Thursday, November 12, 2009

New Moon hysteria...

God I hope it's called New Moon. I've referred to the second Twilight movie as New Moon for like a week now. Wouldn't I be the idiot if it was called Twilight 2 or something?
So I saw a New Moon display at Nordies the other day. They had cardboard cutouts of the wolf and the vampire (Jacob and Edward for those in the know) that you could buy. There were stacks and stacks of them lying around. And then there was the New Moon jewelry station. A whole table devoted strictly to all things Twilight. Fingering through all the "I heart Edward" dogchains, I was tempted to purchase one and wear it everyday to work. You know, for giggles and all. Not at all because I heart Edward or anything. But they were $24 dollars each! And that was the cheapest thing at the "vampires suck (me)!" table. It was shockingly appalling. Luckily they're having a free New Moon party this weekend to make up for it. Thank you Nordies. I have no idea what I'd do without you for my appropriate Twilight fan mania.
Oh and the regrettable part of the shopping experience? There was a tween girl pouring over the jewelry and giving everyone rehashes of the Twilight stories. I had to ask her the wolf's name (Jacob) a couple of times, because my short term memory is shit but to everyone else her information was unsolicited. Poor them. 

Monday, November 02, 2009

Turns out G was right...

G is always telling me not to shoot the finger to people while driving. He's always saying one day I'll get more than I bargained for. As an irate driver himself, it turns out he knows of what he speaks.

Two things one should immediately know about me: I'm too stupid to walk away from an aggressive situation and I'm a total wuss. I guess this translates to me having brass balls but punching like a person who doesn't know how to punch (I refuse to say "like a girl"). I'm kind of like my grandfather's rat terrier (rip to both), Bo, as in Bo Diddly, who didn't realize he was a tiny dog. And to be fair, he was triple the size of all his rat terrier brothers, so he came by his complex honestly. Bo was a big barker and growler and all around penis shower. All fine and dandy until he tried to scare away a possum in the yard and the possum wasn't having it. (Aside: this was also the day I realized those damn animals have lots and lots of teeth and thus developed a fear of them.) After much hissing and showing of teeth (by the possum), the dog lost his shit. For those of us watching, it was almost the funniest thing since the bulldog chasing incident of 1999. (That's another story altogether but the visual is Bo trying to jump inside the house, which wouldn't be that hard except he's too afraid to slow down enough to actually make the turn because a bulldog is hot on his heels. They proceed in laps around the house until one of us stops laughing long enough to take pity on him.) Anyway. I was Bo yesterday. And Jackass was the possum.

Short version: Jackass drove badly. I shot the finger. He banged on my car.

Long version: Jackass was driving an old bronco or jeep type of thing (no windows or ceiling) with a long flat bed trailer thing hoooked up. So his bad driving was especially bad driving given his load. I honked my horn at Jackass once he tried to get in my lane and smash my car. It was a bit of a long honk, because hello? The Jackass was trying to run me over. He turns around in his non-car and starts screaming and yelling at me for daring to honk at him. (At this point I probably should have realized I was dealing with a wild animal and it was best not to provoke but refer to the above paragraph and the thing about being stupid.) I waved my hands at him to shut up and move on into my lane if he needed to. See? Nice? He kept yelling while he was attempting to maneuvre lanes, even after I'd told him he could squeeze in in front of me, so I gave him the finger. (FYI, this is the action G is always telling me not to take. I have a prolific finger and use it at will.) Biiiig mistake. Jackass starts to get out of his car. Oops. My bad!

So I dart off in the next lane and go through the light we were waiting at (it was green). I just assumed that was the end of it and was waiting at the next light on the next block, mentally compiling my list for the grocery store. I looked in my rear view mirror and guess who was back? Jackass was pulling his trailer load and driving all over the street in an attempt to get in the lane next to mine. Jackass was driving even crazier than before. Imagine that! He pulls up next to me and definitely gets out of his car this time. He starts pounding on my car window yelling profanities, saying "watch where you put that finger," and spouting various other lovelies.

Still being a smart ass, I picked up my cell phone and showed it to him. Then I mouthed "9-1-1" as I started to push the buttons to show him I was going to call the cops on the crazy person acting a fool at 38th and Lamar. Of course he jumped right back into his jeep thing. That being that, I closed my phone, having had no intention of actually calling 911. I guess he realized I was fucking with him, because he seemed to get even angrier. Now I, personally, have never been called a whore. At least not to my face. But yesterday I was called a whore so much, I actually looked down at my sweater and jeans to verify that no boobs were sticking out or anything, just in case he thought I actually was advertising my body for money. It was just as I'd expected and everything was in place. I guess he wasn't being very accurate with his name calling and was just falling on whatever horrid female insult he could hurl at me.

I thought about giving him the finger a second time, especially when he was loudly lecturing me on my use of hand gestures (in the form of profanity filled screams), but by then my instincts told me to not aggravate the obvious crazy person. Too bad those instincts didn't kick in earlier. But by then the light turned green and he screeched off down the road into crappy car oblivion while I went on to the grocery store to buy my week's worth of lettuce and feta cheese.

If you guys ever come across a jackass in a white jeep/bronco with a TX license plate P48-KJM, tell him I said hi. And give him the finger, from me. Oh and did I mention the load in his trailer was a pink pedi-cab (those bicycle driven cab things)? I think the cosmic joke is on him.

Friday, October 30, 2009

Nightmare on My Street - Who Knew?

What to my wondering ears should appear but one Fresh Prince and 8 midi drum riffs? I wonder whatever happened to DJ Jazzy Jeff? And the youtube below is the best. It's some kind of crazy Freddy tribute set to Fresh Prince's Nightmare on My Street. Think about that for a second. A tribute video. To Freddy. Set to a Fresh Prince song. Called Nightmare on My Street. The sheer amount of ridiculousness involved in this piece of genius is what Halloween is all about. And candy.


Tuesday, October 27, 2009

I've been in a girl fight...

with myself. I awoke Monday morning to find a huge fingernail scratch down the right side of my face. I vaguely remember something itching in that same area overnight and waking up periodically throughout the night with some horrid, stinging pain. But it wasn't until I looked in the mirror that everything came flooding back. So now I'm in constant pain (not severe but aggravating nonetheless as it's in my smile zone), and people keep asking me who I pissed off, what with the claw marks down my pretty, pretty face.

I keep looking at my fingernails trying to find the culprit. They all feel so soft and smooth though. It's hard to get mad at recently manicured nails, ya know?

Friday, October 16, 2009

Am still in shock...

I cooked chicken sausages last night. For the first time EVER I cooked them on the stove and the smoke detector did not go off. And not because I took the batteries out like that one time but because I actually cooked them in a nice, normal way. You know, without the burning and such. I am a culinary genius. Bow before my kitchen glory.

Wednesday, October 07, 2009

And then there were... more...

Harrison Ford. I fucking hated that stupid Indiana Jones movie that just came out anyway. If not for Shia, I would have left you and your idiotic crystal skulls to rot in Naziland (or wherever they were).

And the most devastating - Emma Thompson. I can't imagine someone who makes Jane Austen look so, so good could possibly sign something like this. I'm holding out hope a) it's an impostor and/or b) she's just stupid, not heartless.

Sam Mendes. I managed to miss his name originally. I might be stuck watching inane big-budget flicks if all my indie directors keep signing...

People suck. I'm still completely appalled that Natalie Portman would throw paint on my fur but wouldn't give a rat's ass if I decided to rape her little brother and/or son (if she had either). Nice, Nat, nice.

Thursday, October 01, 2009

More names...

Harrison Ford
Jeremy Irons
Natalie Portman (I've always disliked all her stupid opinions and editorials. Save your efforts and go save Israel with your animal friendly shoes, why don't you, Natalie?) - no offense meant to Israel or animal friendly shoes -
Kristin Scott Thomas
Penelope Cruz
Ethan Coen
Guillermo del Toro
Buck Henry
Brett Ratner
Bernardo Bertolucci
Gael Garcia Bernal
Mike Nichols

Wednesday, September 30, 2009

I am at a loss...

Roman Polanski is a rapist. There is no discussion about it. The facts are not disputed. He gave a quaalude (or a "sliver" of one - whatever) with some champagne and then raped a 13 year-old girl orally, vaginally, and anally (that word seems wrong somehow). And let's be specific about her participation in the whole thing, if one can really say a 13 year-old has the wherewithall to participate in anything sexually, especially with a 43 year-old man. She told him to "keep away" from her and told police she didn't resist more because she was "afraid of him."

Regardless of whether she resisted or not, she was 13. A 13 year-old girl (kid) CANNOT consent to sexual activity with a man, 30 years her senior. Especially when she's drugged.

So why, then, are celebrities and/or artists (if that's what they really are) calling for the release of Polanski? They are going so far as to sign petitions asking for his release calling his arrest a "travesty," saying he's an artistic genius, etc., etc., etc. Of course there are issues involving any kind of extradition but to excuse his behavior because a) it was merely sex with a minor (no such thing - that's called rape)* or b) Polanski is a genius and therefore doesn't deserve to be locked up with all the common, gutter trash is absolutely fucking insane.

*I do believe there is a difference between this situation and a senior in high school having sex with his under 18 high school girlfriend.

If those assholes want to sign petitions eschewing their allegiance to a rapist, artistic or French as he may be, I will help them along. I'm posting their names and boycotting their products and/or work. It'll hurt but these fools deserve it. And I'll add any name I find along the way who supports Roman Polanski being released from prison.

