This Coffee Tastes Like Crap

Speaking of coffee. I don't think I've ever mentioned here how much I liked Coffee and Cigarettes. I highly recommend watching it. I also recommend Distant (aka Uzak) if you're in the mood for a nice arty flick. It's got some really beautiful scenes. Like this:


Anyway, I ran across this today. It had me cracking up at my desk. I wish we did that in Dallas, but I have a feeling it would be hard to narrow the list down to 50 people. And then, there's the matter of who would do the list. Too many people have too many buddies in most of our city's publications.

In other news, it seems that humans aren't the only ones that are struggling to shed a few extra pounds.

Poor Maggie. I feel your pain girl. You can do it.

Well today I broke out the sandals. It's the first time I've worn sandals to work since September probably. My feet are feeling a little vulnerable. And my toes are cold. Just thought I'd share.

That is all.

tempest

Meredith held her head down to keep the wind from blowing out the flame on her lighter. She'd angled her body against a lifeguard shed; her shoulders hunched. Sand whipped around our heads and slammed into our pink skin. We had to squint to keep it from assaulting our eyes.

Most of the other vacationers had evacuated long ago. Word had it Hurricane Danny was on the way.

My mother had a migraine.

Malia and Pam were supposed to come on the trip. It had been planned for months. We picked out swimsuits and outfits and talked about bungee jumping and boys and tans. Then, they were both grounded the day before we left because they were caught sneaking out of Malia's house - to go to -- Malia's front yard.

Meredith knew she was a last resort.

The beach was empty. Meredith had somehow gotten a bottle of Vodka. We drank it with Sprite and asked our new friend Matt where he was going to college. OSU, he'd said, lying back in the sand. He left the next day.

The wind picked up and the waves got louder as they crashed.

Mom stayed in the room; curtains drawn, lights out.

Motoring...

In a desperate act of boredom, I found myself yesterday tuned into VH1's countdown of the 25 Greatest Power Ballads. Although its effects had several hours to evaporate, last night I tossed and turned all night. The lyrics to Sister Christian and images of big hair and tight leather kept running through my head, keeping sleep at a distance. It was not pleasant.
I'd like to share the misery:


Talking about these bands reminds me of a couple of things from my childhood.
1. Cecile and I used to tell our little cousin Haley that Cecile's boyfriend's name was Axle Rose. We had her convinced for a couple of years. Of course, she had no idea who Axle Rose was at the time.
2. I used to sneak into my Mom's living room to watch the video of Love Bites.
3. Stephen, the family member I narrowly lost out to in the competition for Black Sheep, went through a heavy metal phase when he was in sixth grade. (I am reminded of this because Metallica made the countdown). He etched "Anthrax" (the band not the WMD) into a chalk board all of the girl cousins played "school" with at my grandparents house. It is still there - the chalkboard and the etching of Anthrax. I'm pretty sure my grandparents have no idea who Anthrax is.

Piddling

Forget about feeding tubes and school shootings and social security - here's the real question that's on everybody's mind.

Well, today is Friday my friends. I am typing this instead of finishing a story that's due today because, well, I do that kind of thing. But hey, it's cool.

Yesterday I lost all control. But it's not my fault. Someone brought a box of huge cupcakes with loads of icing and left them unattended in the kitchen. Then, someone brought in a basket full of hershey's kisses and chocolate Easter bunnies and placed it right on my path to and from the restroom. And then, on top of that, a bag of mini cadbury eggs mysteriously appeared on my desk.

I am consoling myself with the fact that the cupcakes were from Whole Foods. That makes it better, yeah?

Oh forget it. I am going to get my jaw wired shut.

Anyway, I am looking forward to the weekend. I hope that it doesn't rain tomorrow as is predicted. But, as I've said before, I never trust a Dallas weatherman.

Happy Easter!

OH DEAR GOD

I ate Wendy's chili last night.

I did not notice any fingers, however.

Jack in the Box

We are outside of Fred's or Bogie's or Dublin's or whatever possesive-obsessed sweatfest we had chosen for the evening. Haley's hair is now a hive of spirals and frizz due to the impermeable humidity of southern Louisiana. Sweat from the small of my back seeps into my cotton tee, sticking. I smell like whiskey and smoke. My toes, previously pedicured, are blackish from bar sludge. I should not have worn flip flops.

We fling ourselves into Haley's red Isuzu Rodeo. It looks shiny. Clean. I mention this to her.

"I've never washed it," she says.

"Ever?"

"I just leave it out in the rain."

She starts the ignition, puts the car in reverse, and maneuvers around a large mudhole she had parked near in order to get a spot up close. (no one else would have dared to navigate that mudhole).

We decided we needed food. Immediately.

Of course this being a time in Baton Rouge before all of the new college lifestyle luxuries, such as twenty-four hour drive-thru, had sprung up.

Wendy's closed at one.

We look at the clock in the dashboard. It is 3 a.m.

Cane's is closed, I say.

There's always Louie's, says Haley.

I picture all of the late night vultures pecking at their ham and cheese omelettes, slurring and swaying, smelling of smoke and excreting various forms of alcohol through their humidified pores.

