I need coolin'

I'm too keen on Joaquin for the Man In Black purist...

2006-04-09T06:00:00.000-07:00

I've been a busy chick for the last several weeks. Been doing some more volunteer work, filling out mountains of paperwork for my Master's program (I start in the fall, and I'm already sick of the work involved...should be a helluva trip), putting in crazy extra hours at work, and, um, I went on a blind date. We'll explore this last item for the purposes of this post, m'k? Despite my aversion to being set up on blind dates, I succumbed to the pressure that a work friend (JF) has been placing on me and went out for drinks with her hubby's friend, a.k.a. "Johnny".

I insisted that the date be more of a "team" versus "singles" event, and made JF and her hubby accompany us. I decided that Kathy's Pub would offer me safety (my bartender boys are always looking out for me), as well as the easiest escape route should Johnny turn out to be a raving lunatic (twice bitten, thrice shy), so we met there. JF and I left work early on Blind Date Day and, shockingly, I was planning to drink diet sodas (mostly on account of not wanting to ruin my weight loss streak, partially because I get a little loose-lipped under the influence, and didn't want to, y'know, scare the poor fella). Johnny entered with JF's hubby and I regarded Johnny as a nice enough looking guy (JF knows well of my taste for pretty eyes/nice smile/decent build). First hurdle cleared. He introduced himself and opened the conversation with "so I hear you like music". Second hurdle cleared. We ran through my faves (and I observed his ever-so-slight grimace when I mentioned Motley Crue, so the red flag started to rise), but he seemed otherwise interested in actually hearing what I had to say. I volleyed the music question back, and he stated his fondness for the music of Johnny Cash. Since I've seen 'Walk The Line' somewhere around 7 times, I thought we might have broached a topic of mutual interest. I mentioned that I loved the movie and have listened to the soundtrack pretty much non-stop since it's release. This is where things got weird.
Johnny: "You do realize Johnny Cash is not singing on the soundtrack, don't you?"
Me: "Oh, yeah, I know it's Joaquin Phoenix. I just think he's amazing in his renditions of the songs. He's quite gifted."
Johnny (firmly): "Well, he's an actor. He's no Johnny Cash."
Me: "Um, ok. I just think it takes incredible talent to learn how to sing and play the guitar for a role like that. Knowing that the soundtrack was Joaquin Phoenix singing Johnny Cash songs was the reason I bought the CD."
Johnny: "So you're a fan of Joaquin Phoenix's music and not Johnny Cash's, then."
Me (red flag rising higher, not sure why I had to explain myself): "No, I mean, yes, I mean, uh, my parents were and are huge fans of Johnny Cash, so growing up, I listened to him and carried that appreciation into adulthood. I'm just saying that Joaquin Phoenix CAN sing and that he sang Johnny Cash songs well."
Johnny: "Hmph."
Me (Hmph? He's actually annoyed, I think): "Um, I feel like I've struck a nerve of some sort here."
(JF and her hubby are anxiously giggling at this point, likely desperate for a change in subject)
Johnny (eerily serious): "I don't think you're a fan of Johnny Cash at all. I think you bought into the whole Joaquin Phoenix Oscar-hyped performance, and HE'S who you actually like. I mean, really, how can someone who likes Motley Crue and Tesla possibly enjoy the music of a legend like Johnny Cash."
Me (deciding that this particular Johnny is a class A nut-job): "Well, what a strange conversation we've had here. I'm going to be leaving now."

I got up and walked back to the bathroom, and JF followed me in. I told her she was fired from her self-appointed matchmaker duty. She laughed and said she had no idea he was so weird, blah, blah, blah. She'll make it up to me, blah, blah, blah. I left, went home and hit the heavy bag for a half hour and felt much, much better. I'd sure like to know why the hell I'm such a freak magnet. I mean, it's not like I'm limiting myself to one particular type or class of guy. I've dated guys my age, older and younger than me, professionals and laborers, concretes and creatives, talls and shorts, handsomes and "interesting lookings", fits and chubbies, sobers and drunks...the only common demoninators I insist on in the men I date are wit, a love of music, intellect (and this I judge in varying degrees), nice eyes and a great smile. The bar is really not set that high, people. It must just be me. I'm too, uh, me, I guess. Obviously, my guard is up and I run for the hills at the first hint of crazy, so I've never really stuck around long enough to give a guy a chance at redemption once he's weirded me out. But I define "normal" pretty loosely, so maybe I just need to travel in different, or at a minimum, broader social circles. God knows the friends I've relied on thusfar to help me meet potential love-interests have not produced the goods. I need to either rely on myself (where's that laughter coming from?) or move the search to a new city. Say Kiddo? Any chance that you have a spare room I can occupy on weekends?

Tagged again

2006-03-12T06:58:00.000-08:00

Potusol tagged me (and I'm glad you did...I've been 'blog topic vacant' lately), so here are 6 weird things/habits people may not know about me...

Cherry-flavored anything makes me gag. I trace this back to childhood when I had a terrible sore throat and my mother sprayed the horror known as Cherry Chloroseptic in my mouth. I puked for hours afterward.
I smoke, and hate the smell of it on me and others at work, but not in a bar. I will wash my hands obsessively, deliberately stand outside for an extra 10 minutes to 'air out' and drench myself in perfume after having a cigarette at work. And I wrinkle my nose and walk away if I smell it on others at work. In a bar, I crave the smell. I am seriously bipolar on this one.
I change my pillowcases everyday and pretty much have to be drunk to sleep on anyone else's pillows. I am phobic about drool, nasal expenditures, and face/hair grease, yet, I have been known to pass out on bathroom floors...it's inexplicable.
I am a hair band junkie, and publicly express my distaste for country music, but I secretly love Johnny Cash, Buck Owens and Dwight Yoakam. I crank up their greatest hits CDs (Folsom Prison Blues, Act Naturally and Fast As You render me unable to suppress the urge to dance) every weekend when I'm doing my housecleaning. They are the shiz-it.
I'm very, very scared of horses and snakes. Was thrown from a horse when I was 11 and the entire left side of my body was skinned raw. Held a boa constrictor at a children's zoo when I was 8 and it squeezed my arm to the point of turning it purple. If I go near either of these creatures again, I'm certain my death will ensue.
I don't accept compliments well, but I offer them freely. Another thing I blame on my Catholic upbringing...I call it the "You're ok, I'm not worthy" syndrome. The nuns used to do 'humility' exercises with us...they'd give us a compliment like "you have a nice smile" and we weren't allowed to indicate any form of response. We had to just bow our heads. These are the same nuns that turned me from left-handed to right-handed with swift smacks of 'the paddle'. It's a wonder that I have any sense of self-worth to this day.

There it is. My innermost weirdness exposed for all the world to see (well, all 4 people who read my blog, that is). Speaking of which, everyone else I know has already been tagged except Ang, and Boywonder so they're it. And I'm not sure whatever became of Boywonder, so have at it Ang!

It started out innocently enough...

2006-02-28T16:56:00.000-08:00

Remember when you were a kid and you used to sit-slide down a flight of carpeted stairs on your ass? Anyway, that's what I did last weekend at a party. Oh, and it was captured on film and shared with my department heads. Did they cringe in horror at the sight of one of their managers with her pants-legs hiked up to her knees and a home-made wine drunken smirk on her face? Hell no. They chose her to lead a newly formed group charged with improving employee morale. "Yours is just the type of personality we need to rev up the staff". So, I get to plan a party, complete with fun games and events, to try to make employees like their jobs better. Of course there were ground rules handed out.

If the party takes place at a non-work facility, we can have booze, but the organization won't foot the bill.
If we do have booze, we need to make arrangements for designated drivers, cabs or hotel accomodations for those employees who appear to "overindulge".
If employees do overindulge, we can't take pictures of them. We can only photograph sober employees who appear to be having a good time because the pictures will be posted in a department newsletter.
Spouses and partners must be invited and we need to keep an eye out for "inappropriate mingling", whatever the hell that means.
We can't force employees to participate in the fun games and events or engage them in any activity that would make them feel in any way uncomfortable.
If we choose to serve food, the organization won't foot the bill.
If we choose to serve food, we must ensure that the selections are representative of employees who have special dietary needs (low-fat, low-carb, vegetarian, and sugar-free options must be made available).
Business casual attire must be adhered to. No jeans, no sneakers, no mini-skirts, no bare midriffs, no open-toed shoes or sandals, no sweat pants, no t-shirts, etc.
Vulgar language will not be tolerated. The first time vulgarities are overheard by management personnel in attendance, the cussers will be politely reminded to "check their language". If vulgarities are overheard by management personnel a second time, the cussers will be politely asked to leave.
Management personnel are required to attend.
Management personnel are not permitted to drink alcohol "to excess", whatever the hell that means.
If management personnel are photographed, they must be smiling, interacting with employees and appear to be enjoying themselves.

So much for my 'Manager-Employee Keg-Stands & Body Shots', 'Naked Random Strangers in a Laundry Basket Tilt-A-Whirl' and 'Who Dropped the F-Bomb?' game ideas, I guess. The new plan involves the managers sporting nun habits and preist collars, handing out bottled water at the entrance to one of our on-site meeting rooms, and escorting the employees to their seats for a viewing of the PBS concert special Josh Groban: Rising Star. Then I'm going to go puke.

Reality check

2006-02-22T16:49:00.000-08:00

Ok, I'm back on the American Idol kick again. I must say, the programming Gods are smiling upon me because the Wednesday night offering allows me to still watch Project Runway (I'm perturbed that Nick was cut, but I'm coping...Daniel V. is my pick to win it now). Digression aside, American Idol has some damned fine talent this year. I was prepped for all-out boycotting the year Fantasia won (I was a LaToya London fan), and my heart still hurts from Bo Bice's loss, but now I'm trying to place my bet on who will take the prize this year. Faves so far: sweet little angel-voiced Lisa Tucker, really fucking good Katherine McPhee, oh-so-dreamy Ace Young, and my rocker pick, Chris Daughtry. One of those 4 needs to win it, or that's it, I'll be done with that damn show for good. And someone please explain to me how the Jay Leno/George Clooney love- child-doppleganger Taylor Hicks made it to the top 24? Yeek.

Clark W. Griswold is my Dad

2006-02-17T17:13:00.000-08:00

Right now, the temperature is approaching 12 below zero (30 below with wind chill), and just walking the 2 blocks from my office to the commuter bus caused my contact lenses to freeze to my eyeballs. I'm not kidding. The heat inside the bus thawed them and my vision was blurred for the entire ride home, so I couldn't read the new Stephen King book I just purchased. I peeled the damn lenses off my eyeballs when I got home (a brand new pair of lenses, BTW) and saw that they were sort of crimped all the way around the perimeters. My eyes hurt like hell and the re-hydrating drops I put in simply made them burn...and now I fear blindness.

Anyway, I was so consumed with this that I failed to notice that my Dad had stopped by today to install hand-railing on the walls leading up and down my stairs. He's retired and likes to feel useful, so he often drops by unnanounced to see if I need any help with yard work, or other miscellaneous home repair tasks. I have a pretty firm rule that my Dad is not allowed to perform home improvement projects of any kind in my house, on account of his severe lack of attention to detail and his maladroit handling of tools (cases in point: he once dropped a full, opened can of paint on the carpeted floor of my entryway and fell off a ladder trying to catch it, and gouged the side of my house with a chainsaw in his attempt to cut down a tree). So when I noticed the railings, I instantly began scanning the floor and walls for evidence of the inevitable mistakes that he undoubtedly tried to hide. I spotted a small pile of plaster residue on the floor and followed it upward to discover mis-judged screw holes and paint-bare drywall surrounding the hardware supports affixed to the wall. Jesus. Then I looked up and saw an empty section of wall where a shelf with a ceramic vase used to be. I continued to seek out the shelf, then noticed it on my dining room table. The shelf was in 3 pieces, but salvageable, and next to it was the shattered ceramic vase. On one of the broken vase shards was a post-it note stating "Put the railings up and bumped into the damn shelf on your wall. It and the shit on it broke. P.S. I took your Saw II DVD".

I fixed the shelf, tossed the vase shards into the garbage and popped the cork on a bottle of chianti. Here I sit, close to polishing off my third glass, mildly angry. I haven't watched the Saw II DVD yet (that was actually my plan for the evening), and I'm pretty confident that when he returns it, it will be scratched or some other form of unviewable. I suppose this could all be his version of retribution for my teenage rebellious behavior, and that's fine. He forgets that I have established strong rapport with physicians who can order incredibly invasive tests and sign committment papers...

You don't send me flowers; don't you DARE send me flowers...oh, you DIDN'T send me flowers?

2006-02-14T17:26:00.000-08:00

I've not dated since the whirlwind known as Nikki, so imagine my surprise when 2 dozen roses found their way into my office today. At first, I figured it was a nice gesture from my parents or my son or well-meaning friends, so I was touched...until I saw the card. "Thinking of you on our special day! Love, You Know Who" it read. It might as well have been blank and impaled with a bloody knife, as that's the reaction it produced. I was consumed with dread and instantly fired off an e-mail to Nikki, thanking him, but begging for an explanation. I tapped my fingers on the keyboard, patiently awaited his reply & planned the perfect wording of my accusation of his mind-fuckery. His reply came an ENDLESS 15 minutes later in one short statement, "I have no idea what you are talking about". So I called him. He seemed sincere enough in his denial, but then got this weird inquisitive tone in his voice and claimed intrigue, so I just quickly apologized, handed him some lame excuse that I had to head off to a meeting and hung up. I sat in my office and stewed about it for another 20 minutes when in walked my secretary.
Her: "Oh, hi! Aren't those beautiful? The florist just delivered them".
Me: "Yeah, I have no clue who they're from".
Her: "Oh...ah, um, oh boy".
Me: "Oh, ah, um, oh boy what?".
Her: "Well, oh, this is awkward. They aren't yours".
Me: "Oh-kaaay, so why are they in my office on my desk?".
Her: "Oh, I was on my way to the bathroom when the florist came in and I just told him to put them in here".
Me: "You told the florist to just waltz into my office and set a bouquet of roses that don't belong to me on my desk? Nice, very nice".
Her: "Well, yeah. You weren't in here and they are a surprise for S in honor of her Valentine's Day wedding anniversary...they're from her husband, and he wanted to stash them somewhere until he's able to come up here and deliver them to her in person!".
Me: "You are evil".
Her: "Oh, boy. You're sad, aren't you? You really wanted them to be yours, didn't you?".
Me: "No, not sad...quite the contrary, really. Relief is actually a better word for how I feel right now...closely followed by humiliation at the fact that I just accused my ex-boyfriend of sending them to me".
Her: "Shut up! You so did not!".
Me: "No, you shut up! I SO DID!"
Her: "Oh that is funny!".
Me: "Yep, that it is! He's probably getting a heck of a chuckle out of it as we speak. You may leave now".

She exited, still laughing, and unbeknownst to me until later, she proceeded to tell the rest of the office, including all of my employees, about my assumption. I found out because when I returned from a meeting this afternoon, there was a 'Greenhouse' sign on my door, and everyone who DID receive flowers today had placed them in my office. 14 vases of roses, carnations and other assorted bouquets were on my desk, file cabinets, table, and chairs. I really never realized how much flowers reek until today..my GAWD, did it stink in there. I decided to do the noble thing and e-mailed an apology/guess-what-they-did-to-me explanation to Nikki, to which he replied, "AH, HAH, HAH, HAH, HAH, HAH, HAH, HAW, HAW, HAW, HAW!!!!! HOO!".

Bastards...all of them...

Civil War

2006-02-09T17:13:00.000-08:00

Jesus Christ, I'm finally back on Minnesota soil! I don't often blog about it, but my job has become a shit-storm and I am utterly caked with feces. And I need to cleanse, people. Someone, somewhere in my organization decided that finance managers across the enterprise needed to unite (like the Wonder-Twins or those Captain Planet kids), so I've been a traveling fool for the past way too many weeks. I have had reprieves at home on a couple of weekends, and probably should have blogged, but I've seriously been too tired to do anything but sleep and laundry before having to pack again. The worst of it is, I don't know these freaks from the other parts of the enterprise, they don't know me, and they don't like me or any of my "northern" colleagues because we're bigger, we have more resources at our disposal, and they think we're going to try to centralize their billing functions up here in the Ice Belt. So, I went into this ridiculous social experiment knowing full well it was going to be a train wreck. And if there's one thing I am averse to, it's trying to play nice with people who have no intention of playing nice in return.

Trip #1 was dubbed "The Ice-Breaking Retreat"...seriously. And in keeping with this theme, me and 2 fellow Finance slaves were sent to the not-so-windy, but really fucking cold, city(ies) of Champaign-Urbana, Illinois to meet 3 of our counterparts from each of our southern enterprise locations. The one and only good thing about this was the University of Illinois campus (and bars) being within staggering distance of our hotel. The 2 colleagues I was traveling with took our little olive-branch extending tour just a bit too literally. Our goal was simply to do a meet & greet with the Southerners, tour the local medical center (to make it appear to be an actual business trip), have a dinner together, and write up our "impressions" of each other. My colleagues thought it would be nice to bring gift baskets with Minnesota-based company products (complete with a box of Malt-O-Meal, Shakers vodka, Land O' Lakes butter & cheese, some syrup, some soap, Pig's Eye beer, and fishing tackle), and we all had to wear Twins, Timberwolves or Vikings jerseys. Aww. Cute. We arrived at the hotel, checked in and waited in the lobby for 45 minutes when the Southern gals finally arrived...being all blonde and tan, and wearing shorts. First thought: 'Splendid, they're morons'. I had already scoped out the bar scene, and had my eye on the Canopy Club, so I suggested that we go have a few drinks to loosen up. My fellow Northerners wanted to do the gift-basket peace offering first, so there we were in the lobby of the Hampton Inn in our stupid sports jerseys, with our fake smiles, saying "Hi! How was your trip? I'm blah, blah. So nice to finally meet you". The Southerners fake-reciprocated our greetings and were so grateful to receive the bounty of MN goodies, that they carried the baskets between their their thumbs & forefingers like dirty diapers up to their rooms. We then went to the Canopy Club, where a very cool band was playing, and after about 2 hours of sitting around, talking to each other, but not to us, the Southerners wanted to go back to the hotel because they had headaches and were tired. One of my colleagues offered to walk back with them, and they snorted, "We're big girls from big cities. We can find our way back". The next day, we went to the medical center and didn't see hide nor hair of the Southerners. Trip #1 impression: What a bunch of bitches.

Trip #2 was entitled "Warm-Up", and we were sent to Miami for 3 days. This time, our bosses were in tow. I was happy to be in Nip/Tuck country (LOTS of very pretty people in Miami), and I love the ocean, so it was a tolerable experience. We stayed at the Hyatt Regency in downtown Miami...very nice...and had an "itinerary" that had us going shopping together, going to a Cuban night club together, having dinner together, and going on a little Gilligan's Island-esque sightseeing boat cruise around the Port of Miami and Miami Beach....again, together. We did not shed these bitches for 3 days! It was a very strained, very tense, very passive-aggressive experience, because now, not only did the managers from each enterprise abhor each other, our bosses jumped in the hate pool with us. We spent 3 days attached-at-the-hip to each other, and we knew less about the Southerners when we left than we did when we came. Trip #2 impression: Still a bunch of bitches, and my boss sunburns and gets sea-sick easily. Oh, and Mojitos are really tasty drinks.

Trip #3 was called "Culmination". Of what, I have no idea. This special event was held in the great state of South Dakota. This time our bosses AND their bosses came along. The bosses' bosses are accountants by education, have somehow ascended the leadership ladder (likely as a result of their collective ability to count things other than beans), and they decided that we had spent entirely too much money on trip expenses thusfar. So we got to "slum it" and spent the damn 3-day revival in a Ramkota Best Western in Pierre. There was absolutely nothing to do in Pierre, except a casino, but I don't gamble, so I found me some dive bars and was hammered/hung-over most of those 3 days. One of the Southern bitches finally decided that I was approachable, so she drank and hung out with me. At one point, I recall telling her that her colleagues were stand-offish and she replied, "we were told to be because our leadership wants nothing to do with this resource-sharing/expense reduction initiative". Swell. I despise political bullshit and mentally checked out of the whole shitting ordeal after that. Trip #3 impression: you CAN drink way too much in the presence of your co-workers & superiors and still be smarter than them.

The next gathering of fools is slated for the Phoenix conference in late April. The bosses and their bosses are going again, and me and my colleagues are not (sorry AZ guys...will have to plan a recreational trip sometime). Seems that the grand pooh-bahs have all decided that they need to get on the same page first (geniuses), before throwing all of us into the teamwork snake pit. Quite frankly, I'm just fine with that. I'm tired of taking these trips and coming home to an exhaustive list of fires to extinguish, e-mails to follow-up on, pissed off employees who regard these trips as 'management vacations' to explain myself to, etc. This entire experience has left me incredibly jaded about my job and the overall direction my department is going. However, the upside to this was that I decided front-line management bites and that I want a better job, so I applied to a Master's degree program. I plan to start in the fall, and get to check off another item on the 2006 resolution list. That makes me 5 for 9 on the 'I'm doing what I actually committed to doing' scale. Cue Samantha Jones shouting, "Everybody drink!"

Progress report

2006-01-08T06:39:00.000-08:00

Week 1 of the self-improvement plan has passed and I'm happy to report 4 pounds and 2.25 inches lost! Still have a long way to go, but at least it's progress.

Surprisingly, the healthy eating has been a breeze, and I've definitely noticed that I feel better as a result (fewer random headaches, stomach discomfort, mood issues). I haven't had alcohol yet (so that in itself, may be the reason for feeling so peachy), and may have to continue down that road until the metabolism kicks up a bit (or until someone tempts me otherwise). The real fun exists in the exercise regime I've prescribed for myself. Cardio every day and toning with light weights every other day. The first few days are a blur, since I was pretty hopped up on Advil and high from the Sportscreme fumes. Today was the first day I awoke pain-free. More progress, I guess.

In other news, Jason's girlfriend is no more. I saw her loading her car with boxes yesterday as I was returning from a walk. I decided to be polite and waved, which she interpreted as an invitation to therapy, so she came over. Jason's a prick, she said (uncannily perceptive of you), and his kids drove her nuts because "they like to break things with hammers". She's a planner, though, because she already "hooked up with a way nicer guy she met in a bar 2 weeks ago and he's letting me move in". Whore it up, sister, and have a nice life.

Arizona boys: Will find out next week if I'm attending the conference in Phoenix April 29-May 2. If it's a go, we must make plans!

Grand design

2006-01-07T06:22:00.000-08:00

Project Runway is one of my new favorite reality shows. I watched it sporadically last year, and now I can't tear myself away from it. And I don't understand why. I'm hardly a fashionista...in fact, I resemble a butch gym coach/grunge rocker on any given weekend, and I despise the conservative professional garb (suits in navy blue, black, gray) I'm required to wear at work (I pushed the envelope the other day and wore a bright red blazer, which elicited an eyebrow raise and comment from my boss "Wow, that's certainly a colorful jacket"...Jesus, I really need a new job...seriously, I'm simply stifled at this place...oh well, that's another post someday). So what's the attraction of this show? For me, it's all in the casting:

Judges Nina Garcia and Michael Kors. Their critiques are, of course, dead-on accurate, but they both just seem bored and irritated that they have to be there.
Heidi Klum's accent, ceremonial Auf Veidersen cast-off and robotic mannerisms. I think Seal drugged her and made her a Stepford wife.
Diana Eng. OhMyGa. Honestly, she's William Hung's sister, I just know it.
Tim Gunn. There's a fine line between matter-of-factness and anal retentiveness and he blurs it flawlessly.
Drama queen Andrae Gonzalo. I love his exaggerated-emoting-bawl-baby persona.
Santino. What a suck-up bastard. He reminds me of my co-workers.
Token 'African-American bitch' Zulema. Just once, I'd really like to see a reality show portray an African-American woman as a nice person, but I'm glad she's not it.
Kara Janx. Sometimes, when she gets nervous, she does this exasperated growl-yelp. Awesome.

I hope either Daniel Vosovic or Nick Verreos wins. Both are talented, but Daniel's pretty cute and Nick is hilarious. Give this show a peek. It's worth it. If for no other reason than to cringe at some of the terrible design products and laugh at these crazy contestants...oh, and try to figure out if Diana is, um, "special"...

Resolve...it's more than just the #1 selling carpet stain remover

2006-01-01T11:28:00.000-08:00

Alright, since there really is some (albeit negligible) truth to the projection that if one writes down one's goals, it will increase the likelihood of one actually achieving said goals, I am going a step further and publicly acknowledging what I hope will be outcomes this time next year (P.S. the first 2 are on my list EVERY year):

Exercise daily
Eat healthier foods
Drink wine instead of beer
Save money
Continue volunteer work
Increase and diversify written work
Read more
Start Master's degree program
Quit smoking

Surprisingly, I already have a relatively detailed behavior improvement plan outlined for #1 & 2. The ONE good thing about supervising people is that I have become pretty good at pinpointing behaviors that drive desired results. I finally decided that it's time to turn that talent inward. I also plan to journal my experiences & progress throughout, so stay tuned for some probable entertaining posts on these two.

