Jell-O Universe

Shut It, Kathie Lee

2010-01-04T19:57:00.008-06:00

So if you can just humor me here, I am blogging from my desk at work, even though it's like 8pm because I can't do it during business hours, because blah blah I just died of boredom. I have every intention of buying a brand new Mac in the next month or so - just bear with me. I doubt anyone will read this anyway, because it's been ages and years since I wrote anything here - and the last post was about a dog, for cheese sake - but I have to brag.

I am an aunt - AGAIN! I have a niece! And she's tres gorgeous. So, in the event that many more months pass before I revive this wasteland of a blog, just know that my family is bigger by one and my heart is bigger by a million. Check out how cute she is...

Clara Juliet, born 12/29/2009, at 5lbs 12oz and 18.5"

And here's Ding Dong, in case you thought I forgot about him altogether in the wake of the niece's arrival:

He's pretty much the cutest one that ever was. He is such a big boy now - preschool starts in just four weeks! He will be the smartest one in the class. Obv.

Heavy Petting?

2009-04-21T15:21:00.003-05:00

So I have a new coworker today:

This is Champ. He is my boss's dog, and has been hanging out here today after his vet appointment this morning. He's a good boy - he has only licked my ankles four times, and hasn't once cold-transferred a call to me. I already like him better than some of the temps we had last summer.

How much ankle-licking would be considered inappropriate for the office? What, it's a valid question...

What is This "Blog" You Speak Of?

2009-04-14T15:52:00.007-05:00

So okay. I've been busy. Stuff has been happening.

1. I found a king sized package of Reese's peanut butter cups in my stitchery bag that I don't remember buying, and it's kinda melty from being in the car, but hello, awesome delicious candy surprise!

2. They cut down the tree that I sit under at lunch. Why? Because they hate me.

3. Pops and I have a place to live where we are not imposing on anyone else. Big news here. Maggie loves it.

4. Some asstard smashed my car up in the parking lot at work a couple of weeks ago. Boo for asstards.

5. I got to meet dooce last week. It was an epic fail. She was awesome. Me, not so much.

6. Today is Omar's birthday. Happy birthday, Omar!

7. I have been painting all my bedroom furniture that has been in storage for the last year and a half. It was white, and I am too old to have white bedroom furniture, for cryin out loud! Now it's on it's way to being red. I saw "on it's way" because after two coats, it's still hot pink and looks like Barbie furniture. The little girls who live next door poked their heads into the garage while I was painting to ask if the furniture was for my daughter. So yeah.

8. Michael Sheen was just confirmed as Aro in New Moon. Already excited.

9. Saw Observe and Report this weekend. Disturbing. Funny, but I feel bad that I laughed at it, because some of the images are really shocking.

10. I am now host to the largest zit in all of history, now playing exclusively on my chin. It hurts to think. I can actually see it in my peripheral vision. Here that, single fellas? You like?

11. I'm planning a party with mi hermana, and alls I can say is it's SO MUCH FUN!

12. My nephew may be the cutest little dude you've ever seen. There is lots of talking going on lately. And lots of interest in the potty and poopoo and peepee. He has started calling me Aunt Bea ("AHH BAYEE"), which is hilarious to me in a Mayberry sort of way. He also tells me "Ah yuh you, Ahh Bayee," to which I can only reply, " I yuh you too, Tyler. I yuh you with all my heart."

NOOOOOOOOOooooooooo!

2009-03-20T14:27:00.003-05:00

I guess congratulations are in order, but to me, it's a sad, sad day. I just want Bret to know:

"I'm not weeping because you won't be here to hold my hand.
For your information, there's an inflammation in my tear gland.
I'm not upset because you left me this way,
My eyes are just a little sweaty today."

Things I Will Miss About JJ

2009-03-09T13:29:00.007-05:00

So my mom and grandmother came to Austin this weekend for my grandmother's birthday, and we did all of the eating and shopping that we could stand. It marked the first out-of-town trip they have taken since my grandfather died a couple of weeks ago, and I am relieved that they both are past the initial "cry because his closet door is open and you can see his shoes lined up on the shelf" phase of their mourning. At the very least, they have stepped out of the bourbon and Valium stupor that, hand to God, was the only thing that kept them from succumbing to the complete hysterics that we all were feeling, in the midst of our own personal Southern Gothic tragedy.

We got a call on Molly's birthday, February 18th, that JJ probably wouldn't make it another day. Both of us had already been to Abilene to see him in the last few months before he really got sick, when he could still recognize us and know what we were saying when we told him that we loved him. We had been mulling over the idea of going one more time the next weekend, just to get in one more "last moment" with him - though Molly was pretty firmly of the opinion that she did not want to go and see him so sick, preferring to remember him as he was in the fall. But by Wednesday, our best intentions were pretty much thrown out. We would be going to Abilene whether we liked it or not, and it would probably be too late.

My mother was alone with him when he died Thursday morning. She stroked his head and gently told him that he could let go. She reassured him that his children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren were all safe and happy, and that he didn't need to worry about any of us. She promised him that Nene would be taken care of, that we would help her live out her days in comfort. She poured her love into him in those final moments. And he let go peacefully and quickly.

By noon, I was on the road with Molly and Tyler. It took us about four hours to make the drive. By the time we got there, arrangements had already been made, fried chicken and pies were already in the kitchen, and my cousins were already on flights to Texas. When my mother returned from the funeral home, I took her home, filled her up with enough drugs to sedate an elephant, and left her in the care of her boyfriend for the evening. Then I went back to my grandmother's house to help her receive all the condolence-givers that had been streaming in through the day. Some stopped by to bring food and offer their sympathies, and others lingered to exchange stories about JJ.

The last stragglers finally left at about 10:00pm, and by that point Nene was shell-shocked. She hadn't slept more than an hour in two days, she had to put on a brave face in front of people she hadn't seen in years, and she was about to have to put the man she'd loved for sixty-one years in the ground. Molly and I were the only ones there, and Nene lost her shit in peace. She was fine until she started telling us the history of one of the rings she was wearing, and when she glanced over at her left hand and saw her wedding ring, she finally broke down. It was the first time I had ever seen her cry. She let out a little moan, pulled off her ring to kiss it, and said, "Y'all, I'm not married anymore." I will never forget that, as long as I live - saddest moment of the whole trip, hands down.

Friday was a blur of cold cuts and shopping (it all happened so fast, none of us had time to get anything appropriate to wear to the funeral before arriving). Thank the baby Jesus for shopping. The day flew by, and we were able to think about something else for a few blissful hours. Sweet relief! Molly and I have said this many times - our mom can shop. The woman is determined. It truly is a wonder to behold.

The viewing was that night, and JJ was beautiful. He looked so peaceful, like he was just resting. If his glasses had been perched on his nose, it would have seemed like he was just taking a little nap. In a casket. In his designer suit. His expression was a little mischievous, as if he were thinking of a dirty joke to lighten the mood. His hands were all wrong, though. They were too bony, too cold. I'm so glad that I have the memory of them, warm and paper smooth, cupping my face the last time I visited him.

We had gone to see him that morning, when we accompanied Nene to the funeral home to meet with the director about the services that evening. But then it was just JJ in the chapel - that evening, it was JJ, surrounded by a sea of flowers. I wasn't prepared. It's funny how something so ordinary, so expected, can have such an unexpected impact during times of grief. There was my grandfather, lying in the most exquisite bronze casket, embalmed and dead for all the world to see, and it was the flowers that made me cry.

There were just so many of them! Nene had ordered a casket arrangement of his favorite yellow roses - I have never seen such enormous blooms. Roses and lilies and daisies, potted plants and standing bouquets, baskets and vases, in every color imaginable. And the attached cards, with their notes about how much the sender loved JJ, or how he was a second father, or how our family was in their prayers - I just couldn't take it. Later on, standing at his side, I thought about the babies that I haven't had yet who will never know him, and how it would have made him so happy so meet them, and that resulted in the stereotypical stumbling-away-sobbing-and-wailing one expects at a good Southern funeral. You're welcome.

The church service was held at my grandparents' church on Saturday morning. I am fuzzy on some of the details here - I sat with Molly, and the two of us cried our way through what I remember to have been a very formal, very traditional Episcopalian funeral. Then we made our way to the cemetery, where JJ was laid to rest by a tree on a cold, windy day. After that the weekend was mainly spent with my nine hundred cousins and relatives, either drinking toasts to JJ or looking through old photo albums, or taking group photos because it's just been so long since we were all together.

Rachel drove in from Fort Worth for the funeral (and to visit her mother), so I was able to escape for a couple of hours and drive around with her. It was amazing. I have no words for how much it meant to me that she came - amazing.

So now we're two weeks into life after JJ. I keep remembering things that were special about him, things that I don't want to forget. So I am going to make a list here, if that's okay, so that I can look back later if my memories start to fade.

- his hair - always perfect, parted on the left, by god!
- his stutter - "D-d-d-d-do you need some m-m-money? W-w-w-well, take this anyway..."
- his cigars - even when he stopped lighting them, there was always a "geegar" in the ashtray on the porch.
- his fingernails - clean and trimmed, I can see his hand resting on the breakfast table next to his coffee cup
- Don Williams - I believe in love, I believe in babies.
- Jack-n-Jill donuts - he was my chauffer before I got my driver's license, and we would go every afternoon for a Dr. Pepper and an apple fritter
- heart shaped boxes on every single Valentine's Day, until I moved away after high school
- how he called every boyfriend any of his girls ever had "Buford"
- his face, beaming with pride at my high school graduation
- how he danced with my grandmother
- how he could sing like a bird and never trip up a single syllable
- how his hands used to shake before he got implants in his brain
- how he flew into a rage when he thought I had been hurt in one of my parents' many fights
- how he hugged me tight at my uncle's funeral thirteen years ago
- how he looked on a riding lawnmower, with his straw hat and a cigar
- the smell of his truck, like tobacco and leather
- how there were always orange slice candies in the glove box, just in case his sugar dropped too low while he was driving
- the way that he would say, " I haven't had my hug yet!" as soon as he would see you
- the family reunion last year, when JJ hadn't met six-week-old Tyler yet (Nene and Mama were in Austin for his birth, but JJ had stayed home) - I tried to intercept him outside an elevator at the hotel because, of course, I hadn't had my hug yet, but he completely blew me off - he had heard that his new great-grandbaby had finally arrived, and he was trucking down the hall faster than I had seen him move in YEARS. It was awesome!
- sitting with him on the couch in May, holding his hand
- sitting with him in the hospital in August, watching the violet blue sky and flipping through TV channels to find him Olympic coverage
- eating salted cantaloupe with him at the dining table when I was still small enough to stand in the chairs without getting into too much trouble
- the way he would say my name, like it was the answer to a question - "BEH-cky!"
- how he looked, sitting in a chair on the porch, enjoying a warm sunset, watching the birds, waving at the neighbors, never too busy to take in a few moments of stillness

Wow. I've gotta reign this in. If I don't stop, this post could stretch on for days. There are just so many things, so many little quirks that made him him, that I want to cling to. There just won't ever be one like him. I'm lucky to have had a JJ.

My Two Cents Re: Norman Gentle

2009-02-27T12:41:00.003-06:00

So I'm an Idol fan. You already know that. I write about it every year. I have clear favorites and clear not-so-favorites. For the most part, I think most of the theatrics and fluff that goes into the production is unfortunate, but I'll put up with it if I have to in order to hear some great singers come out of nowhere. I am withholding comment here on the top 12 contestants until it's all final in a couple more weeks.

But I have to say this - I like Nick Mitchell/Norman Gentle. He has a good voice, he's fearless on stage, and he certainly has people talking. Fans of the show either love him or hate him (and it seems there are far more who fit into the "hate him" category, seeing as he was dismissed by the voters last night). Personally, I looked forward to his performances, and thought that his alter-ego antics were much better than the crap salad that we were fed a couple of years ago by Sanjaya.

I read this today, and thought it summed up my thoughts pretty well:

Mitchell isn't making a mockery out of the competition. I believe 100% that like every other contestant who has graced that stage, he believes that Idol is his best chance at stardom. If he's making a mockery out of anything, it's the self-importance that drags the show down, and the cookie-cutter images of both pop stars in general and Idol contestants specifically, and what's wrong with that?
...
Choosing the next president should be serious. Choosing the next American Idol should not. Very few people get to perform live for 30 million television viewers. It's an exciting and rare opportunity, and if Nick Mitchell wants to, God forbid, have fun with it, why should anyone have a problem with that? He's taking a reality show in the autumn of its years and making it exciting. If anything, he's the hero in this situation-- not the villain.

No, he doesn't have the pipes that some of the contestants do, and for that reason alone, he deserved to be eliminated from the competition when he was. But I am not unhappy about his involvement up to this point. His performances were always entertaining. Yes, he clowned and wore a costume, but under all that he was still singing better than most of his competition, who were too busy taking themselves too seriously and psyching themselves out of decent performances of their own. And to that end, musical comedy acts are on the rise - groups like FOTC, Tenacious D, and The Lonely Island don't seem to be hurting for fans.

Critics who think that Nick is "ruining the show" need to get a grip. It's a talent show. We've all been in one at some point in our lives - this one just happens to be on a much larger scale, but it's still a talent search. And Nick is talented - maybe not in the same way that Danny Gokey is (because that dude can sing!), but that doesn't mean that his talent is less valuable or less marketable to the right audience. In the right hands, he develop into a decent musical comedian or stand up comic. With a little polish, he could easily make a living doing what he's doing.

He didn't try to pull a Sanjaya on the AI audience - Sanjaya was serious. He was actually trying to win with that voice. He played it straight, and that was what made it so bad. On the other hand, Nick went in knowing that there were better voices, and worked with what he had - a decent voice and a willingness to sacrifice himself on the alter of comedy for the sake of being remembered and getting a toe in the door. He was up front about it. He wasn't mocking the show, he was mocking himself while using the show the same way that every other contestant has done, from Kelly to Carrie to Jennifer Hudson. I don't blame him one bit.

Bad Mojo

2009-02-26T11:52:00.003-06:00

So there's this delicious taco joint a few minutes from my workplace, and they make the best chorrizo and egg tacos of all time. If I have time in the morning before work, I love to stop in and grab a couple - the salsa is so hot, I can skip coffee and still be jolted awake for the day. Plus, the restaurant itself is the epitome of the "Keep Austin Weird" movement - it's quirky and kitschy and funky and 100% local. One of my coworkers gets takeout from there when he wants to take a working lunch because it literally takes less than ten minutes to go there, order, and return with piping hot food, and you can't beat that when you are pressed for time.

However. Something that he orders - I think it may be the Mojo sauce for the fish tacos - makes me want - no, NEED - to puke. He's eating it in the office down the hall right now, and it's taking every ounce of self control I can muster to keep from dry heaving the contents of my empty stomach into my desk-side trash can.

I don't know what it is. If I were pinching my nose and eating it myself, it would taste delicious. I KNOW that it's fresh and healthy and great tasting. But the smell, oh god the smell! It's the most horrible thing - I can't even think of an adequate description to relate to you how truly heinous it is. It instantly turns me inside out. My cheeks start to tingle, my mouth starts to water, and I can feel the vomit start to rise. AND I AM NOT A PICKY EATER! Obviously! But one hint of a whiff, and I have stomach cramps. Even later today, the memory of the smell will irritate my gag reflex, I just know it.

I have to leave the office now - it's too much. Peace out.

Breeders

2009-02-25T16:47:00.005-06:00

So ok, my grandfather died, and it was sad, and I might have something to say about that later, but I just got some news that makes me so uncomfortable that I kinda want to throw up all over the place! Dude! My cousins, The Breeders, are breeding again. As of Christmas 2008, there were five babies in my extended family (Tyler being one of them, with only one being older than him). Assuming that all goes well and everyone comes out like they are supposed to, there will be a total of NINE babies at Christmas this year. And that's just counting the ones that have been conceived so far! There's still time left to add to those numbers before the holidays!

Let's do the roll call real quick - Cousin #1 has a two-year-old, a (barely) one year old, and another due in July. Cousin #2 has a twenty-month-old, a six-month-old, and is expecting twins (!) in September. My aunt DeeDee is expecting baby #1 in July, so if you include my little Tylerino, that's NINE GODDAMN BABIES!

I mean, REALLY?!?! Really?

My cousin's wife has spent all but 10 months of the last two and a half years pregnant. She will have FOUR BABIES under three years old at the same time. Her hands seemed to be full enough at Christmas. I can't even imagine! I would lose my effin' marbles. LOSE. My MARBLES!!!!

So yeah, that's all. I can't handle it.

Despair

2009-02-19T09:49:00.001-06:00

He's gone. My heart is broken. No one will ever love me as completely as he did.

Most Definitely Not a Dreadful Bitch

2009-02-18T12:41:00.009-06:00

So today is Molly's birthday. She's twenty-eight today, which makes me an old maid. Here's a picture of her that I totally stole from her facebook profile just now:

Now, apparently, is the time on Sprockets when we dance.

In years past, I have waxed poetic about my sister and all that she means to me, but this year I am pressed for time - I have a bunch of work to crank out before I skate outta here early to get some last minute stuff for tonight's partay - so I'll keep it short.

The last year has been amazing with my sister. She was already a mom at this time last year, but now she is no longer adjusting to life with an infant and has moved into the profoundly more difficult chapter of nurturing the development of a toddler, managing the daily business of enriching his mind and guiding him as he grows into what one can only hope will be a good, kind man someday.

I have to tell you, it's the most amazing thing I have ever seen. The transformation from carefree Phish-head to devoted mother has been nothing less than mind-blowing. Don't get me wrong - the girl is still dangerous on the dance floor and can (usually) hold her own against a bottle of wine or three, and she still tries to squirrel away money to go on four-day camping/concert vacations that may or may not require that she pee outdoors. But that's not where her focus lies anymore.

Her heart is in the moments when the world falls away and it's just her and the Toots. It's in the mornings spent cuddled up under the covers with the Wonder Pets and a sippy cup of milk that's worked its way down next to her knees. It's in the afternoons spent at the playground, wrestling her twin urges to protect her boy while still letting him develop independence and courage. It's in the days spent in the backyard, with her trusty shadow following behind her with his red wagon in tow, ready to help Mommy with whatever landscaping project she wants to tackle today. It's in the evening games of hide-and-seek, followed by tickles and dancing. It's in the constant stream of verbal mumbo-jumbo that she somehow understands, and in the way that she can then guide that babble into a blossoming vocabulary. It's in the care that she takes when folding his laundry or preparing his meals, or in choosing the toys or activities that he would most enjoy. It's in the smile that he reserves only for her, the one that reveals that she is the true object of his returned affection, the sun and the moon and all that is safe and home.

I counted myself lucky to have known her all the years before, and I felt immeasurably fortunate to be able to call her my sister. But now, after witnessing the metamorphosis from sister-of-one to mother-of-one, I realise that I never knew what luck was. This, the opportunity to know her now, too, is what makes me the luck-sweepstakes-winner.

So Happy Birthday, Molly! You're my favorite gal, and I can't wait to spend the next twenty-eight years with you for a best friend!

But Now I'm Found

2009-02-03T22:17:00.006-06:00

So I finally made it all the way through the back episodes of Lost, and aside from being totally hooked and in on what everyone was so gaga about all this time, I just have to say that oh my god, I kind of want to sex Naveen Andrews up. Like, a lot. Like, in a I-have-to-get-really-hot-so-I-can-sex-up-Naveen-Andrews kind of way. So excuse me as I go watch Grindhouse and Bride and Prejudice and The Brave One again. Because HELLO, LOVER!

My Day: A Photo Essay

2009-01-19T09:34:00.005-06:00

So here's how my weekend went:

Today is shaping up to be more of the same. I now am sporting an attractive scab under my nose from all the snotting and sneezing and blowing. Get thee behind me, mountain cedar pollen!

Grand Theft Wallet

2009-01-16T15:42:00.002-06:00

So someone stole my wallet on Wednesday. They got my debit card, my IDs, some cash, all of the photos of the nephew, and the gift cards I received for Christmas (including the high-dollar ones Pops gave me for new tires that I just hadn’t gotten around to using). My purse is still in my possession, which leads me to believe that I either dropped the wallet getting out of the car when I came back to the office from my lunch hour, or someone grabbed it out of my purse when I was away from my desk.

I am almost positive that it was there when I stowed my purse under my desk at 12:30pm. At 4:30pm, when by some stroke of luck, I was inspired to check my bank balance online. I noticed an unfamiliar pending charge from about 3:20pm, and immediately called the bank to dispute the transaction. While making my way through the IVR prompts, I reached for my wallet to retrieve my account number – but it wasn’t there. Sometime within the four hours since I last handled my wallet, it had disappeared.

My card has been cancelled, a claim has been filed with my bank’s fraud department, and a case number has been assigned to me by the police department. The department store’s loss prevention guy has been very cooperative with both me and my bank, retrieving a photo and security footage of the thief using my card and then folding it up and throwing it in the trash on his way out (because after he drained my account of its balance and overdraft protection, his next attempted transaction was declined). I’m not worried about someone trying to open credit in my name, because I can’t even open credit in my name. But I am pissed that I have to replace all of my identification, and I’m pissed about the gift cards, and I am really pissed about the photos. There was an irreplaceable shot of me as a child, and a great shot of Molly and me from about thirteen years ago that I just love. I have never made copies of them, and now they are gone.

It makes me sick to my stomach to think that one of my colleagues could have robbed me, but we don’t get any foot traffic here and I really cannot imagine that it fell out of my purse or that I dropped it getting out of my car. If it had fallen out, I would have noticed the fact that my purse suddenly weighed nothing, and there was so much change in its coin pocket that I am sure I would have heard it hit the ground. Not only that, but I definitely would have noticed that it was gone when I put my purse away, and then I may have even had time to run back out to my car to get it. But I am almost sure that it was there when I stowed my bag at my feet.

I stepped away from my desk for about ten minutes yesterday to do dome filing and chitchatting in another office. That’s the only time I can remember being more than a foot away from my stuff. I guess that’s ample time for someone without scruples to make a grab and dash. I should have been more careful, but it never once crossed my mind that I needed to protect my property from people in my own office.

So now I just have to let it go. It wasn't worth a huge amount - maybe $600 total - so it's not exactly a top priority for the police. But I feel creeped out by it all, like someone has run their dirty fingers all over me - and not in a good way. I'm gonna have to figure out a more secure place to keep my things while at work. Maybe I'll start using a fanny pack to thwart would-be criminals. I'd like to see someone try to take my wallet then.

