Friday, December 21, 2007
Baby sister spied this holiday display and wrote the following:
Heading to work this morning, something caught my eye
It was four reindeer, getting ready to fly?
Walter said, "Mom, look how funny
"Why is that reindeer on the other's tummy?"
I hooted with Christmas cheer
Envying the rowdy teenagers who decorate with a sneer
Luckily, I had my camera on hand
To share this Christmas spirit straight from small town Louisiana land!
A couple of pals have suggested the pranksters are indeed myself and the perverse humored baby sister. Sadly, no. We love us a prank but feel a bit intimidated by our diminishing agility and strongly doubt that if we could outrun homeowners and possibly police. That's probably why the coach in Marietta, Georgia drove around those kids to vandalize Christmas displays and arrange reindeer in lewd positions. Even if he did get caught, he probably inspired our local hooligans. He was doing God's work, I tell ya.
Merry Christmas to ya'll and yours!
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
I loudly said, "Hey, this is Leezra, I have some Rubatex for ya and I'll be there in a minute."
"Rub a what?"
"You're gonna rub what?"
"No, I have some Rubatex and I am driving to the job and will be there in a minute!"
By now, I am pissed that my co-worker is wasting my time with foolishness and also a bit bothered by the fact that he is speaking to me in an unprofessional manner. While I talk like a sailor with my friends, I don't discuss off-color subjects with co-workers. "Look, I don't have time for this! Dad said you needed Rubatex and that is what I am bringing to you."
"What is Rubasex?"
"Is this Mike?"
"No, lady, who are you?"
Dad swears he didn't write down the wrong number on purpose.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
I need to vent about my mother-in-law if you care to listen. I'm just friggin amazed at these people! I think I'd already told you about my wonderful husband Andrew driving all the way to North Carolina to pick up his mother who'd changed her mind and decided she didn't want to come, right? So he ended up driving back home alone. Well, she's here now because Andrew's rich and important brother-in-law drove up to get her in his big, fancy car which his mother apparently found suitable enough for her Highness. Two days later, Andrea (Andrew's rich and important sister) phones Andrew and tells him that he needs to drive their mom back home after the holidays. I told Andrew if he did drive her home, I would divorce him. What kind of jerk picks someone up and doesn't figure out how they are getting them home before they do it???? SO, The Byatch is here and she went to lunch with Andrew and Andrea, his dog-loving sister. I couldn't go because I committed to attend a Christmas party that day and wasn't cancelling. Plus, I don't like his mother or his dog-loving sister. Both of whom are downers. Andrew told me later that his mom said that I am "all about money" and "unappreciative because everything she's ever given me I've returned". I have no idea where these ideas came from. Was it the 13 years of living in a home without heat? The 10 year old squeaky truck, or the Wal-Mart clothes????? This being stated while the woman is dripping in diamonds and gold. Plus, I've never returned not one of her presents and have written her thank you cards every year lying about how much I loved whatever crappy dime store junk she bought me! She also said at the end of lunch, "Please thank Dawn for taking the time out of her busy schedule to come see me" (I'm picturing it being said in sort of a Queen Elizabeth fashion). The dog lover Andrea chimes in that she's not getting Andrew anything for Christmas because last year she gave us a movie gift card and we never used it. I'm almost positive that I did use it but if I didn't, I'm wondering if she's psycho enough to have periodically checked the balance on it. Either way, she's a whack job! OH, and his mother made a comment about how disappointed she was that neither Andrew nor the other brother Anton had a suitable home for her to stay in when she's in town. Understandably, that was a dig on Andrew's 10-year "renovation" but Anton's house was literally blown away in the hurricane! I'm not lying, down to the SLAB! What an insensitive cow! Plus, what she doesn't know is that no matter how suitable our home is, there will never be enough room in it for her to stay!
Whew, that felt good to get off my chest. Thanks for listening. Anyway, that's pretty much all the Christmas drama. Any with you?
My counsel to her:
No drama here. Guess it is the lack of in-laws.
I am just in awe that this woman drops all this crap and no one seems to call her on it. Did Andrew tell you these things in the attitude of "get a load of what my crazy mom said"? Or was he looking to you to say "yes, it is okay for you to drive her home"?
She is a bully. She gets away with it because no one bucks her.
Give me her phone number. I am ready to perform a boxing of the ears, via phone lines.
Will you see her while she is in town? Here are some phrases to practice:
* Why do you ask?
* What an interesting thing to say.
* Do you really feel that way?
* Wow, do you realize how that sounds?
* Oh, you are SO funny! (when she says something completely untrue)
* Are you being so sarcastic? You were serious? Wow.
* Mother Theresa - you ain't.
* You know we can hear you, right?
* Better hope I am not the one that selects your nursing home, you miserable crone. (say this in a whisper)
* Start the discussion about how no matter how much plastic surgery a lady gets, her hands always give her away. Mention that even if a woman's face looks like Heather Locklear, you know she is old if she has crow hands. Then sit there while she surreptitiously looks at her own hands. Then giggle. Let her catch your giggling. Then give her the stink eye.
* Bring up the nursing home comment again.
* Repeat the stink eye.