#3 was a difficult goal to physically write down. I mean, I REALLY like beer...a LOT. But that preference runs counter to my first 2 goals on account of all the empty calories and the fact that I can consume approximately 10 beers before inebriation sets in, and only 3 glasses of wine achieve the same effect. Simple math friends, simple math.

#4 might be easily done if I just stick with #3.

#5 needs a qualifier, like "Continue volunteer work that actually fulfills me". There will be no more "home renovation for 'the unwilling to assist'" or "helping the utterly helpless". I'm leaning toward tutoring kids or just donating clothes to the Salvation Army. If I achieve #1 & 2, there will be a lot of clothes to donate. And by 'a lot', I mean 'roomy clothes that have an X or two on the tags'...

#6 & 7 are intertwined if one wants to become a better writer, or at least that's what Stephen King says. And Stephen King is God to me, mostly for his command of dialogue. I may consider volunteer-writing for our local newpaper, since the article content is as vapid as America's Next Top Models. Seriously, they've resorted to using interviews by Intro to Journalism high school students to replace the 'Bits & Pieces by the Pollock' column that used to grace page 2...the Pollock used to write about who showed up at the American Legion on Steak Fry night and she died, like, 4 years ago. It's slightly overdue for some editorial reinvention. Plus, I'd kill the #5 bird with the same stone, now wouldn't I?

I'm a bit apprehensive about #8, but I've had it on my professional development plan for 2 years now and am getting a ton of pressure from my boss to deliver. My employer also pays for it, so I really have no excuse for not pursuing it other than sheer laziness.

The chances of my accomplishing #9 are slim. I have a tendency to smoke more when I'm dieting, and I have an almost insatiable craving for a cigarette immediately following an intense workout. Perhaps my lungs can't handle all that fresh air respiration?

My best wishes to all of you for a happy and prosperous 2006!!

A Good Ole Fashioned Family Christmas

2005-12-29T12:03:00.000-08:00

Any occasion that brings my family together winds up being story-worthy, and this Christmas was no exception. My brother and sister are both married so the plan was for them to celebrate their "in-law" Christmases on Christmas Eve, and then have all of us convene for gift-opening chaos and a prime rib dinner at my Mom and Dad's house on Christmas Day. Excellent idea. This left my son and I, for the first time ever, to have our own plans for Christmas Eve...or so I thought. Some background: my Mom doesn't particularly like to be alone with my Dad, on account of his failing eyesight, bad hearing, pre-senile dementia and just general crotchetiness (all of which can be attributed to his aversion to her control issues and non-stop complaining). So, MY plan for my 20 year-old son and I on Christmas Eve ORIGINALLY involved inviting friend Joel and his teenaged daughters over, taking in a matinee, eating an early dinner of lasagna, salad and cheesecake, opening gifts, Joel and I drinking beer/prosecco, and all of us playing some sort of board game. Well, somehow, my Mom placed a curse on those plans.

The curse started with Joel calling to inform me that his uber-bitch/neurotic of an ex-wife had forbidden their daughters from driving anywhere because she heard there was an ice storm in the forecast (in Alaska, perhaps, but southern Minnesota was under no such winter weather advisory). Joel, having an hour-long commute to my house, also bought into the weather forecast bullshit and cancelled. Whatever. My son and I would just have to enjoy our Christmas Eve plans without our extended family. Then my Mom called.

Mom: "So what are you and T doing today?"
Me (very tentatively): "Well, we were going to go see a movie, then come home to have dinner and open our gifts. Why?"
Mom: "Well, your Dad and I are just sitting around watching TV, and I thought maybe you and T would like to come over. We could rent some movies and have tacos for dinner."
Me: "Well, we sorta wanted to see 'Walk The Line', and I already have a pan of lasagna made for tonight. You and Dad can certainly join us for the movie and then come over here for dinner. And if you're THAT bored, you can stay and watch us open gifts."
Mom: "Well, let me talk to your Dad and call you back."

It was about a half-hour before we needed to leave to get to the first matinee, so I started to get a little anxious. I'm weird that way. I despise having to alter my plans at the last minute and then WAIT for the plan-alterer to make a decision, ESPECIALLY when the plan-alterer is one of my parents. At 5 minutes before it's time to go, I decided to call them. My Dad answered.

Me: "So, are you and Mom going to the movie with us? We need to leave in 5 minutes."
Dad: "What? What movie? We're going to the X's house tonight for dinner and drinks."
Me: "Oh. Well, Mom just called and was going to check to see if you wanted to go to the movie. But, no problem. Have fun and say hi to the X's."
Dad: "Ok. See you tomorrow."

My son and I proceed to get our coats and head for the door when the phone rings again. It's my Mom.

Mom: "I don't know what the hell your Dad was thinking. We're not going to the X's on Christmas Eve! Christ!"
Me (eyes closed, sighing): "Oh. So, are you going with us to the movie? We're leaving right now."
Mom: "Why don't you just go rent some movies and come out here? I have snacks and then I'll make tacos for dinner."
Me: "Mom, T and I really want to see 'Walk The Line". I've heard it's really good. Plus, the movie rental place doesn't open for another hour."
Mom: "Your Dad and I already saw "Walk The Line' and it was pretty good. I can't imagine that you or T would like it, though. What with that hard rock music you both like. Why don't you just wait until the DVD comes out?"
Me (thinking, this is a losing battle): "Alright, Mother, we'll go get some movies when the place opens and then we'll come out and watch them with you."

Son T gives me a dirty look and I only shrugged and said "She's your Grandmother. Be nice". I then add that I promise to never behave like my Mom. He said 'Thank God'. We wait around until the video store opens and rent 'Cinderella Man' and 'The Exorcism of Emily Rose', because my Mom likes period pieces and my Dad likes scary flicks. Should be fine.

I decided to call my parents in case they needed me to pick anything up from the grocery store before coming to their house (Note: they are notorious for noticing that they need butter or milk AFTER we arrive and they always send me out for the items. This was simply a pre-emptive strike.). My Dad answered.

Me: "We got a couple of movies and I just wanted to see if you need anything from the store before we come out."
Dad: "What? Why are you coming out here? We're going to the X's house for dinner and drinks tonight."
Me (Jesus. Do they ever actually talk to each other?): "Dad, let me talk to Mom."
Dad: "She's not here."
Me: "Um, where is she?"
Dad: "She went to go rent some movies."
Me (nearing exasperation and rage): "Well, how about if you have her call me when she gets home."
Dad: "Sure."

Not more than 1 minute after I hung up, my Mom called back. For all I know, she was standing right in front of my Dad when he said she was at the video store.

Mom: "I swear, your Dad is losing his friggin' mind. I've been here the entire time. I was in the bathroom. I'm not feeling well. Maybe you and T should just stay home and we'll see you tomorrow."
Me: "Sounds like a plan, Mom."

I hung up the phone and informed my son of the latest plot twist. He asked me if this was what he had to look forward to as I got older. I said he had my permission to shoot me if I ever started to remotely resemble the behavior of my parents.

My son and I proceeded to watch the movies and have a nice, relaxing evening. He bought me a watch, a Brett Favre calendar, and the Shawn Michaels autobiography. Some background: I was a bit of a professional wrestling nut in the 80s and had a mad crush on Shawn when he was one of the Midnight Rockers. When he evolved into the Heartbreak Kid and led Degeneration X with Triple H, I was full-on in lust with him. Now he's married, has children and found God, so now I'm just mostly curious to know what transformed him. And, he's still really hot.

So, let's cut to Christmas Day. Me and T showed up on time, and the rest of the siblings and their undertow (combined 4 nephews, 1 neice, 1 neice in utero) did not. That led to my Mom entering Level One pissiness. Level One involves cussing under her breath, aimlessly stomping around the house performing random, non-essential tasks (unloading the almost empty dishwasher, taking out the barely full garbage, picking up crumbs of nothing from the floor). I decided that this would be a fitting time to begin drinking. I poured myself an egg-nog and joined my Dad, who was perched in front of the TV watching a Chris Rock stand-up special on Comedy Central. T was close behind me, not wanting to be left alone to witness his Grandma's entry into Level Two. Mom calmed down a bit, and came to the family room to watch TV with the rest of us. When she noticed it was Chris Rock, she remarked, "Oh, for Christ's sake. Are we really going to watch Chris friggin' Rock on Christmas Day?". Friggin' A right we are, Mom!

My siblings and their clan arrived an hour late, completely missing Mom's Level Two pissiness (a rapid-fire verbal tirade against my Dad, his siblings, my siblings, GWB, the Minnesota Vikings, and our town's mayor). Thankfully, the youngest grandchild gave her a hug and reduced the likelihood of Mom's continued fit-pitching. Since the family were now all in attendance, Mom decided that we would open gifts first, and the grandkids were ordered to begin the gift distribution process. Egg-nog is one of those drinks a person can only have one of, so I switched to beer, and proceeded to finish 2 of them by the time the gifts were finally passed out. Not because I was a lush (this is a given), but because there were that damn many gifts! And then my Mom announced that we would begin opening them one at a time, to which T replied, "Well, we should be done by Easter then, right?". At that moment, the youngest grandchild tore into a gift, which triggered a domino effect with the 4 others, who screeched with delight as they ripped into their respective gifts. Mom's screaming to WAIT, WAIT, ONE AT A TIME ensued, but we were all well past the point of patience. Everyone was simultaneously opening gifts, laughing and and hollering thank yous, while Mom just stood amid the frenzy, grimacing and shaking her head in disgust. The youngest grandchild then delivered her a gift, earning him the nickname Baby Jesus (not because we're a religious family by any stretch of the imagination, but because he was the Savior of us having to endure Mom in Level Three). We cleaned up the gift opening mess, and set the table for dinner. The grandkids led the family in a prayer of thanks and then my Dad announced, "Who wants the crispy ass-ends of this thing and who likes their meat bloody?". Fa, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la.

Respite

2005-12-25T04:26:00.000-08:00

Okay, the volunteer demon that has lived within me for the past several weeks has officially been exorcised and I hope to be back to blogging at least semi-regularly. I've been helping to renovate homes for the homeless and displaced. Yes, I was able to put "experienced floor layer and painter" on the application...seriously, they made me APPLY to be a volunteer. I wasn't aware that choosiness was an option in these circles...the Tribal Council of Volunteers must have been burned a time or two by folks prone to self-injury with mitre saws and nail guns. But my own 'home renovation' (and I use that phrase loosely) qualified me to help people who are CLUELESS about how to prepare a home for habitation. And as of last Thursday, I decided I had grown quite weary of pulling up moldy carpet and rotting floor tiles (on two occasions, to find a family of roaches...that was fun...I swore a little), all the while having to patiently instruct the potential residents of these homes how to apply paint to a roller. I'm done. And I'm WAY overdue on my beer drinking.

So, here's hoping this story offers those pondering volunteerism as a means of redemption for past sins, an enlightening holiday. To the rest of you, have a joyous and Merry Christmas!

Must See DVDs

2005-11-20T20:20:00.000-08:00

I'm watching this global warming celebrity comedy event on TBS, and I just saw Tom Hanks, Eric Idle and Steve Martin throw down a jam on stringed instruments...Tom and Eric on acoustic guitars and Steve on banjo...and they were pretty darn good. Who knew? It kinda sorta reminded me of A Mighty Wind, which is funny, funny stuff, and that leads me to my list of DVD offerings (new and old...ok, mostly old) to view when bored...

Carnival of Sins (Motley Crue Live) - Best concert DVD out there. Made me get up and dance...and hoist my lighter high.
What About Bob? - One of Bill Murray's funniest roles since Carl.
This Is Spinal Tap - Best of the Christopher Guest, Michael McKean and Harry Shearer offerings.
Crash - Great flick, period. One of the few that was so intense, it actually led me to self-examination of my own perceptions and stereotypes.
Bring It On - No apologies, I have seen this movie 17 times. I may be trying to learn the routines...
Legally Blonde - Even though Reese Witherspoon gives me the creeps, I love Stifler's Mom in this one.
Queens of Comedy - Kiddo hooked me on this. Another one that makes me laugh til I cry.
Dazed and Confused - 3 words...alright, alright, alright.
Christmas Vacation - Duh.
South Park: Bigger, Longer and Uncut - It deserved the Oscar nomination, dammit!
The Bone Collector - All the CSI buffs will like it and, of course, there's Denzel...

Have yourselves a happy little pre-Thanksgiving movie marathon!

Ding, dong, the Stalker's gone

2005-11-19T17:28:00.000-08:00

Yes, it's true...crazy neighbor Jason's girlfriend's stalker was arrested. The idiot lunatic parked himself in the local high school/elementary school driveway near the kids' playground equipment (which is just on the other side of Jason's house), a teacher became concerned that he was a would-be kidnapper and called the cops. I found out when Jason's girlfriend stopped over last night with a bottle of Gewurztraminer.

Her (holding up the wine): "Hi! Jason's out with the guys tonight, so I thought we'd celebrate!"
Me: "Um, we're celebrating Jason being out with the guys?"
Her: "No! Silly! The Stalker's been arrested!"
Me: "Oh thank Christ. Do you know how wigged out I've been about that guy? I never told you this, but I SAW his truck drive past here a couple times on Halloween night and called the police."
Her: "Really? Oh. We weren't home that night and boy am I glad we weren't! But thanks for doing that! You're such a good neighbor!"
Me (wow, I mean, wow...she's really not a smart one...not even a little bit): "Yeah, well, I try."
Her: "So, are you going to invite me in so we can drink this?"
Me: "Uh, sure. C'mon in."

She enters and starts rummaging through my cupboards for wine glasses. I just sit down and light up a smoke. This is going to be a long night.

She pours the wine and proceeds to tell me her life story. Poor thing was somewhat doomed from the get-go. Never knew her Dad and her Mom was a tramp, so she was delegated the responsibility of caretaker for her siblings at an early age. She "barely graduated" and discovered an early love of the bar scene, so she selected a career as a barmaid. Apparently, "she meets a lot of hot guys that way...that's how I met the Stalker and Jason", and she's enamored with 80s bands "because of their hotness". Hmm, maybe we CAN have a conversation after all.

Me: "80s bands, huh? Name some of your favorites."
Her: "Oh I absolutely LOVE that song 'Somebody Save Me'...who sings that again?"
Me: "Cinderella."
Her: "Yeah! And I like 'Cherry Pie', by...umm...umm..."
Me: "Warrant."
Her: "Yeah! Oh, and I really like AC/DC...they're Jason's favorite band too."
Me: "Yeah, I've heard him singing 'Back In Black' at full volume several times. Tell him the lyric is 'number one with a bullet', so he'll stop screeching 'not the one with a mullet'".
Her: "Did he REALLY? Oh that is so FUNNY!"
Me: "Hilarious."
Her: "So, who are your favorite 80s bands?"
Me: "We'll, I'm nuts about Motley Cr..."
Her: "Ohmgawd! You like Motley Crue?? Me too! Tommy Lee is so hot. And so is Vince. Oh, and Nikki too. But that Mick is kind of icky."
Me: "Yeah, they are hot. And Mick does have a degenerative disease, but still manages to play the guitar brilliantly. They do put on a great show."
Her: "Ohmgawd, you've seen them in concert?"
Me: "Yeah. Twice. Most recently at the State Fair in August."
Her: "Ohmgawd, did you show them your tits? I SO would have!"
Me: "Uh, despite the temptation, no, I managed to maintain my composure. Besides, I was quite a distance away from the stage...they would have never been able to see them."
Her: "You SO should have. You have nice tits."
Me (uhh...): "Uhh, hmm. I, I have no idea how to respond. I can't recall anyone ever telling me that. Uh, thanks, I guess."
Her: "Sure! I wish mine were bigger. I've thought about getting implants. The Stalker always wanted me to."
Me (of COURSE he did): "Well, it's really YOUR decision, isn't it?"
Her: "I don't know. I mean, I want my man to like how my tits look. I should ask Jason if he would want me to get them."
Me (ok, I'm done): "Yeah, well, it's getting late and I brought some work home that I'm going to have to get an early start on tomorrow. Thanks for the wine."
Her: Oh, ok. Sure. Well, call me sometime if you want to go out to the bars or something."
Me: "Right."

She left and I sighed relief. She's a nice enough girl, but damn! Not much there for gray matter. I can visualize her back at Jason's, perched on the floor in front of the refrigerator, rearranging the alphabet magnets to spell out her request for new boobs...

Same Ol' Situation

2005-11-15T20:47:00.000-08:00

I've been swamped at work, and have been incapable of thought upon returning home most nights, but I'm finally of the presence of mind to post an update:

So, I hadn't seen him in a couple of months, and despite much trepidation, decided to meet Nikki for drinks. Bartender, M, mixed me a mean Raspberry Kamikaze and asked who I was waiting for. I told him and he shook his head in disgust. He'd heard the breakup story. I told him I'm in this strange 'be kind to thy neighbor/fence-mending' phase. I shared my fear that it may be permanent. M said, "Well, if he starts any shit with you, throw me a signal Mother Theresa". I told him not to worry and that I had no intention of resurrecting a relationship...just going to be friends. In walked Nikki. First thought: Good Lord, he's adorable. Well, THAT moment of steely self-restraint was brief. I swear, the man gets better looking with every passing minute. His hair had grown out a bit since I last saw him, and he had this uber-sexy 5 o'clock shadow. Damn, this won't be easy. I stood to greet him, he hugged me and planted a tender kiss on my cheek. I got all tingly. Oh, come ON! Where the hell is that inner demon of mine?? I backed out of the embrace and waited for him to sit. I seated myself on the opposite side of the booth. M walked over and took his drink order, then said to me, "Can I get you another darlin'?". Nikki shot him a stern look. Well, that didn't take long. I sighed and started the awkward conversation.

Me: "So, is that how it's going to be? More jealousy? Because I came here hopeful that things would be civil and mature. And I just want the old pre-dating Nikki back...meaning, I just want our friendship back".

Him: "Look, I was an ass when we dated, I know this. But him calling you 'darlin' is just disrespectful".

Me: "How chivalrous. And I didn't consider it anything but endearing. I know him, for Christ's sake. Had he called me cunt or fat-ass, THAT would have been disrespectful...and really mean. Come on, Nikki. Pick your battles".

Him: "Sorry. You're right. Old dog, new tricks and all".

Me: "Yeah. Well, some old dogs are put to sleep. I only came here to talk friendship, nothing more".

Him: "Am I really that awful? I mean, am I? My reactions are purely protective. I care about you".

Me: "Ok, first, you're not awful. You are a good soul. I've seen that. But I don't need protection, and I can't handle possessiveness. You have to understand that 90% of my friends are men. It's always been that way, it will always be that way. I was a tomboy at birth and I simply get along better with men than I do women. I like football, beer, cigarettes and hard rock music. I don't paint my nails, I prefer an oversized sweatshirt, baseball cap and jeans to coiffed up-dos, pantyhose and mini-skirts. I'd rather hang out at a bar with a good band than at a mall any day of the week. I thought all of that is why we became friends in the first place".

Him: "It is. Well, was. Things changed when we started dating. I know it's wrong, but I expected you to be more like a girlfriend than a buddy. I don't know, I wanted you to need me and you just never did. I guess I have some sort of 'baggage thing' going on".

Silence followed. I was waiting for him to offer up some sort of explanation; to expand on the 'baggage thing'. He didn't. And I let it go. God, I would have made a terrible therapist.

We finished our drinks...in silence...and I just said, "Well, I gotta go. Maybe I'll see you around sometime".

He just sat there, looking defeated and pained, and I felt sorry for him. I wanted to sit back down and pry open the firmly sealed lid on the secret that stifles his ability to trust. I didn't. Just walked out. Just moved on. His words resonated...I wanted you to need me, but you just never did. Are those, like, lyrics from some cheesy 80s song by Bon Jovi or something?

Bored and drunk in a Minnesota blizzard...

2005-11-09T17:59:00.000-08:00

The year was 1990-something. The local football team was in some sort of playoff or championship game. It was Thanksgiving evening, and being the tryptophan-tolerant creature that I am, I decided to invite a few sweat-pants-sporting folks over for a night of celebratory beers and Catch Phrase. The beers were liberally consumed without incident, which led to the Catch Phrase game getting a smidge out of control (I chipped a girl's tooth by launching the plastic disc at her upon my teammates' correct guess of the word "Dracula" seconds before the buzzer sounded). After that, most of the lightweights headed home, leaving me, Joel, Otter, and Adam placing bets for who would be able to outlast the others. The time was 3 am and 4 cases of beer were still chilling on the deck. We opted for the safety of card games and continued partying until sun-up. It was at this point that we noticed the first snowfall of the season had begun. It started out lovely enough, but quickly progressed into an all-out blizzard. By 9am, I was thinking about how to satisfy my hunger pangs, and ventured out to the grocery store for beef stew fixings. The boys were all napping, but I felt obligated to prepare at least one meal for them (I have no idea why). The roads had already become treacherous and I was both sleep deprived and buzzed (operating a vehicle at that point was not one of my smarter moments, needless to say), so my driving could have been classified as nothing less than deadly. I fishtailed around every corner, came close to taking out a pedestrian in the grocery store parking lot, and went about my shopping. By the time I had returned home, the end of my driveway was blocked with a drift, but I paid no attention and plowed right through it, sending my car sideways in my driveway. I left it that way and went in the house to prepare my beef stew feast. The boys were awake and drinking again, and commented that we needed more beer. I sent them off to the liquor store for beer and Dr. McGuillicutty while I made the stew. After they returned, we ate our meal and Joel proposed a new game. He thought the snow was "pretty" and that it would be fun to start "snowdiving". Not being familiar with the game, I asked him to demonstrate. Joel propped open the front door of my split level house, came back upstaris, stripped down to his boxer shorts, then ran down the steps, out the front door and lept from the front step in dive formation into the freshly fallen snow. It was quite a sight to behold watching him slip 'n slide across my front yard. Otter and Adam both stepped up the game by incorporating a front handspring off the front step. The sight of their purplish red skin upon coming indoors wasn't going to deter me, so I changed into my bathing suit and followed suit. Now, let's just remember that I am a girl and girls are not built for head-first sliding into anything...particularly not snow. So I returned to the warmth of my house, arms clutched to my very sore and, uh, "pronounced" chest, shivering uncontrollably and announced that I was done. Joel, Adam and Otter decided to compete with each other in a "distance event". Joel won, because he slid into the street in front of my house and ran across the street to the elderly neighbor's house where the little old lady was shoveling her driveway. Adam, Otter and I simply stood on the front step, shivering and laughing as Joel danced around the old lady in his boxer shorts while she screamed at him, "You're nuts! You are as nuts as they come!".

We recovered from this momentary lapse in sanity and returned to our drinking. I had not slept in well over 20 hours by this point, and had the brilliant idea to start calling radio stations to dedicate songs to our local football team (they won whatever playoff game they were playing). The DJs were less than impressed with our drunken requests (our standard requests "We Are The Champions" and that Gary Glitter song had been played ad nauseum for the better part of the day), but one DJ finally obliged us by playing Ballroom Blitz. We danced for a while, polished off the bottle of Doctor, and my eyelids finally started drooping. It was 2am when I collapsed on my bed.

Not entirely sure what prompted this memory, nor is it particularly interesting, but if you're a man, I guess snowdiving is fun. Now, I doubt that you'll read much about it in the "Explore Minnesota" tour book, but if you're ever up here during our first snowfall, screw snowmobiling and cross-country skiing...I'm accepting reservations.

