It was a very bad week...

I almost broke up with my boyfriend.

I almost disowned my parents and severed our relationship.

I almost crashed my car, potentially fatally, to collect the insurance money.

I almost got fired due to fits of hysteria and excessive mental absences.

I almost lost a limb.

I almost shed a tear several times.

But now it's over. And here is both the cause (partially) and the salvation of my bad, horrible, no-good week:

Hyundai Elantra - only mine's in black pearl (sparkly black to be exact)

It's nothing fancy but it's new and it's mine! And I put enough of a down payment down that my monthly budget will not be altered significantly. It has new car smell and I only slightly feel like I'm driving in a clown car, which, given that my previous vehicle felt something like a coffin (a fact I enjoyed immensely but apparently was not popular with the passengers), is no small feat.

I feel very sad about losing my old car. It was 8 years old and a gift from my dad for graduating college. It was an old school sports car, to say the very least, and I miss the way the engine would roar when I just slightly pushed the gas peddle. I also miss my beautiful dings and scratches that meant I could attempt to fit my car in any parking spot available (instead of searching for the farthest spot with no chance of door dings like I have to do now). I miss the rows of bumper stickers (all political) that I'd decided my car needed, what with the aforementioned dings and scratches. I miss the Care Bear (Good Luck Bear!) smelly thing that hung from the rearview mirror. I miss the longhorn sticker that looked at me every time I looked out the back window. I miss the way I could throw a napkin in the back seat and not worry about trashing my new car. I miss how none of the windows never got one, tiny crack in them even though rocks were always bouncing off of them. *tear*

I do not miss the driver's side window that would not roll down. I do not miss the way the gas gauge moved at will from E to F with no bearing to the amount of gas in the tank. I do not miss the way the speakers crackled if I turned up the volume just slightly. I do not miss the bruises I got on my arms (and the cuts on my hands) from trying to change the spark plug wireset, which I never managed to change. I do not miss the weird smell of mildew that seemed to take over when it rained, which wasn't a huge problem because it hardly rains here in Texas. I do not miss the huge dent on the passenger side door from when I accidentally ran into my apartment building. I don't miss the scratches on the driver's side door where G tried to scrape off ice even though I told him not to.

But you know, it's really the little things that make owning a non-crappy car nice. (My car was not originally crappy but after 8 years, although it hurts me to say it, it was pretty crappy.) I went to the drive through bank Friday and was so excited that I called my mom. We both cheered. It was a good feeling.

Oh and did I mention I made a kick ass deal for the new car? I did all my research and ended up paying about $400 over invoice price. I'll accept accolades, statues, and national holidays in my name, thank you.

Book reviews

I've read a few books lately and I have no one to talk to about them so I'm going to review them here. They were all good, so I guess it's not so much a review as a description.


Chasing Harry Winston by Lauren Weisberger - this was a good chicklit book. I went to her book signing/reading and almost finished the book the same night. It was entertaining, engrossing, and I didn't feel dumber and/or lamer for having read it. What more can you ask for from chicklit?



The Lady Elizabeth by Alison Weir
Good historical fiction. Alison Weir is a great non-fiction writer. She writes mainly British royal family non-fic but it's superb. This is her second fiction attempt and it's pretty good as well. There are a couple of sexy spots but I think that's to be expected. Because she's researched Elizabeth so much, she really brings a lot of authenticity to the work. You can read this and not feel like you're being sucked in by a sketchy basis in fact, at best, like The Other Boelyn Girl.



Eleanor of Aquitane by Alison Weir
This is a non-fiction book and if you're at all interested in Richard the Lionheart, British royal history, the Crusades, etc., you should read this book. I didn't really know who she was, to be honest, before I found her on wikipedia on one of my wild "I have to know more on this subject right now!" clicking frenzies, but I think she could be one of my new feminist icons. She's awesome. She was married to the French king, had a couple of furture queens, divorced him, married the English king, had a few more future kings and queens, planned a coup, went to prison, ruled through her sons, and all the while managed to maintain control of her own lands (most of present day France) as their pseudo-queen. And, like I said above, Alison Weir writes great non-fiction. She really keeps you engrossed in everything that's happening. It doesn't feel like non-fiction at all.



Shortcomings by Adrian Tomine
I've never been huge into graphic novels mainly because I don't know that much about them and not many of my friends read them. But this one was excellent. It's brief, which I liked for my first graphic novel try, and the story, although in cartoon form, is really believable. I read it shortly after I read one of Margaret Cho's books, and they both gave me a bit of insight into the modern, Asian-American culture. If you don't read any of the others one I suggest, read this one. I found this one on the NYTimes 100 best of 2007 list.



On Chesil Beach by Ian McEwan
I think this is actually a novella, although I didn't count the pages or anything to be sure. I read Atonement along with the rest of America and I have to say I'm not the biggest McEwan fan. I'm not really sure why I picked this book up except that I'd read it on the NYTimes list as well. I'm glad I did. I honestly didn't think I was going to get a chance to read it before it was due back at the library, but I jumped at it on my lunch break the day it was due and finished it in an hour or so. I skipped a tiny bit (due to time) and if you read it you'll see where, but all in all, it was wonderful. I mean, it was horrible, the story, but the book was wonderful. I zoomed over to the McEwan website afterwards to see what others were saying about the book. I can't say much without giving it away but there are some subtleties in the story that are left to your imagination to determine if they actually happened. I was happy to find out I was right about most things and I learned a few more from other readers on that site. I guess it's been on several book club reading lists or something? I don't know but it's definitely one of those that leave you thinking when you put it down.

I have another stack of books I'm making my way through right now and I'm sure belabor the point and write more about them when I'm done. I'm a total spurt reader. I either read nothing or read everything I can get my hands on. Right now I'm reading - maybe it's the lack of good tv? Gossip Girl does make my brain a little numb...

Why am I horrible?

I just had a conversation with the bf. I told him J was in FL today on vacay. They flew out this morning and I said, "I haven't heard about any plane crashes, so I guess they made it okay." He told me it was horrible for me to say that and that I was horrible for saying that. Why? He couldn't/wouldn't explain and quickly got off the phone with me after saying if I didn't understand why it was horrible then he wouldn't be able to explain it to me.

So why is what I said so horrible? I find it relieving to know that if a plane crashes or if some dastardly event occurs, I'll know about it on the news practically instantaneously. Conversely, if I don't hear of such things I know everything is a-okay. I don't believe in fate so I don't feel like I'm tempting fate by saying such things so what is it? Doesn't every feel a bit of relief when a close friend/relative is traveling somewhere and you haven't heard of a plane crash happening when they were in the air? Am I really the only one who thinks like this? And does it make me horrible to say it out loud?

Blech. Now I'm confused...

SATC - The Movie

I saw SATC Saturday night. It was a fun girls' night out. (I know people are making fun of those of us who used a movie about sex and overly priced consumer goods as an excuse for a girls' night but I say fuck off to those people. It was fun and I enjoyed it.)

We got dressed up to go to a semi-fancy restaurant and wine bar. We spiced up our wardrobe a tad in a nod to SATC itself, but mainly we dressed up for the dinner and bar portion of the evening. Except for J. She wore "beach-ware," as she described it. I did find a home for my beautiful Arden B shirt that is too small for my boobs and that I waited to long to take back. My friend L was wearing a similar color and it looked amazing on her. So she gets my beautiful, ruffly, sparkly, cleavage-creating shirt. I hope her bf appreciates it.

I wore a pretty, blue-green, vintage dress I got in NYC last summer (or was it the summer before?) and a pair of awesome, yellow wedges from Target. I put on extra eyeliner and earrings I normally don't wear because they're slightly heavy, and I'm terrified I'm going to have droopy earlobes when I get old. And, to top it all off, I wore my huge cocktail ring to show that I meant business (i.e. having fun with my girls and drinking as much as I wanted).

I'm here to defend SATC and my money-spending ladies on two fronts:

1) SATC was not a horrible movie like a lot of reviews are making it out to be. Yes there was consumerism and yes they made questionable choices in story-telling, but all in all, I really liked the female friendships in the film, which is what I think the show was always all about, no matter how many times Samantha sexed, Charlotte married, Miranda bitched, or Carrie pouted. In that regard, it did its job. I even cried a bit. (I mostly kept it in check and hid my face though, because I didn't want to get skewered by my ladies. They're very quick to point out my emotional neediness when it rears its ugly head - probably because I reap what I sew but that's another story.)

2) Women have just as much say over what movie will do well opening weekend as men, if not more so. I will occasionally see a movie I'm not terribly jazzed about with the bf, but I'm much more likely to put the kabosh on a film than he is. For Matt Lauer to get on the Today Show and talk about how men must have wanted to see SATC after all (since it topped the box office) is ignorant and slightly degrading. Women see movies by themselves. Women see movies with their girlfriends. Women make decisions about what movies to see with their significant others/guy friends. Women make enough money to buy their own movie ticket. Women make up more than 50% of the population of the U.S. Women watch god damned movies and are a fucking voice in this economy, okay? Okay. Perhaps one day when women are in charge of the movie companies, some of this dismissive attitude will change. Until then, suck it movie execs. You do me no favors.

*breathes in and out, in and out*

Oh and my tiny secret? I've always secretly hated Manolos. I think they look too old and frumpy for my tastes. I know that's not a popular opinion but I've yet to run into a pair that I thought was worth all the hype and/or money. And they're not well made. (This is not my opinion of all designer shoes, just MB in particular.)

I'm sad.

I have to return Freaks and Geeks to the library. *sniffle*

On the upside, my bf offered to buy me a Wii yesterday. How awesome is that? Know what's not so awesome? My damn pride and inability to let people buy me things without me buying them things in return. So I said no.

But secretly? I really want a Wii so I can play rock band in my living room to my heart's content - by myself. And play all the Mario games. Now I'm sad and lame. Nice.

I hate hot holidays.

I do. It's true. Memorial Day? Blows. 4th of July? Sucks ass. Labor Day? Slightly better than stepping in fresh dog doo.