The Disconnect

2009-01-14T10:51:00.005-06:00

So I am a huge fat cow. None of my clothes fit me. I am afraid to step on a scale to get an accurate total for my current weight because the last time I did, it took all of my self control to not jam my fingers down my throat to induce vomiting. Oh, if only bulimia were an acceptable weight-loss plan.

The thing that’s so frustrating about it all is that I don’t see myself as hella fat as I really am. It’s like I have some weird reverse body dismorphic disorder, wherein I picture myself in my head as being better looking than I really am. I look in the mirror and I don’t hate what I see.

But when photos are taken and I see my tremendous girth in print, it’s like I don’t know who that person is. There’s this disconnect between the person I feel myself to be and the person in the photo. I don’t recognize myself. The photos must be of someone else, because it just doesn’t look like me. I pose for pictures, and then somehow a fat stranger ends up in the shot. And I HATE her. I hate that fat fatty. Her arms are fat, her belly is fat, and her face is fat. She’s all around fat fat fat!

But she’s not me. At least that’s what I tell myself, and it’s easy to get away with that because the image I have in my head is so much cuter. And the smaller, cuter image is what stays with me when I go to lunch and order that chili cheese burger that tastes so delicious. I don’t have enough self-loathing to order the salad instead. Or maybe I figure that the damage has already been done, and since I’m already the heaviest I’ve ever been, it’s not like one meal is gonna make or break me. In the same way that one can’t be a little bit pregnant, I can’t possibly be more the-fattest-me-of-all-time. It’s a state of being without degrees.

But the disconnect is starting to fade, which is good and bad. On one hand, I am starting to see that my health is at stake and if I don’t do something to address the weight, I will be a full-blown diabetic, a fate I fear more than just about anything. Plus, I am never gonna get up the nerve to date again if I don’t lose some pounds and up my cuteness quotient.

On the other hand, though, I hate hating myself. I take drugs to keep from hating myself. I really truly try to maintain as positive a self-image as I can. And realizing that I am too big for my own britches (literally) makes me transfer all the hatred I feel for the fat girl in the photos to myself, because hello? I AM the fat girl in the photos.

So here’s what I have decided. I started blogging to hold myself accountable for my own mental health and to improve my writing. Maybe the same thing will help with this hurdle. I’m gonna try blogging myself into a healthier lifestyle. I am gonna figure out some kind of fitness plan and keep a better eye on what I put in my mouth. I’m going to go to the doctor and get his help with losing weight the right way. I am going to write about it here – not every day, and maybe not even every week, but I am going to hold myself accountable to each of you and to myself to meet the goals that I set.

And I’m gonna post photos of myself here for motivation. Because that’s the only way I can think of to keep myself honest. So (deep breath), here goes (bear in mind that I am not wearing makeup in this shot, and that I hadn't really done my hair):

My Taste in Television

2009-01-13T16:37:00.002-06:00

So someone told me recently that my kindness is only exceeded by my bad taste in television. I take issue with this on several levels, namely: a) my kindness is exceeded by nothing, I am the kindest girl in all of the land, 2) I have great taste in television – have you NOT SEEN Friends, Lost, The Office, Arrested Development, 30 Rock, or True Blood/ Six Feet Under/ Dexter/ anything else on HBO or Showtime?, and c) shut up your face.

I think the naysayer was maybe (probably/definitely) talking about my annual obsessions with American Idol and Big Brother, but you know what? They get to be married and have beautiful children. I get to watch television. And you know what else? You’re not the boss of me. “I’m a grown-ass woman!”

Anyway, though big Brother is still a miserable five months away, season 8 of American Idol is starting tonight. Unfortunately, I will not be watching it live (Jesse’s birthday is today, and we are celebrating the beginning of his thirtieth year), but you can bet your sweet ass that as soon as the nephew is in bed and Molly and Jesse leave for 6th street, I will be playing it back on the DVR. Look forward to the same high caliber analysis in the coming weeks that you have come to expect from me over the years.

The Seinfeld of Posts

2009-01-07T14:15:00.007-06:00

So I have several topics in mind for a post today, but since none of them can actually be stretched into full post format, I figure it's okay to just toss out a list or two, so that my urge to post is satisfied, and you can all get a better feel for how bananas I really am.

Words that are bugging me today:
1. Strap
2. Melange
3. Pork
4. Flounce
5. Blurb
6. Nipple (in the context of plumbing materials - normally, I am the one who giggles at having to enter these into a purchase order, but today the word feels weird when I say it. Nipple.)

People I'd like the chance to meet, provided I am having a good hair day:
1. Claire Danes
2. John Mayer - even if he is a huge man whore, I still luv him.
3. my boss's wife - I have never even laid eyes on her, he almost never talks about her (to me, at least), so I beginning to think she may be mythical

Games I wish I knew how to play:
1. Poker
2. Bridge - though my Granny tries to remedy this every time we visit, it's never as appealing as Scrabble or Mexican Train
3. Football - I mean, I get it in general, and I totally was center on my powder puff team - Go, Daisies! - but I can't understand the plays. What the hell is a Flea Flicker? As far as I'm concerned, there are only like 4 basic plays (throw the ball, run the ball, hand off the ball so someone else can run the ball, kick the ball) that a quarterback has to choose from, and everyone else is just trying like mad to stop the other team from getting in their way. But more than this, beyond being able to identify fancy plays or styles of offense, I wish I was one of those girls who could just hold her own against the dudes in the park. As it is, I am a watcher, not a player.
4. Golf - I gots none of the coordination, hand-eye or otherwise, so I've never even tried to play golf. Plus, there's all that walking involved. Bletch. I'd like to be able to play, though.

Books I am currently in the middle of reading*:
1. New Moon, by Stephenie Meyer (for the second time)
2. Daughter of Fortune, by Isabel Allende
3. Naked, by David Sedaris
4. Love in the Time of Cholera, by Gabriel García Márquez
5. Word Freak, by Stefan Fatsis

People I have reconnected with via Facebook, so far this week:
1. Mandy
2. Justin**
3. Emily***

Movies I have seen this week:
1. Bolt - this was what I did on New Year's Eve. I went to a movie with Pops.
2. Milk - it was a great movie, but I had a hard time paying attention to anything but the beauty of James Franco.
3. Jumper - on HBO. Worth every penny.
4. Prince Caspian - on demand. Worth every penny.

Movies I am trying to decide between to go see tonight:
1. Rachel Getting Married
2. The Reader
3. Slumdog Millionaire
4. Let the Right One In
5. Twilight (again)
6. that Benjamin Button movie - even though everyone says it's awful

Movies I have no interest in seeing, whatsoever (or at least until they are available on demand):
1. Valkyrie
2. The Spirit
3. The Day the Earth Stood Still
4. Quantum of Solace
5. Marley and Me - (unconfirmed spoiler hidden) I heard that the dog dies, and I don't want to find out if that's true.

And a few numbers:
- Number of family feuds I have been party to, so far this week: 2 (and by "have been party to," I mean, "have been huddled behind Molly, nodding my head and thinking, 'yeah, what she said!'")
- Number of dead baby jokes I can think of, just off the top of my head: 8
- Number of years, to the day, since my sister started dating her now-husband: 10
- Number of chocolate treat varieties currently sitting on my desk: 4
- Number that actually look appetizing to me: 0

*no, really, I am actively reading all of these. There are bookmarks in every one, and I am really into all of them - but the choice I make on any particular day is wholly dependent on the mood I'm in at bedtime.

**have not/probably will not ACTUALLY correspond with this person, but he's a good guy, and we grew up in the same place, and his kids are cute to look at, etc.

***see above

Horrible Joke of the Day

2009-01-06T15:59:00.003-06:00

So I'm not sure why this even came up, but here is a joke that I heard about twenty years ago that is just so awful that it almost guarantees groans and disappointed looks from those who hear it:

Q: What is the best gift for a dead baby?
A: A dead puppy.

Yeah, I told you it's bad...

(Edited to add: Oh, I totally remember now - it was the tub of puppy chow on my desk that my coworker told me I should eat before it gets all moldy and turns into green puppy chow, to which I said, "yuck, is that like for green puppies?" and then I remembered the dead baby jokes - and yes, there are a whole litany of dead baby jokes)

Avoiding Situations and Confrontations

2009-01-05T15:02:00.004-06:00

So I think I figured out why I have been bursting into tears randomly for the last week or so. I am just horrormonal. I woke up at about 5am to find that Aunt Flo had hacked someone to death in my panties*. Fortunately, it was nothing that some Lortab and a mug of hot cocoa couldn't fix, but I did call in sick to work this morning to sleep off the opiates. Now I'm at the office, bright eyed and bushy tailed, and no worse for the wear.

I have had a rough week. I can't go into details here, because certain people would look really bad, and I am too goddamn polite to call people out on the internet, but I can tell you the end result - I am now even more homeless than I was before.

You see, I lived by myself once upon a time. But when left alone, I found it so ridiculously easy to lock myself inside my apartment and not come out for four months that I did just that - much to the detriment of my ability to hold a job, or prevent eviction, or keep my car from being repossessed. That was all back before this blog even existed, back in the pre-meds era of 04-05, but now that I have the help of the glorious pharmaceuticals, I am able to recognise situations that are not healthy for me - namely, living alone - and avoid them at all costs.

So I bunk up with my dad. It's a mutually beneficial arrangement, in that I keep him in groceries and make sure that his toilet gets cleaned on a regular basis, and he keeps me accountable and less likely to die from slitting my own wrists. Win-win. The problem is, Pops has certain - how should I put this? - legal residential restrictions, and he is unable to live in Austin proper until March, when he is no longer, well, restricted (it's not so much that he can't live in Austin as it is that he can't live OUTSIDE of Hays county, just south of Austin). Until then, we have been staying with family, who really have done a lot for us, letting us stay with them for the last year and all. Things have been fine, and as far as I had been concerned, everything would continue to be fine until March, when Pops is able to move into Austin with me, in our own place, closer to work and my sister.

But apparently, unbeknownst to me, I have overstayed my welcome, and have been unknowingly imposing upon certain people, forcing them to take on jobs they never wanted for a year. And now I have to stay at my sister's house at least part time until Pops is ready (i.e. legally allowed) to move. I can't just go out and get a place by myself, because it could literally kill me. So Molly has taken me in (she only has to take in me and my dog, because Pops is still very much allowed to continue living where we've been). Which is fine, whatever, I stay at her house pretty much every weekend anyway because that's prime babysitting time for the couple who make the bulk of their income waiting tables at a fine dining restaurant. But now I am no longer welcome on the weekends at all at the place were I have lived for a year, with no warning (4 days does not constitute a warning, contrary to what certain people may have you believe) or even so much as an explanation for the treatment that I have received.

I have racked my brain trying to remember if the issue that served as a catalyst for this upheaval was ever brought to my attention before this week, and I can honestly say that no, it was never even so much as mentioned in casual conversation. I've tried to figure out if I did anything to deserve being addressed so hatefully or condescendingly, and there's nothing I can think of. I was told that I am good at "avoiding situations and confrontations," as if that somehow explains their reluctance to bring this to my attention before launching into vitriolic emails that ultimately ended in me being kicked out.

My only response was to be as respectful as I could muster and to acquiesce to their wishes, because it's their house and they get to make the rules, but I am still left wondering why this all happened? What did I do? Why wasn't I given any options? How could I have have unwittingly inspired such disrespect from someone I thought cared about me? How can someone be so callous to their own family? I am left feeling totally unsatisfied with the whole thing.

I know that it's all for the best. I have hated having to commute an hour each way everyday, and I am more than ready to get all my belongings out of storage and set up my own home with my own bed and kitchen and television, and this just gets the ball rolling on that even faster than Pops and I had planned. I have kept my mouth shut about most of the issues I have with living there, out of respect for certain people, and now it looks like that is pretty much a wasted effort, so I feel a bit more free to make my opinion known (not that I will, because, you know, I avoid situations and confrontations - also, certain people are married to lovely people who had nothing to do with the situation at hand, and I wouldn't want to disrespect them in any way). And at least now I know where I stand with certain people (though I thought I knew before, too, so maybe I suck at knowing where I stand with people in general?). I am better for knowing. I am a better person, knowing that they don't care for me.

But seriously, next time someone blindsides me with their capacity for cruelty, can they at least do it when I'm not about to start my lady time? This is ridiculous.

*I have to give credit for this gem to my lovely sister. Who knew that postpartum menstruation could produce the motherload (haha, no pun intended) of comedic material? Now you can see why I love her so much.

Wherein the Author Plots Revenge

2008-12-30T01:25:00.002-06:00

So I am still up. I've had a stressful day, and I don't really want to air it all here, but stuff is going on right now that is keeping me up late at night. I was just lying here in my bed, thinking about things and chewing the inside of my lip off, and I dunno, blogging seems a more productive outlet for this nervous energy, yes? Maybe I can finger-puke the details here later, but for now, I just want to state, for the record, that I have the most wonderful, supportive sister and father that anyone could ask for, and it's nice to know that they are in my corner. I couldn't ask for better advocates.

Could the holidays have been any better? I ask you, was there ever a more perfect Christmas? I was able to give all my loved ones (and my liked ones) the exact perfect gifts, and I actually got everything on my Santa list (except the Wii, but that's what birthdays are for, right?), even down to the new tires! I got to bake a metric ton of chocolate chip cookies (you're welcome), and I got to spend time reflecting on the holiday with my family, my most treasured loves. I spent a week at Molly's, and a couple days at Granny's in San Antonio. Even my mom's visit last week seems less insane when viewed in the light of this post-Christmas glow.

I have to tell you about the Chinese Auction, though. My dad's family is huge, and the sheer numbers make gift buying prohibitively expensive, so everyone just brings an Auction gift instead of buying for thirty individuals. Basically, after the prayer and the meal and the first dozen Scrabble face-offs, everyone draws a number. Whoever draws the "1" picks a gift and unwraps it. Then, "2" can either steal that gift from "1", or unwrap another gift. "3" can then choose to steal either gift that has already been opened, or unwrap a third, and so on, until everyone has a gift. The thing is, each gift can only be stolen twice before it is locked down with the third gift-holder, so the only way one can guarantee that they will keep the gift they want is to steal something that has already been stolen once before, thereby locking it down and dashing the hopes of a loved one.

So I was "8" this year. There was some decent stuff up for auction this year, but I totally had my eye on the SceneIt "Friends" Edition DVD game, which was in the possession of my step-cousin, Lindsey, who had stolen it from someone else, probably one of my cousins, The Breeders (seriously, are they trying to have all the babies? Leave some of the babies for the rest of us. Jeez!). When my turn came, Lindsey mentioned that she was not a Friends fan, but her sister-in-law was, and she wanted to give it to her. Not wanting to be the bitch who stole the game from the new girl, I opened another one containing a bookstore gift card (to be fair, I knew what was in the gift, having seen DeeDee wrap it, telling me she bought it with me in mind).

I was happy with my choice for about twenty seconds, though, because "9" was my step-aunt (Lindsey's mom), and she stole the game from her daughter to lock it down for her daughter-in-law, and Lindsey, now without a gift, looked in my direction and STOLE MY GIFT CARD, right after I did her a solid by not stealing from her. BITCH! So then I was without a gift, and not having any interest in anything else that was available (game was locked down, and rules forbid stealing back an item that was stolen from you until the next turn, thereby making the gift card off-limits, too), I opened another gift.

It was The Dark Knight on DVD. Guess how long I held on to that one. My beautiful cousin Amy was "10", and she stole the gift card from Lindsey, who then jumped up and stole the movie from me, leaving me empty-handed again. Now the game and the gift card were locked down, and I couldn't steal back the video, since it had just been stolen from me. Great. So here we go again, me unwrapping another gift.

This time, it was a heated foot massager, and I actually held onto that one for a couple rounds, but Molly's number eventually came up, and she made quick work of taking that one off my hands, leaving me with no gift and no appealing options, for the third time (the video was locked down by a Breeder in one of the preceding rounds), so I resumed my familiar spot in the center of the room to open a FOURTH gift.

I got a bag that Granny purchased in Turkey this fall. Somehow I managed to hold on to it until the very end, and it's lovely and I'll totally use the crap out of it, but seriously? It was the worst Auction of my life. And as for Lindsey, she's SOOO out of the club. Sure, I may forgive, but I'll never forget. Next time, I'm stealing from her and locking that shit down!

Now I feel much better. Maybe I can get some sleep, now that I'm thinking about camel tapestry bags instead of drama. I can just count the camels...

My Christmas: Update!

2008-12-22T16:32:00.003-06:00

So I just have a quick second to post this update, but the greatest thing happened - I didn't get a flatscreen TV for My Christmas. My sister intervened, and I got a new camera instead, and I was completely surprised. It's so nice, and I loveloveLOVE it! I still need to get a decent memory card for it, but I am totally a photo-taking fool. So that's one item from my list, checked off and received... let's see if Molly can put a bug in Santa's ear about the rest of it...

My Christmas

2008-12-19T16:45:00.002-06:00

So my sister and I are having an early Christmas with my mom this year – she is driving to Austin tonight to spend the weekend with us, and she’s bringing along her boyfriend (it seems weird to call a man who is pushing 60 a "boy," in any respect) for the first time, even though they’ve been together since 2004. This is actually the first time since she and my dad divorced/separated that she has come here for Christmas – generally, her stance on the holiday has been that we must either come home or not have Christmas with her at all. Since Molly and I hate going to Abilene, it’s always a huge drag. But now that Tyler is here, we have decided to take advantage of his gravitational pull on the grandmother, and we are totally using him as bait to get out of going home. If you want to see your grandchild, you must come here.

Anyway, the presence of the boyfriend is something my sister has yet to come to terms with. Don’t get me wrong, we both have issues with him, most of which stem from a) the fact that my mom was LIVING WITH HIM within two weeks of splitting with Pops, b) he makes sex jokes at her expense, for our benefit, and c) he’s not totally nice to her. But she’s reasonably happy. He doesn’t hit her, he supports her financially, and everyone else in the family seems to be over the moon for him. I am willing to tolerate him to a degree that Molly is not. If you couldn’t tell, I am the smile-like-everything-is-fine, non-confrontational, peace-maker of the family, and she is the passionate, in-your-face, tell-it-like-it-is sister. This weekend will be a test of her self-control, at best.

All of this is made more difficult by the fact that my mom has decided that this is My Christmas. I am not sure what that means, beyond the fact that she announced to us that she wants to get me a special gift because it’s my “turn”. To which Molly is all, “…”, and I am all, “This is completely unfair, but I will gladly accept the flat-screen TV you want to buy for me.” I feel all selfish and greedy for wanting the TV, when my sister isn’t getting something equally awesome from her (or who knows, she might get something awesome too, and it’s just an elaborate secret, though that doesn’t explain why my mom would go around calling this “Becky’s Christmas”). I don’t feel like I have missed out on anything. My sister has had lots of big things happen in the last few years (graduation, marriage, childbirth) that call for socially-appropriate gift giving, and I haven’t done a whole lot of graduating/getting married/gestating children recently. But I have already been married, and I pretty much scored the mother load at my many bridal showers. And my day will come again, eventually (at which time, by Mama’s logic, Molly will get a huge Christmas gift).

But my mom is determined that I am getting a fancy TV this year from her, and no amount of protesting or eye-rolling will sway her (again, I am totally gonna take the TV. I want the TV badly enough now that my protests have become hollow). She latched onto a conversation we had back in October where I was complaining to her about the grief I caught from my family about wanting to watch the DNC and not really having anywhere to watch it without Pops demanding that the channel be changed, or having to suffer being asked if I was “really gonna vote for that communist.” Sure, I could get my TV out of storage and set it up in my bedroom so I could shut the door and watch what I want in peace, but it’s packed away in the far back reaches of the storage unit, and that wasn’t a feasible option for me when it was 8:55pm and Obama was taking the stage at 9:00. Regardless, the point of the conversation was not “I need a new TV,” it was “I don’t have any space where I can just be at rest, doing what I want when I want.” But she concocted this idea that I need a TV, and she is running with it, full steam ahead.

So, yeah. It’s My Christmas, apparently. Since I’m such a nice person, and since it’s the holidays, I will allow all of you to receive gifts, as well, but know that they will not be as awesome as my flat-screen. It's okay, though - wait until I find a man who is willing to marry me and impregnate me, because then your gifts will ROCK the Kasbah.

Wish List

2008-12-10T14:17:00.002-06:00

Dear Santa,

So here's the deal. I love the holidays, and I am super pumped about them this year, and I am having a great time getting gifts for everyone and making plans for the extended weekend with the family and all, but there's one glitch- I don't really know what I want for myself this Christmas (I know, I know - "first-world problem"). There are a few things I would like to get, but none of them are really major things that I wouldn't get for myself. To be perfectly honest, thinking of an answer when people ask me what I want - that's possibly my least favorite thing about the holidays. I can never nail it down. I either think that the items on my list are too extravagant to expect from a loved one, or too mundane to warrant exalted holiday-gift-status. As a result, I shrug and offer no suggestions, a response that is as frustrating to give as it is to receive, believe me.

Nevertheless, here are the small things that I need/want that require all my willpower to resist just getting for myself:

- fingerless knitted gloves with pop-top mitten flaps
- a yummy scarf
- laser hair removal
- maybe some perfume
- maybe a proper camera that's not in my phone
- a Chuckles calendar
- this bird necklace
- new panties (watch this be the only thing I actually get from this list)
- the gift of shopping
- new tires (because nothing says "Happy Birthday, Jesus" like steel-belted radials)
- Wii (because I can actually hit the ball in Wii tennis, whereas in actual tennis, I'm a flailing klutz) (also, because it's fun to say - Wheeeee!)

You know what? I guess I do want stuff for myself this year. I didn't realize it until just now when I made out this list for you, but I kinda got on a roll, thinking about the fun stuff that could possibly be waiting for me on Christmas morning. Granted, none of these things can compare with the Brooke Shields beauty center of 1982, the Barbie hot tub of 1984, the Cabbage Patch twins of 1986, or the dual-cassette CD player of 1990, but I think a year of seeing Chuck on my wall might come close.

Also, I hope you like chocolate chip cookies, because the factory is scheduled to start production this weekend, and we only make the one kind. This ain't Mrs. Field's.