Here are the ones I know of right now (I'm listing in order of my own personal importance w/r/t boycotting - the ones that'll hurt the most and then alphabetical after that):

David Lynch (this hurts my heart)
Wes Anderson (really? I always thought you were a freak but in a good way. Guess I was wrong.)
Martin Scorsese (give me a fucking break)
Diane von Furstenburg (ouch. good thing I can't afford her dresses anyway)
Michael Mann (guess I can't see anymore of your stupid movies with G now)
Jonathan Demme (like his work - Rachel Getting Married, Philadelphia, Silence of the Lambs, etc. Oh well.)
Harvey Weinstein (what has Polanski or child rape ever done for you that you owe them so?)
Tilda Swinton (um... you're living in a group marriage thing so I can understand you wanting to stand up for non-traditional relationships but this is not one of those)
Woody Allen (big surprise - pot, meet kettle)
Salman Rushdie (as if boycotting this douche will really hurt)

Isabelle Adjani
Pedro Almodovar
Paul Auster
Pedro Almodovar
Asia Argento
Jean-Jacques Annaud
Darren Aronofsky
Fanny Ardant
Asia Argento
Olivier Assayas
Gabriel Auer
Christophe Barratier
Gilles Behat
Marco Bellochio
Monica Bellucci
Jean-Jacques Beineix
Yamina Benguigui
Patrick Bouchitey
Jacques Bral
Pascal Bruckner
André Buytaers
Christian Carion
Henning Carlsen
Jean-Michel Carre
Patrice Chéreau
Elie Chouraqui
Souleymane Cissé
Alain Corneau
Jérôme Cornuau
Miguel Courtois
Alfonso Cuaron
Alexandre Desplat
Arielle Dombasle
Georges Dybman
Betrand van Effenterre
Jacques Fansten
Michel Ferry
Stephen Frears
Thierry Frémaux
Sam Gabarski
Tony Gatlif
Costa Gavras
Jean-Marc Ghanassia
Christian Gion
David Heyman
Laurent Heynemann
Isabelle Huppert
Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu
Gilles Jacob
Just Jaeckin
Pierre Jolivet
Neil Jordan
Nelly Kaplan
Wong Kar Waï
Jan Kounen
Harmony Korinne
Milan Kundera
Emir Kusturica
John Landis
Claude Lanzmann
Patrice Leconte
Bernard-Henri Levy
François Margolin
Mario Martone
Radu Mihaileanu
Jeanne Moreau
Claude Lanzmann
André Larquié
Claude Lelouche
Claude Miller
Mike Nichols
Michel Ocelot
Alexander Payne
Michele Placido
Jean-Paul Rappeneau
Yasmina Reza
Laurence Roulet
Walter Salles
Jean-Paul Salomé
Marc Sandberg
Julian Schnabel
Barbet Schroeder
Ettore Scola
William Shawcross
Abderrahmane Sissako
Paolo Sorrentino
Radovan Tadic
Danis Tanovic
Bertrand Tavernier
Cécile Telerman
Alain Terzian
Pascal Thomas
Daniele Thompson
Giuseppe Tornatore
Serge Toubiana
Nadine Trintignant
Tom Tykwer
Wim Wenders

Monday, September 28, 2009

Go buy the Girls' Album....

No really. The Girls are a boy group and their album is titled Album. Go buy it now! I listened to it this morning and I'm officially completely sad and in love with the lead singer. My favorite lyrics are from Hellhole Race, which I'd quote from but I can't find them online, but my favorite sounding song is from Ghostmouth. Christopher Owens (singer) sounds like some kind of 50s crooner and it's completely awesome. The whole album seems to be about some girl he broke up with (or who broke up with him or simultaneously or whatever), but the sounds are so cool that I keep laughing during the middle of some heartbreaking diatribe about wanting to be happy again.
It's like Truvy (Dolly Parton) said in Steel Magnolia's, "laughter through tears is my favorite emotion." While I'm not sure laughter is emotion, I completely agree.
Listen to it on Pitchfork and go buy the album at Amazon.


Tuesday, September 22, 2009

So that's what that was called...

I've learned a word (thank you Jezebel!) to describe my complete obsessive disorders related to my neighbors. It's called a hate crush. I wouldn't say I go so far as to "hate" my neighbors but at times the venom I spit out probably seems like that to others.

I do know the one neighbor plays tennis (as in carries multiple rackets and has a tennis bag backpack thing). He also reads the NYTimes on Sunday and drives a big truck, which he'd like to trade in for a Prius. He's recently updated his bumper sticker collection (vary sparse) with a school's mascot (not my school). He's pursuing an MBA at said school.

I suspect one of the other neighbors might either a) travel a lot for her job or b) be a high-class escort. Mainly due to the traveling and BMW she drives. I suppose her parents could be monied or she could have a boyfriend she spends a few nights a week with, but I've really latched on to the high-class escort theory. I like her a lot more lately, because we bonded over the horrid workers our landlord hires.

And the other couple. The couple. Who take up 2 parking spots in our small lot when each unit should really only get 1 spot. (I say this because I'd like to have a spot open at all times for my visitors - not theirs. I should win. I've been there longer.) And the stupid girl portion of the couple tries to steal my parking spot occasionally. It's not bad enough that they take two, but she's got to sneak in and steal mine when I'm gone for a few days? As if. My spot is MINE. It's right outside my apartment door and did I mention I've lived there longer than anyone else? I WIN.

There's also an inordinate amount of peeking out the window to see what the goings-on are out there in neighborland. Of course all of this is complete cheese compared to my hate crush on the previous neighbor (before the tennis playing boy above). I only realized the last day he was there - his move out day - that he only had one arm. The entire two years he'd been there I'd observed his sexual habits (suspected gayness more out of shirtlessness frolicking with other shirtless boys than actual boy kissing or anything), his sporting habits (crew, which come to think of it is slightly impressive given the whole one arm thing), his obnoxious friends (they were the worst parking infringers), and his suspected trashcan moving tactics (don't ask). I also fell over the stone fence thing behind his apartment once when I was trying to look for something. It hurt a lot.

Long way of saying that Jezebel rocks. They have given me a new label for my neuroses and I'm incredibly grateful for it.

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

I'm a little shocked...

Admittedly I've been avoiding most of the "you lie"/Rep. Wilson mess since it happened. I preferred not to contribute to what I considered low hypocrisy on the part of Wilson and the media frenzy that followed. Not to say I wasn't ticked, but I figured there were bigger things to worry about (i.e. my boss not eating me alive today for one).

Last night I stumbled across KO for the first time in a couple of weeks (I guess since the Wilson mess) and heard the dreaded R word - race. At first I sort of laughed a little. Race? Wilson was just being a jackass. How does that have anything to do with racism or race issues? Wasn't this just Keith being a little out there? I normally agree with most things Countdown but not always. And I thought maybe this was one of those "not always" bits. But then I read about Jimmy Carter thinking the same thing. And then I clicked on "white supremists" on jezebel and found out that Wilson has a history of supporting white segregationists with confederate flag complexes. I think that last bit is perhaps a stretch on calling Wilson racist or anything, but it does sort of get to the heart of the question: does race play a role in all of this vitrolic Obama hate from the right?

I'm one of those naive people who likes to say they understand the role race plays in modern America, all the while being white and middle-class and completely incapable of understanding the role race plays in modern America. I've never dared to say we're in a post-racial society though, because, quite frankly, I know better. I know people. I've heard things. We're not even close to being there. But I did think, again naively, that Obama getting elected meant there were more of us than them. And the "them" was not as vocal and/or adament as one might imagine.

I guess I'm a little shocked, because I've just realized I'm wrong. Or that I was wrong. Or stupid or whatever you want to call it. I didn't want to think these vocal minorities were inherently incensed because of race. (I still don't want to think it.) I also didn't want to be a person who screamed "racism" at every person who had some kind of criticism or complaint, regardless of its accuracy or not.

Aside: A repub friend of mine accused me of throwing out the racism label a little too freely a while back. We were having a discussion about Rush Limbaugh, and while Iwas completely right - that dude is racist (among a whole litany of offenses to pile in the racist column is the fact he was fired from Monday Night Football for making, ahem, racist comments and the lovely, lovely "Barack the Magic Negro" song he played over and over again on his radio show during the election cycle) - I was also self-aware enough to know that she was right. I could very easily throw out the word "racist" and have no qualms about labeling just about anyone I thought was a bit of an ass on the right. I didn't do that, of course, but I could have done that. Labeling a hate-monger or nut-job racist wasn't a big deal to me. Given my recent realization about my propensity to label, fairly or not, I didn't want to fall into the "cry wolf" category if I could help it.

All of this said, I'm not at all calling Rep Wilson a racist. I have no idea if he is or not. I hope he's not. But I've naively blundered my way into thinking the world is a happy, nicer place because Obama is president. It's not. And I'm beginning to think, slowly and haltingly, that race is playing more of a role in the diatribe than I'd ever cared to admit before.

What do you think? Are people calling it correctly?

Oh and I think Jezebel hit it right on when they gave Matt Lauer what for for asking if it's worse to be racist or to have the label of racist thrown around. Um, what do you think, Mr. Privileged White Boy? I'd say it might be worse to be abused than to be called an abuser. Let's ask Rihanna or Chris Brown who has it worse. Bad example. Let's ask Rihanna in 20 years once she's come to her senses who had it worse. (Don't get me started on that stupid Chris Brown song making the rounds because of some dumb wedding dance. People are idiots.)

Monday, September 14, 2009

Oh Serena...

Disclaimer: I really like Serena Williams. I don't care that she acts like a big baby after she loses matches, although I fully admit it, and I like the way she calls the media out on their bullshit.

So then she goes and does something like this Saturday night.