It's not that I mind the sentiment behind the days. I'm all for memorliazing, celebrating independence, and the like, but why the hell do they have to be in the middle of the summer when it's so freaking' hot? This country is built around outdoor vacationing. Grand canyon? Outdoors. BBQs? Outdoors. Fireworks? Again, outdoors. These outdoor loving holidayers (is that a word?) have never had to holiday outdoors in Texas. Because it's hot. And when I say hot, I mean an Inferno type of hot. It was 98+ the entire weekend with like 1000% humidity. I don't know about anyone else but that equates horror to me - uncomfortable horror at that.

Mind you I didn't do the typical outdoor activities mentioned above for Memorial Day, but I did participate in the normal holiday hubris - sale shopping. And it was hot. Did I mention that? Did I also mention I have a black car that traps heat like a coffin? (Or what I'd imagine a coffin to trap heat like anyway.) Everywhere I went was hot. It was disgusting. It was so disgusting that I couldn't bring myself to hit Sephora, which is a thing unheard of in my world. I was tempted to go to the movies by myself during the day on Monday because it was so disgustingly hot. I figured the movie theatre would be cool and dark.. and cool. Only the movie theatre was so packed and I was so annoyed at driving around for 20 minutes looking for a parking space that I gave up and went home where I locked all the doors, closed the blinds, turned off all the lights, and turned my ac down very low. Guess what? It was still hot. I hate hot holidays.

If the powers that be are reading this, I still like the day off but can we please try and encourage more indoor activities like bowling or board games or something like that? I'd be much more apt to participate if I knew I didn't have to chance seeing shorts on men.

And it's out.

I have a new niece. Her name is Chloe Grace. J has enlightened me on the problems that arise from naming a kid a virtue, so there's that. But the Chloe part is nice. And I'm fairly certain my brother and SIL don't know who the Kardashians are - another good point.

She weighed in at 8 lbs, 14 oz. She's huge! And she's 21" long. That's long, right? I mean, I wouldn't want an almost 2 foot long thing inside of me. (I wouldn't want any kind of "thing" inside me but that's another topic altogether.)

She was all puffy and stay-puff-mashmellow-manish and she had an eerie purple glow about her, but by the time we started to leave the hospital in the evening she was beginning to look like a normal baby.

FYI: don't go look in the nursery when the baby makes their first trip there. The mean nurses stick utensils up the baby's butt, poke them with sharp needles, and scrub their poor, little head with a loofa. Boo to mean baby nurses! I wonder what they shoot them with? Rana - any help? I never knew babies got a shot immediately after they were born.

My brother has 5 kids now. Take a moment to ingest that. 5 kids. It's completely bizarre. They were all there at the hospital for pictures and introductions and what not. It was a nice scene.

And then. I won't go into the details but suffice to say that I love my mother and she is a much better person than I will ever be. Don't get me wrong, she's completely batshit crazy sometimes, but I know I can never have the patience and strength that she has. She's a much better person than me. As I sat in the backseat of our car (filled with my mom, my dad, my oldest nephew, and my grandmother), completely filled with rage and practically bruising myself to keep my mouth shut, I gained a whole new level of respect for my mom. My dad better not give her cancer with his goddamned cigar smoking. (That last bit was a completely unrelated aside.)

So there were some highs yesterday and there were some serious lows. I'm choosing the forget the lows and focus on the highs. Yea a baby! Yea a newfound respect for the mom! Yea a baby!

And um, is it wrong that I want to hug and kiss the baby and make her love me more than anyone else? I don't want to breastfeed her or buy her clothes or anything but unadulterated, compulsive love? Yeah, I'll take that.

Apparently I only hear what I want to hear.

So sayeth the mother.

Background: my brother is about to have his 5th kid. Typo? Nope. He's on wife #2 and this is her 3rd kid with him. Alot of numbers? Yep. They're due Wednesday. (They? When did pregnancy become his and hers? She's the one pushing a disgusting, covered-in-all-kinds-of-bodily-fluids thing out of her special place. How does he get to lay claim to this?) This pregnancy has created all kinds of hilarity and um, other stuff, some of which I've posted about. For instance I was home for Mother's Day the other weekend and my dad was talking to my brother on the phone. I hear: "She lost her what?" and then my dad abruptly hands the phone to my mother. I asked him what my brother was talking about. My dad tried to act like it was no big deal but I could see the involuntary shudder as he repeated: "She lost her mucus plug." I don't want to be 12 or anything but... ewwwwwww!!!! (My dad is not Hank Hill but it's the closest cartoon character out there that comes close to describing him, so you can imagine what it took for him to repeat the phrase "mucus plug" to me.)

Anyway. Back to my original story.

So Sunday night my mom calls me about 10:30 (middle of the night for her) to tell me my SIL is having contractions and all that jazz. We decide to reconvene in the morning (because my mom doesn't want to sit at a hospital all night) to see how things are going. In my mind contractions = birth, so I'm thinking they're having the baby that night.

Monday morning rolls around and I speak with my mom around 7:30 a.m. I specifically ask her if she's talked to my brother. I want to know if the baby's born yet or what. She says she has not talked to him since the night before but to get my stuff together and meet her at my grandmother's house (a halfway point where we'll rendezvous before going to the hospital). I repeatedly call her over the course of the early morning asking if she's heard from my brother. Everytime I call she tells me she has not talked to him. I call in to work and tell them I'll be out because the bro is having the baby and all that (I prepared them ahead of time that I travel to family events like these). As I'm in my car driving towards my grandmother's (over an hour away), I decide to call my brother myself to see if he'll answer my call.

He does and he tells me they're still at home because the doctor won't see them until they meet "criteria," whatever the hell that means. Oh, okay. So they're not at the hospital and they haven't had the baby yet and for all that, it could be days before the baby comes (or at least until Wednesday when they'll induce if necessary).

All of that is fine except that I've already taken off work and I'm on my way out of town. I decide I'll turn around, head back to work, and explain the situation to my boss. He won't care. I also decide I should call my mom and let her know what's up so she doesn't rush off to the hospital. I call her and her reaction? "Oh yeah, I knew all of that." Me: How did you know that, Mom? Her: I talked to your brother this morning.

WTF??? Why the fuck was she telling me to travel over an hour to meet her to go to the hospital when she knew nothing was happening? And why did she keep telling me she hadn't spoken with my brother and knew absolutely nothing when in fact she'd talked to him and knew absolutely everything? And why the fuck (did I mention that word already?) was she telling me to waste my precious, precious gas to come meet her when I'd have to turn around and go home when there was. no. baby.?!?!

Her reaction to my outrage? To tell me that she had indeed told me she talked to him. And not only had she told me she'd talked to him but she'd told me what he said (i.e. no baby yet). I very politely (ahem) disagreed with her and she informed me that she wasn't going to argue with me, because I only hear what I want to hear.

You know what? I'll tell you about 5,000 things I did not want to hear: 1) I did not want to hear that I had to call in to work when in fact I did not; 2) I did not want to hear that I had to drive halfway out of town when I did not; 3) I did not want to hear that I had to get up early out of my comfy bed to go to a hospital where a baby was not coming; 4) I did not want to hear that I had to put on make-up on a Monday morning (a task I usually leave until Thursday) when in fact I did not. (Because, see, if there was a new baby there would be pictures.); 5) I did not want to hear that I had to wear contacts on a Monday morning, which I usually don't wear due to the overuse they get on weekends, when in fact I did not. (Again, pictures. And a lot of driving in a lot of sun = sunglasses = need for contacts.); 6) I did not want to hear that I had to coat my entire body with spf because I was going to be driving in the sun all day and I can't afford to have any more cleavage wrinkles (thanks again J) when in fact I did not have to wear spf on my boobs at all, given the short, short drive to my work on normal mornings; and 7) I did not want to hear that apparently my mother is completely, out of her mind crazy, because she doesn't have long term healthcare insurance and I do not want to take care of her ass.

*brushes sweat and furrow off brow* I feel better now.

I missed Bea Arthurs Birthday!

How could I? I'm such a bad fan. It was two days ago and over at thebestweekever.com they have her top 10 moments. In honor of her birthday and the upcoming SATC reunion, I thought I'd post this video: Bea's take on SATC. Although, to be accurate, Golden Girls was the original SATC so no remade needs to be made... but since it is:

My errant phone is embarrassing.

I had Pilates this morning. I woke up at 5 a.m. with a head pounding and ovaries hashing it out over unpaid electricity bills. (I named my ovaries Stella and Joe. I figured it was very Tennessee Williams-esque up in there, so I named them accordingly. Stella and Joe decide to get angry and fight about stupid shit about once every three months. They used to fight more frequently but they've been on anti-depressants so it's now down to a few times a year. When they fight they throw everything out of their vacation home and toss it down the garbage shoot. It's annoying but ya know, ovaries/uteran vacation homes, right? What are you going to do?)

Needless to say I was not in the mood to be all bendy this morning - especially at a god awful early hour. I decided to text J and tell her I wouldn't be making it. My phone has a tendency to send my text messages to random people. I'll specifically pick someone from my contact list to text and when it's sending it will send a message to my mom, for instance. This morning I was very careful and pulled J's name out of my contact list. I deliberately typed: "Period. Headache. Gross. Staying in." As I was tossing the phone back into its trusty bedside drawer (where it sleeps), it starts singing at me tell me I have a return message. I look and it's from my gay boyfriend C. Love him! He writes me: "And it's raining. I'm staying in too."

Shit. My phone sent my period excuse text not only not to J but also to a boy! Argh! Luckily it's C and he totally understands but still. Is it really necessary for my phone to inform my entire contact list of the goings-on of Stella and Joe?

I need a new phone...

I'm a natural disaster dream hoarder...

Back when Katrina happened I had nightmares that the city I was living in was flooded - like Noah's Ark flooded. I had them repeatedly. I have various other natural disaster dreams anytime I focus too much on how terrifying it must be to have your world destroyed by forces you can't control, i.e. mother nature.

Give the above precipice, I had a dream last night involving a huge tornado that started out looking like a hurricane on a doppler map. I was in a high rise hotel (or apartment building?) when I looked out the wall of windows and realized a huge ass tornado (in my dream I called it a twister) was coming right towards the building. I grabbed the two people I was with and high-tailed it to the stairwell. While I was doing so I called the front desk and told them a tornado was heading for us and for everyone to get in the stairwell. (In my dream I was secretly slapping myself on the back for being so prepared with all my tornado safety knowledge.)