Deep thoughts

2005-11-07T21:03:00.000-08:00

I'm curious...can a person wake one day to find that her character has been defined more through the eyes and opinions of others than by any degree of introspection she has attempted? I've always been perplexed by the dichotomy of my being...I am both driven, impatient, sarcastic, preoccupied, brutally honest, competitive, and risky (a.k.a. "Bitch-glove-toting-rumble-fish" mode), yet, at times, can be demure, calm, complimentary, attentive, sensitive, compromising and cautious (a.k.a. "Freakish-girly-girl" mode). Like most people, I suppose, I tend to think that I reveal one set of these traits (the former set, and what I believe to be my primary self) in most situations and in the presence of people I actually know (family, friends, colleagues, dates). The latter set (and what I perceive to be my secondary & "weaker" self) is generally reserved for use with patients, subordinates, children, and legitimately needy individuals. I've never regarded my 2 selves in the manner of a spigot that is either off or on; rather as interchangable states that I allow to fluidly surface as my immediate circumstances dictate. Today, for some reason, no matter what I was confronted with and without any forethought whatsoever, I found myself unable to escape my secondary self. Cases in point:

My boss called me 5 minutes before our monthly update meeting today to cancel. Instead of saying "Well, can I just have 10 minutes to finalize my new staffing model proposal with you so I can FINALLY put this project to bed?", I responded with, "I understand. You have an incredibly overloaded plate these days. Is there anything I can do to help you out?".
A notoriously less-than-motivated colleague of mine stopped by my office to report that she still hadn't had a chance to finish a workload impact analysis that I had requested be completed 3 weeks ago. Instead of saying "You know, I've been waiting for that analysis for 3 weeks, and the longer you delay completing it, the more excuses I have to make on your behalf with the practice chair, which, in turn, delays their bed capacity increase initiative. When, EXACTLY, will it be done?", I responded with, "That continuous improvement team you are leading must be consuming your life. How about if you just forward me the raw data and I'll finish the analysis for you?".
A friend who I haven't spent any time with since her husband was diagnosed with prostate cancer a month ago, e-mailed me to have lunch with her, even though I had the time blocked on my schedule to finish a performance appraisal. Instead of saying, "Gee, I'm booked solid today and most of this week. How about if you schedule lunch for us sometime next week?", I responded with, "What time would you like to go and where should I meet you?".
My sister-in-law, who usually drives me nuts because she is so hopelessly flighty and really lazy, called to ask if I would mind doing the Christmas shopping for my parents' gifts this year because her newly announced pregnancy has left her excessively tired and frought with morning sickness. Instead of saying, "I dissected a cat during Anatomy and Physiology class when I was suffering the throes of morning sickness. Strap on a pair and buy the gifts, honey. It's your turn.", I responded with, "How miserable for you. I'd be happy to do the shopping. Got any good ideas?".
Paula, my volleyball team mate, called to tell me she would be late for our game tonight because she had to meet her boyfriend for drinks and "process" a spat they had yesterday. Instead of saying, "You fucking drunk, whipped bitch. Isn't it about time you showed up to a game sober so we can put more than 5 points up on the scoreboard?", I responded with, "Must have been a doosy of a fight. I'll stall and tell the other team that you're caught in traffic. If we have to forfeit, so be it. There's always next week. Hope you have great makeup sex!".
And speaking of letting bygones be bygones, former flame, "Nikki" called to ask if I would have a drink with him some night this week. He told me he missed me and wants to preserve our friendship. Instead of saying, "You only want me as a friend for my research-paper writing acumen, you dick. Go fuck yourself.", I instead responded with, "There's a lot of unresolved stuff between us, isn't there? We have a lot to talk about if we want to make this friendship work. How about meeting at Kathy's Thurday night after work?".

And so it goes. I was accomodating and pleasant ALL DAY LONG...with EVERYONE I INTERACTED WITH. What the hell happened to me? Maybe a toxic cloud settled over my car when I was stopped at a red light on the way to work this morning, and poisoned me, turning me into this automaton-Stepford-Wife-type-creature? Seriously, I can't trace back to an event or revelation this past weekend that would have caused this transformation in me (unless the Starbucks dude slipped a Zoloft/Clozaril cocktail in my White Chocolate Mocha at the Mall of America last Saturday?). All I can say, is that the reactions I received from these people were strangely satisfying...reinforcing, even. They were gracious, humble, happy and...reciprocal, for Christ's sake. My soul felt better than it has in months, yet, I am still so confused by my behavior today. Despite my natural proclivity, hell, DESIRE to come out swinging in each of these situations, I couldn't. I just couldn't do it.

Is my kinder, gentler self battling my overt smart-ass bitchiness for dominance? Am I becoming, gulp, a nice person?? I don't think I can make it as a nice person...I'm a bit Darwinian that way. Help me out here folks, has this ever happened to any of you? If so, is this "niceness" a sustained state or does it go away? If it is sustained, is there an exercise you can do to make it go away? As you can tell, I'm freaking out about this a little bit...

I don't like Mondays

2005-11-01T17:26:00.000-08:00

Before I describe the horror known as yesterday, I need to insert a little public service announcement. Save yourselves. Do not, I repeat, do not watch 'But Can They Sing'. At least American Idol offers a bit of comic relief...the latest VH-1 Celebreality show just surfaces feelings of outright pity and disgust. I only watched it because I half-expected at least one of the celebs to have a decent voice. Not so. It's the most terriblest show to ever air. And now my ears are damaged.

But onto Monday...my volleyball team is officially the worst team to ever play the game. Honestly, the Vikings and Packers, blindfolded in full pads and starting their most heinously injured star players, could probably whip our asses. Ken simply has no athletic prowess whatsoever and Paula has showed up to our last 2 games hammered. Ordinarily, this would impress me about Paula and make me envious, yet I am a competitive little bitch and I want to win DAMMIT!

Anyway, I raced home after our game yesterday (we played at 4pm...on account of the 'holiday'), only to find kids waiting on my doorstep for candy handouts. I considered grabbing the candy bowl & just heaving it's contents into the yard, but thought better of it...there were parents parked across the street...they might have taken issue with that. So, I dutifully handed out the candy, and, much to my surprise, every kid who came to the door actually thanked me. Warmed my heart, I tell you.

This routine proceeded for about 2 hours, and as I was dishing out the last of the candy to the stragglers, I noticed a black Dodge Ram truck driving by...slowly. Yes, my heart stopped, and yes, I may have peed myself a little, but maternal instinct kicked in and I found myself more worried about the kids at my door than my neighbors or myself. I asked the kids (who I estimated to be 8-10 yrs. old) if their parents were nearby and they said they were at their friends' house with their little sister a few houses up the street. Dilemma. How the hell was I going to get these kids to their parents without freaking anybody out? I simply said since it was getting so late and since so many cars were driving by, I would feel better if I could walk them to the house where their parents were to make sure they got there safely. The kids seemed ok with this, and they turned to start walking past Jason's house. Well, 'up the street' from Jason's house is a LONG stretch of nothing since there's a high school on the other side of Jason's house. The nearest homes were another 3 blocks away in a new-ish subdivision. I was pretty terrified at this point because the pickup had headed in the same direction we were walking. Bless their little hearts, they were cool kids and yakked non-stop, so I wound up feeling more like a chaperone on a field trip than the full-on paranoid wuss that I really am. We arrived at the house of the kids' parents' friends, and the parents were a bit wigged out by the fact that their kids were accompanied by a stranger. I explained about the "situation" with the black pickup, and they noticeably eased up. They thanked me, and offered me a ride home. I accepted.

Just as they dropped me off, the black pickup drove by again. I asked them to please wait in the driveway until I had a chance to 'make a quick phone report' (didn't want to scare the kids) and they were happy to oblige. I called the cops. They said they were on their way. The parents offered to wait, but I said maybe they just wanted to drive into the high school driveway and wait there (again, I thought the kids would be scared if the cops pulled in behind them). The Dad agreed.

Our finest showed up a few minutes later (sans sirens, thank God), and I spent the next twenty minutes giving a report of the truck. Black. Dodge Ram. Loud, like there was a hole in the muffler. Too dark to notice much about the license plates or driver. Sorry. Just catch the prick. The officer said he would try to patrol the neighborhood for the next hour or so, but that it was a busy night 'what with all the pranksters out and all', so if I saw the truck again, to try to get the license plate # and call again. Guess who's back on the payroll!

Of course, Jason wasn't home when all of this took place. Of course, I sat by the window all night (trying to watch Scream 2 and Halloween: Resurrection on AMC) and of course, the truck never came by again. Not sure why I thought it would. He's a stalker for Christ's sake. Elusivity is his game. He was likely parked nonchalantly in a random driveway...hell, he could have been on foot, hiding behind the other neighbor's virgin Mary statue...taking it all in when I was chatting with the cop. Maybe I should just quit my volleyball team and take a self-defense class? Maybe I should just enter therapy now, given that I am certain I'll need it after this is over. We'll see.

Believe it or not, there is a cute piece of news to report...something that made me believe this town hasn't gone completely stir crazy after all. There was a thank you note and a Tootsie Pop in my mailbox today when I got home from work, signed by the kids I walked with last night. It read, "Thank you for walking with us so we wouldn't be scared. Hope you like the sucker. It's chocolate and has a Tootsie Roll in the middle. It's really good. You're a nice lady". Gee. They gave me something to suck on and still called me a lady. I wonder if they have any single uncles?

Sometimes, he cracks me up

2005-10-28T18:07:00.000-07:00

I tend to proceed with caution into his blogs ('cuz he can be downright vile at times...that's not an insult...I'm pretty sure he knows it), but more than occasionally, I laugh out loud when I read his stuff. This is too priceless not to borrow, so thanks to Mr. Jason Mulgrew, Internet Quasi-Celebrity (and his buddy Chris) for the following gut-buster:

Funny stuff...because it's equal parts evil and brilliance.

The mystery unravels...

2005-10-27T21:31:00.000-07:00

There's nothing better than a good ole spooky tale as we approach All Hallow's Eve, so here's the latest on Jason...

Seems the reason the cops have been so interested in the goings-on at his place have nothing to do with him whatsoever; alas, my credibility with the local PD is shot to hell, due to my allegations of suspected prostitution and drug dealing...Kiddo, you'll get a kick out of this...when I called them after my clandestine "stakeout", they remarked, "He's too stupid to pull off pimping hookers and dealing drugs. Go to bed". So, my side-career as an informant is decidedly, over. You see, the real reason the cops are so interested in Jason is actually because Jason has a new girlfriend...who has a 'past'. I know this because she came over and introduced herself last night. Well, she sort of introduced herself. She didn't tell me her name (what's with my damn neighbors and their insistence on remaining anonymous?!), but she DID tell me that her former boyfriend has been stalking her. This revelation came within one minute of semi-meeting her. Nice. Just when I thought the neighborhood was becoming a bit too Cleaver-esque for my taste, a stalker victim arrives. Beautiful.

I formed my impression of her in about 2.5 seconds...here was a woman who had chosen Jason over a stalker. Not much of a stretch, so she was quite obviously not a Mensa member. She also possessed an incredibly irritating little-girl voice...kinda like Lisa Simpson's. So yeah, we won't be swapping recipes or having coffee anytime soon. Jason's girlfriend proceeded to ask me if I had ever seen a 2004 black Dodge Ram pickup driving by or parked in Jason's driveway when he wasn't home.
Me: Well, no honey, I haven't. But I haven't exactly been watching for a 2004 black Dodge Ram pickup, in part, due to the fact that I am incredibly weary from the sleep-deprivation I've suffered on account of your DAMN BARKING DOG!
Her: Yeah, I'm real sorry about that. I've been telling Jason that Sargeant should get to come indoors at night, just in case the stalker tries to break in again.
Me: Umm, again?
Her: Yeah, he's been leaving 'mean' messages on the answering machine and driving past the house for the past couple weeks, and last weekend, the front door was pried open when we were gone, and there was a 'mean' note on the kitchen table from the stalker.
Me: Umm, this goddamn crazy bastard has been roaming around the neighborhood for 2 weeks, and BROKE INTO YOUR HOUSE LAST WEEKEND???!!! Umm, not that it matters, but have you notified the police and do you have a restraining order?
Her: Yeah, but they can't do anything unless they catch him in the act. So will you do me a favor and let me know if you see a black pickup around here?
Me: Umm, first, a question for you...what's the crazy bastard LOOK LIKE? Y'know, should he decide to disguise his mode of transportation or, oh I don't know, slink around through our backyards and shit????
Her: Well, he's about 6'4" tall, has brown hair and brown eyes, and is pretty skinny, but he's real tough. He used to beat me up when he got drunk, and that's why I had to leave him. He didn't take it very well.
Me: No shit. Wow. I, I really can't believe I'm hearing this, and I'm pretty sure I won't be sleeping anymore.
Her: Yeah, I know what you mean.
Me: Yeah, I'm sure you do. Listen, I'm very sorry for what's happened to you, but you do realize that I live alone, don't you? I don't have weapons and an evil German Shepard like Jason does, so you can understand why I'm more than a little disturbed by this news, right?
Her: Oh, yeah, I didn't mean to freak you out or anything.
Me: Well, you did. You did just that.
Her: Well, he's usually harmless when he's sober. He just loses it when he drinks.
Me: And the relevance of that is...?
Her: Well, if he ever comes up to your door and he's drunk, just don't answer.
Me: Did you just...what did you...what????
Her: I mean, you can tell when he's drunk. He has this real mean look on his face.
Me: Huh. Well, I'll just have to stop answering the door then, won't I?
Her: Well, no. Just don't answer it if you see him and he's drunk.
Me: Ok, honey. I'm done here. Thanks for pulling me into this tidy little nightmare.
Her: Oh no, thank you! I'm real glad we're neighbors.
Me: Yeah, likewise.
Her: And don't worry. I'm sure the cops will catch him soon.
Me: Right. Bye now.

I now know what an agoraphobic feels like. Since I usually leave for work between 5 & 5:30am, I was literally petrified to go out in the dark and warm up my car this morning. Tonight, whenever I've heard a car door slam or the damn dog start barking, my blood freezes. Granted, this guy isn't stalking me, but I've worked with enough irrational, unstable patients in my career, and 'intimate partner stalkers' usually have criminal histories aside from stalking. So, I'm a little scared, and am buying some pepper spray tomorrow...it should look lovely sitting by the front door, next to the baseball bat and bowl of candy I was planning to hand out to the kiddies on Halloween...

Dear Diary

2005-10-20T22:19:00.000-07:00

My mother stopped by last evening & delivered me a relic from the past...my diary. She seemed nonplussed, yet claimed to have never read it (puhlease). Seems she was digging out the Christmas decorations (don't ask...she's weird that way), and she stumbled upon a box of my old crap that "she always meant to give back". I was mortified. She had stolen my diary when I was just rounding the puberty bend and retained it for 3 decades before her guilty conscience got the better of her. It was a very Ya-Ya Sisterhood moment.

So, anyway, I paged through it last night and reminisced about the best and most painful moments of my adolescence. The later entries were mostly incoherent chronicles of my experiments with various popular substances of the day, but the early entries were pure gold...recantations of my love and lust for the teen idols that adorned my bedroom walls. Here are the top 5:

Michael Gray, the Shazaam! uber-cutie Billy Batson.

Robbie Benson, who made me bawl in The Death of Ritchie.

Leif Garrett, of "I...was made for dancin'...a a a all night long" fame.

Tony DeFranco, of "Heartbeat...it's a LOVE beat...and when WE meet...it's a good sensation" fame.

Donny Osmond, who made digging purple cool LONG before Prince did.

It seems I was crazy about guys with big heads of hair back then, huh? I also found a never-sent love letter to one of my first boyfriends tucked between a couple of pages...complete with a lipsticked kiss imprint. A few of the entries that followed recounted my "deflowering" by said boyfriend. Perhaps when my Mom is in a nursing home someday, I'll visit her and read her those passages...that'll be fun...

Courting Disaster

2005-10-18T20:33:00.000-07:00

Well, I've gone and done it...I've joined a co-ed volleyball team. For some reason, I thought this might be a nice way to meet people...and by 'meet', I mean exchange names and perhaps digits, and by 'people', I mean 'normals'. The idea was tossed my way via crazy friend Paula (who is 10 years my junior and in much better shape) and at one point in my past, I could dig the hell out of any spike and had a mean power serve. So, of course, I accepted her dare to join the team, reasoning to myself that one's aptitude for a sport in HIGH SCHOOL most certainly would lie dormant and re-emerge later in life fully in tact. I've since discovered that the only larger lapse in judgement would have to be the creation of the atomic bomb.

It started innocently enough, with practice on Saturday. The league is made up of 6-person teams, and most of them showed up with a few extra players. My team-mates consisted of Paula, and 4 accountants. 3 girls, 3 boys. That's it. No 'alternates', no 'substitutes'. Meaning, we would all play every minute of every game. Dumbass logic kicked in again and I thought, "Well, this is good. I won't sit the bench ever. I'll get a great workout every Monday night. It'll be sweet!". Practice commenced with naming our team. The oh-so creative accountants suggested that we call ourselves the Spreadsheets, and I just said, "No". Paula thought we should go for a more, oh I don't know, ATHLETIC sounding moniker, like the Aces or the Diggers, and I said, "Let's have a little fun with the name. Since we're all finance geeks, how about the 'Net Results' or the 'Bottom Lines'? Or, since we all have a passion for alcohol, what about the 'Drunk, Stupid and Clumsies'?". Well, the accountants roared with approval for the Net Results, and Paula and I liked the Drunk, Stupid and Clumsies, but since we were, in essence, representing Clinic X, we went for The Net Results. Not brilliant, but sorta clever. Next, we decided that we should probably warm up. Now, none of us had actually played volleyball competetively for a collective total of 102 years, nor did we characterize our fitness levels as passable, so we knew we needed a lot of work. We started slow, performing some seemingly simple calesthenics and my personal favorite, wind sprints. This 10 minute warm-up alone exhausted me. We proceeded to 'skills warm-ups', with some back and forth bumping, setting and digging. That took care of another 20 minutes, and from wrists-to-forearms, I had developed a red freckle-like rash on top of large purple bruises (and I wore a long-sleeved shirt). Well, at least they were numb. Then we decided we needed to do some serving. As I mentioned, I've been known for having a strong serve, yet I have absolutely no depth perception, so I always stand a good 20 feet behind the serving line prior to delivering a bullet. I was the first among the crew to give it a go, so I bounced the ball a couple of times, tossed it in the air, and drilled it over the net and beyond the opposing court's back line by at least a yard. So, I have some control and constistency issues to work on; the ball cleared the damn net...that's friggin' miraculous, in my book! For my next few serves, I stepped another 5 feet backwards, and drilled the ball over the net again, each time barely landing it inside the back court line. This led to the team consensus that I would be a 'hitter' versus a 'setter'. Fine. The rest of the clan served, with Ed and Cassie being the only other players who could get the ball over the net with relative consistency, so they were also dubbed hitters. Mind you, none of us had actually attempted to spike yet. Even though Paula, Tom and Ken had never set a volleyball in their lifetimes, by default, they were our setters. Now, setting up a good spike is more a matter of timing than talent, and in our case, we had neither. Paula managed to sprain a finger on her first effort, Tom misjudged his distance a bit and the ball hit him smack in the face, and Ken just sort of slapped the ball upward rather than risking injury to his delicate accountant fingers. Needless to say, we didn't get a lot of spiking done.

We were now an hour into our practice session, when one of the other teams suggested a scrimmage. I was worried that this would cut severely into our beer drinking time, but agreed to a quick game. We informed the other team, a bunch of residents ingeniously named the "Weird Scientists", that we were a first time team and that we had never played together. They shrugged and said 'ok'. We won the serve and I got to start the action. I aced my first serve, so we were pumped. My next serve ricocheted off the arm of one of the female residents into the bleachers and she glared at me. My reply? "2-nuthin', bitches". And that's where the streak ended. I drilled another serve over the net into the receiving arms of their beefcake center back guy, and he bumped it up perfectly to their setter, who set it up perfectly to their front row hitter, who spiked it quite forcefully in front of Ken's firmly planted feet. And this is how it went for the next 18 of their serves. None of us could return anything they sent our way...partly due to our exhausted, aching, atrophied muscles...mostly due to our being retarded about how to play volleyball like a team. We retired to Kathy's Pub for several pitchers and ice bags for our swollen forearms, and gave the bar patrons a nice chuckle when we stood to leave, because none of us could stand completely upright. We looked like the cast of a public-service announcement for osteoporosis.

Our first official game is next Monday night. We have 3 more practice sessions scheduled before then. My forearms hurt when I type, and I can't sit in a chair or bend my knees for extended periods of time...meaning 5 minutes. I fully anticipate painkiller and illegal herbal addictions in my near future, but hell, the beer tastes mighty fine after a good volleyball slaughtering, so if nothing else, I'll have some interesting posts lined up...

The bane of my existence

2005-10-13T21:30:00.000-07:00

This wretched little creature, Harmonia axyridis, was imposed upon us in 1977 by the Japanese as a form of aphid control for pecan trees in Georgia. Us Northerners were introduced to them in 1994 and they've been unraveling the last few threads of my sanity ever since.

I live in an older home that is chock full of cracks, gaps and crevices; in other words a ripe little love nest for these relatively harmless little bugs. I tolerated them for the better part of September, since their numbers never quite reached the 'vacuum cleaner point', and I would simply stun-swat the occasional invader, and re-release it outdoors. Then we were blessed with a few unseasonably warm days in early October. I started to notice a few of them swarming around my reading lamp in my living room, and ignored them. Then, I came home from work one evening and flipped on the ceiling fan light in my dining room and cursed. There were at least 50 of these critters crawling around on my ceiling and window panes. Damn, I sighed. I was hoping to settle in with a good book and doze off, but no. I had a pest control issue to deal with. I pulled the vacuum cleaner out of the closet and sucked up as many as I could see. I have one of those Hepa filter vacuum cleaners, so of course, they didn't die. Nor were they trapped in a bag of dust, carpet fibers and floor crumbs, so I had to cart the canister out to the garage to empty it. I slept well that night. I went to work the next morning. And then I returned home the next evening, flipped on the light and gasped in horror as I saw HUNDREDS of the bastards on the ceiling and windows again. That did it. Enough of the humane handling of these little fuckers. I headed to the local hardware store and purchased some Ortho Max lawn and garden insect killer, since it specifically indicated killing capabilities for Japanese Beetles. I, did, however, miss the small print on the label that indicated it was for outdoor use only (like the name alone shouldn't have given that tidbit of information away?), and I started spraying...INSIDE the house...around all the windows, on all the lamps and light fixtures, and all over the ceiling. The next half-hour was somewhat terrifying. As I was coughing and sneezing amid the noxious chemical fumes in my house, the critters began to go crazy. They started dive-bombing me, and erratically half-flying/half-death-spiralling from their perches. My living/dining room was, literally, raining ladybugs. Several of them managed to bite me before they dropped to the floor, and they still weren't fully dead. They sluggishly dragged themselves along the floor, leaving a trail of Ortho Max and orange poo wherever they went. And then the smell hit me. They emit a stale stench and since there were hundreds of their dead and dying carcasses all over my floor, the stench was, well, significant. So much so that I could smell it over the chemical poison odor. That's when the nausea kicked in. I figured it would be best for me to grab my cell phone and the poison control #, go outside for fresh air and then do a little good ole fashioned praying that I wouldn't die like this. Well, you know what the road to hell is paved with...my good intentions soon turned into a pseudo-Hitchcock movie, as there were THOUSANDS of these things outside...and they were aware of the holocaust that had just taken place in my house. The outside bugs started flying at me and biting me, so I screamed, spastically started swatting at them and ran back into the house. By now, the sprayed legions of these hideous bugs had died and my dining room floor was carpeted with them. The stench was unbearable and I was starting to get dizzy, but I couldn't cross the floor to open the windows without squashing them. So I grabbed a bandana, wrapped it around my face and started vacuuming like a mad-woman. I was still coughing and sneezing, and now sweating profusely, fairly certain that I had managed to poison myself. I dumped the canister (in the kitchen garbage can...no way I was venturing back outside into the Death-Swarm), cleaned the unholy mess on the floor, and opened the windows. Relief at last. Until the phantom crawling/itching sensation started. I felt like they were all over me and couldn't shake the feeling for the life of me. I hopped in the shower, found a few carcasses on the floor of the tub (which of course led me to belive they had fallen off of ME), kicked them into the drain and scrubbed my skin raw. I emerged cleansed and exhausted.

It's been a little over a week since that experience and I haven't seen another LIVE lady beetle in my house. However, I still find their dead bodies sprinkled randomly throughout the house and wonder how they survived my extermination fury. Perhaps they were adventurous newcomers who entered through the same cracks, gaps and crevices as their forefathers, saturating themselves in Ortho Max in the process. Let's hope so. They've psychologically scarred me, because I am itching uncontrollably even writing about this, and have become a bit obsessive-compulsive about hand-washing and housecleaning...and I may be calling on an old preist and a young preist this weekend...

I dig my Tater Salad, but not my neighbor

2005-10-12T20:30:00.000-07:00

Yes, it's true, the Goddess of all things Zeppelin and rock, is going to see a comedy show Friday night...and it's Ron 'the redneck rodeo-cowboy guy' White from the Blue Collar Comedy Tour. I know, I know, it's a little 'un-me', but this guy is pretty funny. And let's just qualify this a bit, m'k? He chain smokes and throws back scotch like a champ, so he's just aces in my book. And then there's the little-more-than-a-slight-physical-resemblance to Teddy Kennedy that I just can't get past either...should be a hoot.

And in this week's 'Jason News' segment, I'm of the opinion that he's either dealing drugs or pimping hookers. There's been a flurry of activity at his house (which I only discovered thanks to the non-stop barking of his dog for the past 2 days) and I have counted 13 different cars entering and exiting his driveway since Monday evening. Each visitor only stays for 10-15 minutes, and then leaves. It's been a bit difficult to make out any distinguishing characteristics of these night-crawlers since I've been peering at them through the Levolor blind slats in my spare bedroom, under cover of pitch darkness, but I swear the last of the bunch were 2 mini-skirted hootchie-mamas being escorted by a Hell's Angel. I'm hoping my more 'senior' neighbors will get fed up with the barking dog and call the cops soon, but if I don't see/hear some sirens within the next hour or so, I'm gonna have to bite the bullet (and likely take a couple in the forthcoming shootout) and call in my report. You may now refer to me as 'Cagney' (she was the drunk, right?)...

Just call me Lestat

2005-10-10T20:35:00.000-07:00

A local high school teacher & friend of mine likes to toy with the minds of the adolescents who dare to approach her for career advice. She often suggests my name to these unsuspecting teens as a person to interview upon hearing about their consideration of a position in the healthcare or finance or management fields. I enjoy these opportunities, and at one point in my abysmal career journey, actually deliberated becoming a teacher, so I regard these interviews as a chance to impart some experiential knowledge about the snakepit. My office phone rings this morning and it's the student. She starts with some small talk and thanks me for my time. Then she jumps right in...

