Fabamy's Blog

Crazy life of a CenPho comedian & socialite

Some dating advice…for the boys… November 30, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — fabamy @ 4:51 pm

“Since when was it such a hassle for a guy to actually ask a girl out?”  This is something I hear from my single girlfriends all the time.  It happens to me once in awhile, too.

If your’e interested in someone, you ask them out.  It doesn’t matter if it’s for coffee, dinner, lunch, whatever.  I get the guys who, the first time meeting, want to come over to watch a movie.  Or invite me to their place.  Um, I’m not going to your house.  You’re not coming to mine unless I know you.  I know what “watch a movie” means.  Not falling for it.

I have gone out with some awesome guys.  Just the fact that there’s some effort involved speaks volumes.  I’m not asking for anything fancy – most girls aren’t, especially on a first, second or tenth date.  Just some effort.

I had an amazing time just a couple weeks ago, and we just went to the Irish pub in the neighborhood and had fun for a couple hours.  This is the way dating is supposed to be, until you’re actually in a relationship.

Now, I can hear some of the guys reading this, saying “But they’re just using me for a free meal.”  Excuse me?  A free meal?  Taking time out of a busy day isn’t using you.  Is it so much to ask for you to spend $30??  Do you not HAVE $30???  If not, then you’re probably not datable anyway.  If you’re not willing to take someone out, spend a little bit of cash, then you’re probably not going to make it to the “watch a movie” date.  Plain and simple.

So, boys, before you go complaining about how we women are only out for your cash, your $30-dinner isn’t going to make or break our daily eating.  We won’t starve if you don’t take us to dinner.  What it WILL do, though, is show us that you actually want to do something other than “watch a movie” and maybe even start a relationship.

Actions speak louder than words.

 

I. Hate. The. Holidays. November 14, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — fabamy @ 5:50 am

Yup, I said it.  I hate the holidays.  I hate this time of year.  It always causes more stress than anything.

I guess it’s because I grew up with divorced parents.  The holidays were spent dividing the time between my father’s family and my mother’s.  When both my parents re-married, I was pulled into so many directions because I now had more grandparents, aunts and uncle and cousins to see.  There was no way to bring everyone together, either, as my parents hated each other with a passion.  There were a lot of hurt feelings and nothing was ever worked out to make things easier for me or my sister.

It got even worse once I got married.  Now, I had to divide my time even more.  My husband and I lived 5 hours away from home, so time was even more valuable when we went back to Buffalo for the holidays.  We always stayed at my mom’s house, because it had the most room and we could come and go without disturbing anyone.  In this way, though, my mom got most of our attention and time.  If I spent too much time at my father’s, she would call there, asking when I’d be back.  She wasn’t as bad when we were at my in-laws’ house, but it still annoyed her.  I’m the oldest and the closest to her and I guess it was just hard for her to see me spend time with others.

Since moving to Phoenix, it hasn’t gotten any better.  The first few years, I only made it back home a few times.  My parents now live in Payson, which is about 90 miles from Phoenix.  If all holidays were spent there, it wouldn’t be so bad.  We do Thanksgiving at her house and everyone is expected to go to my sister’s in Orange County, California, for Xmas.  It’s never a happy time for me.  I have to make sure I have enough time off work.  I have to get there, whether by car or flying.  If I fly, I have to find someone to take Dexter.

I’m not a religious person, so that aspect of Xmas is lost on me.  This year, with my new job, I won’t have any extra time to take off work to go to my sister’s.  Traveling there and back would just be too stressful and, quite frankly, I just plain old don’t want to go.  I want to have my weekend to relax, not be cramped in her house with absolutely no quiet time or privacy, only to come back home with only hours to recharge before going back to work.

Maybe it’s selfish of me, but I just can’t do it this year.  I am somewhat thankful for the new job and no extra days to take off.  So, I’ve decided to have a dinner party, “Xmas Misfits,” on Xmas night for my friends who may not have family in the area or can’t afford to go elsewhere to visit them.

 

 

NaNoWriMo – a one-month challenge to write a novel November 3, 2010

Filed under: My novel — fabamy @ 3:29 am

I’ve lived a crazy life.  I’ve done and seen pretty much everything.  My head is full of stories and I’ve been told for the past 20 years to write a book.  I’ve always had a couple in the works, and I’m finally getting down to it.  My friend and writing buddy, Sami, told me about NaNoWriMo a couple months ago.  National Novel Writing Month.  The deal is this:  You have 30 days to write a 50,000-word novel.  You cannot start until November 1st and you have to submit what you have done by midnight, November 30th.

I wrote the intro last night.  A daily goal of 1667 words is set to keep writers on-track.  Though I only made it to 1500, I surpassed my 2-day goal and am now up to 3501 words.  The novel is about my apartment building.  I’ve only lived here for a year, but there have been enough things that have happened to fill a book.

