Headlines

When I open up my internet Explorer page it automatically takes me to the Yahoo homepage. On that page they have the Top Stories and other news headlines. It is quite sad that I honestly get a majority of my news from the homepage of Yahoo. I don’t even bother clicking on the headlines usually. Who has the time really? Every once in awhile there will be one that simply needs to be read. Like last week when there was a headline that read, “Plumbing Error Brings Beer Out Of Kitchen Faucet”. This is the kind of news I need to take time to investigate.

This week for some reason unknown to myself the paper has been making its way to my front porch. I did not subscribe to the paper, and yet it is there every day when I leave for work. It sits there, reminding me of how many things are going on in the world that I know nothing about. But really, who has time to read a whole flippin’ paper? I have Entertainment Headlines to read for god’s sake I can’t be bothered with international news.

Here are some headlines from the world of entertainment this week, they amuse me so.

Naomi Campbell Charged With Assault
This woman needs to calm down. Seriously. Why are models so angry all the time? They get paid to stand. They don’t even have to smile usually. And this is like the fourth time Naomi Campbell has been charged with attacking someone. This time, like other times, she threw a phone at someone. Her housekeeper I think. She has a history of attacking her help. How low can you stoop really? If you are going to be a psychotic bitch why not at least be one to someone who isn’t going to have to look for a new job if they fight back? Make a real rumble out of it.

Oprah Winfrey Won't Host Tony Awards
Oprah Winfrey is so famous and important that it is news even when she doesn’t do something. It seems like this could provide endless filler for newspapers, all headlines of stuff Oprah isn’t doing. Of course it does make a little sense, with the amount of things Oprah does it might actually be easier to list the things she’s not involved with.

Three 6 Mafia Recording With Paris Hilton
Whyyyyyy???? Please. Someone make Paris stop. I’ll do anything. Just make the scary waste of space and inheritance stop with this whole “Do you suppose I could buy a career in entertainment that doesn’t involve me having to make grainy sex tapes?" Paris: Performance-wise I think you peaked on the sex tapes. Mostly because it was the only time you have been physically unable to speak.

Jessica Simpson ready to adopt baby
But I’m thinking there is no baby on the planet that is ready to be adopted by Jessica Simpson, “No I’m cool, I’ll see how things work on here in this mud hut, thanks for the offer though.”

Kevin Federline to Release Album in August
Again I am forced to ask whyyyyy? You have to see this video of James Lipton reading K-Fed’s lyrics on Conan. Funniest crap ever. I love the hat.


Britney Sculpture of Birth Causes Stir
Brit, honey, go throw a phone at someone or something. Stop posing on bear blankets with your whooha up in the air. I know that K-Fed told you on the first date that this is “art”, but I’d hope you wouldn’t fall for that twice. Thank God Lipton didn’t recreate this as well...

E-mail Issues

People have issues. They really do. And those issues seem to make themselves known through the joy of e-mail. You can really tell a lot about a person based on the kind of e-mail they send you. There are the people who write real e-mails or people who just forward on sick jokes and/or “pass this on or you’ll get hit by a bus” e-mails. And then there are the people who honestly think that you give a crap about what is going on in their lives. And what is going on in there lives is SOOOO important that they have to send you updates via a mass mailing. Cause they don’t really have the time it takes to type individual e-mails, they are too busy being important and what not.

Now don’t get me wrong, there are some cases where mass e-mailings are okay and don’t come off nearly as self-involved and impersonal as they really are. For instance I have a couple friends training for a marathon and they send out mass e-mailings detailing their sweating. This is okay (mostly because it is what I did when I trained for a marathon and therefore it must be okay). Another friend is trying to make it as a stand-up comedian and he sends out mass e-mailings detailing his sweating. These are fun and funny little tidbits about his soar to the bottom of the comedy food chain, so I don’t mind reading them.

But then there is the girl who is training for nothing and chasing no dream that involves her subjecting herself to public humiliation. And yet she still feels the need to send regular updates of her life. AS IF WE CARE. Guess what? No one cares. We really don’t. Unless we birthed you or you are rich and generous, we do not care about your daily doings. And we certainly do not need pictures of those doings, thank you very much. This girl honestly sends pictures of JUST HER on a regular basis. The subject one of the e-mails from her? “My New Cell Phone”. Then the e-mail read, “Here is a picture I took of myself with my new cell phone.” And she attached a picture of herself standing in a sports bra and workout pants. WTF? Whyyyyy? The e-mail we received yesterday? A picture of her face, “I know it’s not the best, but I was going on only about 2 hours sleep.” Cause I don’t know about you, but the FIRST thing I think of doing when I’m sleep deprived is to take a picture of myself and send it out to everyone I know. Seriously.

People have issues. And I really wish they’d stop e-mailing them.

Turns Out I Might Have Something to Say

I really have nothing to write about today, but I will tell you that people need to learn how to drive. I mean really. Could we go over some basic rules please? Thank you.