Student: "So, what do you do in your job at Clinic X?"
Me: "Well, when someone's parent dies, I get to be the one who sends the note announcing where the funeral will be held. It's a blast."
Student: "Uh, really? That's it?"
Me: "Oh, and I get to tell people how great they are at being mediocre."
Student: "Um, mediocre?"
Me: "Yeah. It means ordinary, so-so, completely average."
Student: "Oh."
Me: "Oh, and I almost forgot, I get to thank them for complaining. It's a strategy we like to use to try to get them to complain more often. You see, someone wrote a book that my boss's boss's boss read, and it seems that by thanking people for complaining, we are actually increasing our competetive advantage. Sweet, huh?"
Student: "Y-yeah, I guess. So, what do they complain about?"
Me: "Oh, I'm so glad you asked! The #1 complaint is about how underpaid they are. Did I mention that I have absolutely no control over what their wages are because the organization determines their wages based on research with other companies? No? Well, now you learned something."
Student: "But, if you have a worker who is better than other workers, can't you just give the better worker a raise?"
Me: "That would make sense, wouldn't it? Alas, the book that my boss's boss's boss read stated that if we would do that, it would actually increase competition between employees and diminish our philosophy of teamwork. And our philosophy of teamwork is that the stonger team members compensate for the weaker ones. Which essentially means that the stronger team members hate the weaker ones."
Student: "That bites."
Me: "Sure does."
Student: "So, what else do you do in your job? Anything interesting?"
Me: "Oh sure. I get to work 55 to 60 hours a week, mostly to keep caught up on performance appraisals. Those are the annual reports I write to tell the strong team members how great they are at being strong team members, so that I can feel good about continuing to suck the life out of them."
Student: "So what do you write about the weak team members?"
Me: "Basically, that they are great at being weak team members."
Student: "Um, wow. That doesn't seem fair."
Me: "Sure doesn't. But it's accurate!"
Student: "So, do you ever get to work with doctors?"
Me: "Oh yeah. All the time. They hang up on me, yell and curse at me and call me names that would probably make you cry...or blush...I don't really know you that well. Anyway, they do this because I am simply trying to keep them out of jail for fraud. Or it could be because I also want them to see more patients per hour...again, so I can suck the life out of them."
Student: "They sound mean...and so do you."
Me: "Don't get me wrong, they love their patients. They just hate the Finance Department. When they are in good moods, they call us by our first names. That's kinda cool. And I am mean. But only some of the time. And only because it's in my job description."
Student: "So, what's your degree in? Accounting or Business?"
Me: "Psychology."
Student: "Psychology? And you work in Finance? How does that fit?"
Me: "Like a flippin' glove. Let me ask you this...what do you know about psychology?"
Student: "Well, you study problems in the brain and mental illness and weird behavior and stuff, right?"
Me: "Correct. And who has problems in their brains, mental illnesses and weird behaviors?"
Student: "I dunno. People?"
Me: "Exactly. And who do I supervise in the Finance Department?"
Student: "People?"
Me: "Correct. And of the people I supervise and interact with, how many do you suppose have problems in their brains, mental illnesses and weird behaviors?"
Student: "All of them?"
Me: "Ding, ding, ding! You are a winna! So, have I talked you out of wanting a job in healthcare finance management yet?"
Student: "Well, you made it sound pretty bad."
Me: "But, have I talked you out of wanting a job in healthcare finance management yet?"
Student: "Well, I dunno."
Me: "What's your GPA?"
Student: "Well, I have a tutor, but I get mostly Bs. Why?"
Me: "Well, I was beginning to think you're stupid. You should be running back to your high school's office, and shouting to everyone over the intercom system that they should never, EVER consider employment in the most unfulfilling job in healthcare. If you really want to work in the healthcare field, go into nursing. Or get your grades up and become a physician. That's where the money and sense of reward is. Steer WAY clear of healthcare finance management. We're vampires. Have I made my point?"
Student: "Um, I think so."
Me: "Good. Now, go study for that Chemistry test. And you better get an A or I'll come looking for you."
Student: "Um, I don't take Chemistry, but, ok."

She hung up and I smiled. Later today, the teacher called me and asked what the hell I told her student. I said I was honest and that I told her she should consider raising the proverbial bar in terms of her career choice. The teacher then told me that the student was a "special needs" student, and didn't have a snowball's chance in hell of ever becoming a nurse or a doctor. Christ. I felt like a jerk. Had I known that before the conversation, I would have interviewed HER...and hired her on the spot. I'm always on the lookout for those 'strong team members'...and yes, I'm going to hell for this...

Best pickup line ever or brush with a could be famous guy?

2005-10-08T15:55:00.000-07:00

Last night's shenanigans began at my favorite bar, Kathy's Pub, with me going to a farewell party for a friend and her husband. 2 bands were scheduled for the evening, and a bunch of us showed up just as one of the bands was setting up. The beer started flowing at 3:30pm (WAY too early, as it turns out, but we'll get to that) and good times were being had by all. We found out the first band, Bakkus, was an 80s hard rock cover band. I know this will come as a surprise, but I took notice of the guitar player and casually commented to my friends that he was sort of cute. I decided to get a nearby hotel room for the evening, knowing that it would be cheaper than a DUI, so before getting too involved in the drinking festivities, I went across the street, checked in, and changed clothes. I returned to the bar only to have my friend Nancy exclaim that the guitar player had come over to the table while I was gone and asked where I went. Bless her heart, she told him I would be coming right back and that he should plan to join us for a drink. So as I was settling back into the booth, the bartender delivered me a beer, compliments of the guitar player. We invited him over and he asked if we planned to stay to watch them play.
Me: "Well, what songs do you play?".
Him (in a Latino accent): "Mostly 80s rock...like AC/DC, Ozzy..LOTS of Ozzy".
Me: "So you must be a Zakk Wylde fan?".
Him: "Wait here a second".
He returned with a Zakk Wylde signature guitar and said, "I got this from Zakk. He was a patient of mine". My jaw dropped, and somehow I blurted, "Patient? Are you a physician?!"
Him: "Yes. My specialty is gastrointestinal medicine. I treated Zakk a while ago and when I told him I was a guitar player, he gave me this. I also just returned from California because I auditioned to be Ozzy's new guitar player. I am in the top 3".
I was dumbfounded. Not only did I not realize that Zakk Wylde had left Ozzy's band, but this guy was claiming to be in the running for the coveted new lead axeman for Ozzy's band. Then, the cynic in me emerged.
Me: "Ok, I don't believe you. Do you work at (Clinic X)?".
Him: "I'm being completely honest. Yes, I work at (Clinic X). Do you work there too?".
Me: "Yes. In Finance. I'm a supervisor there and my job often involves getting chewed out by physicians when I try to explain that they can't bill for services that they don't document in the medical record. It's called 'compliance'. What's your name?".
Him: "I appreciate the work you do, and I would never be so disrespectful". Then he told me his name.
Me: "Well, thanks. And I'm sorry I generalized. So you REALLY went to audition for Ozzy?".
Him: "Yes. I should hear back soon as to whether I got the job".
That's when my friend Mike interjected.
Mike: "So, why would you quit practicing medicine to play with Ozzy Osbourne? He's so old".
Me: "Jesus Mike. His income from one concert would be more than he makes in a year at Clinic X. Plus, you're right. Ozzy's on his last legs. It's pretty handy for him to have a guitarist, who also happens to be a physician, on tour with him. You never know when he might eat a bad burrito".
Him (laughing): "True. Ozzy does like his burritos. Well, I'd better get back to setting up. It was very nice to meet you, and I hope you enjoy the show. Would it be ok if I come back and talk with you between sets?".
Me (wondering if I could get him to breach patient confidentiality even further than he already had by announcing that Zakk was a former patient, and tell me what he treated Zakk for): "Sure. I'm intrigued".

Many of us continued drinking non-stop and listening to the sound check. The guests of honor had to leave because they had to pack some more stuff before leaving on Sunday. Bakkus wasn't scheduled to start until 9pm and it was only 6pm. Those of us who remained were already half-in the bag at this point, so we ordered a pizza (yes, they delivered it to the bar), and played a trivia game. Nancy and Mike fought because they both wanted me on their team for the music category. Little did they know that I was having to close one eye in order to read the questions, and I was incapable of operating the little keypad we had to select our answers on. This was when I decided that I'd better drink a glass of water between beers or I'd be a puddle by the time Bakkus started. Then Nancy's husband called and she had to leave, so that left me, Mike, Mike's girlfriend (a snotty little beotch) and Chad. We entertained ourselves for the next few hours by playing darts, cards, and dice. I was starting to be miserable. The water seemed to actually intensify my inebriation (heaven forbid I just STOP drinking beer altogether), I had the hiccups, and I was having to pee every 20 minutes or so. FINALLY, Bakkus started playing. They kicked off with 'Crazy Train' and Zakk's Doctor was pretty good (not sure if I would say he was good enough for Ozzy's band, but my hammeredness might have been impairing my judgement). He even did the Zakk stance (legs-spread-eagle-with-guitar-planted-firmly-between-them-and-resting-on-one-thigh). By their 3rd song, I was full-blown bombed and getting a headache, yet I was determined to make it until the break so I could chat with Zakk's Doctor some more. Kathy's Pub is a small bar and was very crowded, so it is usually a good idea to stay put unless you want to be pinballed between asses on bar stools. But Mike decided we should dance. Somehow, I lost him half way to the dance floor, and when I turned around to find him, I saw that his girlfriend had snatched him and was yelling at him. Swell. My headache was getting worse, and when Chad said he was leaving, I succumbed to the decision that it was time for me to leave too. He walked me to my hotel entrance, I staggered to my room, popped 4 Advil (I eat them like they're friggin' breath mints now) and collapsed on the bed.

I awoke to a surprisingly mild hangover, made a mini-pot of coffee and lounged around the room for a while. I showered, checked out and decided to stop at my office to satisfy my curiosity about Zakk's Doctor. Sure enough, I found him listed in our staff directory. I'll be damned. So keep your eyes open for an announcement about Ozzy's new guitarist. If the press release says he's a Latino GI physician, I'll be here at home, listening to 'No More Tears', drinking Jack Daniels and cursing myself...

Are they supposed to be super heros?

2005-10-06T17:44:00.000-07:00

A friend e-mailed me this gem today, and I instantly thought about one of the best shows to debut in the late 80s, "American Gladiators". I watched it religiously, and one thing is certain, these 2 can't hold a candle to Nitro playing Powerball, Gemini doing the Joust or Turbo in The Assault! And yes, I'm a freak for noticing, but their packages are WAY too enhanced given their somewhat malnourished-looking bodies. I mean, I've never 'been with' an Asian man, but c'mon boys, put the tube socks back in your drawer and for God's sake, give your Mom's thongs back...

The Marine and his pit bulls...and Jason

2005-10-05T21:31:00.000-07:00

The route that I follow on my morning fitness walk takes me past the home of a gentleman I refer to as The Marine. I call him this because in the 2 years I've been walking past his house, the only shirt I've ever seen him wear has MARINES emblazoned across his chest. Sure, he could have multiples of this t-shirt, and ok, I get it, you're one of 'the few, the proud', but Jesus buddy, get a fucking wardrobe. Every time I walk by, I say hello, because contrary to popular belief (ok, and sometimes fact), I am an amiable gal. And every time I say hello, he says nothing. Often times, the jerk is looking me straight in the eye, and still, he says nothing. So this morning, I decide I'm going to say hello and then stop until he acknowledges me with, at the very least, a head nod. Keep in mind, I may still be suffering some residual effects of caffeine deprivation and am therefore, not completely rational...

Me: "Hello."
Marine: (Silence)
Me (stopping & waving both hands in front of his face to detect potential blindness): "I said, Hello?"
Marine: (Silence)
Me: "Look, I just have to tell you that I've been walking past here for a while now, and every time I say 'hello' and you ignore me, it makes me think that maybe I did something to anger you at some point. Is that the case? Because if it is, please tell me."
Marine: "Ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you to please refrain from stepping onto my property."
Me (standing in the street): "Uh, I'm standing in the street and I have no intention of stepping onto your property. I just want to know why you never respond when I say hello?"
Marine: "Ma'am, I would appreciate it if you would continue on your way."
Me: "Wow. Well, how sad that you are so unwilling to meet a fellow member of the community you live in."
Marine: "Ma'am, if you do not continue on your way, you'll leave me no choice but to call my dogs."
Me (officially pissed): "Whoah there fella. I hope you realize that if those dogs come near or, God forbid, BITE me here in the street, you will be severely arrested and sued. In fact, the cops will get a nice chuckle when I tell them why you sicced your dogs on me."
Marine (shouting): "Charley! Arnold! Come!"
Me (thinking, dear God, he has post-traumatic stress disorder and he thinks I'm a terrorist): "Hey pal. Take it easy!"

The next thing I see are 2 pit bulls charging at me. I'm nearly wetting myself with fear.

Marine (shouting, just as the dogs arrive at the street curb): "Charley! Arnold! Cut!"
Me (Cut? Holy shit, someone has watched The Boys From Brazil a few times too many. I uttered the only thing I could think of): "Nice doggies. Look, say no more pal. It's pretty obvious you just want to be left alone and that you're a little unstable. The next time I walk by, I won't say a word. In fact, I'll just change my walking route altogether to a kinder, gentler neighborhood."
Marine: "Ma'am, you need to realize that these dogs are trained to protect me and will attack on command."
Me (stifling a giggle): "Yeah. I do appear to be threatening you by standing in the street trying to say hello, don't I? I'm just going to turn around now, and go home and call the cops. You have lost your mind."
Marine: "Ma'am, I strongly advise you against that."
Me (not entirely sure what the hell was the matter with me, but not wanting to back down to this freak): "Really? And why is that?"
Marine: "Ma'am, I was an officer in the United States Marine Corps and am well within my rights to protect myself. "
Me (was an officer? Hmm...): "That's great. You know what? If you were friendlier, I'd thank you for your service to this country and for protecting me. However, you are a rude man and you are very off-balance, therefore, I am instead, going to call the cops and hope that they get you the help you need."

The Marine just stared at me and said nothing. That was my signal to get the hell out of there. So I turned around and started walking back the way I came, and then I heard, "Charley! Arnold! Go!". I suffered a small heart attack, because I am ill-versed in attack commands, and figured the 2 beasts would be bearing down on me at any second. I looked back over my shoulder and the dogs were retreating to wherever the hell they came from. The Marine was still standing by the curb watching me. I'm not a strong runner, in fact, my lungs have been known to collapse upon running approximately 1 block, but I decided that I would try it for effect. I wanted the dumbass Marine to think I was running home to call the cops. I think my lungs started bleeding after about 4 strides, but I kept running and looking back over my shoulder to make sure the Marine and his dogs weren't hot on my trail. By the time I got home (5 blocks from the Marine's house), my lungs were on fire and I had shin splints. I immediately called the cops and told them about the crazy Marine and his attack dogs. They informed me that they have received numerous complaints about him in the past few days, and would look into it. Fine.

Shortly after getting home from work today, a cop stopped by my house to inform me that the Marine had been hospitalized. Seems he was a dishonorably-discharged Gulf War veteran (he didn't go into any details about the reason for the dishonorable discharge) and actually DID have post-traumatic stress disorder. The cop proceeded to tell me how stupid I was for confronting him, and I agreed. Then the cop asked me what possessed me to stop and talk to him in the first place. I told him I just wanted to him to acknowledge my 'hello' after 2 years of extending the greeting. The cop told me, "You could have told him to 'fuck off' and received the same response. You might want to think about not being so sensitive". I replied with a salute, "Sir, yes sir, officer", and he laughed...hard.

The cop started walking away, but came back and said, "By the way, have you seen Jason (crazy neighbor) around lately?". I said, "I see him once in a while. Why, what's he done now?". The cop said, "Well, we just want to talk to him. You let us know if you notice anything out of the ordinary". I said, "What am I, on your payroll? Jason and the phrase 'out of the ordinary' are synonymous. I might as well put you on speed dial". The cop said, "Just keep your eyes open for suspicious activities at his place". Ok, so one minute I'm stupid for confronting a crazy Marine, the next minute, I'm working undercover for the local PD. What the hell? I've been a paranoid wreck ever since I talked to that cop. I keep peeking my head out the front door to see if a Marine and 2 pit bulls are laying in the ditch in my front yard, and to try to figure out what's going on at Jason's house. I need a sedative...

We're with the band

2005-10-02T18:02:00.000-07:00

A friend, Paula, invited me to a party last night, and the only reason I accepted was because she told me there would be a band and keggers there. Now, I haven't been to a party with a live band and keggers since the late 70s, and I went to a LOT of them (often telling my parents the "I'm going rollerskating and spending the night at Linda's house" lie), so I wasn't really sure what to expect in terms of a modern-day revisitation of my former favorite pasttime. Paula and I have frequented a few bars that featured live bands, and we share an affinity for music of the heavier variety, so I assumed this would be a good time. What an understatement. Let's just say my life was significantly 'altered' this weekend, because I got to live out my lifelong fantasy of being a groupie for an evening...well, sort of...

Paula designated herself as sober-driver, and came to pick me up...with her Harley. Another thing I haven't done since the late 70s is sit my ass on a motorcyle, on account of the severe tailpipe burn my left calf suffered when I too quickly tried to get off the damn death machine. Also, I didn't have a helmet, nor did I want to pluck bugs out of my teeth upon arrival at the party, so I suggested that she just drive my car. She was having none of that. She gave me her extra helmet and off we went.

The party was at the residence of her friend, Mammoth, a fellow Harley biker. This guy was 7 feet tall, 300 pounds, had long curly hair, and a thick moustache and beard...I thought for a minute that we had stumbled upon the Missing Link or one of the guys from ZZ Top, but he was a gentle giant of a man and that was good enough for me. He had a very nice house, and insisted that we spend the night. Seemed like a good idea, since Paula has been known to forego her sober-driver duties on past occasions. We toured the house, picked out our rooms and ran into the band members on the way back outside. Mammoth proceeded to make introductions. The band was interestingly named Roach Clip, and have only been together for 6 months...this was their second "paying" gig. All of them had 'day jobs', and they decided to put the band together for some extra cash...mostly, according to the lead singer, John, "so I can catch up on my child support and buy my kids Christmas gifts this year". Wow. You're really tuggin' at my heartstrings, pal. I can see the gift tag already, "Dear Johnny Jr.: Sorry I spent all the child support and Christmas gift money for the past few years on dope and liquor. Hope you like the Spiderman pajamas. Love: Dad (a.k.a. Lead Singer of Roach Clip)".

Naturally, I gravitated toward the lead guitarist, Rick. I asked him about his day job, his guitar influences, their set list, etc. He told me he's a computer programmer, he likes Jimi Hendrix, Jimmy Page and Eric Clapton, and that they start off with a 70s set, progress to 80s hair metal and end with a 'by request' set. Sweet. Paula had set her sights on the drummer, Mitch, so I dubbed us the Plaster Casters.

My heroines:

Ok, we were a little less stoned-looking, and had no intention of making plaster casts of Rick and Mitch's, uh, thingys, but we were pretty much groupies in every other sense of the title. Meaning, we both intended to be arm candy for these 2 boys in the band. Well, I wanted to be arm candy. I'm pretty sure Paula had other ideas...

Anyway, the band kicked off their first set with such 70s staples as Detroit Rock City, Sweet Emotion, Lorelai, Carry On My Wayward Son, Smokin', Houses of The Holy, etc. They were phenomenal. Very tight, very loud, very hot. Paula and I danced to every song and prompted about 40 others to join us. The band took their first break, and Rick and Mitch came over to where Paula and I had set up camp. They gave us some "brownies" and thanked us for packing the dance floor and helping to get the crowd into the music. Brownies? Um, thanks guys. Rick and I made some more small talk and went to go get some beer, while Paula threw herself at Mitch...and he accepted. The band kicked off their next set with a few more 70s songs, then launched into Motley Crue's Dr. Feelgood. I went nuts, of course, so they followed it with another, new Crue song, Sick Love Song. I think I screamed 'I love you for that' to Rick, and he just grinned at me. They finished the set with more 80s fare from Poison, Judas Preist, AC/DC, Tesla and Dokken. Then they came to join me and Paula again. It was at this point that I became aware of the the scantily clad "Leather & Lace" girls at the party. I saw them gazing longingly at Rick and Mitch (both good looking guys), and felt a perverse sense of pride. That's right, bitches. They're with us. Not you, US! Perhaps they want to spend their time with women who can form sentences with multi-syllabic words. Perhaps they don't notice the bootie you're throwing at them and they want to spend time with women of intellect. Just keep staring, bitches. We're with the band. Now, git.

In the 3rd set, they launched into Def Leppard's Foolin' and Pour Some Sugar on Me, played some Skid Row, Metallica, Twisted Sister and ended with the "requests". I had one, of course. I asked Rick to play Immigrant Song by Zeppelin and he obliged...quite well. They received requests for Skynryd, more AC/DC and Aerosmith, and they flat-out rocked the house. After they were done, we all helped Mammoth take the food into the house, and proceeded to play Quarters. I won...meaning, I drank more than anyone else at the table. Only because I had this incredible cotton mouth. I later found out the brownies that the band gave us were, uh, "enhanced". How nice. Again, thanks guys. I retired to the bedroom I selected earlier in the evening and Rick followed me. I was pretty much a mess, so I told him that he was free to sleep in the bed with me, but that was about all I was capable of offering him. He was a nice guy and told me he was just as drunk and that I had nothing to worry about since he was probably incapable of "getting it up". Too much information, Rick, but cool. I was happy to have a slumber buddy.

The next morning, Rick and I awoke to the smell of bacon, eggs, hash browns and COFFEE. Alas, my caffeine-free kick lasted all of 7 days, and I just couldn't stand it anymore. So, not only is the caffeine monkey back on my back, it's now humping my leg and slinging it's poo in my general direction. Rick and I entered the kitchen and saw Mammoth stirring eggs at the stove. "Git yerself some viddles and pour yerself a cup of coffee there honey. You too Rick". I managed, "I've died and gone to heaven, Mammoth. And I gotta tell you, you are the best party host EVER". We ate our breakfast and I revelled in the fact that I was groupie for an evening...and I didn't even have to offer any sexual favors to the guy (though, upon looking at him with his mussed up rock star hair and Ty Pennington sculpted arms, I really wouldn't have minded that part at all). Again, sweet. Paula finally hauled herself downstairs an hour later and we hit the road. Not sure if I'll ever run into Rick again, but I'm sure going to be looking for the band on the local bar scene. If they catch on, they'll be a hot ticket. I only hope they change their damn name. How can I possibly retain employment if I go to work on Mondays bragging about how I partied with the guys from Roach Clip?

Hello, my name is Junkie

2005-09-28T22:00:00.000-07:00

Having been scolded unrelentingly by my primary care doc a few months ago for my laundry list of legal addictions, I made the decision last weekend to attempt giving up the seemingly mildest of my bad of habits, caffeine. Evidently, drinking a 10-cup pot of coffee every morning and subsequently downing at least a 6-pack of varied diet sodas throughout the day is frowned upon in the medical community. I decided to kick off this phase of my self-improvement plan on Saturday, with high hopes of suffering the worst of the unavoidable withdrawal symptoms in the comfort of my own home. This is Day 5, and I've maintained a journal, for no other purpose than to have something to whack my physician upside the head with...

Saturday, 9/24: Substituted tall glass of skim milk for morning coffee. Felt onset of headache at 9:30am and took 2 Advil. Spent 2 hours cleaning house and headache severity required 2 more Advil. Had large glass of ice water with lunch. Felt very sluggish after lunch so tried to take a nap. Kept waking up due to horrendous headache. Took 3 Advil. Finally fell asleep and was out for 3 hours. Woke up with blinding headache. Took 3 Advil and polished off 32 ounces of water. Headache finally subsided an hour later. Went to store to purchase more Advil. Considered purchasing Advil Migraine, but ingredients included caffeine. Shit. Returned home and decided to work out. Headache returned. Took 3 more Advil and laid down for second nap. Woke up at 8pm, thinking it was the next morning. Had headache and stomach ache. Had bowl of soup and drank another glass of milk. Took 3 more Advil. Went to bed.

Sunday, 9/25: Awoke at 5am wondering who screwed metal rods into my temples? Took 3 Advil. Had glass of orange juice. Stomach was burning within 2 minutes. Took Prilosec. Went for morning walk and 20 minutes into it, thought I was going to shit myself. Rapidly duck-walked home and spent the next 20 minutes in the bathroom. Headache was back too. Took 3 Advil. Laid down to take nap and awoke at 3 pm. Was afraid to move for fear of headache returning. Laid on sofa for another hour. Upon rising, started to black out & had to lay back down. Laid on sofa for another 20 minutes. Was very thirsty, so rolled off sofa & crawled to refrigerator for bottled water. Sat on floor and guzzled it to wash down 3 Advil. Contemplated calling nurse hotline to inquire about symptoms of Advil overdose. Dismissed idea. Crawled back to sofa and took 4 hour nap. Awoke to pitch darkness, again thinking it was next morning. Slowly stood & closed eyes to stave off dizziness. Managed to walk to kitchen for water and 3 more Advil. Went to bed.