We were in the stairwell when the tornado hit. It hit the building and made a sound not unlike a really big bird thudding into a window in my office building. Then the building started going down. Not down like an imploded casino or something but down like the you'd imagine the leaning tower of piza would go down - all sideways and what not. In my head, again, I started thinking about how in Titanic Jack knew exactly what to tell Rose to do when the boat hit the water (a-I'm very cerebral in my dreams and b-Titanic, wtf?), and I started panicking. I realized I have no safety knowledge on what to do if a building falls down. It occured to me that we should probably have run down a few flights of stairs to get closer to the ground but it was too late at that point. I also, in my dream, moved the vending machine (that was naturally in the stairwell) to the direction the building was going down so it wouldn't smush us. (I've watched a lot of Black Sheep in my time.) But other than that? I had nothing. It was terrifying.

The last thing I thought before I woke up? As I was huddling in a corner with other girls (all girls in this dream and I was the Alpha), I thought that I should probably try to call my mom and tell her I love her because I might die there. But then I thought that my cell probably doesn't get very good reception in the middle of tornado. And then I woke up.

This dream has created several results in its cause and affect nature.

1) I'm extremely tired today due to lack of sleep. Everytime I tried to go back to sleep this morning I was in a falling building in the middle of a tornado.

2) It created a desire for a new phone plan that has all the fancy text messaging for free, so I can contact people in a tornado. I text now but it costs $$$ and if I'm going to be having natural disaster dreams, I really need to be secure in my ability to text and check email for free, ya know? Less potential catastrophes in nightmare land.

3) The dream made me wonder if it was a bad omen or something. Is this a sign that I should put off girls' night and get new tires before my long, car trip home tomorrow morning?

4) Perhaps I actually should buy one of those Worst Case Scenario books. I like to be prepared and it seems I know shit about falling buildings. I bet that's in there somewhere.

5) When I called my mom over lunch to tell her what a sweet daughter she had in that my last thought before death was to call my dear mother and tell her I love her, she replied, "hmmm, I don't know how cell phones react in the middle of tornado. I've never had anyone call me during one."

Three cheers for Mother's Day! (I don't know the html tags for sarcasm but they should be entered before three and after day. Oh and probably before and after this parenthetical reference.)

Too many gifts to buy in May!!

I have a ton of occasions this month. Since everyone else gets away with lists, here's mine:

1. B's bday - bird theme: bird necklace (by the Naughty Secretary's Club - they're not naughty, just crafty) and a parrot beer bottler opener (opens bottles with its beak).

2. Cousin's college graduation - umm.... necklace? I have no clue. She's getting a trip to Hawaii from her parents and she really doesn't like anything material, so what? I have no clue. She's a recently converted Dem and has no clue what to do with her life, so maybe Colbert's book? Her graduation is on Saturday. I'm totally stalling!

3. Mother for Mother's Day - DVDs. She was easy and very specific. Now I just have to buy one more to complete her list. Apparently she's decided she likes musicals. I threw out a couple of choices and she hadn't ever heard of them. Musicals indeed. Translation: The Sound of Music.

4. Grandmother for Mother's Day - an umbrella. Sounds bizarre but she wants one. A "cool one" as she put it. I'm pretty sure my definition of cool and hers are not at all the same. I got her some other summer/outdoorsy things to go along with it.

5. Brother's Bday - inflatable moose head. He's big into hunting (although the only thing he's ever killed was on a hunting ranch thing, comparable to a loaded lake for fishing). He has two deer heads hanging in his living room. I can't believe his wife let him put them in there (haha! once a bird flew in their house and perched/shit on the antlers of one of them), but maybe she has pregnant brain and wasn't coherent enough to put up a fight. Anyway. I'm always giving him shit about having dead animals on display (I think it's vulgar, tacky, and plain old disgusting), and an inflatable moose head is just what he needs.

6. Brother's 5th kid, bday tba - she's due this month so I have to come up with a gift. I already bought a couple of onesies in newborn, 3 months, and 6 months sizes. What else? I can't afford anything on her registry (see earlier post) and one of her friends already got her all the bath stuff I was planning on buying. She'll have a new baby when I give it to her. She won't care about gifts. Right?

7. JM's bday - oh god. I have no clue what to buy. I think pretty much everything he likes is crap (sorry JM but it's no secret), so what should I get him? See he's into toys. All kinds of annoying, blinking, drive-you-to-drinking toys. I guess I'll go to the local toy store and buy the thing that's most likely to give me a seizure. That ought to work.

8. Nephew's hs graduation - my aunt gave me $100 when I graduated high school. I thought I was rich. Hell, I'd still think I was rich if someone gave me that for a gift. I cannot afford to give my nephew that much $$$ for a gift. I'm poor. I'd volunteer to pay for half of his books when he registers for college (thus delaying the gift-giving although it would be substantially more than $100), but given his desire to do absolutely nothing (legal), it might be a crappy gift. 'Cause he wouldn't use it, see? 'Cause he might not go to college? I suppose I'll just give him cash but I'm afraid of what he'll use it on. Oh well. Not my business I suppose.

Great. Now I'm depressed.

On Chesil Beach

I just finished reading On Chesil Beach. (I don't know how to accentuate book names so I'm italicizing. Forgive me if I'm wrong. I feel like it should be underlined but that looks dumb.) It's a short novel by Ian McEwan (of Atonement fame). It was on the NYTimes list of 100 greatest books in 2007, so I picked it up on my last trip to the library. Of course I haven't finished reading any of the books I checked out, but when I went to renew them online I realized someone else requested OCB and I can't renew it! So it's due back Thursday. Today is Tuesday. Guess what I did over lunch? Read OCB. It's that short.

It's really quite good. I read Atonement and saw the movie but I never really got the hype. Obviously McEwan is a great writer but it wasn't really my cup of tea. There was too much of modern lit in there for me to fully appreciate it. I can't stand all the sacky, emotional, whiny crap that goes into most modern fiction. (By sacky I mean balls and their apparatus/containers.) But I really enjoyed OCB. Maybe it's because it's about sex, maybe it's because it's short, or maybe it's because it's good. I'm not sure. Either way, I highly recommend it if you're into two virgins doing it for the very first time on their wedding night, a night which ends very disastrously due to the above description.

It just goes to prove that you really should do it for the first time in high school when everything is awkward to begin with. It saves everyone a lot of trouble.

I learned something new on Saturday night.

I saw Baby Mama - or is it Mamma? - Saturday night and I learned what a "taint" is. I had to ask but that's what asking is for, no? My friend J tried to tell me it was your perineum but I didn't know what that was either. I am stoopid. But a little more thorough explanation helped me figure it out. I call it the "you've missed" spot but apparently that's what taint means anyway (an ineffectual stab with a lance).

Don't say I never taught you anything. Or maybe you already knew. Oh well. Consider yourself refreshed.

I'm either the best or the worst coworker evah!

I had a salmon pouch for lunch. Ever try one of those? They're right by the tuna fish in the "canned meat" aisle. It was my first foree into pouched meat. It was disgusting. Not as disgusting as that sun-dried tomato/basil tuna turned out to be but gross enough to keep me from enjoying it's cheap, cheap price and protein-rich nutritional stats.

Anyway. I had to heat the salmon in the microwave and I through the pouch away (and some of the pouch juice) in the nearby trashcan. We have a real kitchen in our office and a mini-kitchen in our division of the office. This was in the mini-kitchen, which is also conveniently located right in the middle of a few offices.

I could possibly be the worst coworker ever because I put a pouch of fish in a trashcan that's sure to offend many people. I could be the best coworker ever because as soon as I finished my salmon (ugh!) I realized if the smell of the napkin I'd used was nauseating, I'm sure the trashcan I'd deposited the pouch into was waaaay worse. So I took out the trash. At work. See how great I am? I put our trash in the big kitchen's trash bin but no matter. I still removed it from the office area. That's what's important right?

I have jury duty in 36 minutes.

And I'm pissed. I don't know why except that I consider it a huge burden, for no good reason at all. Those fuckers better plea out. Maybe I'll pick up some pointers on how to pick a good jury, silver lining and all.

Also - I think I'm getting boob cleavage wrinkles. Are all these years of wearing push up bras coming back to haunt me? J mentioned to me that she uses Retin A on her cleavage wrinkles and now it's all I can think about. Low cut shirts are some of the joys of not having huge boobs. How else will I make it through my 40s (when I get there) if I can't show off the girls? Isn't that how you get to be sexy and old - good boobs? Or legs, I'm sure but I don't have good legs if cankles are any indication...

At least I'll get a lot of good reading done. Eleanor of Aquitane, here I come!

I'm totally boring today because I'm sleep deprived.

BUT there was a small victory around the office today. The boss ordered these delicious cookies and brownies for Admin Prof Day from the place I always recommend (soooo goood!), and I abstained. It wasn't a day to appreciate me or anything so it wasn't terribly difficult to do, although I did sniff the brownie box - repeatedly.

Is there a regular employee day? There's a Boss's Day and an Admin Day but what about the rest of us? I once asked my mom why there wasn't a Kid Day since there was a Mother's Day and Father's Day (or is it Mothers' and Fathers'?), and she said everyday was a Kid Day. Although I still call bullshit on that argument, it's validity is a lot stronger for kids than regular working stiffs. So how come we don't get a damn day?

The reason I'm sleep deprived? Two prong. I became rabidly obsessed with finding a crack for a stupid online game last night. I mean, seriously. Cake Mania 2 is not worth it. But when I'm obsessed, look out, especially if I'm obsessed with something completely devoid of worth. And then I had to wake up at the ass crack of dawn for my fucking Pilates class. It was good though. We learned some weird leg/push up thing that basically looks like you're rock climbing only you're doing it across the floor. I can't remember the name of it. Basically you get in runners pose (that weird stretch running type people do with your hands on the ground, one leg bent over your ankle, and one leg extended behind you), you climb your hands out in front of you, one at a time, until you're in a push up position with both legs out behind you, do a push up (or use the opportunity to cry, if you're me), then bring the leg that wasn't bent before up under you in another runner's pose, climb your hands out to a push up postion again, etc., etc., etc. You do it all the way across the dance room studio floor thing. If you're doing it right you look like you're rock climbing across the floor with while doing push ups. It's very impressive. If you're doing it wrong, like me, you look like you're doing some weird sort of bear crawl across the ground. I never could do cartwheels either.

