meet the Gabbys. plural.

Because I haven't in awhile, I just googled myself. All that came up were a couple boring articles I wrote for the Fontbonne newspaper while I was there. Then I googled "Gabby" without my last name, and hooo boy, did I have a good (and horrified) laugh!

Let the Gabbing begin:








First, this chain of restaurants in Toronto called Gabby's. Aren't you jealous that you don't have a cheesy, Applebee's-type chain with your name all over it? Ooh they probably have ginormous alcoholic bevies called Gabbaritas and Gabby on the Beach. And that is some major history, people. They've been slingin' overpriced chicken fingers since 1989!!

Next, a delightful musician named Gabby La La, based in San Francisco:


See, doesn't she look like fun? She plays the sitar, accordian, toy piano, and ukelele(!) fer chrissakes! And she was involved with the incredibly cool-sounding Dakah Hip Hop Orchestra. A snippet from her online journal:
I am almost done with the last inner ear section. I think the head is too big!! soon, hopefully today, I will assemble everything and hopefully it will look like a real bunny!
(that she is knitting, apparently, but before I scrolled down I thought ooooh we've got a live one, y'all! no seriously, though, this chick seems pretty rad.)

Not so rad: Crabby Gabby's Primitive Black Doll. Check out the close up of the face. WOULD YOU EVER give your baby a doll like that, you sick fuck? The doll's name is Belindy, but feel free to rename her Fuglette!

What else do we have here...

Gabby Pahinui, a musician from Hawaii, greatly respected and no longer living. I like when I find male Gabbys. Interesting and strange. Also, Gabby Hayes, American actor, who was in 192 movies, most of them Westerns. He looks like someone that might know a few dirty jokes.


Ok, the next couple bug me out a bit...

















we don't live in a disposable world? WE DON'T?!? Nice cleav, Mom. And are you sure your baby's not drowning? Aren't babies supposed to float? You pushed him under there for the shot, didn't you?

Also:
Fabby Gabby's Froo Froos.
This is the Special of the Month, the Pink Marshmallow Froo Froo:


















And this is a needle in my eye.
Did I ever enjoy shit like that? I don't think I want girls anymore. And when I end up having 5 girls and they all prance around in tu-tus, or rather, froo froos (because you know I'll remember Fabby Gabby and patronize her later) please don't mock me or ask me where the needle is now.

Yes, yes, y'all:





That would be Gabby's, "A Great Little Honky Tonk." There are no two words more fun than Honky and Tonk. Put 'em together and you've got magic. This place is in British Columbia. Canadians must LOVE their Gabbys! Obviously I should move.

This is a band called Gabby Johnson that I will not be listening to:














They look all cute and harmless and granted, they were kind enough to add my name, but their tour dates involve places strictly within the confines of Florida and Texas and they pretty much go off on Michael Moore, so, you know, peace out. I'm sure they rock the socks off the local Seymour Frog's. I kinda feel like my name has been taken in vain, what with all the liberal-hating, poop-catching, dead doll-making things going on here!

Thankfully, we can end on a good note. Meet Gabby Day, professional cyclist:

Rawr! Can we all agree she saved the Gabbys? Or did I do that? Oh Me, you're such a card!

Post 19!

Post 19 has absolutely no relevance. 19 is not my favorite number. The 19th is not my birthday. I do not type 19 words per minute or have 19 pairs of shoes. I just thought 19 sounded rather big. Then I realized in 19 posts I haven't really said anything very...worthwhile. Ah, Self-Esteem, you are a cruel creature. It's not like I'm going for a Nobel Peace Prize here!

Just a minute ago, I was sitting on the toilet (now we're getting somewhere) and I heard a thump against the door. I opened it a crack and it was Cirrus the kitty, crashing her face into it because she loves to crash her face into shit. I gave her a second to dash in but she didn't so I closed the door. She likes to visit me when I'm in the loo. However, there is a guest in the apartment right now and it's just not decent to impose the sound of draining piss upon someone, and ain't I the most decent of all decency! But I thought it would be fun to play with the kitty. So I unwadded some of the t.p. in my hand and pushed it under the door. I then proceeded to wiggle it around and yank it away, which is the proper way to get a cat's attention. Cirrus wasn't taking the bait. Wiggle wiggle wiggle. Still no claw. Yeah, uh, that's because the cat had walked away and left me wiggling, unaware. Are you a loser if no one is there to see you lose? No, you are a loser when you proceed to tell people about it. Hopefully it's more tolerable than making you read about my dream last night. Which, by the way, was crazy...

