Monday, November 21, 2011
Friday, November 18, 2011
I curse the day that Stephenie Meyer had a sex dream and I didn’t.
One night in 2003, Stephenie dreamt about a sparkly vampire and a human girl who was in love with him. The next day, she decided to write a shittier version of Charlaine Harris’s Sookie Stackhouse novels.
Why can’t I dream up such utter nonsense?
Two nights ago, I woke up from a dream that I thought would be a best seller. It involved me and Jacy getting captured by Bonnie and Clyde at the Holt County fair. Jacy, Bonnie, Clyde, and I traveled the countryside, raiding sorority houses, killing everyone, and stealing their flat screen TVs. I was in the middle of chasing after a Tri-Delt with my sword when I woke up.
That’s the most creative dream I’ve had in years. I shake my fist at you, Stephenie Meyer.
I resent Stephenie Meyer. She is the worst writer on the face of the earth, yet for some reason, teenagers, grown-ups, and even grandparents, have sunk their teeth (yes, the pun was intended) into the Twilight saga.
It took me a while to convince my snobbish self to read Stephenie’s books. I’m a huge J.K. Rowling fan and I felt like I was cheating on her and Harry Potter every time I even thought about picking up Twilight. I could just see Harry, Ron, and Hermoine’s precious little Gryffindor faces begging me to remain loyal to Dumbledore’s Army.
But all of my friends were reading Twilight, so I finally cast a “Mischief Managed” spell to Harry Potter for a while and put my pride aside to join in on the Twilight hype.
A few chapters in, I realized immediately that I had to stop comparing the Harry Potter series to the Twilight Saga. Trying to compare J.K. Rowling to Stephenie Meyer is like comparing Dom Perignon to Welch’s sparkling grape non-alcoholic champagne. The Dom is expensive, smooth, and effortless, while the Welch’s is affordable, but yet somehow still enjoyable in a 10-year-olds-celebrating-New-Year’s sort of way.
I, personally, like both champagne varieties.
My innate nature is to be drawn to shitty things, while still appreciating the finer things in life. Shoot, half of my life was spent growing up in a tin-roofed trailer house. I wear Jessica Simpson heels with my Producer’s Hybrid seed corn coat. I bring Keystone Light to parties, but still sip on Crown Royal in the comfort of my home. I need a little trash with a little class in my life.
I couldn’t seem put the Welch’s sparkling grape juice down. In fact, I read the entire Twilight series in about a week. Once I finished with the books, I started in on the movies. And again, I was not disappointed. I love Twilight the same way I love Human Centipede or My Bloody Valentine 3D. All three films are quite endearing. All poorly written, all made for struggling 20-something actors. All complete train wrecks. Yet, I continue to list them among my favorite movies.
So, naturally, my love for all things shitty convinced me to stand in line for six hours in the freezing cold to catch the Breaking Dawn: Part 1 premiere last night. Well, my love for all things shitty, as wellllllll as my love for Robert Pattinson. I swear, that dude looks identical to this guy I used to, erm, “hang” out with in college. Every time Bella and Edward lock lips, I’m taken back to my fairly innocent, yet semi-trashy college years. *sigh*
Robbie Pattinson aside, last night was a fantastic production of shitty. Summit Entertainment, the company that produces Twilight, showed four or five of its upcoming movies in the previews, which set the tone for the night. I mean seriously, how shitty does this movie look (Trailer link below)? I hope this movie premieres at midnight, too. I’ll be first (and only) in line!
When Breaking Dawn: Part 1 first began, it was pretty bland at first. Nothing too shitty to stir me up. Well, until Jacob turned into a wolf and then the entire wolf pack started talking in wolfy voices. It was like watching The Lion King, circa 1994. You know when Mufasa gets pissed at Simba for checking out the Elephant grave yard with Nala and he has this little “growl” in his voice when he talks. That’s how all the wolves were talking to each other. They had growls in their human voices. It was very Homeward Boundy and fantastical.
Actually, the entire movie seemed very childhood Disney for me. When I visited Disney World when I was four, Mom and Dad took me to this 3D showing of the inner workings of the human body. We strapped on these 3D goggles and soared through the human body like we were blood or snot or something (I say snot because we entered through the human nose….) You may be wondering how in the world I recall such a vivid memory. It was terrifying. That’s why.
Well, watching Bella transform into a vampire from the inside out was terrifying and torturous. We literally traveled through her veins as if we were vampire venom. And again, I loved every awesomely terrible minute.