Monday, 9/26: Awoke at 5am and called alarm clock a 'fucking whore'. Guzzled 16 ounce bottle of water to wash down 3 Advil. Wrote grocery list...Advil and Prilosec topped the list. Felt better for 5 minutes after shower. Then spilled glass of milk. Called glass of milk 'cocksucking bastard'. Cleaned up mess and left for work. Arrived at work and warned colleagues of bad mood. Kept office door closed for 4 hours. Opened door to go retrieve new bottle of water. Saw coffee pot in break room and salivated. Grabbed water and went back to office. Closed door for another 2 hours. Emerged to attend meeting. Pen ran out of ink while taking notes and tears welled up in eyes. Pretended to get paged. Left meeting and returned to office. Closed door and sobbed for 30 minutes for no apparent reason other than to mourn dead pen. Composed self and went for walk. Saw annoying colleague and instead of waving, purposely turned away and called her a 'lazy bitch' under my breath. Went back to office. Closed door and took 3 Advil. Called it a day at 6pm and went grocery shopping. Encountered World's Dumbest Father and World's Brattiest Child. Laughed at them. Drove home. Had Defcon 4 headache. Took 3 Advil. Blogged about bratty kid and idiot Dad. Felt a little better. Thought about watching news, but was so tired that I was incapable of concentration or capacity to remember how to use the remote control. Went to bed.

Tuesday, 9/27: Awoke at 2 am and reasoned that caffeine is actually low-grade heroin given my flu-like withdrawal symptoms. Had chills, shakes, gastrointestinal distress, inexplicable all-over muscle pain and of course, a headache. Considered calling in sick, but recalled that I had to give presentation to group of physicians. Said 'fuck' approximately 17 times and showered. Remembered that Nip/Tuck was on tonight and smiled. Took 4 Advil and drank 32 ounce bottle of water on the drive to work. Suppressed urge to stab person in elevator who only went up 1 floor, and thought to self "no wonder he's a fat cow". Decided I'm going to hell. Didn't care. Got to office, closed door and rehearsed presentation. Still had mild headache, so took 3 Advil. Went to give presentation and warned physicians that I was suffering caffeine withdrawal symptoms, so don't anger me. They laughed and congratulated me on making such a healthy lifestyle change. Silently called them 'fucking bunch of arrogant pricks'. Aced presentation and went back to office. Closed door and shivered for 45 minutes. Went to lunch. Found I am afraid to eat anything except soup for fear of negative gastrointestinal consequences. Took 4 Advil with large lemonade. Went back to work, shivered for an hour and finally asked secretary to call maintenance to check thermostat because it was so cold. Was informed that several others had complained of being too hot. Silently referred to others as 'ass-licking motherfuckers'. Returned to office, closed door and cussed. Went to meeting, shivered throughout, was asked if I am feeling ok, replied with a tight-lipped no, excused myself for 'nausea reasons', spent next 20 minutes in bathroom. Day finally ended. Experienced severe road rage when little old lady drove the speed limit in the passing lane. Flipped her off when I finally passed her. Sped the rest of the way home. Changed into flannel pajamas and sweatshirt upon arriving home. Thermostat read 70. Made soup, washed down 4 Advil with water. Noticed it was 7pm, laid on sofa and started to nod off. Remembered that Nip/Tuck was going to be on at 9pm. Put blank tape in VCR and began recording, just in case I fell asleep. Contemplated ordering illegal pain pills on Internet. Decided against it. Found down comforter and wrapped self in it. Discovered that I was very hungry, but was too cold to move. Remained on sofa in makeshift coccoon. Fell asleep.

Wednesday, 9/28: Awoke at 2am, shivering with a headache, and was furious about missing Nip/Tuck. Cussed for 5 minutes, then remembered that I recorded it. Poured tall glass of orange juice, took 5 Advil and watched Nip/Tuck. Wondered what the hell to do for 2 hours before getting ready for work. Decided to work out, only because I wanted to be warm. Worked up a sweat, but was still shivering. Decide to get ready for work at 4am. Ate oatmeal, again hoping to get warm. Failed. Drove to work with heat cranked on high. Almost hit a baby deer. Called it a 'motherfucking Bambi-ass critter'. Prayed for Ted Nugent to kill it. Arrived at work to dark office area and couldn't find right light switches. Didn't care, and went into my office, closed door, and left rest of work area pitch dark. Was amazingly productive for 2 hours. Assistant knocked on my office door at 8am to ask if I was ok. Replied no. Explained caffeine withdrawal experience. Assistant laughed until she noticed my glare. Assistant backed out of office slowly, closing door behind her. Spent entire morning in office with door closed shivering. Went to lunch with boss. Salivated when she ordered iced tea. Wondered why she looked at me funny when I inquired about the potential for insurance company coverage for an inpatient caffeine detoxification program. Went back to work. Cussed at my computer for 10 minutes. Put coat on to try to be warm. Continued to shiver. Took 5 Advil. Finished the day. Went home. Decided to try to eat chicken. Got sick. Spent 20 minutes in the bathroom. Shivered for an hour. Put on long underwear, flannel pajamas and a sweatshirt. Curled up in comforter and took 2 hour nap. Awoke with headache. Took 5 Advil. Decided to blog.

So here we are, on the verge of Day 6 and the outlook is bleak. I am now craving a Mountain Dew with an espresso chaser, and I'm considering taking the day off tomorrow in search of a methadone clinic. I'm told the withdrawal symptoms subside in 7-10 days, and that I should be totally 'caffeine cleansed' in 2 weeks (provided I keep drinking a gallon of water every day). I'm thinking by then, I'll be toting a Mannlicher-Carcano to the top of a bell tower. On second thought, that would involve climbing stairs, being outdoors, and possessing the capacity to concentrate. Never mind.

The Crying Game

2005-09-26T18:43:00.000-07:00

Without fail, whenever I go to the grocery store, a screaming, wailing, rotten child is pitching a fit somewhere in the store. I've come to accept this as a rite of passage for parents, because if they are naive enough to think that they can bring their spawn to the grocery store with them and expect pristine behavior upon being told "no, you can't have that", they deserve the humiliation the child's inevitable tantrum will produce. Tantrums annoy the shit out of me, don't get me wrong, but it's sometimes amusing to witness the hapless and inexperienced parent attempt to de-escalate the situation. Today marked a hilarious new parenting low for a gentleman I will refer to as Blockhead and his son, Lungs.

I first encountered these 2 in the dairy section. Blockhead was putting milk and eggs into the cart when Lungs (approximate age of 5) decided that he wanted some string cheese. Lungs proceeded to race a few yards ahead of Blockhead, climb onto the dairy case, stand on his tiptoes and snatch 3 packages from the rack. Lungs raced back to where Blockhead was standing and lobbed the packages into the cart. Blockhead yelled, "I told you, we're only getting some stuff for breakfast tomorrow. Put the cheese back". Lungs, in a spot-on impression of Elmer Fudd, pouted and wimpered, "But I weally wike stwing cheese". Blockhead again yelled, "No. Put it back". Lungs immediately began to cry and scream, "I waaant stwing cheeeeese! I waaant stwing cheeeeese! I waaant stwing cheeeeese!, and Blockhead caved. "Knock it off! Alright, alright you can have the cheese, but that's it! Nothing else". I casually chucked a few containers of yogurt into my cart and breezed past them, giving Blockhead a sly grin on the way by, silently suggesting, "You fucked up big time pal".

I continued my shopping in relative peace, until I entered the snack aisle. Lungs and Blockhead were engaged in a tug-of-war over a bag of chips, with Lungs hiss-screeching "My Dowitos! My Dowitos! My Dowitos! Want my Dowitos!", and Blockhead hollering, "I said NO, and I mean NO!". Lungs had a death-grip on the bag, thrashing it back and forth, his screaming sounding more and more like a civil defense siren by this point. Blockhead then did what any good parent would, and released the bag, sending Lungs ass-over-tea-kettle backwards onto the floor, still clutching the mutilated bag of chips. Lungs was furious. He began to whack the bag of chips on the floor repeatedly, still screaming nonsensically. I turned my back (of course, I was starting to laugh and I thought it rude of me to crack up right in front of them), and quickly pushed my cart the hell away from them. As I was rounding the corner to leave, I heard Blockhead say, "Stop it! Stop screaming! Go put that bag back and get a new one. But that's IT. No more!".

Next stop, the cereal aisle. And, as fate would have it, along came Blockhead and Lungs. I could hear them approaching without turning around, as Lungs was still wailing uncontrollably and was now stopping every few feet to do some sort of 'stomping in place' routine. As I reached for my oatmeal, I heard "Gimme Cwunchbewwies! CWUNCHBEWWIES, CWUNCHBEWWIES!!". Blockhead, completely unaware that he had succeeded in reinforcing increasingly vocal displays of this crazy child's tantruming, simply grabbed the box of cereal from the shelf and threw it in the cart. He turned to Lungs and said, "There! Ya happy now? Ya got your Crunchberries! Now knock it off!", to which Lungs replied a stream of consciousness rant of "NOT YOU, I WANNA GET THE CWUNCHBEWWIES, NOT YOU, MINE, THEY'WE MINE, MINE, I WANNA GET EM! MY CWUNCHBEWWIES, MINE!!!". Blockhead then took the box out of the cart, put it back on the shelf and said, "Fine, you get the Crunchberries", and for the first time, Lungs complied. He snatched the box & slammed it into the cart, crying and glaring at Blockhead all the while. Blockhead finally noticed me stifling my laughter and said, "Nice kid, huh? Ya want him?". I had a number of comebacks prepared, but decided to subtly interject some advice (in my characteristic smartass manner, of course) and said, "Gee what an attractive offer, but I'll have to pass. Went through that stage long ago, so I feel your pain. Next time, think about just leaving him in the dairy section and resist the temptation to give in to him. He'll stop. He'll embarrass the hell out of you because he'll pull another Crunchberries episode, but if you walk away, out of his line of sight, and DON'T give in, trust me, he'll stop". Blockhead just stared at me, shook his head and wheeled the cart, and the still sobbing Lungs, away.

My last encounter with these 2 brain trusts was at the checkout counter. I was just starting to walk away with my bags when I heard Lungs cry-screaming and demanding a candy bar. The last thing I heard was the cashier saying, "Is he gonna be alright?", and Blockhead replying, "He'll be fine, I guess. That lady over there told me to walk away when he does this, so I'm leaving him here with you".

Journalistic tendencies

2005-09-24T08:57:00.000-07:00

I've fantasized about what it would be like to interview the 2 dumbest people alive...

Me: "Mr. President, what are your intentions toward showing more visible support for the rebuilding of the communities devastated by Hurricane Katrina?"

Dubya: "I can't wait to join you in the joy of welcoming neighbors back into neighborhoods, and small businesses up and running, and cutting those ribbons that somebody is creating new jobs."

Me: "Quite a lofty goal, sir. They might be better served if you just stay put. Next topic. Any plans for traveling abroad, perhaps to Europe to continue strengthening our ally relationship?"

Dubya: "The relations with, uhh — Europe are important relations, and they've, uhh — because, we do share values. And, they're universal values, they're not American values or, you know — European values, they're universal values. And those values — uhh — being universal, ought to be applied everywhere."

Britney Spears: "The cool thing about being famous is traveling. I have always wanted to travel across seas, like to Canada and stuff."

Me: "Hey, Blondie, you need to just shut up right now. We'll get to you in a minute. Chew your gum. Mr. President, great answer. Relations and values sure are important, aren't they? How about if you outline your plan for reforming Social Security, you know, so I can be assured that it won't be bankrupt by the time my generation retires?"

Dubya: "I think younger workers — first of all, younger workers have been promised benefits the government — promises that have been promised, benefits that we can't keep. That's just the way it is. I'm going to spend a lot of time on Social Security. I enjoy it. I enjoy taking on the issue. I guess, it's the Mother in me."

Me: "Very pinpointed and outcome-oriented, sir. And so maternal. Thanks. And speaking of mothers, congratulations on the birth of your baby Britney."

BS: "I've always known that I was going to have a baby one day. But there's times when I get a little scared. It's mind-blowing to have a child. I think it's kind of healing too. Like, to your body. And therapeutic. All the secrets from your family come out of the closet for some reason. But it's good. They have to come out sometime. You know what I mean?"

Me: "No, no idea whatsoever. How has motherhood changed you?"

BS: "I think I'm more grounded, you know, and I know what I want out of life and I'm, you know, my morals are really, you know, strong and I have major beliefs about certain things and I think that has helped me, you know, from being, you know, coming from a really small town. "

Me: "I think you need to rethink fertility, period. You want to jump in here Mr. President? Do you think Britney should keep propagating? Wait, I'm sorry, sir. I can see you're perplexed. Too big a word. Do you think Britney should keep having babies?"

Dubya: "Too many good docs are getting out of the business. Too many OB-GYNs aren't able to practice their love with women all across this country."

Me: "As always, well said and relevant, Mr. President. Any parting thoughts for us today?"

Dubya: "I hope you leave here and walk out and say, 'What did he say?'"

Me: "Consider it done, sir."

Melancholic, but back at it...

2005-09-14T17:04:00.000-07:00

Ok, so I owe some updates don't I? All are intertwined, so let's start with the obvious good news and work our way to the all-out shitty news, shall we?:

Sadly, I was not kidnapped, nor did I try to stow myself in the luggage compartment of the Motley Crue tour bus. I did, however, thoroughly enjoy the show (despite much censoring during the "Tittie Cam" segment and Nikki Sixx's flashing of a strategically placed dildo...had it been real, I would've had to be surgically removed from it). Kiddo, I'm sure you'll be surprised to hear that I did not succumb to Tommy Lee's requests to "show me your tits", especially given your recent discovery (and oh so thankful rescuing) of my drunken and indiscreet Naked Foosball tournament pictures...
Having lost my voice for 3 full days after the Motley Crue concert, I was summoned to see Neil Diamond at Target Center less than a week later. Clear evidence of my somewhat ecclectic range in musical tastes. I offer a comparison of the Neils (Diamond and Vince): Diamond (who's like 70, isn't he?) still has an incredible voice and performed for 2 straight hours before having to take a chair. Vince (a mere 40-something), on the contrary, relinquished the microphone to the crowd on at least a third of the songs, needed an intermission (alright, that may have been for Mick...who's new look was reminiscent of a scarecrow), and took a break during the aforementioned "Tittie Cam" set. Guess there's something to be said for the clean livin' of the ole' Cracklin' Rosie crooner!
Spent some volunteer time at Camp Ripley in Little Falls to help prepare an intake process for the Hurricane Katrina survivors who were projected to come in droves of 3 to 5 thousand. Stayed in the barracks, ate in the mess hall and had to take communal showers for only 2 days when we received a stand-down notice from the General in charge of Operation Northern Comfort. None of the survivors wanted to travel that far north (apparently assuming that Minnesota in September has the climatic equivalent of Antarctica). It was an amazing experience nonetheless, and I met a VERY hot doctor...
Which leads me to the break up...yes, Nikki and I are no longer. Let me paint the picture: a.) He was "displeased" that I attended the Motley Crue show with friend Joel (Let's not forget that I was not dating Nikki when I got the tickets and he couldn't have gone with me anyway because he was in ARIZONA ON BUSINESS AT THE TIME OF THE CONCERT!). GOD! b.) He was "displeased" that I went to the Neil Diamond concert...with MY MOTHER & SISTER! What the FUCK? c.) He was "displeased" that I volunteered to go to Camp Ripley TO HELP THE HURRICANE SURVIVORS! For fuck's sake, what is WRONG with him? And d.) He was "displeased" that I received a 'date request phone call' from Hot Doctor while Nikki was at my house expressing his displeasure about my activities while he was away (thinking back, I probably shouldn't have let the answering machine pick up that call...). Long story short, I told him he was a bit too possessive for my taste and independence, and that he might want to consider purchasing a thesaurus and a brain in order to write his own motherfucking research papers. Or something like that...

So, I'm kinda sad...mostly because he was a lot of fun to hang out with, but also because I SO predicted this. I allowed myself to be reigned in by my superficial appreciation of his good looks, and completely disregarded all the 'red flag' indicators along the way. Sigh...

Now I'm faced with the decision about whether to return a call to Hot Doctor...and by 'hot', I mean bald, short, but with piercingly beautiful blue eyes, a killer smile, a hilarious sense of humor, a buff bod and a nice ass. Fellow bloggers, I implore you to advise me. Clearly, I'm incapable of appropriate mate selection...

Tagged...

2005-08-25T20:21:00.000-07:00

Kiddo tagged me so here's the low-down:

Seven things you plan to do before you die:
1) Travel to Italy
2) Travel to Australia
3) Meet Jimmy Page (preferably before HE dies)
4) Write a book
5) Quit smoking
6) Own a brand new sportscar (a Porsche would be nice)
7) See the Green Bay Packers win another Super Bowl

Seven things you can do:
1) Remember the names of bands/singers when others can't (I've been startled awake by the phone ringing at 2am only to be asked, "Who sang '25 or 6 to 4'?")
2) Quote, verbatim, every line Wooderson uttered in Dazed and Confused
3) 'The perfect cheer'
4) Mimic the voice of Eric Cartman
5) Forgive easily
6) Cuss like a sailor
7) The splits

Seven things you can't do:
1) Sadly, play the guitar
2) Smell liver without vomiting
3) Tolerate Randy Moss
4) Chin-ups, not even one
5) Fall asleep without the TV on
6) Golf
7) Believe I'm dating a guy that looks like Nikki Sixx

Seven things that attract you to the opposite sex:
1) Smile
2) Eyes
3) Sense of humor
4) Taste in music (I'm dead serious)
5) Intellect/spelling and grammar consciousness
6) Compassion for others/kindheartedness
7) Mystery

Seven things you say most:
1) "No shit" (as a statement, not a question)
2) "Excuse me?" (as a question, not a statement)
3) "I am not your therapist"
4) "I did what?"
5) "Fuck that noise"
6) "For fuck's sake"
7) "Learn how to spell, motherfucker"

Seven celebrity crushes:
1) Julian McMahon (Dr. Christian Troy on Nip/Tuck)
2) Jared Leto (Jordan Catalano on My So-Called Life/WAY hotter than Steve Prefontaine)
3) Brett Favre (Green Bay's FINEST quarterback)
4) Mike Piazza (NY Mets baseball beauty)
5) George Eads (Nick Stokes on CSI: Las Vegas)
6) Marcus Schenkenberg (hhhhotttt former Calvin Klein model)
7) Nikki Sixx (bassist for Motley Crue, and probable twin of the guy I'm dating) The picture below is just too cute to hyperlink...

Seven people you want to take this quiz:
I only know 2 who might indulge me...
veryapeaz
boy wonder?

Countdown to Crue

2005-08-23T18:48:00.000-07:00

Then and Now...

Yes, it's true, only 3 more days til I get to see Motley Fucking Crue! Should be an interesting event, as I will be seeing them at the MN State Fair...the last time I saw the Bad Boys of Rock was in 1989 on the Dr. Feelgood tour at a 15,000 seat venue. The State Fair, um, amphitheater, is a small step south...

Anyway, I'm going to the concert with my son, friend Joel & Joel's 2 daughters, but I SO wish I were taking MY Nikki along (2 dates and the possessiveness already commences....sadly, he is being summoned to Arizona for a business trip this weekend). I would stand in front of the damn stage with him until the REAL Nikki appeared, make some sort of spectacle of myself to get the REAL Nikki to notice us, and then just watch as the REAL Nikki freaked upon seeing MY Nikki...his double. Ok, MY Nikki has much shorter hair, but it's the same jet black/spiky style, he's about the same height/weight, he has the same greenish eyes & same gorgeous smile...I know it would score us backstage passes just because the REAL Nikki would undoubtedly think that MY Nikki was his long lost twin brother. Why the confidence? Well, I just read the Motley autobiography, "The Dirt" (again) in preparation for this coming Friday's evening of decadence. The REAL Nikki Sixx apparently had at least one brother and one sister he didn't even know existed until he was like 40...

Anyway, as an homage to one of my fave bands and to allow the "un-Crued" some precious insight about said band, I give you some of the greatest quotes, and in the case of these first 2, worst metaphor & simile, "The Dirt" has to offer:

(on guitarist Mick Mars) "And I liked his trippy look and sound. It was as if he'd come from another planet populated by a species so sonically advanced that they didn't need to take baths"...Tommy Lee

(referencing the patrons of L.A.'s Rainbow club) "The guys would sit at their regular spots and the girls would walk around the ring until they were called over to someone's empty chair. They would keep circling, like dick buzzards, until you filled your table with them"...Vince Neil

(on one of his former wives) "Sharise was your average mud wrestler: blond hair, big tits and a killer hard body"...Vince Neil

(on former manager) "Allen Kovac was a sneaky little bastard, and I mean that in the best sense of the word 'bastard' because I am probably a father to many"...Vince Neil

(on former girlfriend Bobbie Brown) "She had perfect blond hair, huge doe eyes, big glossy lips and huge tits"...Tommy Lee

(reflecting on his heroin overdose after being 'fixed' by a dealer) "Those words--'Trust me, I'm a junkie'--should have been a clue right there. I mean, he was a fucking addict, dude, so of course his tolerance was going to be more than mine"...Tommy Lee

(reflecting on his first impression of his blind date) "I arrived, opened the door, and sure enough, the bitch was cockeyed. She looked like a drunk Geena Davis"...Nikki Sixx

(on his first date with his future wife, Donna D'Errico, informing her of his new construction project) "Yeah, and it's going to be shaped like a pussy. I've always wanted a pussy-shaped swimming pool, so I can just...oh, never mind"...Nikki Sixx

(on the birth of his first son, Brandon) "The tears came flooding out when I saw this fucking person come out of my wife right in the the fucking master bedroom where we conceived him"...Tommy Lee

Boys will be boys, as they say. The book is several years old, and certainly not for the faint-hearted, but it IS a sometimes hilarious, sometimes tragic, often graphic chronicle of the band and their demons. I SO can't wait for the movie version...but I'll settle for the concert first. Will post a recap afterwards...if I make it back unviolated...

Another Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood

2005-08-20T16:20:00.000-07:00

I have neglected to mow my lawn for the past 2 weeks, partially due to the fact that I hate doing it, partially due to my hint of a social life, so I decided that I needed to cut the grass before Crazy-Old-Man-In-The-Blue-House-With-The-Virgin-Mary-Statue-In-His-Front-Yard reports me to the 'Beautify The City Committee' (yes, we have one and yes, they monitor the length of your grass/the presence of noxious weeds and they will fine you if you have junk cars &/or other crap in your yard). As I was preparing to start the mower, I noticed my other crazy neighbor, Jason, loading river rock into a wheelbarrow. Jason had disassembled a portion of his 'privacy fence' and it was laying in my yard along with a piece of rain spout. He spotted me & waved, thus I assumed he would move the fence & rain spout so that I would not have to mow around them when I made my way over to that section of the lawn. I should know better than to ever assume anything about Jason.

I proceed with my mowing and come upon the part of my yard that was still littered with Jason's fence/rain spout. And he's nowhere to be found. Christ. I stop the mower and am just about to move the fence/rain spout, when Jason comes out of his house, carrying 2 Bud Lights.

Jason (offering me a beer): "Hey, take a break and have a beer with me."
Me (waving him off): "No thanks. It's only 10:30am, Jason. Hard to believe, I know, but it's a little early for me to start drinking. Besides, I really have to finish mowing the lawn."
Jason (setting the beers in the yard & pulling up 2 lawn chairs): "What's yer hurry?"
Me: "Well, I have a bunch of chores left on my to-do list for today, and I really need to get this done. I have someone coming over later tonight."
Jason: "C'mon, just sit for a couple minutes."
Me (getting irritated, but succumbing to the pressure to take a break...mostly because Jason really creeps me out...I thought he'd probably tackle me & duct tape me to the chair): "Alright, but I better pass on the beer."
Jason: "Bullshit. Drink up."
Me (reluctantly taking the beer, wondering how the hell I was going to get out of this): "Ok, then. So, it looks like you're doing some landscaping?"
Jason: "Yep."
Me (thinking, he's sure one hell of a conversationalist, and wondering how I could accidentally spill my beer): "So, are your kids with your Mom?"
Jason (burping): "Nope. They're inside watching a movie."
Me (please God get me out of this): "That's a good idea. They'd probably just try to be helpful and end up getting in your w..."
Jason (cutting me off): "So who's the guy I've been seeing at your place?"
Me (Umm...): "That would be Nikki. We're sorta dating. Actually, we were friends for a while & then had one date last weekend. He's coming over later tonight, so I guess that will be our second da..."
Jason (cutting me off again): "Is it serious?"
Me: "Uh, serious?"
Jason: "Yeah. Are you fucking him?"
Me (oh...my...God): "Jesus, Jason. Don't hold back or anything."
Jason: "Well, are you?"
Me: "Y'know, I know we're neighbors and all, but that's really not a question you should be asking me."
Jason: "Hey, I just want to know if he'll be moving in soon. He's a goofy looking mother-fucker. Is he in a band or something?"
Me (why am I still talking to him?): "Well, no, no he's not moving in, nor is he goofy-looking, and no, he's not in a band. A lot of people think he looks like Nikki Sixx, though, so I can see why you..."
Jason (cutting me off, for a third time): "I need to meet him."
Me: "Uh, what?"
Jason: "Bring him over tonight so I can meet him."
Me: "Jason, my son and my PARENTS haven't even met him yet. Why do you think you need to meet him?"
Jason: "Like I said, if he's moving in, I wanna know who me and my kids will be living next door to."
Me (for the love of God, get me the hell out of this): "Again, he's not moving in, Jason. Now, I really gotta finish mowing this yard, so can we move this fence & rain spout? You can put them back here when I'm done with this part of the..."
Jason (another cut-off & totally ignoring what I was saying...great manners, you bastard): "Just bring him over tonight. I've got plenty of beer & I can throw some burgers on the grill."
Me: "Thanks, but he's not coming over until late tonight. Like 9:00pm. Maybe another time." (What?! Why can't I stop myself from making stupid empty comments like that? This dipshit will hold me to it!)
Jason: "Well, alright, but I want to meet him sometime."
Me: "Let's just give me a chance to get to know him better first, ok?"
Jason: "How about next weekend?"
Me (Jesus Christ): "Well, he's going to be out of town & I'm going to a concert, so that won't work either. Really, we'll...we'll, um, just play it by ear."
Jason: "Alright, but next time I see his car at your house, I'm coming over & introducing myself."
Me (well, that does it. I have to move): "Gotta run, Jason. Have fun landscaping."