Mother may I...

kick my brother's ass?

Here's the thing about my brother: he just got off nearly three years of not being allowed to drink alcohol or (obviously) consume any sort of illicit anything. He had to blow into a breathalizer every time he started his car. He even wore a strap on his angle that detects alcohol in your sweat. If you don't know my brother very well, all I can tell you is that my brother used to party hard. I must say he handled this government babysitting remarkably well, and I thought maybe he'd see a new outlook on life that didn't revolve around drunken carousing in Soulard or any of the many, many bars where he knows the bartenders by name. At the very least, maybe he'd see the benefit of moderation and recognize that getting careless with the things and people you love can have devastating consequences.

Recently, he officially ended his relationship with his on/off girlfriend who is not the peachiest of peaches, and I agree they probably shouldn't be together. Recently, he completed his term of forced sobriety. What do you get when you squash these two major events within weeks of one another? Retro J., the J. that gets arrested.

To be fair, he didn't get arrested. He called me last night and I was in a noisy place so I didn't answer. I assumed he was double-checking that we were still meeting at 9:00am for Mother's Day brunch at Mokabe's. (Yeah, it's early, and it was my idea, but if you don't there early you don't get a table.) So I called J. back late last night and MY COUSIN answered the phone. My cousin is my age and very cute and friendly. When she first came into the family (through marriage at age 11) I thought it was awesome to have a female cousin my age that rode horses and played the flute like I did, and she thought my hair was perfect so naturally I took to her. Now her and my brother are friends. I barely talked to my cousin at Easter; she was too busy gossiping with J. about all the partying, about her recent breakup, and how J.'s girlfriend is crazy and he should end it. Though I still think she's nice, I have nothing in common with her. She and her friends enjoy hanging out in bars in downtown Clayton because that's where they think they're going to meet rich men. Her and J. have very similar paces of life. That doesn't mean they should be pacing together!

A few years ago my brother told me that he thinks she's hot.

Um.

So she answered his phone, laughing hysterically. I recognized her laugh and said "Cousin?" (no, I really said her name) and told her who was calling and that just sent her into another fit of laughter. I didn't even bother trying to talk to her, I just asked her to put my brother back on the phone. "Nine o'clock, J," I said, and I hung up. Had I not, he would have heard a very mean stream of buzz-harshing words come out of my mouth.

Because, really. I know people hang out with their cousins. Am I crazy to think that it's just not okay for cousins of the opposite sex to be getting drunk together? Am I paranoid because he said she was hot? I don't honestly think that they'd do anything. I'm a benefit-of-doubt kind of person. That wasn't the first time they've hung out - they actually have a mutual friend so it makes it a little less weird, but I'm sure that mutual friend was not in attendance last night. What I'll keep telling myself is that he must want her to introduce him to her hot friends.

This morning, how ever, I felt the sort of rage towards my brother that I used to feel when he told me I was fatter than our mother. At 4:07am, my brother sent me this text message: 9 am mokabes right ? Ill b there right .

By 9:30am, we had all eaten brunch without my brother. Gifts had been opened, heaps of bacon chewed, strawberry orange juice savored, all without my brother.

"If I had my cell phone, I'd call him and let him have it," I said to everyone.
"I have my cell phone!" chirped my mom. But she is more diplomatic than I am, and I also believe she enjoys a good guilt trip every once in awhile, and the mother of all mother guilt trips obviously should occur on Mother's Day.

"Hellloooo. This is your mooother. Where arrrrre you?" Her perfect sing-songy tone was absolutely saturated with disappointed anger. Oh, and she was talking to his voicemail. He called back a few minutes later and didn't show up for another twenty-five minutes, nevermind the fact that the coffeehouse is less than 2 minutes from his apartment.

I'll admit it - I could barely look at him. He knew he fucked up, and I was glad he knew it, and I wanted to make sure he knew that I was not okay with it. It wasn't even that I wanted to side with my mother and appear the better and more considerate child. I was honestly enraged. Had he not added that sarcastic little right onto the end of Ill be there in his cute little text message I might have made eye contact or smiled at him once. He was inexplicably taunting me, like oh shit! It's 4am and I have get up in 5 hours! Isn't this a rockstar dilemma! For better or worse, your mother deserves more respect than anyone you know. Showing up to Mother's Day brunch nearly an hour late smelling like alcohol with blood shot eyes and basically refusing to eat is about as disrespectful as it gets.