In brief, she got called on a foot fault (questionable) to make it match point. She acted a fool and got penalized a point, which caused her to lose the match. Serena was also fined $10,000 (and $500 for breaking her raquet earlier in the match), and now the powers that be are contemplating suspending her and/or taking away all her prize winnings for the year and/or the U.S. Open. There are a few points to consider since it's rarely as simple as all that.

1. She probably would have lost. Clijsters was beating her fair and square. Given #1,

2. The whole incident took away Clijsters awesome play and win in the semis.

3. The questionable foot fault. I'm of the opinion that the call was dubious, possibly correct (Serena admits she might have foot faulted), possibly incorrect, and uncalled for. Now I'm not a tennis expert, by any stretch of the imagination. However I do watch a fair bit of it. I've been known to wake up at 4 a.m. to catch portions of the Australian Open. (I do love my Rafa and Gonzo, although Rafa's new sleeve look and haircut are making him physically less appealing.) I've never heard foot faults called as much as they were at the U.S. Open, specifically against the Williams sisters. I have no idea if the Williams sisters are fudging the line, if the linespeople are anti-Williams, if the U.S. Open is attempting to be uber-fair, or if it's some kind of coincidence. I do know that there is a large portion of tennis watchers/players who believe foot faults should never be called, unless insanely bad, and they especially should not be called when it puts the game at match point. I tend to fall in the later category. I don't think all foot faults should be ignored (they're faults just like anything else), but I do think the line judges should err on the side of caution on a match point foot fault when it can't be challenged (replay). In baseball the umps give the runner the benefit of the doubt on too close to call cases. Why can't tennis officials have the same policies?

Of course never let it be said I'm not a hypocrit, because if I hated Serena, I'd probably be espousing "rules are rules." But, to be fair, I've never been a stickler for rules unless it involves a) A Rod (hate that douchebag) or b) steroids. I don't even like the false start rule in track. Shitty rule, imo.

4. The important stuff - the yelling. She flipped her lid, said something that resembled shoving the fucking tennis ball down the linesperson's fucking throat. And apparently holding her raquet (as tennis players are want to do) helped to make the whole thing some kind of crazy threatening showdown. Or whatever. So I saw her yell. I saw her walk over the linesperson and let flow a tirade of which I could only imagine the likes. And I can't say I wouldn't be completely terrified if Serena came at me screaming expletives and raquet all a-wonk. I would be absolutely, insanely scared for my life. Of course I would be acting completely ridiculously and everyone I know would make fun of me for being a wuss. I guess while technically shoving a tennis ball down one's thoat could kill a person, it seems a stretch to accuse one of attempted murder on the subject, no?

5. I know the whole argument about Jimmy Conners and John McEnroe used to do it, so everyone should be able to do it is a shitty argument. But isn't it true a little bit? Of course they have to decide at some point that outrageous behavior on the court is ridiculous, but is it at all suspect that they choose Serena to do it? Could be coincidence but if so, it's quite the coincidence. Every sport has different rules, but I can't imagine a baseball player being suspended for pointing the bat at the ump while he called him a "walking penis" or some such nonsense. Or an "abortion" as John McEnroe so famously put it. I might be wrong but even so, it wouldn't be much of a suspension, maybe a game or two. Nothing spectacular. Talking about banning Serena from all future grand slams is all about the ridiculous.

6. People are pissed because Serena hasn't apologized. As a non-apologizer myself, I can feel her pain. Plus she said she acted badly. Personally I don't see how an admission of bad behavior is any less than an apology. To me it seems more sincere. What difference does apologizing make if she doesn't admit she acted badly? If she talks about acting poorly or lacking good judgment but without the words "sorry" or "apologize" in the sentence, I don't think that makes anything any less sincere. And technically she's been fined the max for her actions, so why should she apologize? Isn't it a bit like double taxation? Like the time my car got towed for parking in a valet only spot and then when I picked it up I had a ticket too? All that said, a well-worded and somewhat heartfelt group of words can go a long way to making people fell like it's okay to be okay with said person again. For example, Djokovich (hope I spelled that right) acted an ass a couple of years ago when he played Roddick and I thought he was a dick. This year he said he was a bit up his own ass (or some such language) then and shouldn't have taken things so seriously. That isn't an apology either, but somehow he made nice with all the tennis fans because of it. Should we all still hate him because he didn't use the correct words? Or should we not care because he didn't "threaten" Roddick?

Long way to say: I'm torn on the whole Serena thing. Part of me is mad at the line judge for being a stickler, all the while admitting she had every right to be so, enthralled by Serena for daring to propose shoving a fucking ball down an official's fucking throat, and the pacifist part of me is slightly appalled by the violent display she vented on the linesperson. I don't want the rules to be enforced on Serena when they haven't been on anyone else, but I also don't believe that you don't get to be tougher just because you weren't in the past (i.e. Conners/McEnroe arguments). I'm all aflutter with conflicting thoughts and I feel wronged for Serena. I can't decide if I'm biased (because I like Serena and she's a woman) or if there's really something wrong with this picture.

I can say I would like for all the sports writers to stop being so holier-than-thou. As if they've never lost their cool before (assuming they played a sport or were/are competitive in some way) and done/said things they really shouldn't have. I have a friend who threatened to cut her boyfriend's head off once. She really meant to be funny and mention something along the lines of "I'll cut you," but she was pissed and it came out all wrong. I doubt she really meant to threaten him with decapitation.

Le sigh.

Monday, August 31, 2009

Texas Residents Only...

G and I were having some frozen yogurt Friday night in a nearby mega-community (you know the ones - oodles of work/live space but the work is all somewhat trendy and expensive and the live is corporate apartment housing used mainly by students?), when my eyes happened to stray to a nearby "European" waxing shop/spa/salon. An aside: I wonder what a European wax is? Is it significantly different than salons that feature the infamous Brazillian wax? But I digress. What attracted my attention was the huge FREE! sign on the window. I'm, at heart, cheap and relish words like "free" and "one time only," etc. As such, I was naturally drawn to the sign. And being a woman of the law, I read the fine print.

See for yourself:

So I'm just wondering... how many non-Texas residents in the major metropolitan of ATX come seeking a free introductory waxing offer? Do people in the great states of New Mexico, Oregon, Tennessee, etc. sit around discussing that free waxing deal in Texas, only to get here and realize, darn! it's for Texas residents only. Is a European wax so worth it and hard to come by that people coming in for free waxings from other states is a such a huge problem?

Given the exclusivity of the bargain, Texas only, I think I might have to give it a try. I mean, who am I to say no to an obviously fabulous deal like a free European waxing? And since I am a local, can I really justifiably say no?

I suggest all you recent Wisconsin converts hold on to your Texas licenses. You wouldn't want to be unable to get your free European wax, you know. Just a suggestion...

Thursday, August 27, 2009


I've been traveling for work all week and while we were wasting our time waiting for people to not show up for scheduled meetings, my coworker A and I seriously killed some crossword puzzles. And by killed I mean cheated. But I digress. I'm doing an NYTimes one, she's doing some local paper one, and we switched halfway through. We're both asking each other questions, talking out loud, etc. (as you do), when I hear her say something along the lines of "titsapity is a bitch one." And then, "titsapity is a whore, right? Or a bore?" After hearing her say "titsapity" a few more times, I realized she was a) talking to me and b) I had absolutely no idea what words were coming out of her mouth. What follows is a brief breakdown of our conversation, as I remember it:

Me: Wha?
Her: Titsapity is a whore.
Me: Are you speaking english?
Her: Yes.
Me: Who's a whore?
Her: What's a bore?
Me: I'm confused.
Her: Titsapity. Is it she's a whore? Or she's a bore?
Me: I have no clue what words you are saying.
Her: T-I-S A P-I-T-Y
Me: Are you saying 'tis? (pronounced correctly as in tizz)
Her: Right. 'Tis. (pronounced incorrectly as in tiss)
Me: I have no idea if your tits are whorish or borish but the word you're trying to say is prounounced tizz, not tiss and not tits.
Her: I know it's not tits. Tiss a pity.
Me: No. Tizz.
Her. Right. So is it titsapity she's a whore or titsapity she's a bore?
Me: Good god.

So in the world of made up wrong words (i.e. hyperbowl instead of hyperbole and now titsapity instead of 'tis a pity), I'm officially adopting titsapity into my everyday vocabulary. How is it used you may ask? Like this:

Friend: That cute neighbor guy of yours plays in the gay tennis league.
Me: Damn. Titsapity, man, titsapity.

Wednesday, August 19, 2009


I might be a violent person. I just smashed my fist on a coworkers top shelf (bookshelf) and bowed it in two. Her candy jar went flying, her inboxes jumped around, and various other sundries (don't ask) were all askew. I tried to recreate the scene later and couldn't so much as budge the shelf, much less bow it. I can't even believe I am capable of such action. I blame it on pilates making me do all those push-ups. Damn the pilates. It was a moment of passion but mainly done for amusement's sake and it went all wrong! I was so traumatized by my actions that I had to eat half a bag of animal cookies to convince myself I wasn't a terribly violent person. Although I'm not sure eating the feet off camels one by one is exactly indicative of a peaceful nature...

Monday, August 17, 2009

I fucking hate roofers...

Or roof repairers. Whatever. Call me an elitist snob but I Hate Them. It was supposed to take 1 or 2 days (at most). Day 2 was a Saturday. I realized Saturday afternoon that a mirror had fallen off my wall and a smoke detector is hanging by a precarious thread, threatening to hit me on the head in one of my mad dashes up the stairs to the restroom, which will result in one or both of the following: 1) a fall back down the stairs and/or 2) me pissing myself. Nice, eh? I also realized last night that my bed and nightstands have shifted noticeably and now stand at some kind of crazy 45 degree angle from the wall they were so equally balanced against.