No inchworm though this week, Squishy. Maybe next week.

Watching MTV reality shows is a bad, bad thing.

So I was watching The Paper last night. It's a new MTV reality show about a high school paper and its staff. I'm guessing the paper is slightly better than the two-sided flier my high school printed once a semester and called a school newspaper. But I'm not sure. The only actual paper stuff I've seen was a discussion regarding gray scale, for which I care not.

One of the main characters (people? is it only a character if it's fiction?) is the new editor-in-chief, Alice or Alex or something like that. I know it starts with an A but I can't remember her actual name. Amanda? Anyway. The majority of the other people on the paper basically talk shit about A the entire show. She's a total Andrea Zuckerman but without the punch, so I can kinda understand but mainly it sucks. She seems oblivious to the chatter going on behind her back, which I guess is the point of "behind her back," although there are a few staffers who are a little too free with the bitch talk when she's in the vicinity. And half of the peeps who talk bad about her behind her back discuss their undying "friendship" to her face.

My question - this is high school? Was my high school like this? I remember having petty dramas and what not but the back biting? I don't remember that at all. So either I was a saint (highly unlikely) or I was the A girl in my high school. If I don't remember trash talking others ad infinitum, does that automatically mean I was trash talked? According to The Paper, you have to be one or the other. I wasn't one so I must have been the other? Is this faulty logic?

To be fair I have little to no memory of high school left and only flashes from the years before that. I remember driving a little too fast to clubs to try and get in while there was still free cover, a few too many parties, getting in trouble for saying "fuck" a lot, discovering poetry a la Norton Anthology (I read in the back of class while others were reading the book I'd finished a week ago), and completely giving up on fashion at school by the end of my senior year and resorting to t-shirts and jeans every day. Everything else? A blur. There are bits and pieces from stories people have reminded me about but pure, organic memories? I've got very few.

I think all of the above really reaffirms my decision last year to not attend my high school reunion. And The Paper? I pretty good reality show after all.

The yin and the yang - I think.

So my bf has been out of town this week at a conference. He's been crazy busy trying to attend the conference and get his regular work done. He's a much better employee than I am. If I'm at a conference I don't even check voicemail and email. He also just found out he got this huge contract thing he's been working on, which is great. (I'm going to make him buy me a cute pill box with all his bonus $$$. It's too embarassing to carry around pill bottles and vitamin bottles, etc., but a pretty pill box is one of those discretionary things I can't bring myself to buy... for myself - I feel like I've got some pronouns wrong...) I told him we'd celebrate his big score this weekend when he gets home. He agreed and thought that sounded fab. (Boy words though.)

Our conversation last night:

Me: I've got our celebration on Friday night all planned out.
Him: Oh yeah?
Me: Yep. It's gonna be great.
Him: Uh-huh... (getting suspicious that I make him go to a fancy restaurant, I can tell)
Me: dramatic pause
Him: What is it already?
Me: I'm hanging out with my girlfriends.
Him: What? Why?
Me: Because I haven't seen them in awhile.
Him: So our celebration is...
Me: Yep, that's right. We'll celebrate by you being at home all by yourself.
Him: Omg, you're the best. Thanks so much.
Me: No problem.

This exact conversation is one of the reasons that I love and hate my bf, all at the same time. I'm sure you can see why. (Oh and he didn't actually say omg. He said the real words. And to be fair, he didn't actually say I was the best but it was something similar that I can't remember. I like my way and I'm repeating it so it gets to be my words.)

Full disclosure: I'm in a mood.

You know the kind - where everything looks dour and grim and everything seems so damn boring. My emotions are easily held hostage by my sense of boredom. My complaints:

1. I'm broke. I'm in debt and I'm broke. I will never be out of debt. I will never be able to afford a new car. I will never be able to buy a house or even rent a bigger place.

2. I'm hungry. I'm on this new low-cal/high-protein diet and oh my god it sucks. I haven't cheated one, single time (and I don't want to), but I spend most of my evenings hungry and thinking about protein shakes. Fuck.

3. I'm bored. Last week was a crazy week and I needed a couple of days to myself to regain my sense of equilibrium. Great. My "couple of days" has extended to a week and I'm bored out of my goddamn mind! There are things I'd like to do (at work, at home, etc.) but I'm too bored to even seriously contemplate doing them. I have organized and cleaned my kitchen about 4 times this week though.

4. I'm feeling crazy bloated and it's terribly uncomfortable. (I wish I had Aunt Period to blame all of this on but I don't.)

5. The gift I gave my grandmother yesterday for her bday broke right as she was opening it. So now I have to take it back, hope they have another, and somehow get it back to her sometime soon.

6. I'd love to go to Target to practice some retail therapy only I can't. Refer to #1.

7. It's only Thursday. I have a whole other day of work before I can call this godforsaken week over.

8. The Pope is taking up all my good debate coverage on the teevee. I want politics not Papal deep thoughts. I just don't get the Pope. What's the big deal? I'm not Catholic or anything, but my lapsing Baptist self doesn't get up in arms over Joel Osteen coming to town. And I'm going to just say it: I like the old Pope better. He was bad about the molesting stuff (really bad), but the new Pope is way worse in just about every way. Ugh. Whatever. The main point is that I want proper analysis on HRC v. Obama, not coverage of the Pope risking all by rolling the windows down in his weird glass carriage.

9. I missed my Pilates class yesterday. I stupidly overslept and they learned how to do the inchworm. I'm probably really bad at it but I want to know how to inchworm too.

10. I'm pretty sure all this pissiness is causing wrinkles. And my skin is extremely dry this week. Damn all you oily-faced people, monopolizing the face care market!

Axe Body Spray

My day was made yesterday about 4:00 p.m. by an Admin in my office. Why, you ask? Apparently she noticed a bad odor coming from the kitchen(esque) area in the hallway. She complained that it smelled like fish. Our boss offered to spray his "good-smelling stuff" to cover the odor. Into his office she went where he presented her with his secret against bad odors - Axe Body Spray. As he sprayed the little, black, aerosol can into the air she coughed and sputtered and excused herself to her office where I found her, a short while later and she relayed the story to me.

This same boss has certain, how shall I say?, odor issues himself. While I distinctly prefer to overwhelming smell of man/boy cologne to the underlying offensive... odors, I've always wondered how the man/boy cologne smell seemed to grow and get stronger at certain points during the day. Now I know. It's the repetitive use of Axe. Body. Spray.

So while the Admin was busy complaining of an oncoming migraine, I was happily skipping back to my office to make a phone call to an ex-coworker with whom I'd developed many alternative tricks for compensating for the above odor issues.

If you can't comprehend why this made my day, imagine all those "sexy" Axe commercials and then picture your own smell-challenged boss. If that doesn't produce a guffaw or two, your boss is not nearly as physically repulsive as mine.

I suck

Who else feels like ass because they watched the entire American Idol Gives Back, in hopes of seeing Brad Pitt un-uglified, cried at all the sad bits, and was too cheap/lazy to donate even a dollar? God I suck. Saddest parts? When they showed the 15 year-old who had to take care of his 3 younger brothers because their parents died. It was like Party of Five but in Africa and with waaay worse dilemmas than whether to take over the family restaurant or not. I can deal with all the other heartbreak the show had to offer but the kid playing parent? I lost it.

It really makes worrying about a DHEA imbalance lame in comparison... (It's possible the DHEA worry was lame before it was put into comparison with other horrors.)

On a completely different note, I rode the bus to work today for the first time ever. It was okay. The only downside is getting up earlier than normal but I really would love a less rushed morning, so maybe I can manage. My route is filled with college students all going to campus (the bus cuts through campus to get downtown), and it made me semi-wistful for my college days. You couldn't pay me enough to relive them socially (fun but I couldn't stand to do it again), but I loved, loved, loved all the classes and books and learning. I'm sure it wouldn't be the same though. You can never go home, eh?

Speaking of old class days, my law school is having it's 5 year reunion this weekend. I'm boycotting. I would rather go to my high school reunion than my law school reunion, and that's saying a lot since I refused to go to the former as well. I sincerely hated law school. It was petty and shallow and I'm fairly certain learning "the law" in that corporate-preparing environment killed not only part of my soul but a large part of my brain as well. The only good things I got out of law school are: the ability to argue both sides of a point, 3 amazing friends (more that went to law school but I didn't know them there), a J.D., and a whole lotta good debt to mask my bad debt.

Moral of the story? Don't go to law school to change the world. Donate money to American Idol Gives Back instead.

DHEA deficient

Apparently I have low DHEA Sulfate levels. According to my research, low levels are caused by laziness and overeating or by being an ana. I wonder which category I fall under? I bought some supplements but then I read about how there's a movement in Congress to make DHEA supps controlled substances, needing a prescription to get them. I also read that it increases body hair, and I have really light hair on my legs and practically none on my arms and face. I'm concerned that a) I'll end up looking like Sly Stallone, b) my potential political career could be ruined by questions of taking a drug that will later be illegal (aka baseball giants), and c) that I'll start growing a beard (or worse a porn 'stache). Do any of you, ahem, science people know the answers to these questions?

Why did I agree?

Not only did I agree to join the Pilates Bootcamp class at 6:00 a.m. for the next 8 weeks, but I paid for it! I'm insane. I must not be getting enough oxygen to my brain. It's only on Wednesdays but still. And a few weeks ago I scheduled a doctor's appointment for tomorrow (Wednesday) at 9:30 hoping to be able to sleep in a little on a workday, a rarity. But what did my dumb self forget about? 6:00 a.m. pilates, that's what. So not only do I not get to sleep in, but I waste precious face hours at work (the one benefit to an early pilates class is that the boss gets to see me in my office before 9:00 a.m.). Sucks!!!

I am a fool. Officially. Oh and the pilates girl? Is super bendy and kinda freaks me out a little. I can't admit that to my other pilates goers, because I'm too ashamed to cop to my fear of overly flexible things.

It must be Monday.

Guilt!!!!!!!!!! Is a horrible thing. Brief story some of you already know: Sis-in-law's 3rd kid + baby shower + invite came a week ahead of time + she lives in town 2 hours away + I'm not going + big fight with mom = GUILT.