And PAH-LEASE don’t even get me started on how useful Kristen Stewart is for when I want to indulge in shittiness. She is the epitome of shitty actresses. You know those celebs who you’re all like, “I’d TOTES be friends with them in real life even though they’re kind of weird and awkward.” (Jesse Eisenberg, the whole cast of Juno). She’s one of them. I feel like we’d sit around brooding about our Chuck Taylor's.
So you want my personal take on Breaking Dawn: Part I? You should probably put down the fancy champagne for a second and go see it right now. All shittiness aside, it really is an entertaining film. Believe me, I’ll be waiting in line next summer for the midnight premiere of Breaking Dawn: Part II.
Oh, hey, and, if you get a chance, you should read this article written by Omaha World Herald columnist Rainbow Rowell:
She, too, is intrigued by the Twilight Saga, but for different reasons than myself. Every reason for liking Twilight is the right reason. Just let go and give in to pure, awesome, unabridged shit.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
As soon as we ate the last of the Thanksgiving turkey, I swear Jacy and my mom would go into full Christmas mode. They decorated the whole house, spent hours wrapping gifts, and belted out Christmas carols at the top of their lungs on the ride to school every morning. It annoyed the hell out of me. MOM WAS A GROWN WOMAN! She shouldn't be singing silly songs like "Frosty the Snowman." I, on the other hand, was much more mature for those shenanigans.
I couldn't even escape the Christmas spirt at school because our music teacher put on a three-hour holiday production every single year. In elementary school, we began Christmas program rehearsals right after Turkey Day. I had zero time to adjust between holidays.
Then, when Christmas Day did roll around, we spent ALL morning opening gifts. ALL MORNING. We'd each open our presents one at a time starting with Jacy because she was the youngest. WHO HAS TIME FOR THAT?!
In my book, it was complete overkill. I spent half of my childhood trying to find the perfect pair of earmuffs to block out the Yuletide carols and the other half opening Christmas presents slowly. I was an honest-to-goodness Scrooge McDuck.
Unfortunately, no Ghosts of Christmas Past showed me the true reason for the season when I was younger. Instead, it took a 10-hour move away from my family to realize just how precious the holiday season really is.
So, please, PLEASE, do not be a Grinch this Christmas. Your piss-poor attitude isn't doing anyone any good. Believe me. If I could take back every negative thing I have ever said about Christmas, I would in a heartbeat. I'd tell my 10-year-old self sing along with my mom to Andy Williams's "It's The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year." I'd sit down and watch How The Grinch Stole Christmas with Jacy instead of beelining to my room. I'd wake up and "stalk" Santa with Jacy instead of catching those extra hours of sleep.
I can't take back my past actions, but I can make my future Christmases ones to remember. I have 23 years of holiday cheer to make up for and there's no sooner time than the present. I've already started celebrating Christmas this year. A week ago, I purchased a holiday ornament for my rear view mirror. Today, I've listened to six straight hours of Christmas music. And hopefully this weekend, Jacy and I will be able to get some sort of tree decorated in our house. (We're thinking a Harry Potter-themed Womping Willow tree this year. Yeah, we're weirdos. Accept.) When Christmas actually does roll around, I'll let my youngest nephew, Bo, take his time opening his gifts. I don't care if it takes four seconds or four hours. If he's happy, then I'm happy. If he's purely enjoying Christmas, then I'm purely enjoying Christmas.
It's never too late, friends. Your family won't be around forever, so learn to appreciate every single quirky tradition they do to celebrate the holiday. I'll tell you this -- next time my dad cracks open his accordian case to play Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, I'll be right beside him with my saxophone.
What are you waiting for? Pandora's Christmas Radio station is ready for you.
In my book, there can never be enough Christmases in this lifetime.
Friday, November 4, 2011
So remember how my previous blog was about Facebook etiquette and how you shouldn't defriend people on Facebook? Click on the link below for the perfect example of why you shouldn't defriend anyone:
Be Careful Who You Defriend On Facebook; They Might Burn Your House Down!
Jess knows best.
Monday, October 24, 2011
“K! Is this a VIRUS?! You JERKFACE!”
“No,” she replied, “It’s a website that will help us meet people in college.”
K was 100 percent right about Facebook. I began linking up with people I’d never even met. Before I even stepped foot on UNL’s campus for the first time, I had friended almost every student on Abel Hall Floor 5.
Now, just six short years later, everyone and their dog (literally, even dogs….) have Facebook accounts. Shoot, even my dad – MY DAD, who didn’t even want a cell phone a couple of years ago – is on Facebook more than I am. (Rather, he’s on “Faithbook.” For some reason, he calls it Faithbook. I’m not sure if he’s just acquired a pretty hairy lisp or if he really thinks that Facebook is a place to connect Lutherans with Catholics.)