1. Get your ASS out of the FAST LANE is you are going UNDER THE SPEED LIMIT. For the love of all things holy and pure. I sometimes wish I had a ‘I Have a Small Penis Hummer’ just so I could drive OVER the idiots going 55 in the fast lane.

2. Grow some balls. Like that one singer dude said, “Life is a Highway” and it is painfully obvious by people’s driving skills which people go through life scared of every damn thing. Guess what? If you have your turn signal on and you’re in a lane next to me and I slow down, allowing you room to come on over, then I am probably implying that you can COME ON OVER. Do not wait for me to send you an Evite people. I have places to go. I do not have time for you to check all your mirrors, turn down your radio and call your mommy to make sure it is okay for you to change lanes. Please. Grow some balls.

3. Rain. Falling. From. The. Sky. Will. Not. Hurt. Your. Car. I. Promise. Push. The. Gas. Pedal. Before. I. Go. Get. My. Hummer.

4. Have you ever heard the story of the boy who cried wolf? Well, same holds true with brakes. If you tap your breaks every four seconds I’m going to stop believing that something break-worthy is happening. And then when something brake-worthy actually happens? I’m going to be in your front seat with you. So please. Do not try to use your brakes as a reminder to the other drivers that you are on the highway. We see you. You can tell by the fact that we are flipping you off.

5. And finally: If you are a semi truck and you happen to miss a turn in the middle of downtown late at night, how bout you just plan on catching the next turn? How bout you DON’T stop after the light and then proceed to REVERSE back into the intersection until you are able to make your turn.

I kid you friggin’ not this just happened on the way home. Huge ass truck. REVERSING back into the intersection that he just crossed, because he apparently was supposed to turn instead of go straight. I was coming up in his lane, ready to go through the intersection when I realized that homeboy was reversing. So I slowed down and waited for him to jackknife his truck into the middle of a downtown intersection. Weirdest part? That is didn’t even seem that weird right off the bat. That’s how bad people drive. That a huge ass semi reversing and twisting down the road in the middle of traffic doesn’t even seem that bizzare.

When are the flying cars coming? I’m tired of the road.

Brown

I’m brown. No one knows what the hell nationality I am, and when they find out they are usually disappointed, because it’s never anything as cool as they guessed. I look like I could be very exotic, all sorts of different countries could be my native land. But when people ask, “Where are you from?” I say, “Sacramento.” And they say, “No, I mean like nationality.” And I say, “Sacramento.” And then I disappoint them with the fact that I am not anything exotic at all. I am a mutt. From Sacramento.

Basically I am what everyone is going to look like in about 100 years, if the world actually makes it that long. I’m a French Canadian (eh), Italian (EH!) and Portuguese. But I get my brown from Portuguese. Which always leads to, “Do you speak Portuguese?” To which I answer, “I can barely even find Portugal on the map.”

I tell you all of this to lead into a story about my evening. I am helping to put together an urban comedy magazine (because I am so urban (don’t mind the fact that I graduated from a high school that actually had cows and horses passing by it on a regular basis)) and tonight we had a pre-launch party. At this pre-launch party we featured several Black stand-up comedians and had an audience that was probably about 95% Black. And then there was me and my Jewish friend and a sampling of other white people scattered throughout.

This is far from the first time that I have been the minority in a situation. So much so that I didn’t even really notice it tonight, but sometimes I wonder how I end up in these situations. How exactly did I go from Hickville to launching an urban comedy magazine? I really have no idea. But it might have something to do with the fact that Black people love me. I’m serious. I do not know why. But it is true. Black men? Hit on me all the time. I do not know why. But it is true. Black women? Say, “Girl, you are so crazy” all the time to me. And that is a compliment. I think.

I think my bond with Black people stems from the fact that I’m not a fan of BS. If I think something, you’re probably going to know it. I don’t really care who you are, if you ask my opinion, you are going to get it. Honestly, I think I am a Black woman caught in a brown woman’s body.

But then there is the brown thing too. Sometimes I think I’m embraced by every race because no one knows what the hell race I really am. Because I am brown all of the minority races assume I am a minority too. I always tell my extremely white mother that she can’t let anyone know she’s my mom or she will ruin my street cred. So for now I introduce her as my adoptive mother and hopefully no one notices that we have the exact same chubby cheeks. Also, I’m going to figure out where Portugal is, so I can at least claim someplace besides Sacramento as my native land.

My Friends

My friends are evil:

Here is the latest hiding spot for the freaky stuffed dog I spoke of awhile back. The key to The Roommate’s torture is putting this freaky ass dog in places that will catch me off-guard and provide the most opportunity for me to have a heart attack. This picture is of our coat rack thingy. Where I hang my coat when I walk in. After a hard day out in the world. My Roommate is an evil person.

