mad cause I don’t come around the way
Like I used to, I don’t have time these days
I’m keeping busy making power moves
And don’t try to say I don’t remember you
You shouldn’t let your jealousy show like that
I stopped coming by, cause of the way you act
Telling my business to kids I don’t even know
You’re like a daytime talk show, and that’s low
So you can tell everyone, that I’m jerky
And if you don’t like it, kid? Take it personal

If you’re moving on, I’m already gone

Wednesday, September 23rd, 2009 by Dawn Summers

You made my mind up for me
When you started to ignore me
If you’re over me, I’m already over you
If it’s all been done, what is left to do
How can you hang up if the line is dead
If you wanna walk, I’m a step ahead
If you’re moving on, I’m already gone
If the light is off then it isn’t on
-Hilary Duff

I’m not one for scenes, or goodbyes, or conversations. It’s not that I’m tough or hard — it’s that I’m chicken. Hats off to those “in your face” people, that shit is hard, yo.
Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE drama. I grew up on soap operas and TV and sappy movies. If I could, I’d love to slap someone across the face or throw a drink at them. How kick ass awesome would that be? But I can’t do it.
Chicken.
So, I’ve become a fade away kinda gal. Exeunt stage left, as the playwrights say. I’ve never been sure if that’s exactly what Neruda was after in this poem. But it’s always been my take away. Love/relationships are self sustaining. Those where one loves the other more, other needs the other more are already finished, one person just doesn’t know it yet. It feeds on itself, the minute any part of it dies away, it all dies away. No conversations or timeouts or teary goodbyes. If you’ve left me at the shore, know that at that very hour, that very minute, I’ve set off for another land. I love the line: If suddenly you forget me/ do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.
The connection is severed just that fast. Boom. Snap. Cut.
But if you’re steady and true, so too, will I be. No muss, no fuss.
It’s perfect really. In reality it’s not as clean as all that, obviously, but if you try to get as close as you can, well, let’s just say, it’s good enough.

If You Forget Me by Pablo Neruda

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine

Open thread

Tuesday, September 22nd, 2009 by Dawn Summers

Hello, my lovelies, we have a rather busy day today, but, well, we still want comments to read on our breaks.

So what’s on yer minds? Zac Efron? Tom Brady? The awesomeness of Dawn Summers? Why the Jakes are off touring the world but have left their favorite daughter (ME!) behind?

Where in the world is Kaz with my birthday barbecue?

Discuss away! Be amusing and wonderful!

Xoxo

Dawn

Public Service Announcement

Monday, September 21st, 2009 by Dawn Summers

Cheerleader officially replaces Ghez on Clareified and all related blogs, twitters, and other related social networking sites. Please update your glossaries.

Paterson to Obama:

Monday, September 21st, 2009 by Dawn Summers

You ain’t the President of me.

Dawn funny

Sunday, September 20th, 2009 by Dawn Summers

Read the whole thing.
Brian and Matt are hilarious. Matt, an unrepentant total hippie who bicycle rides everywhere and hates the man and capitalism takes great pleasure in mocking me for driving a BMW named after the founder of Yale University. “How do you relate to normal people?”
“Are you normal?”
“No,” Brian yelled from the backseat.
Brian then informed me that he and Matt are in a bicycle gang — not motorcycle — bicycle. You can tell this by the intimidating tats they have on their feet.
Brian then cracked me up doing impressions of the traders at his company who are all “bros” most likely to do time for date rape.
“That’s just how they roll.”
We couldn’t find an address for the stadium, so I just inputted the city and hoped for the best.
This was the best: getting to East Rutherford and seeing signs that said “To Giants Stadium.” After following these signs, we started to see signs that said “Permit Holders” and they pointed toward the stadium; the other signs that said “Nonpermit holders” pointed somewhere in the vicinity of Hoboken.

Happy Talk like a Pirate Day

Saturday, September 19th, 2009 by Dawn Summers

My little sister Smokey, texted me a most excellent pirate joke this morning:

What kind of kitchen counter does a pirate have?
Marrrrble top!

Ha!