Oh and at 6:22 a.m. this morning when I was so rudely jarred awake by the sound of Apocolypse Now (in the form of my roof caving in)? Yeah, I really hated them then.

I cannot express how much I wanted to remove the kazillion foot ladder (their only way up and down to the roof) this morning when I left for work. I wanted to kick it over and watch it land on the ground, all loud and long, and look up at the rooftop where the sweaty, noisy, asshole workers would be looking down at the crazy, hysterical-with-laughter girl below.

Screw you, roofer people.

Thursday, August 13, 2009

What happens in Vegas...

gets posted on my blog. Unfortunately I left before Bill had his bday party, but I suppose it couldn't be helped.

Here's a brief rundown of my stay in Sin City:

Thursday night - Arrived in Vegas and at G's insistence, ate at some horrid $5.99 for steak and eggs restaurant, and got caught in a crazy, sandstorm. I couldn't see through the smoke filled casinos and accidentally walked right into the swirling dirt. It was very surreal and felt too David Lynch for my tastes.

Friday Morning - Got up early and went horseback riding in Red Rock Canyon. (One would assume that since I'm from Texas I know how to ride a horse. That would be a bad assumption. I rode horses when I was little and with bigger, older people and the experiences only created vague enough memories to assure me I'd done it.) I rode the hugest horse evah! Her name was June (I assumed as in Cleaver but turns out it was short for Junebug). G's horse was tiny and he looked like he was riding a donkey next to me and my Clydesdale. Turns out getting oneself into a horse saddle is quite the complicated endeavor. As my horse's belly came to about my chin, I considered it quite the feat that I was able to put my left foot in the left foot saddle thing (what's that called?). With my foot raised almost above my head, I looked at the horse wrangler guy and asked him what to do next. He suggested, politely, that I grab the horse horn thing (on the saddle) and pull myself up and swing my right leg over the horse to put my right foot in the right foot saddle thing. Here's me - uh, wha? Did I mention my horse refused to stay still and I was left hopping around with my one leg that was still precariously on the ground while my other foot was in the foot saddle? It was very natural and not at all uncomfortable and terrifying. Luckily the horse wrangler had the vision to see the pure "what the fuck are you talking about horse boy?" look on my face and helped me up onto the giant horse. After mounting the beast, the rest was smooth sailing. Except for the shit and piss parts. Horses do that a lot. It's gross. My ass was sore pretty much the rest of Vegas, but the scenery was beautiful and I convinced my horse to trot a few times so I think it was worthwhile.

Friday Afternoon/Evening - Ate a place called the Burger Bar that had a truffle hamburger. It looked awesome but cost $60, so it was only for oohhing and aaahhing over. We spent the evening downtown (hurrah Golden Nugget!) and had a blast. That's definitely the fun place for gambling in Vegas. No one takes themselves too seriously and it's got all the cheap tables.

Saturday Morning - I hit the pool! Anyone who knows at all knows that I am not a pool person. I bemoan almost all sun exposure and slather the spf on at all possible times. But I chose a chair in the shade, it was cool enough that I kept my sweater on while I was there, and it was so damn peaceful that it made me think that maybe I've missed the mark on my anti-pool stance. The only thing that would have made it better was if I had a fruity beverage to drink, but I figured it was too early in the morning to start all that.

Saturday Afternoon - I met G at a buffet at the Paris. Apparently it's supposed to be good. G gave it a 7/10 but only because he couldn't eat all the crab and shrimp stuff (he's allergic). Otherwise he said it was a 9/10. Personally I've been to that buffet before and it's where S and I named our food babies "Mimosa." No explanation needed really. Then I left G and decided to participate at a poker! tournament! I was so excited - you have no idea. I paid my entry fee and was the 2nd person out at my table. In case you don't know poker, that's bad. In a huff, I decided to win my entry fee back at the slot machines. I lost more money. Boo. Then I decided to leave the swarthy gambling arenas and go see some high art. The Bellagio has a fine art museum and the exhibit was a small but awesome Lichtenstein, Warhol and Friends soiree. It helped to soothe the savage beast within (I hate losing - even at gambling), and I spent the rest of the afternoon softly mewing over the beauties of modern art. Okay, that's not true at all. Modern art makes me laugh (at not with the art and artists) and I actually spent the afternoon feeling morally superior to the idiots who make the audio guide (or written guides for that matter) to modern art exhibits.

Saturday Evening - Saw Ka!, a Cirque de Soleil show and it was freaking awesome. Spent the rest of the evening at some bar, lost G for about half an hour, found G, and found some cage fighters. Not at the same time. Fun evening.

Sunday Day - slept late. Ate at Serendipity by myself with my lovely, lovely book (I'm reading The Time Traveler's Wife for the 2nd time and it's way better on the 2nd read) and had tomato soup with goldfish crackers! I love Serendipity. I also attempted a piece of cheesecake later on in the day (what? I was on vacation), and the piece that came to my table was bigger than my head. I read the menu a little closer and read that it was suitable for 2 people, but I'm guessing more like 6. I made such a small dent in it that the server thought I was unhappy with it. To prove I wasn't, I pointed out how I'd eaten all the whipped cream off the top of the cheesecake, which I guess, to his credit, wasn't exactly evidence of the deliciousness of the cheesecake itself but it was just too damn big! Who can eat that much cheesecake? In between the two Serendipity visits, I sat down at a poker table in another casino. I decided to try my hand at a cash game this time instead of a tournament. It worked out much better and I walked away after a couple of hours even, which was a nice change from my last attempt the day before. I visited the Forum Shops and decided I was way too spirtually wealthy to need any of that vain, commercial crap. (Read: I wanted to save my money for flitting away at the casinos in the evening instead since it was my last night.)

Sunday Night - Saw Penn & Teller, got my tix autographed, and took my picture with both of them. They rocked. They were hilarious and smart. What more can you ask for? We were leaving Vegas at 6:30 a.m., so we decided to spend the entire night out and about. G went to the stuff he liked and once again, I decided to give poker another shot. It was quite the good decision, if I do say so myself. I made a table full of big, strong men weep into their dwindling pile of chips. I bought in at the minimum buy-in, because above all else, I'm superbly cheap, and I nursed my tiny stack of chips until my moment came. Once I'd doubled up, I played a little looser and all those boys who told me to stick by them, that they would help me? walked away empty-handed when I took all their money. And did I mention there was a professional player at the table? I won't say his name (mainly because I don't remember it and don't feel like looking him up although I could 'cause he's on tv and shit), but I took half his stack as well. And yes, it felt good. Eat that, male-dominated semi-sport. And I only stopped short from wiping the whole table clean because I had to leave for the airport. I also got in quite the, um, "debate" over how amazing (or in their cases how unamazing) T.O. is, but I feel I've called it on this one. We'll see, poker boys, we'll see.

Monday Morning/Afternoon/Night - got lost in a haze of crazy dreams and sleep-addled wanderings as I made my way back to the ATX.

So here you have it. My first post back is a grand diatribe on the ins and outs of a Vegas trip that only I'm interested in. I hope all you encouragers and well-wishers are happy.

Wednesday, August 05, 2009

Okay, okay.

I'm kind of an ass, I know. I'm going to Vegas for the weekend but come next week, I'll be back on a more regular basis. Peer pressure is a bitch. Oh yeah, one more thing: thanks, I think...

Friday, May 01, 2009

Well shit...

I always thought I was lucky to live in Texas - at least from a natural disaster perspective. Sure we have earthquakes but not the kind that will take us off into the sea. And yes, there are tornados, but we're no Kansas, right? When the poles switch places, the polar icecaps melt, or whatever happens when it gets all freezy up north, Texas gets to be a modern day Minnesota - cold but still liveable. The terrorists may want to take out symbolic sites, but unless they've got a fondness for the Alamo, Texas ain't high on their list.
But now I go and read that in the worst case pig flu scenario, Texas comes up short. So shit. I can avoid random, movie-making natural disasters, but the black plague? No such luck. But don't worry. I'm not hysterical or anything. I like to leave that kind of MASS PANIC to the parents of 3rd graders and CNN. I mean, really. I listen to sound words of advice, not fear-mongering. It's a good thing we have our national leaders here to talk some sense into me, isn't that right, Mr. Biden?

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

RIP Dorothy, Maude, Bea...

I learned so much about Bea Arthur when I read her obit in the NYTimes on Sunday. I didn't know she died until then. I was in DC over the weekend and missed any important news until I picked up a copy of the paper Sunday evening in the airport. (PSA - buy papers!) I was surprised - not about her death although that was sad but about all the interesting facts within. Did you know that Bea didn't own up to any one age? No one really knows how old she is. I might start adopting that philosophy. The NYTimes said she was probably around 86 though.

I've seen a ton of stuff about her on the internet, some of which I'll post links to. But I think my favorite Bea Arthur moment, aside from her Golden Girls years (did you know I'm always a Dorothy in GG quizzes?), is the time she helped roast Pamela Anderson and read aloud from Pam's book about the joys/intriques of anal sex. It's pretty much the funniest thing I've ever heard involving Pam Anderson, which really says a lot.

My list of web-related/tv-related Bea activities and my own, personal favorite Bea moments:

1. WE is planning a 2 night homage to Dorothy Zbornak last night and Thursday night. If you missed last night, check it out (or DVR it) on Thursday.

2. USA Today did a thing about her. And the LATimes did a fairly decent obit as well.

3. Maude had an abortion. Did you know? She was in her 40s, married, and decided she was too old to have a baby. So she did it. Pretty shocking by today's tv standards. Of course Maude was a spin-off of All in the Family, so what can you expect? (See the Jezebel piece for the video on it.)