Anyway, I feel like six years of Facebooking have entitled me to set some freaking Faithbook – errr, Facebook – ground rules. Here goes:
1. Facebook is not the same as IMing. When updating YOUR status, please check YOUR grammar.
Please read the following status and circle grammatical errors:
“George is sad because your a bitch and you dumped me. They’re isnt much I can say other than you’re sisters a bitch to.”
Did you spot them all? Now, ladies and gentlemen, let’s see what the status should look like:
"George is sad because you’re a bitch and you dumped me. There isn’t much else I can say other than your sister is a bitch, too."
Folks, it’s not hard at all to avoid Facebook grammatical mistakes. Just type your status into Microsoft Word first and it will correct the mistakes for you. I know, I know, I have an English degree so I’m kind of a jerk when it comes to this stuff. But I promise it’s not rocket science. And who knows who is creeping on your profile – don’t you want to appear as smart as I know you are?*
*Addendum to the previous rule: Spelling mistakes are acceptable. I can’t spell worth a shit, so I assume no one else can either.
2. Don’t delete people. It’s not nice.
During my freshman year of college, I was a part of the Chancellor’s Leadership Class. The class met once a week and we did all sorts of fun things in the community. Because I was a brown-noser and liked to be involved in everything, I volunteered to lead a fundraising group for the battered women’s shelter in Lincoln. I met some really awesome people during the fundraiser and Facebook friended most of them – you know, it’s allllll about networking in college.
There was one guy on my team who I felt particularly close with at the time. To protect his identity, let’s call him George. (Do you notice a trend? George is my favorite name to use when making up names. I think it has something to do with my Grandpa’s cat being named George. Actually it has nothing to do with that.)
Anyway, George and I haven’t spoken for five years, but at the time, I considered us to be friends. Well, evidently my friendship meant absolutely nothing to George. Last week, a picture of him surfaced on a friend’s profile. I clicked on his name to see what he had been up to and the “Add Friend” tab was present on the top-right hand side of his profile. GASP. That jackass George deleted me.
Notice how I’m now calling you a jackass, George? I never had a problem with you before. In fact, I thought you were pretty cool. But you’ve deleted me. So I think you’re a dirty man slut and I will spread vicious rumors about you based on the things I CAN see on Facebook – your profile picture, your education, and your birthdate. I will also blog about you. You're not the only one, George. This also goes out to you, Barbara (fake name), and you, Georgia (fake name). I KNOW who you are. I mean, come on Barbara. I went with you to get your first tattoo. Doesn't that mean ANYTHING, you dirty pirate hooker?
Here’s the deal, Facebook friends: If I annoy you or just straight-up offend you with my Facebook statuses or pictures, then you can simply hide me from your mini-feed. There’s no need to delete me. I can see that you have 2,200 friends. I can also see that 44 of those people are also my friends. Must you single me out? I suffer from self-confidence issues the way it is. Do you really want me to go jump out my window because you deleted me?
George, Barbara, and Georgia: If I am found face-down in a pool of my own blood outside of my work window, you’re to blame. YOU THREE. I hope you feel terrible.
3. Denying friend requests is also not nice.
There are really only a handful of instances where it’s okay to deny a friend request. It’s okay to deny if the potential friend appears to be a porn star (Harry Buttz, Ivana Kock, etc.) It’s okay to deny if the potential friend has no mutual friends with you. It’s also okay to deny if the friend request comes from someone who appears to be a future employer OR appears to be a fake account created by your creepy ex-boyfriend to stalk you OR if you started dating a guy and his bitchy, catty girl friends are adding you to stalk you and you know it (Sorry about that, Alli...forgive me? I totally understand why you denied me at first.) Otherwise, you should accept.
Feelings get hurt when you deny, causing people to jump out of windows.
I have a particular connection to the friendship-denying thing because my name appears as Jessica Goldschwager on Facebook. Some people have a hard time identifying me because of the name, so I get denied all the time (I refuse to believe it’s because I’m not cool…) I know, I know, it’s probably my fault I’m getting denied. Why does my name appear as Goldschwager? Because it sounds awesome, that's why.
Here’s what I don’t get….
A. Are you that stupid that you can’t figure out that Jessica Goldschwager is actually Jessica Schwager, but I added “gold” to the front?