Hoping that I have been an assistance to you,
The very single,
and very happy,
but ready to go ape shit on your mother-in-law,
Friday, October 26, 2007
My wisenheimer friend Kay gave me a SHUTTHEHELLUP air freshener but it was just too stinky for my sensitive nose so I put it in my dad's brand new day-old truck. He never said a word about it. Wasn't sure if he even noticed it these last few weeks. Just this morning, I flagged him down as he was backing out. I pointed to it and asked, "Hey, is that thing working for ya?"
He said, "I don't know what the hell it is."
To which I answered, "I think it is supposed to shut people the hell up."
He replied, "Then I guess I would have to say no, it doesn't work too well" with barely a wry smile while the automatic window went up and the truck moved away from me while standing in the street.
I am the daughter of 2 smart asses. Sometimes I forget that.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
I think NASCAR is stoopid. It is a giant money making venture ba-a-arely disguised as a sport. But a NASCAR fan may look at my love of crafts with disdain, thinking: why make something when you could just buy it? With a NASCAR logo at that?
Thus, THAT is what makes the world go 'round. We do not like the same thing. We are not SUPPOSED to like the same thing. And thank goodness. Otherwise, we would have 1 television channel, 1 store, 1 church, 1 house, etc. Otherwise, I would make a play for your husband. You like to watch "Desperate Wives" (eww) and I enjoy "Mad Men". (It's good, check it out on AMC. Or not.)
Once upon a time, I made fun of folks and their ill-chosen preferences. Okay, I still do. But now I add, "Sure, she LIKES her urine-colored PT Cruiser and gold anklet worn with tan pantyhose but hey, that's what makes the world 'round." (Note, I never say "around". That's stoopid.)
Everyone thinks they can spend your money better than you. For the same amount of money that you spent on your car, house or vacation, THEY could have selected something better.
Why does she would live in ---- when she could live in ----?
Why spend $-- on a -- when you could have bought a --, for less?
Going to -- is stoopid, they should have vacationed to --.
So, the monster truck show this weekend? You'll be in the first row? Good for you.
That's what makes the world go 'round.
Friday, October 05, 2007
When I stopped at the sign I then realized that the figure was indeed a goose, albeit a concrete goose. Some wisenheimer placed a nearly three foot high lawn ornament in the middle of intersection. I gotta tell ya, it tickled me. The prankster perfectly situated the goose so that it was in the dead center. If you were traveling at a safe speed and manner, the goose posed no threat. Wishing I had my camera I drove on.
An hour later, I had my camera phone in hand and was anticipating a dark but funny photograph to share with you people. Alas, no. Just a couple of concrete fragments and a scratch in the road. Wait, there's the goose, on its side, laying in the grass. Why did the goose cross the road?
Then I saw two thin lines of liquid on each side of the scratch. Hmmmm. I followed the fluid trail to a house near mine. A car and a truck were parked in the front. Did one of those hit the goose?
So, lesson of the day: Even if a concrete goose shouldn't be in the middle of the street, that doesn't mean you shouldn't look for one. Ya'll be careful now, hear?
Returned for photo
Thursday, September 20, 2007
As a child of the 1970's, there was nothing I enjoyed more than the hours and hours I spent poring over each page of the Sears Wish Book. It was like toy porn for children. Even the boy stuff was interesting. Plus you could find your favorite Christmas dresses and pajamas.
The Sears Wish Book eventually led to my own little game. Starting in the children's toy section, I would study each page and select one, and only one item from each page. Even if I wanted everything on the page, only one item was allowed. If nothing on the page was of interest, still one item must be selected.
I coerce my friends to play a version of the game while in art galleries or visiting museums. With the ground rule set of either picking from each room or each wall, we begin. If you select art based on value, well then, you suck. A whole room of nothing but crap? You GOTTA pick ONE. It is perfectly acceptable if you say that you would give the ashen Picasso guitar people to your mother-in-law as a Christmas gift because it reminds you of her cigarette puffing self. You have to select but you do not have to keep.
This little game has developed my "eye". I can stand at the entry of an antique store, separate the wheat from the chaffe and sense whether it is worth my time to enter. While my taste is disparate and my decor is eclectic, rarely does anything "grow" on me. I either like it or I don't and I know it immediately.
And for God's sake, don't ask me if I like something if you aren't prepared for the answer.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Could be that, when he was 14 years old, his girlfriend told him that he looked yummy in that hoodie sweatshirt. A sexy co-worker may have said that she loved men that wear red ties.
A man once told me that males remember every negative thing that a woman tells them. That simply cannot be. I think it is the opposite. In MY opinion, men are seldom the receiver of compliments so they remember every one.
Compliment the men in your lives. Just be careful what you say.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
*THAT shirt does not include true retro, vintage Hawaiian shirts worn by hipsters.
See that woman with the heavily hairsprayed 'do? Wearing too heavy eyeliner? Take a closer look. Is it the 1950's beehive or the late 1980's vertical bang claw? How old would you judge her to be? Can you rule out a costume party or an ironic sense of style? There, now, you are getting closer to the conclusion.
I have not much of a rant today but more of an observation. God has LET me believe that I don't desire children. I think it is part of his plan to keep me from harming "our future".
(Thanks to Kay for "Raising Children is like being Pecked to Death by Chickens" refrigerator magnet!)