My friends are angels:

I received these boxes of Girl Scout cookies in the mail the other day from my favoritist friend in the whole world. He sends me Girl Scout cookies every year and every year it is by far the best gift I receive (let’s be honest, Christmas after about age 15 just ain’t that great as far as gifts go (unless you count all the ones I buy myself while shopping for other people)).

This year’s delivery of Girl Scout cookies couldn’t have come at a better time. I had a ridiculous week last week that I probably wouldn’t have survived if it weren’t for the 40 Thin Mints I ate in the course of two days. Uh, why don’t the Girl Scouts sell the Thin Mints all year round? In like stores or something? I’d buy them. And I wouldn’t have to rely on a friend in a different part of the state to send them to me either. Cause as it is now I know no Girl Scouts and I grocery shop about once a month at midnight. So where the hell am I supposed to get the my Minty Thins hook-up? It’s a bit of an issue. Thank god I have a supplier in Southern California.

Another interesting thing about this picture: I guarantee the girl on the cover of the Thin Mint box is older than me now. I’ve been a lifetime subscriber to the Mints and she has been on the damn box forever. Do ya think the Girl Scouts could go crazy and schedule a new photo shoot every oh, five years or so? Something tells me they might have the budget for it.

My friends are blessed:

After two years of trying, they got two. A boy and a girl. Both perfect. A little tiny, but both healthy and resting up so that they have plenty of energy to keep their parents running around in circles for the next 18 years or so.

Best Answer Ever

No time to write today.

But I would like to share with you "The Best Ever Answer Given By A Stripper on a Questionnaire".

Question: What is your idea of a perfect date?

Answer: October 13th, it’s my birthday.


In other news, I have found a quote that sums up my entire week:

"The road to truth is long and lined the entire way with annoying bastards."


Happy Friday Everyone.

No Patience for Poop

Not having a good day/week.

Patience being tested.

And it’s not passing.

Pull into the parking area thingy behind my house today and see that someone who lives on the other side of the alleyway is walking their dog in my parking area thingy.

AKA they are letting their dog poop in my parking area thingy.

Leaving poop all over my parking area.

The poop has been prevalent for some time, the donator has been unknown until now.

I usually come home late.

When it’s dark.

And when poop is not visible.

You do the math.

Patience had been failing already, then I see dog pooping in my parking area.

Think very seriously about taking said poop and putting it on the doorstep of the person I saw walking the dog.

But then realize that perhaps I don’t need to add irate neighbors to my long list of things that can make holes in my tires.

So then.

There are options.

My roommate and I came up with a few, let me know what you think.

1. Put the poop back on her doorstep.
2. Put a box of baggies on her doorstep with a note explaining what normal, respectful people do with baggies when they are walking their pooping dog on other people’s property.
3. Put all the poop in her parking area.
4. Maybe on her car.
5. Take a deep breath and count to ten before doing anything rash with poop.

More Proof That I’m a Jackass

Phone - Ring Ring
Me - Hello
Friend - Hey
Me - Hey, you have to talk fast, my phone only has one bar left. I’ve been on this damn phone all day. It’s been a big day for the eventual brain cancer I’m going to get from this stupid cell phone.
Friend - That joke would be more funny if my aunt wasn’t actually dying of brain cancer right now.
Me - Oh God. I forgot. I am the biggest ass on the planet.
Friend - Yeah, you pretty much are.

Seriously people. Who makes brain cancer jokes to a friend whose aunt has just been diagnosed with incurable brain cancer? I do, that’s who. In my sleep-deprived, cell-phone-a’plentied state, I do. What do you say after that really? No really, it’s a question I’m asking, cause I don’t know what you say. Cause what I said was a combination of stuttering and cussing and apologizing.

I am a jackass.

I Heart Mondays

I’m liking Monday night on my TV. ‘Prison Break’ is FINALLY back. I do so love this show. Although lets be honest, it should probably be called just ‘Prison We Ain’t Breakin’ Until May Sweeps, So Settle In’ as there doesn’t seem to be too much ‘Breaking’ going on. I’ve read all the press for the show and from what I read they will in fact be ‘Breaking’ eventually, but for right now they just seem to be roaming free through the prison, getting themselves nearly caught about once every 5 minutes or so. This show is not good for my heart. Do we need a cliffhanger at every single commercial break? I mean really. And as far as punishment for unspeakable crimes goes, this Prison doesn’t look so bad. They basically just hang out all day and roam the walls at night. It’s like sleepaway camp, only without all that silly hiking and crafting.

My other new show on Monday nights is ‘Miracle Workers’. Have you seen this show? Oh my goodness it’s exciting. They are working MIRACLES people. And not lame miracles like being able to fly or solving world hunger. No, they are concentrating on medical miracles and they are curing people one heart-tugging story at a time. It really is a cool show. Well the miracles are cool. The show itself? Not so cool.