I wasn't feeling the guilt, only righteous indignation at the aforementioned big fight with mom, but when I sent out all the emails RSVPing in the negative and apologizing to SIL, my mom's shitty ass guilt trip is starting to work. She apologized for the nasty words said in the fight and she's even picking up the flowers I ordered (in lieu of attendance - I try to be nice) and taking them to the shower. But even her good deeds are laced with guilt. See? She's the good family member - going to the shower and even picking up my pseudo-gift to bring along with her. *sigh* My boobs are starting to sweat. Apparently guilt-induced cleavage sweat. Gross and gross.

To add to the gloriousness of today I just now realized I have my cardigan on inside out. Nice. I've talked with lots of people today and no one has pointed it out to me. I'm going to wear it like this for the rest of the day in defiance of all the fuckers who don't tell you you have spinach in your teeth. Fuck those people. (I'm displacing anger here, in case you needed an explanation.)

Bathroom Etiquette 101

I once heard a friend ranting about how horrid automated bathrooms were/are. His argument was completely devoid of all rational thought. I know this because I disagree completely. Therefore I'm right and he's wrong. Especially because bathrooms are gross and anyone who doesn't understand that is a sick, sick freak. Automated bathrooms (except for hand dryers - give me a germ attack, will ya?) are my own personal heaven. Toilet seat condoms? Faucets you don't have to touch? Doors that just have those twisty turn things so people can't see in instead of actual doors with doorknobs? Glorious, fecal free world, I heart thee.

So what should we, as a society, do if we are not privy (no half-assed pun intended (ha! no 2nd pun intended either)) to the beauty of the automated bathroom?

Rule #1: If you're at work, use the bathroom on your floor only for liquid waste, not solid waste. No one needs to know you in that way. Go to a different floor to share that particular knowledge with the plumbing system.

Rule #2: Never touch any of your body to a toilet seat - never. Use a toilet seat condom or if there are none available, make your own with the useful toilet paper sitting right there.

Rule #3: Rule #2 applies to flushing as well. That's what feet are for.

Rule #4: Wash your hands for 15 seconds, minimum. I prefer a nice, regimented routine of 5 seconds under water, 5 seconds lathering, and 5 seconds rinsing. It works out quite nicely.

Rule #5: Use a paper towel to turn off the sink faucet. You used dirty hands (that touched the outside bathroom door handle, the bathroom stall door, the toilet paper roll, and the stall door lock) to turn it on, so don't undo all your hard work by dirtying up your clean hands to turn it off.

Rule #6: Dry hands thoroughly. There's nothing worse than meeting someone in the hallway that you absolutely must shake hands with and having moist hands, especially if they see you've come from the bathroom. Best to avoid the speculation at all costs.

Rule #7: Use a different paper towel to open the bathroom door to get out. Lots of dirty, sick people do not wash their hands when they leave the bathroom and touch that very door handle. Again, why undo all the hard work of the cleansing process?

Rule #8: If you are in an office building, continue using the same paper towel to open all other doors that stand in the way of you and your office/desk/cube/etc. Those same fecal matter carrying freaks are opening the same doors you are.

I almost forgot Rule #9: Don't brush your teeth in the office bathroom. It's just gross. And really the dentist association people say too much brushing is actually bad for you. Pop a trident instead.

A little compulsion goes a long way in creating a happy potty experience for us all. Thank you and good bathrooming.

The bad, bad night of the JT sing-along...

Remember that post about being excited about the Justin Timberlake Sing-Along? Yeah, I should have known better than to be excited about something. History should have told me that the evening would be piss-poor. But do I listen to history? No. Hopes up - hopes dashed, that's the way of the world.

I held off posting about this because I'm not sure if peeps at work read this or not but here goes... I applied for a job a month or so ago that I'd be perfect for. I didn't get it. Fine. I didn't even get an interview even though I met every qualification x10 they were looking for. Fine. Whatever. Thursday night? I met the girl who did get that job. And as nice as she is, she is in no way qualified. She has less experience than me (2 years less), the experience she does have doesn't come close to matching what she'll be doing in her new job, and well, there's no 3rd thing. She just plain old isn't qualified and has no experience in the subject matter while I have all of that and above. Did I mention I didn't even get an interview?

See the evening started so nicely. The Sing-Along wasn't until 9:30ish, so a few BFFs and I hit up a women in law happy hour (yay - wine specials!). About half a glass in, I realized the new job the girl next to me was talking about was the one mentioned above. I spent the next glass and a half listening to all the information that lead me to the above conclusions.

The BFFs and I headed out to dinner after the happy hour and started putting pieces together. The realities of the job situation came together and the result? a very depressed me. So when it came time for the awesomeness that is Justin Timberlake, I was in quite the foul mood. I'm a stewer and an obsesser, so you can only imagine what a few hours did to my mood.

I will admit that JT perked me up a bit. I did comment on his sexiness more times than not during the night. Have you ever noticed how hot he is? Good lord!! And all of his songs talk about how this or that girl did him wrong and now he's going to passive-agressively not give them his name or ring (or worse: kill them in a car crash). Looking back over the whole Britney/JT break-up, I'm now firmly on Team Britney. (Aside: over Easter my little niece was wearing a dress and kept showing her undies. My SIL - uber crazy Christian SIL - told me to try to teach her right. When the SIL was out of sight, I explained to her the virtues of not exposing your "Britney" and she completely understood! And then, when her mom came back in the room, proceeded to spread her legs open, yell about showing her Britney, and then clap them closed again. Oops.) Anyway. I don't think it was right for JT to air all his dirty laundry and call out Britney for cheating on him. Whether she did or didn't, it wasn't very classy. Bad move, JT. Plus there was all that anger and little boy crying in those couple of videos where the pseudo-Britney sees the JT sex tape and JT practically forces ScarJo to commit suicide in a really expensive car. Me thinks JT might have a slight anger problem. But if you juxtapose the angry videos with the punked where JT thought all his stuff was getting repo'd and called his mom practically crying, well it makes one think he has a wee bit of manning up to do. Get on with it, will ya JT? Do you think he'll sing in a non-chipmunk register once he grows a pair?

So what DO your books say about you?

This Jezebel post pointed out this NYTimes article and then there was Rana's post on books, so what is a girl to do when the universe is begging her to answer what appears to be THE question of the day: what does your taste in books say about you?

I decided to let Google take a shot at it first. I found links to what your music says about you (I've got a little Cusack to help me out with that one), what your car says about you, what your checkbook says about you (checkbooks, really? that you're old and antiquated?), what your office says about you, what your spelling, mutual fund, blog, drink, and even your ringtone says about you but book/s? Nada. As Google failed me, not for the first time, I decided to tackle the issue myself.

Let's tackle a few top 10 books, shall we? (I'm picking and choosing my top 10 books because I haven't read very many of them. I have to talk about what I know, right?)

According to the NYTimes Modern Library:

#1: Ulysses - Um, I've never read this book but I'm guessing the person who has this on their bookshelf was an English major, which probably means the bookshelf in question came from IKEA. So I'm guessing Ulysses = poor.

#2: The Great Gatsby - This one could be left over from high school so it doesn't necessarily have the same meaning as #1, although it could. I'm guessing a person who identifies with the Great Gatsby might also identify with a $30k Millionaire, no? (Not the poor part but the used-and-abused-by-society-so-I've-got-to-get-mine part.) Perhaps Fortunate Son by CCR is their favorite song?

#3: A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man - paging Rory Gilmore! In my own version of pop culture know-how I've only heard this book referenced once in a Gilmore Girls episode (fyi - it was the one where Rory had an affair with her married ex-bf and then left town to "summer" with her grandmother in Europe). Again, I haven't read this book but I'm guessing anyone who has this book on their bookshelf can probably do a NYTimes crossword puzzle. In ink. I try to avoid people that are obviously that much smarter than me. I can handle a good TVGuide crossword puzzle though. How 'bout them apples?

#4: Lolita - oh my. This person is either a Russian lit enthusiast, which I can totally get behind because they must be the coolest, hippest people around (ahem), or they're a pervert. Either way is probably okay.

skipping a few...

#10: The Grapes of Wrath - run away! You've quite possibly met the most boring individual on the face of the planet. Hurry and get away while you still can! Oh and to all you Steinbeck fans out there? Suck it. You're boring too.

#13: 1984 - probably just a smart, sci-fi/technology geek. Can't go wrong with a person who will watch a midnight showing of Bladerunner or The Princess Bride with you, right?

#15: To the Lighthouse - seriously? Do people actually read Virginia Woolf anymore? Surely with all the anti-depressants and therapists out there we don't actually need to wallow in another woman's depressions do we? I mean, unless she's Sylvia Plath.

I'm skipping waay down to

#45: The Sun Also Rises - because I have a serious beef with Hemingway readers. Why do you hate women so? Is it the lack of a functioning penis? Too much sun? Either way, people who lay a claim to Hemingway are self-righteous misogynists, guaranteed - even the women. There's no crime greater than girl-on-girl crime, so sayeth Mean Girls. Be prepared to fight your way, passive-agressively of course, out of that den of inequities.

#58 & #69: The Age of Innocence and The House of Mirth, respectively - love these people. A reverence for all things Edith Wharton is a mark of a highly intelligent, witty, and humerous person. Not to mention fabulously beautiful, I'm sure. An Austenian attention to the detail of class warfare meets the gross tragedy of a Russian novel. There can never be anything greater. Therefore the person who carries an extensive Wharton library should be your best friend. Just saying.

#76: The Prime of Miss Jean Brode - most likely this person was a drama nerd in high school. They might still be one. A "leave the drama for your mama" t-shirt or sign anywhere in the vicinity of their living quarters will confirm your worst suspicions - once a drama queen, always a drama queen.

I could go on (and I seriously question this so-called "best of" list) but I won't. Any thoughts? Suggestions? Books to add to the list?

I'm not terribly exciting today

but I am terribly excited! I'm going to a Justin Timberlake sing-a-long tonight. I don't think I even know enough JT songs to justify the price of the ticket but singing? along? to words on a screen? *manic dance of the feet* (I'd do the whole body but I'm at my desk.)

