26 03 2010

Sometime yesterday I tweeted (twit? twat?) this:

And it got me thinking about how lucky my brothers are to be identical twins. I mean, non-stop Halloween* costume ideas! Another Halloween, they dressed up as the Boondock Saints. How awesome is that?!?!

So I’m kind of jealous of my little brothers.  There are all these perks to being a twin, and why can’t I have perks?  Don’t I deserve perks?  Where are my perks?!

The Halloween benefit is really an offshoot of a more obvious benefit:  The Switcharoo**.  My brothers did this often in grade school and never even got in trouble for it, because oh ha ha, twins are adorable, they can do no wrong.  The Switcharoo happens when one twin pretends to be the other twin and totally screws with people all day long.  If I had a twin I could do that without just pretending to be someone else, which is what I currently do to fuck with people and gets me less laughing and more psychiatrists’ business cards.

Perk Number Two:  Twin ESP.  I have seen this in action, and it’s pretty fucking amazing.  Of course it makes sense (maybe only to me, but I digress) that two people with identical DNA would be super-tuned in to each other, but it doesn’t make it less cool when one twin gets a bad feeling and then we find out the other just got in a car wreck.  I want someone who can predict when I’m getting hurt or know to pick up some Taco Bell for me without me asking!

The third benefit I am bemoaning not getting to experience is the Double Your Fun factor.  It’s a given that having two of me everywhere would really make the world a better place, but what I’m really thinking of here is dressing alike.  I know, that’s kind of creepy, but don’t you think it would be fun sometimes?  I have this one outfit I just can’t get enough of, it’s so adorable.  So I make my twin wear it too and BAM!  Double the cute.

Anyway.  Maybe I’ll get a clone for Christmas.

*Aside:  Halloween of 2007, I was waaaay preggo with Maya.  I wanted to dress up as a nun and have Boyfriend dress up as Jesus, BUT NO, HE WAS NOT INTO IT.  And I have never forgiven him for it.  Pregnant nun!  Jesus!  It was sheer genius!

**Another Aside:  I have always wondered if my brothers, who seriously have to beat women away with a stick, have pulled The Switcharoo on any girls before.  If ya’ know what I’m sayin’.


pick two

25 03 2010

Do you have a bucket list?  Most people do whether they know it or not.  Even if you don’t have it written down somewhere, you probably know there are certain things you want to do before you shuffle off this mortal coil.

I would never share my total list publicly because I’m ashamed at how many times it features Robert Downey, Jr. but many of them are adventurous-type things like SHARK DIVING or RACING ON THE NURBURGRING.  For the record, YES capital letters are required when talking about things that have a higher chance of ending in a gory death.

I don’t want to wait until I’m 68 to start scratching things off my list, and I’m kind of a procrastinator by nature, so I’m going to force myself to do two of my Things this year.  Neither SHARKS nor NURBURGRING is really in the forecast for 2010, so I’ll take baby steps and start with SKYDIVING and LEARN HOW TO RIDE A MOTORCYCLE.

(By the way, if you’re in the Balto-DC-NoVA metro area and want to help me or join me, that would be awesome.  It would be nice to meet cool people in the area who like adventurous things or have tips on how to jump out of a plane correctly.  Or, if you have a motorcycle that a 100-lb. person can handle and you want to teach me how to ride one- and won’t sue me if I lay it down once or twice- then hey, let’s hang out!)

So, what’s on your bucket list?  Why don’t you pick two and resolve to get them done this year?  They don’t have to be big.  If you want to pick your nose, frame the results and sell it as art…  Well, to each his own.  So pick two and tell me about them (and tell me if I can help, because I will if I can!)…

oh, hai

23 03 2010

I am just not good at blogging anymore. I used to be pretty OK at it, like five years ago. I had ideas and social commentary and I found ways to make my life seem interesting. Oh, and also frequently posted semi-nudes of myself. Now, my life is decidedly more interesting than it was five years ago, yet I can’t find anything to say about it. Either I’ve lost my creativity or I’ve gotten all hermit-y and (subconsciously?) don’t want to put my life on the interwebz.

Anyway. I am busy working on becoming 100% self-employed because I don’t want die and be known as that girl who really excelled at working in an office. Which, I do excel at it, but whoa, that’s boring. So I’m trying to find a happy balance between Office Worker Bri and a Bri who wants to go to exotic locales to photograph dangerous wildlife. Can’t abandon the kiddos to frolic with lions and a Nikon… Yet.

I’m sure there is honor or nobility in being one of those people who has the same career as an accountant or human resources manager for 30+ years… But that’s not me. And at the risk of hate mail, I often think there is such thing as too much stability. Once people get too comfortable, they get lazy. I want to show my kids that trying new things and taking risks and not being so freaking typical is not a bad thing.

Of course if my kids want to be accountants I’ll have to be cool with that too.

I get a decent amount of shit from people close to me about my long list of possible career options and not wanting to pick just one. I want to be a nurse in an inner-city E.R.! I want to be a NatGeo photographer! I want to be a confectioner! And so on and so forth. Why must I choose one? Why can’t I do them all? I’ve got at least 40 years to try it all.

Unless I get eaten by a lion while sneaking up for a photo.

what i did last night

7 03 2010

I don’t normally do this, but I have to share the dream I just woke up from…


I’m in Maryland, and suddenly decide my calling is being a rap star*. So I grab my toothbrush and my notebook of scathing rhymes and head for Phoenix.

Apparently Phoenix is the new place where rappers get rich or die trying.

Once I’m back in the 602, I start looking for music moguls to give my demos to. While I’m looking for one specific executive, I meet Mos Def and he’s actually a huge dickhead. I, of course, quickly turn him around with my charm* and our shared love of liberal political propaganda*.

Anyway, Mos Def and I start walking downtown to find his pal, the exec I want to meet. On our way we run into Kim Kardashian who also happens to be a thugged-out chick rapper* in this dreamario (that’s “dream + “scenario” for those who can’t keep up with my invented words). I think K-Kard is a lesbian because she seems very jealous of the blossoming friendship I have with Mos Def… and keeps tossing around sexual innuendo about my Irish Box* (her term, not mine, I have better names for it).

We, this motley crew!, head for a music festival that’s right on the edge of the desert wilderness in Fountain Hills. (Think golf course community meets redneck bar.) As we begin our search for Executive, we pass a row of kids half-buried in holes; Butts and legs wiggling in the air, heads submerged in dirt*. I make jokes about “reverse prairie dogs”* as we pass.

The path we’re walking leads us straight into the desert and we continue*, weaving through cacti and tumbleweed. A mile later, Mos Def is walking ahead as K-Kard and I reminisce about the old water parks* of Phoenix. Suddenly, Mos shouts about some titties. His yelling becomes more frantic and we jog up to him. He’s standing over a severed torso complete with decaying boobs*. Next to that is the fresher-looking corpse of a young blonde.

As we wait for authorities to arrive, we look around the area. The sun is setting and we see Native Americans, covered in red and yellow feathers, performing ceremonial dances on the mesas surrounding us*.

Finally, detective Matthew Perry arrives. He begins to run in circles around the crime scene*. No speaking, no assessing the bodies. Just running in silent circles.

Mos Def, K-Kard and I walk into the sunset holding hands*.

*Denotes a “WTF” moment.


That is probably the strangest dream I’ve had in years, which is saying something because two nights ago I dreamt of a groundhog on steroids attacking me.

I can only deduce that someone has been slipping things into my bedtime vodka.

What’s the strangest dream you’ve ever had?