Love,
Becky

Why I Broke Up with Food

2008-12-04T17:27:00.004-06:00

So I had a lovely holiday weekend. I got off work early on Wednesday (like, psycho early, at 10am!) and spent the day helping my sister prepare to receive houseguests in her new home. We cleaned and made pies and chopped veggies and toddler-wrangled until my mother and grandmother arrived from Abilene. It was nice and low-key, as any proper night-before-a-holiday should be.

The next day we cooked up an excellent feast of no fewer than 15 dishes, and I might be overreacting, but I got kind of pissed when my mom kept going on and on about how wonderful the meal was and how she was so “proud” of us. Why can’t I just take the compliment? She meant it sincerely, and that should be enough. Maybe it’s because my sister and I have been making this same holiday meal for the last decade, without variation. This is just the first time my mom has bothered to show up and enjoy it with us. It WAS super delicious, and the cranberries turned out better than they ever have, and the turkey was moist and yummy, but geez, it’s not like we’re novices. She did the same thing when we showed up to my cousin’s bridal shower a few years ago bearing gifts, as if we are complete idiots with no concept of proper etiquette. “Oh, you brought gifts! Thank GOD!” Shoot me in the face, please.

The rest of the weekend was basically spent overeating and getting shafted by the BCS (I am not going to launch into THAT bitch-fest here, but I will say that it is marginally easier to stomach OU going to the Big XII championship game than it would have been if Tech had gone. Can you imagine? Tortilla-throwing in Kansas City? Classy!). I finished a holiday project that took me eight long months to complete, and I helped my aunt decorate for Christmas.

And then Monday night happened.

I was poisoned. By tamales. Tasty, seemingly untainted (but clearly tainted) tamales. I was the victim of a food-borne attack.

All the loving care and attention that I have paid to food over the years was betrayed. Food lured me in with its delicious aroma and texture, and oh gee-hovah the taste, and then it laid in wait. It lurked for more than a day, gathering reinforcements from its homeland (Mexican casserole that was initially delicious on Monday night). Then, without warning or welcome, food took my heart and threw it on the ground and stomped on it. And then it grabbed my stomach and emptied all of its contents out of my mouth. And then it kept trying to empty that which was already empty on a regular two-hour rotation for the next ten hours or so. And then it left me for dead, in a feverish, dehydrated, sweaty mound on my bed for the remainder of Tuesday.

I vaguely remember waking in two-to three-hour intervals to look around frantically for a moment, wipe the drool off my face, and kick off/pull up the comforter for temperature control. I dunno, I looked in a mirror at one point and I seem to recall thinking a bomb had gone off on my face and head (note: my normally curly-but-tamable hair expands during my sleep - ask anyone who knows me - I wake up with the Big Texas Hair). Pretty...

I woke up Wednesday morning with a headache and overall soreness from all the retching and horking up my guts, and all, but for the most part, I survived. So did my sister and brother-in-law, who were apparently collateral damages in food’s attack on me (they happened to start puking at the same time as me, in a totally different zip code, and they were kind enough to do the math and figure out that the tamales were the only things that we ate that no one else shared, keeping it contained between the three of us). Sadly, our taste for tamales didn't make it. We award it a gold star as a combat casualty, but since we also hold it responsible for the whole damn thing to begin with, it's not like we are gonna write any songs about it. In fact, we have sworn off food altogether, and will never engage in any of that nasty business again. I’ll keep you posted on how all that works out.

How to Waste a Work Day

2008-11-21T16:16:00.003-06:00

So I can’t get a flip flopping thing done today. I am going to visit my best-good friend in Fort Worth this weekend, and all I can think about is how much fun we are going to have. I am sitting here, counting the hours and the minutes until I get off work, so I can get in my car and tear ass in a northerly direction. My work has suffered, I am not gonna lie. I have spent the greater part of the day reading blogs and watching puppy cam (thanks, Teej). I also trimmed my nails and cleaned out my desk. There is actual work that I should be doing, mind you, but I am good for nothing today.

Here are some of the things that have been filling my head today:
- Shiba Inu puppies – hello? Have you not seen how cute they are?
- Santa’s reindeer – I cannot defend this one. A solid half-hour of time was spent crawling on the internet, learning that most artist renderings actually depict female caribou. Also, the names Donder and Blitzen mean “thunder and lightning” in Dutch. And Rudolph is allegedly the son of Donder. No word on the identity of the mother, though – talk about patriarchy.
- Visions of going kung-fu on some of my coworkers – I am the dispatcher for a plumbing/commercial kitchen repair company, and some of the technicians are unsavory on their best days. For some of them, today is not their best day. I get that it’s Friday, and the holidays are a week away, and I don’t really want to work, either (see: this whole post), but you can’t just ignore the schedule I have set up for you after carefully considering our customers’ time and the level of urgency their issues carry. Why even have a dispatcher, if the techs can just blatantly disregard all the work that I have done – in an effort to make their jobs easier, and keep them busy the whole day so that they will get a paycheck, you should be happy that you even have a job you redneck whack job – and do whatever they want instead, or maybe not even show up to work at all?
- My nephew – holy hot damn, he’s so wonderful. I haven’t had a Tyler-update here in a while because I started to feel like a broken record, always going on Kathy Lee-style about him, but that’s not to say that I haven’t been spending tons of time with him. He’s just so sweet. But he’s also a huge turd. Last night, he insisted on throwing cupfuls of bathwater on me while I tried to shampoo him up, and then got pissed at me when I took the cup away after telling him “No! No throwing water!” like eight hundred times. He also would have none of my help once he realized that Molly was actually there while I was tending to him – he only wanted her. See, I’m just second-string.
- My sister – she just bought her first home, and the move-in process is about to make her lose her mind. She planned and organized and packed the old place within about an inch of her life, and everything is still a huge, chaotic mess. She has learned that it is almost impossible to pack, unpack, or move anything with a curious toddler underfoot, grabbing nails, box-cutters, tape dispensers, etc. She pretty much can’t get anything done without another person there to act as a kid-wrangler. So the daytime work hours are a wash, and she called me at 4:17 pm yesterday demanding to know where I was, only to groan at the realization that I still had 43 minutes of work left. But they should have everything at least IN the new place by Sunday. Sadly*, I will be out of town until that time.
- My sweet nephew, part deux – The move has him in a state. There’s too much going on for him to bother with such trifles like meals and naps, until the situation has reached emergency levels, at which point he has a two-hour meltdown. This is not normal for him – he’s generally happy and affectionate. Last night was his first night in his new room at the new house. But none of his furniture has made the move, so we put him to bed in his portable playpen/crib, in a strange dark room, all alone. Needless to say, he was terrified. Since I was the designated kid-wrangler, I waited a few minutes to see if he would settle down on his own (poor baby was exhausted), but no, he was fully screaming by the time I gave in. I picked him up, held him close and rocked him, and he immediately melted into my neck, no longer yowling in desperation, but still giving a little post-cry gasp every few seconds to remind me that he had been in the throes of despair and could easily return. After about an hour of rocking and rubbing his little back and softly singing Simon and Garfunkel, he passed out cold. And then I snuffled his rosy little cheeks off.

I realize I failed to mention anything related to Twilight or the movie of the same name that opens today, but that's only because I can't form a coherant thought due to my piddle-on-the-floor excitement. Pretend that I said all the stuff that there is to say on the subject, and that you were impressed with my eloquence.

*Not sad at all

Seriously, Don't Tell Me I'm Too Sensitive

2008-11-17T13:54:00.004-06:00

So I saw this quiz being featured over at this other site, and I took it, and holy crap, I feel a little bit exposed right now, because in two questions, they were able to peg me, pretty much exactly. The following is my result, straight out copy-pasted, no editing.

Your result for Are You a Jackie or a Marilyn? Or Someone Else? Mad Men-era Female Icon Quiz ...
You Are an Ingrid!

You are an Ingrid -- "I am unique"

Ingrids have sensitive feelings and are warm and perceptive.

How to Get Along with Me
* Give me plenty of compliments. They mean a lot to me.
* Be a supportive friend or partner. Help me to learn to love and value myself.
* Respect me for my special gifts of intuition and vision.
* Though I don't always want to be cheered up when I'm feeling melancholy, I sometimes like to have someone lighten me up a little.
* Don't tell me I'm too sensitive or that I'm overreacting!

What I Like About Being an Ingrid
* my ability to find meaning in life and to experience feeling at a deep level
* my ability to establish warm connections with people
* admiring what is noble, truthful, and beautiful in life
* my creativity, intuition, and sense of humor
* being unique and being seen as unique by others
* having aesthetic sensibilities
* being able to easily pick up the feelings of people around me

What's Hard About Being an Ingrid
* experiencing dark moods of emptiness and despair
* feelings of self-hatred and shame; believing I don't deserve to be loved
* feeling guilty when I disappoint people
* feeling hurt or attacked when someone misunderstands me
* expecting too much from myself and life
* fearing being abandoned
* obsessing over resentments
* longing for what I don't have

Ingrids as Children Often
* have active imaginations: play creatively alone or organize playmates in original games
* are very sensitive
* feel that they don't fit in
* believe they are missing something that other people have
* attach themselves to idealized teachers, heroes, artists, etc.
* become antiauthoritarian or rebellious when criticized or not understood
* feel lonely or abandoned (perhaps as a result of a death or their parents' divorce)

Ingrids as Parents
* help their children become who they really are
* support their children's creativity and originality
* are good at helping their children get in touch with their feelings
* are sometimes overly critical or overly protective
* are usually very good with children if not too self-absorbed

I wish I had something more substantive to post. Ho-hum, blah blee, I got nothin.

Wherein the Author Finally Let the Tears of Joy Stream Down Her Cheeks

2008-11-05T10:42:00.004-06:00

So I spent the better part of Tuesday breaking randomly into tears. Some people volunteered, some knocked on doors, some manned the phones, but I struggled to hold my shit together. That was enough for me. Too. Much. Emotion.

I didn't originally intend to post anything election related, because it's all pretty much been said by the rest of the Internet, and also because I am still not convinced that I haven't dreamt the past three days. Sure, the polls and pundits were predicting an Obama win, but after the last two election cycles, I wasn't about to take their word for it. Couple that with the total shock that the networks (Fox News included) were able to call the election the minute the polls closed on the west coast, without leaving us in limbo into the wee hours, as per usual. I'm left in shock, thinking, "Can it really be over? The eight years of Bush? The years of the world hating us because of hanging chads in Florida?"

And then there's the part about being in Texas, which normally is a wonderful thing - I couldn't live anywhere else (I tried) - but, red state much? Actually, Austin and the other major cities aren't that bad - there are Real Live Black People in the city, along with libraries and universities and museums and things that make a person less retarded. It's just the rest of the state that is bat shit crazy (and by "rest of the state," I mean "my family members who do not live in Austin"). All of the major cities went to Obama (as well as most of the counties along the border), but out in the sticks? McCain all the way. My hometown went 72% for McCain. And Ochiltree County (up in the panhandle next to Oklahoma) gave him 92% of their vote. 92-goddamn-percent. And these are adults we are talking about. 9 out of 10 adults in that county thought that McCain was a better choice than Obama. I can't even wrap my brain around that.

But while I am a bit floored by the extreme of the support McCain was able to maintain here - without really having to do any campaigning (again, bananas!) - it's not all that surprising. I never expected Obama to take Texas. No one did. I expected Austin and the border to go to the democrats, but I was pleasantly surprised to see that Dallas, Houston and San Antonio joined us as blue oases in an otherwise red wasteland. The point is, it's expected - Austin is full of wack-o liberals, and the rest of Texas is made up of God-fearing gun-toters. And that's fine.

Because there's Pennsylvania. And Ohio. And New York. And Illinois. And California. And Washington. And, bless your little hearts, Florida. Despite what many people here think, Texas is not a nation unto itself. And I could not have appreciated that any more than I did on Tuesday.

I spent most of the day pulling my hair out, not even having the task of actually voting available as a distraction (I hit the polls on the 21st, a full two weeks before election day, if for no other reason than to give the big eff-you to Pops for the hours of O'Reilly Factor abuse he has inflicted on me). When I wasn't pacing and biting my nails, I was welling up with pride and appreciation for every person who voted. I cried at lunch, which freaked out my sister a little (she wasn't worried a bit). I cried at Ben & Jerry's after work, which freaked out my coworker a little (he was worried, but not quite as emotional). And I cried again that night every time another state was called for Obama. Molly and I watched the returns from her couch, quietly mumbling the occasional "Oh, my gosh," or "He's really gonna win," just to remind ourselves that this was actually happening.

By the time he took the stage, I had welled up no fewer than a dozen times. By the time he finished speaking, we were both in tears. Our President-elect (how great to type that out, and be talking about Obama) has some serious oratory skills. I mean, I am pretty much in total agreement with his policies, but even if I wasn't, I don't know that I could resist his charisma. It's like Lincoln, but less history-ish. More contemporary. And less Republican. And hopefully, less assassinate-able.

And to all those who have wondered if America's beacon still burns as bright - tonight we proved once more that the true strength of our nation comes not from our the might of our arms or the scale of our wealth, but from the enduring power of our ideals: democracy, liberty, opportunity, and unyielding hope. - Barack Obama

The Sun'll Come Out Tomorrow...

2008-11-03T17:14:00.002-06:00

... if the polls are right, and sanity is given room to prevail. If not, God help us all. Because, while this is funny, it also makes the back of my skull buzz a little.

Suicide by Sentra

2008-10-15T15:57:00.001-05:00

So it’s raining in Austin today. Fall fell. It’s not summer anymore. Of course, my declaring it to be autumn has no bearing on whether or not the temperature will actually stay below 90 degrees, but a girl can hope, right? That would be nice, though, to have that power – to issue a decree and have it be so. “I hereby declare that summer shall loose its hold on these, our sacred lands, and we shall henceforth rejoice in the splendors of autumn.” So it is said, and so it shall be done.

There was a pause in the intermittent showers when I left for lunch. As I drove down a street littered with fallen twigs and leaves knocked lose by the rain, I couldn’t help but notice all the gutsy little birds swooping in and out of traffic, picking up the spoils of the storm in their beaks and flitting away. It was as if they had choreographed their flight, perfectly synchronizing their entrances to avoid the cars barreling through the park, and taking just enough time to pause and collect whatever sticks and seeds they could gather before the next car advanced.

On my way back to work, I was thinking about vampires again (as per usual) and jamming out to Stars on my car stereo as I drove. That’s when I saw it – a flourish of feathers coming in quick on the right. I don’t think there was even a transition from “my office gloooows all night loooong” to “Oh, JESUS, a bird is about to slam into my CAAAAR!!!!”

There was a moment of panic – do I speed up, do I swerve, do I slow down, what do I do?!? – before I decided to just grit my teeth and continue as I was, hoping that if there must be a casualty, better the bird than me. Or my car. Or a stranger. So I proceeded, confident in that split second that I was making the rational, responsible, safety-conscious decision.

And then I felt the thump. My heart stopped beating and my eyes darted back and forth between my mirrors as the carnage came into view. It was as if someone had set off a feather bomb. I swear to god, that bird exploded from the inside out, sending feathers flying in every direction, blown higher in the air by the wake I left as I tore ass to get outta there. It was horrible. Why couldn’t it have just pancaked on the asphalt, like normal road kill? Isn’t it bad enough that it had to die at all? Did it really have to look like it choked down a firecracker?

I made it back to work without further incident. But as I sit here trying to be diligent, I keep thinking about that poor bird. He just wanted to get a snack, and I had to come along in my Vehicle of Destruction and erase him from the planet. What if he has little birdie babies that are waiting for him to come back to the nest with a snack for them? He was just trying to eke out a living. One second he’s all, “Lalala, I’m a happy little bird,” and the next he’s all, “My little birdie gizzard is on the outside of me and I am dead on the road!” Not cool.

At least it started raining again. Hopefully there won’t be feathers on my car when I go to leave this afternoon. I feel another decree coming on… “I hereby declare that autumn rain shall cleanse mine automobile of any trace of avian carnage, and we shall henceforth delight in the restorative purity of its waters.” So it is said, and so it shall be done.

Not a Coherent Topic to be Found

2008-10-14T17:44:00.003-05:00

So did I tell you guys that I got a raise at work? Woo hoo for me. Apropos of nothing, my boss came in my office on Friday, asked me my pay rate, and then declared that I "do alot for the company" and that I deserved an additional 7.14% for each hour that I work. I don't know what I did (other than spend half the day reading blogs and playing online Sudoku - no, no, I kid! ahem.), but you can bet your ass I'm gonna keep doing it!

I get to go to a Texas football game next weekend. The schedule is pretty loaded (Missouri, Oklahoma State, Texas Tech, and Kansas are still on the docket, and they're all in the Top 25), but I am determined to be a confident athletic supporter this season. I hope they win when I'm in attendance, and I hope they beat the crap out of Tech and those idiots in College Station. Sorry, Rach, you know they're a little cah-razay, at best.

My aunt is having a huge birthday bash this weekend, and Molly is trying to get Jesse's sister to take over some of the aunt duties for one night so I can go. I don't know what to expect, but I'm sure it will involve incense, champagne, a bonfire, some sort of French cheese, and Kate Bush/African cultural music blaring from a jam box. Or it could be totally uncivilized. Either way, fun for all...

Hmmm, what else? My sister is buying a house. Which makes me the official Loser of the family. (We now interrupt your regularly scheduled blog reading for a brief moment of self-deprecation) No degree, no husband, no child, and now, as if that's not enough, no home equity. Boo! No, I'm sure she's not buying a house to make me feel bad. Really. I'm actually sure of it. She has a really good realtor, and they are making a very sensible decision (despite the current economic waters, they are doing just fine). So long as I have somewhere to sleep when I stay over to babysit, they can live wherever they please. But keep it in South Austin, wouldja, and make sure that there's a Sonic within reasonable driving distance, k-thnx.

I have nothing else. But I do wonder - what is the opinion of the group on "speed dating"? Just curious...

Wherein the Author Succumbs to the Girly Mushy Stuff

2008-10-13T19:18:00.001-05:00

So I’m feeling exceptionally romantic today – if only I had a special someone on whom I could shower this energy! It may be the combination of my John Mayer station on Pandora and the whispered urgency in the declarations of my new vampire loverrrr, or it might be that the weather isn’t so oppressively hot and my mind is grasping for something to dwell on besides the idea of my flesh slowly liquefying, ala Raiders of the Lost Ark. Who knows? Either way, whatever the reason, I am thinking about love today.

Y’all, I’ve been a chicken. For a while, actually, in case you haven’t noticed. Other than a brief tryst that consisted of a couple dinners and some heavy long-distance phone calls a couple of years ago, there hasn’t been even the hint of a man in my life for (gulp) five years. As in, not since before the last US presidential election was “decided.” As in, Fantasia hadn’t won Idol yet. As in, before Hurricane Katrina and the war and Brangelina. As in, FIVE! YEARS!

Time passed by me too quickly. One minute, I was married, the next I was telling my post-divorce boyfriend that I couldn’t be Mormon for him (effectively ending that relationship), and then the years swirled by like a time-travel-vortex sequence in a late-60s kids movie, and I ended up here – a twenty-eleven-year-old single homebody whose social group is almost entirely related to me. Paaaah-thetic. I spend my time at work or babysitting my nephew, and for fun I watch TV, read, and spend time crafting my crafty handicrafts. And the babysitting is great, really – he’s a great kid, and I wouldn’t trade my time with him for anything. But I’ve lost ME. I should be able to answer the “Who am I?” question before being able to answer the “Who is my 17-month-old nephew?” question. Not knowing the answer, not knowing how to sell the idea of “me”, even to myself? When I realize that… it’s bleak, dude.

And to make matters worse, somewhere along the years, all my single guy-friends went and got theyselves married. Didn’t they know that they were my back-ups? They were (unaware) marriage-pact partners with me, who would swoop in to save me from a lifetime of solitude, in the event that we both hit 40 without a partner. I’m holding up MY END of the deal, but they all found women who are “beautiful” and “loving” and “perfect matches” for them. Ughh, it makes me wanna throw up. Traitors.

A coworker wants to set me up on a blind date with one of her friends, and I know it’s not a big deal – just some pool (wherein I can showcase my incredible lack of hand-eye coordination) and some drinks (wherein I can showcase my capacity to act a fool when alcohol is introduced), but still, you guys. My mind is chock full of worst-case scenarios, all of which involve some smarmy guy who smells like ashtray and end with me spraining my ankle (again) as I try to make my hasty getaway. I wish there was a way that I could just continue on my current sedentary path – maybe I’m sitting at my table-for-one on my lunch hour, or standing in line for my one-adult-for-Beverly-Hills-Chihuahua movie ticket – and someone would just stumble into me, ready and willing to be the love of my life. That should totally be the way that it happens, not just for me, but for everyone. That is my wish for you (single people), for all of us.

But even if that’s not the way things work out (what? Things don’t work that way?), it’s okay. I feel hopeful for the first time in a long time. I don’t feel so afraid of the dating and the kissing and the men folk. I feel like I might be able to deal with a date or two that don’t necessarily lead to a Wagner march, and it might be nice to try something new. Provided he’s not Mormon – I can’t do that again.

Addictive Behavior, Cullen Edition

2008-10-07T17:30:00.002-05:00

So I just have to pop in here to report that I am disgusted with myself - I am halfway through the third book in the Twilight Saga, and I have been reading the leaked manuscript for the fifth book (which is just a retelling of the first one, but from the perspective of another character)online in between "work tasks" (oh, how stealthily I can alt-tab my way through the day), and I am repulsed by my weakness in the face of such ooey-gooey romance.

These are FICTIONAL CHARACTERS. I live a NON-FICTION LIFE! There's never going to be a merging of the two, no matter how many hours I space out, daydreaming that this story is mine and that I know/am one of the protagonists. I am THIRTY-ONE! The target audience for these books is THIRTEEN!

!!!

But oh, how glorious... how my heart races with each plot turn, and wishes that Edward were real... I remember having a similar reaction to Mr. Darcy (Matthew Macfadyen did nothing to help matters - sigh). I suppose that my months of wallowing in crime fiction made me more vulnerable to the mushy girl stuff. Ahem.

ACL, Twilight, and a Pupdate

2008-10-06T16:10:00.004-05:00

So I went to the Austin City Limits Music Festival last week with my friends. I will have to dedicate an entry to that weekend, but for now, just know that it was fun, we were dirty and sunburned (I have a visible wrist-band tan line) and exhausted by the end of it, and I had so much fun that it’s taken me a week to recover. I spent most of last Monday marveling that almost all of my best friends (these included) have been in my life since middle school, and despite my natural inclination toward depressive solitude, they have insisted and persisted in their love for me. Staggering. I am lucky beyond my wildest dreams.