4. This is the fabulous NYTimes obit I read about her (along with a picture slideshow). It's really good.

5. Jezebel has a top 5 Bea Arthur moment piece that includes two of my favorites (the Pam Anderson bit and a song and dance bit from early on, which admittedly I only saw for the first time in the last couple of years).

6. Bea singing in a Star Wars Holiday special. Ha! Freaking hilarious.

7. And finally one of my favorite, non-zinger Dorothy moments on Golden Girls:

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

Flowers are blooming it seems...

I am a

What Flower
Are You?

"Many people think you are just a little bit odd, but you consider yourself just a little eccentric. You find new experiences exciting and fulfilling."

I don't even know what kind of flower this is. And I'm probably never going to be referred to as a flower by anyone, ever. I'm not exactly fond of things that manage to grow on their own. Plants freak my shit out. I wish I were kidding.

I'd shake his hand...

I, a citizen of Austin, Texas, U.S. of A, would shake Hugo Chavez's hand if he offered it to me. I guess I'm a pinko commie, no? Well it's not the first time I've been called that. Just ask my favorite right-wing, nutjob, Doug.
On a different note, tobacco infused tequila is my new favorite alcohol. Try it. It will blow your mind. (And I hate smokers and smoking, so it's not that kind of thing.) 

Friday, April 17, 2009

Speaking of the Dixie Chicks...

I'm incredibly embarassed to be associated with the crap that our Governor Head of Hair is spewing right now. Texas could secede? Is he fucking insane?
I'm quoting a local Austin paper, which generally sucks ass so don't read it but, "According to The Associated Press, Perry suggested in response to a reporter's question that Texans might at some point get so fed up with Democratic-led actions in Washington that they would want to secede."
I did NOT vote for that asshat. I heard him speak at a college graduation last year and I'm certain he was a) drunk, b) unprepared to give a speech, and c) stupid. I canNOT believe anyone would bother to quote anything he has to say.
Geez. What a loser. Oh and I heard he really enjoys the teabagging. *snicker*

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Apparently my mother is way cooler than me...

She's going on a cruise of castles in Amsterdam and Germany. Or some such ridiculousness. And although I abhor cruises, I'm so jealous I can't see straight. I had to help her with cocktail attire (for the dinners), for god's sake! Plus she's already been to Amsterdam once. Isn't that enough? (An aside: I was scarred beyond recognition from that first trip to Amsterdam. Imagine your mother standing next to a 12 foot tall penis at the sex musuem and you'll only begin to imagine what I'm talking about.)
Karmically speaking, I realize she's suffered by marrying a baseball-loving, cigar smoker, but come on! And I realize her first son must be a huge disappointment due to his college football, political, and religious affiliations, but really she should have just nipped all that shit in the bud early on, right?
Okay fine. I'm not saying she doesn't deserve to go. I'm just saying I deserve it too. And possibly more than her, because.... well, because I say so.
Jealousy does not bring out my best colors.

Wednesday, April 08, 2009

I hate...

Slow internet. When I'm trying to read about American Idol on TWOP, I do NOT like having to wait for a page to load. It's a recap of a stupid reality show. It should not take more than 5 seconds for me to be done with their shit.

I'd also like some chocolate as soon as possible. The two are not related.

Friday, April 03, 2009

And then something happened...

I've been worrying for a few days that nothing exciting or post-worthy has been happening to me. Although most things I write about aren't exactly happening to me, they're things I care enough to form an opinion about, which, come to think of it, is not really saying much. But as soon as I decided I was washed up and work was sucking the life out of me (and it is), something slightly entertaining and slightly destructive happened.

Two factors combined yesterday to bring me to this time time and place. 1) My pilates instructor talked about a cool movie room at the gym she goes to a few miles north of me. She said they play the same movie all day long, over and over, and it makes the minutes fly by. My interest was piqued (I had to look that word up to make sure it wasn't really peaked). 2) My coworker/friend got in a car accident yesterday and due to recent hail storms, had to have a ride to a car rental place that was convienently a few miles north of me. So of course I decide to try out this crazy movie room gym thing I'd heard about. (Maybe other gyms have cardio cinemas and these aren't actually weird and new but to me? Insanity.)

I drug my coworker/friend to the gym with me - she kinda had to since I was giving her a ride and all - and we walked into the gym and stood outside the "cardio cinema." The sign next to the door said 7 Pounds was playing. I've been wanting to see at least a little of that movie, because the boy says it's really interesting (although I don't trust his movie judgment at. all.). We went in and were immediately consumed by darkness. It was really dark! I thought I would trip over people and/or equipment, so I stood like an idiot for a few minutes trying to figure out exactly what the set up was in the room. We found two treadmills together in the front and hopped on. It took a little less than 2 minutes before I realized there was a reason the treadmills at the front of the room (next to the giant, movie-sized screen) were empty. I nearly fell twice (or so I thought nearly fell, but I'll get to what nearly falling looks like in a minute) trying to look at the screen and run in a straight line, which I've decided is basically impossible.

We moved to treadmills in the middle of the room after a couple of minutes. Actually the coworker/friend left the entire cardio cinema after she ran a few minutes because she couldn't handle the intensity of the big screen, the dark room, and the blinking red lights of the machines, which were pretty much the only indicators of any kind of depth perception. Oh yeah! (in my best Peggy Hill)

I, on the other hand, really enjoyed the treadmill and the dark room. I vowed not to look at my time until the current scene was over. Turns out the scene I was watching was never over. 7 Pounds is a looong and boring movie. Good thing I caught the end. I had a sweater draped over the front of the treadmill, so a) I could cover my time with it (it's a mental thing) and b) it wouldn't sit on the dirty floor because I care about my sweater, you see? About 10 minutes into running, my sweater fell of the treadmill and traversed the length of the treadmill onto the ground behind me. I looked back to watch it land and turned back to running. I figured it would stay there and I would pick it up once I was done. A couple of seconds later the belt on the treadmills lurched and practically stopped. You know that almost falling I talked about earlier? That was nothing. This almost falling was much more palpable. Although I didn't technically bust it, I did flail supremely well and I yelled/screamed so loud that I drew the entire (full) room's attention away from a Will Smith sex scene to me.

The treadmill then went on its merry way, only at a slightly slower pace. I stupidly thought it was a really sensitive machine and it must have felt my sweater fall on it and fall off on the ground. I tried, repeatedly, to up the speed back to a workable pace and when that failed, I looked back to see if my sweater was somehow the culprit. Of course it was gone from behind the treadmill. I sighed, stopped my machine, and knelt down like a fool at the foot of the treadmill. Of course my sweater had somehow got stuck up in the rolling belt. Of course it got so stuck that I couldn't pull it out. I did hear some ripping when I tried though. One good thing about the darkness of the cardio cinema? No one can tell the exact idiot you're making of yourself. They have some sense of it but not an entire grasp of it.

I went to the front and asked for help. A really hot, gym guy came to help me and declared my sweater stuck. You don't say? He went for help from another really hot, gym guy ("the muscle" according to the first hot, gym guy), and they proceeded to laugh at me, stare in wonder at the predicament, laugh some more, and then use absurdly stupid boy logic to get the sweater out (i.e. pulling). The first guy told me, apologetically, that the sweater probably would not come out in the same condition it when in. As I'd already accepted that portion of future events, as any relatively cognizant person would, I told him not to worry about it. Between the two of them and many grunts they finally managed to pull the pretty, pink sweater from underneath the treadmill belt. The first hot guy fell backwards into an elliptical machine and almost made that person fall off, which sort of made the whole experience worth it for me (seeing one of those hot gym guys look like an uncoordinated ass at the gym? priceless), and held up a tattered, holey, ripped pink sweater that somewhat resembled the one I'd been wearing earlier. The second guy handed me a button he'd managed to retrieve - real funny - and they ambled off, still laughing.

And all I could think as I attempted to re-find my running groove (never happened) was that finally I had something to write about.

I also realize that if I wrote more often, I could have condensed that into a much funnier, briefer post but since I haven't written in a week, I figured blogspot could handle it.

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

In honor of Rana...

I've decided to discuss my last few days, which have been... oddly satisfying and disconcerting, all in one.

Thursday - work until I feel the need to go to bed for the night. A) that's late and B) that's too late to be working. I had to skip a lovely outing I'd looked forward to all week because of all the work. Boo to work.

Friday - get up much earlier than usual and go back to work. Work until I feel the need to eat dinner. The bf beats me to my house for our usual weekend ritual of yummy Indian food. (This is a huge shocker, because he's almost always the one with the later time schedule, forcing me to wait on his sorry ass.) After a lovely glass of wine and like two bites of dinner (not hungry after all the work, I guess?), we head over to the Chandi's and drink more wine. It was lovely until one part of the Chandi decided to go to bed early to be up for her early morning run (hmph - marathoners are really, really annoying). Sorry B but it's true!

Saturday - um... was there a Saturday? I have no memory of it.

Sunday - drove over to SJM's old house for the last time *sigh* and managed to steal the female half of the duo for a lovely trip to Target. As payback, I helped unpack at the new house and realized that there is such a thing as too much vinegar.

Monday - Worked so frantically I forgot to eat food. If you know me at all, you know that is incredibly unlikely. Got out THE WORK PRODUCT of the century about 4:45 Monday afternoon. Had wishes and needs crushed by big boss soon thereafter. Still proud of THE WORK PRODUCT of the century though.