It's now 8:30pm, and since I declined the friendly neighbor grill-out invitation, dumbass Jason decided to invite some other friends over. I can hear clanging & shouting, so they're either playing 'drunken horseshoes' or re-enacting the Darth Vader/Luke Skywalker light saber scene...using metal pipes. Better go call Nikki & tell him to park his car at the Kwik Trip.

Oh Nikki, you're so fine, you're so fine you blow my mind

2005-08-15T17:02:00.000-07:00

Zeppgoddess went and got herself a little bit smashed on Saturday at the class reunion. Probably due to the bottles of Boone's Farm (the class of '85 drink of choice) that were strategically placed on every table. Some of my finer moments include calling the DJ/karaoke guy by the wrong name all night long (despite his correcting me every time I called him Kirk...his name was Zach), singing karaoke songs that were WAY beyond my range and sobriety, and peeing behind some golf carts because I was too "lazy" to walk the extra 100 feet to the bathroom in the golf course clubhouse.

Which takes us to Sunday. "Proofreading Date With Nikki" Sunday, that is. Friend Joel crashed at my place (in the spare bedroom), but since we stayed up til 4am-ish, we both slept til noon. I awoke feeling quite terrible, guzzled a giant bottle of Evian, popped 4 Midol (because someone at the class reunion proclaimed that Midol cures wine hangovers), then laid back down for a nap. I have no idea when Joel left, but I awoke the second time at 4:30pm, and had one of those 'Is it still Sunday or am I supposed to be at work right now?' moments. I finally felt a little better, so I proceeded to clean up the beer and wine bottles scattered all over the table, and then heard the knock on the door. Wonder who is stopping by for a vis...oh shit. It's Nikki. I answer the door and didn't even need to check my look in the mirror to know how bad it was. The look on Nikki's face was quite telling. It said 'who are you? and what's that smell?'...

Nikki: "Um, am I early?"
Me: "Uh, hi Nikki. C'mon in". Wow. Wonder who put the razor blades and glass shards in my drinks last night?
Nikki: "What the hell is wrong with your voice?"
Me: "I did a little singing at the class reunion."
Nikki: "Hmm. And, uh, did you just wake up? You have mascara smears under your eyes and your hair is...uh, well you should just go look."
Me: "Yeah, it was a late night. I haven't had a shower yet, so come on in and make yourself comfortable. I'm going to get cleaned up."

I walk into the bathroom and start laughing. One side of my hair was matted to my face and the other side was all Clay Aiken-ish. And the mascara smears? Yeah, I looked like Brandon Lee in 'The Crow'. Nice.

I get myself cleaned up, throw on my Sunday best (sweat pants, t-shirt and my Boston Red Sox baseball cap), and when I come back out to the dining room, Nikki has dinner all laid out on the table...complete with candles and a nice bottle of Pinot Grigio. It looked just lovely, but...my...stomach...wasn't...um, cooperating. He had picked up my favorite Chinese food: shrimp in lobster sauce and almond chicken, but upon smelling it, I had to excuse myself back to the bathroom, this time for an 'internal cleansing' of sorts. After brushing my teeth 4 times and gargling with 3 capfuls of mouthwash, I finally felt like I could speak to him without knocking him over.

Me: "I'm really sorry about this. I had way too much to drink last night."
Nikki: "You think?"
Me: "Yeah, I really should have stopped after the first bottle of Boone's Farm was passed around."
Nikki: "Boone's Farm? Don't tell me...Tickle Pink?"
Me: "I dunno, there were assorted varieties. Some were pink."
Nikki (grinning): "Well, are you up to having something to eat? If I recall, these are your favorites."
Me (thinking Oh God, that smile just makes me weak): "Yes, yes they are. And I think it's probably time for me to eat whether I think I can or not. I haven't had food since yesterday at this time."

Nikki proceeds to pull out my chair for me...which, I'm pretty sure, marked the first time any man has ever done that for me. Then he went over to the stereo and put in Zeppelin II...grinning the entire time.

Me: "This is probably the best first date that I am totally fucking up, EVER."
Nikki: "You really thought I wanted you to proofread my paper, huh?"
Me (wha?): "Uh, there's no paper to proofread?"
Nikki: "No. It was a ruse. You're not very perceptive, are you?"
Me: "Clearly not."
Nikki: "My plan was for us to have a nice meal, watch a movie and then see about me seducing you."
Me (Oh Christ...WHAT?? What do I say? Jesus. I think I'm having a heart attack, yet somehow, I managed to croak out): "Gee, I probably should have shaved my legs." (WHAT??? I SO deserve to be single. What the fuck is wrong with me???)
Nikki (laughing): "See? That's why I like you. You crack me up. How about if we save 'the plan' for a night when you're feeling better?"
Me (thinking 'this guy must have herpes or something...no way he's actually still here'): "Yes, well, now that we're on the same page, let's eat!"

The meal stayed put, and I even managed to choke down a half-glass of wine (I didn't want to seem RUDE, for Christ's sake). We ended up watching the Comedy Central Roast of Pamela Anderson...hell of a great idea for a first date...lots of discussion about Tommy Lee's big penis and her fake boobs/roomy vagina...swell. Then, right before he left, he gave me one of those long, slow amazing kisses goodnight. Then he grinned again and left. So, I guess that means we have officially ascended to 'the next level'. I'm thinking that before our next date, I should roll around in pig shit and rent some porn...I just might get lucky!

REALLY bad day

2005-08-12T18:00:00.000-07:00

Recap of my day:
1. Overslept due to alarm clock malfunction
2. Found that hot water heater and alarm clock were in cahoots, thus, had to take a cold shower
3. Checked voice mail to discover that 3 of my employees called in sick
4. Received call from angry physician, got chewed out for 5 minutes and hung up on
5. Sat next to sweaty man on shuttle bus to meeting at hospital
6. After meeting, did not step off, rather FELL off shuttle bus steps, tearing a hole in my brand new pants, scuffing my new shoe, and skinning my knee (I work at a fucking clinic and no one asked if I was ok)
7. Limped 3 blocks back to office, noticing people noticing the hole in the knee of my pants
8. Received angry e-mail from another physician
9. Went into bathroom to check damage on knee and had to listen to employee with bad gas
10. Finished performance appraisal, forgot to hit save and lost 2 hours worth of work when computer crashed
11. Checked clock in office to see 4:00pm. Thought that seemed wrong, went to check main hallway clock and discovered it was 5:35pm.
12. Somehow made it home alive
13. Watched Queer Eye episode with role model basketball coach and bawled like a crack baby
14. Opened a beer, decided to blog before I'm struck by lightning or suffer a stroke

Happy Friday everyone!

Darling Nikki

2005-08-11T20:03:00.000-07:00

Remember the secret "crush" I alluded to in an earlier post? The one I claimed was a doll of a man who looked like Nikki Sixx? Yeah, we're still just pals. Why? I would feel all slutty if I tried to seduce him (fuck you for the brainwashing, Sister Margaret, fuck you very much), I would rather pluck my right eye out with a fork than be rejected by him and frankly, I'm a chickenshit. However, there are vibes being sent in a big way. Case in point: the girls from work & I attended happy hour at the Pub last night for our weekly "therapeutic venting about our miserable jobs" session. I'm throwing back my third beer when my cell phone rings...

Nikki: "Hey."
Me (Trying to play it cool, heart palpitating): "Hi, Nik. What's up?"
Nikki: "Are you going to be home at about 8 tonight? I was hoping I could stop over and have you proofread a paper for me."
Me (glancing at my watch...it's 6pm): "Well, I'm having a few drinks with the girls right now, but I'm sure we won't be here much longer. Come on over."
Nikki: "Oh, hey, no...that's ok, you hang out with your friends. If you're going to be around on Saturday, maybe I can just stop over then?"
Me: "Hmm, well, on Saturday I kinda have plans to go to Joel's class reunion with him. How about Sunday?"
Nikki (after a brief, but noticeable pause): "Joel? Do I know him?"
Me (wondering where this is going): "Uh, I don't think so. He's an old high school friend and I promised him I'd go to this class reunion a couple of months ago. But I'm free on Sunday. Come on over then. "
Nikki: "So Joel's a friend?"
Me (REALLY perplexed, heart palpitating harder): "Yyyeahhh. You're being weird. Why?"
Nikki: "Well, I wouldn't want him to think, y'know, that I was honing in on his action or anything."
Me (uh...?): "I really don't think he'll mind since I'm not 'his action', and you asking me to proofread a paper doesn't qualify as 'honing in' on anything, particularly since I am agreeing to do it. Are you ok? You really are being weird."
Nikki: "No, it's just that...well, if you're sure he wouldn't care..."
Me (again, uh...?): "He's not my boyfriend, Nikki."
Nikki: "Are you sure?"
Me (what's with the regression back to adolesence here?): "Yeah. The last time I checked, I was sure. So should we plan for Sunday, then?"
Nikki: "Alright. I guess I'll see you Sunday. How about 5pm? I'll bring some take out and wine. We'll make a date of it."
Me (what the fuck?): "A date, huh? A proofreading date? Sweet. I'll see you Sunday at 5. Bye Nik."
Nikki: "Bye, hon."

Hon? HON? HON??? He rarely refers to me by anything other than "Hey" for Christ's sake. Holy Alpha-male behavior, Batman! I guess I'll have to watch him closely on Sunday to make sure he doesn't start pissing all over the furniture...

P.S. Check it out...I figured out how to add links to my favorite blogspots!!! I feel so...so...so INTERMEDIATE!

Rock, anyone?

2005-08-10T19:00:00.000-07:00

I haven't the slightest notion as to what being "tagged" is all about (I still consider myself a novice blogger), yet Kiddo has indoctrinated me...

"List ten songs that you are currently digging ... it doesn't matter what genre they are from, whether they have words, or even if they're no good, but they must be songs you're really enjoying right now. Post these instructions, the artists, and the ten songs in your blog. Then tag five other people to see what they're listening to."

1. Sick Love Song - Motley Crue
2. Kashmir - Led Zeppelin
3. Cold Hard Bitch - Jet
4. I Believe In a Thing Called Love - The Darkness
5. I Want It All - Queen
6. Down With The Sickness - Disturbed
7. Take Your Mama - Scissor Sisters
8. High Priest of Good Times - Slaveraider
9. Sheila - Steelheart
10. Me & Bobby McGee - Janis Joplin

What can I say...I'm nostalgic. And I can't explain how #7 fits, but I absolutely LOVE that song. Might be the "we'll get her jacked up on some cheap champagne" lyric...

Now, if only I knew how the hell to tag people? Sigh...

Channelsurfing

2005-08-07T12:06:00.000-07:00

Not feeling particularly creative, witty or reflective these days, so I submit the following current TV faves:

Kathy Griffin: My Life on the D-List...never really paid much attention to her until I recently saw her stand-up and this new reality show offering on Bravo. I was beginning to think I would never watch Bravo again for forcing Bobby & Whitney down our throats, and Kathy came along and made me laugh out loud. Watching her bomb at hosting the cancer benefit was wonderful. Old fart doctors and their equally snobby wives don't 'do' comedy, certainly not HER caliber of comedy, and she realized that, but still tried in desperation to reign 'em back in by throwing the f-bomb at them...awesome.
Celebrity Fit Club 2...oh dear Lord, ANY time I can watch gloriously vulnerable has-been stars, I am a happy girl. Because I still blame Warrant for the demise of 80s hard rock music, seeing lead singer Jani Lane all bloated and balding was SO gratifying. And what the hell is up with his voice? He sounds like he's got a mouth full of mashed potatoes...take a Sucrets and clear your throat, Jani...and learn how to spell your fucking name...
Nip/Tuck...I know, I know, we're only getting the re-runs right now, but DAMN this show is hot! Ok, clarification: Julian McMahon is hot and the show has some great story lines. I have not been this eager to see a show's season premiere since the Dynasty years. Somebody please spoil it for me and tell me: Who is THE CARVER?????
Starved...how can I not like a show that pokes fun of people with eating disorders? I mean, Christ, I bounce between at least a couple of them myself (as atttested by my size 6 through 16 wardrobe closet), so this show is just SO reaffirming!
And speaking of eating disorders, I can't stop watching the VH-1 re-runs of the America's Next Top Model seasons. And I can't figure out why I can't stop watching. You know how sometimes when you are just so stressed or overwhelmed, you seek out the easiest/most mind-numbing tasks on your to-do list to feel a sense of control/accomplishment? Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's what's going on here...
The March of the Penguins trailer and Pedigree puppy food commercial...just when I thought I was completely emotionally vacant, these adorable little creatures waddle, trot and frolic across the screen and my icy heart just melts. Who knew?
The new Logo network just aired a Queen On Fire: Live at The Bowl concert and I...went...nuts! Freddie Mercury remains my favorite rock vocalist (yes, even above Robert Plant, for those paying attention), and seeing him perform again filled me with both elation and sadness...Freddie was the greatest vocal talent in rock music and this concert footage was a testament to that...I miss him.

The "Evaluation"

2005-07-29T17:07:00.000-07:00

Theories about the origins of alcoholism are abundant. Genetic predisposition? Sure, I'll bite on that. We're hard-wired for loads of biological vulnerability. Alcoholic/addictive personality? Maybe. More likely a combination of brain chemistry imbalance, emotional immaturity and poor coping skills, but whatever. Learned behavior? Hmm. I like this one. If stress/anxiety is perceived as a negative experience by a person, and that stress/anxiety is reduced when a person drinks alcohol, then the act of drinking alcohol is positively reinforcing to the person. Provide enough positive reinforcement for performing a behavior and you give birth to a habit, my friends.

I'm only trying to work this all out, because a friend, who I have a secret crush on (we'll call him "Nikki", because he kinda looks like Nikki Sixx), called me to ask if I would help him out with a paper he's writing for his Intro. to Psych. class (he's 37 and has decided to go back to college to "meet the minimum educational requirements outlined in his job description"...a.k.a. "get your degree or we fire you"). Ordinarily, this is an invitation for me to WRITE the paper for him, but this time, he surprised me by saying "I have to write this one...I want to find out if we're alcoholics".

Well, NOW I'm intrigued. Having just resumed a slight semblance of mobility & clarity after my balls out "shot-fest" 2 evenings ago, I wanna know what the hell he's up to. That, and the fact that I think he's a doll, prompt me to invite him over for dinner. Seems Nikki's paper requires him to postulate about the causes of alcoholism, administer the Dr. Heilman Alcoholism questionnaire to a group of 50 people, analyze the results, and conclude with a supportive paragraph or 3 of his assertions. Nikki needs 2 more questionnaire's filled out to complete his sample. He hands me the yes/no questionnaire, I peruse it, chuckle, and we both complete our respective "tests". Our answers were identical except for one. Yikes. I smell a soulmate! Oh yeah, and according to Dr. Heilman's 'blunt little tool', Nikki and I are both raging alcoholics. Anyway, Nikki just left to go home and finish the paper (but he's coming back later tonight...if my 2-day hangover is gone by then, we might have a few beers). In the meantime, I'm going to have a little fun with the questionnaire, and it goes a little something like this:

1.) Do you ever look forward to the end of a day's work so you can have a couple of drinks and relax? I look forward to the end of EVERY day's work so I can have a couple drinks and relax. You're a weird Type A motherfucker if you don't.
2.) Do you sometimes look forward to the end of the week so you can have some fun drinking? I look forward to the end of the week because I work with idiots...and what exactly is "fun drinking"? I've never had some. Does it taste like cotton candy, come with a balloon and is it served by circus clowns?
3.) Does the thought of drinking sometimes enter your mind when perhaps you should be thinking of something else? By "something else" do you mean like, when I'm supposed to be engaged in the topic of discussion at one of the 30 meetings I attend each week or planning my budget for next year? Then yes, yes I OFTEN think of drinking instead.
4.) Do you sometimes feel the need to have a drink at a particular time of day? Not at a "particular" time of the day...ANY time of the day works for me.
5.) Do you find that you can often drink more than others and not show it too much? Show WHAT too much? My boobs? My cootchie-snorcher?
6.) Has anyone ever commented on your ability to hold your liquor? No, but they have commented on my ability to hold my water. I'm a fucking camel, dude.
7.) Have you ever wondered about your high capacity to drink and perhaps been somewhat proud of this ability? Fuck yeah! You wanna try me? C'mon mo-fo...bring it!
8.) Do you usually order a double, or drink your first 2 or 3 drinks fairly fast? Um, the bartender brings me 2 drinks at a time. That's the pace I have to keep up so that the drinks don't get warm...God, you act like that's WRONG or something. Grow up, I mean, FUCK!
9.) Do you usually have a couple drinks before going to a party or out to dinner? A party isn't a party without the pre-party.
10.) Do you ever stop in a bar or club and have a couple of drinks by yourself? The bartenders at The Pub send me "appointment reminder" cards if they don't see me for a few days. I'm on their Christmas card list too. One of them named his daughter after me...what do YOU think, smarty?
11.) Do you sometimes drink at home alone or when no one else is drinking? I live alone...what the fuck else am I supposed to do? Invite my crazy bastard neighbor over just so I can have a beer? I think not.
12.) Do you ever drink to calm your nerves, reduce tension or to relieve stress? HAHAHAHAHAHAAAHAAAHAAA, woooohoohoohoo! HAHAHAAAAHAAAA, woo, hoo, hoo, ahem, hee, hee, hee. Wha? What was the question?
13.) Do you find it difficult to enjoy a party or dance if there is nothing to drink? There is no such thing as a party without liquor, and I find it hard to dance, period. Fucking Britney Spears...
14.) Do you ever use alcohol to help you get to sleep at night? Yes, but only to wash down a handful of Tylenol PM tablets.
15.) Do you ever use alcohol to relieve physical discomfort? You know, it stings a little at first, but if you put rubbing alcohol on a mosquito bite, it doesn't itch as much, and it's unlikely to become infected. Isn't that neat?
16.) The morning following an evening of drinking, have you ever had the experience of not being able to remember everything that happened the night before? Yeah, but I just have an uncanny ability to repress memories and forget on command...it's a gift, really.
17.) Have you ever had difficulty recalling how you got home the night before? I once awoke fully clothed with my car keys clutched in my hand, and when I went out to get the mail, I saw that my car was parked across the street in a neighbor's driveway. I guess that one counts.
18.) Do you sometimes stash a bottle away around the house in the event that you may "need" a drink sometime? I've read that it's good luck to keep a bottle in every room of the house. It keeps the spooky ghosts at bay...
19.) Do you ever keep a bottle in the trunk of your car "just in case"? Well, dammit! I live in Minnesota for Christ's sake! What if I go in the ditch during a blizzard? I gotta have something to keep me from slipping into a hypothermic coma!
20.) Do you ever stop in a bar to have a drink or 2 and have several more than you planned? See #10.
21.) Do you ever find yourself stopping in for a drink when you had planned to go straight home or someplace else? See #s 10 and 20.
22.) Do you sometimes drink more than you think you should? I THINK I should drink all booze, all day, every day, so no.
23.) Is your drinking sometimes different than you would like it to be? Well, if by 'different' you mean drinking upside down when you have the hiccups, fuck yes, I do it all the time! I don't like it, but I do it, because it fucking works, jackass.
24.) Have you ever had the shakes or hand tremors the morning after? The morning after what? Great sex? Sure, who hasn't?
25.) Have you ever taken a drink in the morning to ease a hangover? Um, do the words 'Bloody Mary' and 'Mimosa' hold any meaning for you, shit-for-brains?
26.) Does your spouse or companion think you drink too much? I don't have a spouse and my companion (yes, I'll just refer to Nikki as my companion, indulge a girl for fuck sake) drinks as much, if not more than I do.
27.) Does your spouse or companion ever object to your drinking? Next.
28.) Has your spouse or companion ever threatened to leave because of your drinking? Next.
29.) Do you sometimes drink even though you can't afford to? Shit, gasoline costs more than liquor! I can't afford to back my car out of the driveway! I gotta drink just to let that fact settle in my brain!
30.) Have you ever missed work because of a hangover? Well, no, actually. I've stayed home from work because of horrendous hangovers several times, but I never really missed being at work.
31.) Have you ever lost a job because of drinking? No, but I got a job because I did shots with the CEO of a company once. Do I get merit points for that?
32.) Has drinking ever caused you to be less efficient in your work? Does 'closing your office door, propping your elbows on your desk, holding your head in your hands and moaning for 45 minutes until you start to get that funny salivation sensation in your mouth, then running out to the bathroom to puke' equate to being 'less efficient'?
33.) Have you ever been threatened with the loss of a job because of drinking, or told to "cool it"? Well, no, because my boss is not FONZIE!
34.) Has a doctor ever told you to cut down or stop your drinking for any reason at all? No, he usually has pretty specific reasons in mind when he tells me to stop drinking...something to do with cirrhosis and memory loss...I don't know...I forget.
35.) Have you ever been hospitalized because of drinking, or complications from drinking? Yes, but not my drinking. A lady once crashed into my car when I was on my way to a college class at 8:00am. She was bombed and there were empty champagne bottles in her back seat...I had to stay in the hospital for 2 days with a bunch of fractured ribs, concussion, head lacerations, etc....typical car crash injuries. She went to jail. Fun times.
36.) Do you have a very definite preference to associate with people who drink, opposed to those who do not? I have a very definite preference to associate with people who are witty and intelligent, as opposed to dumbasses and bullshitters. If non-drinkers can be witty and intelligent, then hop on the beer wagon folks...I don't discriminate based on drinking ability...just sense of humor and intellect...oh yeah, and taste in music.
37.) Do you sometimes do things while drinking that you are ashamed of later? The capacity for feeling ashamed would imply that I have a conscience...so, no, never.
38.) Has drinking become important or time consuming to the extent that previous hobbies or interests are to some extent neglected? Not really. I've simply become one hell of a good multi-tasker. I drink while I blog, read, watch movies, make brownies, and I rigged up a little contraption on my lawnmower so I can have a beer while cutting the grass...stuff like that. Don't be jealous...just marvel at my ingenuity.

There, I feel better. And my headache's gone. Now, I'm gonna go throw some beer on ice for me and Nikki. And Dr. Heilman? Well, he can just go fuck himself.

The Return of the Shitfaced Surgeon

2005-07-21T17:00:00.000-07:00

The deepest recesses of my hippocampus shorted out momentarily, but thanks to Kiddo's reminder, and a fresh glass of cabernet sauvignon, I'm finally ready to post the follow-up to the 'Family Reunion' (for the prologue, see We are family). I'm pretty sure I know why I've repressed the memory of this catastrophe, but it's probably therapeutic for me to let it surface. You decide...

The scene started off in similar fashion to the last one...at 10am, the usual suspects gathered, greeted, and assumed their positions on opposite sides of the deck. Aside from the drug addict being indisposed (in prison), and the Obstetrician being 'on-call', the same crew was in attendance. This time, the Redeye and Jagermeister were accompanied by assorted gins, thanks to the General Surgeon...he brought Tanqueray, Gilbey's and that wonderful Bombay Sapphire stuff. General Surgeon waxed philosophic, claiming, "Gin is an effortless liquor"...which, in his case, meant "It gets me littered quickly". He decided that I was a kindred spirit of sorts...I imagine my opening monologue to him about the evils of managed care and the insurance industry in general warmed his heart, and the bastard clung to me for the entire day like dog shit on a shoe. But I'm getting ahead of myself...

