New depths of pathos.

It's sad when the cleaning lady at your office feels compelled to tell you that you should be at home, not at work.

Of course, she probably was just wanting me out of her hair.

4:57 PM - 2 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Random acts of pissing-me-off!

Someone peeled the Obama sticker off my car yesterday.Come on! Really? Vote for whoever the fuck you want, even a lunatic. It's called "democracy". Sheesh, people.

1:07 PM - 2 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Hell, thy name is Valley View Mall

I've not been to Valley View Mall in eight years at least.

I went this Saturday to see what this Steve & Barry's place was all about. I'd read stuff about it in my fashion mags (guilty pleasure) and figured I'd better check it out. Assessment: trash, crap, garbage and shit. There were as many clothes on the floor as there were on hangers. If you are in the market for a t-shirt that says "Oral Skills" or "Kiss Me I'm Mexican" or "Playa", then Steve & Barry's might be your place. Or if you are dying for some little schmatte from the Sarah Jessica Parker or Amanda Bynes collection, then be my guest.

While there, I listened as two employees complained about not being able to wear ripped jeans to work. "Mutherfukkin' sent me home for wearing jeans with a rip in 'em. Had to lose two mutherfukkin' hours that day cuz I had to change my jeans...shiiiiiit." Now, I like to cuss as much as the next gal, perhaps more so, but I was annoyed that these employees didn't have sense enough not to pepper their conversations with "mutherfukkin'" in front of customers. (Which is part of another HUGE pet peeve which is being subjected to people complaining about their job, on the job, within my earshot. I cannot count the number of times I've walked out of stores where employees were complaining about their pay, or how their feet hurt, or how they had to work Sunday and it's just not fair, etc. I could go on for days about ways these people could ensure they'd never have to work on their feet or work on a Sunday ever again, but I guarantee that if it involved the least amount of effort they wouldn't do it.)

Since I was already there, I thought I'd wander through the mall and see what else was going on.

Time has not been good to Valley View Center. Nor has Charlotte Russe, Afterthoughts, Piercing Pagoda or something called "L'Patricia".

I explained it to Erin like this: if you find yourself missing the State Fair of Texas experience (the sea of humanity, the awful fashions, the repugnant smells) all you have to go is go to Valley View. Except the big distinction is that whatever part of the population the State Fair keeps out with its $10 admittance fee doesn't apply to Valley View.

3:39 PM - 4 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

Keeping the "X" in Xmas

I am reposting this blog from long ago since it's Xmas related, and Xmas always makes me think of my deceased parents.

It's sort of Dickensian Lite.


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Dad hated Xmas. Tremendously. Words can't describe just how much he hated the holiday. He'd grouse. He'd grumble. He'd shake his fist at the heavens. (Okay, I made that last one up, but can't you just picture it?)

It was only as an adult that I bothered to ask my mom (who loved Christmas, by the way) why Daddy he was such a Scrooge ass.

(Funny what you find out as an adult as long as you ask the right questions. I cannot wait to have kids to withhold information from. I urge each and every one of you with living, breathing parents to ask them all sorts of crazy shit. You may not love the answers, but it's better than not knowing. Take it from me. Ask them if they were ever married before. If there's the possibility of you having a half-brother or sister running about anywhere. If they ever slept with any famous people. What drugs they did. Stuff like that.)

She said their first Xmas together, in 1964, Daddy asked her what she'd like. She gave him a list of things to choose from. She listed tons of stuff: a camel hair coat, an Elna sewing machine, a set of Revereware, a Rolex watch, a hairdryer, kid leather gloves, who knows what else.

Dad got her everything on the list.

And.
never.
bought.
her.
another.
gift.
as.
long.
as.
they.
lived.

Which is kinda funny, in a way.

In another way, it's deeply tragic because she loved the holiday so much.

8:50 AM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

No Country for Old Men (read if you’ve seen it)

OK. So I've been pondering Anton Chigurh for a few days now. Is there any correlation between his riddlin' ways and his Sphinx-like hairdo?

8:15 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

More "my way or the highway" bullshit.

Just saw this news story on CNN.com.

A buncha Xians are holding prayer sessions on the side of I-35 from here to Minnesota, believing it is mentioned in the bible as a "highway of holiness".

They better pray my car doesn't careen out of control into a bunch of them. That'd be a tragedy of biblical proportions, indeed.

Please someone give me one good reason that they feel they have to insinuate themselves into every aspect of secular life? Just one.

To paraphrase Freud, sometimes a highway is just a highway.


The story:

DALLAS, Texas (CNN) -- If you turn to the Bible -- Isaiah Chapter 35, Verse 8 -- you will see a passage that in part says, "A highway shall be there, and a road, and it shall be called the Highway of Holiness."

Now, is it possible that this "highway" mentioned in Chapter 35 is actually Interstate 35 that runs through six U.S. states, from southern Texas to northern Minnesota? Some Christians have faith that is indeed the case.