Example: There is a girl with Tourette’s Syndrome gets to have brain surgery in order to stop the crazy ticks that have made her life unlivable. (Tourette’s is a disease that makes you scream out inappropriate things or tick uncontrollably. (My friend Charlie periodically yells out “FABULOUS!” and says it’s cause he has Gay Tourette’s. He has been doing it for over 10 years and it just never gets old. Unfortunately there is no medical miracle that can save his poor taste, it’s been deemed a lost cause.))

So they have to drill into this girl’s brain and put little zappers (technical name) down in there to try to electrocute her brain into stopping the ticks. Oh and she has to be awake during the surgery so she can tell them what she is feeling and if they are zapping the right place. On top of all this we have a voice-over guy dramatically telling us how dangerous this is and how it could go horribly wrong and how her whole life hangs in the balance. Dude. She has HOLES IN HER BRAIN. I think I can figure out all by myself that this is a dangerous surgery. This ain’t Fear Factor kids, we don’t need the overly-dramatic narration. As soon as someone’s brain starts getting ZAPPED the drama is pretty much covered. Just a little note to the TV Producer People.

And speaking of getting zapped, our boy over on ‘Prison Break’ is getting mighty close to the big chair. Me thinks he’ll survive though. Something tells me that the drama might die down a little if the entire point of the show gets killed off. Although, considering tonight’s episode ended with Lincoln mere feet from the electric chair it might not be a bad idea for his defense team to write a letter or 10 to the Miracle Worker people. It couldn't hurt.

So Very Sad

A tragedy has befallen my life. And I don’t know if I will be able to fight through it. It almost seems too big to overcome.

I can no longer eat butter on my popcorn at the theater. Yes, I know. I amaze myself with my ability to keep going forward. Sometimes I must admit, it is not easy, but I think of all the other people in the world who can’t eat fake butter and in their courage I find my strength.

Oy. It is all very sad indeed. I am sitting here, at 1:30 in the morning, trying very hard not to puke. It is touch and go at this point. And why the sickness? Because I ate a little popcorn with my butter this afternoon while at the movies. It’s my own fault really, this is not the first time this has happened. But even though I know I shouldn’t do it the buttered topping calls out my name. Cause what is the point of movie popcorn without butter? I mean really. And what is the point of the movie itself without popcorn, right?

For some unknown reason I can no longer eat butter without consequences. This leaves about 80% of my diet uneat-able, just so you know. I can’t even bother with lobster anymore, cause I can’t dip it in the butter. My favorite bread rolls on the planet? Smothered in butter. I can’t eat them. Well, “can’t” is a strong word. Because let’s be honest I “can” eat pretty much anything I want. The eating just “can” result in me sitting up all night trying to talk myself out of puking.

And that brings us to now. And now is not fun. Cause the only other times I’ve had to try to talk myself out of puking have been following many an alcoholic beverage. And at those times I was also trying to talk the room into stopping all of its spinning. Let’s just say I didn’t have a great win/loss record in those debates.

But here I sit, sober, and feeling sick. One might officially be a loser if buttered popcorn has taken the place of alcohol in their lives.

Censored

So a funny thing happened. But I can’t tell you about it. Then another interesting thing happened, but you’ll just have to take my word for it. And then, this other thing, you’d be SHOCKED! But instead you’ll just be UNINFORMED! Cause I can’t write about it.

This is becoming a bit of an issue. Friends and family stopping in the middle of conversations and/or funny/embarrassing incidents, looking me dead in the eye and saying, “You better not blog about this. Seriously. I’m not kidding. If I read this on the internet, I’m going to kill you.” I might hang out with slightly dramatic people. At least they are entertaining. But again, you’re just going to have to take my word for it.

My mother and father are the ones most annoyed by my blogging about their lives. In the middle of a blog-worthy incident the other night my mother said, “If you blog about this I’ll smack your little face.” Normally my mother is a peaceful woman, but I think the constant media attention surrounding her ceramic dog is starting to wear her down. Just like Britney Spears, soon the dog will be wearing inappropriately revealing clothing when I’m there for his monthly photoshoot. Of course, he already spends most of his days without pants on, so I don’t know how much more inappropriate we can really get. I’m sure if we ask Brit she’d have some advice.

The Roommate is also a bit concerned about the blogging. The other night, when she stumbled into my room after running head-on into a pipe in a parking garage, she said, (between crying and measuring her head for extreme swelling) “Don’t blog about this.” So I had to promise I wouldn’t. And then you people really miss out. Cause someone running head on into a pipe is something that ya’ll would just love hearing about.

I’ve actually even self-censored at some points, erasing long-winded rants on events or people that I realized might not need to be put on the internet. And you really missed out by me and my ability to foresee the possible implications of posting a 500-word researched essay on why one of my co-workers was in fact the spawn of Satan. Sure, you would have been amused, but from everything I’ve read about Satan, it’s not the best idea to antagonize her over the internet.