They should rename Target the "Store of Screaming Brats". Last night, every doggone aisle had screaming, whining and loud talking children. I couldn't escape them and am one step from crazy lady status because I caught myself murmuring "shut UP, shut up".
Then this morning I walked right into a closed door. Sprang out of bed with the clock alarm blaring and bounced off the door. Thank goodness I didn't break my nose but I bet that was a funny sight.
Which brings me to this, I need to make a pact with a couple of you. Need to find a partner to make sure that I off myself before I become a drooling idiot. I will start stockpiling medication and pills if you assure me that you'll help me make sure that I ingest them before I get too senile to remember.
My seamstress lady told me that you know you are getting old and losing it when you put unrefrigerated items in the refrigerator. Ruh ro. I did that. Recently. THEN yesterday I hear that Alzheimer's may begin DECADES before obvious symptoms appear.
It is matter of months before the cat ends up in the 'frig.
Childless, by intelligent design,
The floor recognizes Miss diephenna:
RESOLVED: Since the women in my family kill their men young and live to a ripe old bitter age, imposing on remaining family, and
RESOLVED: since I, too, am childless by well-considered choice and
RESOLVED: consequently will have no family on which to impose when I hit my 90's (with another decade or two to go until the Final Reward),
THEREFORE I'm totally in on that Drooling Idiot Prevention Plan (that would be DIPP).
Hey, if we can gather up enough folks who are game, we could throw a party with Jim Jones Kool-Aid and make an afternoon of it! Medicated Jell-o shots, anyone?
Can someone shout, "Amen"? (amens heard)
Did you know that mad cow disease (or KJD, whatever the human version is) can masquerade as Alzheimer's? Maybe, Leezra, you're feeling decrepit because all that bone meal you've been gardening with has given you mad cow disease. Pwwwaaaaa haaaaaa aaaaaaa. (Laughing at the idea of you gardening with bone meal; NOT the idea of you with mad cow disease, and certainly NOT the idea of a cat in the refrigerator, which would be a very very bad thing.) But come to think of it, mad cow disease WOULD explain the bumping-into-doors thing.
Miss d, who stands to live, unwillingly and incompetently, into triple digits
Discussion continues with Kay's time at the podium:
I'm keepin' it simple since you bitches articulate on a much higher level than me. See? . . . I don't even think that makes since!
1. I'm in for digesting any kind of pharmaceuticals to avoid DIPP.
2. Personally, I want to "free" myself way before 90 . . . my cue will be when I start getting over-ripe tomato peel skin. You know . . . the kind that bruises way too easy.
And Leezra - I see nothin' wrong with keeping your pussy cold.
With a show of hands, Dawn concurs with the recommendation:
I can't agree more with the DIPP plan, I'm SO IN!!!
A guy in my band works for a cyanide plant (not sure if I'm making that up but I remember asking him if he could get me some for my future). He looked at me confused and told me all I needed was a .38. I thought he was being insensitive. The last thing I need is a clumsy spasm that leaves me alive and faceless. Nah, I want to do it right.
Will begin the garage sale hunt for the perfect DIPP jar. I think I should start soon because, like Leezra I'm showing early signs of senility.
Have any of you seen (Grey Gardens) that documentary about Jackie O's crazy aunts? You've GOT to get it. It proves that you can be crazy with other crazy people and live in harmony. Leezra, get your sofa bed ready!
Skitzo Leezra clarifies the proposed DIPP plan:
Ya know how old ladies collect loose buttons in a jar? Well, us bitches need to start a DIPP med jar.
LOVIN' the idea of us slurpin' up some Guyana juice Jell-O shots. What a way to go.
I'm gonna leave my goodbye message etched on the lawn, spelled out with gasoline.
not yet watery,
Miss diephenna assigns tasks:
Hey, let's start an agenda:
Step One: Dawn scours garage sales for DIPP jar.
Step Two: Everyone saves appropriate medications for DIPP jar.
Step Three: Set DIPP JellO date. (We can delegate specific JellO tasks as the date nears.)
Step Four: Stop by gas station for lawn message
Step Five: Suck down the shots and TGIO ("O" = Over)
Lynn provides seal of approval:
Leezra, I will happily be there with you in our twilight years, wearing a gorgeous satin bed jacket and sipping sherry. Who cares if we are drooling....we will be free of dependents.
So the salad recall got me to thinking, which is worse: a bit of e.coli in your salad mix or drinking out of a moldy drink cup that was rinsed in semi-hot water?
Would a mold-infused soft drink result in sickness? Weight loss? Dramatic weight loss? In time for the weekend?
Friday, September 14, 2007
- glove box
- I swan or I swanee
- tore up (as in, distressed)
- ice box
- pocket book
- familiar ("the new preacher was too familiar with the females")
- forward ("she is so forward in her social interactions")
- foundation garment
- nary a one
- directly (as in, "I will get back to ya directly")
- enjoy ("oh, my, how I have enjoyed this pair of shoes")
- proud ("we'd be proud to have you over tomorrow")
- bless your heart
- fair to middlin'
- hissy fit
- much obliged
Friday, August 24, 2007
What is your definition of green?
Sierra Club member?