Tuesday - Got to work absurdly early to attend hearing related to THE WORK PRODUCT of the century. Hearing supposed to be done by lunch, ends up going until 4 where, wishes and needs reinvigorated when THE WORK PRODUCT of the century gets mentioned and although I couldn't see the other side, I'm fairly certain heads snapped and eyes agogged. Oh and the hearing went exactly the way our side wanted it to. Bad guys defeated! Went back to work and stayed long enough to hear that THE WORK PRODUCT of the century is officially THE WORK PRODUCT of the century. It's not just in my head. And the guy in our other office who doesn't even know your name if you don't have cocknballs? Yeah, he called THE WORK PRODUCT of the century aggressive. In a good way. While it was cool, it was weird, because what do I care what he thinks? Conundrum. Oh yeah, drank wine and have carpet picnic with the girls. Missed Barack and fell asleep before I could finish hearing what Keith O. thought about it. Sad.

Wednesday (today) - Am confused that it's not Thursday all day. Receive accolades in the form of an ALL CAPS! email, a few phone calls, and a news article that gets it all wrong for THE WORK PRODUCT of the year. Decide to cut the workload considerably post 4 o'clock, hence the current post.

It's been a good few days and oh my god do I need a nap. And quite possibly a trophy.

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

They say you're Irish...

nah nah nah nah nah nah. Well I'm Irish too. nah nah nah nah nah nah.

Or at least that's what they tell me. So I'm here, wearing green, and I've seriously contemplated the outcomes of pinching strangers in the elevator who are not. (I've decided to avoid the battery and since I'm officially admitting my contemplation, the assault as well.) My family insists the only thing they are, aside from poor, country folk, is Irish. I tend to believe this because of the following:

1. I have blonde hair.
2. I have blue eyes.
3. I'm afraid of snakes (although technically this comes from the non-Irish side but whatev).
4. Almost every man in my family has a Riley or Odais somewhere in their name.
5. I spent the majority of my early childhood lying in the mounds of clovers in my front yard looking for a four-leafed clover. Or is it four leaf clover? I'm unsure.
6. My dad's facial hair comes in red, which is why he only ever grew a beard when he was in Vietnam and shaves regularly since then (or so he says).
7. I'm still fairly certain the tiny footprints I used to see in my old bathroom were those of a leprechaun.
8. I look good in green.
9. Rainbow Brite was my favorite cartoon/book character as a child. (It's a rainbow, pot-at-the-end thing.)
10. I've seen Gone With the Wind at least a dozen times, intermission and all (and if you don't know why this is Irish, shame on you).
11. The only tattoo I've ever wanted to get was a green clover. I'm never going to get that tattoo, so don't worry, but it's the only thing I'd consider putting permanently on my body.
12. The fat in my ass is shaped in large part by potato products. And assorted other white foods.
13. My senior thesis in college was written on the role of mermaids in the folklore (well only folklore to us) of 13th century, Irish popular culture. I like to think of it more as a feminist take on the mean, mean Irish men (or any men of the era), but it's primary focus was Irish folklore. (Small aside: my love of the name Lorelai comes from the mermaid stories I read then not Gilmore Girls, although I'd be perfectly happy to be aptly compared to Lorelai Gilmore.)
14. I like Whiskey. Mainly U.S. whiskey but whiskey nonetheless.
and finally
15. I do not drink green beer.

And in case you can't tell, I have no empirical reason to believe I'm Irish. It's all made up bullshit. BUT. I've always been disappointed by my lack of ethnicity, so I embrace all the green good luck I can wrap my colloquial brain around.

In honor of St. Patrick's day, here's my made up Irish prayer, just for you:

May your days be spent floating on mounds of green clover;
May you always get to be Rainbow Brite for Halloween;
May your whiskey go down smoothly;
And may your own, personal St. Patrick chase away all the snakes.

Thursday, March 12, 2009

Flaming Lips Awesomeness...

Saw this on PopCandy. It might be the coolest thing I've ever seen... this month. I'm seriously crushing on FL right now.

Flaming Lips covering Madonna's Borderline. Could there be anything better in life?

Wednesday, March 11, 2009


Well I did it. I wanted to wait until I had video to post, but I guess that's not happening anytime soon - thanks bf! I'll try to post again once it becomes somehow accessible to me and not on someone's weird, little recording tape that I haven't seen since the 1990s. But apparently it's quality. Whatever.

Turns out the skydiving got canceled and then rescheduled. I got all psyched up for Saturday and then it was too gusty. But Sunday? Perfect day.

Let me set the scene: I finally went to sleep early Sunday morning (after pitching a pitiful fit to the bf about having to get up early the next day and insisting on going to bedorshire). Of course I couldn't sleep because I kept hearing the wind knock against the windows and wondering if the whole thing was going to be called off - yet again. Part of me hoped it would, because I was crazy tired but the better part of me was hoping Texas weather would do me proud. I woke up at 8:30 (see? early!) and called my co-skydiver in crime. She called back shortly and told me we were on. Of course I still had a little time to snooze if I wanted but I was way to excited/antsy.

I went to the living room and found a Golden Girls marathon on the Hallmark Channel (aside: GG moved from Lifetime to Hallmark! Who knew?) and I was pretty certain it was a good omen. After I'd finally coaxed the bf out of the house, we made our way to the launch pad. I insisted on having a bagel before I fell out of a plane and after about 3 stops - bagels are hard to find! - I was officially on my way.

In the car ride there - the place was a good 30-40 minutes away - the bf was amazed AMAZED! at how cool, calm, and collected I was. I told him there was nothing to mentally prepare for, so really what was there to think about at this point? He thought there was definitely a mental preparation aspect to the whole thing, but after discussing with my co-jumper, also a lawyer, we decided it must be our profession that keeps us from getting nervous at attempts at physical endeavors. Put me in a courtroom and I'll be reciting this or that, anticipating arguments, going over easy objections, etc. in my head the entire morning before. But skydiving? Chatter and fun music is all I had to think about.

Blah, blah, blah, 1 orange jumpsuit later and we're up in the plane. I looked like a convict but at least I was visible... I guess. My instructor woman! asked me if I had any questions - as we're climbing up to 10,000 feet of course - and I just wanted to know what happened if she died on my back before she pulled the cord thing. (I swear I'd just seen something on yahoo news or similar about that.) Luckily the chute had a gadget that automatically triggered the parachute if we reached a certain altitude.

As I looked out the window on the way up, I was completely calm. I realized there wasn't one butterfly in my stomach, which was nice because I can't say I feel that way on any normal day, much less a day when I'm about to potentially plummet to my death. We scooted, quite literally, up to the plane door and as we waddled our way forward I had a momentary panic moment (much like I do when I stand on a diving board or when I'm tripping over my shoes at the top of my staircase at home, or ya know, the crack on the sidewalk outside work, whatevs) that I was about to fall. Luckily I didn't have much time for speculation and before I could think to put my hands in front of me to catch myself, I was out. And flying! And all of a sudden realizing I couldn't breathe. Nope, I wasn't flying - I was very quickly suffocating to death. My brain was telling my mouth that of course I could breathe; I was surrounded by air; there was nothing I could do but breathe. But of course my illogical lack of oxygen receiving lungs took over and I panted horribly. Luckily the free fall portion was over relatively quickly. It wasn't a scary experience by any stretch but more of an uncomfortable feeling that passed as soon as the wind stopped hitting me in the face so hard.

And then IT happened. The parachute opened and after the initial lurch and feeling of gravity, I experienced one of the most peaceful, calm, and relaxing few minutes of my entire life. It was pretty remarkable.

I did worry briefly when I saw my friend spiraling crazily downward but apparently that's what we were all doing and it only looked scary from above (so said my tandem jump instructor). There was one weird thing though. As we were getting closer to the ground, my instructor was telling me how to put my feet for landing, etc. I responded "okay" after every instruction she gave. Apparently this caused her some amount of anxiety because she said, "you keep saying 'okay' but are you really okay?" Um, is there some kind of conversation I should be having when I falling toward the earth? Is there a Miss Manners on this subject that I don't know about? What should I have been saying? Not okay? Commenting on last week's episode of Lost? Strange.

We landed on our feet, just like I'd imagine you'd land if you could really fly, about 6 feet away from the guy who unhooked us, so I'm guessing my instructor was pretty accurate. I kept wanting the parachute to collapse all around me so I could come climbing out from underneath it like they do on cartoons but they were too professional for all that.

Things I learned:

1) Wear your hair back and don't let one, single strand get loose. I had quite a few strays and that shit was impossible to brush for hours!

2) Bring your own gloves. I don't know of finger diseases, necessarily, but if there are some, you'd get them sharing general skydiving gloves with all the other scrubby folks who run through that place.

3) Skydiving is the best way ever to have a peaceful day. I had the most relaxing day that I've probably ever had - or at least had in the last few years. I just kept thinking, as I was sitting on the couch reading, "I should really start all my days off like this."

4) If you're an adrenaline junkie, don't skydive. It's not all that adrenaline-enducing. I didn't do it for that purpose, but I was a tad bit surprised I wasn't more hyped up after it was all said and done.

5) Don't talk very much to your instructor. Those fools will do everything in their power to freak your shit out. I didn't encounter it so much with my instructor, but I could see it in others and feel it bubbling just underneath the surface of mine.

6) Always go skydiving (as in go to the location) with someone who won't do it. It really helps with the superiority complex you're bound to have after you're done.

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

Cartoon figures abound...

I missed King of the Hill last night. Boo. It's a good thing I didn't miss my completely unrealistic, animated character fix though, because I did get to see this goober:

I haven't seen anyone mention it yet but why the hell does he have to talk like that? I felt like I was back in my 9th grade geometry class when the teacher used to put apples with our names on them around the room for good grades.