And you could hear my heart break when my mom said this after my brother passed her a card and got up to get coffee:

"He probably bought this on the way here."

But it's okay. Instead of throwing a fit and because I like to throw grenades, my parents and my aunt now know that J. and our cousin have been hanging out, and there were looks of disapproval aplenty. Let the chips fall, every last one of 'em.

The children

Sshhh...don't wake the beast...

I warned you! (This might be my favorite kitty picture ever. I mean, look at all the crazy going on!)

Ok, maybe this is my favorite.

Bad as I wanna be, Part 2

So here's the rest:

- In fifth grade me and a friend of mine decided we didn't like this other girl Michelle. It was kind of messed up because I had just been friends with Michelle. Anyway, the elementary school we attended was very odd in that there were no real walls separating the classrooms. Each grade had a big open area with a desk for a teacher's aide in the middle. Also in the middle when we were in fifth grade was a large cubby-type mailbox and every student and teacher had their own slot. The teachers used it for sending home fliers for our parents and giving back graded work; we used it for trading notes with our friends and Valentine distribution. There were no real rules for the mailboxes - why should there be? My evil friend and I left a note in Michelle's box telling her we were going to kill her bunny. She was always talking about her stupid bunny. I think we might have even prank called her and whispered "I'm going to kill your bunny!" and then hung up. Michelle showed our evil note to a teacher and not long after that they got rid of the mailboxes. Oops. Sorry, class. I really don't understand what my problem was. I love animals! (On a very sad final note - I had photography class with Michelle in high school and she remembered everything. I scarred her.)

- I guess my friend and I hadn't had enough fun torturing Michelle, because we convinced her that we wanted to make up in order to torture her more. We met her near the jacket hooks in the hall one day. I brought with me a fake hand that my brother bought for Halloween. I stuck it up my shirt and then told Michelle we should shake and call a truce. She shook the fake hand and I let it go and the screaming commenced. EVIL!

- Another friend Nancy, who lived just around the corner, always came over to my house even though I don't think her mother liked me very much. Couldn't possibly be because I practically forced her to break her mother's rules, namely Nancy, you shall not paint your nails. Even then I knew that was a ridiculous rule and was always begging Nancy to let me paints her nails. Boy, I most have chosen some friends with spaghetti backbones - no one ever really stood up to me, and Nancy was probably the softest of them all. Not only did I paint her nails, I put makeup on her (scandalous!) and also tried to teach her how to ride a horse (my chair) which left her pining hard for some horseback riding lessons, and I'm sure her mother didn't appreciate all the begging. Nancy was the first real victim of my bossiness, I think. She loved to come over and play with me but I always took the good Barbies and good Breyer horses and left her with the crap. Dear Nancy, she was always happy with the crap. And if she wasn't she sure didn't let on.

- Jessica (the one who abetted my "love note" to Jeff B.) and I used to love to go a few doors down to offer free babysitting to a set of twins in a very large family. Their mother always said yes because she was overwhelmed and she didn't care if you knew it (there were about 7 children there at the time). For some reason, we adored one of the twins and loved to make the other one cry. Is that normal when you're little, to want to make someone younger than you cry? This must happen with younger siblings, right?

- Another friend of mine in elementary school became a great friend of mine in middle school, but when we were really young she came over to my house for the first time and I introduced her to all my dolls and we started to play. I don't remember what I said (or more accurately, what shitty toy she was forced to play with while I got the cool one) but suddenly she looked up at the clock and said, "It's 1:03. My mom told me to be home at 1:07." After she left I told my mom and she said "You need to stop being so bossy," which evidently I didn't take to heart until middle school when suddenly I was groping for friends because all my friends made new friends.