Drinker of Al Gore's KoolAid?
Would you take Sheryl Crow's recommendation and wipe with just one square of toilet paper? Or be like Cameron Diaz and turn off the water while you shave? Do you own a eco car?
Myself? I don't consider myself very green but I
* refrain from using paper towels and plates.
* recycle cans even though my city has scrapped curbside recycling. My friendly local can picker collects a bag o' cans from me once a week. Sure, it makes me feel good to help him but I really like the idea that aluminum cans aren't going straight to my garbage can. But MOSTLY, I don't want to bother with collecting cans.
* donate magazines to my local library. They sell donated books and magazines and the proceeds go to library programs.
* try to use old fashioned cleaning products like baking soda, vinegar and lemon.
* line dry as much laundry as possible.
What don't I do?
* Tell others what to do.
* Agonize about my carbon footprint.
* Care if anyone drives a SUV.
* Be a hyprocrite like Al Bore.
* Wipe with one square.
* Convert to fluroscent bulbs. Why? I like golden glow of incandescent. I like paying more for electrial use. Anyone know what those fluroscent bulbs contain? Mercury. Are you safely recycling YOUR newfangled more expensive bulbs?
Just do your own damn version of green. And then shut the hell up about it. Think of the benefit to global warming by shutting that hot air machine below your nose.
Monday, August 06, 2007
Just think back to the day when you were younger. The years between seventeen and say, late twenties. Raging hormones. Add easy access to alcohol. Readily available drugs. Oh, and on top of that, lots and lots of money. And a lifestyle that caters to YOU. Toss in permissive and narcissistic parent 1 and alcoholic jailbird parent 2.
It is a rare bird that WOULDN'T be a mess.
Each time I see another report about Lindsay's antics and bad behavior, I thank God that I did not have that combination. Heck, I am glad that we did not have cellular phones with cameras!
Underage drinking? Check.
Driving under the influence? Check.
Dancing on a barroom speaker? Check.
Bad drunken decisions? Check.
All the other stuff? No, thankfully.
Did you ever take that self assessment alcoholic test? After reading it while in college and it scaring the crap out of me, I abstained from drinking for a semester. Until then, I took pride in the fact that I could match drink to drink with my guy friends. Okay, back to the test. Put yourself at Lindsay's age and answer honestly.
1. Are you unable to stop drinking after a certain number of drinks?
WHY WOULD I STOP?
2. Do you need a drink to get motivated?
MOTIVATED TO DANCE, YES.
3. Do you often forget what happened while you were "partying" (have blackouts)?
4. Do you drink or "party" alone?
5. Have others annoyed you by criticizing your alcohol use?
LET GO OF THE BEER BONG, LEEZRA!
6. Have you been involved in fights with your friends or family while you were drunk?
7. Have you done or said anything while drinking that you later regretted?
OR TELL COMPLETE STRANGERS THAT THEIR WARDROBE LOOKS LIKE A REPLAY OF SOLID GOLD DANCERS?
OR ASK THE GAL WEARING A RED LEOTARD AND BLACK BELT IF SHE HAD A MIRROR IN HER HOUSE?
CAN ANYONE ANSWER NO TO THIS ONE?
8. Have you destroyed or damaged property while drinking?
AW, HELL YEAH! (giggle)
9. Do you drive while drunk?
10. Have you been physically hurt while drinking?
11. Have you been in trouble with the school authorities or police because of your drinking?
12. Have you dropped or chosen friends based on their drinking habits?
13. Do you think you are a normal drinker despite your friends' comments that you drink too much?
NO, MY FRIENDS DRINK ALOT TOO.
14. Have you ever missed classes, work or other important events because you were too hung over to get up on time?
15. Have you ever done poorly on an exam or assignment because of drinking?
16. Do you think about drinking a lot?
YES, THIS TEST IS MAKING WANT A BEER.
17. Do you feel guilty or self-conscious about your drinking?
NOT UNTIL NOW.
That was the younger me. The answers have changed. But the time between then and now is not the fodder of gossip magazines. How sad to grow up with the entire world watching you. I don't judge Lindsay but I do feel sorry for her.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
To eat Vienna sausages?
Yesterday, while listening to the Whatever Girls on Sirius radio, callers described their favorite canned food. (I know, I know, a lame subject but my driving commute is about 4 minutes.) Anywho, a caller said that she really enjoyed what I heard to be "those veiny sausages". Ugh! I am thinking something gross like hog head cheese or some other fancy schmancy acquired taste food. Alas, no. This chick meant VIENNA sausages. THAT's gross but even worse was the mental image of veiny sausages in that oh-too-awful-human-flesh color that canned sausages impart.
(I just gagged.)
And I am not even going to the idea that they resemble baby penises.
So, just passing on the joy that has plagued me since yesterday.
Thanks for stopping by!
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Friday, July 20, 2007
ARE YOU eFF'in KIDDING ME, aging exerciser?
I have worked since I was 10 years old! My dear dad refused to allow brother Rollo and I to loll the summers away. We were expected to find odd jobs, weeding flowerbeds, painting fences. Later it was babysitting for me. When I turned 15 and able to drive (this is Louisiana, folks), Dad told me to get a job or he would find one. I figured babysitting would suffice ,um, nope. Next thing I knew I was told to report to McDonald's because Dad's buddy, the McD franchise owner, gave me a job. Never mind that I didn't WANT to work at McD's. Ugh! So I lasted a month or two before I called in sick and was caught. Dad was disgusted with me. Whatever.