I also heard Jindal speak on one of the morning news shows over the weekend and he was ridiculous. I hate to even dedicate 5 minutes of my time to discussing him but the fact that he's the Republican party's Obama is beyond laughable. Obama is post-racial. Accept it.

And for your reading pleasure, just in case you wanted to learn what a nutjob Jindal really is and let me just preface this with two words: exorcism and sex. Oh yeah.

FYI, the count down begins. I have approximately 74 hours left before I plummet to the ground in a self-induced mania. Wish me luck!

Friday, February 13, 2009

Is there such a thing as a love scrooge?

God how I hate Valentine's Day. Even if it's just the day before. One more time: Valentine's Day sucks balls. And not in a good way.

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Tunde Adebimpe is a funny name...

When I saw Rachel's Getting Married, I had no idea that this guy (who I secretly thought perhaps had some kind of mental disability):

Was one of these guys:

And when I was busy making a stand against corporate America by, ahem, "downloading" TV on the Radio, I had no clue Tunde Adebimpe (same guy in both pics) was an actor as well. Supposedly he's a good actor but to be honest, it's really hard to tell on Rachel's Getting Married. He doesn't really do all that much but look happy, do dishes really quickly, and hide when the yelling starts. Not exactly what his degree at NYU's film school prepared him for, I'm sure.

But then last night, when TV on the Radio was on the Colbert Report, I felt kinda bad when Colbert asked them if they were just in it for the money and they said something akin to: at this point, yes. So I guess I'm off to amazon (still cheaper than iTunes) to *sigh* buy some goddamned music.

Oh and I've recently rediscovered Joan of Arcadia. That shit rocks. And Amber Tamblyn, minus the poetry because I just don't dig poetry, is awesome. She should do more movies or a tv show or something. Maybe she could join Gossip Girl and reunite with Blake Lively? I'd like something more substantial though... Maybe she can take Izzie's place on Grey's Anatomy? But only if GA gets some good writing again. I'm desperate for a new Gilmore Girls or Veronica Mars. She should do something like that. Where is her agent and why doesn't s/he read this blog?

Thursday, February 05, 2009

On the art of skydiving...

In a few short weeks, this will be me:

Except I'll be diving in tandem and hopefully won't be upside down. And I'll be much cooler, of course.

Or if my mom is right, this could be me:

Except a girl and hopefully not a cartoon.
But if I do get smartly turned into a cartoon, I'm coming back as this:

or more likely this:

So the point is, I'm going skydiving. I've decided not to bother being scared until the actual day. Until then I'm just going to enjoy the idea of doing something most people are way to chickenshit to try. Except Bush Sr. He's not too chicken shit to try it - multiple times. I wonder if it's a death wish to get away from Barbara?

Monday, February 02, 2009

So weddings...

Love 'em. (Given I like the couple getting married, of course.) I think they're fun and I like the planning phases. Wedding gowns? Beautiful. Love the shopping-for-them-part and the walking-down-the-aisle-in-them-part.

Here's the rub: I have no interest in getting married anytime soon (if ever). I also could never, in a million years, wear a wedding dress in any popular shape and/or form. Except for the party part, I could never tolerate the actual act of getting married. I do think tiaras and registries are cool though (if I was the one getting the gifts). I wish I could wear a tiara for other occasions. And register for like my birthday or something. That would be very worthwhile.

Here's my point: I think it's only possible to be really, truly happy for another person when the thing that they're getting/achieving is nothing you'd ever want in a million years. Or possibly if it's something you already have or already achieved. If you disagree, leave examples. Otherwise I won't believe you.

Friday, January 30, 2009

Random Office Place Fears...

#1. Being the only person in a smelly bathroom and having other people come in, thinking it was you who made said bathroom smelly.

#2. Scarfing down soup right before a big meeting (because you're such a busy, worker bee) and having something in your teeth the entire meeting.

#3. Spilling your giant bottle of water/cup of coffee/can of diet soda all over original documents.

#4. Having your doctor's nurse call you back while your office is full of people.

#5. Attempting to move the wires to a computer in front of a big inter-office meeting (in a skirt) and falling on your face in the process.

#6. Spilling part of your South Beach peanut butter protein bar on your office chair, attempting to mop it up with lots of water and napkins, and leaving a big, wet spot on your chair that never, ever dries making it look like you peed your chair.

#7. This one needs a preamble: So let's say you dressed quickly in the morning and only as you were getting ready to leave did you notice that the lining for your skirt and/or dress was inching out under your hem (damn shrinkage). You decide to pin up the portion of the lining that's sticking out only you can't find any pins. Starting to panic, because you're already late, you notice a stack of fake, trashy clip-on earrings from a recent Halloween costume. Now on the fear - you are presenting a very important issue in front of a boss you really want to impress and when you stand up, random earring bits start to fall from under your dress.

#8. Scratching your nose when someone walks by your office and looks in mistaking your scratch for a pick.

#9. Accidentally calling your boss a douchebag. To his face.

#10. That someone might actually ask you about all the fancy books you put on your bookshelf but have never really read.

Absolutely none of these happened to me.

Wednesday, January 28, 2009

6 Random things about me...

1. I absolutely CANNOT deal with talking about normal, bodily functions. Although I like to think I hide it well, I get as embarassed as the time I heard my mom talking about sex with my dad. I also think one should whisper when discussing such things so one will not be overheard.

2. Making lists and parenthetical references are seriously some of my best/worst writing habits. Take your pick. (FYI, I used the word seriously waay before Grey's Anatomy became popular.)

3. I am afraid to put my blog on my facebook page for fear that one of my facebook friends (or people I used to know 10+ years ago) or family members might see it and realize I'd been writing about them every now and again. Oops. Must compartmentalize.

4. I never use up anything, ever. I always throw it away when it's almost completely empty because I can't wait to open the new thing (i.e. lotions, shampoo, hair products, etc.).

5. I got in another person's argument over the validity of Kanye West at a New Year's Eve party and I cannot. let. it. go.

6. I can tell you the number of stairs in almost any building I frequent. My house? 14. The boy's apartment? 44 (actually it's 43 but I add a fake 44th step because you can't have an odd number of steps or the building will fall down). Parking garage at work? 20 (technically 21 if you count the first step/landing thing but I don't count it because, again, odd numbered stairs make the building come crumbling down). Stairwell at work? 11 for each staircase and there are 2 staircases per flight, so 22.

I'm tagging Blondie at PinkHondaCivic and LK at Pieces on the Ground. My tagger was blooming wildflowers.

The guidelines: Link to your tagger, share 6 random things about yourself, tag a few others (be sure to tell them). And of course, post the rules.

Tuesday, January 27, 2009

He's still ahead...

I give Obama a score of 101. (I'm giving him 1 extra point based on pure, unadulterated love.)

As of last Tuesday he had a +1 score for reasons discussed above. A recap (in no particular order and definitely not exhaustive) of points gained and lost in one week.

Gain - first dance with Michelle. Beyonce expressed real emotion and so did I. I was tempted to make this a loss, because it was too pathetic that Beyonce moved me but that's not really Obama's fault... I guess.


Gain - Mexico City Gag Rule Repealed (Washington Post article). I've been on about this issue since law school although I cared more about the loss of funding the UN Population Fund. But a gain nonetheless.


Loss - overuse of the phrase "an abundance of caution" by White House Press Secretary Robert Gibbs. I happened to be home sick when his first press conference aired. The stupid pc word choice has already made its way into popular vernacular and I don't like it. If you're going to be in front of the press, Mr. Gibbs, learn new ways to say the same, old thing.


Gain - closing Gitmo.


Loss - taking a year to do it.


Gain - making sure Citigroup sent that goddamned jet back. He gets 2 points for this one, because he was just so cool about it.


Loss - caving to the conservatives re: birth control in his kazillion dollar relief package (or stimulus, whatever). This pisses me right the hell off. I'd take away 3 points for this but for the fact that both he and Pelosi said the legislation will be reintroduced at a later date. It ticks me off so much when I hear conservatives manipulate an issue like this. All the provision did was allow states to provide contraceptive services to poor women without a huge red tape hullabaloo. (States can already do this but it requires lots of paperwork.) Does he even need Republican support for his stimulus package? He can get it passed easily enough and if those idiot Repubs (not all but some) are going to block an entire package because of misstated socioeconomic bigotry, so be it. Let them be the asses of this story. As is Obama (and Pelosi) get their first serious black marks.

Final Tally: 102

So he's still ahead by 2 points, but I'm ending on a disappointing note. I felt really strongly about the Citigroup jet thing too, so I'll have to try and not let one weak moment cloud my judgment. Especially if he gets the legislation passed at a later date. He'll earn back those points then.

Monday, January 26, 2009

Oh shit this is funny...

I stole this from Pop Candy and she stole it from... I forget who but damn I laughed a lot.

Star Wars: Retold (by someone who hasn't seen it) from Joe Nicolosi on Vimeo.

I can only hear out of one ear...

and apparently that's normal when sickness invades the body. I knew last week was too good to be true. I paid for all my bad juju wishing (on the Bush) by contracting the mack daddy of all colds. Lucky me. Oh well. At least I got to eat ice cream. I mean, if you have a ravaged throat, what else are you supposed to eat, right? I don't know what Samosas are (other than that they're Girl Scout cookies), but this ice cream is the best evah! We won't talk about all the other things one resorts to when bored but unable to leave one's domain...