To show how happy I am, I demonstrate my make-up bag. I brought it with me. To work. To actually apply make-up. That's a huge thing for me because I make it a point never to lose valuable sleeping time for application of eyeliner. But today? Well, I didn't lose sleep time but I brought the eyeliner with me. And I intend to use it, because god knows JT deserves a little eyeliner.

Parents just don't understand...

In the immortal words of the Fresh Prince of Bellaire and DJ Jazzy Jeff, "so to you, all the kids all across the land, there's no need to argue, parents just don't understand." Doo do doo do, zingy fun noise, doo do doo do.

So I was talking to my mom on the phone the other day. She randomly interrupts that she meant to tell me I have x dollars in some account somewhere. Me: wha? Her: A letter came for you and it said you had x dollars in a retirement account. Key points: retirement account (gives me a clue as to what she's talking about) and in letter format (i.e. she opened my mail).

Apparently my mother does not understand that she is not supposed to open my mail, even though we've had many civilized and not so civilized conversations about that very action ever since I was old enough to start receiving mail. (One not so civilized occasion occurred when she opened an acceptance/rejection letter in high school. I won't go into details but rest assured the neighbors stayed far away from our part of the street that night although she still refuses to admit she was wrong. That's the kind of mom I have.)

I pointed out to her, rather politely, that she shouldn't open my mail and her response was that she knew it was a federal offense but she didn't care. Apparently the fact that my head emerged from her vagina gives her the right to do what she wants regarding my mail. Or so she says. Whatever. Fine. So mom, when did this letter come? Oh weeks ago. Really? Why haven't you given it to me? Wrong question to ask. Next comes the lecture on me visiting her more often. Did I mention I'd seen her less than 24 hours earlier at my grandmother's for Easter dinner? But apparently that doesn't count because she puts my mail (that she's already opened) in my bedroom at her house and she can't be expected to go in there and pick it up to bring to me, can she? And of course if I visited her, I'd see for myself that there's something sitting on the bed I'm going to be sleeping in. See? It's all my fault.

Ignoring the above genius logic I ask her with whom might the retirement account be? And how should I retrieve the funds? (I figure these are safe questions since she's already read the fine print. But that's what I get for thinking.) Guess what? She doesn't know and she's slightly offended that I would ask her something she doesn't know the answer to. Please don't ask why she can't get up from her recliner and go pick up the offending piece of mail and let me know what it says, because god knows if she can't mail it to me or give it to me in person, she's certainly not going to get up from her chair and do actual moving around. Insanity!

I accept all of the above with no small amount of grace, if I do say so myself. I only point out the absurdity of the entire conversation two, maybe three times. But where I draw the line is today. I get an email from my mother with the subject line: "our conversation from the other evening." Here is her email, with only small edits to protect the innocent:

Tina,

When we were talking about the mail you had received from x, with some balance in an account, I couldn't remember what the name was on the account. Could it have been from xyz company?

Love you!


Regards,
Tina's mom

*bangs head on desk* I don't know Mom. Could it have been from xyz company? How the hell would I know? YOU HAVE THE LETTER!!! Again, I politely mentioned that it might behoove us both for her to retrieve the piece of offending mail instead of trying to guess back and forth, considering a) she'd read the mail and b) she freaking HAS THE LETTER!!! breathing, breathing...

So I repeat again, "so to you, all the kids all across the land, there's no need to argue, parents just don't understand." Doo do doo do, zingy fun noise, doo do doo do.

Forgive me if this post is all over the place. Parental love, eh?

Randomness

Last night at CardioTennis a random girl asked where the other girl was who is usually there complaining about everything? I was like, um me? But then she added that she meant the funny one. Ouch. I just want to point out that it was me who came up with the safe word bit, which is now a part of our regularly scheduled programming. C came up with schooner (SATC shout out!) as the safe word itself but the bit? Mine. See? I'm funny. I'll admit it's mainly funny because our tennis pro doesn't know what the whole S&M safe word thing is. He's sweet like that.

And do you know how many times I've been tempted to make balls/pain/safe word jokes? In the tennis arena the opportunities are endless. But I would like to thank our class leader for assuring us the mats will be cleaned thoroughly after every class. I do not want mat herpes. C & I discussed which would be worse - staph or mat herpes. I say mat herpes because that shit is on your face, yo. Excluding the nose job Project Runway designer, you hardly ever see people with staph on their faces. Sure you might die but honestly it doesn't happen that often. And I'd rather be pretty while having a life-threatening infection than ugly while having to continue going to work every day. Faulty logic? I think not.

A few of my favorite tv things...

Monday night two of my favorite episodes of two of my favorite shows came one. I'm going to scour youtube to see if I can find clips for you. And for those of you that have never seen Golden Girls (you know who you are), shame on you. I propose to remedy that right here.

The first ep (which I can't find on youtube, damn copyrights!) was the episode of King of the Hill where the whole family goes to Japan and meets Hank's half Japanese brother, who happens to look just like him except for the black hair. Bobby also discovers Dance, Dance Revolution. Oh to be a Hill.

The second ep is a Golden Girls where Dorothy and Rose enter a Miami songwriting competition. I have more than one friend who would sing this with me anytime we choose.




And just an extra for your pleasure: This is the Golden Girls episode where the girls decide to buy condoms before their big cruise (eek!) with their current boys.

My "Dying Instructions" List

I figure if I can obsess about retirement, I can lay out the specifics of dying, death, my own in particular.

First thing to do if I die or am close to dying: read this blog entry.

Regarding being hooked up to machines: Don't unplug me! I hate to be a drain on the environment and someone's electricity bill (charge it to my Visa, they won't care), but damn! give a girl a moment, ya know? I'm slow in most things I do, especially if it involves physical activity like, say, coming back to life. So give me a few months to sort things out. If I'm not awake in oh, 3 months, you can put a dimmer on my switches. Turn me down low at night and see how I cook. If in another 3 months I've shown no improvement and instead show obvious signs of distress when I'm on the "low" setting, I concede that it's probably time to start planning the funeral.

Regarding the funeral:

1. Open casket.

2. Pin my butt and thighs back, maybe even some stomach, and push my boobs up. I want everyone to admire my post-mortem body.

3. Put me in something cute. I don't want to wear any black or yellow or red. I'd be happiest with a dress in peacock blue (favorite color and all), because it makes my eyes look good. I have a great one from Anthro that you can use if no one wants to have it after I'm dead.

4. Can you open eyes on a dead person? If so and if they look halfway decent, prop those babies open. It's my best asset. Everyone might as well enjoy it.

5. Get a real makeup artist to do my face. I don't want one of those clown, funeral home people. I'm cool with eyeliner as well. Just be sure to apply it like I would. No red lipstick.

6. I want tears. I don't want any of this laughing through tears, telling funny stories junk. I want honest-to-goodness sobbing.

7. If you put a cross on or near me, I will rise up and haunt you. Not kidding. I'll accept a flask though.

8. I want everyone to stand up and tell a story about me. I prefer it to be inspirational in a way that will encourage people to cry more. If you can't think of a story where I acted in an upstanding, moral way, make one up. No one will know and it will greatly decrease your chances of the aforementioned haunting.

9. Song choice - sad songs. Yesterday (Beatles), O Danny Boy (any old Irish guy), It's So Hard to Say Goodbye to Yesterday (Boys II Men), My Wild Irish Rose (Hank Lucklin), Hallelujah (Jeff Buckley), Tiny Dancer (Elton John, although the Foo Fighters version is also acceptable), Sitting on the Dock of the Bay (Otis Redding - don't fuck with this one), Rio (Duran, Duran), and Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain (Willie Nelson). I reserve the right to add to and/or change this list at any time.

10. Burial or cremation? Couldn't care less. But only cremate me after the open casket if that's the choice. Make me into diamonds or amber, keep me above the fireplace, vacuum me up, or throw me off a cliff. I don't care. Just make sure there's a marker out there somewhere that's bigger and better than all the other grave markers. Make it interesting enough so that classes of kids will want to come over and do grave rubbings on my headstone/marker thing. Put swirlies and ridges and stuff.

Oh and the most important bit: if and when I am getting to that point, run to wikipedia (or whatever the future equivalent is) and create some entry calling me the inventor of cold fusion or some such thing. Make sure all the newspapers know the inventor (creator?) of cold fusion just died and the whole scientific community (or whatever community it is that I'm a part of) is in mourning. Call it a loss for the Nobel Prize Committee. (I'm open to true songwriter of all Beatles songs, muse for Jackson Pollack, or whatever other really significant thing you can think of that would be hard to prove.)

Oh and G? When you go to my house to remove anything incriminating? Don't forget the, er, things that are in the strawberry shortcake tin.

Doomsday. The Movie.

If you've never heard of Doomsday, you're not alone. I saw it Sunday night with the boy and had never heard of it. At first I thought it was going to be yet another bad movie with only slightly superficial entertainment value. I'm here to say it: I. Was. Wrong. Doomsday is by far the most awesome horrible film I've ever seen. Quick synopsis: 1980s punk scene meets A Knight's Tale meets 28 Days Later.

This movie is so bad I'm not even sure it falls in the B movie category. But! It was so freaking awesome that everyone should see it - preferably with a drink or two in hand. The first point at which I suspected this might be more than just a bad movie came about 1/5 in when the main character came across a group of people who, for better or worse, were supposed to be so isolated that a) no one even knew if they were still alive and b) were cannibals. Well. They may have resorted to eating each other, but after 20 some odd years of being alone, they still managed to conserve the Manic Panic hairdye and eyeliner. That takes talent, my friend.

The second turning point for me (when I decided it was one of the most awesome movies I'd ever seen) was when the post-apopolypic punk fiends had a dance sequence. The dance sequence was one half punk, s&m type stuff and one half lord of the dance and kilts. Did I mention awesome?

Oh and I can't even talk about when the main characters met the other post-apopolypic group - the knights. That glory can't even be shared in the written word. If only Heath Ledger had dome this movie before he died, I would have been in heaven. (no pun intended)

Moral of this post: run, don't walk to see this movie. Take all your friends and your own "adult" refreshments and be prepared to be blown away by the awesome glory of the worst movie I've ever seen.

Oh and by the way, do movie critics not get when a movie is trying to be bad? Here's the best review I read. It pretty much sums up the entire experience, although it leaves out A Knight's Tale as a potential influence, which I think must be an oversight by the author.

The Joys of Living Alone.