I'll bore you with the next 2 summers another time.
How much longer do I have to work before I retire??? Just my luck, I won't make it.
Wish I had the presence of mind to tell the gym old codger that if he missed working, that his life plan was defective. Dumb ass. He probably just missed boring co-workers with his mouth.
My aunt just retired and I told her that if I caught her complaining about it that I would kick her in the hip.
Wanting to be a stay-at-home mom and wife,
without the children and husband,
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Prostitot - a young girl dressed like a junior whore (see: Bratz dolls) whose ensemble usually includes, but not limited to, leopard prints, "Juicy" or other quasi-sexual messages printed on buttocks, red satin, t-shirts printed with "Daddy's Little Girl". Pretty much describes every girl photographed at Glamour Shots.
Bastard factory - unwed mother of two children or more, all with different fathers.
Mastubatory - description of an act giving pleasure to only the performer. Though originally used as a sexual term, can also be used to describe amateur guitar solos, spoken word performers and serious karaoke freaks.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
While in high school, I worked at a steak house restaurant. The entry level job was Coffee Girl. Coffee Girl walks around the restaurant and asks if you would like coffee, prepares such beverage and tries to look busy when the manager instructs her to offer coffee every three minutes. Round and round the floor I would travel, interrupting diners to ask, AGAIN, "would you like coffee?" In short time, one learned the subtle cues, like eye contact and body language. The trick was to ascertain the cues but still look as if you are asking each and every diner.
Thankfully a new chick was hired and I was able to retire the Coffee Girl laps.
The next step up was Salad Bar Girl. Really, this was a shit job but it was a step towards the more desired level of Order Taker Girl with Microphone. I decided to kick ass on the salad bar so as to get to the desired microphone. I filled in empty containers, fluffed salad, wiped and wiped and wiped spills. The worst part of salad bar duty was clearing the bar after closing. At hunch back posture. Coffee Girl was gone, Order Girl was gone and I have 20 feet of food and ice to make disappear. Alone. So, with no help, I wrapped food, poured endless gallons of hot water and wiped and wiped and wiped.
But hope was around the corner. Newer Coffee Girl hired so New Coffee Girl is next up to take over salad bar.
WooHoo! First night at the microphone! I am shining. My uniform does not have bleu cheese stains. My big job is to replenish cheese cake and Jell-O desserts.
Until new Salad Bar Girl flounders. Cute but trampy former Coffee Girl cannot seem to maintain salad bar in a timely manner. Salad is low, the counter is a mess and at least 12 items are low. During a lull on the microphone, the manager asks me to assist Salad Girl. I jump in, being full of teamwork attitude, ask her what she needs. Her big eyes look at me in wonder. Which items are low? You don't know? Go look. She tells me three items. I look. More like thirteen now. I instruct her to write down the items, go to the supply refrigerator and pull the items meanwhile I tidy the area. Waiting, waiting, waiting. Finally I go to see what the hold-up was.
Little BITCH is calling out orders. What the HELL? The manager tells me that Little Bitch just cannot seem to keep up the salad bar and would I mind taking over for the evening? I am PISSED. Will I have to do break down? Oh, no, he said, she will help you.
He lied. She leaves, I am doing the food sling again. I ask him if she will return to salad bar. Of course.
Next day, guess who is working salad bar? Guess who is New Order Taker with Microphone? You are so smart. Smarter than a 15 year old me.
The life lesson smacks me on the head: YOU CAN BE TOO GOOD AT A JOB.
Little Bitch is happy and bubbly. Manager is happy. Old Salad Girl is bitter. As the night goes on, Old Salad Girl's inner rage boils. Manager actually DARES to utter one minor critique of appearance of salad bar.
Old Salad Girl loses it. She does the unthinkable and shovels a piece of cheesecake in her mouth while shivering in walk in 'frig. She slings food. She curses. She gathers lettuce. She scoops out jalapeno peppers. And then she stops.
That's IT. It helps her deal with her unspent anger. She actually grins. She finds her inner peace and takes a long cleansing breath. Her eyes sting a little as the jalapeno juice is poured from a gallon bucket to coat the perfectly cut lettuce. Back to the salad bar, the manager smiles as the bountiful greens are filled. Salad girl smiles back.
In just minutes, a diner motions to her and asks for a glass of water. "Something in the salad is really HOT and spicy."
"Sure," she says, "I will tell the Coffee Girl to bring some water right away."
She sees Coffee Girl but says nothing. And smiles.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
One of the first lessons you learn in life is to play fair. Rules are set. Herd mentality is in place. Shame is instilled. "Y'all play fair now, y'hear?"
Just as soon as your young mind subscribes to the whole concept of fairness, you learn to yell, "Hey, no fair!" You let the words fly because you trust that it means something. You believe that the authority will correct it. Why else would they constantly cram fairness down your throat?
So the day you and your pals yell out is the same day that some old geezer drops this little gem: Life Ain't Fair. And he snickers. AT us. Life Ain't Fair, kid.