This week, I finished the series of crime-smut books I have spent the last few months reading in my leisure time (i.e. all the time). I mentioned this to a co-worker, and he – in what I can only describe as a prime example of enabling behavior – loaned me his copies of “Twilight” and “New Moon” by Stephenie Meyer. I read the first one on Saturday night and Sunday afternoon, and I am half-way through the sequel, and I am stunned that I didn’t know about these books before now. The only way I can describe this feeling is to liken it to being in the throes of heavy cocaine dependence for thirty years, and then someone let me “borrow” their basketball-sized crack rock, and OH SWEET MARY, this is the one thing I have wanted my whole life.

I feel hollow today. I feel post-“Deathly Hallows” hollow. So lush, so resonant, so spot on, so in tune with my own narrative. I won’t issue any spoilers (just in case you are the only other person in the civilized world who HASN’T read these yet – apparently, there’s a whole subculture and a pretty fervent fan base, which in my vain opinion – the characters are MINE, no you may NOT love them like I do – is the only thing not to love about the series), but I bawled through the first several chapters of book 2, and it’s been a great while since a book moved me like that.

Totally unrelated to modern teen romance/fantasy lit, Maggie is doing well. It took nearly a grand of my hard earned money, but she is back to her old self – chipper and bouncy and adoring, and ready to go outside to playplayplay right now! She’s on steroids (a very low dose) to help her with the itching until I can try doing a food-allergy trial, something I can’t seriously consider until I can get her in a house without any other dogs, and her ears are clearing up, so I think she’s more comfortable. Thanks for your kind words about her.

Anyway, I have to go right now – I have to find out what happens next to Bella and Edward!

Aural Surgery

2008-09-23T16:10:00.002-05:00

So I had to take the Magical Magtastic for surgery last week, and it’s been quite the ordeal, if I am being 100% honest with you. I took her to another vet for a second opinion after getting the quote a couple of weeks ago (you know, the one that made me lose bowel control in public), and they agreed that she did need the surgery, but were willing to perform the procedure for just over half the price. Basically, I love my new vet. He is so gentle and thorough, and Maggie seems to respond to him well.

After describing Maggie’s incessant scratching (and him witnessing it in the exam room during our discussion), he made the suggestion that she may have a food allergy, since the symptoms are more or less constant (rather than seasonal, like she would get from environmental allergens), and he said that the solution to the itching and scratching and never-ending licking may be as simple as a diet change. It has never even occurred to me that she might be allergic to her food. Huh. Who knew?

But the surgery... Oh. My. God. It was horrible. I made sure that I knew the basics of the procedure beforehand, but I guess my afternoon of googling “surgery dog hematoma ear” left some serious blanks that could only be filled by first-hand experience. It’s all pretty straight-forward – they make an incision in the ear flap (you can go here to read a description and see photos that don’t even begin to illustrate how horrible it all is) to drain and clean the fluid and clotting out and tack the area of the hematoma down to keep it from filling back up, but I didn’t grasp the magnitude of any of it until I picked her up afterwards. That’s when I was introduced to Hell on Earth.

It was awful. First of all, she had the Largest Cone in All of the Land on her head (I’ve had to cut about 5 inches off of it, and it’s still massive, but at least she’s not tripping over it anymore), for the express purpose of preventing scratching. Um, people? This dog has elevated scratching to an art form. She is this close to going pro. So now she scratches the cone instead of her ear, and instead of a soft flick-flick-flick sound, I am treated to a loud SWISH-SWISH-SWISH as her nails scrape the plastic around her head. (Although, now I can see just how hard she’s been scratching, and it’s no freaking wonder she hurt her ear!) (**Note to self: research having her declawed)

Actually, the cone isn’t that bad. She’s used to it by now, and has become skilled at throwing it into reverse when she knocks into something. She even figured out how to back out of the doggie door to go outside when nature calls. Any discomfort that she has as a result of the cone is surely assuaged by the arsenal of pharmaceuticals that I am cramming down her throat every few hours. She is currently on a pain killer, a steroid, and an antibiotic, along with the medication to treat the ear infection that caused her to scratch her ear in the first place, as well as the normal vitamins and supplements that one gives to a dog in their old age. I gave her a total of 14 pills yesterday. Fourteen. In one day.

But back to the surgery. I knew that they would make an incision in the ear flap, and I knew that this incision would not be sutured up, but for some reason, I was completely oblivious to the fact that my baby dog would have what is basically a surgically-rendered open wound in her ear. To make matters worse, her ear is taped and bandaged up onto the top of her head, so that the area is exposed at all times. Good for healing, bad for sensitive gag-reflexes. There is no more bleeding or draining, but the first day was straight out of a Stephen King novel. Or even worse, a bad film adaptation of a Stephen King novel. I actually recoiled in terror when I first saw her in her bloody cone post-surgery.

We went back to the vet yesterday so he could make sure that everything is healing up like it should. He was pleased with her progress so far, and said that she can get her stitches out next week, though the cone will stay for at least another week or two beyond that. In the mean time, she’s loving all the extra attention she’s been getting as a result of her bold headwear (and gaping head wound). And I am forever going to be traumatized by the memory of my dog and her Bloody Cone of Terror.

Insert Exasperated Sigh

2008-09-10T20:25:00.003-05:00

So I completely suck as a pet owner. The egg-sized hematoma is back. It took two years, but it's back. And the vet here in Austin seems to think that surgery is the only way to correct it - $800 surgery. Even though it's smaller than last time. To which I am all, "..."

So because we live in a Bush economy, I have no massive discretionary income just sitting around, in the event that my dog suffers a Major Canine Medical Emergency. I was able to talk the vet into draining the fluid and taping up her ear, with a follow-up visit scheduled for next week, wherein the vet can marvel at my dog's enormous capacity for healing (fingers crossed).

The bad thing about that is that they taped her ear up into this big heavy dressing, and I don't know now if that's worse than just leaving it to heal up in the open, because the dressing itself is hurting her, and it doesn't seem that it's doing anything but cutting off the blood flow to the area (which, I suppose, is partly the point, but can you imagine if your EAR fell asleep? Ouch!).

I never got a good vibe from this new Austin vet. I've been to the clinic with my sister when she's taken her dogs in the past, and the vet she sees is so nice and helpful, but the one who saw me seemed interested more in recommending expensive, unnecessary procedures and tests than in actually accommodating my pets actual needs while being mindful of my budget.

I think I'm just gonna take the dressing off. It wasn't necessary last time, and if she needs surgery, then that's what will have to happen, whether she has a painful dressing on or not.

Seriously, though, keep your fingers crossed about the no-surgery-thing.

Unsportsmanlike

2008-08-21T16:21:00.002-05:00

So I love the Olympics, and I have been bordering on the fanatical for the last couple of weeks. I can't pinpoint what it is about the games that stirs me so, but in most cases, I don't care who wins or not, I am just so proud of the athletes for accomplishing so much and achieving their goals. But this year, every time the US wins another medal, I think to myself, in my most private silent voice, "Suck it, China!"

Technosnob

2008-08-08T16:24:00.003-05:00

So I am driving to Abilene tonight after work to see the fam, and I thought I would buy an audio book to listen to on the road, but apparently iTunes hates me, because they only sell music in the wifi store, and I already HAVE all the music I want to listen to, but I'd RATHER listen to a book, and now I guess my only option with an hour left before I hit the road is to stop off at B& N or something and buy a book on CD, which is sooooooo 2002, and me and my iPhone are all about the 2008s.

Later, taters.

Jack James

2008-08-06T21:31:00.001-05:00

So I have this dream. Maybe it’s a memory, maybe not. In it, I am two, maybe three years old, playing on the floor of my grandparents’ dining room. Maybe I am coloring, maybe I have a doll, I don’t remember. But he is there, standing in the doorway to the living room, the late afternoon sun shining in through the front window behind him. He is wearing his glasses, the frames in perfect sync with the fashion of the late seventies – dark, thick, manly. He has on coveralls, the ones that have a belt attached that hooks in the front, over a zipper that is straining against the beginnings of a pot belly that will disappear a few years later when he is diagnosed with Type II diabetes, and his hair is silver blond, perfectly combed into a perfect pompadour. I don’t remember him doing anything of any significance, or saying anything worth remembering. But he stands there taller than any man I have ever seen, and he has a look of satisfaction on his face, mixed with fatigue from his long day at work. My grandmother is in the kitchen, and though I can’t see her, I can sense her presence, this woman whose strength swallows all of us up and pushes us to do better, to be better. He knows she’s in there. Seeing her, greeting her, kissing the cheek of the woman he married more than thirty years before, is his first priority, but he stops there in the doorway for a moment to gaze down with admiration at his granddaughter on the floor and etch a memory in her mind forever.
Now the dreams are fading. He is an old man now, almost eighty. The diabetes has taken everything it can from him. He’s a shadow of his former self, everything faded but the pompadour, which is now white and sometimes falls out of place when he wanders away in his mind. He is in a nursing home with new physicians who are struggling to balance his system and keep his body from shutting down before his mind is ready to go. Before we are ready for him to go.
I am not ready. I have to see his face again. I keep trying to get to him, but I can’t seem to get to his side.

First Gen Glitch

2008-07-13T12:35:00.000-05:00

Just updated the software for my iPhone, and I lost all my contacts. If I weren't a mature adult, I'd throw it on the floor, stomp on it a few times and curse it with a thousand deaths. But I am a grown up with full control of myself, so I'll just put it back in my pocket, be content with screaming "FAAAAAH QUUUUUUE" loudly enough that it gives the neighbors pause, and go about my life.

Oh, iPhone, why dost thou farsake me?

Safe Zone

2008-07-12T19:21:00.003-05:00

So I haven't had a chance to tell you all about the fun I had over the holiday weekend. I went with my family to San Antonio since my family reunion (mom's side) was effectively cancelled the week before. We decided to spend that time with Granny (who did marvelously with her radiation, thank you, and decided to go ahead with chemo, which she starts this week), and take Tyler to the San Antonio Zoo. Three day long pool party and the zoo, or hours sitting in the heat with distant relatives I see only once a year, if that often? Hmmm, tough choice...

We showed up at Granny's house Friday morning (after being diverted by SAPD from the neighborhood 4th of July parade route, complete with kids on bikes and people waving flags from the beds of pickup trucks) and had a blast that afternoon swimming and cooking out hot dogs and playing Scrabble, and didn't even really give any thought to watching any Fourth of July fireworks until the baby was in bed, and Molly brought it up.

"Let's go watch the show at Fiesta Texas."

So we changed out of our swimwear and loaded up into the car to head a couple miles up the highway so we could park on the side of the access road of I-10 and watch the fireworks display there. It was nice, but there was a hill between us and the park, which prevented us from seeing anything but the biggest and brightest explosions. I guess we got our money's worth.

After that we decided to go buy some sparklers and little fountains and things to show Tyler the next day. The only problem with that plan was that the county had banned all fireworks earlier in the year because of draught conditions. The fireworks vendors didn't sit too kindly with that decision, so they proposed to set up safe zones for people to set them off outside of city limits, in return for letting them continue with their regularly scheduled sales. The county accepted and added fire department and police presence to keep all the crazies in check.

Pops had read the paper that morning and knew that there was one nearby, but he apparently forgot where it was because we went on a wild goose chase halfway around town before we finally pulled out our iPhones and figured out just where in the crap we were going. It turned out that the safe zone was actually just a few miles beyond the spot where we had been parked an hour or so earlier outside of Fiesta Texas, and I think Molly would have lost her cool once or twice if we had not passed by an even better fireworks show while we were lost.

Anyway, as we neared the safe zone, traffic started to build up, slowing to a crawl. I think the entire north side of town showed up to this one location that night. They had a huge warehouse set up to sell firecrackers and roman candles and artillery shells, and the pasture next to it was FILLED with the residents of the Alamo City, all setting off huge, booming fireworks at the same time. It was amazing.

Seriously. It was one of the coolest things I have ever seen. Think about every time you have ever seen a fireworks show, and then picture a hundred of those shows happening at the same time, in the same square mile. Think about every time you have set off fireworks with your friends and been disappointed when they weren't very big, or didn't last very long, or cost too much money. The safe zone solved all those problems. We spent a few bucks, enjoyed over an hour of non-stop fireworks (which continued into the night after we made our exit), and since we were also able to enjoy the more expensive stuff that other people were buying and setting off for all to see, there was no shortage of huge, beautiful, booming pyrotechnics. They might not have been as awesome as the ones being set off in Philadelphia that night, but we had front row seats, which made it seem better than anything Disney or the Olympics has ever given me.

I hope they do it again next year. I hope you get a chance to come, too. It's the best thing to happen to July 4th since the Declaration of Independence. Okay, that may be a stretch. But you get the picture.

The First First

2008-06-26T18:31:00.002-05:00

So I have a regular babysitting gig on Friday nights. Saturday belongs to the in-laws, but Fridays are all mine. I get off work and rush to Molly's house, where my dad has been holding down the fort for an hour-ish so my sister can go to work (she is mostly a stay-at-home mommy, but she works on Friday and Saturday nights - and sometimes a random day or two mid-week - at a snooty high-dollar place out on the lake west of town). Usually by the time I get there, the living room is scattered with toys and the baby is hauling around a thirty pound diaper that Pops refuses to change. Thanks, Dad.

This week was just like any other week. I showed up right about beer thirty, and Pops had plans to celebrate the start of the weekend, so he cut outta there pretty much as soon as I got there. So I changed the little man and fed him dinner, and settled onto the floor next to where the toy bomb had gone off. I sat, leaning against the coffee table, as Tyler crawled into the room, eager to show me each of his toys, for the eight hundredth First Time Ever, Look at THIS one, can you BELIEVE how AWESOME these TOYS ARE?

He slowly worked his way through the toys, and as he lost interest and moved on, I tossed the poor discarded items into the toy basket that Molly stores under the end table nearby. He made it to the ottoman about five feet away and pulled up to a standing position. Nothing new there, the kid is a professional at the standing, and has recently moved on to the more advanced standing-without-assistance-or-holding-on-to-anything.

I picked up this contraption that has buttons and switches that, when pressed or thrown, release five little doors jack-in-the-box style, revealing five different zoo animals. Tyler doesn't quite get how to make the doors open yet, but he LOOOOVES to close the doors if someone ELSE opens them first. He had his back to me, and since I am desperate for his attention and acknowledgement as his favorite aunt, I couldn't have that, no sir.

"Hey, Tyler, look at this!"

He turned around to face me, saw the toy, and then he WALKED! OVER! TO ME!

From the other side of the room! Okay, it was only a few feet, but it was MILES to him. He did it, and when he started it was just like, whatev, I do this all the time, but then he realized he was walking after he'd already made it into no man's land, where he couldn't grab onto anything to steady himself, and he got so excited and freaked out that he barrelled the rest of the way straight into my outstretched arms.

I was thrilled, and proud, and all that crap, but it wasn't until Molly got home that night that I realized, after saying "Tell me you've seen that baby walk," and her replying "Nuh UHH! He WALKED?", that I saw his first steps. His first trip was to visit me (across the living room). He could crawl any old day, but to see me? He WALKS!

So of course I had to cry, alot because Molly missed it, but mainly because I got to have a first, all by myself. I haven't gotten to witness any of his firsts, and this is a pretty major one, one that we've all been waiting for for weeks. And it was MINE! So yeah, it was awesome.

Call Off the Search

2008-06-03T20:36:00.003-05:00

So, hi, nice to see you. What, is there something on my face? Why are you looking at me like that? Huh? Who took a blog break? Oh, no, that wasn't me, that's for sure. I would never do that, especially not without a huge announcement first. I love blogging.

Ok, actually, if you want to know the truth, I guess I sort of did take a smallish break. It just happened, without my meaning to. One day I was posting, and the next, I was all, "meh." My reasons range anywhere from "I don't want to blog about not having anything to post," to "I should post, but I am too busy text-voting for American Idol," to "Omigod, I hate everything, I'm too depressed to blog," to "Omigod, I'm too happy to blog," to "Blogging is so totally 2006."

So, yeah. Here we are. It feels like not much has happened since we last chatted, but I guess quite a bit has gone down. Let's get the messy recap out of the way today, so we can go back to our regularly scheduled programming next time, shall we? Okay.

1. I am working all day. Like, all the live long day. Like, as in, all damn day, all day, every day! I put in over 50 hours last week - AND WE HAD MONDAY OFF! Alls I can say about that is, "Thank GOD I'm hourly!" Dolla-dolla-bills, y'all.

2. Shopping. So I have plenty in my savings now, and these gargantutastic paychecks, and there are all these sales everywhere, and I want to be one of those people who can save and invest every spare cent, but clothes! and beauty products! and books! It's almost too much for one person to handle. For any worry-warts out there who might be concerned, I am happy to report that I am not new to this aspect of my personality, so you needn't worry about any sort of unchecked shopping addiction - a sizable portion of my earnings is going straight into savings, thanks to the miracle of direct deposit.

3. My nephlet had a birthday. It was such fun! He's still not quite walking, but he is standing without help for 10-15 seconds at a time, and he can push his little walker-toy all over the place without any help (except for the turning around when he dead-ends into a wall/dog/bush/aunt). He has four teeth, and is now off the bottles, with his pacifier soon to follow.

4. I got a new (to me) car! It's soooo much nicer than the crap wagon I was in before. And for a crap wagon, it was pretty nice, and was actually driving okay at the end there, but mama gots to have her some a/c, and crap wagon had no a/c. And this one is thirteen years newer (!), and just is just altogether safer and more reliable. So now, when we go places, sometimes we take MY car. Which never used to happen.

5. My Granny has breast cancer. The Granny in San Antonio, with whom I lived when I had (both of) my melt-downs, who always has strawberries and fresh bread when she knows I'm visiting, who wants me to ghostwrite her memoirs (yeah, the family should mind their p's and q's, 'cause all the laundry, it's goin' in the book!), who would DIE if she knew this photo from last year was gonna be online:

SHE has cancer. But she had a lumpectomy, and they apparently caught it way early, and she's totally fine. Lady went on a cruise after finding out. And refused to be taken care of when we went and stayed with her the weekend after her surgery. Flat out refused. Though she didn't exactly jump up when Molly and I tag-team vacuumed her house. No, she pretty much sat back and let us have at it. And said things like, "be a dear and bring your Granny some iced tea" and "let's have some an-gel-adas" and "did you goat the bathroom?" I love that shit.

6. I had a birthday. I am older, I got some cool stuff, and we had lots of drinks and had lots of fun. Have you ever known me to be less yippee-kye-yay about a birthday of MY OWN?!? But yeah, it happened. Hmmm, whatev. I think I might be stockpiling the excitement for use at a later year, when I REALLY need the extra enthusiasm to make through the day (I'm lookin' at YOU, birthday #35!)

When There Is No Hope To Speak Of

2008-04-10T17:18:00.002-05:00

So okay, it’s not all quite as bad as I may have intimated in my last post. Maybe that was just me, in a mood. I am not a hate-monger, really. Except where Bush is concerned. He mystifies me, so I’m passionate about that one. But really, the lion’s share of my hatred has subsided. Actually, in an effort to persuade you all (and maybe myself, as well) to believe in my rising level of contentment, here’s a list of a few things that are joy-inducing:

1. I got my job back a couple of weeks ago. It’s the same place I was temping at, but now they have enough business to keep me, especially since they lost an employee during the time that I was on my “hiatus”. This time is different, though, because I got a raise and benefits and permanent status. And all I had to do was not work for five weeks, making it the easiest raise I’ve ever earned.
2. My nephew is crawling, and is totally liquored up and pissed off about the fact that he can’t walk. Now that he has his get-along in gear, I think it’s dawned on him that the crawling business is just a precursor to actual bipedal motion, and he is frustrated at his own legs for not being quite as ready for walking as his heart.
3. Speaking of hearts, Heart was on Idol Gives Back. Ann Wilson. On stage. Is it lame that tears sprung to my eyes when the spotlight hit her?
4. Speaking of Idol Gives Back, I just have to say that, as someone who is generally ambivalent about Carrie Underwood, the combination of her and “Praying for Time” was my favorite part of the whole dang show. I watched it three times. In a row. That’s always been one of my favorite songs because of the message and George Michael’s mournful sense of urgency in the original, but for whatever reason, when she sang it last night, I had an emotional response to the song’s lyrics and structure that I had never had before, and I found myself having to struggle to catch my breath, all the while having to restrain myself from licking the television screen because it was so beautiful. Was it just because of all the sad, hungry, poverty-stricken children in the show’s vignettes, plucking my liberal bleeding-heart-strings? Or was her iridescent gown playing tricks on my eyes, causing me to have a crisis of conscience? Who knows?
5. Only twenty-two shopping days are left…
6. Have I ever mentioned my love of Big Brother? Because, yeah. I love Big Brother.
7. Oh, and Survivor.
8. And The Office is back tonight. Praise the baby Jesus!

Variations on a Theme

2008-04-04T09:01:00.003-05:00

Hate America.
Hate Bush.
Hate war.
Hate economy.
Hate weather.
Hate home.
Hate car.
Hate body.
Hate hair.
Hate skin.
Hate clothes.
Hate self.
Hate life.

This Week in Television

2008-03-21T14:36:00.006-05:00

So I think I have a job. If so, I won't start until next week because they have no equipment for me to use in the execution of said job, so I am still wasting my time in the usual pursuits. And that, my friend, is perhaps contributing to my lack of posting, because in the meantime I am spending waaaaay too much time watching reality television. Seriously, why do they have to put Big Brother (bonus in-season run - woo hoo! And the best part - even better than the fact that they are still gonna run the regular summer season this July - is that Molly is hooked on it now, too. Like heroin. So I have someone to talk to about it, which never happens, because this is America, not the UK, where people have their Big Brother priorities straight), Survivor, American Idol, Dancing with the Stars, AND The Bachelor on TV all at the same time? I mean, this is a recipe for brain rot. I sleep late (because, duh, no job), and then I go to Molly's to babysit (because, duh, I'm not working and am available to babysit, which makes it possible for her to pick up shifts at the restaurant), and then when the nephew is sleeping I am basically watching all the reality television that there ever was.

And it's all so delicious!

Also, ABC has all the back episodes of Lost available in HD on their website, which is no good for me, because the only reason I've never gotten into that show is because I missed the first half of season one (for what reason, I can't remember), and I have this compulsion to do things in order, from first to last. But now I have started watching Lost online, and hellooooo, my new television friend!!! What is with the cliffhangers on EVERY EPISODE? It's like some crazy scheme they cooked up to keep viewers, or something. Those bastards.