B. Do I really look that unfamiliar that you don’t want to add me? My picture is of ME.
Sure, a few weeks ago, I had this picture as my profile picture:
If I added you while I had this picture and you denied me, then you’re forgiven. I can totally understand if you thought I was a dog.
JUST KIDDING. Actually you’re not forgiven at all, you idiot. Who the hell denies a Weimeraner wearing funny glasses? Weims are precious dogs. I’m glad you denied me because I didn’t want to be friends with you anyway.
C. I’m not adding you to stalk through all 640 of your profile pictures. I’m not adding you to see if we have similar interests. I could care-a-less about your relationship status or your “About Me” section. I actually have no interest in even looking at your profile picture. I’m adding you to be NICE. I probably met you once or twice, realized we had mutual friends, and am extending my hand as in, “Hey, you’re okay by me. Let’s be Facebook friends.” I am not going to take your photos and Photoshop you into weird pornographic poses. That’s not my style at all.
Seriously, denying a friend request only achieves one thing and one thing only:
I didn’t have a problem with you before, but now I fucking hate you.
I shall stop with just three Faithbook rules today. I literally have a list a mile long, but I felt like these were the most important issues – mostly because if I can help you salvage at least one Facebook friendship, I can die happy. Well, and I must stop for the night because Hart of Dixie is on and I want to get home before it starts. Have you seen the show? If not, get on it. Hot Southern men in that show. Bowchickawowow.
P.S. - I really don't hate anyone. I just hope you understand how hurtful your actions are when you decide to delete your Facebook friends or not even accept a friend request in the first place. Facebook friendships have replaced real friendships (I wish I was kidding), so deleting someone is similar to punching your friend in the face. And, as Jacy says, not accepting a friend request is similar to denying a handshake. Be considerate.
I'm going to stalk the author, Jackie, and maker her be my friend. Just kiddddding. Sort of. Jackie has the same exact stance on love and marriage that I do. A small excerpt:
"I'm not jaded and dead inside, really. This is how much: I just finished the second book of the "Hunger Games" trilogy (really). Aloud. With my boyfriend.
In it, they describe the marriage ceremony in the poorest district in the invented nation of the books. The bride and groom stand over a fire together, toast a piece of bread, feed it to each other, and they are married. Everyone dances. It is simple, short and sincere. It is about love, and nothing else...."
Rather than standing over a fire though, I've always envisioned myself packin' up and heading to Vegas if the time ever comes for me to fall in love. Marriage should be simple, short and sincere. It truly is about love and nothing else.
Well, unless I happen to marry Prince Harry. I'm positive that HE can splurge on a Harry Potter-themed wedding complete with a Dumbledore-impersonating preacher.
Ah, shoot, I just realized that I can't marry Prince Harry now... Jacy colored my hair red. Gingers marrying gingers? I'm not so sure if that's allowed.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Our older sister, Gina, posted this on our dad's Facebook wall this morning. I swear to you, our dad knew all these rules long before they were published last August.
Some of our favorite rules include:
#6: Buy her a glove and teach her to throw a baseball. Make her proud to throw like a girl… a girl with a wicked slider.
This is one of Gina's favorite rules. As discussed in previous posts, Jacy and I can't play softball to save our souls, but Gina was basically an all star.
#11: There will come a day when she asks for a puppy. Don’t over think it. At least one time in her life, just say, “Yes.”
This one especially tugs at my heartstrings because I BEGGED my dad to get me a dog for months and months, but he was all like, "Girl, there's no way in hell you're getting a dog." Then one random day -- maybe because I stopped talking to him completely -- he came home with the sweetest dog for me. I wasn't able to take her to college with me, so now she's completely dad's dog. I think I knew deep down that he'd be awfully lonely when I left, so that's why I wanted him to get me a dog.
#16: Take her fishing. She will probably squirm more than the worm on your hook. That’s OK.
Dad took all three of us girls fishing all of the time -- I think we knew how to bait a hook before we knew how to tie our shoes! This also caused severe sisterly disagreements between me and Jacy. For instance, one time I went to cast my line and got my hook stuck in Jacy's head. Another time, I got pissed at her and slammed her brand new rod and reel into a screen door. Okay, I'm sensing a trend now. I was the one who caused sisterly disagreements...sorry Jace.
Do you know what Jacy got for her birthday one year? A freaking pony. Yeah. Dad bitched about getting me a dog, but the man got Jacy a pony. See how awesome he is? What dad actually gets his daughter a pony? MINE!
I could gush about my dad all day. Gina, Jacy, and I are so very fortunate to have an absolutely amazing dad (AND MOM!). Love you, 'rents!