That’s Won

Friday, September 18th, 2009 by Dawn Summers

“Damn girl, you got money on the game?”
I was screaming my head off in an almost empty poker room at Bally’s when Tom Brady drilled his second TD pass to Ben Watson in under three minutes.
“Nah, I’m just a fan.”
Ha! I was decked out in my personalized Pats jersey, which I was wearing over my Patriots T-shirt. When it’s game day, I bring it New England style!
Unfortunately, business meant that I would be on the road to the office, instead of on my couch or at a bar by kickoff. Alceste told me I could probably find the game on AM radio. Sure enough, as soon as I flipped the dial to AM the announcers were calling the game. My heart stopped when they said “Brady looks hurt.” Fuck! Then they said something about Kansas City and Mary pointed out that it was only 7:02 -not time enough for anything to really have happened yet. Sure enough, it was just a replay of last year’s season opener. No need to wrap my car around a tree.
That would come later.
When the Riots couldn’t get a first down in Buffalo terrority. When Gostkowski missed the field goal. When Buffalo scored first! Ugh. Alack! Wail!
It was dark on the Garden State and the orange glow of the display on the radio console was giving the night an eery feeling.
“I wish I hadn’t found this stupid radio station,” I complained bitterly.
“Listening to football games in the car reminds me of when I was a kid and my dad would put them on in the car on Sundays,” Mary said.
Oh, so happy for you and your having a dad as a child having ways! Do you not hear the Patriots losing, woman???!!!!
Of course, in case she couldn’t hear the broadcast, she could hear my phone buzzing with texts from Vinnay after every New England disaster.
I pulled over at a resstop and began to reply to him.
“Bite me.”
“Go to hell.”
“Aren’t you a Cowboys fan now, you stupid jerkface?”
A few moments after we got back on the road, Buffalo got a pick six and the Bills were in the lead again.
I turned off my phone. The Patriots couldn’t respond and we had to settle for a field goal. Buffalo took the lead into halfttime.
I turned off the radio and glumly finished the ride in Atlantic City.
The players were back on the field by the time Mary and I got to the hotel checkin.
“What the hell are they wearing??” I screamed at the TV, horrified by the scarlet red uniforms. They reminded me of the goat sucking Hahvard Cantab uniforms. Sure enough, it was some bullshit throwback to New England’s stint as the Boston Patriots. Vomit.
As I watched a couple of plays, I would accidentally root for the Bills because their uniforms looked more like the traditional Pats gear.
So frustrating.
Time for poker.
As I walked to the room in my jersey, a couple of black dudes were like “you’re a Pats fan? They’re not doing so good right now!”
I glared.
Seriously, I don’t think people realize how personally I take my football.
I didn’t bother asking what teams they rooted for.
I got to the poker room in time to see the Bills score AGAIN. Ugh.
It was grim.
By the fourth quarter I needed something good to happen. I was slumped in a chair, now taking text abuse from Doris as well. (I guess he knows his Jets don’t stand a chance, so might as well latch onto the Bills’ luckbox victory.)
By the time I watched the Bills come back from 3rd and 15 after a SACK to get a first down AND score a Touchdown I was ready to open a vein.
5 minutes left. Down 11. This. Game. Was. Over.
I also picked the Patriots in my suicide pool, so I would be out of that too. FIRST! Even before G-train! And he’s gay! (That was inappropriate. I’m turning myself into that website now.)
I cry. I started my ‘shut the hell up’ blog post.
Then Brady hit Watson, and we pulled within 5.
“Big fucking deal, Tom! TOO LATE!” I yelled at the TV. And then the Pats fucked up the two point conversion.
Greeeaatt. No Gostkowski points either.
I. Was. Pissed.
I looked away and then heard the television announcers verbally wet their pants with excitement.
“New England came up with it! New England’s got it!”
I looked back.
The red uniforms were furiously pointing their arms toward the Buffalo red zone.
OH MY GOD!!!!!!
I fell out of my chair.
(Dawn is NOT making that up.)
Brady was back on the field!!! My phone was suddenly silent.
Plleeaaasseee Gooooddddd.
I made my bargains with the Almighty.
Boom! Brady to Watson! TD!
It’s good!
Hahahahahahahhahahahahahahhaah
I sat quitely waiting out the clock.
No premature gloating texts.
And then the beautiful F appeared.
Patriots: 25 Bills: 24 F.
Hahahhahahhahahahahahahhahaha
OH MAN.
Football is AWESOME.
A friend has gotten us tickets to go to the game at Giants stadium on Sunday.
I will be the girl wearing Patriots gear from head to toe screaming “I love you Tom!”
Quote me.
Also, um, what’s the best treatment for black eyes?

D’oh

Thursday, September 17th, 2009 by Dawn Summers

I saw a billboard today that read “it’s so like cheerleader who can’t say anything smart” or something like that. I thought it was funny. Then I pulled up closer and the fine print said “if you think that’s mean, how do you think we feel when you say ‘that’s so gay’?”
Now, I thought the cheerleader thing was funny. And I say “that’s so ghez” (totally different), but I thought I’d do the…um…right thing and link the site.
Clareified: all about education and information and hating on cheerleaders but not gay people. Hating gays is ghez. *TOTALLY* DIFFERENT!