A post on Jezebel got me thinking about the joys of living alone.

Joy #1: getting to watch Golden Girls all I want. It's kind of annoying when the boy comes over and I don't get to have my regular midnight viewing of Dorothy and the gang.

Joy #2: morning rituals that don't involve being courteous to someone else. I hate to wake up the boy in the morning so I don't turn the tv on when I'm getting ready (again to watch Golden Girls) and I close the bathroom door so the light doesn't bother him. I don't mind being nice every once in awhile but if I had to be that curteous every single day? Madness.

Joy #3: dishes get done on my schedule. I'm actually pretty good about keeping my dishes in the dishwasher, put up, etc. (mainly because I have like 3 plates/bowls/spoons that I adore), but if I want to be lazy and keep some plates in the sink for a week, I totally can.

Joy #4: I get to put my shoes wherever the hell I want!!! That last one is directed at my old roommate who used to (rightly) complain when I left my shoes by the front door. But when I'm the only one tripping over them? I can keep them wherever I want.

Joy #5: my DVR is my own. If I want to fill my DVR with 30 Rock episodes and an occasionally trashy reality show, I can. No one can chastise me for taking up too much room with stupid shows. Because I'm the only one who cares. So I can record Heathers when it comes on at 3 in the morning and watch it over 3 days time.

Joy #6: I can use the dining room table for mail if it's the most convenient place to put it, which it is.

Joy #7: I can feel zero guilt if I come home after the gym and do absolutely nothing until it's time to go to bed. (I add the gym part because that's necessary to the zero guilt part - it's a cause and effect type thing.)

Joy #8: I can wear nothing but a t-shirt when all my other pjs are dirty and I don't have to worry about any weird looks or offending hands.

Joy #9: my beautiful, striped, thrift store find chair is displayed in all her glory and I don't care if anyone else likes it.

Joy #10: I can talk on my cell as long and as loud as I want without worrying about disrupting anyone else. And I can talk about whomever I want. Hee. (It's hard to talk about a boy when he's sitting next to you.)

Joy #11: I can eat ice cream at 2 in the morning if I want and completely forget that it happened. I'm not an ice cream-in-the-wee-hours type of person but I could do it if I wanted to.

Joy #12: I can wear my ugly glasses all the time because they're the comfiest.

Joy #13: my home outfits are only seen by me. I have a tendency, when cold, to wear capri pants with really tall socks and about 3 shirts. I'm cold often. It's not a look one would like others to see.

Joy #14: as Jezebel put it, my floordrobe. Mine's really a chairdrobe but same diff. No one can tell me to hang up my clothes, thank god!

Joy #15: I can decorate as I please. Case in point: I'm a bit of a mirror fiend. I have a tiny place and I happen to believe that strategic mirror placement helps with the illusion of space. But seriously, if I didn't point it out to a visitor, I'm pretty sure no one would notice. At least I think that way.

Joy #16: I can call in sick and no one will know that I'm not really sick.

Joy #17: no one has to know that one of my sincerest hobbies on the weekends is to lay in bed for multiple hours.

Joy #18: if I drop something on the floor in the middle of cleaning or cooking or bringing mail in or whatever, I don't have to pick it up. At least not before I trip on it or squish it.

Joy #19: my bathroom is my own. I never have to move away from the mirror so someone else can brush their teeth and I do not have to put my eyeliner on in a room that doesn't have as flattering light as the bathroom.

Joy #20: (last but not least) everything is mine, all mine!! If I hate the way a book is stacked, I can move it. If I love a candle, I can display it. If I want a lamp on 24/7, it's on. If I want to randomly change my bedroom linens and curtains, I do it. If I want my bouncy, workout ball thing to be a prominent part of my everyday life, it is. If I want to move a painting 2.5 inches to the left, it's moved baby. Everything I own is precious and beautiful to me. I agonize over placement of the smallest votive holder. And my Kim Possible doll? she's perfectly placed in the kitchen to tell me I can do it! No one gets to have an opinion on my magnet collection of refrigerator hodge-podge because I pay the rent.

I stopped at 20 but I could list 5,000 reasons to live alone. But really, #1 is the most important. I have my priorities.

There is no more aptly named blog than Cute Overload.

Are you freaking kidding me?

And then this too? This is too insane to possibly comprehend on any kind of level. I think my brain is going to explode with the cuteness of it all.

To guilt or not to guilt?

Where is the line between being a total sociopath and not giving a rat's ass about people and actually not caring because caring about stupid shit is stupid? Furthermore, where is the line between not giving a damn and the guilt that comes when you realize you don't give a damn about things like old people and diabetes and what not?

For instance, I just recently read that this old American Idoler has Type I diabetes and has had it for I don't know how many years. My reaction? Click. My thoughts? I wish TMZ was more interesting lately.

A second shining example of my extreme apathy for the cares of humankind came yesterday when I was talking to my grandmother. My great-aunt (her sister) bought some bedside tables for someone who didn't want them. They thought the tables would look good in my bedroom so suggested I come and take them. Not only did I not take them last weekend when I was there (although they would look good), I was annoyed at having the tables pawned off on me, which is an especially wrong attitude to have since I'm poor and cheap. So I thought about the tables when I got home, evaluated my bedroom furniture, and called my grandmother to tell her I'd take the tables next time I came to visit. The whole point of this long diatribe is that after our table discussion she just kept. on. talking. I was done, but she wasn't. She talked about the local news (for which I care not), her friends, the weather, etc., etc., etc. I kept saying, "okay, well, I'll see you in couple weekends..." only to have her talk more.

It was excrutiating and now I'm feeling the pangs of guilt over being such a bad granddaughter. I mean it seriously would not hurt me to talk on the phone for 10 minutes, would it? No. And do I think my disinterest is not immediately interpreted by my grandmother? No. I'm a lame, lame, lame (3 lames, George Clooney would object) person. And I will probably pay via bad karma (I had to change my word usage there because I couldn't figure out how to put karma into adverb form). Sigh.

And yet. I'm really adept at pushing guilt aside for the more literate argument of "oh well." Who does that? Now I'm feeling guilty over my ability to avoid guilt. Geez. It's a never-ending cycle. Ah well. I'll just drink an extra glass or two of water from the faucet tonight so I can get some extra pharmaceuticals in my system.

Damn Time Change!!!

Warning: rant ahead

Why, oh why, is it necessary to change the motherf**cking clock twice a year? In Texas it gets dark at what, 7:30 p.m.? Now with a time change it will get dark at 8:30. Give us a month or so and we'll be seeing the sun set at 10:15. I don't know about anyone else but I do not need that much sunlight. And, quite frankly, I couldn't give a shit about those that do. Why do the freaks of nature who like running at 9 o'clock at night get to dictate the amount of sunshine I'm supposed to be exposed to?

I LIKE coming home from the gym at 7:00 and feeling good about locking myself indoors for the rest of the evening. I DO NOT LIKE joining the neighbors for a beer on the patio with mosquitos eating me up, all because it's a freaking "beautiful night." Screw beautiful nights. You know what's beautiful? Watching Jon Stewart's pasty face and enjoying beach weather via reruns of The Golden Girls.

If holing up in my house with a blanket and darkness surrounding me is wrong, I don't want to be right. And red wine never tastes as good in the daylight. Just saying.

See what daylight savings time does to me? Loss of hour = less sleep = tiredness = grumpiness = blog rant.

One more irritating point: the whole "fall back" thing? doesn't happen until November. So we have one extra hour of daylight for 8 months and one extra hour of darkness for only 4 months. What's fair about that? Daylight savings time unfairly benefits happy people. Surely this is a violation of the due process or commerce clause, right? Ugh.

Unauthorized campaign literature...

I totally stole this from Jezebel. If you can't read it for some reason, check it out here.

It's freaking hilarious!

Voting Day in Texas! Weeeee!!!!!

I'm proudly sporting my "I Voted" sticker right now. I went this morning and there was quite a turn out for 9:30 a.m. Usually there's less than 5 people in my polling location (and that's optimistic). Today there were 20-30. It was pretty shocking. I saw Obama tables/supporters on 3 out of 4 corners around the polling place. But no HRC supporters. It was weird. On one corner a woman was standing with an Obama sign. She had her kid (or kids?) with her as well. It was pretty cold this morning, so she must be very dedicated. Of course the kid(s) had their own pretty ride to hide out in if things got too hairy. The mom was the real soldier with a sign out and braving the weather all by her lonesome (sort of - do kids count as company?).

It was definitely exciting and I'm going back to caucus at 7:15. I wonder if there will be a long line then too? Sadly I missed all the blue hairs who usually run the election. Today it was mainly young 'uns with one old man who had earrings (as in more than one), so I'm not sure he counted toward my blue-hair demographic.

I can't wait to tune in tonight and see what happens! Go Obama! Or HRC if that's the way the tide turns!!

I've been home sick for 3 straight days...

and yet I've done more work in these 3 days than I do in a week at my actual office. It turns out my brain really works well in the after midnight hours. That must be why I find Frasier so much funnier before midnight than after. That's not to say Frasier isn't funny. Sometimes it is. But it's not Mensa funny. Apparently Mensa thinks they know what smart tv shows are. I beg to differ if this is really the best they have to offer. If you don't want to bother clicking on the link, I'll do the damage for you. Here's their list of smartest shows:

Frasier
The West Wing
Boston Legal
Jeopardy
Cosmos
House
CSI
All in the Family
Mad About You
MASH

I'll give them Jeopard because duh! and Cosmos since that's a totally nerdy PBS type thing. I'll also agree with All in the Family because the satire and sarcasm in that show was brilliant. Voltaire couldn't have done better himself. But Mad About You? And CSI? I refuse to believe those are smart shows. It's not that they're dumb but really? And where are Gilmore Girls and Veronica Mars? Admittedly those are my favorite tv shows period but part of the reason is because they were so freaking smart. Certainly they were more intelligent than stupid, old Frasier (which I do enjoy).

Mensa. Pshaw. Dumbasses.

Excellent way to kill time...

http://community.livejournal.com/1bruce1/profile

It's a great recap of Sweet Valley Twins/High/College (SVU) books. I spent practically a whole afternoon at work (when there was nothing to do - geez!) reading and only got through about 1/3 of them. They. are. awesome.