The distinguishing characteristic of our little social experiment this time around was fighting. Lots and lots of fighting. Not of the 'punching, kicking, slapping & biting' variety...these fights were verbal, yet equally vicious in their capacity for producing all kinds of emotional wounds. Round One pitted Uncle Ron (long-term unemployed production manager and father of the imprisoned drug addict) against Uncle Jack (SD Supreme Court justice). Uncle Jack was telling the Prudes a story about how 10 years ago, when he was a lowly circuit court judge, he imposed a maximum 99 year prison term sentence on a 19-year old rapist. The 19-year old college-football-star-son of a high-profile businessman in the community, raped a 16 year-old Native American girl, who often showed up at the football players' keg-parties. The rapist tortured her with a broken beer bottle in his drunken, coked up, stupor and remained completely devoid of remorse throughout the subsequent trial. The girl was so badly internally scarred that she required 15 surgeries and would never be able to conceive children. Uncle Ron informed Uncle Jack that when one is coked up, one is not of sound mind, therefore, the rapist's attorney should have pled diminished capacity. After all, the kid was a football star with his entire life ahead of him...why ruin his life for something that he probably wasn't even aware he did? A little history lesson for you: Uncle Ron's drug addict son was a former high school football star, who was arrested for cocaine possession just before he was set to begin his freshman year in college on a full football scholarship. Uncle Jack's face turned a purple-ish color and the veins in his forehead were noticeably protruding, prompting General Surgeon to whisper to me, "My father-in-law is about 3.5 seconds away from an aneurysm and I'm just standing here watching it happen. Wonder how I'll explain THAT to the wife?". I said, "Two words: Tanqueray Tonics". General Surgeon high-fived me. Uncle Jack yelled something about 'neanderthal disregard for humanity', 'death sentencing for drug/rape offenses', and 'coke-heads being of sound mind in their choice to buy and snort the shit, so when they are under the influence, that same sound mind applies'. Uncle Ron lodged the ultimate comeback, calling Uncle Jack 'a pussy', and that's when Uncle Jack left the reunion. Round One: Mom's Side Drunks.

Round 2 brought Wannabe Singer/Actress up against me. She was clearly at a disadvantage, as I had my trainer, General Surgeon, in my corner. I was innocently putting a Monsters of Rock CD in the boombox, when Wannabe began to condemn me for my taste in music (she once sang in a hard rock band, but upon rebirthing herself in Christ's name, opted for the much lighter Amy Grant/Sandy Patty fare). Wannabe's insipid comment: "Those bands are the reason for all those high-school shootings, you know". My reply: "I've been listening to these bands since I was 12 and I've never entertained the idea of shooting anyone...til now. And my desire to shoot you has nothing to do with music...I just fucking despise your hypocricy". General Surgeon sanctimoniously, though I must say profoundly, added: "I listen to Judas Priest and Ozzy Osbourne in the OR, and I've never lost a patient. If I was forced to listen to your Christian drivel while operating, I'd want to kill MYSELF". Wannabe's lip started trembling, and she sort of stumbled backwards away from us while doing a sign of the cross gesture. I like to think she was a little too afraid to turn her back on us for fear that we'd run after her, push her in the pool and scream, "you fucker, get up, come on get down with the sickness". Round Two: Mom's Side Drunks.

By 2pm, we had gone through all the gin, 2 bottles of Redeye and half-a bottle of Jagermeister. And by "we", I mean me, the surgeon, Uncle Ron, and my favorite Aunt Debbie. The rest of Mom's Side Drunks were swilling the brewskies. I was tanked and in the mood for some more bitch-fighting, not because I'm a mean drunk, I was simply on a roll. Thus, I targeted the Pediatrician. Why her? Well, she was looking at me.

I walked up to her (with General Surgeon in tow, of course) and asked "Do I have drool coming out the side of my mouth or something?", to which she snottily responded, "No". I said, "Then what the fuck are you staring at?". She said, "You and the Surgeon are making quite a spectacle of yourselves, aren't you?". I said, "Perhaps. But we pale in comparison to you". I wasn't really sure where I was going to go with the insult, but the now Shit-faced Surgeon grabbed the baton in true relay race style. He pointed toward her crotch and said "You might want to adjust your bathing suit...your pubes are showing". Round 3: Mom's Side Drunks.

After that, the Shit-faced Surgeon just sort of disappeared...I presumed to the comfort of the couch inside. So I made my way around the pool to eavesdrop on the other minor verbal scratches that were occurring between the Mom's Side Drunks and Prudes. My sister was bitching at the attorneys for telling her that the accelerated college program she is enrolled in 'isn't academically viable'. Aunt Chloe called the insurance agent a 'premium pimp'. Favorite Aunt Debbie and my sister-in-law ganged up on the hotel chain manager becasue she's skinny and they were jealous. My Dad called his own sister a cocksucker for no apparent reason. And my Cousin Traci very obviously stumbled into the pool, but decided that the Wannabe Singer/Actress pushed her, and vowed to "kill that cunt", marking her second death threat receipt of the day.

By nightfall, the Mom's Side Drunks were trashed and ready for bed. The Prudes were loading themselves into their cars (apparently, not willing to subject themselves to another post-reunion breakfast photo opportunity), but lo and behold, the Shit-faced Surgeon had taken it upon himself to camp out in the driveway, blocking any chance of a getaway for the Prudes. There he was, curled up in a lawn chair with a makeshift nightstand (cooler) next to him. On the cooler was a flashlight, the last bottle of Redeye and a jar of Advil. My Mom barked at me, "You're the only one he seems to like. Go wake him up", to which I replied something that sounded like, "Tsscchhaa, shuuurrr. Um, nah, ah'm gonna stand riiight heerrrre. Ah'm not goin' inywhayrre". I vaguely recall my Mom's head spinning around and flames shooting from her eyes, but I might have been hallucinating at that point. Anyway, Round 4 had officially commenced. She started shaking Shit-faced Surgeon and yelling at him to get the hell out of the driveway. Shit-faced Surgeon mumbled a couple of "fuck offs", to no avail. Mom continued to shake him and tell him that he was a disgrace. He finally got sick of it, and sat up. He fumbled for the flashlight, but grabbed the bottle of Redeye and tried to turn it on, stating, "Fucking batteries are dead", then he dropped the bottle onto the concrete driveway, shattering it (I think I heard Uncle Ron gasp) and well...here's where it gets funny. Mom hoisted Shit-faced Surgeon up out of the lawn chair by the back of the neck and pushed him into Aunt Chloe (the LPN he insulted at the last reunion). Aunt Chloe pushed him into a van, and he ricocheted off, onto the Wannabe singer/actress, who was trying to get into the van. They both fell to the ground, and he's laughing. Instead of helping Wannabe up, he pushes himself up (sort of squishing her into the ground), tries to take a step, and trips over her, falling back on top of her. The insurance agent (Wannabe's husband) grabs Shit-faced Surgeon, again by the back of the neck, and pushes him back down into the lawn chair, a clear signal to the Shit-faced Surgeon to curl up and try to go back to sleep. My Mom started screaming at the insurance agent to get him out of the God-damn driveway, and the insurance agent simply walked over to the chair and started dragging it toward the house. My Aunt Debbie and I are laughing so hard, we're almost hyperventilating. As the Surgeon is riding the lawn chair toward the house, he waves at everyone and says, "See ya, bitches!". Meanwhile, my Mom is sweeping up the broken glass and ordering everyone to go to bed (producing a vivid flashback to my teenage years). Round 4: Mom

The parting pleasantries and apologies are swapped between my Mom (and ONLY my Mom) and the Prudes, and the evening winds down. As my Aunt Debbie and I head back to the house, we spot Shit-faced Surgeon, asleep on his lawn chair...in the garage...and we leave him there. The next morning, me, my Aunt Debbie, and Uncle Ron awake to silence. The remaining Mom's Side Drunks had left us a note: "Gone out to breakfast-you're on your own". The Surgeon stumbles into the house, shivering, and announces that he'll buy us breakfast if someone else will drive because his head and neck hurt real bad. I took a look and there were gouges, welts and bruises across the base of his neck, and told him to go into the bathroom to survey it for himself. He came out, looking a bit more pasty than when he entered the house, and said, "So, did I cheat on my wife last night?". I said, "No, you sick fuck. This was a family reunion, remember? You DID, however, get man-handled by my Mom and the insurance agent...right before you took a ride on your lawn chair bed, from your campsite at the end of the driveway, into the garage". He ruminated for a minute, then said, "Hmm. Did my father-in-law see me?". Before I had a chance to speak, Uncle Ron said, "Yep. And was HE pissed! He called your wife and told her all about it". The Surgeon considered this for a bit, then said, "Wait a minute, he wasn't even there. He left early because you called him a pussy". Uncle Ron just smiled and said, "Yeah, I was just kidding. But you'll want to take a look at this". He handed the Surgeon his cell phone and on it was a picture of the Surgeon curled up on the lawn chair, in his campsite at the end of the driveway, with his nightstand/cooler next to him. The Surgeon just stared blankly at it as Uncle Ron said, "Yeah, I was just kidding about your father-in-law calling your wife. I'm the one who called her and I sent her this to show her what a good time she was missing".

Watch the leather, man...

2005-07-20T16:44:00.000-07:00

My job doesn't offer me much in the way of excitement, and in fact, it represents the antithesis of my dream job (Rolling Stone journalist/rock band manager). Therefore, on the off-chance that I get to take a lunch hour, I find myself keenly observing patrons of my immediate environment for the slightest indication of behavior that will amuse me. Today, I hit the "mother"-load.

At noon, I'm pretty sure the temperature approached 90 degrees, and as I walked past my favorite bar (which I'll cryptically refer to as The Pub), I noticed an elderly woman, decked out in skin-tight leather pants, a leather halter top and a pair of flip flops. Having frequented The Pub regularly over the past few years, I was well aware of the fact that it didn't open until 3pm on weekdays, yet, Grandma Tuscadaro was knocking on the front door, hollering "Lemme in...I wanna use your bathroom". I've worked with her 'type' at a mental health facility/crisis receiving unit, and I half-wondered whether she had escaped, when my eyes happened upon her mode of transportation. There sat a motorcycle with a sidecar, and in the sidecar was an elderly gentleman, also fully leather-clad. I couldn't resist. I HAD to talk to these two.

Me: "Hi there. Wow, you must be warm in those leather clothes! I work nearby and I'm pretty sure this bar doesn't open until 3pm. However, the restaurant next door has a bathroom. The hotel over there does too."
Grandma: "It's warm alright, and it's fixin' to be a lot warmer if I don't get in there. I gotta piss and I can see someone in there through the window. And when I'm done, me and Hank want a beer."
Me (wincing at the smell of her booze-reeked breath): "Hmm. Well, I think that's one of the owners in there, and I'm guessing he's just stocking the bar. I really don't think he'll open until 3pm. However, the restaurant and the hotel serve beer and wine too."
Grandma: "I don't give a rat's right nut if they serve beer and wine over there. I wanna piss, and drink a God-damn beer in this bar with my husband."
Grandpa: "Mother! Watch your language, she's just trying to be helpful."
Me (thinking, 'stopping=big mistake'): "Well, I guess I'd better get ba..." (I'm cut off by the appearance of the owner, Matt, at the front door...grinning as he opens the door)
Matt (to me): "So, these your parents?"
Me: "Hi Matt...what a cut-up, you are! Actually, I was just on my way to lunch and noticed this lady knocking on the door. I was just explaining that you weren't open yet, but..." (again, cut off, this time by Grandma)
Grandma (to Matt): "Listen here, Nutsack, if I don't get in there to piss, I'm gonna wet my leathers, and you don't want to see that."
Grandpa: "Mother! Jesus, Mary and Joseph, mind your manners!"
Matt: "Right you are, ma'am. I do NOT want to see that!"
Me (not being able to help it, giggling): "Ohhh-kay...wow, this is one for the books. Listen, Matt, I really gotta go. I'll probably see you tomorrow for happy hour. Folks? Nice to meet you. Good, uh...good luck to you."
Grandpa (to me): "Are you sure you won't join us for a drink, honey?"
Me: "Pretty sure."
Matt: "No one is joining anyone for a drink. The bar doesn't open until 3pm. You folks will have to find yourselves another place to relieve yourselves and get a drink."
Grandma (to Matt): "You're gonna stand there and let an old woman mess herself?"
Matt: "I'm going back into my bar to call the police. If you choose to stand out here and mess yourself, you're going on a nice trip to Detox."
Grandpa (to me): "What's Detox?"
Me: "My former employer. It's a drunk tank. It smells like vomit and feet."
Grandpa: "Mother! Detox sounds bad. Do your business at the restaurant."
Grandma: "Sonofabitches."

Grandma hops on the cycle, revs it up, (I don't know, seventeen times or so) and Grandpa waves as they pull away, heading in the opposite direction of the well-within-walking-distance restaurant. Matt says to me, "Wait here a second", and returns from the bar with a handful of free drink tickets for me. I thanked him and headed to the sandwich shop for lunch. I ran into a couple of friends there and asked if they would be interested in doing me a favor at happy hour tomorrow. Free drinks on me, I told them. They agreed. They'll be there, sporting leather and gray wigs...

Second calling

2005-07-18T17:49:00.000-07:00

Few things are more irritating than being publicly corrected before you even have a chance to acknowledge your mistake, but I offer that it's simply exasperating to be corrected by someone who is convinced he is accurate in his correction of your apparent vocabulary transgression, when clearly, he is NOT. Check out the following exchange I had with a colleague today...

Me: I recommend that we fill the open position. Regardless of our current workload, the practice has indicated a plan for increasing capacity by 30% in the next 6 months, and if we beef up our staffing now, we'll bypass the learning curve when the volumes do increase.
Colleague: It's irregardless.
Me: Excuse me?
Colleague: You said regardless. It's irregardless.
Me: Uh, I hate to be petty and off-topic, but irregardless is the most commonly used non-word.
Colleague: It's a word.
Me: No, it's really not. People have simply morphed 'regardless' into 'irregardless' in a feeble attempt to sound intelligent
Colleague (getting testy): What are you, my English teacher? It's a word! I've used it thousands of times.
Me: Then you've been using a nonexistent word. Rather, you've been using a made-up word inappropriately. And I once considered majoring in English, thank you very much. By the way, you should have said "Who are you, my English teacher?".
Colleague: Oh, whatever! I'll bet you a hundred dollars that irregardless is a word.
Me: I'll take that bet. Where's a dictionary?
Colleague: I don't have one.
Me: No shit.
Colleague: Ok, if it's not a word, then how come it's never fixed when I do spelling and grammar checks on my documents?
Me: I blame Bill Gates for the dumbing down of the world. It's not a word. Try to look it up in a real dictionary or thesaurus.
Colleague: I said, I don't have one...SOME of us are technologized and use our ON-LINE resources!
Me: Did you just say that you are 'technologized'?
Colleague: You're starting to piss me off.
Me: I'm just trying to prevent you from making an ass of yourself. And I'm failing miserably.
Colleague: I know what will prove that it's a word. I'm going to go Ask Jeeves.
Me: Good idea! While you're at it, why not call Miss Cleo for "ya free readin'"?
Colleague: You suck. I'll be back in a minute.
The colleague leaves and returns to my office a good 20 minutes later (I assume, because he decided to surf for the answer when Jeeves didn't respond).
Me: You're back so soon?
Colleague: I didn't get an answer from Ask Jeeves.
Me: No shit.
Colleague: I have a friend who works in Communications. I'm gonna call him.
Me (offering up my phone): Knock yourself out.
Colleague (very confidently pressing the speaker phone option): Hi, James? This is Dipshit. Yeah, a co-worker and I have a bet going. I think irregardless is a word and she says it isn't. Which one of us is right?
James: You idiot. Irregardless is the most mis-used term EVER. It's not a word. Regardless is a word; irregardless is just a moron's version of regardless.
Colleague: Are you sure?
James: You're an idiot. (James hangs up).
Me: You owe me a hundred bucks.

I Heart Axe-Slingers

2005-07-16T11:47:00.000-07:00

Bored, bored and BORED! It's too fucking hot to do anything outdoors, so here I am, perched at my 'puter desk, thinking, "Hey, I'll stir things up in the mainstream/indie-music-loving-communities by posting a blog about good ole rocker/metal guitarists". It's no secret to anyone who knows me: I ADORE guitar players, and if they play the heavy and fast variety, well, break out the restraining order kids, 'cuz mama's gotta get some. I don't know shit about guitars, but I have nonetheless compiled an unapologetic list of my 10 favorite guitarists who have blessed my ears with their virtuosity, and some of the songs that demonstrate the accuracy of my claim. After #1, they are in no particular order other than who came to mind next:
1. Jimmy Page (like this should be a surprise)...even though I'm still pissed at him for prostituting himself and Kashmir to P. Diddy, he is unmatched in his ability to mesmerize, create melody out of otherwise random tones, and package up the blues with a pretty metal bow. Everything on Led Zeppelin II is phenomenal (if you don't own this CD, you're retarded. Buy it, for Christ's sake). It breaks my heart to have to limit this, but I wouldn't have enough room for the entire catalogue, so other faves include the aforementioned Kashmir, Black Dog, Bron-Y-Aur Stomp, Custard Pie, The Rover, In The Evening, and The Ocean.
2. Zakk Wylde...he scares me, but he's just a damn genius when it comes to fusing styles. Faves: Farm Fiddlin', No More Tears, It Gets Me Through, Battering Ram, Graveyard Disciples and believe it or not, America The Beautiful. He did some great stuff for the Rock Star movie soundtrack with the oh so 80s cheesetastic fake-with-real-musicians-band, Steel Dragon.
3. George Lynch...plays fast with a haunting edge and he's easy on the eyes to boot. Faves: Tooth & Nail, It's Not Love, Lightnin' Strikes, Heaven Sent, Mr. Scary, Wicked Sensation and Rain.
4. Nuno Bettencourt...the only good thing about Extreme was Nuno (try to get past Gary Cherone's putrid vocals on More Than Words and listen to Nuno's guitar). Fast and tight player who manipulated the guitar to produce some crazy unique stuff. Faves: Teacher's Pet, Smoke Signals, Play With Me (again, horrible lead vocals & dumb lyrics, but I implore you to just listen to the guitar work), Decadence Dance, It's A Monster, Suzi (Wants Her All Day What?), Rest In Peace, and Cupid's Dead.
5. Kirk Hammett...lovin' the chuggin', 'nuff said. Gimme more Fade to Black, For Whom The Bell Tolls, One, Enter Sandman, Sad But True, The Unforgiven, Wherever I May Roam...hell, I like everything on the Black Album, and, um, Fuel.
6. Eddie Van Halen...yeah, I know, it's pretty cliche to have Eddie on the list, but fuck, how could I not? He's smilin' Ed...he loved what he did (until Dave left, Sammy left and the Van Halen legacy was forever polluted with Gary Cherone). Faves: Runnin' With The Devil, Eruption (the consummate solo), Jamie's Cryin', Beautiful Girls, Little Guitars, Hot For Teacher, Finish What You Started.
7. Ted Nugent...love Ted, vile opinions and all. I think Ted's live stuff is better than his studio work. Faves: Baby Please Don't Go, Great White Buffalo, Stranglehold, Free For All, Turn It Up, Hey Baby, and of course, Wang Dang Sweet Poontang.
8. Brian May...just plain brilliant with all over the place sound. Big faves are: Keep Yourself Alive, Stone Cold Crazy, Fat Bottomed Girls, Sheer Heart Attack, Hammer To Fall, Tie Your Mother Down, and Crazy Little Thing Called Love.
9. Mick Mars...he scares me more than Zakk, but weaves a tight sonic web around the Crue. Asking me to limit the Crue songs he graces is like asking me to use superfluous in a sentence without sounding like a pompous ass. Alas, faves are: Live Wire, Too Fast For Love, Looks That Kill, Shout At The Devil, Too Young to Fall In Love, All In The Name Of, Kickstart My Heart, Use It or Lose It, Dr. Feelgood, Teaser, Generation Swine, Primal Scream, Bitter Pill, If I Die Tomorrow, and Sick Love Song.
10. Jimi Hendrix...God I wish I would've been old enough to see him. I got a thing for lefties (I started out life as one until the nuns smacked my hands with a paddle every time I tried to write my name...I guess it was considered a sin to be left-handed, thus, I was "corrected" and became a righty...fucking nuns). Anyway, he broke the mold with his uber-heavy miles before his time rock/blues. Faves: Everything on Are You Experienced? (Hey Joe, Manic Depression, Third Stone From The Sun & Purple Haze are tops), Voodoo Chile, All Along The Watchtower and, the only version that ever mattered of The Star Spangled Banner.

There you have it folks. As always, I invite debate...

Bonding in the Boonies

2005-07-11T18:26:00.000-07:00

I recently returned from a 3-day trip with a group of colleagues to 'Up Nort', a pet name dubbed by the locals in the communities immediately surrounding and 'nort' of Mille Lacs Lake. I agreed to join this merry band of dingbats (7 married women hell bent on escaping the confines of their domesticated prisons), because it was sold to me as a "team-building" opportunity. In case anyone is considering a similar trek to the hell-on-Earth known as God's Country, I've prepared a case against it:

A. You will come to abhor at least 3 of the travelling companions you used to have a decent professional rapport with. Why? They're free-loading, lazy, spoiled, drunken sluts.

B. You will be ravaged by mosquitos, in spite of the Deep Woods Off applications you administer before each instance of venturing outside of the cabin. Those mutated bastards are big, hungry and EVERYFUCKINGWHERE.

C. You will be sunburned to a crisp no matter how many liberal applications of 45 SPF sunscreen you attempt. Why? Because there is no such thing as sweat-proof/waterproof sunscreen and the sun knows it.

D. You will see mayflies...bazillions of them...and these prehistoric creatures will freak you the fuck out. Why? They sacrifice their lives to guard the beaches and shorelines of Mille Lacs Lake, so if you want to swim in said lake, you are required to wade through a city block of their carcasses to get to clear water. You will require electroconvulsive therapy to obliterate the images of these things from your memories, and a wire brush to scrub away the sensation of them crawling on your skin.

E. You will be pissed up and hear 20 minutes of an unrecognizable moaning-screaming-growling noise while sitting around a fire at midnight. You will estimate that the noise is coming from a thicket of trees approximately 2 yards away from your cabin, and when you bravely decide to investigate, the noise will abruptly stop. The next evening, you will discover, while declining the advances of the drunken fishermen who frequent the local bars, that bobcats roam the campsites scavenging for fish that the drunken fishermen absentmindedly leave out on their patios. You will wave dismissively, laughing off the absurdity of the folklore. You will go back to the cabin, and then cry uncontrollably when you are required to walk 10 feet in pitch darkness from your bunk in the ice shack to the main cabin to pee, because you hear the noise again...and it's closer...

F. You will be required by your colleagues to go shopping at the local gift shops only to discover that they are instead, thrift shops that sell worn sweatshirts featuring 'I Visited Up Nort' logos, used paperback books, and a variety of e-coli saturated children's toys. You will think you catch a whiff of urine as you pass by the tattered easy chair in the corner, and you will stifle a screech when you turn to see that one of your colleagues is sitting in it.

Give me a facilitator, icebreakers and flip charts any fucking day of the week...

We are family

2005-07-01T05:43:00.000-07:00

Thomas Cruise Mapother IV's ancestry includes a prominent Kentucky family – the Batmans of Louisville. Prominent? Kentucky? Batman? All in the same sentence? My sentiments can best be expressed in a single sentence from Rusty to Clark W. Griswold III in the classic movie National Lampoon's Vacation: "Dad, is that made up? That sounds made up."

But Ancestry.com confirmed it...Cruise's great-grandfather was a guy named Batman. I'm so jealous! I wish my lineage traced back to a super-hero...say, Wonder Woman or Isis, hell, I'd take Electro-Woman or Dyna-Girl. Instead, I am descendent from a teacher, military veterans, a nurse, a tailor, seamstresses, a train engineer, an office manager, and a newspaper circulation manager. Sigh...I guess that explains why I'm sane and Tom Cruise is not...

I said that, because I want to say this: I've been summoned to a family reunion this weekend with both my Mom's & Dad's sides of the families in attendance. Mom's side lives to party (though my Mom does not) and Dad's side, though highly successful in their careers of choice, are decidedly prudish and judgemental (while my Dad is not a prude, he's nothing if he isn't opinionated). Quick recap of the last time we did the "blended" family reunion: first, there was beer, Jagermeister, a mysterious liquor that goes by the name of Redeye, a pool, a karaoke machine, and approximately 50 people, a third of which were children under the age of 8 (trust me, this will all come together shortly).