And the more you yell foul, the more you hear this utterance.
What the hell?
So what exactly are you saying? I DON'T have to follow the rules? I DON'T have to be a good sport? I SHOULD take every advantage? As a teacher and coach, you AREN'T going to set an example and stand for fairness? You are just going to sit there and say nothing?
The lesson sucked but it was a good one. But the lesson was that adults would expect you to behave a certain way and then when you wanted reciprocation, you were told to grow up.
So I grew up. I stopped being a good sport. I booed other teams. I accepted every advantage.
And when I hear kids shout "hey, no fair" I say it in my head but try my best not to say it aloud. Life Ain't Fair, kid.
Thursday, June 07, 2007
Although it is not Breast Cancer Awareness month, I am taking this time to share my mammogram experience with those of you not fortunate enough to experience this. And those of your UNDER 40, have much to look forward to.
As a woman over 40, and the daughter of a breast cancer survivor, I happily(?) go for a mammogram each year. Now we all know about the horror stories of smashed boobs on cold metal.....they are very much true. Your journey will start in a lovely decorated waiting area. Here you will be given a white waffle weave spa robe (one size DOES NOT fit all) and told to strip from the waist up. You will be told to remove any deodorant you might have on and given a locker to put your belongings in. Then you are herded to another room where the fun begins. After the smashing, tugging, and squishing of each boob, you are sent to a holding area. Several women are here, also there are snacks and a television. You wait there until you are told that the x-rays are good and you can leave. I never get to leave. I always have to go back for MORE x-rays.
Once released, you are told that results will be in a week or two, by mail.....unless there is a problem. They always call me the next day. I need to see a surgeon for a biopsy. I know the drill. I am given forms to fill out and told to be at the hospital on a certain date, have a responsible person with me, wear lose clothing and a bra.
On my designated morning, I arrive at 7am, as instructed. I fill out more paperwork and go to the nice room where I put on my waffle weave spa robe. The nurse takes me to the room where the procedure will be performed. The nurse is nice and tells me what will take place. Here is what they don't tell you:
You will be stripped down to your loose fitting pants or skirt.
You will then climb onto a large table with a big hole in it. Guess what goes in the hole??
Now lay on your stomach and put the one boob into the hole.
Now the other boob is back up on the table and being squished under you.
Put your arms by your sides.
Turn your head to the side.
You are very uncomfortable.
Now the table is raised up in the air. Am I getting my oil changed?
The nurse is now standing underneath the table and looking eye level at my boob.
Nurse puts boob in some type of vice and takes x-rays.
The computer now give the coordinates of the site. Are we tracking a hurricane?
Large needle/machine gun is lined up with coordinates.
Surgeon appears and extracts samples.
Surgeon leaves to speak with responsible adult that accompanied you.
Nurse lowers table, and helps you up.
Bandages are applied.
Nurse helps you hook bra.
Nurse gives you an ice pack to put inside bra to reduce swelling and bruising.
Nurse escorts you to responsible adult.
Responsible adult is hungry and wants to go to McDonald's for breakfast.
You are in a t-shirt with an ice pack in my bra.
It is JUNE. Ice pack begins to melt.
You are in McDonald's with a big wet spot on one boob.
Go home and take it easy the rest of day.
Sleep in bra.
Take shower in the morning and realize that your boob looks like is has been beaten with brass knuckles.
Wait for results of biopsy next week.
No doubt a man designed this whole procedure.
Wishing that none of you are ever "up on the rack",
Friday, June 01, 2007
Rich folks can
* staple their tummy
* get liposuction
* hire a trainer
* employ a personal chef
* sign up for prepared meals by mail
* purchase diet pills
* undergo behavioral management therapy
* correct a metabolism inbalance
* consult a nutritionist
* stay at a fat farm
"One can never too rich or too thin."
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Ladies, I have long thought that you should cherish your girlfriends as well as nurture their friendships. Elevate them. Even above your honey or husband. You heard me. Let him THINK that he is the most important thing in the whole wide world but make sure your friends believe the same thing.
* you get engaged, it is your girlfriends that throw a shower, purchase the godawful dresses, show you a good time at the bachelorette (how I hate that word) party. They listen to your endless moaning about wedding plans.
* you move, girlfriends help you pack. Sure, men will do the heavy lifting but they will mar your grandmother's dining room table, drop the Fostoria tea cups and scratch the newly painted walls. Girlfriends take better care of your antiques, glassware and fragile items. (In fact, try NOT to use males unless completely necessary.)
* you are pregnant, girlfriends will tell every single boring/awful detail about their pregnancy but they will also include some helpful information. These same girls will give you yet another shower and all kinds of baby stuff like beds, strollers, maternity clothing, you name it.
* you are sick, they will go to the drugstore for you, clean your kitchen, and make sure your children have something good to eat. Your best friends know what you want while in the hospital, be it crossword puzzles, a Big Mac or illicit frozen daiquiri.
* you are depressed, girlfriends know when to commiserate and when to kick you in the ass. They will bring you chocolate and wine and maybe even share pharmaceuticals. (Remember: what goes around, comes around.)
* you have a birthday, girlfriends know if you want to celebrate it and which number you are claiming.