No.

Haley says she doesn't want to go there anyway because she might see Drew again and she is embarrassed of her behavior earlier in the night.

"Jack in the Box. We have to have Jack in the Box," says Haley, emphatically. "Must have. That's it, we are going to Jack in the Box."

"But that's all the way out on Seigen Lane," I say, pointing out that it's a good 15-minute drive out there.

Haley does not care. She is on a mission.

Fifteen minutes later (and no more sober) we hang a right under the glowing 24-hour drive-thru sign at Jack in the Box. Ahh, we've arrived.

Oh good, I say. There are employees inside. It looks like they are smoking a joint. They are smoking a joint. I'm pretty sure of it. I chuckle.

We bounce to a stop in front of the menu.

Then, things get a little fuzzy.

We try to place our order. I'm sure a couple of burgers and maybe some of those taco things.

What? Resistance from the twenty-four hour drive thru? You can't be closed!

THE SIGN SAYS TWENTY FOUR HOURS! Haley is screaming into the speaker. Something about smoking pot and not being able to fix a hamburger and supervisors.

Then, when Haley realizes that she isn't going to get her food, she slams her foot on the gas pedal, rolls her window down and sticks her fist out, shaking it violently, and screams to the teenage pot smokers inside the window, YOU'RE GOING DOWN!

YOU'RE GOING DOWN!

Ah yes, the intimidating battle cry of a drunk, hungry college girl behind the wheel of a large vehicle.

The boys laughed as our tires squealed on the left turn out.

Haley immediately called up Jack in the Box's customer service department and filed a complaint.

"Yes. They were smoking pot and refused to take our order...that's right. Seigen Lane..."

I was impressed by her attempt to sound sober and mature. However, I was certain that the Jack in the Box people knew she was hammered and were just humoring her.

Nevertheless, a few weeks later, Haley received in the mail a year's worth of vouchers for free meals at Jack in the Box.

puppies, links and gratuitous pics of ewan

INTERESTING
Read the example. For some reason it annoyed me. Hard news = facts up front people.

I thought this was KINDA FUNNY.

And, drumroll, the definitive reason the new STAR WARS installations are better:










And, ahem, this.

God I love kilts.

Happy Friday. That is all.

Oddly, I am still in a good mood

The apartment grounds crew has this uncanny way of starting their work 10-20 minutes before my alarm goes off. Every week on either Tuesday or Wednesday morning - no matter what time my alarm is set - I wake up to the distinct buzzing of a hedger or blower instead of my alarm. Typically my alarm goes off at 7/7:30, around in there. Today I decided to get up early to exercise. I set it for 6:30. At 6:15 a.m., I awaken to those familiar sounds of machinery. Ahh.

So then, the workout. Billy Blanks kicks my ass - but not as much as I thought he would. I did, however, manage to catch sight of myself in the unused computer monitor on the floor while doing bicycle sit-ups. Not pretty.

Shower: 7:50 a.m. I'm enjoying a nice hot one and I decide to shave my legs. Probably not a good idea seeing as the residue from last night's sugar scrub bath had left the bottom of the tub nice and slick.

Oh yeah, I slip and fall, FACE FIRST, almost taking down the shower curtain with me.

Any other day I would have cursed very loudly. But today, for some odd reason, I just jump up and say I'm OK to the wall.

Drying Hair: 8:20 a.m. I jab myself in the eye with the large round brush.

Driving to work: 8:55 a.m. Behind slow, hesitating driver, who is unsure of where he actually is supposed to be going. Hit large pothole unexpectedly.

Checking email: 9:15 a.m. Computer is slow and I have to sort through many prescription drug/porno emails in my inbox. Printer connection not working.

Call from insurance company: 9:30 a.m. Once again, they have screwed up something with my account. How hard is it people? This is the fourth incident of incompetence since December when I went in to set up the account. I am nice to the lady. Very odd behavior for me indeed.

Picking up lunch: 12:10 p.m. In capping my to-go tea, the tea bag comes loose dropping the leaves into the water. In the elevator, I spill the hot tea on my jacket. At my desk I fish out the loose tea leaves with a plastic fork.

So there it is. I just got a call from my Dad about taxes - and me screwing up on the estimated taxes I was supposed to pay. I have made a conscious decision not to think about this. It might ruin my good mood.

Yes, I did say "are you shitting me" in the bridal shop

And no, I wasn't intoxicated. And it's probably not what you think.

So, I'm standing there engulfed in a copper trumpet-style skirt that's about ten feet too long and I'm clutching the matching strapless satin bodice to my chest because it's about ten sizes too small and won't zip up. Swatches of fawn and lagoon and cloud rotate in front of my face (I'm told the lagoon brings out my eyes). My sister, the bride (and also as chatty as the head usher in a Southern Baptist church), discovered that the consultant's boyfriend went to the same college as I did. I said that's cool. I typically don't like playing the name game - especially because more than 30,000 people went to my school and I'm anti-social, so chances are very slim that I know her boyfriend. But my sister prods her to tell me his name. She does. This is where the inappropriate language explodes from my lips.