So then, I really have nothing to say today, and everything I do have to say will either get my killed, slapped, disowned or possibly cursed with a satanic spell. At least I’m not dramatic about it though...

Very Much Tired

Me: We need a new picture of you for your mail piece.
Client: I don’t really want to take a new picture. They said I was going to have to shave my beard, I don’t want to.
Me: I don’t care if you where a donkey on your head, I just need a new picture, because the design calls for a shot of you outside and all we have is a cut-out of you pasted on a picture of a park in Nevada somewhere. It’s not working for me, it looks a little weird and might not reflect very well on you if it seems as though you can’t even be bothered to go stand outside in the community where you are running for office.
Client: That’s a good point. When do you want to do the photoshoot?
Me: Whenever is good for you.
Client: My day is really busy tomorrow, let’s see, oh you know what, we can go first thing in the morning, before I come into the office.
Me: Morning?
Client: Yeah, do you have anything scheduled then.
Me: (Does sleeping count? Probably not.) Nope I’m wide open in the mornings.
Client: Great! We’ll meet first thing in the morning before I go into the office. That will be a great time!
Me: Best time ever.
Client: I’m so glad you made the point about the picture being bad.
Me: Oh me too. But now that I think about it, nature is overrated...

FYI: When you normally go to bed at 4 or 5 a.m. it is quite difficult to explain to your body that it is time to go to sleep at midnight instead.

More FYI: 2 hours of sleep leave me no brain power with which to write anything today. So I will instead offer you this cartoon that my father cut out for me. (click on it to see it bigger)



He thinks he is funny because I am trying to buy a house with poop credit and am finding out why my parents recommended that I actually pay my credit card bills when I was 19 years old. My father is not funny. This cartoon is not funny. I have a little less facial hair than the guy in the cartoon, but unfortunately that is about the only difference between the two of us.

Scary, Scary Dog

Have you seen the pictures of the dogs that look like this:


They are supposed to look all cute and peep-hole-ish. But they kinda freak me out. I don’t know why, they are just weird and look freaky and abnormally-large-head-ish.

The other night The Roommate and I went to McDonalds for a late night fix. Because it was late at night and McDonalds is not the healthiest of snack foods I recommended that she get the Happy Meal, which is what I get in an attempt to feel like I am dieting while eating at McDonalds. (My diet is much tastier than the South Beach one, let me tell you) So she got the happy meal and the toy was what I can only assume is supposed to be a stuffed animal version of the Peep Hole Dogs. And it is equally disturbing to me. Maybe even more disturbing, because there are no funky camera angles involved, there is only a dog with an abnormally large head. And it freaks me out. And me being freaked out is apparently a fun thing for The Roommate. Because since that night I have been finding the freaky scary dog hidden all over the house, in random places. And every time I see it it scares me a little. I am convinced she is trying to give me a heart attack.

Exhibits:

This is above my bedroom door, I happened to look up there one night and found the freaky head dog staring down at me. I jumped a little and then threw said dog very hard at co-habitant of my home. This violence did not stop the madness.


Here he is on the hand rail of my stairway. Right where I put my hand to steady myself and try not to fall face first down my 45 degree-angle stairs. Seems like most people would know that scaring me just as I’m about to go down those stairs is not a very nice thing. Unfortunately none of those most people live in my house.


Here he is above where I hang my keys when I walk in the door. Look at his damn nose. It’s not normal.


This is the dog hiding behind my lotion. The lotion I put on right after I get out of the shower.


Do I need this when I am opening the fridge for a Mountain Dew? No I do not.

Tonight I went to take a picture of his latest hiding place, only to find him missing again. So I had to search the house, looking for where he was hidden this time. It’s kinda like Easter. But without eggs. Or candy. Or fun of any kind. Just scary dog heads.

As I was searching for the scary dog head I took a picture of this, another stuffed animal of the house:

Isn’t he adorable? This was a gift from a friend. Who apparently thinks I’m fine. And possibly a bitch. The greatest part about this gift is that I received it at work while I was still in the Accounting Department. It had no card or message with it, just a box with an R-rated bear. The 50 year-old women I worked with were a bit confused, "Is that considered romance these days?" I told them no, it was considered something that someone probably found on the internet and thought I would find amusing. I’m easily amused. (Hence me adding my own glasses to the bear)

And yes, the bear is actually sitting on my kitchen table. Martha Stewart would probably have a coronary. If the scary ass dog didn’t get her when she hung up her keys.

Important Pictures

You know why the internet was invented? So that weird pictures could be passed at lightening speed. Was it me or was weirdness a little high last week?


This is that rat/squirrel thing that has everyone talking. And by “everyone” I mean “three scientist who don’t actually talk, they just stare into microscopes all day”. This thing is supposedly some species that everyone thought had been extinct for 11 million years. I don’t know about you, but I feel duped. 11 million years of lies really.