It was with that interesting belief in mind that we decided to head to Texas, the southernmost state in the I-35 corridor, to do a story about a prayer campaign called "Light the Highway."

Churchgoers in all six states recently finished 35 days of praying alongside Interstate 35, but the prayers are still continuing.

Some of the faithful believe that in order to fulfill the prophecy of I-35 being the "holy" highway, it needs some intensive prayer first. So we watched as about 25 fervent and enthusiastic Christians prayed on the the interstate's shoulder in Dallas.

They chanted loudly and vibrantly, making many people in the neighborhood wonder what was going on. They prayed that adult businesses along the corridor would "see the light" and perhaps close down.

They prayed for safety and freedom from crime for people who lived along the interstate. They prayed that all Americans would accept Jesus into their lives.

The woman who came up with the concept of "Light the Highway" is a Texas minister named Cindy Jacobs.

She says she can't be sure Interstate 35 really is what is mentioned in the Bible but says she received a revelation to start this campaign after "once again reading Isaiah, Chapter 35."

3:13 PM - 4 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment

Ron Paul at the Ugly Sweater Party 2007

Here are some pix from the Ugly Sweater Party on my flickr page. Go here.

12:23 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

You better WORK!

Trent's gonna get up his video camera and a backdrop in our back bedroom and shoot all you sunsabitches at the USP. Then he's gonna edit it into a brilliant little movie. He came over yesterday and showed us the one he made from Cory's mustache birthday party.

As a reminder: if you don't have your sweater, you better get crackin'. It's less than a week away.

Currently listening : Supermodel (You Better Work) By RuPaul Release date: 17 November, 1992

10:11 PM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Never leave a grown man alone with a cat.

So I'm trying to wind down from a grueling day at the office by going through and deleting people from MySpace and catching up on comments.

John, who's already in bed, keeps shouting at me to come look at the cat.

He insisted I stop what I'm doing and come in there to witness our cat, Tater, lying on the bed with toilet paper der-ders on his arms. (Der-der = empty toilet paper or paper towel rolls)

Currently listening : Scandinavian Leather By Turbonegro Release date: 06 May, 2003

8:35 PM - 11 Comments - 10 Kudos - Add Comment

Adventures in chain dining.
Current mood: Not so fresh feeling.

Last Friday night, Amanda and I met Jeremy and Dave at the Cheesecake Factory. Three of us had never been and we were just about indecisive enough to try it.

It turned out to be as mediocre as I imagined, but we made the best of it and had a good time despite everything, including the stretch Hummer limo that idled on the curb by our (outdoor*) table for 30 minutes.

When it came time for drink orders, I went with iced tea. I was given the choice of tropical passion fruit tea or sweet tea. Let me just take this opportunity to say that I am not so tied to my southern roots as to appreciate sweet tea. It is an abomination, along the lines of beans in chili.

Unsweetened regular tea was not an option, so against better judgment I went with the tropical one.

Bad mistake.

I took one sip, screwed up my face and proclaimed it tasted like a strawberry douche.

Dave and Amanda each took a sip and, while maintaining they'd never tasted a strawberry douche, agreed that the shit was nasty.

The next waiter that came by with Jeremy and Amanda's mojitos got the pleasure of receiving the news, from Dave, that I'd like a new drink since mine tasted like a (cue Philly accent) strawberry DOOOOSH. The waiter's expression was priceless.

The meal got weirder, with a weightlifter with a face like a meatball stripping down to his Speedo in the parking lot in front of us and going through his routine of poses. He had attracted quite a crowd with his preening.

I offered to buy everyone's dinner if Dave would run out there, strip off his shirt and begin posing alongside the dude, which he declined. It seemed like a great deal for Jeremy and Amanda, not so much for Dave.




* It is mid-November and 80 degrees during the day. So dining al fresco isn't as far-fetched when you live in Dallas.

12:56 PM - 4 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Bad Ideas In Branding - Case 1

My co-worker is laying out a brochure for a hotel client of ours. It's a spa brochure, with all of the services listed. He just brought the list of services to my attention.

Under facials, there's something called a "XXX Facial".

All I know is I'm not paying $240 for the pleasure.


(P.S. I'll gladly explain this to anyone who doesn't get it.)

7:54 AM - 3 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Early morning wig out!!

John called me this morning before I left for work to report a sighting of a toupee in the intersection of Clarendon and South Beckley.

(I love that he knows exactly what will make my morning. And spotting a toupee in the middle of the road is one of those things.)

As I drove to work, I thought I saw it. But I was convinced it was a flattened squirrel. As I approached it I thought, "Squirrel. Squirrel. Squirrel. Squirrel. Squirrel. Squirrel? Toupee!!!"

11:23 AM - 3 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Ick ick and more ick

Those of you who know me well know that I love hearing about or seeing anything gross.

Having spent a lot of time in airports recently, I have seen two of the most stomach-churning things I've seen in a long time. Coincidentally, both in airports.