Oh, and one last thing, so I can put it out in the universe. I am soooo happy that Amanda Skunkermyer is no longer on Idol. It's reason enough to buy a ticket for the tour when it comes through town.

Two Word Product Review

2008-03-12T22:47:00.006-05:00

So I know I haven't blogged in awhile - what is up with that? I mean, I am up for taking a few days off and everything, but what kind of loser just ignores her own blog for almost two weeks, without so much as a "hey, alive still," or a "brb, life is calling"?!? Oh, right, THIS kind of loser... Hmmm...

Anyway, I have been okay. No job yet, though the applications have been a-flyin. I have been babysitting (we are this close to crawling, people. It's imminent!) and watching unholy amounts of television, and trying to talk myself into working out so that I can work up the gonards to put the moves on one of Molly's friends who I have always had a huge crush on (but who hasn't been datable until now). I suppose it's also worth noting that I went to the boil-covered-ass-cheek of Texas (Bryan/College Station - okay, well, maybe it's not that bad, but this is a Longhorn you're dealing with here) to visit Elizabeth this weekend, and it has taken me until today to fully recover. Lots of margaritas. Lots of drinking and laughing and margaritas.

But that's not the meat of why I'm posting - on to the product review. I have never done this before, and I am not sure what exactly goes into a proper product review, but after trying out this particular item, I feel compelled to give the entire internet (or my twenty-odd readers) my opinion of the Incoco Dry Nail Applique, if for no other reason than to prove that I really am a girl, despite my use of words like "gonards" and "boil-covered-ass-cheek."

Here's my two word review: Fucking Brilliant.

And here's why - they keep my always-peeling nails from peeling. That happens, like, never. Until now. And unlike paint-on nail polish, these don't get bubbles or smudges when they dry - because they are DRY ALREADY! And they don't chip like polish. Or stink with lacquer fumes. They are basically stickers that cover your fingernail with color (along with base and top coat). You can only get them at Walgreen's, though, which is kinda lame, because what if you want to change colors and you are in, say, CVS? Then what? Still, I am sort of ashamed to admit this, but they are pretty much the coolest invention that I have seen since my loverly iPhone. Which is sooooooo loverly.

Unemployment Makes Me Pull Out My Hair!

2008-02-29T18:33:00.003-06:00

So I lost my temp assignment last week. Business is just too slow for the company where I was assigned, and even though I am only about five weeks away from being eligible for permanent hire by them, they can’t afford me right now. The temp agency and the rep from the company for whom I was working have both assured me that they will call me to come back as soon as work picks back up – but that could take as long as a couple of months. While I want to believe that, it’s like, a girl’s gotta eat, know what I’m sayin’? For reals.

The temp agency has promised to take care of me in the interim. They sent me to another client to interview, so hopefully I can get an assignment there to tide me over until the job I had opens back up, but having a few days off this week has actually been really good. I found a therapist here in Austin, and I went to my first appointment this week. She hooked me up with a group of like-minded people who have the same condition as me, and even gave me the name of a stylist who understands how difficult hair-cuts can be for crazies like me.

I went to a salon yesterday for the first time since May. I got a cute cut, the stylist is an artist of hair, and if I were not such a pansy, I would have asked him to bone, he was so tasty! I have a new crush. And we have a date (in six weeks when I go back for a trim, but whatever). For what it’s worth, I think he was in to me, too…

Cock-eyed Baby

2008-02-21T11:21:00.006-06:00

So my sister has been tripping out for the last couple of weeks about the state of Tyler’s eyes. His eyes have seemed to be crossing, and we have entertained wild worst-case scenarios that involve pirate patches and even the possibility of surgery. After her mother-in-law expressed concern that the baby’s eyes were crossing, we started to notice it more and more in his photos. He has also developed this cute tendency to turn his head sideways to look at people (like a puppy, except he’s human), and we thought that it was just a cute thing he was doing to make us love him even more, but apparently, that’s one of the ways that vision-impaired children attempt to focus better on things. Much online research has been done, and everything has been pointing toward baby eyeglasses. So Molly made an appointment with a pediatric ophthalmologist here in town who just so happens to specialize in strabismus.

It turns out that the nephew is a giant faker. He has what is known as pseudo-strabismus. Basically, since the bridge of his nose is still relatively flat against his face, he just looks cock-eyed. The skin between his eyes will eventually stretch further out as his face grows, but for now, it’s really wide and makes him look like his eyes are pointing inward. See?

Incidentally, he is chowing down on that teether like a madman because he just cut his first tooth. Also, he knows that the teether was a gift from me, and he likes to use it in my company to show how much he appreciates it.

Here’s a bonus shot, just because he’s so damn cute. These shots were taken last Thursday, while we were hanging out Valentines-style. Yes, a nine-month-old was my date that night. Do you have a problem with that? Ok, then.

Single Awareness Day

2008-02-14T14:04:00.004-06:00

So I didn’t go to jail when I went to renew my license. Apparently, I am not a criminal. Which is good to know.

Since I am painfully single, I will share with you the closest thing to a Valentine that I’m gonna get this year (from someone I’m not related to). One of my coworkers – the one with whom I work the closest – went to get himself a soda today, and brought me back a Strawberry Dr. Pepper, just because he knows that they’re my favorite. Unfortunately, he fits in a category, so he’s off limits. Just like every other man in my life.

Also, for no reason other than that I am apparently turning into Kathie Lee Gifford with the constant talking about my nephew, here’s a series of shots I took of Tyler in his new swing:

He swings away...

And he swings back. It's so much fun, he can't hold his eyes open.

I am in love with his goofy hair. I can't think of anything better than that little tuft that sticks straight up in the back.

Oh my god, I love him so much I could throw up.

And here he realizes that I have been too busy going all papparazzi on him, and haven't been swinging him. He was about to sass me about it, but then he remembered that I am bigger and he can't talk.

Do you not just want to eat his face off? He is the most beautiful thing in all of the land. And I am not biased.

Department of Public Suck-it!

2008-02-13T12:30:00.007-06:00

So I am going to the DPS (Department of Public Safety) to replace my driver’s license today. I know, I can’t believe it, either! I lost my ID about four years ago, and I have managed as well as I could (think: multiple jihad searches at various airports, Molly buying my drinks, depositing my paycheck instead of cashing it, etc.), but it’s finally gotten to the point that I can’t move forward with anything – getting a house, opening a bank account (which I still haven’t done since moving back to Austin), proving that I am of-age to buy a dang margarita whenever I choose – without a valid Texas driver’s license. Living off the grid is harder than it sounds.

I've just been too lazy to bother with fixing my hair and makeup, driving down to the DPS office, standing in line for over an hour, only to get up to the counter to deal with some lady who hates her job and takes it out on the driving public. I mean, good grief, there are naps waiting to be taken! Precious naps! And sure, I guess I've technically been breaking the law by not having the card with me (especially in the car, when I am the one operating the vehicle), but whatever, it's not the worst thing I've done. I've done worse in the last ten minutes!

I never got a license in Florida (shhh, don’t tell, not that it matters now anyway), because I had no Texas ID, and I lost the copy of my birth certificate that I ordered EXPRESSLY FOR THE PURPOSE OF GETTING A FLORIDA LICENSE. Seriously, I can’t be this scatterbrained in real life. Surely a team of (now non-striking) writers has scripted this kind of forgetfulness for me. You’d think they’d pencil in a cute, well-read, independently wealthy geek-man for me to love on, too, but nooooooo…

Another reason I have been putting it off is because I am afraid that I will go in to renew my license and they’ll surprise me with an outstanding warrant for something that I have completely forgotten about – some long ago discarded ticket that I thought I paid, or some violation that I never even knew I committed… Then I’ll get thrown in the slammer. I don’t want to get thrown in the slammer. I wouldn’t last ten minutes in the slammer.

Plus, I have a Vesuvian pimple on my face which will be preserved in my photo for all the doormen in town to see when they card me. Any time I show my ID, I’ll have to explain that yes, it’s me behind that ginormous zit, and no, I am not suffering from the effects of some exotic flesh-eating bacteria. At least my hair is okay today, but who knows what sort of personality it will have in the picture. It can be schizophrenic when photography is involved.

So wish me luck. If I don’t go to the pokey, I’ll have a shiny new ID to show off when I’m done.

Jeremiah Was a Bullfrog

2008-02-11T15:11:00.000-06:00

So today is my friend Jeremy’s birthday. I have known him since I was eleven, almost two-thirds of my life. He was one of my very best friends during my formative adolescent years, and for that he deserves your most genuine pity, because he loved me when I had a unibrow and wore acid-washed denim ON A REGULAR BASIS.

We went to Europe and Arizona and all over Texas together in high school. We took private voice lessons together, and spent countless hours in practice rooms, belting out the seventeenth-century jams. His mom drove us to so many movies and lessons that I can’t even remember all of them. We listened to Milli Vanilli together. He was even kind enough to have a birthday party in 1990 where, on a cold West Texas night, James Norvell gave me my very first kiss.

Now that we are “grown ups,” he gives me medical advice and calls me regularly just to chit chat. He brings his beautiful wife to visit me and makes sure that I have the right amount of tequila in my system to ensure a good time. He accepts my garbage and is kind enough to not judge me for it. He thinks I’m swell, and that makes me think he’s pretty swell, too.

So have a happy birthday, Jeremy Lynn. May 31 bring you health, happiness, and maybe even fatherhood? Who knows, it could happen…

Lyrical Genius

2008-02-07T16:24:00.000-06:00

So maybe I’m not really a lyrics specialist. I do take a special, evil pleasure in mentally noting when people mess up the words to songs (“Let’s all gooooooo down into the swanker…”), but that’s par for the course, being a snooty know-it-all. Sooner or later, all that snooty know-it-all-ness was bound to bite me in the tookus. Case in point: “Lola,” by the Kinks. This song has been a source of heated debate between the Pops and me for several months. It all started back when we were still in Florida. We went to City Walk for dinner and a movie one night, and at one point while strolling around the man-made theme park lake with the huge metal Universal globe in the middle, this song came on the speakers that pipe music throughout the park. Here’s our conversation from that night:

Becky: Ooh, I love this song! (singing along) “…Where you drink champagne and it tastes just like cherry cola, C-O-L-A, cola…”

Pops: Of course you do, you liberal.

B: What, you don’t like it?

P: No, it’s about a transvestite.

B: Whatever, homophobe. And no, it’s not.

P: Yes, it is. It goes, “Well, I’m not dumb but I can’t understand why she walked like a woman and talked like a man.”

B: That’s not what that means. Lola’s just a strong woman. When she “talks like a man,” she’s just not using the passive language of female inferiority. She’s liberated, that’s all. She’s totally a girl.

P: Okay, you know everything.

And at that point, we got to where we were going on the other side of the man-made theme park lake and changed the conversation. I forgot all about it until a month or so later, when I turned on the radio halfway through the song. The first line I heard was, “Girls will be boys, and boys will be girls. It’s a mixed up, muddled up, shook up world, except for Lola, la la la la Lola.” Did you hear that? He said “EXCEPT for Lola,” meaning she doesn’t follow the rule he just spelled out about girls being boys, etc. It’s pretty clear, if you ask me. So I told Pops about this new evidence. He just rolled his eyes and dismissed me.

Then I heard the song one more time a couple of weeks ago. I resisted the urge to sing along, thinking about Pop’s argument and trying to listen intently to the lyrics so I could find the proof I needed. It wasn’t that it mattered to me if Lola was gender-bending, because hey, you do what you gotta do, and gay is grand, and all that. But I NEEDED Lola to be a strong, independent, feminist woman, to fly her name in the face of my sexist dad who categorically refused to believe that a woman could be strong like her. I turned up the volume and slowed down, putting all of my focus and concentration into the words being sung. Right from the start, though, it became clear that I was completely full of shit.

In the first verse, Lola is described as having a “dark brown voice”. I don’t know what tonal quality can exactly be attributed to a “dark brown voice” but that certainly doesn’t sound very feminine. Then, in verse two, aside from the talking like a man bit, he says, “Well, I’m not the world’s most physical guy, but when she squeezed me tight she nearly broke my spine.” Ouch? And in the third verse, “She picked me up and sat me on her knee.” Again, not the delicate little flower, our Lola.

The pièce de résistance, though, is the last verse, which goes like this:

Well, I’m not the world’s most masculine man
But I know what I am and I’m glad I’m a man
And so is Lola.
Lo-lo-lo-lo-Lola

People, Lola was a man! Pops was right all along! And when I sheepishly told him that Lola was in fact, not the pillar of feminism that I believed her to be, he didn’t even gloat or seemingly enjoy his victory. He just shrugged and said, “I already knew that.” Not even an, “I told you so.” And I thought this whole time that it mattered.

Pervert Moving Company

2008-02-03T15:16:00.000-06:00

So I was cleaning out my camera, and noticed this gem, snapped when my aunt and I were moving out of her apartment at the end of December.

Pops and I were driving behind her, snickering the whole time, because of this:

and this:

We're totally adults.

Reason #1 for Me to Find a Husband

2008-01-31T21:14:00.000-06:00

I mustmustmust find someone who will do this with me at our wedding.

Why can't I stop laughing at this?

In Need of a Bus Pass

2008-01-25T16:56:00.000-06:00

So it’s killing me that I can’t blog to y’all about my workplace, but these people aren’t as internetarded as my last employer, so the risk of getting caught saying something bad about someone is marginally higher than it was back in the day when I could rail on and on about how my boss was an idiot and my coworkers were redneck misogynists. Those were the days. For now, I’ll have to just say that there are some characters up here in this joint. I’ve given everyone a clever nickname in my head, but again, no bloggy about it. You’ll have to just trust me that the work and the people are definitely blog-worthy.

On the bright side, I CAN blog about the commute. It’s a frocking nightmare. I leave the house by 6:50am, and I get to work just almost exactly on time. The only thing that makes this even partially palatable is that I can put on my makeup, check my email and eat breakfast while I am stuck going 10 miles an hour on I-35 in morning rush hour traffic. Then at the end of the day, I leave my office at 5:00pm, and it takes me until 6:30 to get home, if I drive straight there without stopping at Molly’s house, in which case I get home even later, because I have to stay there until the baby wakes up from his afternoon nap. Most days, the stop off at Molly’s is crucial in order to prevent me running other drivers off of the road and pulling them out of their cars to STAB THEM IN THE EYES for trying to cut me off, when I have been in this lane for twenty minutes waiting to exit, and they think they can just skip the wait by driving up the shoulder and sneak in at the last second, which is totally breaking the rules!!

I mean, I have lived in Austin before, and my commute was easy. I have lived in San Antonio and Orlando, both of which are larger than Austin, and I have never had to deal with such terrible traffic. I’ve driven my brains off in Dallas, and it was a breeze. Even Houston truckers are more tolerable than the PARKING LOT that is the Mo-Pac expressway at 5:20pm. Maybe it’s just that I work on one freeway and live off another one, so I have no choice but to fight freeway traffic at peak times, but damn.

If I could blog about my workplace, maybe I wouldn’t be so upset about the traffic. It’s all related…

Brother-in-Love

2008-01-22T17:13:00.000-06:00

So I used to have quite the CD collection. I was pretty much the envy of all my friends. It had that god-light shining from it, like the rays you see peeking through the clouds when the sun breaks through – it was THAT awesome. I had spent years cultivating my unique musical taste, and my collection reflected a diversity of selections. There was everything from punk to country to rap to pop to mariachi to classic rock to Broadway musicals. I kept it in one of those huge organizer cases (all 250+ discs alphabetized, of course), and despite the fact that it weighed a zillion pounds, I took it with me just about everywhere. It spent the bulk of its time in my car, though, since that’s where I did the bulk of my listening.

Then it was stolen. It’s a long, not even interesting story and I don’t end up looking very smart, but the point is, I lost all of my music in one swift moment. And this was before the days of iPods and MP3 players, so no; I had no backups saved anywhere, which made the advent of iTunes libraries even that much more difficult to swallow – if only they had come along a little sooner! Until now, I have not been able to talk myself into replacing most of it, which basically means that I have lived for YEARS without a copy of the Beatles’ White Album or any Natalie Merchant. Aw, my eyes teared up just typing that.

Anyway, last weekend, several of us pooled our funds and got Jesse (my brother-in-law) an iPhone for his birthday. The poor thing has never even had an iPod, so he is justifiably obsessed with loading his music into his iTunes library so he can sync up his phone and walk around with cords hanging out of his ears at all times. (Does everyone do that when they first get an iPod/iPhone? It sure seems like it…) He’s been furiously importing all of his CDs one at a time, so my sister’s computer desk has been in an advanced state of disrupt for the last few days.

When I went to update the software on my iPhone on Sunday, I noticed his CDs strewn about, and wouldn’t you know it, he had burned copies of all my Beatles stuff, along with some Coldplay and Dave Matthews Band and scads of other stuff that I used to listen to all the time. I thought that stuff was gone forever (or at least gonna cost me another $10 a pop)! How wonderful to have such a thoughtful brother-in-law with the same taste in music as me! I knew there was a reason I let him knock up my sister.

Where Dolls Go to Die

2008-01-21T16:35:00.000-06:00

So my trip was just almost fun. There was shopping and eating and hanging out with the old folks, and a few instances of outright hilarity when my grandmother got so drunk that she starting speaking nonsense (the woman usually has only one or two, but on Saturday night she decided that she likey the bourbon), like “I don’t need any shajamas,” and the more humiliating, “Jack, get me my doo-doo pills.” Wow.

Anyway, it’s back to the daily routine today, and I am so sleepy today. I am starting to hallucinate while I sit here. I keep falling asleep with my eyes open, which is a bizarre sensation – you are fine, and then your face gets all hot as you jolt back to consciousness, realizing that your eyes were open but you saw NOTHING because you were sleeping, upright in your chair, with others working diligently around you. Plus, the weather is all rainy and cold outside, and I have a yummy sweater on, so that just makes me want to curl up on the floor under my desk even more.

I guess I didn’t sleep very well in Abilene. But you wouldn’t either, if you had to sleep in this room.

Home Again, Home Again, Jiggity Jog

2008-01-18T10:39:00.000-06:00

So I am trying to remember the last time I went to Abilene so I can determine just how negligent a daughter I have been and make my Christmas purchases accordingly (the more distant I have been, the more expensive the present). I know, I know, it’s January, but I knew before the holidays that I was going to see my mom this weekend, so I have procrastinated and delayed spending the money on her present until now because I needed the funds in the weeks leading up to today for important things like iTunes and Altoids.

I just can’t remember, though, when I was there last. I think it was in May 2006, when I was on crutches. Is that right? Maybe I should search the blog – surely I wrote about it, what with all the rich material each visit generates. Hold, please.

Yep, that was it. I thought maybe I had gone over the holidays last year, but I guess not. Oh, well, so it’s been twenty months. That’s not so bad. It’s not like I haven’t seen my mom since then. She’s come to Austin several times, and I went to my family reunion in July, so it’s only been about six months since I’ve spent time with her, which is way better than twenty. It doesn’t sound nearly so inattentive. Besides, she never once came to see me in Florida, but that might have had more to do with her rocky relationship with Pops. That’s just speculation, of course.

Either way, tonight after work, I am going home with Molly and the baby. This will be Tyler’s first trip to Abilene. I’m sure he will be impressed with the churches on every other block and the cow sculptures by the freeway. We are staying until Sunday and there is nothing but family-time on the agenda. No friends, no funerals, no parties, no other excuse to go – just Mama and my grandparents. I always get a little keyed up before going there, just out of worry that something little will happen and someone will end up not speaking to someone else for four or five months over something petty and inconsequential in the grand scheme. Surely, though, if the baby is good for anything (other than filling diapers and full-tilt giggling) it will be serving as a conflict diffuser, and everyone will be on their best behavior. We’ll see.

Idol Observation

2008-01-17T12:05:00.001-06:00

So, okay. Here’s my thing. I love Idol. I love it when people are really good, and I get nervous for them and I cry when they cry and I fully relate. I empathize. I love it when the simple, nerdy element turns out and ends up blowing Simon’s hair out of place. I put myself in their chords.

But I am over the bad singers. I am over the humiliation at the hands of the judges. I get that some people don’t realize that they, um, have other gifts which do not include singing. I get that there members of American society who are willing to do just about anything for a couple of minutes on TV. I recognize that there are men who have no hesitation about appearing in public dressed as Princess Leia in the gold bikini and are equally willing to wax off all their body hair, just because Paula Abdul asks them to.

I know the producers have to be over all this behavior, too. I don’t see how they can stomach it. Can you imagine, as excruciating it is to watch the final cut, how awful it must be to have to edit this garbage? They know that when they actually AIR this crap that it just encourages people to do it more. They know that, don’t they? Surely they’re not trying to encourage this behavior…

Anyway, I decided that, in my heaven, American Idol audition episodes will only show the people who make it through to Hollywood. Those are the only ones that we REALLY care about anyway, so why not? Just an hour (or two) of talent. No belly-dancing roller-skaters. No wookies, Dorothys, mimes, or pirates. In fact, no costumes of any kind would actually make it through editing. All the contestants with a chance to make the top 24 would get better exposure before the public voting begins, instead of just putting the spotlight on the Sanjayas and Antonellas of the group. Sure, it would take some of the suspense out of the whole “what’s-Simon-gonna-say-and-are-they-going-to-make-it-through?” part of the audition, but I would much rather watch five or ten minutes about someone with a voice (and, therefore, a shot at staying on the show for a decent part of the season) than spend the same five or ten minutes getting emotionally invested in someone’s sob story, only to discover that they have no business singing and will no longer be appearing on a show dedicated to singing.

But that’s just how I feel.

Did I mention that I am thirteen?

I am Totally Thirteen

2008-01-16T11:29:00.000-06:00

So it's that time of year again, and I just wanna say that I have the sexy face.

Also, I am going to my hometown this weekend to visit the mom and relive my youth, so it's all related.

How the Wheels Fell Off

2008-01-11T10:21:00.000-06:00

So I love getting to babysit Tyler. Having that one-on-one time with him while he is learning all about his world is the most precious opportunity I have ever had. Since my return to Texas, I have picked up a standing date with him on Friday nights so that Molly and Jesse can both work. We have developed a rhythm with each other that works for us. It took some time, and some trial by fire, but I eventually figured out ways to entertain/soothe/care for him that he would accept from me (at first, I tried to just do everything like Molly told me, but he would have none of it – it would just piss him off, like he didn’t want anyone to use Mama’s tricks but Mama). We seem to have entered a new era, though, as some of the old faithful tricks are not quite cutting the mustard anymore, as documented by the following series of photos, taken last night while his parents were out at a concert.