Here’s the intro (we are NOT supposed to edit while writing, but to do that after if there’s enough time, so excuse anything that needs to be corrected for now):

“I gotta get the fuck out of here” she said to herself.  Another strange note left on her car, another rat in the kitchen.  The weird notes from someone Violet went out with two years ago appeared under her windshield wipers appeared intermittently ever since.  Notes like “I love your new boots” and “Why were you up so late last night?” caught her off-guard.  Every time it happened, she was shaken to the core, thinking the last one was the ultimate effort of the freak to keep in contact with her.  Yeah, she’d thought about calling the cops, but with no last name, it was pretty difficult to file any charges.
The rats started to appear 5 months prior.  Roof rats.  A common occurrence in Phoenix.  They loved the citrus as it fell from the trees and rotted on the roofs.  They also loved pet food: cat food, dog food, whatever was left out on the floor.  Violet had a puppy and  a cat.  The puppy was smaller than the first rat.  Sitting there one evening, her pots and pans had started banging around.  Seeing a long, slinky tail slowly moving behind a pan, she freaked out and looked for the cat.  “Isn’t this your job, asshole?” she said, but then saw how big the damn thing was and shoved the cat back into the bedroom.  Running to the neighbor’s, she felt foolish.  But, hey, this was a man’s job.  So, after five months of the rats, the notes and overall fear of simply going to bed had taken its toll.
Switching on the laptop, she checked Craigslist for an apartment to move into.  There was no way she’d stay in Melrose, an historic neighborhood in Central Phoenix.  Though she adored it, the rats would just find her again.  So would the freak.  He’d find her car.  Searching the ads in Central Phoenix, many were places too small or too expensive.  Finally, after two hours of searching she noticed the headline “Melrose Place, without the drama.”  The photos were of a modern-style architectural building.  Reading through the ad, it said it had been designed by Al Beadle, her favorite and very well-known designer in the Phoenix area.  She called immediately.
Violet is one of those girls that’s just, well, “different.”  Not one to go with the masses, rarely does she ever wear the kind of clothes you get at the mall.  Anything designer comes from second-hand stores, and she picks those out because nobody else has them.  She wouldn’t be caught dead at a party with the same shoes or dress as anywhere else.  Goodwill?  Hell yeah!  Buy something used; it’s like recycling and her hippie mom would be proud.  The apartment sounded perfect: only a dozen units, not one of those stupid gated communities with a conference center and party room that could be rented out.  Who the fuck needs that shit?  She’d rather be in a place where she would know her neighbors and be a part of a community that wasn’t the typical cookie-cutter crap dotting the Valley of the Sun.  She needed a place that had as much character as she had.
The location was ideal: less than a mile from work and close to all her favorite restaurants and small, locally-owned businesses.  Pulling up, a rather large man was waiting for her in the parking lot.  Collin was extremely, openly gay.  Ok, he was a total flamer.  And proud of it.  He commented on Violet’s hair and clothing.  “This is gonna be perfect,” she thought to herself.  She had a ton of gay friends and that’s just what every single girl needs, right?
“We have a lot of cool people here who have lived here for years,” he said, showing her around the facilities downstairs.  Small, coin-operated laundry room, the pool and parking spots.  There were three apartments to choose from, and he showed her the one downstairs, first.  “I think the one upstairs will be more your style, though, and you’ll feel a bit safer,” he explained.  She answered only with “Cool.”  He led the way upstairs.
Everyone had plants everywhere!  There were cacti, succulents, trees in pots and vines crawling up the stucco walls.  Little tables lined the walkway from end-to-end, all loaded with houseplants.  It seriously looked like Melrose Place.  The property had a fence around it because of the pool, and the yard was a lush green.  The place looked well taken care of.
Opening the door to #10, it was instant love.  Original cabinets, from the 1960s, were abundant in the dining and kitchen areas.  The style was retro: built-in, original oven that was green, just like her great-grandma’s.  “Does everything work?” she asked incredulously.  The place had “flavor” and she turned on the ceramic stovetop.  “Yup.  I live on-property, so if anything goes wrong, I’m on it.  If I can’t fix it, I have enough people who can.”  Those words attracted her, but they would also be an omen of things to come.  She had know idea about the “people” that Collin knew.
“I’ll take it!” she exclaimed, completely in love with the vintage appliances, vast storage space and overall feel of the building.  “The carpets will be shampooed, right?” she asked, noticing it was stained in some spots.  “Oh, yeah, I’ll do all of that before you move in,” Collin replied confidently.  “Cool,” was all she said.
They agreed on the money shit, like rent and deposit and Violet took one last look around before returning back to work.  Lunch hour was over, unfortunately.

 

 

 

 

 
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