Random thought: Cicadas are really annoying. It's freaking 80+ degrees here and I'm sick to death of the damn cicadas drowning out the tv. How can I properly dissect the American Idolers if I can't hear them over insect legs rubbing together. I mean, I get it. I've worn corduroy but come on. Cicadas are insane. Stop mating! It's too early! (Just to spite me, one just went into overdrive. I hope it chafes itself raw.)

Summary of last night's debate...

First my thoughts: HRC looked great. Her make-up was excellent. I'm guessing Bare Minerals but I suppose it could have been something more with a professional make-up artist. Either way she looked great. It also occurred to me how hard it must be for Chelsea to get up and talk to people for her mom. She doesn't seem like the most outgoing person in the world. I bet she got used to keeping her privacy, given media scrutiny and all. She must really, really want her mom to win to put herself out there like that.

I'm here in Austin so it was really exciting that everything was happening in my town. Two complaints though - 1) only 100 tickets for the public to the debate? Insane. 2) Paying to go to the viewing parties where HRC and Obama showed up to afterward? Annoying. My couch was free. I drove by campus on my way home from work (can't help it, I live that way) and there were a lot of people mini-rallying outside the arena area. It was pretty cool. I honked and waved as I passed them, like I was in a parade. Lame but the main cause of the giddiness on the way home.

Moderators: yadda, yadda, yadda
HRC: Same thing I've always said.
BO (hee): And I agree.
Moderators: more junk about stuff, sometimes in Spanish
BO: More of the same.
HRC: And I agree.
Moderators: Stir up the pot.
BO: Plagarism is sheer sillyness.
HRC: No it's not.
Audience: *crickets* and a few boos
HRC campaign: aaaand you're fired, speech writer!
BO: I'm slightly agitated by your attack. Should we discuss healthcare more? Our plans are 99% the same but really, that 1% is HUGE.
Moderators: Can we be done now?
BO: Sure. I'm done. I'm cool and HRC totally didn't beat me.
HRC: Oh yeah? Here's your KO punch, Barack. Please don't remember that I'm lifting this "we're going to be okay" message from John Edwards. Hate to think I might be the pot and you the kettle in this little scenario.
Audience: OMG! That was like totally awesome!! I'm off to early vote!

I only wish they'd mentioned Texas more. I love that. I think I shall forget all about the debate tonight over a glass (or 3) or wine. It wasn't terribly exciting anyway. And I missed American Idol for it. Well, that part was actually okay.

Apparently it's a lovers' tiff...

If you haven't heard about the story the NYTimes did on McCain's shady girl love, check it out here: http://www.nytimes.com/2008/02/21/us/politics/21mccain.html?_r=1&hp&oref=slogin

It's pretty inocuous actually but you know I had to tune into Rush Limbaugh today to see what he had to say about it. According to him, this story is the result of a lovers' tiff between the New York Times and John McCain. Ha ha! See, the NYT saw McCain as a moderate Repug and since he's been catering to the conservative base in the past few weeks, they got pissed off and decided to print this "libel" against him. (Psst, I've read the entire article and there's no libel there but whatevs. Apparently a prominate newspaper doesn't know jack about how to protect itself from libel and, you know, check facts or what not.)

I find it highly amusing that a story that first premiered on the Drudge Report over two months ago (along with various other political/sensationalist websites, i.e. Wonkette), and that is only now being covered by a reputable news source (depending on your pov) is somehow the result of injured feelings. And is it not odd that the sources in the piece are from McCain's own campaign? Intereeesting.

I read the NYT. I like the NYT. But I'm under no delusion as to their journalistic integrity issues. I'm at least happy they struggle with ethical issues unlike other so-called "news" sources. However to imply that a newspaper that put off reporting about the Bush administration's failings in the Iraq war for months and months and months (at the request/insistence of Bush insiders) among many other damaging things, is now reporting a story over 9 years old (and 2 months old in the reporting world) because a Republican presidential candidate is attempting to solidify his party's base under his feet is not only illogical, it's preposterous.

And this, my friends, is why I listen to Rush Limbaugh - for the laughs. The man is so illogical and inconsistent that his entire rants are like millions of tiny fingers on my ticklish spots. Hee. He's a funny, funny guy.

Long time, no post...

I haven't posted in oh, about 4 months (or is it 5?) mainly because a) no one was reading and b) I stopped having interesting things to say. Okay, I'm lying. It's pretty much only reason a. Anyway, squishy mentioned my blog so I thought I'll at least write something down if I have a funny. And I do.

I've taken to listening to Rush Limbaugh lately. No seriously. He's hilarious. I honestly had no idea why so many people listened to him but now I do - pure, unadulterated comedy. Granted I'm not sure he knows he's funny but I do. And I'll admit I'm a sore winner (or at least a sore presumed winner). But here's a direct/indirect quote from a caller today:

Caller: So, Rush, can this "religious fervor" over Barack Obama be sustained?
Rush: Absolutely not.
Me: Hahahahahahaha, snort, snort, guffaw, guffaw, hahahahahahaha.

This is funny on so many levels. I love the use of the phrase "religious fervor," because recently I've had two people try and convince me that Obama is Muslim. First, there's nothing wrong with him being Muslim, so get over it. And second he's not Muslim!! Damn fired Clinton staffer for putting out that damn email. But this little exchange between Rush and Caller is downright hysterical mainly due to the fact that for the past 8 years religious fervor has extended to create pretty much all the evil in the U.S., at least politically. Give me a scandal or a bad decision and I'll find you religious fervor as the a co-conspirator. Not to mention that religious fervor is the cornerstone of Karl Rove and the current administration. Surely the irony of the Caller's statement is not lost, nor the instant, adament response of Rush.

Like I said, pure, unadulterated comedy. Rush. Hee!

Too much Tori Amos

While at work I'm limited to my music selections to random cds that don't output too much noise. As is, they're mainly girls, some bordering on grrls. I randomly hit on Tales from a Librarian today and it's a really great cd. It reminds me of the 90s, but it's still a great cd. (I count the early 00s at the 90s, just an fyi.) Instead of having the typical too-much-Tori-response and associate all past sexual encounters as some form of sexual assault (just a guess), I just feel slightly lame. While I'm glad I don't have countless ups and downs in my social life, being drama-free does make me feel old. And did I mention lame? I'm not sad. I have no one to blame for desperate situations. I don't even have desperate situations - or perceived desperate situations to be more accurate. Is this a product of getting older or of being in a steady relationship? (I'm using "steady" in an even-keel type way, not gee whillickers!, I'm going steady type way.)

Boo to 90s, angsty music. It makes me feel old and boring.

Electric Youth?

I swear to god someone in my office building wears Electric Youth perfume. Remember that stuff? The Debbie Gibson fragrance? I remember it distinctly because a) I was madly in love with Debbie Gibson as a child and b) my mother stole the perfume from me and wore it every, single day. The smell is tied to my childhood. Turns out you can't really buy this stuff anymore. Whoever is wearing it must have stockpiled it from 1988...

A plug and a newly discovered allergy.

My friend John-Michael (are you reading this?) makes really cool electronics/toys/random things and will be presenting at Maker Faire next weekend here in Austin. Here's a pic of his latest Halloween special addition Thingamas:

He has a great bunch of pics of them on his flicker website http://www.flickr.com/photos/john-mike/ and you can check out all his regular creations at his Bleep Labs' site http://www.bleeplabs.com/

Update: my glands are swollen. I think my lymph nodes are allergic to diet coke.

Babies are fun when they belong to other people.

I have a gift - I can predict my sister-in-law's pregnancies. Only hers and no others (not even the first sis-in-law, this is the 2nd). I have dreams where she's pregnant. I call her and tell her about them and she scoffs at me. A couple of months later (sometimes less depending on their timetables), I get a call announcing a pregnancy. I've had the dream 4 times in my entire life and she's been pregnant 4 times (each around the time of the dream). It could be alpha waves or something coming from my brother but, to be honest, that's kind of sick if you think about it. So I prefer to think of it as psychic ability. If anyone were to ever doubt my abilities, I can just point to my nieces and nephews and say, "see? I told you so."

On a similar note, congrats to K & K! They just had their triplets last night. So not only are they the first "friend" couple I have to have kids, but they have three of them! At the same time! It's insane and crazy and they'll make the best parents. And if those kids' first words aren't something that would make a sailor blush, I'll start a college fund. I think I'll bring sushi over (instead of baby stuff) when I go visit them for the first time. I know at least K will thank me. She never craved her beer or bloody marys (that would have been me but with wine and vodka), but I know she missed her raw fish.

Yesterday was a good day. It was the best day I've had in a long time. There are still sad things going on but damn it's good to hear about babies. And no, Mom, I'm still not changing my mind about having any. Get over it.

I'm having stylist guilt...

On odd months I go to my stylist to get my hair cut. On even months I go to a different colorist to get my hair colored. They're at two different salons, know about the other, but do not know each other. Last time I got my hair colored I decided I was going to seek out a different place. That salon was too pricey and my face looked red due to bad blonde highlights. (It's quite possible I'm going through a blotchy phase but I prefer to put the blame on others. It's easier to make it through the day.)

So I found a new colorist. It's a Bumble & Bumble salon which is supposed to be cool because: a) they give you samples of all the B&B products they use each time and b) they spend at least one day a week training to keep abreast of new techniques. Oh and did I mention much more affordable?

Due to the dental drama from last week, I had to spend my hard-earned, budgeted, haircut money on a damned cavity. Boo to the nth degree. This month, being an even month, I only have enough $$ for the color and not the cut. But I really need a haircut since I didn't get one last month. See my dilemma? I need a haircut and a color and I only have dollars for a color. Or a cut. What's a stylish girl to do?

Here's where the excellent deal at the new place comes in. Apparently I can get a cut and a color at the new place for what I paid for a color at the old place. So I can get two services for the price of one. Only it means I can't go to my lovely stylist whom I love dearly. I'm feeling the guilt. I went ahead and made an appointment for both services at the new salon and I'll get back on my odd month = haircut schedule next month but until then? I feel like I'm cheating. I've broken up with my old colorist and moved on to someone new. But I don't want to break up with my stylist. I still love and adore her. I'm just plain, old cheating because it's easy and convenient. Ack! I'm sick. And guilty.