It turns out I did know her boyfriend...pretty funny.

That night we hit the Houston Rodeo, where, among other things, I saw for the first time an egg/chicken hatch. Well, I really just saw an alien-like claw protruding from the broken shell. It was kinda goopy too. I wanted to stay for the rest of the hatching, but was dragged away to "Goat Mountain" where I saw a somewhat disheveled goat walk toward the fence, turn around and pee.

Then we passed by what seemed to me to be an entirely too crowded petting zoo where a llama was about to sit (not spit) on a group of small children.

After we got to our seats we watched as about 15 large, shiny cows were led onto the dirt BY A RING THROUGH THEIR NOSE. That cannot be comfortable. I was beginning to feel sorry for all the animals.

Good thing the concert started and Cecile told me a lovely story about when one of her friend's made out with Pat Green's violin player in the back of a van.

It was at this point in time that I realized I needed to be really drunk to listen to Pat Green. I was not. We had to locate the nearest drink stand quickly.

Saturday's highlights included a tour of the reception site (a historic home that's in the process of being gutted and renovated) where family friend and architect "Aunt Carol" reprimanded the venue-owner for a construction no-no.

The rest of the day was spent shopping for dresses. I wanted to bang my head against the wall after six hours of shop hopping and failed try-on sessions for the M.O.B. (mother of the bride) dress. But, she finally found one, and it's really quite beautiful.

And, we ordered my dress which ended up being this one in lagoon with a fawn ribbon.

Jessie Mae or... TERMINATOR?

I'm headed off to Houston in about an hour. Got my boarding pass printed. Got my bag ready to go. Cecile's flying down with me and she says she's got drink vouchers...so bloody marys here I come! I have a distinct feeling that I'm gonna need them.

Happy Friday! If anyone's looking for me I'll be at the Houston rodeo tonight with my mom, aunt, 2 sisters and cousin. Should be interesting.

could be better

Can someone please hit me in the face with a large mallet.

I've taken enough Ibprofen/Excedrin to make a small elephant go numb, and still my head keeps pounding.

...

I keep seeing this when checking my hotmail... And we thought Twinkies were bad.

...

Well, this weekend I'm headed to Houston for a full-out girls weekend with the fam. The thought of this is not making my head feel any better.

The Champ

Today is my sister Cristin's 28th birthday. So, to honor her, I am going to talk about Special Olympics.

Cristin takes part in her local Special Olympics every year in Rayville,Louisiana. She competes in several different events, but her specialty is the 100-Meter Walk. And let me just tell you, this ain't no pansy ass competition. It can get pretty heated. Cristin, always a stickler for the rules, will be the first one to confront the judges about any cheating that goes on - i.e. someone slipping into a slight jog.

Measuring in at a mere 4'11, you might not think that speed sports are Cristin's forte. But when it comes to the 100-Meter Walk, she's a force to be reckoned with. This is most likely because she has spent years trying to keep up with longer-legged folk.

But, anyone that has ever been to a Special Olympics event, whether its national, state or local, can tell you, for these people, it's really not about winning or losing. You will never see so many happy faces. I guarantee it.

Of course, all of the ribbons each participant gets helps too. By the time Cristin gets home you can barely tell it's her underneath all those fluttering strips of color.

Just a Little Bit of Sugar Makes the Coffee Go Down

WHY I DIDN'T GET ANY SLEEP LAST NIGHT:

"Dude, I don't think that's gonna work."

clank chang CLANK clink clink...

Ah - nothing like trying to fall asleep with a slight headache to the sound of 2 guys trying to change a tire underneath your window that seem to know nothing AT ALL about changing a tire.

I almost offered to help and I pretty much don't know jack (sorry 'bout the pun but I'm tired) about it either.

But, alas, I was able to retreat into the land of slumber.

Then, around 3:30 a.m. I woke up. With a MIGRAINE.

So, I fling myself out of bed and gulp down four Ibprofen. 30 minutes later I realize that is going to do no good and I search for my second to last Imitrex. For those of you that aren't familiar with migraines, Imitrex is the bad boy in headache fighting. 15 minutes after a nasal shot and that head pain is kicked to the curb. It is also not cheap. Pretty much about 20 bucks a pop and my prescription is almost up. I was not happy about having to take it.

I grab an ice pack and climb back into bed. Then, in about 30 more minutes, I realize that it is stuffy and hot in my apartment, thanks to the freakishly fickle Dallas weather. I decide to open my window - it's cool outside - it'll be nice, I think.

Aha! The slumber gods have found yet another way to exasperate me. This time, instead of Dude - hows my car? I get an absurdly loud chirping bird.

AT 4:30 IN THE MORNING.

Shut door. Turn on AC.

And then, after an at-length session of tossing and turning, I finally get to sleep, again.

But then (you thought it was over didn't you!), 20 MINUTES BEFORE MY ALARM GOES OFF my ears are accosted with the early morning sounds of a grounds crew guy hedging the bushes underneath my balcony.

He stays there with his ungodly loud machine until it is time for me to get out of bed. THEN, he moves on.

So yeah, does anyone have a coffee IV they can loan me?