7:50pm – “Oh, how I love to play at my activity table and watch “Yo Gabba Gabba”. My name is Tyler, I like to dance! It’s my favorite thing to do when I am winding down from a long night of being thrown in the air and getting tickled senseless.”

7:53 – Okay, so here he’s over the activity table. He wants my iPhone, but it cost more than he did, so he doesn’t get to play with it.

7:57 – We have relocated to the floor. Maybe wiffle balls will do the trick.

7:58 – Maybe not. These toys suck.

(ok, maybe it's less that the toys suck and more that he's getting tired. And he doesn't know how to play Mexican Train.)

8:01 – Butt munch.

8:03 – It’s a slippery slope, my friend, once the eye rubbing starts. It’s the beginning of a launch sequence of sorts. You can almost count it down, from the first rub to the final meltdown. In three…. Two…. One….

8:05 – Meltdown!

8:05 – And we are at full drama. Which is silly, because if he’s tired and wants a bottle, all he has to do is tell me. All this sobbing and carrying on would be unnecessary if Mr. No Vocabulary would just get some words.

Seriously, this shot is my new wallpaper.

Nitrates, Glorious Nitrates

2008-01-08T16:47:00.001-06:00

So I went to lunch alone today. This is nothing new, in and of itself, since I am wont to make a solitary trip or three to Sonic each day to feed my raging Dr. Pepper addiction. But that’s different because a) a single soda doesn’t constitute an entire meal (unless you are Kate Moss, but even then, you have a cocaine appetizer), and b) I usually don’t sit there by myself and drink the whole thing all alone in my car. Even if I do get fast food or take out for one, I usually don’t sit there in my car or the restaurant by myself. No, I will usually bring my meal to my people, to be enjoyed in the company of others. That way, I can waft French fry smells tauntingly in their direction and then not share.

This morning I carpooled with the Pops, though, so I am sans-car for the day and my lunch options were limited to the places within walking distance (plusses for getting to stroll through the outdoors on a sunshiny day, and double plus plusses for getting some exercise), none of which do a speedy take-out system. Unfortunately, I work in a building on the frontage road to one of the major freeways in Austin, so it’s less of a “stroll’ and more of a “dodge the oncoming traffic and hope that I can feign coordination while out in the wide outdoors”. The good thing is that at there are several chain restaurants at the nearest intersection, so I had some variety from which to make my midday meal selection.

Maybe it’s because I skipped breakfast this morning (traffic! Horrible, horrible traffic!), and maybe it’s because I haven’t had enough fruit compote in my life lately, but for whatever reason, I was drawn to IHOP today. I just had a picture in my mind of eggs and hash browns, covered in ketchup and all schmooshed up together on a plate, and once my stomach got a glimpse of that picture, there was no turning back. I totally forgot all about the eating-alone bit. It was that good. Check out my plate – doesn’t all that pork and fried goodness make your mouth water?

The teeny tiny garnish there is because I am a teeny tiny bit fancy.

Me, Redefined

2008-01-04T13:14:00.000-06:00

So I learned something about myself this Christmas that I never knew before. Actually, I thought I knew my stance on the subject pretty well, but I was completely wrong. I had myself pegged as one kind of person, and it turns out that I am the exact opposite of my own preconceptions. Do you have any idea how disconcerting it is to find out, after thirty years, that your own ideas about yourself can be all wrong? Until now, I’ve defined myself as “daughter, sister, smarty-pants, artist, bookworm, crafty-crafter, and song-lyric-encyclopedia.” Let's just say that I am now wondering if I am someone else entirely.

See, I got a gift from Pops that I never would have picked out for myself. He gave me a gift card to a clothing store, but since I am his little girl and he loves me, he didn't think the gift of future shopping was an adequate present to open from him on Christmas morning, so he purchased a companion gift from the store to pair with the gift card – plus, it made the package bigger, and threw the scent off of the plastic card enclosed inside when I was shaking boxes on Christmas Eve to get a clue about my own presents. Because I am apparently seven years old.

When I finally opened my presents, I was excited about the prospect of going shopping, but it was this companion gift that really made me reevaluate the core of my identity. Friends, this Christmas, I received a pair of slippers.

I have never, ever been a slippers-person. I have a strained relationship with shoes as a whole, in that I don’t wear them most of the time, unless in a “no shoe-sky’s, no shirt-sky’s, no Schlotzsky’s”-type situation. I am far more likely to be found barefooted, or in my Crocs, and the idea of slippers had never entered my thought process as even an option. Maybe I just associated slipper-wearing with old men and Dickens characters. Who knows? For whatever reason, I just had no interest in slippers, or house shoes, or any of their other incarnations.

People, I heart these slippers. I want to marry these slippers. Just look at them. Can you believe how cute they are? Pops picked them out all by himself, too, which blows my dang mind. They are soft and cushiony, and warm, and did I mention that they are cute? I want to eat them. Marry them, and then eat them. Like a slipper-wearing mantis. I guess I can add that to my self-definition.

Wherein the Author Can't Stick to One Subject

2008-01-03T16:45:00.000-06:00

So this whole living at my uncle's house ain't so bad. (Yeah, I said "ain't." I also use the words "fixin" and "y'all" and "crapbag," in case you were wondering.) Sure, it's not ideal, but my ideal living situation would involve a complex system of fountains and three-inch-deep carpet. Still, it's better than living in a van, down by the river.

Anyway, I have been reunited (and it feels so goooood) with my poppy chop, Maggie. She has been staying out at my uncle's with pops, since my aunt's digs in town weren't exactly pet-sanctioned. In my absence, she has deteriorated into an advanced state of neglect, grooming wise, a condition that has only been exacerbated by her extended playtime with my uncle's three Mini-Pins everyday outside in the half-acre backyard. I have thrown up my hands in defeat because of the burrs and stickers that are caught in her fur. It's now to the point that, despite the sub-freezing temperatures, we are going to the groomer for a shave-down, and that's just all there is. Also, the poor thing has apparently been spoiled by the semi-tropical weather in Florida, because now that she is getting a taste of winter for the first time in three years, it is becoming clear that she has joint issues. My sweet little baby dog is an old lady! She takes her time standing up from her perpetual post (lying at my feet), and she is having a majorly laboured time (note - I am now British, apparently, because every time I say/write/think that word, along with "colour" and "favour", it's totally England-English-y) when it comes to stairs. I just want to cram her full of glucosamine, if that would make it all better.

It makes my stomach hurt just thinking about how old my Mags is getting. And it's just so all-of-a-sudden. She was just a puppy, like, yesterday, and now she's this gray old biddy who hobbles around after all the younger dogs, complaining about her sciatica.

But that's enough about that. It's too depressing, and I am in a good mood today, dammit! I have my Hufflepuff scarf on and everything. I just need a Dr. Pepper, and I'll achieve freaking nirvana.

About the living conditions - let's see, I have a guest room all to myself. Granted, there's no closet space, all my clothes and my arsenal of personal hygiene equipment are camping on top of the furniture in the room, and I am on a twin mattress that has been balanced on a much smaller army cot, so if you happen to roll a little too far in the night to the right or left, you run the risk of tumbling to the floor in a jumble of blankets and pillows and elbows. You know that falling sensation that sometimes jolts you awake, right when you are on the cusp of drifting away into dreamy-dreamland? Yeah, it's like that, only FOR REALS.

But the heater vent in the floor is right next to the bed, so when it drops down to 20F at night, my tootsies are toasty. And the room has the all-important DOOR that my last quarters so desperately lacked (not that it really mattered, since I pretty much had run of the place), so I can retreat into my fortress of solitude if need be. Really, though, I've had about two months straight of the fortress of solitude at my aunt's, so I'm pretty much over that place. I'll take the people, thank you.

Transient

2007-12-31T12:01:00.000-06:00

So it's New Year's Eve, and I have no plans. No date, no parties, no kissin' at midnight.
Unless you count the nephew, with whom I will sharing a rousing evening of solid foods,
crawling practice, and Johnson's Vapor Bath (because I gave my sister and the baby the
Creepy Crud that kept me down last week). It should rock my socks off.

I moved again this weekend to Interim Housing #2 (my uncle's place in Buda, TX). I
packed up my stuff at Interim Housing #1 (my aunt's apartment) in less than fifteen minutes,
and it was like I had never been there. It's weird - I was there for almost two months, but I
only shared a single night there with my aunt. My cousin was also technically living there,
too, and I never saw him - not a single time! All these relatives of mine, so in love....

Anyway, I am now living in the middle of nowhere with my Pops and his brother and
sister-in-law. I have been resistant to this arrangement, if only for the fact that the tequila
flows like water there, but now that I am all moved in (or, to be more accurate, now that all
of my stuff is on the property - I have yet to unpack anything) I think it will be okay. It's
only temporary, after all. At least that's what I keep telling myself.

TO ranSOM CAPtive i-i-IS-RYE-EL!

2007-12-24T23:42:00.000-06:00

So I know already, save your vitriol for someone who needs it. I have been, for the first time in a shamefully long time, very busy, and I will not accept the guilt you are trying to lay on me for my extended and hithertofore unexplained absence. My reasons for this neglect are as follows:

1. the comprehensive study of the following bald spot (and yes, those are the buckin' broncos of buckin' bronco lore on his onesie)

2. full-on full-time work (paychecks in the hizzie!)

3. a hacking head cold/chest cough/TB infection that has been fluctuating somewhere between feverish debilitation and its friend mucus-induced retardation. I have been coughing so much that earlier today, I lost my voice. On Christmas Eve. On the very best day to bake and cook and sing along to the Christmas jams. DOES THIS REGISTER? Singing along is not optional. I can't simply choose to not sing. The singing must be done! But with no voice, it's painful. Not so much for me, but for everyone around me. It's like every other syllable comes out (out of tune, which is awful enough, as I pride myself on my near-perfect pitch, but whatever), and the rest are just breathy whispers crackling through like dead air on a bad radio connection. For the first time ever, my sister actually said to me, "Becky! Don't sing." It broke my little heart into teeny pieces.

4. emergency vet visit at 1 a.m. for my sister's dog when I dog-sat for her so she could go to the Cowboys game with her husband (not that it has bears mentioning in any way to MY story, but it was the one where Jessica Simpson was a "distraction." Personally, I think she was more of a distraction to the sportscasters than to her "boyfriend", but that's just my opinion - Aside: Can you call someone your boyfriend after dating only a week? Is that allowed?). Long story short, my sister's neurotic Springer Spaniel had a little bit of kennel cough, and the stress of being a little sick, coupled with two nights' separation from her family (it was the first time that the baby stayed at grandma's house, which translates into dog as "never coming back") sent her into a frothing paralysis, which then sent me into a crying fit of hysterics, which then prompted me to drive her to the 24-hour vet at 1 in the morning, only to find out that she needed some cough medicine that I could buy at Walgreens, but that'll be $140, thank you very much. But oh, look at the sad eyes from the exam room.

And that's about it. I wish I had cool excuses like, "I have been baking cookies to send to all of you," or " I have been hand-crafting gifts for your children," or something equally pleasing. But that's just not the way it is. If I could be perfectly honest with you, I might say something like, "I have been staying up too late reading Us Weekly in front of CSI:Miami reruns," or "I maybe shoulda bought a laptop instead of an iPhone, because it won't let me compose anything on Blogger," but you won't hear me admit to that, ever. Besides, the iPhone rocks out loud. Laptops can suck it.

Hopefully I can work up the nards to blog in my downtime at work (don't think they are hip to the blogs or the watchmeware, but I am still, you know, temp), but I want you to know that even when I am not posting here, I am totally reading all of YOUR stuff, and I am commenting like crazy from my beautiful little iPhone, and I will blog again very soon (even sooner if I can get a date or bewitch someone into boning, because hello, I am totally gonna broadcast that shit all over the internet- calm down, there won't be video. The tripod is broken. HA!).

And since it is the season for gestures of this sort, I hope that you all have a Merry Dang Christmas. No, I really do. No sarcasm. For reals.

Limbo

2007-12-13T20:33:00.000-06:00

So what to tell? I am now officially a temp. I am in a state of temporariness. Employment purgatory, if you will. In fact, I have been temporary since Monday. My assignment is technically "temp-to-hire," though, so if they like me, they'll make me an offer and I will be permanent. The whole thing is existentially confusing. I have always been before, so why should they question my ability to be in the future?

I am getting my first paycheck since the first week of November tomorrow. I cannot express in mere words how monumental this whole thing is. I have exhausted the charity of my aunt and sister, and I am literally penniless at this point, so the fact that I earned a multi-hundred dollar paycheck, just for sitting around and training all week is, how do you say, fantastico!

I like the job. All the people are really nice. The only thing that could even possibly be mistaken for irritating is the fact that half the employees are diabetic, so it's like working with the sugar police. Want a cookie? Don't even think about it. How about a single Hershey's kiss? You must be outside of your mind! I haven't even attempted the Route 44 Strawberry Dr. Pepper for fear that my face will be slapped. Excellent.

Achieving the Impossible

2007-12-06T16:26:00.000-06:00

So I finally got a job. I searched the internets, put in applications, submitted my resume, and registered with two temp agencies. Then, on Monday, I registered with a third agency, and they have achieved the impossible by placing me at a job that, from all outside appearances, looks like it will be good, all within a span of less than three days. And it pays just as much as I was making in Orlando. Thank jeebus. I start on Monday.

Also, I am this close to connecting with my long-lost best friend from high school (not this one or this one, but this one). After nine years of wondering, three years of active searching, and a week of downright stalking, I know where she is, know who she married, and have connected with her sister on MySpace. I gave the sister my number and email to pass along to Arlene - we'll see if she does anything with it.

And I met the wife of my long-time good buddy on Saturday. We went to the capital Christmas tree lighting downtown, and then went out for Mexican food and a stroll through the Austin Museum of Art (they are hosting a huge Lichtenstein print exhibit right now - glorious! - and I engaged in a bit of frottage with Lloyd Maines in the lobby, but he probably thought I was just bumping into him because it was so crowded). It was a marvelous evening of carols and laughter, only made more hilarious by the flowing tequila.

"Please secure you own max before securing they max." Awesome. A little pee came out.

Fine, Already! I'll Post Something!

2007-11-30T17:38:00.000-06:00

So it's been a sucky week. I am out of money, and I have no job. My phone service is the first casualty so far in my war on poverty - it was suspended due to non-payment today. I have to give them a call now and beg them to turn it back on, because it's hard to get hired if no one can call me. But whatever. I always forget to pay the bill, even when I have money, because I never open my mail, and I am scatterbrained like that.

I registered with a temp agency this week, so I should get placed in something very soon. I don't expect anything fancy, I just need to work, and that's the easiest way to get a paycheck. Hopefully, I'll get assigned to a job at a place where the people are nice and they recognize what a pro I am, and they want to hire me permanently. Either way, at least I have medical coverage again, and I can go get my meds, which are starting to get dangerously low.

In the meantime, I've been applying for everything on the Internet that I can find, and turning in applications at retail stores in an attempt to find something - anything! - to get some money coming in. Seriously, I'm down to $29, and that's including the $27 of "walking around money" that Pops made me take from him a couple of days ago.

The one good thing about unemployment is that I have been available to babysit my nephew. The first couple of times that I stayed with him after my move were pretty rough. He was NOT down with it, at! all!, and there were a couple forty-minute screaming sessions. But he knows me now, and we have a grand time. We play at his walker-table-thingy, and we bounceboucebounce in the bouncy chair, and we sit in the backyard looking at all the nature, and we watch Pingu on PBS OnDemand, and we grub down on teethers, and we eat solids, and we even sit up all by ourselves now!

I get paid in dinners. And nephew giggles. Do you think the phone company would accept either one for payment on my account?

And Then I Lost My Balance and Accidentally Breathed Wine-breath In Her Face

2007-11-23T20:30:00.000-06:00

So Thanksgiving went off without a hitch. I think there were about fifty people crammed into my grandmother's house. We had to set up a dining hall in the garage, because that's the only room in the house that could fit us all at once without the removal of large furniture pieces. I think we forgot to serve the cranberry chutney that took my aunt two hours to make, and we forgot to set out the rolls so they could rise in time for baking, but whatever. I made a birthday cake (four on one day!) that will go down in history as the Greatest Cake Ever, and the baby was a huge hit, so that's all that matters.

Pops made it to Texas in the same amount of time it took for me to drive it, but he got off to a later start than he had originally planned, and arrived at my sister's house with just enough time to shower and go to San Antonio for the holiday festivities. In all, he was awake for about 40 hours straight (from waking on Wednesday morning to pack and then drive over eighteen hours from Florida, and then give thanks with the family and drive back to Austin Thursday night), so he is now, and ever shall be, known as The Man. But he's back, and he's safe, and he brought me my girl dog, who had herself a small hernia upon seeing me again for the first time yesterday.

So now Florida is over. Officially. Everything is Texas, as far as we are concerned.

I do have a small confession, however. I was functionally drunk in front of my family yesterday (I only emptied my wine glass twice, but I topped off a low glass more times than I can count on both hands. Whoopsy!), though I think I just seemed happy to those who don't know me as intimately as my sister. But she totally called me out on it when I stumbled up to her with some huge revelation that I can't even remember now. She was all, "You're drunk!" And I was all, "Nuh-uhh! I'm not drunk, YOU'RE DRUNK." Which is sooooo something a drunk would say.

Wherein the Author Takes a Big Swallow of Wine and Chills the Frick Out

2007-11-19T17:02:00.000-06:00

So I am in San Antonio right now, helping my aunt and grandmother get ready for the big holiday this week. Our initial head count is nearing thirty adults, and that's just the immediate family, not counting kids and babies (another ten or so). We had to go to three (!) grocery stores to get all the stuff we will be needing, and that's before everyone brings a potluck dish. My, my, you'd think we'd be able to take advantage of the advancements in birth control, but noooooo, not MY family...

I haven't been working very much. The realtor gig hasn't really panned out. It turns out that she doesn't know how to return phone calls or set up anything resembling a schedule, so I have been on the job hunt - again. I have gotten a couple of calls, though, so hopefully I can interview this week sometime. That would be nice.

Also, my dad has thrown a pretty huge wrench into our moving plans (you know, the ones where I move back two weeks ago, he visits for Thanksgiving and then moves back over Christmas) by deciding to move back this week. I think he's just too lonely. I have a feeling that he hasn't given me the whole story, but I have made the decision to be an adult and not be mad at him (even though the early move means the loss of several thousand dollars more than it would if he were to wait). He is loading and cleaning today and tomorrow, and will be driving on Wednesday. So everyone think safe driving thoughts for him in a couple of days - that eighteen hour drive is no peach.

Other than that, things are good. I get to spend the next two days (if I can't get an interview back in Austin, which is only like an hour and a half from here) baking and chillaxin' with my Granny, and then I get to see my Pops again. I miss the old guy.

Where to Begin?

2007-11-14T19:51:00.000-06:00

So, now that I am back in Austin, I can't hide behind the "being in Florida" excuse anymore whenever anyone asks me if I am dating somebody. I am now faced with a dilemma. How does one date?

I mean, I get the whole date-ritual. I understand how it works, and I am gung-ho ready to partake. But where does one go to meet people? Do I do the online thing? Do I register at a dating site, or rely on the dredges of craigslist? Is it even safe to do that?

Or do I take up heavy drinking and hit the local bar scene (which, if my memory doesn't fail me, is quite awesome here in A-town), with the "girls" on full display, and hope that someone with a brain chats me up? Or maybe I just start flirting with anyone over the age of consent who is male, sans-ring, and not grossly disfigured? Like the guy at Home Depot who speedily processes my return. Or the tool-belt clad gent next to me in the Taco Cabana line.

Any suggestions?

The Elephant People

2007-11-11T22:47:00.000-06:00

So let's take stock. I am camping out (the loosest definition possible) at my aunt's apartment until Pops moves back to Texas in December. I sleep on a cot/bed in her living room, but it's actually awesome, because a) she and my cousin both also pay rent, but both of them pretty much live with their significants, b) full television control, and c) she's letting me use her delicious down comforter since mine is still in Florida with the bulk of my personal belongings. It's a pretty sweet gig, what with the private driveway, HBO, and garden tub.

But I do have one complaint. The people upstairs.

Or, should I say the ELEPHANT PEOPLE upstairs? Because I swear, they must weigh at least 500 pounds, each! I don't know how many of them are up there, but it sounds like an entire troupe of acrobats. 500 pound acrobats.

They stomp at 6am. They stomp at 3 pm, 9pm, 11pm, 2am, all the time! They have no concept of the fact that there are people living directly below the floor that they assault with their heels on a minute-to-minute basis. I think they are practicing their tumbling routines up there. Or trying to see if their feet can penetrate the floor. One of the two.

Spittin' Image

2007-11-09T18:18:00.000-06:00

So I went to lunch today with Molly and the baby. As we were sitting in the holding area of the Olive Garden (unlimited soup, salad, and bread stick lunch for $5.95? hells yeah, we dines on a budget!), waiting for the little hostess coaster to light up and entertain the infant, a bridge club-worth of old ladies came in and parked it on the benches next to us. Of course, each one had to hover over Tyler and "oohh and aahh" over the cuteness before sitting down.

Molly lifted him out of the car seat after all the ladies were seated so that he could see them and flirt his way directly into their hearts. Molly's already a pro, but I haven't figured out how to deal with strangers ogling my property yet (because he is my property, you know), so I just sat there and stared at the baby for what felt like three hours straight (but was really only a couple of minutes).

One lady asked how old he was, and Molly replied, "Almost six months." Then the lady said, "He looks just like you. He's the spittin' image! Does everyone tell you that?" Molly smiled at her and looked at me. I smiled back at my sister, waiting for her to answer, but she didn't. At that point, our coaster started its buzzy little light show, so we had to get up and follow the hostess to our table.

Once we were seated, Molly asked if it was weird for me that that lady had asked me that. And that's when I realized that THE LADY HAD BEEN ADDRESSING ME, not my sister. She thought that Tyler looks like ME! The pinnacle of cuteness looks like me, people. So it is no stretch to make the following conclusion from this exchange:

Baby's looks = total cuteness
Baby's looks = Becky's looks
Becky's looks = total cuteness

Also, this should prove that Algebra I pays off in the real world.