This story baffles me. First of all, is it really that shocking that rats and squirrels are close enough to form one species? I mean come on, there has got to be something else for our scientists to be studying. One scientist who is totally maximizing his brain power said, "It shows you it's well worth looking around in this world, still, to see what's out there.” Yeah, well, if looking around the world is going to lead me to seeing more rats, then I’m fine to stay local, thank you.


In other exciting species news we now have hairy lobsters. Wait until someone tries to make a jacket out of this guy and PETA gets pissed off. The thing is called “yeti” and it “becomes the latest member of Galatheoidea, a category of the Decapoda (10-legged) order, to which lobsters, crabs and prawns (US shrimp) belong.” I am sometimes overwhelmed by the amount of things I know absolutely nothing about. Galatheoidea? That would be a kickass Scrabble word. The word “kickass” was about as good as I ever get while playing.


This is a picture of the people who walk on all fours. Something tells me we might see some similar pictures coming out of Ireland this week, what with St. Pat’s and all. This group of four-legged people are all siblings and it is thought that they inherited the unique walking trait. “Their mother and father, who are closely related are believed to have handed down a unique combination of genes which result in the behaviour.” I will be making no comparisons to the south, as that would be wrong and hurtful. These poor four-legged people have had to deal with enough.

Mama’s Bored

I’ve mentioned before that my mother is retired. I’ve mentioned before that she is bored out of her head as a result. After working her butt off for 30 years she thought retirement would be AWESOME. She’s coming to realize that retirement would be AWESOME if she won the LOTTERY and was able to travel every day of the year. But since she didn’t win the lottery and is on a pension she is forced to travel only several times a year, instead of the desired all the time of the year. And that leads to a little bit of boredom in between.

Hint #1 that Mom is bored:

“Honey, I haven’t received the Verizon bill yet.” (We’ve shared an account forever and the bill goes to her house)
“I’m sure it will come.”
(1 day later)
“It still hasn’t come.”
“It will come.”
(1 day later)
“See, but it’s in your name and I don’t want you to get a late charge.”
“Oh my god, you really need to find a hobby other than standing by the mailbox waiting for the Verizon bill.”
(1 day later)
“Really, it’s just weird that it hasn’t come.”
“Then why don’t you call and find out about it.”
“Well, it’s under your name.”
“Call me crazy but they probably don’t have voice identification at Verizon.”
“That would be dishonest, calling and saying I’m you.”
“I used to call and say I was you all the time when it was your name on the account.”
“Well, you are a dishonest person.”
“If it’s bothering you, and I’m sensing that it’s bothering you, maybe a call to Verizon would calm you.”
“Well, fine. I’ll call if I have the time.”
“Yes, cause your day is jammed-packed with standing by the mailbox, waiting for bills.”

Hint #2 that Mom is bored:

“I baked a cake!”
“For what?”
“For your’s and dad’s birthdays.”
“My birthday was a month ago, dad’s was a week ago.”
“Yeah, I kinda just wanted to bake a cake.”
“I’m all for cake.”
“Here, take half of it with you.”
“I can’t eat half a cake.”
“Take it to one of your jobs. Seriously Dawn, what the hell am I going to do with all this cake?”

Hint #3 that Mom is bored:

“Mom, did you read on my blog how that guy wants me to write bios for the strippers?”
“Yes, I’m sure they’ll be mesmerizing.”
“Well, I don’t have the time or the inclination to do it, but I was thinking I could charge him like a grand and then you could write them and then I’d just give you the money.”
“Hmmm. Do I have to call them up and interview them?”
“No they filled out questionnaires. If you don’t feel comfortable, you can totally say no, I just thought it would be something to pass the time and you could make some extra money for the travel fund.”
“Oh hell, I feel comfortable. I could do that.”
“Are you sure, I don’t want you to if you don’t feel right about it.”
“Will you be sending their pictures too?”
“No, you don’t have to look at those.”
“Well, I’m thinking I should, you know, to get to know their features, it would help write the bio.”
“Uh...”
“You know, if she has brown hair or a tattoo, or maybe a nipple ring, I could include that. You know, make it real personal.”

Thing #1 I Never Thought I’d Hear My Mother Say In My Life:

“You know, if she has brown hair or a tattoo, or maybe a nipple ring, I can include that. You know, make it real personal.”

Superwoman

www.christopherreeve.org

March

March sucks. It is the month following February. February is a sweeps month, when all of the TV networks pull out all the stops to lure us, the viewers, into their wonderful programming. We get guest stars and two-part-cliffhanger episodes and people making out and triple axles (every four years). But then once the month ends the networks are done with us and they act like we never even shared all of those births/weddings/near-deaths. It’s hurtful really. We were all used to being wooed and now we can’t even get a date on Friday night. (Yes I just equated television with a relationship, all my tv dramas are running repeats, I have to make up for it somewhere.)