* when you go through a divorce or break-up, girlfriends are there with chocolate and offers to break legs and tap phone lines. They will listen to you cry and tell you when it is time to shut up.
* when your husband is sick, girlfriends rush in to do your laundry, drive you to Sonic for a quick trip out of the house, and just listen to you.
* when your husband dies, your girlfriends take care of the things you haven't and cannot think about. They clean the house, they warm the food, write down names of friends that dropped by, and press your clothing so you will be well dressed for the funeral. They will not forget about you when you find yourself newly single.
Who does more than a girlfriend? Maybe Mom but she cannot do it all. Mom probably will not look you in the face and say that maybe you should do more Kegel exercises.
Imagine living a long life as a girl that "just doesn't have female friends" or "girls don't like her" or "men are so much easier to get along with". Those girls are not to be trusted.
Take care of your friends. They will take care of you.
Friday, May 04, 2007
Monday, April 23, 2007
So there I was, ringing the doorbell to a Beach Drive mansion thinking, Note to self: before inviting 100 folks to your home, perhaps calculate time it takes for the fresh manure to mellow to a less offensive level than Really Recent Dog Crap.
Last night I experienced a violent anal rape. I was alone. The too-large-in-diameter compacted bowel movement left me with a feeling of shame, skittishness and an inability to look people in the eye.
That's the worst; it's been years since I was sodomized by my internals and it still makes me feel a little hurt. And empty.
I find it unbelievable that Virginia Tech had more than one Asian student measuring over six feet tall. But even more unbelievable, the gunman's roommates heard the same news with the same description, never made a phone call to the authorities, WENT TO BED and were surprised when armed police officers stormed their dorm room the following morning. "That's when we knew it must have been Cho."
Wow! That speaks volumes about the intellect and logic of the killer's suite mates.
Dude 1 to Dude 2:
Hey, douchebag, where's my beer?
Chick 1 to Chick 2, with no apparent awareness of hearing the previous:
You know, I have only douched a couple times in my life. What about you?
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Skateboarder dude Mike Vallely visits New Orleans (Season 2 Episode 3) to survey the hurricane Katrina damage. Mike begins in the historic French Quarter with beautiful video of skateboarders. The interviews are geared toward the skate culture before and after Katrina (in New Orleans speak, that is pre-K and post-K). New challenges and playgrounds are created by storm debris, abandoned buildings, and junked construction materials. But the tour of the Ninth Ward erased all thoughts of skateboarding and Mike was eloquent in his words that he could not consider skating where so many lost so much. Black and white images of terrible destruction illustrate without deliberate emotional manipulation.
As a 42 year old woman whose only link to skateboarding is my junior high boyfriend, I am not Fuel TV's desired demographic much less a DRIVE skateboarding viewer. But I am a fan. I thank Drive for respecting the pain of the damaged areas. The victim's trauma was not trivialized by skaters having fun on their ruined properties. And skater kids can see a different view of New Orleans and hurricane Katrina aftermath not found anywhere else.
Check out the 3 minute video,
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
Monday, February 26, 2007
Red Carpet Pre-Show:
I don't care for Ryan Seacrest but barring an anal gerbil infection, I fear he will be with us for a loooong time. He'll be around for as long as his maker Dick Clark.
Commercial aside, 'fro headed M&M characters cause my throat to constrict. Hair and candy? Not a good combination.
I am so over black gowns but Maggie Gyllenhall looked good and her honey Peter Saarsgard seemed less than his usual creepy self.
E's yenta Giuliana DePandi implied that Ryan Seacrest is the Queen of E! A genius, she is.
Paul Haggis caused another throat constriction when I consider the definition of his last name.
"A Scottish dish consisting of a mixture of the minced heart, lungs, and liver of a sheep or calf mixed with suet, onions, oatmeal, and seasonings and boiled in the stomach of the slaughtered animal." Those hair and candy covered chocolates seem more appealing now.
Not so sure I like the menswear trend of the lower button with more shirt showing. Who said that a thin tie makes you look thinner? Not buying it.
Al Gore looks like a fat ass wax mannequin. His face is so puffy that he is turning Japanese. I really think so.
Pretty hair on Portia di Rossi. And that Catherine Deneuve is one classy broad. I wanted to say something ugly about J. Lo but I guess her stylist finally got her way and made J. Lo dress nicely.
Why the hell is Elizabeth Shue there? Should I care?
Cameron Diaz as a brunette - good. With orange skin - not so good.
Penelope Cruz was very pretty in dusty pink. Now imagine the same dress in white as a bridal gown. Awesome. Did Penelope's eyes seem just a little f'ed up?
Rachel Weisz is her usual glam self but must say, again, to the ladies, if your gown has glitz, you should refrain from competing jewelry. As Oscar de la Renta always instructed, never mix your costume jewelry with the real thing.
Jennifer Hudson is doing a fabulous job as a newcomer by charming everyone and not trying to hard, fashion-wise.
Helen Mirren looks stunning and has a nice rack for an older dame.
Reese Witherspoon looks like a 20 year old hottie. You go, home squirrel! Dumping that androgynous husband did the trick.
Why is Jessica Biel there? Do I care? Attractive pink dress, stupid patent leather belt, weird hair.