But I did manage to finish Season 2 of The Tudors. I cried at the end, which made my already swollen and puffy face even more swollen and puffy. The woman who played Queen Anne is so pretty. I hated to see her pretty head cut off. Damn that King Henry. As an aside, I can never say "King Henry" out loud without singing his pretty, little diddy "Henry the VIII, I am, I am..." Oh and apparently on Who The Tudor Are You? I'm a Noble. I can live with that. For another 21 years, it seems. I didn't ask the stupid quiz to predict my death. Damn them. Oh and can we say beautiful people? I'm not sure who I like more...

Okay a compromise: She's prettier but he's hotter. Unless he's prettier. I'm unsure again.
I also watched the first two parts of the John Adams mini-series, mastered bit torrent downloading (finally!), discovered two new cds, lusted after Fernando Gonzalez and Rafa Nadal (they grow on you at 4:30 in the morning when the Australian Open is at its peak), did 7 loads of laundry, had an official taste test to finally decide if aged gouda or gruyere is the better cheese (gruyere wins), and decided where I'll put my new shoe rack when the beautiful new Orla Keily stuff arrives at Target.

For your viewing pleasure:


and Rafa:

Tuesday, January 20, 2009

Signed, Sealed, Delivered, He's Ours...

And it's official! It's a good day. I'm officially NOT disgruntled - for once.

Some random thoughts:

1. I think I saw Starr Jones bragging on Fox News about being in the "orange" section to see Obama get sworn in. I have no clue if that's good or bad, but I'm guessing if she made a point to say it, it must be good. Lame. (Secretly jealous though.)

2. Alicia Keys wore a short dress to a very obviously black tie, possibly white tie affair. It's an inaugural ball, for god's sake. Wear something floor-length, will you?

3. I loved the silver, gunmetal color of Beyonce's nails. I really loved how she cried while singing to the First Couple. I cried too. I'm such a sap.

4. I love how they seem so intimate even though millions of people are watching them. If it's an act, it's an exceptionally good one. (I think it's real.)

5. There was one douche at the Youth Ball wearing a striped, polo shirt. Give me a goddamnned break, right? How did that guy get in? He couldn't get into a tacky Las Vegas club but he could get into an inaugural ball?

6. I'm not from Chicago or anything but the Cubs are my 2nd favorite team. I don't hate the White Sox or anything but come on, Mr. President (ooohh, I love writing that!), don't start off your Presidency hating on the Cubbies. They're cursed enough as it is.

7. Jon Stewart is exceptionally funny unless Samantha Bee is around and then he just plain sucks.

8. Saddleback sounds waaay too much like bareback for me to even begin to take Rev. Warren's gay-hating seriously.

9. The first openly gay bishop of the Episcopal church (on The Daily Show) is wearing a pink shirt and bares a striking resemblance to Elton John. Coincidence or bad joke?

10. Oddly enough, Fox News had way better inaugural ball coverage than any of the other news channels. Shocking. The coverage was incredibly public access, if you will, but extensive.

11. So that poem the female poet I should probably not admit I don't know read? Not the best. I'll have to read it to make a final decision, but rhythmic poetry just doesn't translate well to the masses.

12. Texas just gained a new full-time citizen. I guess you could say we're taking one for the team.

Friday, January 16, 2009

God how I hate BBQ...

How much food does it take to feed a party of 22? In my mom's world, it takes 6.5 lbs of cow, 4 half birds, and 10 lbs of miscellaneous pork parts wrapped in edible condoms. Not to mention sides and desserts.

If you ever wondered why Texas is top 5 in obesity it's because of the above. That's basically a pound of meat (just meat!) per person plus sides plus desserts. I say desserts plural because there will be many cakes and pies, as a southern family is want to do. (Technically we're west, not south, but we eat like poor, southern people so that works better for description's sake.)

I scoured the internet for the proper amount of food per person for a party. I came up with 1/4 lb of meat (or 1/2 lb if it's boned meat). Basically my family eats 4 x what the normal person would eat. It's quite gross actually.

I will not eat any of it, of course. I don't eat cow; I try to avoid sausage parts; and meat on a bone grosses me out. I thought about going to a local place and getting some wheat roast (fake meat) to see if anyone would notice, but I knew they would and I'd never live it down. Once your good food reputation is lost in my family, it's lost forever. (They still talk about the time my mother tried to make Stouffer's Stuffing at Thanksgiving one year and that was over 30 years ago!)

I tried to find a picture of 20 lbs of meat but the images grossed me out so bad I had to take a moment. So no pics.

Meat is gross.

Tuesday, January 13, 2009

If I were going to the inauguration...

I'd wear this:

But with better hair and possibly in a deep, royal/peacock blue. I'd prefer a royal blue with the iridescent parts in peacock blue. Damn, I'd look good next to Obama. Not, you know, in place of Michelle, per se, just for pictures and what not.

Thursday, January 08, 2009

Permanently disgruntled? Perhaps.

Never buy from Barnes & Noble online or ship via UPS. I ordered a ton of books (9 or 10, which is a ton for me) on 12/26. I used 3 day air and paid via PayPal, mainly because I was too lazy to get up and get my debit card and PayPal was an easy click away. Then the problems started:

1. They charged Paypal oh, half a dozen times. I have no clue why.
2. They didn't ship for 5 days even though it should have already been at my house 2 days before they even decided to ship.
3. They split my order into 2 packages, which is ordinarily fine, but in the case of B&N, they decide to inform you 7 days after your package should have already arrived that they are splitting your order up even though they already sent out confirmation emails on everything.
4. UPS drops off a lovely, yellow InfoNotice, because oddly I was not at home from the hours of 2 to 5 in the middle of a work day. Odd.
5. UPS man/woman checks "A signature is required on delivery." I look to the back to read the instructions to make sure this is the one where I can just sign, not necessarily in person. It says, "If the 'A signature is required on delivery' box is checked, the driver must receive a signature either in person or by signing below." So I sign below and leave it for the driver.
6. The driver does not leave my package the next day and instead leaves a final notice. Great. (This was Tuesday.)
7. Wednesday evening I get home and there's a lovely book on my doorstep. Yes! No InfoNotice, no nothing. It's only 1 book and I remember that B&N split my order in two but still. I have 1 piece!
8. I'm about to travel over lunch to the boonies, where the UPS is oh-so conveniently located, when I decide to double check my tracking number online.
9. Hmmm... that's weird. It appears that my package is in fucking Pennsylvania. Rana - want some books?
10. I call the 800 number knowing my anger will most likely get the better of me and get a return phone call within an hour, as per policy.
11. The local UPS woman tells me the shipper insists on getting a signature in person. I politely (I think) inform the UPS woman that that was not the box that was checked on the multiple InfoNotices on my doors.
12. Then the local UPS woman decides that the driver must not have felt it was a safe location to leave a package, so that's why he didn't pay attention to the signature on the notice. I mention the package delivered the day before, just left on my doorstep, from UPS, presumably the same driver. I also mention how UPS packages are left on mine and my neighbors' doorsteps practically every week (I have 4 neighbors in my fourplex), so I doubt the usual driver has an issue with safety.
13. With no response, she informs me I must call the 800 number back and ask them to "intercept" my package. She apparently can't intercept my package and my only other option is to contact B&N and try to convince them to send me another package. Did I mention a couple of the books I ordered were 1 or 3 or some such low stock bullshit?
14. I call the 800 number. Oops. They can't do an intercept. I have to call the shipper.

Fucking shit, man. Now I have to call B&N, the original fuck-up and demand they send me my books all over again?

I hate B&N and UPS. I'm officially disgruntled. I can't even remember what books I ordered anymore. Damn.

Wednesday, January 07, 2009

And I'm back.

After a 6ish week blog break, I've finally mustered up the energy (time?) to come up with more dumb shit to say. Lucky me. Lucky everyone else.

Dumb shit #1: New Year's Resolutions. I made some. I can't remember all of them (always happens to things I get excited about), but the highlights are:
1. Be more crafty. So far - success! I've made 4 crafty things this year. 2 of them turned out halfway decently. The other 2 aren't even good enough to give away for free. Oh well. It happens. I'm hoping for enough crafty items to start an etsy account, but right now that's only a hope.

2. Cook more. So far - success! I cooked a pot of beans over the weekend. Yep, that's it. The sad thing is that one cooking attempt in 7 days counts as a success. Well it does. I really, really don't cook, okay?

3. Go to the gym more starting January 5th. (Hey I'm not dumb enough to start a fitness New Year's resolution when I'm still hungover from a NY Eve party. I have priorities.) So far - success! I went Monday, I'm going today, and I have a pilates class this evening. I keep flucuating on what my goal should be. Should I aim for the ultimate - 6 days a week? Or should I aim for 3 and hope for more? I'm unsure as to what my failure rate might be, so I'm unsure where to set goals. I have strict philosophies about not letting myself down, which usually equates to not setting really high goals. Oh and writing things down on a to-do list that I've already done and scratching them all off. I like to feel successful too.

4. Be more budget-minded. So far - success! I spent most of last week at work (stupid holiday weeks when everyone else is on vacation) creating a year-long budget for myself. This isn't really too difficult to do because I budget every month. It's just that now I've decided to spend only cash, which I hope will make my lack of memory not be the reason I've blown my budget this month. (I never, ever remember all of my debit card purchases, even if I keep the receipts.)

5. Join the local community orchestra. So far - failure. I suck. 'Nuff said about that.

6. Volunteer more. So far - failure. I've done nothing except buy some cheap Soy Joy bars (seriously, like $.74 for 6 boxes!) that I intend to donate to the food bank. Only I'm not terribly sure where the food bank is. So that's another obstacle.

Here's to wishing success in the new year! I also plan on figuring out how to make my computer run faster but that's not a new year's resolution, just an I'm-going-to-fucking-throw-this-fucking-thing-across-the-fucking-room resolution, ya know?