By the Numbers: Moving Edition

2007-11-06T21:13:00.000-06:00

So I made it to Austin. I live in Texas again. Finally. All of that whining and pouting over the last few months, and I am finally back where I want to be. The only problem now is that I don't know if I will ever have such a rich source of blogging material from which to mine.

I made it here in exactly the amount of time my iPhone said it would take - score another one for Steve Jobs. I staged a dangerous photo shoot from the driver's seat of the Rodeo whilst careening down I-10 at speeds upwards of 75mph, but none of them were really that great. I had grand blogging plans to give you all a pictorial diary of my journey. So that didn't work out.

Since I am still reeling a bit from the road hypnosis, I am left with no other option than to blatantly steal a posting format from Omar - his patented "By the Numbers" format, to be exact. But if you haven't ever read any of his BTN posts, then forget that last sentence. This is totally my idea. Original. Yes, sirree. Ok, so here goes.

18.5 - the number of hours it took for me to drive from my house in Orlando to my sister's house in Austin

1150 - the number of miles I drove

3 - the number of times I stopped to gas up and pee

3.5 - the number of tanks of gas that the Rodeo used over the course of the drive

12 - the number of canned/bottled beverages that I drank over the course of the day, making it all the more fantastic that I only stopped three times, right?

5 - the number of states I was in yesterday

40 - the number of minutes it took to drive through Alabama

5 - the number of hours it took to reach Molly's house, after crossing the state line into Texas

1 - the number of times I flipped off this a-hole truck driver who insisted on cutting me off REPEATEDLY in downtown Houston.

146 - the number of Waffle Houses along my route

12 - the number of Starbucks I passed in Houston

0 - the number of Starbucks I passed after the first twelve made me crave a Grande Soy Triple Cafe Mocha.

Four Hundred Good-byes

2007-11-02T15:26:00.000-05:00

So this is my 400th post here in Jelloville, and I think it's fitting that it is also my last from my current employer's internet connection, or from Florida, for that matter. See, if you didn't already know, I am moving back to Texas this weekend, and I must now bid this fair state adieu. If I can ever get all my shit packed.

I moved here two years ago on little more than a whim, and I've never really gotten into the swing of what they call the "Florida Lifestyle". Me and Florida? Not so much. I have basically slept, showered and worked here for the last two years, and lived for the occasional trip home to Austin instead of making a life for myself here.

But all that's over. I am loading up the Rodeo and driving west (well, north, then west) with nothing but my clothes, my iPhone, and my ever-building excitement to be returning to the land of my home. I am ready for fall weather. I can't wait to go to Shady Grove and have some delicious food under the trees. I am this close to seeing my sister and my aunt and my nephew, a realization that I have been keeping at bay so that my brain doesn't explode.

It's weird saying goodbye to the small group of people with whom I have grown close at work. I have cried no less than five times today. Over retarded stuff like, oh, I forgot to tell that one customer who always wants me to help him that I am leaving, and now I'll never see him again, which is sad. Or, oh, I hope I trained you on everything that you should know, and even though I've only known you for a month and a half and we never really got to know each other, I am sad to leave you. Or, oh, you've been like a mother to me and Pops, and I will miss you so much, and I don't want to say goodbye, and I wish I could find the courage to tell you how much I appreciate all the things you have done for us, the two Texas-transplants that you took under your wing.

I'm sure I'll come back some day. This is Orlando, people. It's nothing, if not a tourist mecca, so hopefully I can come on vacation with some kidlets of my own, dragging them to meet Mickey and ride the roller coasters at Universal. But it's shocking how bittersweet it is to leave. I thought I hated it here. Now I can't find the right words to say all my good-byes.

I will probably not be online again until I get settled at my aunt's next week, or until I can steal a few moments on Molly's internet. If you have my number and want to chat, I'll be driving for many, many hours, so hit me up, because the chances are good that I still haven't transferred your number to my new phone.

See y'all in Texas! Yee-haw!

The Final Countdown

2007-10-29T12:18:00.000-05:00

So I am moving back to Texas on Saturday, November 3rd. I will making the drive alone, because Pops is keeping his job until Thanksgiving, at which time he will join me in Austin, and we will once again be full-time residents of the Lone Star State. Aaahhh.

My job, in no uncertain terms, screwed me over. I went to Texas in September to interview for what I thought would be an awesome opportunity (and what turned out to be a total hose-job) and to see my growing-faster-than-I-ever-thought-humanly-possible nephew. As you know, Pops is friendly with my boss, which is how I got this job in the first place, and when they were hanging out a few days before I left, Pops spilled the beans that I was going to Texas to find something new so I could move back. Well, this didn't sit well with my current boss, and before I left, he asked me my intentions for the trip to Austin. I told him the truth, and assured him that nothing was decided, and that I would give him plenty of notice before leaving.

So I went to Austin. The guy with the job was a major flake, the job itself was crap, and nothing came of it, so I figured I'd just hit HotJobs or Monster and find something else, thinking that I'd aim to be home for the holidays, and feeling the tiniest bit relieved that I didn't have to move right that second. But when I returned to work, someone else was at my desk, and I was instructed that she had been hired to replace me when the time came for me to leave, and that in the meantime, she would serve as an additional set of hands in the office - something we have desperately needed for months. I spent the better part of September training her and transitioning all of my responsibilities to her, so that once the time came for me to leave, it wouldn't be such a shock to her.

Well, a couple of weeks ago, the owner of the company and his wife, with whom I have always gotten along and have never had a cross word, called me to complain about my productivity. In the conversation, they essentially demanded that I put in my notice and leave, because having both me and my replacement on payroll was too expensive. Basically, by being honest and telling them that I wanted to go home, even though I had no job and was in no way putting in any kind of notice, I gave them the chance to force me out. My boss here was pissed, but since he has no backbone, he did nothing to stand up for me, and basically just apologized and did his best to help me find something in Texas.

I accepted a position as an administrative assistant for a realtor. I'm not sure about it, but it's better than nothing. I just need a job with benefits. Hello, I require constant medication, and Cymbalta ain't cheap. Anyway, I start next week, so I will no longer be working for my beloved (albeit somewhat primitive in its business practices) upholstery distributorship, effective Friday. They are throwing me a goodbye party on Wednesday, and I fully intend on drinking as much as I can this one last time on the company dime.

I am in the process of packing up my house. I'm only taking my clothes and my bathroom stuff with me when I leave this weekend. Pops will continue living here in Florida with Miss Maggie May-tastic Fantastic (who turned 10 years old on Saturday, by the way) until Thanksgiving, at which time he will load up all of our furniture and everything that I have packed, and head to Texas in a UHaul. I will have three weeks in Texas to get settled into my new job and find us a place to live (shouldn't be too hard if I'm working for a realtor) from my aunt's guest bed/living room.

So I finally get to go back home, but it's not exactly on my terms, and I am not as prepared as I would like to be. Oh well, the very worst thing I can say about it is that, oh, man, I have to move back to Texas. And that's not a bad thing.

Texas: 8,235,722 Florida:0

2007-10-24T12:32:00.000-05:00

So the most horrible of all horribles happened a few weeks ago. It was so bad that Pops was reduced to spitting out the f-word, and his eyes even welled up with tears. And that's pretty bad, because I have seen the man almost slice off his entire thumb with a hunting knife and not even flinch, so you KNOW this had to have hit him in the most sacred of tender spots.

Our weekly restaurant closed. Without telling us.

See, for the last year or so, we have gone to the same restaurant every Thursday night. The place isn't anything fancy, but their special on Thursday is enchiladas for $3.95 and $1 drafts, so it's feasible for us to drop a twenty and load up on Tex-Mex and Bud Light, and still end up tipping over 50%. We always sit in the same section, with the same server, and it just took the edge off being so far away from everyone we love and made it, if only just a little bit, bearable to be here and not there. Also, there's the whole OCD creature-of-habit thing, but I'm sure that had NOTHING to do with the compulsion to go to the same place and order the same thing every week for a solid year. No, not at all!

We showed up one Thursday and everything was fine, just like normal, with no indication from anyone that anything was going to change anytime soon, but then the next week, we showed up to an empty parking lot and a poster-board sign out front that said that they were "closing to better serve you." WTF? How does that HELP me? Are you people high?

So, with that, I decided to move back to Texas, because when I stopped to really think about things, I realized that I can't bear to live anywhere that doesn't have delicious enchiladas. I mean, what else is there, when you get right down to it?

Justin Time

2007-10-22T15:42:00.001-05:00

So my time in Florida is coming to an end. I will be moving back to Texas in less than two weeks, and it's just in time, because I was this close to shaving my head bald and beating an innocent SUV with an umbrella.

Fingers Crossed

2007-10-16T11:47:00.001-05:00

So I am determined not to jump to any conclusions here, but there is a possible job and a possible car peeking over my horizon, like suns shining their warm rays of reliability and worry-free...ness? So wish me luck!

And Happy Birthday, John Mayer. You are beautiful, and I want to have all of your babies.

Wherein the Author Hates Her Car

2007-10-15T14:03:00.000-05:00

So the weekend was kind of a bummer. I spent another $320 in car repairs that were sorely needed but did nothing to address the problem I have been having, where my car just dies at intersections and won't even make it the short drive from my home to my workplace. So I have been stressed. I have, so far, spent over $600 on this car, and I am in no better shape than I was before.

So now I feel like I should have just skipped the repairs, and filed an insurance claim on my phone when it broke, and used all the money that I spent on the iPhone and the car to make a down payment on something new to drive. But to quote my sister, "Shoulda, woulda, coulda." There's not alot I can do about that now.

Pops has been kind enough to trade cars with me for the time being, since he only has to go about half the distance in his commute, and he has assured me that if my car is still not working by the time I go back to Texas that he will trade me for the month or so that he is still in Florida (since he would have to tow whichever vehicle he keeps behind a UHaul). But that's not fair to him. And I don't like the thought of him being alone in Florida without reliable wheels.

Just for kicks, I applied for financing at a car dealership to see if they would be so brazenly stupid as to lend to me, and they actually approved my application! Idiots! But it's really not feasible to act on anything. I still have no bites on any of the job leads in Austin, and I don't want to commit to a car payment without knowing how much I will be making there. That's just not sensible. At this point, it seems like I may never get home, because if my car can't even get me to work, how is it going to get me to Texas?!?

A's for Your Q's

2007-10-04T12:55:00.000-05:00

So last week I posted an open invitation to ask me anything you would like, with the promise that I would answer all inquiries in my next post. I didn't have many takers - only three (pouts and sits in the corner) - but that's okay because I have been away from the Internet for most of the week anyway. I have had to train two new employees - one on the road and one in the office - so I haven't been able to switch over to my Explorer window and get anything of substance up on the blog with someone else peering over my shoulder. That would set a great example, don't you think?

Anyway, after much anticipation and buildup (or none... whatever), I am now pleased to present the answers to all of your burning questions. Here goes:

1) Go Yankees! Or, to phrase it as a question, Go Yankees?
Um, yes? Actually, I had quite the dilemma today about whether or not I should wear my awesome Yankees shirt to work in honor of Game 1 against the Indians - I decided "no," because it's a little heavy for the Florida weather right now, and there was still an outside chance that I would have to go back out on the road today instead of sit in front of my lovely desk fan in the cool air conditioned office. But that's not really what you were asking.

2) Why was your thumb near a rat trap?
Because I live in Florida, and when the weather is not too soupy-humid, it's nice to be able to leave the backdoor open to let in a breeze (or possum or frog or, in this case, a pair of mice who have evaded trapping by getting under my counter and propagating like wildfire). I've never, ever had any experience like this. Seriously, people. I am a clean person. I clean obsessively, yet I still have the worst time trying to keep the cockroaches and rodentia and other assorted wildlife at bay! Incidentally, I spent 28 pest-free years in Texas, and have been up to my eyeballs in the local fauna for nearly my entire Florida experience. Hmmm.... Anyway, my thumb.... The babies of the porno-mice are not quite so smart as their folks, so we usually catch at least one of the germy, disgusting, not even remotely cute little teenager-mice a night. Pops had emptied a trap, and I was resetting it without the use of my brain.

3) You're funny. This I know to be true. By your admission, you're cute, smart, and have a great rack. I'll have to take your word for it on those, but I have no reason not to believe you. So then my question is, why are you single?
Exactly! No, seriously, it's because I have no interest in starting anything here in Florida if I'm just gonna move home in a month or two. The one time I have been willing to get serious about someone, he was in Texas and turned out to be that guy. Also, I'm a huge snob, and I don't want to be with anyone who is stupid, or racist, or working out his daddy issues, or trying to force his religion on me, or a huge coke head, or interested in blowing all my money on strippers, or any of the other reasons my other relationships have ended. And it doesn't help that anyone who's worth my time fits into the categories.

4) Are you sorry that you asked for questions?
A little. But only because the egomaniac in me secretly hoped there would be more.

5) My guess for an answer to #3 is that you see your time in Florida as being temporary, so you're not looking to establish relationships in your temporary location. I can respect that. Since I showed you respect, can I have your iPhone?
Haha, you're a funny, funny man.

6) Were you involved in any school-sponsored activities in high school? Sports? School plays? Chorus? Chess club? (I chuckled outwardly when I typed "Sports," but I figured I'd ask.)
Uh, yeah, let's see, I was in choir and band (go French Horns!), and I was "Girl 2" in the senior musical, and while I was never a member of the chess club, I often attended meetings just because I liked hanging out with the AP Calculus/Physics people who made up the majority of the club's membership (I have always been more attracted to the nerdy boys). And I was not in any sports because I have poor hand-eye coordination. But you knew that already! I did play powder-puff football, though, but we sucked, and it wasn't really sport in the normal sense of the word (unless you're talking about, say, hunting or some other killing-of-prey type of activity, so I don't think it counts.

7) If I said I was cheering for USC to beat Texas in the championship game a few years back, would you be mad at me? How about if I said, "Colt McCoy takes it in the rear"?
Yes, and yes (not that there's anything wrong, per se, with "taking it in the rear," because for some people, that's the stuff, but your intention is dark, man).

8) Tell us the latest on your move to Texas.
Well, even though that's not really a question, my responses were pretty slim, so I'll unclench my butt and get over it. I am moving to Texas as soon as money permits. Pops and I just paid off a huge tax bill for his property in Texas, and now that that's out of the way and he has paid all of his fines from that little matter of being on probation, it's just a matter of selling what we can and packing the rest. I have used up all my vacation time, and I have no more free airline tickets through my job for the rest of the year, so I have painted myself into a Thanksgiving weekend corner. If I'm not living in Texas by then, I won't get to see my cousin when he's home on leave from the war, or the rest of my family for that matter, so it's imperative that I be back by then.

9) When you were a kid, what did you want to be when you were grown-ass?
I wanted to be the following: Aileen Quinn from the Annie movie (hey - I was five!), a member of the Go-Gos, a vet, a painter, a sculptor, a horse trainer, a music teacher, or an Edie Brickell-type folk musician. More recently, I have wanted to be a graphic designer, a writer, a lawyer, a housewife, a nanny for my glorious nephew, a wedding planner, or an office manager for my dad's pipe-dream business in Texas.

That was fun.

Tid-Bits, Boredom, and Shameless Solicitation

2007-09-27T10:03:00.000-05:00

So I am out of ideas today for a post subject. All I have are tidbits. I don't want to be whiny, even though that's the tone of my week, because I am a grown-ass woman, and that's not how grown-ass woman act (note: they do, on the other hand, refer to themselves as "grown-ass," which is totally mature and classy).

My tid-bits are as follows: the Yankees are in the postseason, I caught my thumb in a rat trap - right on the cuticle and ohmygod ithurtssobad iwanttoamputate, the most disturbing phrase I heard this week was "gibbous hump," my nephew is bionic (read: healthy as a horse, cute as a button, able to thwart crime with a single glance), I lovelovelove my new iPhone (but I have none of my old contacts in it, so I couldn't call Elizabeth on her birthday on Saturday - Happy Birthday, Liz! I blew Skittles out of my nose, in your honor!), and my dog is cute (but not that into the Yankees, as evidenced by the following photo taken on Tuesday night at about 11:00, when they were heading into extra innings in a game they would ultimately lose).

You can almost hear her boredom. A few minutes later, when I asked her which player was her favorite, this was her reaction:

She's saying to me, "Look, lady, I'm a dog. I don't even know what baseball is. Now can we please turn off the TV and go to bed? A girl needs her beauty sleep!"

Yeah, my tidbits are pretty boring. But I wonder - is there anything you, my loyal and faithful reader, want to know? Maybe I am out of ideas this week because I don't know my readers. Maybe there are things you want to know that I don't realize. Any burning questions regarding any and all things jello? I'd be happy to answer, as it would give me fodder for another post. Just leave your questions in the comments, and I'll answer them next time.

The Clutzy Clairvoyant

2007-09-21T14:35:00.000-05:00

So I fell. Again. This time, I had least had the presence of mind to do it at home, alone, so that no one could laugh. Or blatantly ignore me. So there’s that.

I was leaving for work on Wednesday, and it was raining. After getting into the car and almost pulling out, I realized that I left something inside the house, so I sprinted back to the door in the rain (or did the closest thing to a “sprint” that I can do). As soon as I hit the tile inside my front door, my slick shoes slipped right out from under me, which is nothing new – I have worn my khaki crocs down to the ground (I bought some new ones a couple of weeks ago, but I don’t want to wear them to work because the warehouse makes them all black and gross).

The fall itself was fairly typical for me, as I am the Grand Champion Collapser for the southeastern U.S. But my abrupt return piqued Maggie’s curiosity, and she came rushing to greet me and congratulate me for deciding to spend the day with her instead of away at work. I twisted my back a bit trying to miss Maggie as I came down, and after spending the better part of the morning writhing in pain, now I’m all sore and bruised.

If it’s not frogs, it’s dogs.

So I went to a chiropractor to feel the touch of a man – I mean, find out if any major damage had been done, and heard the disconcerting but fortunate news that my spine is totally fantastic, but I tore some muscle tissue in my lower back, making the surrounding tissue spasm, resulting in this wonderful pain.

After the full treatment of electro-shock therapy, hot weights, and jackhammer massage, the doctor began my adjustment. He had me lie on my side, cross my arms, moved my hips and legs into a couple of different positions, and then started pressing his body weight onto me. The whole thing felt awkward for whatever reason (maybe because it was the most physical contact I’ve had since ’03), so to make myself feel better and more reassured that this was all professional and appropriate for the situation, I said (under my breath, mainly to myself), “And now, ladies and gentlemen, we enter the Greco-Roman portion of our program!”

The chiropractor stopped in mid-maneuver, looked me dead in the face and said, “How do you know about Greco-Roman?”

I wasn’t prepared for a question like that. I started to panic, because this man was practically laying on top of me, and he had stopped his disengaged, mechanical treatment of my spine, which for him was in no way inter-personal or connected to me in any way other than as a being to be manipulated. No, he was now fully aware of me, which made me feel even more vulnerable. Then I started running scenarios in my head – is there some reason, maybe, that it was something that is kept under wraps? I am but a lowly civilian – is knowledge about ancient wrestling styles classified by the government for some reason? Is this all some heinous right-wing conspiracy? I managed to squeak out, “I don’t know, how does anyone know about Greco-Roman?”

His expression softened, and he said, “Oh, no, that’s just funny. I’ve never, in all my years of practice, had anyone say ‘Greco-Roman.’ No one’s made that association.”

I was still unsure. “Okay…” I wasn’t quite prepared to relax just yet.

After he resumed manipulating my body parts into the correct positions for the various back-crackins, he continued, “The reason that I think it’s so funny is because no one has ever been so clever as to say that to me. See, I was on the 1984 Olympic Greco-Roman wrestling team.”

“OOOOhhhhh.” (pause, wherein I reevaluated the context of the entire session, ultimately deciding that this guy was not part of any conspiracy, but instead was impressed at my knowledge of things both Greco AND Roman) “Actually, I said that because I’m psychic.”

Most Important Feature: Prettiness

2007-09-18T11:46:00.001-05:00

So I have been a bit obsessed (as if it were possible to set a limit on my various obsessions) of late with buying a new computer. This whole no-internet-at-home thing has just gotten old. It was old after ten minutes, but now, going on ten months, I have just about had enough. So I have been shopping around for a notebook, comparing prices, hard drives, specs, and overall prettiness.

I had just about narrowed it down to an HP that's on sale at Circuit City or the new Dell that comes in all the fun colors, but have been unable to force myself to make the choice. Until today.

My glorious cell phone, the single connection I have to the outside world (Texas) pooped out, just two months shy of upgrade eligibility. So I am left with a whole 'nother decision to make. Sure, I could file an insurance claim and get a new phone for $50. But why would I want to do that when I can just buy an iPhone? I ask you, what would YOU do if you were me? I was going to wait until I got back to switch phones, but it seems that the techno-gods want me to access the internet from a pretty little iPhone before getting a laptop...

Mood Today: Feist-y

2007-09-17T15:14:00.000-05:00

So when I’m at work, I keep a radio on in the background, usually on an 80’s station, sometimes on rock or talk radio, rarely on country, and never on reggaeton. I find that the day goes by faster when it has a soundtrack. Pops calls this “whistling while you work.” I just like to jam out to INXS or Til Tuesday or Depeche Mode while doing the payables.

The station I choose and the volume at which I sing are a pretty decent dip-stick of my mood for that day. The louder and the more upbeat the fare, the better the mood. I do a lot of under-my-breath back-up vocals. I know the lyrics to an embarrasing number of the songs, and I just sing-song along to my heart's content. By the end of the day, I usually have at least one tune stuck in my head. Inevitably it’s some bubble-gum crap that only twelve-year-olds and mental patients enjoy. And it circles around and around in my head until I get a twitch in my eye and I want to ram a pencil into the back of my own hand. And not just a regular #2 pencil, but one of those chunky first-grader pencils that are like as thick as your thumb. Not comfy.

Today, though, I am totally satisfied with the song-of-the-day. It’s that catchy Feist tune from the Nano commercial, and I want to condense it into liquid form and pour it all over my face and body. There’s nary a twitching eye in the room. I could listen to it on repeat until the words lose their meaning. It makes me feel all fresh and hopeful.

Old Wise-Ass

2007-09-14T16:33:00.000-05:00

So I am thirty years old. It’s still weird to hear myself say that. I’m thirty. Wow. One of my very best friends just turned 31 this week. Holy crap. It’s like we keep aging and aging, but we’re still totally as warped as we were twenty years ago when we declared ourselves eternal BFF. If I had known that thirty was this young when I was a girl, I would never have feared growing older like I did. Oh, well, 20/20 hindsight, know what I’m sayin’?