Count 'em. Three yellow gowns, each more ugly than the next. Female escorts of Eddie Murphy and Forest Whitaker in yellow. But the worst goes to Jada Pinkett Smith's shiny mustard abortion of a dress with the awkward bodice darts and too-tight fit. How do you say in French? C'est horrible. Evening wear and the color yellow should never collide. Oops, missed one. Naomi Watts in pale yellow, quite reminiscent in similar dress worn by Kate Blanchett a couple Oscars ago. Blah.
Kirsten Dunst is a tough call. Chanel? Good. Red lips? Good. The whole look? Just didn't jive though it wasn't horrible. Did the neckline seem matronly? Is it the pale grey gown with blonde hair? Or is just that it seemed like she raided her mother's closet for couture but kept a juvenile old hair 'do?
Kate Blanchett looked fabby poo poo poo in her gunmetal grey beaded gown though I would have appreciated sleeker hair.
Kate Winslet - too pale: hair, dress, cheeks, lipstick. C'mon, Seventeen magazine 101: pick a focal point, keep everything else neutral.
I covet Beyonce's hair. Dress, not so much.
I anticipate Meryl Streep will be slammed for wearing her bohemian jewelry but it is her, plus she looks better than usual. Baby steps, people.
Nicole Kidman worked that red Balenciaga dress like only she can.
Wonder what bet Kelly Preston lost? Why else would she wear such a hateful rag as that leopard print dress usually seen on a Chalmettian bridesmaid?
Sasha Baron Cohen is some handsome. Yum.
Jackie Earle Haley is America's new favorite comeback story, along with Jennifer Hudson.
Dunno who Anika Noni Rose is but her sequin gown was very striking against her skin tone.
Academy Award Show:
Loved the nominee video introduction.
Loved the standing nominees in the audience. Hope that becomes a new tradition.
Ellen is funny but who told her those white shoes were a good idea?
With an egg cooking on my bare face, maybe I will be one asshole with seared retinas and permanent sunburn when I finally become a global warming believer. Perhaps because I remember the 1970's era Time magazine warning of the coming world freeze. But what a joy it will be to laugh at the Henny Penny global alarmists if, indeed, I am right. Think I will do my part to help them prove their point by filling up the pick-up with gasoline, leaving the gas cap slightly open, pumping the air conditioner full blast and maintaining an average speed of 90 m.p.h.
Okay, we are 1 hour and 23 mintes into the show before we have our first entertaining moment. William Monahan mentions "Valium does work."
Is the orchestra playing each movie's theme song when they win? If so, I cannot tell because it all sounds alike.
Welsh Corgi sighting in the costume diaroma!
Robert Downey, Jr. with another funny moment.
Jerry Seinfeld said what we all know. All those documentaries are incredibly depressing movies.
Celine Dion - if I don't say anything about her, can I just pretend she wasn't there?
Diane Keaton actually looks good. Give her stylist a raise for wrestling Diane to the ground and forcing a dress onto her body and coiffing her hair.
Helen Mirren's win and film clip gave us another Welsh Corgi sighting. Four cuties!
Al Gore - the inconvenient truth is that if you had carried your OWN STATE, you would be President. The folks that knew you best could not pull a lever for you. Now shut your hole.
Can Leo DiCaprio look too good? Seriously. He is so slick and severe I cannot decide if it is good or a bit costume-like.
Anne Hathaway - a classic beauty.
Very nicely orchestrated presentation to Martin Scorsese by fellow directors. Best camera shot of the evening was Marty in the wings when The Departed won Best Picture.
Oscar topic of the day:
What the hell was Philip Seymour Hoffman's drug combination of choice? Vicadin and cough syrup? Gasoline huffing and Guyana KoolAid? MarksALot & alcohol?
Your homework: Check out the movie Love Liza where he plays a strung-out gasoline huffer.
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
- Though I have done some stupid things in relationships, I am now giving myself dispensation for never wearing an adult diaper while driving cross country to confront another woman. Oh sure, there was that one night of tequila, Depends and glow sticks with the old boyfriend, but he LIKED it.
- Britney? Anna? Trainwrecks. Sad trainwrecks. Just wish they were from Connecticut or such so that the rest of us Southern weirdos weren't grouped together.
- Thank God I did not grow up famous or hell, in the era of cell phone cameras. Too many opportunities of public horror and humiliation.
- Disappointed that my-long-lost-newly-reconnected friend revealed herself to be an intolerant, small minded religious homophobe. All these years that I wondered what she was doing, wasted on a perpetuating-the-hate-mongering so-called Christian.
- Embracing the newly found thought that materialism is just human nature, helps us to set goals, and proves that we are still interested in life. When you get old or boring enough not to want anything for your birthday, it is over, my friend.
- Laughed while reading Vanity Fair's interview with John McCain. He was so impressed with a powerful pain reliever. "It was—am I saying this right?—I.V. Propen. The stuff's a fucking miracle drug!" My dad expressed the same thought a couple months ago. This from a man that said that his high school's definition of a drug addict was someone that took two aspirins instead of one. Once Dad told me that he was suffering from three day long headache. When I asked what he was taking for it, he just looked at me blankly and replied "nothing, why?"