But at least it’s not December. December is an even sadder month. It comes after November, which is a sweeps month as well. But besides that it is also the HOLIDAY month. And apparently people have no desire to watch any regular programming during the latter half of this month. We are way too busy drinking eggnog and trying to remember who we forgot to buy presents for to be watching TV.

By about December 10th most of the shows have aired their “Christmas” episodes filled with hope and joy and usually a group hug or two. And then the rest of the month we have to listen to the likes of Amy Grant and Faith Hill sing us the same 4 Christmas songs in their special shows that are filled with hope and joy and usually a group hug or two. You all know how I feel about being holly and jolly. Being holly and jolly when you are interrupting my regularly scheduled programming? Ain’t happening.

The only good thing about March nowadays is that it is fast becoming the dumping ground for all the random shows that the networks didn’t really like enough to put on their fall or even mid-season schedule. So at least we get a little new programming. Too bad it’s all poop.

I know, I need to get a life. You do not need to tell me that. But my life right now includes way too much work and way too many images of strippers, so I like to escape to my TV now and again. Of course my life is exciting enough to have someone say to me today, “I know that you are a writer so I have this great writing opportunity for you. You can write the bios for all the strippers on the website, you can get real creative with it.” Why???? Why can’t I get rid of the strippers? And why does someone think that ANYONE cares about strippers BIOS? Really. Hey, but you know what? If people do care about strippers’ bios I might just have just the reality show for March viewers...

I am Very Cool

Mom and Dad and I go out to dinner for Dad’s birthday.

We go to a fancy little seafood restaurant.

With fancy little seafood.

And fancy little waiters.

Our waiter is a bit of a prick, and seems to play up the fancy a little too much for my liking.

He’s all about his specials and his fish and and being a prick.

(For clarification purposes my definition of "prick" is generally someone who is not cool, someone with the proverbial stick up their arse, someone who is overly attentive to my silverware selection, maybe.)

After I order my meal he says, “Would you like soup or salad with that?” in a way that implies that the meal comes with soup or salad, and that I’m supposed to choose just one.

I am a little confused, as I didn’t think the meals included soup or salad, because fancy places aren’t all about combo deals.

My mother points out that the meal doesn’t come with a salad, he is just trying to get me to order one.

This increases his already high prick factor.

After he finishes delivering food to our table my mother picks up her glass and says, “Happy Birthday” to my dad.

Unbeknownst to us our fancy waiter hears this and at the end of the meal he brings out a dessert for my dad with a little candle on it.

It is nice of him, although it pains me to admit it.

I joke that he’ll probably charge us for the dessert.

When we get the bill my mother points to a line item which reads “Lava Cake - $5.95".

Below this the prick has written “Happy Birthday” in big, cursive writing.

I am not happy.

I get up with the bill and go in search of the prick.

I have to wait for awhile, while he finishes up with one of his tables, during this time I debate going straight to his manager, I decide against that, because going above someone is not cool, and I’m very cool.

When the prick comes over to me I point to the bill and say very cooly, “I know it’s only six bucks and it’s not really a big deal, but charging someone for something they didn’t order is kinda shady.”

I said it very cool.

Thank God.

Cause then the prick scrunches his face in confusion, “I know, that’s why I took it off down there at the bottom of the bill.”

I look, and sure enough, obscured by the big, cursive writing, is a negative $5.95.

Turns out I may be the prick.

Oscars

It’s another month and Fido is ready for the party. He is going to have alcohol poisoning if he drinks green beer from now until St. Pat’s Day.

Did ya’ll watch the Oscars last night? I didn’t win AGAIN this year! I really thought this was the year for me. But alas, Three 6 Mafia stole it out of my hands. How much do I love that a song titled “It’s Hard Out Here For a Pimp” won an Oscar? So much. I would have loved it even more if they had nominated the other song from the movie, “Whoop That Trick”. That would have been the highlight of all Oscars combined.

It is kinda hard to perform a rap song on live TV, since every other word is supposed to be a cuss word and they end up having to G-rate a song about pimps and hos, which isn’t easy to do. The chorus, for instance is supposed to be “It’s hard out here for a piiimp, with a whole lotta bitches jumpin’ ship.” On the Oscars it was “It’s hard out here for a piimp, with a whole lotta witches jumpin’ ship.” Come on. Really? Witches? Can’t I hear the word “bitch” on like Nickelodeon these days?

The Three 6 Mafia’s win was probably my favorite moment of the night, tied with Meryl Streep and Lilly Tomlin’s presentation of the lifetime achievement award to Robert Altman. Can you get much classier than those two? Probably not. They, and the Three 6 Mafia, were the only ones who really looked like they were having any fun. Everyone else looked like they had the golden statue stuck in an inconvenient location.