The career demographics of my Dad's side of the family included 3 physicians (a pediatrician, an obstetrician and a general surgeon), a South Dakota supreme court judge, 3 attorneys, a hotel chain manager, a restaurant chain manager, an accountant, an insurance agent and a wannabee actress/singer who lives in Iowa (yes, you read it correctly...Iowa). Mom's side, on the other hand, included a long-term unemployed computer engineer, a long-term unemployed production manager, a retired licensed practical nurse (not to be confused with a registered nurse...there's a heirarchy there...but we'll get to that in a minute), a drug-addict, a high school guidance counselor, a golf course manager, 3 procurement managers (apparently this side of the fam likes to buy things), a teacher, and me, a healthcare finance manager. Nice mix, huh? Having been a bartender in a former life, I decided to take command of the bar. I mixed up some nice Red Bull/Jagermeisters to start the party off right. As you may have imagined, Mom's side were the only takers. The only physician who was drinking was the general surgeon, and he stuck with beer...at first. The rest of Dad's side (the Prudes) steered WAY clear of the booze. The scene was very Brady Bunch for the first hour or so, as we sat on the deck surrounding the pool at my parents house, having polite, albeit superficial conversations. Mom's side were perched at tables on one end of the deck, and Dad's side at the other...not unlike the Crips and the Bloods, just eye-ing each other, waiting for the first punch to be thrown. This is when Uncle Ron (Mom's-side-unemployed-production-manager) decided to spice things up a bit. He breaks out this bottle of clear liquid and asks "Who wants to try some Redeye?". Mom's side shouted in unison "We do!" and the general surgeon's competitive nature emerged, so he nodded and waved my uncle over to the table he was sitting at (apparently, a little too 'important' to get off his ass and join the rest of us at the makeshift folding table/bar). We polished off a couple shots of the scrumptious Redeye (it tasted like cherry Kool-aid), and went back to our chit-chatting. Another hour or so went by and we were getting a little pissed-up. The general surgeon had gravitated to "our table" (much to the chagrin of the sober Prudes) and was explaining the simplicity of performing an appendectomy, stating, "I mean, it's such a basic procedure, even a nurse could do it". Aunt Chloe (Mom's-side-retired-licensed-practical-nurse) slurs "Whaddaya mean 'even a nurse could do it'?...I'm a nurse and I think you're being condescending". General surgeon says, "I certainly meant no offense, I'm just saying that the skills required to palpate the region, perform an insicion and remove the appendix are present in most registered nurses". Aunt Chloe says, "Well, I'm a licensed practical nurse and if I wanted to perform surgeries, I would've become a doctor". General surgeon says, "Oh...LPN. So you're not really a nurse, then". Aunt Chloe: "Listen, you little prick, you better watch your mouth or..." This is when one of the children decided to fake like he was drowning. Cousin Jake (Mom's-side-Aunt-Chloe's-7-year-old-grandson) started flayling his arms and gargling "Help" and in a flash, the Pediatrician jumps in the pool, fully clothed. She swims over to Jake at the speed of light and tries to grab him, when Jake screams at her "Get off me, lady! I was just kidding!". Cut to Jake being yanked out of the pool by his Dad, spanked publicly and sent into the house for a time-out. The general surgeon grins and says to Jake as he's being ushered into the house, "Nice one, kid", then turns to Aunt Chloe and says, "Yeah, a REAL nurse would've jumped in after her own grandchild". I couldn't really make out what Aunt Chloe was screaming at the general surgeon, I just know that it made him laugh and walk away, back to the Prude table.

After everyone settled down, I mixed up another round of Red Bull/Yaggies and went about delivering them to the troops, general surgeon included. General surgeon is married to Obstetrician, and when I gave him his drink, Obstetrician gave me a disapproving scowl and told general surgeon that he'd had enough. General surgeon says, "Not by a long shot. You should try one of these...maybe it'll loosen up those tightly closed legs of yours". I choke on my drink and proceed to spit-spray Obstetrician in the face with Red Bull/Yaggie as I bend over in hysterical laughter. I ran away from their table, still half choking/half laughing, back to the safety of 'Mom's side' turf, only to be greeted by the wannabe actress/singer from Iowa (what was SHE doing over on OUR side, I wondered?). I thought she was probably going to reprimand me for slinging drinks, but she wanted me to help her set up the karaoke machine for a good ole fashioned singing contest (now that I think about it, it was a conspiratorial move to get me to stop slinging drinks...that bitch!). I guess I was in the mood for some singing, so she and I kicked off Phase 2 of the bash. We sang "Paradise by the Dashboard Light"...her singing the girl part, and me singing Meat Loaf's part...nice. We finished and only Mom's side was applauding. The majority of the Prudes were sitting back with arms folded across chests, glaring. The general surgeon, completely shit-faced at this point, was making a raspy, "wooooo, yeah" noise with his fist thrust in the air. I think he thought he was at a concert.

An interesting twist had started to occur, in that the Mom's side Drunks were intermingling with the Prudes. The "long-term unemployed brigade" had extended an olive branch to the Prude accountant, insurance agent and attorneys, most likely to get free legal and financial advice, but they decided to be the next karaoke act. They sang the karaoke staple, "Born To Be Wild", and I must admit, I've never heard a more off-key-we-don't-know-the-words-or-the-rhythm rendition. Next up came the supreme court judge and the drug addict, singing Johnny Cash's "Ring of Fire"...hilariously, I might add. At one point, the drug addict was doing some sort of Native American rain dance around the judge, whose face was about an inch away from the karaoke screen, for fear of losing his place (and because he has some sort of low vision problem).

Along comes the "Management Team", choosing another karaoke favorite, "Mony, Mony". Of note during this performance were the horrified looks the Prudes gave the Mom's side Drunks when we did the "Hey, say what, get laid, get fucked" chorus.

More random songs were sung, and the last act of the evening was Shit-faced Surgeon and his wife, Sober Obstetrician. He had to drag her up to the microphone and then proceeded to use her as a leaning post, but they brought the house down with their poignant version of "I Got You Babe". I say poignant, because Shit-faced surgeon replaced the lyrics "I got you to kiss goodnight" with "I got you to fuck tonight" and Obstetrician started crying. I was touching, really.

The evening wrapped up with the Mom's side Drunks (and our new friend the Shit-faced surgeon) passed out in chaise lounge chairs around the pool. The Prudes were cleaning up beer cans, shot glasses and empty Jagermeister and Redeye bottles, while attempting to take inventory of the children. We all reconvened the next morning for breakfast, and some of us weren't necessarily hungry, but drank a few gallons of water between us. Everyone who drank the Redeye had an inexplicable dull pain in either their necks, lower backs, shoulders or calves, and Shit-faced surgeon's pain was on his left cheek, but he thought his wife might have slapped him at some point, so he wasn't sure that qualified as a Redeye hang-over spot. The mood was...well...strained at best. We gathered for some family photos (complete with several priceless 'I just got out of bed' hair-dos and noticeably larger distances between the Prudes who were forced to stand next to Mom's side Drunks), gave each other fake hugs and kisses and parted ways. That reunion was 4 years ago, and I have only heard from one of the Prudes since...the Shit-faced surgeon e-mailed me earlier this week asking if I was bringing any Jagermeister and Redeye. When I replied "Hell yeah", he e-mailed back to say he'd be there, but that his Obstetrician wife wasn't going to be able to make it because she's on call this weekend. So, stay tuned...the next post might include some news of a divorce...

Them's fightin' words...

2005-06-27T17:58:00.000-07:00

I've been waiting for it to happen for the past 6 months or so, but this weekend, the neighbors who live in the homes on each side of mine started a good ole feud...I am, literally, caught in the middle of a Hatfield's vs. McCoy's-ish battle for supremacy. Indulge me as I set the stage: Neighbor #1 is 'Crabby old man in the blue house with a Virgin Mary statue in his front yard'...I don't know his name, since when I went over to introduce myself when he moved in last fall, he told me to cut down the part of my tree that was dropping leaves into his yard. Nice to meet you too, ass. Neighbor #2 is Jason. Jason can best be described as 'ecclectic', in that he likes to drunkenly roast hot dogs over his backyard fire pit when it's 20 below zero; mimic the obnoxious, unprovoked barking of his German Shepard, Sargeant, at 2 am; rev up his Harley at 3am (on a minimum of a weekly basis); and host keggers that on 7 out of 8 occasions have resulted in someone (usually Jason) being taken away in police custody. These 2 were bound to clash at some point, and I had the honor of witnessing their exchange yesterday, when I was innocently trying to wrestle with the crabgrass and dandelions that have overtaken my yard. It was about noon, 97 degrees and humid to the point of lung collapse yesterday, when 'Crabby old man' came bolting across my front yard toward Jason's house. Jason was sitting in a folding chair in his driveway, drinking beer with his buddies, while his 3 children (all under the age of 6) proceeded to jump on the hoods of the 2 cars that were parked ON Jason's front yard (the driveway was full...2 pickups, 2 motorcycles and some sort of flatbed). 'Crabby old man' was clearly disturbed, evidenced by his comment to Jason "what kind of flophouse are you runnin' here? I've been up half the night listenin' to the racket of you partyin', and it doesn't look like you're plannin' on stoppin' anytime soon. This is no environment for these kids and I have half a mind to call the police".

Game ON! Now, I am a curious gal...I can't help myself, really....so, I decide it might be in everyone's best interest if I started paying very close attention to what was transpiring. Besides, if I ended up getting called to testify in what I was certain would be the murder trial of the decade in Dodge County, I wanted to make sure I had the facts straight. Jason proceeded to stand up, stagger, then proclaim, "Yeah? Who's stoppin' ya?"...then he got a creepy little grin on his face. Jason's entourage, while clearly intoxicated, realized an intervention was in order and formed a human chain in front of Jason. Drunk Friend #1 gave the classic "look man, we don't want any trouble, we'll try to keep it down" response. Drunk friend #2 agreed, but Drunk Friend #3 said nothing...only started walking toward 'Crabby old man'. Jason was beligerently slurring "you need to mind your own fuckin' business, old dude" and Drunk Friend #3 just kept walking toward 'Crabby old man'. By this time, I am walking toward all of them (what the hell was I going to do to mediate the situation you may wonder?...yeah, well, my behavior often defies logic...I'm a conflict magnet, I guess). What happened next is a bit surreal...'Crabby old man' dropped to his knees, folded his hands, and started praying...I shit you not. We're talking some SERIOUS "Dear-Lord-have-mercy-on-the-souls-of-these-misguided-young-men-and-show-them-the-way-of-the-Father-and-forgive-their-sins" stuff. Drunk Friend #3 is laughing, Jason is laughing, and Drunk Friends #1 & #2 are heading for their cars. I am close to giggling, but decided that capitalizing on the distraction was a better idea. I tapped 'Crabby old man' on the shoulder (probably not a cool move when one is deep in prayer), and said something brilliant like "Sir, why don't we just try to talk about this like rational adults" and of course, he ignored me and kept praying. So there I stood behind 'Crabby old man', in the middle of Jason's yard, wearing my cute little green gardening gloves clasped in a death grip on my claw-hoe-weeding thingy, staring disbelievingly/shrugging at Jason & Drunk Friend #3. It must have been quite a sight to behold, because passing cars were slowing down on the way by. They probably thought I clubbed 'Crabby old man' in the head with my claw-hoe weeding thingy and that Jason & Drunk Friend #3 were just spectators at the event.

I'm pretty sure a good 10 minutes of prayer passed, with Jason & Drunk Friend #3 just looking down at 'Crabby old man' and interjecting supportive comments like "fucking weirdo" & "bible-banging asshole", when they decided they were bored. Jason hollered "Maverick, Austin & Brady, get in the house and change your fucking clothes before your Grandma gets here". Drunk Friend #3 gave 'Crabby old man' a dismissive wave and a "crazy bastard" parting comment, then staggered into Jason's house. Jason decides to finally acknowledge my presence by saying "Fucker's lucky you came over here. See if you can get him out of my yard". Then Jason staggered into his house.

Again, I tapped 'Crabby old man' on the shoulder and said, "It's probably a good idea for you to go home before he comes back outside. And it might be a better idea NOT to confront him when he has loud parties and/or when he's drunk...just call the cops...they're used to it". 'Crabby old man' snaps out of his prayer coma and says "that's exactly what I'm gonna do right now", and then he left. I still don't know his name.

I DO know that the cops showed up about 2 minutes later...and gave Jason a warning. Just as the cops were leaving, in pulls Grandma to pick up the kids, and without missing a beat, she says "C'mon kids, let's go get an ice cream cone and give Daddy some time to sober up and think about what he's done". I haven't stopped laughing since...

2005-06-25T08:35:00.000-07:00

GWB and whats-her-name showin' their devil horns...and somehow, this missed VH-1's "100 Most Metal Moments"...

Cruise-in' for a bruisin'

2005-06-24T11:24:00.000-07:00

It's probably a good thing my vacation is almost over, because I have WAY too much time on my hands and am becoming irritated by the most benign things. Case in point: Tom Cruise has officially made my "Celebrities I Would Most Like To Spit On" list. While channel surfing this morning, I caught the Today show and paused long enough to watch a segment of Matt Lauer's interview with Tom Cruise. Cruise had an all-out hissy fit about psychiatrists and the fact that Brooke Shields was taking an anti-depressant for post-partum depression. He ranted for what seemed like an eternity (seriously, I became uncomfortable watching the interview) about the evils of psychiatry, calling it "pseudo-medicine", and making comments like "there's no such thing as a chemical imbalance in the brain", "the mind-altering drugs that psychiatrists prescribe only mask problems that can be cured through exercise", and "I know about this, Matt, because I've studied the history of psychiatry". Lauer challenged him several times, only to be told by Cruise that Matt "should be more responsible in his understanding about this because he's in the business of informing people. At least when I don't understand something, I take responsibility to find out more about it, which is why I studied the history of psychiatry and I know the truth". 'I know the truth'? Isn't that a line from one of his movies? Poor Matt Lauer...it had to be harder than hell to keep a straight face! Some of my take-aways from that interview segment:
1.) The Church of Scientology opposes the field of psychiatric medicine,
2.) Tom Cruise is jonesing for an executive position in The Church of Scientology,
3.) The Church of Scientology is a cult,
4.) Tom Cruise is an idiot who is having difficulty coping with the throes of his big-ass mid-life crisis (or so he was told by his psychiatrist).

Anyway, this little tirade, added to his pissy reaction to being squirted by a microphone, multiplied by his undying (and a little bit "statutory", if you ask me) love for Katie Holmes, equals a formula for career demise. I just hope it happens in my lifetime.

And because I don't want to leave anyone on the edges of their seats, here is the remaining list of "Celebrities I Would Most Like To Spit On":
1.) Angelina Jolie (home-wrecking, collagen-lipped, brother-kissing, blood-vial-wearing freak)
2.) Britney Spears (gum-cracking, Madonna-kissing, knocked-up-by-a-back-up-dancer, dumb- as-a-tree-stump-GWB-supporting, no-talent bimbo)
3.) P. Diddy (classic-song-stealing, thug-wannabee, pretentious-as-a-MF-er bastard)
4.) Kid Rock (classic-song-stealing, uglier-than-a-swamp-toad redneck)
5.) C.T. from the Real World Paris (I just think he's a prick)

There, I feel better. Feel free to expand the list, friends...

Desperate measures

2005-06-23T10:02:00.000-07:00

I'm more than a little mortified by the fact that I created a profile on Match.com last night...yes, there were several beers involved, and it just seemed like a fun thing to do for shits & giggles. Within 3 minutes of having my profile approved by the Match.com gnomes, I received a "wink". Apparently, this is a harmless signal from a potential suitor that indicates his interest in you. The best part: his username is "rustiklog". Now, I've been out of the dating game for a while, and have never indulged in online personal ads, but I speculate that one will be much better off by refraining from referring to oneself as a plumbing problem when attempting to solicit a date. Ole "Rusti" (my pet name for him) had a couple of 'spelling and grammar issues' in his profile (yes, I looked at his profile...morbid curiosity and intoxication don't mix well), and call me elitist, but I'm just not very tolerant of the grammatically challenged. Typos are one thing, but poor grammar? Unacceptable. Some examples: 'dang, this is hard', 'probally', 'ain't never done this before', 'hopfuly', 'regalar guy', 'sumthin' and the cream of the crop, 'supposably'. And he didn't have a picture included with his profile (shocking), so my cynicism and imagination both ran amok. I've conjured up an image of what Rusti most likely looks like:

I I I I I I I I'm hooked on a feelin', I'm high on believin', that you're in love with meeeee!!!

That's gonna leave a mark

2005-06-22T05:15:00.000-07:00

Yikers...advice for the day: don't piss off a nerd...him's likely to cut a bitch!

http://movies.collegehumor.com/media/movies/scissors_001.wmv

Back in commission

2005-06-21T17:45:00.000-07:00

Ok, the minute I started blogging, my damn computer died...and a mere 6 months later, I decided that boredom is unbecoming a woman of my mania, so I broke down and bought a new PC. I can be somewhat condescending and sarcastic when dealing with morons and the conversation with the quote desk went something like this...
Dell: Hi, this is Candy at the quote desk, how may I help you?
Me (wondering if I should be concerned that I'm talking to someone who is not in the adult film industry, yet, whose name is Candy): Hi Candy. My computer of 10 years died and now that I've finished mourning, I need a new one.
Dell: Ma'am, I'm so sorry to hear that. Have you had a chance to browse our online catalogue?
Me (brow furrowed at both the fact that she didn't get the joke and at the sincerity of her empathy; totally considering hanging up): Wouldn't that require having a functioning computer?
Dell: Yes ma'am. (Then, silence)
Me: Well, then I'll have to go with no, I have no functioning computer, therefore, I have not had a chance to browse the online catalogue. I have the paper catalogue, though, and...
Dell (Cutting me off): Ma'am, are you interested in purchasing a computer?
Me (wha? Then, carefully): Well, yes, actually, I am. Coincidentally, that's why I'm calling.
Dell: If you go to our website, you can browse our online catalogue and I'll walk you through the selection process.
Me (not sure why I'm still on the line with her): Ma'am, as I indicated in my first statement to you, my computer is dead. We're gonna have to work from the paper catalogue. Archaic, I know, but it's gonna have to suffice.
Dell: I'm not sure what you mean.
Me (Good God): Um, which part?
Dell: What's archaic?
Me (Wow): That means old, honey. Ancient. A relic from a by-gone era.
Dell: Oh, now I get it. So, are you at the website yet?
Me (beginning to wonder if I called Crank Yankers by mistake): Um, let's try this again. I am unable to access the online catalogue because my computer is dead. I'll need to place my order by reading you the options I have selected from the paper catalogue.
Dell: Oh, so you need tech support. One moment please. (Then, I'm on hold).
Me (shaking my head in disbelief at the fact that I am remaining on hold while listening to an instrumental elevator-rendition of Every Rose Has It's Thorn, and talking to myself): What the hell? She better be making minimum wage...
Dell: Dell Tech Support, this is Jay, how may I help you?
Me (not sure where to start, but hoping upon hope that Jay possessed the brain that Candy had clearly misplaced): Um, hi Jay. I was trying to place an order for a new PC, and Candy became confused when I told her I had to place the order by using the paper catalogue, on account of my computer being dead and my inability to access the online catalogue on your website. Please tell me that you can connect me with someone who knows how to fill an order from the paper catalogue.
Dell Jay: So you actually need the quote desk?
Me (suddenly very tired and crabby): Ok, I'm going to say this S L O W L Y. I do, in fact, need the quote desk, however, I need to be connected with someone who can take an order from your paper catalogue. You know, the one your company SENT me in the mail? Apparently, Candy has not received that particular training yet.
Dell Jay: Hmmm...
Me (Oh, Christ): Jay? Is there a problem?
Dell Jay: Well, I can connect you to the quote desk, but the calls go into a queue, so I'm not sure who will receive your call.
Me: Let's just roll the dice, shall we?
Dell Jay: Ok, just one moment please.
Me (thinking, well, at least they have nice phone etiquette, and again, talking to myself): Please don't be Candy. Please don't be Candy. Please don't be Candy.
Dell: Hi. This is Candy at the quote desk. How may I help you?
Me (Shit. Time for Plan B): Uh, hi Candy. I need to order a computer, but I can't read. Can you just read me the options from your online catalogue like I was taking a multiple choice test and I'll tell you which answers I want?
Dell Candy: Sure. Are you going with a notebook or a desktop?

You get the drill. Apparently, God was paying attention on those 3 occasions when I did volunteer work last year and decided to cut me some slack...I received the Dell I ordered and it arrived when I expected it to (no small feat given that I feigned illiteracy and was at the mercy of Candy, the Procurement Porn star).

If I ever have the displeasure of dealing with her again, I think I'll just tell her "I wish you would just get out of my life and shut up"...

Hangovers 'R Us

2005-01-01T04:49:00.000-08:00

Feeling a little less than zero today? Got a case of wooly mouth? Can't tell if your morning purge will occur North or South of the border? Check this site out...
http://www.hungover.net/surgery.asp?drinktypeid=1

Borrowed from Kiddo...

2004-12-31T13:35:00.000-08:00

What better way to indulge my inner creative writer...I offer snippets of my fave questions from Kiddo's latest survey...

1. What did you do in 2004 that you'd never done before? Travelled to 2 of the United States' largest cesspools, which are characterized by prostitution & filth: Las Vegas (not sure what all the fuss is about? The hooker playing cards that were distributed at every street corner, maybe?) & New Orleans (fun, but a health hazard...got a few immunizations upon returning home, on account of drunkenly losing my balance when trying to 'straddle pee' & planting my ass directly on a toilet seat in the Crazy Corner bar)

4. Did anyone close to you die? Unfortunately, William Hung didn't...

9. What was your biggest failure? My low-carb diet...I simply gotta exercise more. I'm planning a testimonial like that grammatically incorrect dork (who is a TEACHER, by the way) from the Bowflex commercials. "I know guys who ate sandwiches and lost weight, but I don't see them on TV with their shirt off"...apparently, there's only ONE shirt for ALL those sandwich eating skinnies...

10. Did you suffer illness or injury? I didn't, but my neighbor did. Poor guy has a broken heart. I saw him sitting in front of his firepit, drinking beer last week on one of those 20 below zero evenings. I felt a little sorry for him, cuz his wife of 6 months (and mother of his 3 kids...you do the math) just divorced him, and I was a tad worried SHE might be IN the fire...but concern was soon replaced with morbid curiosity when I noticed he was roasting a hot dog...I said "Hey Jason, isn't it a bit chilly to be roasting hot dogs tonight?", to which he flatly replied, "Not if you're hungry for a hot dog". Touche, Jason, touche...

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about? The fact that Motley F***ing Crue is going on tour in 2005 with a new & improved Vince Neil! Woohoo!

16. What song will always remind you of 2004? She Bangs...Goddamn you to hell, William Hung...

20. How will you be spending New Year's Eve? Most likely, perched in front of whatever 'marathon' is on TV with a bottle or 2 of wine...

21. Did you fall in love in 2004? I did. With Jared Leto.

22. How many one-night stands? One. And he was miserable in the sack. From now on, there will be a questionaire & an audition...

27. What did you want and get? 2 Packer victories over the Vikings, the complete first season of Nip/Tuck on DVD, new carpet...

28. What did you want and not get? A size 7 wardrobe, Jared Leto under my Christmas tree...

33. What kept you sane? Happy hours, Ron White's "They Call Me Tater Salad" DVD, smokes, a new-found fondness for wine...

36. Who did you miss? I miss my old neighbor who, when I first met him, was sitting on his front porch in some shorty shorts with his dong hanging out one leg hole. Then, when his wife left him (there might be something in the water in my neighborhood...), he left a note on my door asking me for a date...the note said "Deer Tammy, I know you are 'davorced' and I would like to take you out on a date for beer or something. Form, Bill". I miss him, because it was so much fun being SO superior to someone who was SO clearly an idiot...

37. Who was the best new person you met? In New Orleans, I met a computer nerd from Germany named Guenter. He introduced himself to me & a colleague in the smoker's lounge at the Marriott & we discovered that we had a similar interest in alcohol. So he suggested that we head to Bourbon Street (it was a 5 day conference and this marked the third day in a row my colleague & I spent on Bourbon Street), where we proceeded to sample every type of booze the Big Easy had to offer. Guenter bought all our drinks (he may have had an ulterior motive in this) and at one point, he convinced us that Yagermeister was really good when mixed with Red Bull and grenadine...and he was right. He did downplay the fact that you lose your vision, your capacity for speech and your mobility if you drink more than 3 of those things, but again, I think he was trying to get himself laid, so he rolled the dice. Well, us American girls pale in comparison to the Germans when it comes to holding our liquor, so the poor bastard ended up having to drag our drunk asses 20 or so blocks in 90 degree/100% humidity weather (making several 'puke breaks' along the way) back to our hotel, where the consierge took over babysitting detail. The last thing I recall slurring to Guenter was "Ef wir ever'n Jernamy, wu'll look ya up, um 'k?" (though we had never exchanged business cards or last names, for that matter, and apparently, we equated the size of Germany to that of Claremont, MN). My colleague & I didn't see Guenter for the remaining 2 days of the conference...we think he either killed himself or hopped the first flight home, cursing himself for blowing $200.00 worth of his booze budget on "zose American uber-bitchez"...

38. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2004. You can have a crush on someone for 2 years, and finally get him in the sack and he will disappoint you on SO...MANY...LEVELS...

39. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year. "I get knocked down, but I get up again, you're never gonna keep me down. I get knocked down, but I get up again, you're never gonna keep me down. Pissing the night away, pissing the night away. She drinks a whiskey drink, she drinks a vodka drink, she drinks a lager drink, she drinks a cider drink. She sings the songs that remind her of the good times. She sings the songs that remind her of the better times..."