There are a few things I have learned in my roughly 1/3 of a lifetime on this here planet. As part of my continued effort to enlighten all of mankind, let me share a few gems with y’all:

1. It is okay to wear jeans more than once between washings. So long as they aren’t visibly filthy and they don’t reek, multiple wears are completely acceptable. In fact, sometimes they fit better after some breaking in. Important note - panties are necessary to pull this off. If you choose to live the commando lifestyle, go ahead and wash your britches.

2. I don’t like beer. I’m sorry if this makes me a girly-girl or a lightweight or whatever else you may want to call me, but I have tried to acquire a taste for it, and it’s never happened. I’m okay with that. I’ll drink my gin and tonic or margarita or Bacardi Silver or any other comparably sweetly delicious drink in total satisfaction, not regretting for a moment that I chose something that I like, rather than something that you think I should drink.

3. Puking is okay. There’s a reason that we do it. Don’t fight it. Just go with it.

4. (via Pops) Ya cain’t hardly ever git thangs jist lahk ya wont ‘em (translation: You can’t hardly ever get things just like you want them). And even if you did, you probably wouldn’t like them that way, anyhow. Such is the nature of living in his land of too many choices.

5. Babies are what it’s all about. If you don’t have access to one, correct that pronto.

I hope you feel wiser now.

Mr. Short-term Memory

2007-09-10T11:32:00.000-05:00

So I head back to Florida tonight. I am beginning to feel the first wave of DTs, and I haven't even left for the airport. It's been the fastest ten days of my entire adult life. Why is it that time always moves by so quickly when you are happy and in a place of love and relaxation?

I have become a master Auntie Nanny Chef Maid (a duo comprised of me and Dee Dee, though she does more of the "chef" portion of the program, while I have been more of a "nanny"), and it sucks that, just as I have Tyler's full routine down, I have to leave. He knows who I am now, and he won't remember me anymore when I see him next. You'd think he'd be able to file my face under "People Who Love Me and Take Good Care of Me," but I don't think he's able to fit more than two faces (his parents) in that file right now, at least for the long term. Stupid baby.

Molly's calling me - we're going to look at houses today for me and the Pops to move into when we return. Gotta go. See ya in Florida (wah wah wah).

Loving My Family, Moving Back Soon

2007-09-03T18:24:00.000-05:00

So I am in Texas, and it's been a great weekend. I have, so far and in no particular order, consumed my weekly allowance of caffeine, peed my pants multiple times from the insane belly laughter that accompanies time spent with my aunt and sister, cleaned my grandmothers pool (and in the process, single-handedly nourished the area's mosquito population), babysat my nephew for the first time, been doused in the most grotesque version of spoiled-milk baby vomit (made even more disgusting by my nephew's aim at my cleavage, causing me to find spoiled-milk vomit UNDER my boobs), eaten no less than four cucumber-and-cream-cheese sandwiches, and been crowned the all-time winner and champeen of Mexican Train. The fun portion of the week is almost at a close. Now I just have to get a job, a place to live, and a new car. Woo hoo.

My sister is having a party tonight. Every girl that she knows is coming over for the HBO broadcast of Justin Timberlake's Future Sex/Love Show, and we are moving all of the furniture out of the living room for the staging of what has been affectionately dubbed the JT Dance Party USA '07. I have every intention of drinking too many mojitos and dancing myself down to a size 8. It could happen - Justin is THAT talented.

Tyler has turned into a little person. He is so ridiculously happy all of the time. He laughs at everything - I am freaking hilarious, by the way - so the times that he actually does let out his little plaintive cry, you know that something is up. He's only three and a half months old, and he's already teething and rolling over. I told you - he's advanced! I'm getting faster with the diapers, too, and I have learned the spit-up warning signs, so the vomit showers are becoming less frequent. He loves his bath time, and he loves to shake it up baby (shake it up baby)*, twist and shout (twist and shout)! I tell you what, he's so much more beautiful and exciting than I ever could have imagined. It's enough to make me consider finding a man to date again, just for his spermitudinal value.

* Never, ever, ever shake a baby. Unless the lyrics call for it, in which case, it's totally fine.

Excuses, Excuses

2007-08-30T11:22:00.000-05:00

So the meds are still working awesomely, hence my extended absence from the interweb. I have been furiously doing all the things that I was too depressed to do a few weeks ago, and time has just gotten away from me.

Much of my absence has been a direct result of my car being a piece of crap. I normally blog on my lunch hour, but much of my mid-day blog time has been taken up by trips to the mechanic (i.e. the evil dude who weaseled $300 out of me to basically do nothing to correct the problem), and only yesterday did I finally decide that I am no longer going to drive (or, more accurately, drive halfway to work, and then have to push a dead car out of the major streets of Orlando with only one working leg – thanks, frog - and stand in the heat until someone shows up to tow me back to the mechanic) that car. Pops has it now, and I am in his SUV (aka Ashtray on Wheels), and I plan to get a new car when I return to Texas.

Which brings me to my next point. I am going home next week for a whole week. Actually, I’ll be there until the tenth, and the main purpose of the visit is to interview for a job that I am very interested, because I don’t want to give up this great thing I have going in Florida (hahaha) if there’s nothing lined up in Texas. Incidentally, I will be staying with Molly, and I get to baby-sit Tyler all by myself for the first time while his parents are at work. It’s pretty much exciting.

Because I will be out for over a week, I have been crazily trying to get as much done at work as I humanly can before I leave, so when I have taken a lunch in the last couple of weeks, it has been greatly abbreviated, and I usually end up clocking back in early to get more work done.

And finally, I still don’t have a working computer at home; so all blogging in a non-insanely-busy environment is next to impossible. And really, I spend most of my time outside of work either cleaning obsessively or watching Big Brother 8, so it’s not like I could use that time for writing, anyway.
So there you have it. I won’t go away like that again, I pinky promise.

Way-Cute Wednesday

2007-08-15T13:54:00.000-05:00

So Molly sent this to my cell phone on Monday night. He's wearing a onesie that I made for him. It's amazing that he can look so much like his mom AND his dad, at the same time. He weighs over 15 pounds now, and has officially started laughing. And he's also started begging his mommy to bring him to Florida for a visit, because he misses his aunt so much..

Top Tens Signs That the New Meds Have Kicked In

2007-08-08T13:35:00.000-05:00

10. I am wearing make up. I had to search for my cosmetics bag – it was still in the suitcase I used when I went to my family reunion a month ago.
9. My laundry is done, for the first time in a month (a vast underwear supply was exhausted).
8. I have cooked dinner twice this week.
7. I have made appointments at all my doctors, so that my myriad health issues may be addressed and corrected through the miracle of modern science.
6. I no longer want to sleep all the livelong day.
5. I gave Pops a haircut for the first time since we went to Texas. In May. He was looking like Jeremiah Johnson.
4. The house is clean. Pops asked if I knew who came and stole all of our trash…
3. I went to the grocery store. We had some moldy cheese and some three-week-old enchilada leftovers in the fridge.
2. I am gonna bake cookies tonight.
1. I started a list of all the things I need to do in order to move back to Texas.

In Lieu of a Hallmark Greeting

2007-08-02T16:08:00.000-05:00

Dear Ass-face:

I just wanted to take this opportunity to tell you how much I appreciate your little hit-and-run in the parking lot today. Yes, I noticed the side of my car, all dented in after you backed into it and drove away. You jacked up my quarter panel, knocked off my side molding, ripped up the wheel well molding, left cream-colored paint transfer on my brown car, and then left the scene, without leaving a note or any indication that you had any intention of taking responsibility for your actions.

I get it – it’s my fault for parking my car in an area where you could potentially back into me. It’s my fault for not remembering that you tend to drive with your head up your ass, making it difficult to gauge distances in your rear-view mirror. It’s my fault for driving a car the color of the earth, making it easier for you to confuse it with the horizon. It’s all my fault, I know.

Thank you for reminding me that humanity sucks, particularly you. Thank you for lowering the already-dismal resale value of my lone means of transportation. Thank you for adding to the myriad issues that I have with my car – now, in addition to draining a quart of transmission fluid each week and having no A/C (in Florida – I cannot stress how horrendously hot it is without gratuitous exclamation point usage!!!!!), it looks on the outside like the beater-car that it is on the inside.

With sincerest hatred,
Becky

PS – Eff your mother.
PPS – Yes, I went there.

Every Cloud Has a Silver Patronus

2007-07-31T12:50:00.000-05:00

So things are starting to look up just a teeny tiny bit. All of your kind words really helped, just so you know. I have been transitioning to the new meds, and the zapping from coming off the old one has all but stopped completely, so we’ll see how well the new stuff works, in regards to keeping me away from the ledge. And now that I have a trusted member of the medical community telling me that I am not allowed to eat anything that can be purchased at 7-11, I think it might be easier to lay off the Sno-Balls and Almond Joys. If the temperature ever dips below 1,000 outside, and if it ever stops raining nonstop when I am not at work, we’ll tackle the exercise, too. But seriously, baby steps, people.

I am at work, and I am suffering from a full-tilt Harry Potter hangover. I got the book the day after it was released, but I have been too preoccupied with other things to actually read the thing. I was only about a third of the way through it when I crawled into my bed last night to read some more, and I inadvertently proceeded past the point of no return in the plot, so I had no choice but to stay up until 3:45 a.m. finishing it. And I, too, am blown away. I thought it was the best one of all seven. Brilliant, loved it, loved it, can't imagine a better ending!

So I am here at work, exhausted, and I will work for a little while, and then I remember something from the book, and I get all misty, and then I am trying not to cry at my desk about fictional characters in a children’s book. And I am thirty. THIRTY!

Not Just Mental Illness

2007-07-27T10:31:00.000-05:00

Molly: So what’s up? What’s wrong?

Becky: Nothing, why?

Molly: Because I just read your blog, and it made me want to commit suicide.
...

So that’s how I ended up at the doctor’s office yesterday. I went on the premise that I needed to change my meds (because SSRIs have a tendency to plateau after several months of use), and instead I ended up getting diabetes. Yep, the depression has made me stop taking care of myself, which has pushed me past my pre-diabetic state into an actual diabetic state. Which sucks.

But it’s okay, I’ll be fine. It’s weird how all of it is tied together – the PCOS, the depression, the diabetes – they all are sorta the cause AND the effect of the others. I got a new anti-depressant, and I am not so far advanced in the whole diabetes thing to need to take shots every day, so if I can just exercise and eat better, then I may never even get to that point. It’s a good thing, really, because otherwise, I may not have ever had the motivation to put down the cheeseburger and get up off my ass!

But if I can’t have any more piña coladas, you may as well kill me now.

Mental Illness

2007-07-25T10:06:00.000-05:00

So I can feel it coming on. I know what an episode feels like, and one is on the horizon. I don’t know if my meds are pooping out, or if it’s just the general funk I’ve been in for the last couple of months, but a dark spell is just waiting for some minor tragedy to use as an excuse to wreak havoc on my already fragile existence. And it’s right on time – it’s usually about every two years that I retreat into my depressive haze and pull the covers over my head.

I’ve had trips and events and things to distract me and give me something to look forward to, but now that’s all over. I feel like I’m just counting down the weeks until it’s time to die, like that’s all that’s left for me in this life. Everything seems so tedious – it’s like living in the world is just busy work, to keep me occupied until I kick the bucket.

Hate Hate Hate!

2007-07-18T11:18:00.000-05:00

So it may just be my horrormones, and I may be hungry or sleep deprived, and it may just be that I forgot to take my meds for two days and I’m all zappy, but I am in the single most terrible mood of all of my adult life. I hate my job, I hate Orlando, I hate the weather, I hate my car, I hate my boss, I hate my dirty bathroom, I hate everything!

And while I can hide under the veil of this bad mood, I just want to say that I hate when people ignore the fact that I have stated time and time again that I cannot access my email right now because of my continued off-line status, and then get all pissy when I don’t respond to their messages. Once again, for the benefit of all who may feel compelled to send me emails: Please do not expect a response from me, because while I can read my emails from my cell phone, I cannot open attachments or reply to any messages. I do appreciate the passive-aggressive comments, though. Those are lovely.

This mood will pass, I’m sure, given some sleep and a full tummy. In the mean time, it would be in everyone’s best interest to get the hell out of my way.

The Clampetts Go to Tampa

2007-07-16T12:20:00.000-05:00

So Pops had a great time this weekend in Tampa. We ended up going to both games (Saturday and Sunday), and the cheap seats that we got on Sunday were even better than the mid-pricey ones I ordered in advance for Saturday. His Mantle jersey was also a roaring success, especially after an attractive young lady came up behind him and asked, “Excuse me, Mr. Mantle, could I borrow your lighter?” (His response – “My friends call me Mickey.”)

The only hiccup was the steak lunch he wanted so badly for his birthday. The place he wanted to go in Orlando is just awesome, and they run a birthday special, where you get your meal comped if you have valid ID proving it’s your birthday. Even without the on-the-house meal, we still would have gone there, because it really is delicious, so the free food is just a plus on a positive. We planned on having a late lunch there, and then leaving for Tampa from the restaurant, but when we showed up at 3:00, we were shocked to discover that they don’t open until 4:30. Poor Pops would have to forego the free steak.

By the time we got to Tampa at 4:30, I was ready to gnaw my own arm off (no breakfast + no lunch = arm gnawing), and I was practically screaming out the name of every restaurant we passed on the interstate (“CARRABBA’S, Dad! Do you want Italian? What about BOB EVANS? Or OUTBACK! They have steaks! HOW ABOUT OUTBACK?!?). Pops was underwhelmed by the selection, until lo and behold, we saw a sign for the Tampa location of the restaurant he had wanted to go to so badly an hour and half earlier, back in Orlando. It was meant to be!

We pulled into the parking lot, only to see that they didn’t open until 5:00 (my stomach shouted some choice words at them). We checked into our hotel to kill some time, and returned ready to eat everything that wasn’t nailed down. Upon entering, we noticed that the Tampa location was decidedly more hoity-toity than its Orlando counterpart – Pops was underdressed in shorts and a polo (though this attire would have been appropriate in Touristlando – I mean, Orlando), and by the time we got to our table, he was so visibly uncomfortable that I fully expected him to fold up like an umbrella and stow himself under the table. Needless to say, this is not how I wanted my dad to feel on his birthday. I told him not to worry about it and urged him to order the most expensive thing on the menu if he was so concerned about the wait staff thinking we were WT.

He made his menu selection and I had just about decided on the lamp chops, but then our waiter told us about the “specials” (which, in Orlando, generally run a few dollars cheaper than the menu features), and I was drawn in by the filet and soft-shell crab. It sounded delicious, what with our server’s animated description of the light mustard sauce.

We waited an inordinately long time for our food to arrive (despite being the first people in before the dinner rush), but when our plates finally were served, Pops’ New York Strip looked so tender and tasty I thought it might melt off the plate. My entrée was a different story altogether, though. I thought Pops was gonna roll off of his chair with laughter from the sight of it. (Let me just insert here that my dad is not a picky eater, but he doesn’t experiment and he sticks to pretty much the same old worn out culinary territory that he has always tread.) Needless to say, this was the first time he had ever even seen soft-shell crab. He said it looked like “chicken-fried tarantula.” Which made it even tastier than it already wasn’t.

When we got the bill, it turned out that they don’t honor the same birthday deal as Orlando, which was no big deal, whatever, Pops enjoyed every last morsel of his dinner, and I would have been willing to pay twice. And I was given the opportunity to do just that, because the only thing “special” about my meal was the price tag, as it cost more than my monthly cell-phone bill. It seemed horrible of me to spend twice as much on myself as I did on Pops. It was HIS birthday! And it wasn’t even good. I should have gotten the dang lamp chops, but nooOOooo… I had to have the chicken-fried tarantula. What a dumbass.

Other than that, the weekend was a blast. The Yankees won both games, and we cheered and drank and heckled the Rays fans (incidentally, the New York fans outnumbered the Devil Ray fans by at least 5 to 1 – the cheers for Jeter and A-Rod were deafening – and I overheard other spectators remarking that it sounded like we were in the Bronx, not St. Petersburg). I can’t imagine Pops’ smile being any wider or more genuine. Happy birthday, old man.

Friday the 13th Awesomeness, Part Two

2007-07-13T14:21:00.000-05:00

So I only have a few minutes to get this up on the blog, so I'll resort to list format:

1. I am the best daughter in the land. Pops' birthday is tomorrow, and we are going out for steak lunch and then heading to Tampa for the Yankees game. We're planning to go to the beach on Sunday, also, but then again, Mussina is scheduled to pitch in Sunday's game, so we may just take in another game, this time from the cheap seats...

2. The A/C is still kapooey. I am sweating from my eyeballs.

3. Showtime is airing Big Brother coverage from midnight to 3:00 a.m., and I am as happy as a little girl. Have I ever mentioned that I love Big Brother? Yeah, I'm a nerd...

4. My nephew is about to start laughing. His smiles come with sound, but Molly said that she fully expects giggles any day now. He's made of sunshine, you know.

5. We saw the new HP:OOTP on Wednesday - not as good as the book, too much was changed, not nearly enough Neville for my taste, but I suppose it's a necessary evil to get to the sixth and seventh ones, right? Imelda Staunton was super creepy, though, so that's a plus...

6. And finally, my knee is green. Eff Houston, and all the effers who ignored me in my time of need!

Wherein the Author Contemplates a Move to Reykjavik*

2007-07-11T16:00:00.000-05:00

So my car’s A/C stopped working on Friday, and I didn’t much care then, because I was leaving town for three days, but let me tell you – I cares now. I cares big time. It is hotter than hell outside right now, and the humidity is at like 600%, and it’s raining on and off all day, so it’s either stifle dryly in a hot car with the windows up, or cool off in the wet, wet rain while I’m going 55 down a residential street**.

Also, I have to add a quart of transmission fluid every week because there’s a bad seal (too lazy to have it fixed…), and did I mention the time that I threw all the tread off of one tire yesterday? Yeah, I love my car. I am thankful that I have a car. It was a free (to me) car. I love my car. I want a new car. With a good transmission, and new tires, and a working A/C. And maybe more cup holders.

* ... to live with Bjork, on the fjords...
** I don’t drive that fast***.
*** Except sometimes I do, like when my air conditioner is out, and I want to get back home as quickly as possible, because I am afraid that I may dehydrate from all the sweating.

Instant Effin' Karma

2007-07-10T16:49:00.000-05:00

So I told a big fat lie yesterday that was worth about $225.00, and today karma came along and bit me right in the ass. I am a terrible liar, and I never get away with it, but in this case I did – for about twelve hours. But before I get into that, let me tell you all about my wonderful weekend in Texas.

On Saturday, I went to my family reunion in Temple, Texas. My great-grand parents had four children, and the four branches of the family tree alternate years to host the reunion. This year was my grandfather’s year. My uncle paid, my aunt coordinated, my cousin Shawna put together a cookbook and tackled the daunting task of updating our family tree, and I passed out the rolls. Which was kind of lame, because half those skinny bitches are off bread. They can bite me.

We stayed up super late that night, laughing and catching up with everyone. Molly and I have never really spent a whole lot of time with my older cousins, so it was awesome to swap gossip and get trashed with them. You know, since we’re all so mature now.

Sunday was our day to nurse our hangovers and return to Austin. We said goodbye to everyone and drove home, and I got to hang out with my nephew for the first time. Do you want to know how much he hates me? Guess! Ok, it’s a whole zero. Because he totally loves me. I’m pretty much his favorite non-parent. He smiles at me and lets me eat his ears off and falls asleep in my arms and lets me give him baths all by myself. If I were lactating, we’d be in business. But since thinking about nursing my sister’s baby grosses me out, I am happy to give him bottles of pumpage.

Monday was our day for shopping and visiting friends. We had lunch with DeeDee at The Clay Pit, which was yum, and she was so pretty and happy to see us. The conversation was a bit slow, though, because none of us could take our eyes off of the gorgeous baby at the table. We did some light shopping, wherein I got a new purse (lovely!), and then I got on the plane and headed back to Florida.

This is where I tell you about the lie that ruined my day. See, when I booked my flight, I scheduled my return on Sunday, because it never occurred to me to ask for Monday off. When Molly suggested that I stay an extra day, I asked for the day off, which was fine, so I went back online to change my flight to the next day. However, the airline wanted to charge me a $100 change fee, and I thought that was the dumbest thing in the world, because I was changing from a heavy flight day to a lighter one, and I thought the fee was totally unjustified.

So Molly and I came up with a scheme to rip off the airline. We decided that I would just call the airline on Sunday night and tell them that I was on the way, but the car had “blown a tire,” and I would need to rebook on the next flight, which I knew would be the next day. Everything went as planned, and on Sunday I called customer service to change my flight. The guy who answered was less than concerned about the safety of me or my people (hello?!? As far as he knew, we “blew a tire”!!!), and said that not only was there a $100 change fee, but I would have to pay an additional $125 price difference because the cost of a Monday ticket had gone up from the time when I booked. I told him I’d just pay cash at the ticket counter, and hung up all pissed that my plan had backfired.

I got over it, and decided that the extra day that I had with Molly was worth the extra $225 that I was gonna have to pay, so when I approached the ticket counter to change my flight Monday evening, I stuck with my story, but pulled out my wallet to fork out the cash. Here’s the exchange I had with the lady at the counter.

Becky: I need to fly to Orlando. I was supposed to be on the 7:15 flight last night, but we blew a tire on our way back into town from a family reunion, so I wasn’t able to make the flight.

Lady: Oh my goodness! That is so scary! Is everyone okay?

B: Oh, yeah, it just took time to get it changed. Here’s my confirmation number. I called the 800-number, and the guy took me off the list for yesterday’s flight so they wouldn’t be looking for me.

Lady: Did he confirm you on tonight’s flight?

B: No, I didn’t want to pay the change fee with my credit card. I’d prefer to pay with cash here.

Lady: He didn’t just offer to waive it?

B: Uh, no… You can do that?

Lady: Sure! Here you go – you are all set on the flight. Have a great trip!

Did you notice? No money was exchanged. No $100 fee. No $125 increase. No money whatsoever. It was pretty much awesome. Even though I was a huge liar.

The universe was made right today, though, because I really did blow a tire on my way to work. No bad deed ever goes unpunished.