Hollywood People, it’s an awards show, not an international summit on global warming (it’s easy to tell the difference because there would never actually be an international summit on global warming). So lighten up a little bit. You make millions of dollars to speak while someone films you. Then you have to put on pretty clothes and clap for a few hours at the Oscars. It’s not that serious of a night. Now, granted, you could be attacked by your pretty clothes, like Charlize Theron was attacked by a giant bow that seemed to be inching it’s way to eating her head, but on the whole the evening is pretty safe.

So grab a forty, kick back and perhaps make out with George Clooney. It’s a night of dreams comin’ true people.

Air

I have a bone to pick.


Why do I have to pay 75 cents for air? Seriously. It’s ridiculous. And it’s starting to annoy me. Those of you who have been reading for awhile know that I have bad tire karma. It’s a tragedy really. In this life I have seen too many good tires go before their time, victims of the karma that curses me.

My poor tire karma not only blows up tires on a regular basis, but it also makes perfectly good tires go flat for no apparent reason. It’s just what my tires do. I’ve accepted it and moved on. Usually I am moving on to my local gas station to fill my poor tires up with air. I visit these air/water machines at gas stations more often than people really should and I’ve been visiting them for years, as the karma has been around since I started driving. As the years have passed so have the machines which give me free air. Gradually the price of air has inflated, 25 cents at a time. And it’s officially starting to piss me off.

Yes, I know I’m only really out like $3 a month from this increase in price, but still, it’s the principle of the matter. WHY AM I PAYING FOR AIR? And WHY DO YOU ONLY TAKE QUARTERS? And WHY DON’T I EVER HAVE ANY QUARTERS? I’ll tell you why. Cause I spent them all on AIR. (And parking meters. Please do not even get me started on parking meters or their slimy, useless-waste-of-space meter maids. We could be here all day if I get going on that topic.)

Is there something we can do about this? A petition I can sign? A protest I can organize? Or you know what would help? Could someone please get moving on those damn flying cars that are supposed to be here by now? This would solve all my problems. Well, at least the tire/paying for air problems. I imagine it might actually add some problems in the navigational/running head on into a seagull areas. Imagine how many quarters it would take to wash that off your windshield.

IKEA

It’s a big day in Sacramento today. A brand new IKEA store opened here. Big time stuff. Is IKEA a national chain? I just looked it up and it looks like it’s pretty national, but tends to hover near the coasts. That makes sense, somehow European furniture doesn’t seem like a great fit with the southern states decor. But then again, I think crappy furniture defies borders, so it probably won’t be long before the middle of the country is on board with IKEA as well.

If you’ve never been in an IKEA store it is hard to adequately explain just how big they are. When I lived down in LA I went to the Burbank IKEA and honestly got lost inside of it for a good hour. Not in the “I’m mosying around, just looking at stuff and oh, there goes an hour” type of lost. I’m talking “I have no idea whatsoever how to get out of this store and I keep going through doorways but they aren’t leading me any closer to the outside world” lost. I felt like I was in a human sized rat maze and I was the stupid rat that was so not getting the cheese.

IKEA is set up kinda like casinos I think, where they don’t really want you to be able to see outside. Once you enter the doors you are in another world and there is no need for you to have any visual contact with the world you left behind. Hours and days and months can pass and you are still roaming around picking out the perfect spoon or bean bag. This design was my main problem when trying to get out of the store in Burbank. With no windows to see out of I had no idea what direction I was facing and what direction I should be facing to get out of the store.

The store I was in was a huge warehouse-like building that had fake walls inside of it to break up the space and divide the store into different rooms of furniture. You could walk from room to room through little doorways in the fake walls. But I found out that walking through the little doorways is very very bad. Cause then you end up in another room and from there you wander to another room and before long you have no idea what doors you walked through to get to where you are. And every door you try to walk back through, just leads you to another, new decorated room. I imagine the whole experience is probably similar to the experience that Oprah or Aaron Spelling have when they walk around their 20 room houses, “Oh, look at that, another room I didn’t even know was here.”

Only, instead of admiring these rooms I became increasingly frustrated with them and their seemingly endless presence. Of course at no point did it cross my mind to ask for directions. Because what kind of idiot needs DIRECTIONS out of a store? Apparently I am that kind of idiot, but at least I was smart enough not to make my stupidity public knowledge.

Finally I made my way to an actual wall that had an actual door that lead to an actual exit. And then I went to the checkout counter and bought a good $300 worth of complete crap. I warn you people, beware of the bins they have. I don’t care if the stuff is 3 for $10, you probably don’t even need one of whatever it is that you are selling. Stay focused on this fact as the elements start to wear you down and you start to wonder why it is that you don’t have more candles/cheese graters/lamps/empty vases in your life. Trust me, once you get home you will realize that your abode is about 1/200th of the size of IKEA and somehow the abundance of crap doesn’t quite enhance your living area.

So be strong fellow shoppers. Steer clear of the bins and try to avoid walking through any questionable doors. And while you’re there please pick me up some storage bins, I’ve got some candles and cheese graters that are getting in the way here.