- For my 13th birthday my parents were feeling very generous and said yes when I asked them if they would rent me a limo for the night so my friends and I could just drive around. In high school they probably would have said no for fear of providing us with a rolling pub, but we were only 13 which meant I was too young for them to be worried yet. (Oh parents, bless your ignorant hearts.) So I chose five friends and we got dressed up (man, did I love having the power to make my guy friends wear ties!) and we just...got chauffeured around. We blasted the Reality Bites soundtrack and the Cranberries. Hardcore partiers, I know. There was a girl in our class, Sara, that had a fancy party for her birthday (fancy = hired a DJ) at the community center and had neglected to invite me, and she invited a lot of people, including all my friends in the limo, who wisely declined in favor of big pimpin' around St. Louis with the Gabsta. I couldn't for the life of me figure out why she didn't invite me to her party, which incidentally, was held on my birthday. So I decided to crash that bitch's party. I asked the limo driver to go to the community center, and not five minutes after we pulled up her entire party was coming outside to investigate the limo. We let a few people sit in it to rub it in but then kicked them out and drove off, and I will never forget the look on Sara's face as she stood at the back of the crowd glaring at me and my sparkly white limo. Of all the crappy things I've done, I'm proudest of this for its supreme timing and execution. Poor Sara got TSS in high school (but NOT from a tampon, OK? NOT!) and I'm pretty sure the subsequent social damage hurt a lot more than me not getting invited to her party. But whatever.

- One day in high school I came back from doing some illicit extracurriculars in the parking lot with the only friend I've ever had that I'd qualify as a bad influence (after all, that was usually my job). I'd had a little too much of the extracurriculars and must have been feeling very ballsy, because I went up to my ex-best friend's new best friend, who was sitting right next to my ex-best friend, and I said "She probably only likes you because you look like me. But I'm funnier than you, did she tell you that?" I still honestly can't believe I did something like that at age 15, because by then I was very much over my taunting stage. It was the extracurriculars, I swear! But actually people confused me and the new best friend all the time because we could have been sisters what with all the freckles and red hair and association with the same friend. They are probably still best friends. The difference is, now I don't care.

You know what? Suddenly I'd rather disclose some of the mean shit that has happened to me. Just to show you karma has a sense of humor, which I'm sure you already knew.

- I grew up in a neighborhood surrounded by kids I went to school with so there was never a shortage of people to play with. We were very good at organizing our own games in the middle of the street. We usually played kickball and used trees as bases. I was covering first base one day and for some reason decided to do a cartwheel instead of pay attention. My neighbor Laura had just kicked the ball and was running towards first base and smacked her head right into my cartwheeling foot. I say she smacked into my foot and not the other way around, because seriously, who aims their cartwheels? I couldn't have cartwheel-kicked her if I tried. Yet when she collapsed on the ground in tears, everyone, included my so-called BFF Jessica, turned on me and got all up in my grill like "Why did you do that?!" and "YOU COULD AT LEAST SAY YOU'RE SORRY!" which I totally and definitely did but no one heard me. I ran crying into my house and didn't come back out.

- This doesn't really have a specific story attached, but imagine being a little larger than most of your classmates and having a name that rhymes with Flabby. And a last name that rhymes with Puking, which had nothing to do with being fat.

- Another little Jessica, a far more annoying one, frequently challenged my status as an adopted child. "Nuh-uh," she'd taunt. "You're not adopted," to which the only logical response is "Want to call my mom and ask her?" I swear that turd would challenge me on a weekly basis, and it was very upsetting. I know, I know, WAH! You're the girl who threatened to kill someone's bunny!"
Another time she accused me of eating my eye boogers, which, NO. I most certainly did NOT. I know she was just trying to get me riled up so I'd admit that I'm not really adopted. Twit.

- Between 10th and 11th grade, I was one of 16 students to go to Germany for one month as an exchange student. I was very psyched about this trip - a month in a foreign country where we CAN DRINK, sans parents, and I also thought it was going to be a lot of fun because I had a pretty good friend going with me. She wasn't one of my best friends, but I hung out with her and her best friends frequently. What I didn't expect was for her to crawl up the asses of all the upperclassmen that went. I know they thought I was a fat ugly dork. I know it. As soon as the plane landed, this chick no longer associated with me, and I was crushed. Not only did my exchange student/hostess, Carmen, swap personalities with a raging bitch that she didn't bring along to America, I was ditched by my "friend" from home for people who bummed cigarettes from me (douches didn't bring a carton like I did) and then told me in disgusted tones that my cigarettes were stale. FUCK YOU. DON'T ASK FOR ANOTHER. I would like to say that I gobbled up every learning, social, or cultural experience while in quaint little Tauberbischofsheim, but closer to the truth would be that I sat on the balcony of my host family's house smoking my stale cigarettes and writing letters to my friends, who, I learned from letters, were embroiled in much better drama than Should I go watch Carmen's fencing lesson like she wants me to or go inside where it perpetually smells like snot and watch bad German TV? You know the TV won out.

Ok, wow. I'm realizing that I was generally a lot more horrible to others than they were to me. I'm done now.