In Houston, I saw a woman with two horrible wounds (?) on her face. They were healed, sort of, and it looked like maybe she'd had something laser blasted off. The surface was raised, not indented, and it was mottled purple and red like you were seeing balls of veins under the skin. The largest was about the size of an egg, the other about two-thirds that size. The skin there was dimpled in parts. I couldn't figure out what could have possibly caused it, unless she had some large birthmark or protuberance that was in the process of being taken off. I'll certainly think twice about whining about a zit.

Today, flying home from Austin, I saw some poor man that'd had a major slice of his head removed from one side. No ear, no hair, and the skin was smooth like wax. From certain angles there was a fish-like quality to it. Straight on from the back he just looked, well, like he'd had the right fifth of his head sliced off vertically. He didn't seem the least bit fazed by it, and I guess you have to be that way. Either grow your hair really long on that side, or own it. I'm not startled by much, but the sight of that man's misfotune caught me completely off guard.

5:17 PM - 3 Comments - 3 Kudos - Add Comment

Progress!

Someone egged my new car tonight in front of the house.

How positively suburban.

What's next, someone's gonna T.P. my tree out front?

I guess OC's getting all uppity now that Townview high school has been ranked as the #1 public high school in the nation by Newsweek for the second year running.

8:48 PM - 2 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

More of The Goat

By popular demand (okay, three people. but two very influential people), I'll post another excerpt of the goat story.

I must throw out the disclaimer that I was not there for the actual ball removal, and had to take some creative license. I hope I did it justice.


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Soon it became obvious that Oswald was coming of age, so to speak. He started to develop goat funk, the musky male scent synonymous with mature male goats. The balls have to come off, Dave decided, and consulted with his friends in the country about a good vet, knowing full well that the city vet that treats his cat would probably fall over in a dead faint if he showed up in his foofy little office with the dog bone pattern wallpaper leading a goat on a leash.

He got the number of a vet who would charge only twelve bucks to neuter Oswald. It sounded like a deal. He would have to drive the goat outside the city limits in the back of his truck, and he made an appointment for the following day.

That morning Dave leashed Oswald, who was nonchalantly chewing a leaf (not poison ivy), and led him to the truck. Oswald complied, certainly not knowing the day's plans. After securing the back of the truck, the two of them took off down the highway. It was a steamy Texas summer day, the kind that makes the illusion of water on the surface of the highway with a shimmer from the heat rising off of the black asphalt. It was exactly the kind of day that you see in television shows where old men mop their foreheads with the backs of their hands while squinting up the the sun and saying things like, "It's a scorcher."

Dave found the vet's place at the end of a curbless road in a dusty cul-de-sac. It featured a small, dingy front house, a couple of pickup trucks, and a weatherbeaten barn. Honking to signal his arrival, he drove through the gate and toward the man waving at him from the entrance to the barn. He was greeted by the man's lazy Labrador.

"Come 'round here and put him on that slab," the vet called, gesturing at the cement slab at the side of the barn which was empty except for a few steel barrels and a rusty bicycle.

"I'll be with you inna sec."

Dave took Oswald out of the truck bed and led him to the slab, waiting while he stopped and munched a dandelion on the way.

Soon the vet emerged from the barn carrying a scalpel and a plastic squirt bottle with some liquid in it. Antiseptic? Anesthesia? Dave wondered.

"Now, hold his horns like this," he said, demonstrating a hold that put the goat's forehead on his thighs and held his horns tightly with both hands.

"I'm going to do this pretty quickly, but he'll fight ya, guaranteed."

Once Dave got in position, the vet splashed on the liquid and—with a motion that was later described as hacking, slashing and slicing—cut out Oswald's balls.

The goat let out a bloodcurdling scream that was so human it was haunting.

Dave's world was spinning, and he fought to hold Oswald's horns. He almost fainted when the vet unceremoniously threw the balls on the concrete slab with a splat and the lazy Lab—who had been unusually attentive Dave noted in hindsight—swooped in, snapped them up iand swallowed them whole. The vet splashed on some more of the liquid, squeezed the goat's ballsack to let out a bit more blood, and wiped his hands on his jeans.

"There you go. He'll be fine in a few hours."

Once Dave had secured the stunned Oswald back in the truck, he barely remembered opening his wallet to pay the man. Upon getting into the driver's seat, he sat for a few minutes, dropping his head to the steering wheel and trying to take in what had just happened to his goat—his Oswald—before driving off. He drove back the 20 miles to Dallas, shaking, sweaty and remorseful.

"It was awful. I thought I was going to throw up already and then the vet," pronouncing the "t" with a sharp sound to convey the dubiousness of the man's medical experience, "threw his balls to the dog! And the dog ate them! Like that!" he'd recount to friends later, snapping his fingers in the air.

Oswald convalesced for the next few days, not hours, Dave noted bitterly. He was glad he wouldn't have to do that again.

Within a week, Oswald was up to his old tricks, except for the stinking part.

9:23 AM - 5 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment