Wednesday, November 30, 2005

The Amazing Vomiting Chinese Guy

I saw the strangest thing today. I went to Taco Cabana for lunch and after I had finished my quesadilla I went out to sit on the patio, read my book and smoke a cigarette before I had to go back to the office. It was a gorgeous day and I had gone to lunch pretty late, so it was really quiet and I was pretty engrossed in my book. All of the sudden I heard someone screaming and looked up.

About 5 feet from where I was sitting was a Chinese man who was screaming into his cellphone and waving around a taquito. As I don't speak Chinese, I had no idea what the hell he was saying, but I could tell he was royally pissed off at whoever he was talking to.

He stopped screaming just long enough to glare at me as though he was pissed of at me for eavesdropping on his conversation. Um...dude...I don't speak Chinese and you're yelling so loud that I think actual Chinese people in China can hear you without aid of a cellphone.

This goes on for (and I am not kidding here) a good 20 minutes. Then (and I did not think that this was even possible) the screaming got worse. This guy was beet red in the face and he was spitting all over the place. I was trying very hard not to laugh at him when he made this odd sound that sounded something like "Acckgggereeeeugh"and then he threw up all over the Taco Cabana patio!

This is when I looked down at his feet and noticed he was wearing green velvet wing tip shoes. Where in the name of all that is holy does one find green velvet wing tip shoes? Why does such a thing even exist?

Never in all my life have I seen anything like this, and I've watched 'The Exorcist' eleventy billion times. There were no green velvet shoes in that movie.

Without missing a beat, the Amazing Vomiting Chinese Guy started screaming into the cellphone for another minute or so, and then hung up, leered at me and said "You enjoyed that didn't you?"

What the fuck?

I asked him exactly what about the whole incident I was supposed to have enjoyed and he said "Watching me make a fool of myself". Then he turned to walk back into the restaurant, stopped at the door, turned around and looked at me and said (in a heavy Chinese accent) "Fuck you, lady". Actually it was more like "Fruk you, rady"!

Not having had any prior experience with violently pissed of puking Chinese guys, I had no idea what to do. I was afraid if I told him off that he'd throw up again, so I just left and went back to my office.

Warning to all Houston Area Residents: The Crazies are out in full fucking force!

Additional Warning: Stay away from overly excited Chinese men in green velvet shoes.

Additional, Additional Warning: NEVER purchase green velvet wing tips no matter how good of an idea it seems at the time. The fashion police (of which I am a member in good standing) will fine you a billion dollars.

Monday, November 28, 2005

Well...this is me!

Okay, crappy excuse for a post, but I figured I'd amuse y'all with a picture while I figure out something intereting to write.

Bad Blogger! No More Wine For You!!

Well...I'm alive, although if you tried to determine that based on my infrequent updates you might not believe me.

Things have been really crazy around here. After much thought I quit my job as an IT Admin to take a position as a Project Manager for another company. While I loved the company I worked for, I was so damn bored every day I could scream. I just didn't have much of a work load at all, and while that sounds good, in pratice it just plain sucks because your days go by so sloooowly. I also didn't see where I could advance at my old company and those two things combined told me it was time to move on.

My new job kind of fell in my lap. I really wasn't even looking for a new job, but a recruiter I new called me with this position to see if I might be interested. Hmmm...more money, busy days, a way to get out of being a goddamn Admin?!?! Sounded pretty good to me!

So, I started my new position last Monday and between learning everything I need to know for my new job,the Thanksgiving holiday and the ever on-going house project... I've been swamped.

Thanksgiving was really nice. My mom came in from Ohio, my in-laws were out of the country and it was just a couple of days filled with tons of food and even more wine. Hence the lack of updates.

I really thought cooking Thanksgiving in my small ass kitchen would provide me with an instant and highly amusing topic to write about, but nothing caught fire, I didn't add sugar to anything thinking it was salt and no one got drunk and fell down (well...we were drunk, but no one fell down). I was slightly amazed at the lack of mishaps that occurred.

Now...this weekend is my friend Jennifer's bridal shower and I have to cook a TON of food (without my mom here to supervise) so that should provide a pretty freaking hilarious tale for y'all. Especially when you take into consideration that other than Jen's grandmother no one has bothered to RSVP leaving me to wonder if I need to make quesadillas for 5 or 50 people.

Anyway, I promise to lay off the wine and get my shit together and update more frequently. Um, I promise to update more frequently at any rate.

Hope y'all had a fantastic Thanksgiving.

Wednesday, November 23, 2005

Happy Ganksthiving!

No, I'm not dead and I haven't dropped off the face of the earth, I've just been really, really busy. I quit my job (long story) and started a new one Monday (even longer story) and between that and getting ready for Thanksgiving just have not had a whole lot of time to write.

However...I promise this weekend to sit down and write a proper entry. I'll expand upon the job thing and maybe even tell y'all a Thanksgiving story that has become legend in my family.

Here's what's on the menu at my place tomorrow:

Roasted Turky
Yummy, Yummy stuffing (really the only think I eat at Thanksgiving)
Broccoli Cheese casserole
Macaroni & Cheese (homemade...not the creepy kind in a blue box)
Cranberry Sauce (must be in a can, I think that sound is funny when it plops out of the can)
Mashed Potatoes
Green beans w/ browned butter and almonds
Peas (evil, evil peas...oh how I hate you)
Oh yea...more wine.

Saturday, November 19, 2005

In Where I Explain How You Can Get Drunk Enough to Think a Hospital is on Fire when It's Not

So, I mentioned that my friend Frank once thought a hospital was on fire that wasn't. Now, you figure that most people are aware enough to at least determine if smoke and flames are or are not shooting out of a building, but Frank's always been a little special and on that particular night, Frank was more than a little drunk.

The first thing that you need to understand is that this took place during Mardi Gras. Not the "real" Mardi Gras in New Orleans, but the pseudo Mardi Gras on Galveston Island, Texas. Now, while nothing can rival the festivities in New Orleans, we do try to at least make an effort...and by effort I mean we all get outrageously drunk and flash strangers for beads.

A few friends and I were hanging out at this guy Gary's apartment and we were really, fantastically bored. We decided rather than just sitting in Gary's apartment drinking all night we would go down to Galveston and check out the Mardi Gras activities.

After an couple of hours of drinking, six of us piled into a Toyota Tercel to make the 45 minute trek to the beach. Cramming that many people into a wee little car was no small feat, and we all got to be verrrry friendly before we arrived. We got to the sea wall about 11:30 and the first thing we saw was my friend Kathleen (who we didn't know was going to be there) chasing Frank down the street and being followed by six or seven guys that we'd never seen before.

We yelled at Kathleen to come over and tell us what was going on, but she was rude and ignored us and kept running after Frank. After a couple of shots of tequila, Crystal and I decided to follow them.

We ran (or should I say, stumbled) after them for about three blocks until we caught up with them in front of the Galveston Hospital. Crystal and I found Kathleen and asked her what in the hell was going on. Apparently Frank was completely wasted, which was our first surprise, since he didn't usually drink and was much beloved amongst our friends for his status as permanent designated driver.

Kathleen proceeded to tell us that they were sitting on the beach when Frank noticed the smoke stacks from an industrial area about a mile or so behind the hospital. Claiming that the hospital was on fire, Frank decided that he must save all the patients from "certain death" and ran into the hospital. Kathleen was just about to run in after him when we caught up with them.

About a minute after she was done explaining what had happened thus far, Frank came running out of the hospital, pushing an elderly man in a wheelchair who was screaming like a banshee, and they were being chased by a security guard. I just looked at Crystal and started laughing like an idiot. I wasn't sure what was going to happen at this point, but I was sure whatever it was would be priceless for humor value alone.

The old man was screaming that he that he was being kidnapped. Frank was screaming that the hospital is on fire and insisting that he just saved the old man's life, while the security guard was screaming at Frank to leave the old man alone.

At that point, being the good friends we are, Crystal and I took off back to our car, and left Kathleen to deal with Frank, the old man, the security guard, and the police who were now on their way. Was that mean? Probably, but we really didn't want to get an MIP since none of us were of legal drinking age at the time.

Friday, November 18, 2005

Senseless Babbling

I just went to get a cup of coffee and this very strange, veeerrrry large man in my office sees me at the coffee pot and says "A little coffee action this morning?" Only he said it in the creepiest way and made it sound totally dirty.

Oh, and I forgot to mention, he didn't actually say this to me... he said it directly to my chest. and he wasn't even subtle about it. It's 7:45 in the freaking morning, how the hell are you even awake enough to take the act of getting a cup of coffee and turn it into a sexual innuendo, you freaking perv?

While this annoys me a tad, had the hot Italian guy in my office asked the same question, my chest probably would have answered him.


Nick and I were talking the other night and I was pondering what to write about today, so I asked him for some suggestions. He was no help whatsoever.

Nick: Did you already write about the time you kicked your underwear at that old man?

Me: Yes...don't you read the freaking thing?

Nick: When I have the time. Write about that time your sister was a little kid and was in the kiddie pool. You know what I'm talking about right?

Me: Yes, I know what you're talking about, but I'm quite fond of my sister and would prefer she didn't hack my body up into little bits, spread the bits on toast points and feed them to Young Republicans. Seriously...that's one damn embarrassing story.

Nick: Where would your sister run into Young Republicans?

Me: Nevermind. Do you think I should write about that time I got drunk and fell down?

Nick: Which time?

Me: I don't know. Maybe I could do a retrospective of some sort and briefly write about all of the times.

Nick: Honey, that might take awhile, especially if you count all the times you've fallen off your shoes while drunk. Do you really want the internet to think you're an alcoholic?

Me: Piss off.

See? No help whatsoever!!!

Later today we're going to pick out all the stuff like carpeting, paint colors, cabinets, etc. for the new house. I fear that this is the adult equilivant of being faced with one of those brand new, 64 count boxes of crayons. Nothing good is going to come of this.


The hot Italian guy just came into my office and asked if I had any inter-office envelopes he could borrow. Rather than just answering him and handing over the damn envelopes I pause for the loooongest time while having a conversation with myself in my head while the hot Italian guy is looking at me like I've lost my mind.

Self: Screw the envelopes, lets go to Lake Como and have babies!

Conscience: Um, hey're married.

Self: But, Italian guy...pretty babies...very pretty....gah.

Conscience: You're still married and the Italian guy is rather short. You hate short guys.

Self: Damn you Conscience, damn you to hell!!! You let me go to Lake Como with hot Italian guy and have babies. YOU CANNOT STOP ME!!!

Hot Italian Guy: you have the envelopes?

Me: Uh, sure. Here.

Conscience: You can't even speak a complete sentence around him. He's never going to take you to Lake Como.

Self: Fuck off.

Okay, yes...I realize this entry was total crap, but it's early and my brain isn't working yet and it's hard to be amusing when it's exactly 17 degrees in your office and your fingers are in danger of frostbite.

I promise something more interesting tomorrow. Maybe I'll tell all you lovely internet people about the time my friend Frank thought a hospital was on fire (it wasn't) and tried to rescue old people from the not-on-fire-there-was-nothing-wrong-with-it-at-all hospital.

Thursday, November 17, 2005

Ode to El Imperial Mexican restaurant

Last night Nick and I went to a Mexican restaurant about 7 blocks from our apartment. It's not by any stretch of the imagination the best Mexican food in Houston, but it's decent, really cheap, has great margaritas and it's close to the house. We end up there a couple of times a month either because I'm to damn tired to cook dinner, haven't gone grocery shopping, or tried a new recipe that sounded good, but tasted like week old armadillo ass.

We found this place after Nick set dinner on fire one night. No, seriously. He didn't burn it, he actually set it on fire.

We were in our first apartment, and I was just getting used to this whole cooking for myself thing. While I'm a damn good cook now, it took a little practice to get that way. The first year in that apartment, my cooking was pretty much one big experiment until I finally figured out what in the hell I was doing.

I was cooking chicken tenders, corn, mashed potatoes and gravy, one of the three recipes I never screwed up. The corn was in the mircrowave, the potatoes mashed and warming in the oven and I was frying up the chicken tenders. I had the chicken in a pan on one of the burners and a plate with some paper towels on it on the burner next to it, but please make note of the fact that the burner with the plate and paper towels was NOT ON. This becomes very important later.

I asked Nick if he could heat up the gravy and he was more than happy to do so. He got out a pan, put it on one of the back burners, dumped the gravy in and turned on the burner. Only problem was, he turned on the wrong damn burner.

I'm happily frying up chicken tenders, taking them out of the pan and placing them on the plate next to me to drain, completely oblivious to the fact that Nick turned on the burner that was under the plate. I go over to the microwave to see if the corn was done when I hear a loud craaack and turn around in time to see the plate explode and the grease soaked paper towels catch on fire!

Rather than attempt to put out the fire, I did what any 19 year old who doesn't know how to cook would do. I pointed at the fire and screamed. Nick was in the living room and came running into the kitchen. He took one look at the (now larger) flames and said "What the hell happened?". My response? I pointed at the fire and screamed again. Yes, I know...very helpful.

Nick manages to knock the broken plate and still flaming paper towels onto the cheap linoleum flooring and stomp up and down on it. Did I mention that the linoleum was really cheap? Well, this shit was so cheap that the searing hot plate melted to the floor.

By this time, Nick is laughing hysterically and I am less than amused. I asked him why he set my dinner on fire and then jumped up and down on it and he looked at me like I had grown another head and said that he did not do it on purpose. Now, either I had PMS, was temporarily psychotic or just a melodramatic 19 year old, but this answer was unacceptable to me and I started to cry.

Yes... I'm standing in the kitchen with the smoke detector going off, a plate melted to the floor and extremely crispy chicken that my then boyfriend had just spent a good two minutes jumping up and down on, crying like an idiot. My mom chooses this exact moment to call and say "hi" and check in to see how I'm doing. The conversation went something like this:

Me: (sniffle) Hello?

Mom: (a little confused as to why her daughter is crying) Hi honey, is everything okay?

Me: Everything is most certainly not okay (sob)!! I was cooking dinner (sob) and Nick set it on fire (sob) and then he jumped up and down on it (sob, sob) and now the plate is melted to the floor (hysterical sobbing).

Mom: (trying not to laugh her ass off) Sweetie, put Nick on the phone, please.

Me: (sending death rays via my eyeballs towards Nick) You are sooooo in trouble now! My mom wants to talk to you.

I throw the phone at Nick and stomp off into the bedroom where I lay on the bed and silently vow that I will NEVER cook dinner for him again if that is how he's going to treat my efforts. No, wait...I'll cook dinner, but it will only be things that he really, really hates like tofu and asparagus and green beans.

I have no idea to this day what my mom said to him. I expect it was something along the lines of: "Don't worry, she's crazy. You knew this when you moved in with her. Stay very far away from her for half an hour and for the love of all that is holy CLEAN THE DAMN KITCHEN before she sees it and has another freaky meltdown".

Nick, in his infinite wisdom, took mom's advise and did exactly that. About half an hour later he comes in the bedroom and offers to take me out for Mexican food. Now, we're young and this is our first apartment and we both are working crappy retail jobs. We had no damn money whatsoever, so we ended up at the very cheap El Imperial Mexican restaurant because there was a two for one dinner coupon on the back of a Kroger's receipt.

We've been going there for 10 years now. I have never once ordered chicken there.

And yes...Nick is indeed a saint for putting up with my craziness for this long.

Wednesday, November 16, 2005

Insert Profanity Here

In response to the email sent to me by a random person about this blog:

Here's the thing...I use bad words. Lots of them. All the damn time. If, for whatever reason, this offends you, please allow me to make a suggestion. Stop reading.

It really is that simple. If you don't like my language, don't read this blog. It's kind of like if you don't like what's on television, change the fucking channel. Your internet browser comes with this really nifty little feature called a back button. USE IT!

It is not my fault that your (obviously unsupervised) kid did a random internet search for something or another and came across this blog and learned some interesting new words. Words, I'm guessing, you had a rather hard time explaining to her because the are not included in "Jerry Fallwell's New and Improved Born Again Christian Dictionary". Tough shit.

First...I am not your kids babysitter. The last time I checked it is your responsibility as a parent to monitor (or at least be vaguely aware of) what your child watches on television, listens to on the radio or reads on the internet. What's next? When your kid is last seen on a bus heading for Utah to visit some random 45 year old man she met on the internet is that going to be my fault as well? Grow the fuck up.

Second...I am sincerely curious how you formed the opinion that because I occasionally use the word "fuck" that I'm a "radical feminist lesbian" a "damn liberal" and a "pagan" who is "going to hell" because I don't "have a personal relationship with Jesus Christ". Just for giggles lets address those statements:

  • Radical Feminist - Feminist, yes, and extremely proud of it. Although I'm not sure how radical I am.
  • Lesbian - Who gives a shit?!?! Seriously...can you not read? How many times have I mentioned Nick (my husband) on this site? Just to set your small little mind at ease: Nick's a man.
  • Damn liberal - damn straight
  • Pagan - More like agnostic
  • Going to hell - this is very possible
  • Because I don't have a personal relationship with Jesus Christ - nope, but I do have a relationship with Jesus Garza, the maintance man in my apartment complex and I'm sure this should count for something.

While I'm sure the precious virgin eyes and ears of your kid are going to be forever warped by reading the word "fuck" on a blog, there are seriously worse things out there. Republicans, for one.

I'm also sure that by reading the word "fuck" on a blog that she's not damning herself to the eternal fires of hell. Nor is this going to lead her to a life of pot smoking depravity where her only career choices are "Emminm Entourage Member # 62" or "Donkey Show Perfomer in Tijuana".

If you're sincerely worried about what your kid is reading on the internet why don't you show her some of your favorite sites. I'm sure she'll find the Young Republican website fascinating and perhaps if you're lucky she'll even start a Bill O'Riley fan site one day.

Better yet, get out of the house and go do some of your favorite activities with your kid. I'm sure she'll be thrilled to spend the day protesting at your local Planned Parenthood or sending pipe bombs to Hillary Clinton. Oh...and I realize you're in league with all that is crazy, so let me say right now...don't do either of those things, I was only kidding!!!

Just in case I wasn't clear enough in the above paragraphs, let me just sum this up in 8 small words for you. I big words that will confuse you...

Fuck off. Get a life. Stop emailing me.

Monday, November 14, 2005

I Paid $120 to Look Like that Guy in The Foo Fighters

Saturday...much anticipation over the eagerly awaited and long overdue hair appointment. I am convinced I will come out looking chic and stylish and very grown up with amazing hair. I am convinced that this will finally be the day where my clothes, hair, makeup and accessories all work together to make me appear effortlessly put-together and amazingly stylish.

Um...not so much.

Let me first say this - For years I had the most amazing stylist in the world. If she even so much as touched my hair, it looked perfect. I thought this was some kind of urban hair myth, but she actually managed to cut my hair in a way that I could replicate exactly. She was a hair goddess and I luuuuved her very much. Then she had to go and get married and move to Seattle.


After many misguided attempts at finding a new stylist, I called the salon the hair goddess used to work at and explained how much I luuuuved my old stylist and ask if they had, by any chance cloned her before she left. They did not have the foresight to clone her, but they had Brittany, who the receptionist assured me was just as good and had actually trained with my old stylist.

"Brittany". This should have been my first clue.

I get to the salon and am introduced to Brittany who is all of seven years old and might weigh 62 lbs. I already hate Brittany. I brought a picture of how I wanted my hair to look, thinking that having a visual aid might make this easier for everyone. Brittany takes a look at the picture and assures me that not only can she cut my hair like this, but that it will be a very flattering cut for me. Actually what she says is "Ohmygod that will, like, look sooooo cuuuuuttttteee on you!!!!!".

Okay, thanks for the enthusiasm.

So we get started. First is the deep conditioning treatment which goes well. I'm relaxing under the dryer with lovely smelling Aveda products on my head thinking to myself that this isn't going to be that bad. Brittany comes over to check on me and says "It looks like I'm doing brain surgery on you". Um..okay. I'm not really sure what she means, but whatever.

She washes the conditioner out of my hair, I take my glasses off and she starts cutting my hair. She finishes cutting and starts blow drying. Then she takes this pomade stuff and glopps it all over my head, after which she whips out the curling iron and starts curling the pomade loaded hair. At this point I'm a little confused, but since I'm blind as a freaking bat without my glasses, I can't really see what she's doing, but I think I smell smoke and burnt hair.

After a verrrrrry long time (she cut about 7 inches off of my hair) Brittany announces that she's done and I put my glasses on.

Y'all. I wanted to cry. Seriously.

I can't even begin to explain the horrors that Brittany had wrought on my head.

I take another look and decide that maybe once I get home and wash all the pomade and freaky curls out of my hair that I would look much less scary and that maybe it wasn't such a bad cut, maybe she just styled it like crap.

I go to the reception area and the receptionist looks at me with this very strange look on her face. She goes to say something and then changes her mind and then tells me that "It's going to be $120 today"!!!!!!! Fuck. If I came yesterday would it have only been $40?

I leave the salon and it's raining. Rain and an excess of pomade don't mix and form a glue like substance on my head. I attempt to scrape my hair into a ponytail and don't so much end up with a "tail" as I do a "nub". I'm getting more depressed by the minute.

I get home and Nick takes one look at the nub and asks what the hell happened to my head. The only answer I can come up with is "Brittany happened". Then I go in the bathroom and cry.

Later, we're watching the European music video awards and the Foo Fighters come on. At exactly the same second Nick and I realize that Brittany (that evil, evil hell bitch) has given me Dave Ghrol's haircut and I am doomed for at least the next six months to look like an idiot while it grows out.

Brittany must be destroyed.

So...if there are any lurkers out there with who know of a good salon/stylist in the Houston area, now would be a good time to leave a comment. Even if you don't know of a good stylist, now would be a good time to tell me how amazing I am, because I seriously want to cry everytime I look in the mirror.

I will get even with Brittany if it's the last thing I do and am currently having fantasies about tying her to a chair and shaving her head.

Friday, November 11, 2005

Things that Piss Me Off

The fact that it's completely inappropriate to show up for work in sweatpants.

That this cold/allergies are apparently NEVER going away. I'm so damn sick of itchy, watery eyes, dry skin, chapped lips, runny nose, that I can only breathe out of one nostril and this generally crappy feeling.

Getting up at 4:30 in the goddamn morning.

Waiting for my doctor to call me back and tell me if he's called in a prescription for Allegra so that I can finally get rid of the ichy, watery eyes, dry skin, chapped lips, runny nose, the nostril problem and generally crappy feeling.

Coming home to my apartment when I know that soon I'll be in a lovely new house. Hurry the fuck up already, I want to leave the ghetto!

Paris Hilton, Lindsay Lohan, Rod Stewart's freaky daughter who looks like a man.

My hair.

The fact that the first place I loose weight is my boobs. Why in the name of all that is holy can't it be my ass?!?!?!

Bell Peppers. Ewww.

People running around thinking that they can put any damn thing they want in a martini glass and this automatically makes it a martini. The only thing you are permitted to call a martini is gin or vodka, vermouth and a big freaking olive. Appletini, Saketini, Chocolatini...what the hell's next, Gummybeartinis?

Getting a wedding invitation in the mail that contains information on where people have registerd for gifts. No. Just No.

People who have no understanding of the concept of "personal space". Back the hell up already!!

That Colin Farrell & Dave Navarro have not admitted to the world how obsessed with me they are.

The creepy old man on the bus who keeps asking me if I have a personal relationship with Jesus.

Fruit running around in places that it does not belong. If you want fruit, eat the damn fruit and stop making things like pear and sour cherry compote to put on chicken.

That odd little "I See Dead People" kid. You just know he's hanging out in a bar with that kid from Jerry McGuire, drinking Gummybeartinis and wondering where it all went wrong.

Nick's Boss, or as I like to call her "The Evil Against Which All Other Evil is Measured".

The train wreck that is The Surreal Life. How the hell did I spend and entire day one weekend watching Janice Dickinson taking crazy to a whole new level?

Did I mention bell peppers?

Thursday, November 10, 2005

What do you Mean, There's No Invitations in in the Invitations?!?

Last Saturday I went with my friend Jennifer over to her future mother-in-law's house to address her wedding invitations. She was supposed to come over and pick me up around noon and we'd drive out to Magnolia where Brad's mom lives, only apparently, Brad's mom had somewhere she needed to be at 1:00, so Jennifer ended up coming to pick me up at 9:30.

Grr. I was unaware that Sundays had a 9:30 in the freaking morning.

About 7:30, I'm making coffee and in my half conscience state I vaguely remember her mentioning that we were going to Magnolia. Where the fuck is Magnolia?

I go into the bedroom where Nick is peacefully sleeping and sort of poke at him until he grumbles at me. I ask him where in the fuck Magnolia is and he tells me it's near where they have the Renissance Festival every year.

This does me no good whatsoever because on the very few occasions someone has, against my better judgment, gotten me to go to the Renissance Festival, I've spent the whole hour long trip mentally preparing myself for the freaks in tights who will try to speak all Olde English at me and the tons of people who have been out in the sun too damn long who are coming to blows over the chainmail jewelry and ceramic unicorns.

Whatever. She's my friend. I'm in the wedding. I promised to help.

Jennifer picks me up and we're off to Magnolia but first we have to go to Sam's Club (will the horrors of this morning never end??) and pick up stamps. We get to the Sam's Club and this 90 year old former Nazi demands we wait for her while she puts some shopping carts away, because we're not allowed to enter this hell on earth before providing her with a card that proves we are allowed to do so.

I promptly ignore the Nazi and enter the store. She yells something at me, but not understanding what I presume to be German, I keep ignoring her.

We walk up to what appears to be the most dishartened checkout person of all time and I tell her that we need some stamps. She looks at me like I've just told her I need to remove her liver and replace it a cabbage right then and there and proceeds to tell me "Go and fill out an application over there" while pointing at some odd kiosk looking thing.

I ask her why in the hell I need to fill out an application for stamps and she says "Oh! I thought you said you need to work at Sam's". While I ask her why anyone NEEDS to work at Sam's Jennifer buys the stamps and we prepare to leave.

Dishartened Checkout Lady: Hang on to your receipt because you'll need to show it at the door before you can leave.

Me: Huh?

Dishartened Checkout Lady: You'll need to show the person at the door your receipt before you can leave.

Me: Like hell

I hiss at Jennifer to stuff the stamps in her purse and we make for the door where the twin sister of the first door-Nazi is demanding that the people trying to leave before us show her their receipt. I flee the Sam's Club without showing anyone a receipt. I am a rebel.

We start driving through what appears to be the place where they filmed "Deliverance" until we get to Magnolia and Brad's mom's house. We pull into the driveway and I notice that her neighborhood is cute and much less terrifying than I had anticipated. We walk up the driveway and through the backyard. I stop dead in my tracks.

What the fuck is that ?!?!?

Apparently it's Rocky...the miniature horse.'s three freaking feet tall. Don't get me wrong, it's cute and all, but horses should be big and sleek and sturdy looking and at least larger than a dog.

Anyway...we're addressing invitations and we've gotten about 100 of them done. I've already addressed all the ones on my list and am helping one of the oldest woman I've ever seen who is still breathing (aka, Brad's grandmother) stuff the envelopes, when this conversation happens:

Grandma: What's that you've got there?

Me: (confused) These are the invitations.

Grandma: Well, I don't rightly think I've put any of those in the envelopes.

Jennifer: WHAT?!?!?

Me: Hee Hee. Rocky's drinking out of the pool.

Yes, Brad's grandma had stuffed about 75 envelopes with the response card, response card envelope and map to the reception hall, but NO WEDDING INVITATION!!!

Now let me say this...Jennifer is a much better person than I am, because had those been my wedding invitations that were being torn open so that the invitations could be inserted and the re-sealed using tape, we would have been digging a hole for grandma's body out behind Rocky's miniature barn.

The rest of the day was kind of a blur because I kept stuffing envelopes and thinking to myself: Must go home and drink much wine.

Does this make me a bad friend?

Wednesday, November 09, 2005

All I Wanted Was a Haircut, Instead...I Bought a House

Yesterday all I managed to do was complain about how tired I was (still am) and how I don't have enough time to get a decent haircut, get my nails done or even talk to Nick without a third party scheduling a conference call. Now, under those circumstances most people would either try and get some extra sleep, call for that long overdue hair appointment, maybe go out and buy some new shoes. Not me....I bought a house instead.

Let me repeat that.


Through my charming and pleasant demeanor I made that mortgage broker my bitch and now we're gonna build a house. Umm...okay, it was probably due more to Nick's really cute habit of paying our bills on time and hiding the credit cards from me. Whatever, the mortgage lady is still my much so that as part of my loan terms I may very well demand she tattoo my likeness on her butt.

So now all we have to do is sign the papers she so thoughtfully had FedEx'd to our apartment, send them back to her and go pick out all the pretty stuff like flooring, tile, cabinets, etc. that will go into my new house (or as Nick put it to my friend Jen, 'we have to go pick out the innards'). Then sometime around late February, early March...pack up all our shit and move in.

Oh yeah....I also made an appointment to spend about 2 hours on Saturday in the salon getting myself to look like a human again. WoooHooo!!!!

The sad thing is, at this point I'm not sure what I'm more excited about.

Tuesday, November 08, 2005


Know when you have officially become too damn busy? When you have to schedule a conference call with the loan person who is working on a mortgage for you and your husband while you're on the bus coming home from work because it's the only time you have free and probably the only time that day that you'll actually have to speak to the aforementioned husband.

I need a vacation.

Right now I am so freaking tired that I just want to cry. I got 4 hours of sleep last night because we were at the Depeche Mode concert until late, and while it was a fantastic show, I think I must be getting old because as much as I love DM, I think I would have rather had 7 hours of sleep than gone to the concert.

When the hell did this happen!?!?! I remember going out until 3:00 AM, getting up for work at 6:00, working all day and then doing it all over again the next night. No hangovers, no feeling like shit on toast, no being grumpy from lack of sleep, no scary bags under my eyes. Now if I'm up past 11:30 and have to get up at 5:00, I'm batshit crazy for the rest of the day from lack of sleep. If I have more than two glasses of wine, hell...even if I have a shot of Nyquil at night, I have a goddamn hangover the next day.

Then again, when I was 23 I wasn't scheduling meetings with mortgage brokers, I didn't have to get up at 4:30 every morning, I wasn't so busy with work and basic things like laundry and house cleaning that I had to schedule time to wash my hair...and, oh yea...I didn't have Lupus either.

Actually, I don't need a vacation. What I need is:

  • A day that I can sleep for 12 straight hours without my phone ringing or the landscaping people waking me up with their God forsaken leaf blowers.
  • One damn day where I wasn't preoccupied with work, what to cook for dinner, running errands or if I need to do laundry tonight because I have nothing to wear to work tomorrow.
  • A day without my cellphone, email or blackberry going off with someone demanding that I do something within twenty seconds of reading/hearing their request.
  • Time to get a facial, pedicure, manicure, my eyebrows waxed and a decent haircut.
  • A day where no one asks me any damn questions other than "What time can I take you shopping and buy you pretty things".
  • Someone who actually does something that makes my life easier rather than telling me what I can do to make their life easier.
  • To spend an entire day in my sweatpants and Ohio State T-Shirt and not have to leave my apartment.
  • Someone to buy me flowers or a new Coach bag just because.

I know, I know...there are armless, legless, torso-children in Gloctobuckenstan who were raised by goats and have to walk 20 miles to the nearest Typhoid ridden creek for water and have only grits and rancid bat meat to eat who would love to have my life.

Truth is, I don't care about them because all I can do is think about getting some sleep.

Alright..I promise I'll try and be amusing tomorrow.

Monday, November 07, 2005

The Sheets are too Big and I almost got us Shot!

So I promised y'all tales of drunken debauchery from my friend Rod's birthday party on Saturday. To bad that's not what you're going to get because as usual, things did not work out as planned.

I wake up Saturday morning, feeling pretty much like shit since this damn cold will not go away for some reason. I lay in bed for a while and watch the episode of Gilmore Girls that has been languishing on the DVR for two weeks (Jess is coming back?? WTF??) and then decided that no matter how bad I felt, I needed to go to Macy's because they were having a huge sale and I needed new sheets. Should I have stayed in bed and attempted to get rid of my cold? Probably, but the allure of $160.00 sheets on sale for $49.00 was to good to pass up, and besides I needed moisturizer and a trip to the Benefit counter always makes me feel better.

Nick calls ahead to Macy's to make sure they have the sheets I want, in the size I need and the color that I want, because he's a very, very smart boy and knows that if I get to Macy's and they don't have it I will have some sort of scary meltdown because I'm sick and that's just what tends to happen when things don't go according to plan and I'm sick. The nice lady at Macy's assures him that they have exactly what I want and will even hold them for me so nobody else can have them.

We get to Macy's, the nice lady gives Nick the sheets and we buy them along with some of the softest damn towels in the history of towels. They're softer than clouds, they're softer than angel butts! All clothing, bedding and towels should be made out of this material. I go to the Benefit counter and buy moisturizer, which does indeed make me feel slightly better.

Then Nick hauls me into Sharper Image and proceeds to run around there like a two year old, pointing at every other thing and telling me how much we need this and how much easier it will make our lives. I drag him out of the Sharper Image and wonder how many times per day the salespeople in that store see a woman dragging a man out of that place.

We leave the Galleria and, if you don't live in Houston, there's something you need to understand about the Galleria area in order for the next part of the story to make any's always under construction. Seriously. Always. You never know what lane is going to be closed on any given day. So, we're on Westheimer and the far right lane ends. There are signs all over the freaking place telling you that the lane ends and that you're going to need to merge. Everyone understands this except the asshat in the white Chevy pickup truck who barrels down the about to close lane and cuts in front of us, coming inches from Nick's front bumper.

Nick is a much calmer person than I am and doesn't make a big deal about it. I, however, feel like crap and must vent my displeasure with said asshat. I reach over and honk the horn and when the driver turns around, I give him the universal hand signal for "you freaking moron, can you not read all the bright orange signs that tell you that the right lane is about to end".

Rather than going directly home and flogging himself for his abysmal driving, this freaking moron proceeds to come to a complete stop in the middle of Westheimer and just sits there, while rolling down his window and flipping me off. The asshole flat out REFUSED to MOVE! What else could I do? I roll down my window, stick my head out of the car and (in the nicest possible way) tell him to "Move your goddamn piece of shit truck, you stupid son of a bitch".

This apparently angered the asshat, who has what looks like 15 gold teeth and (along with his ghetto queen girlfriend) gets out of the car, screaming that they are going to kick my ass. Oops. This is not good, but in my altered/loaded up on Benadryl state, I'm about to get out of the car when Nick locks the door and tells me to call the police before the ghetto king and queen shoot us.

I wave at them, call them assholes, smile and hold my cellphone up where they can see it and dial 911. They get into the ghettomobile and leave. I explain to the nice 911 lady that we were very close to being assaulted by the asshat and his girlfriend and give her their licesnse plate number.

Nick pulls into the CVS parking lot and yells at me for pissing off ghetto folk, as we both could have been shot. I am not happy with this because he's supposed to admire my bravery, not yell at me for almost getting us killed.

We run a couple of more errands, go to IKEA and mentally spend about four million dollars, then we go and get Greek food which makes me happy, but I'm starting to feel worse by the minute, so rather than going to Rod's birthday party, I go home and go to sleep while Nick goes to the party.

Still feeling like complete shit, I wake up early on Sunday to go with my friend Jennifer to her future mother-in-law's house to address her wedding invitations, where more hilarity ensues, and there's a strange encounter with a miniture horse. This will all be explained in tomorrows entry, since this is already getting longer than I thought it would, and the nice people who give me a paycheck every Friday probably expect me to actually do something work-related today.

While I'm in wedding invitation hell, Nick calls. The freaking sheets are for a KING size bed, which does me no freaking good since we have a Queen sized bed. I suggest buying a new bed rather than going back to the Galleria, but Nick's not going for this idea because he is irrational.

So now sometime this week I have to haul my butt back to the Galleria and exchange my sheets which really pisses me off because this means I have to sleep on the old sheets for another week. I would do it today, but I still feel like crap on toast and am going to see Depeche Mode tonight.

Friday, November 04, 2005

Random Stuff About Me

Well, my dear internet people, it occurs to me that y'all pretty much know nothing about me. Yes, I realize that the more I write the more you will all come to know and love me ('s me). So I figure that until then I'll help you along, and yes, I totally know this is a rip off of about eleventymillion other blogs. To that end, may I present.....

100 Random Things About Me

  1. I was born in Beech Grove, Indiana - a town nobody has ever heard of, including other people from Indiana.
  2. I have actually met one other person who was born in the same town. No...I did not meet her in Indiana, I met her here in Houston.
  3. I work in the IT department for a major oil and gas company.
  4. I have more pairs of black shoes and black pants than is reasonable, but they're all necessary and I can't get rid of any of them.
  5. I've read "Confederacy of Dunces" approximately eleventy billion times and it just gets funnier every time I read it.
  6. Unless I'm at work or asleep, you'll rarely find me without a book in my hand.
  7. I have two cats. One weighs 23lbs. and one weighs 19lbs. I have checked with the vet and they are, in fact cats and not mountain lions.
  8. I have Lupus, but I really don't like talking about it. I'm on the "just don't think about it" treatment plan.
  9. I'm slightly OCD and have this thing about cleanliness, organization and personal space.
  10. Because of this my husband calls me "Monk".
  11. I only have to be in my office for another 45 minutes - YEAY!!!
  12. I have a deep and (I've been told) unreasonable fear of sharks. The thought of "Shark Week" on the Discovery Channel is enough to break me out into hives.
  13. When I was ten a table fell on my head and left a scar on my eyebrow. As a result of this I will never have perfectly arched eyebrows and this really, really pisses me off.
  14. My sister has perfectly arched eyebrows and doesn't even need to have them waxed and/or shaped to get them, because they just grow that way. This also really, really pisses me off.
  15. My sister is also freaking gorgeous and amazingly smart. If I didn't adore her I'd be plotting her death right now. One day, I want to be like her. Can y'all tell I'm completely enamored of her?
  16. I spend entirely too much time and money in Sephoria, but no one can criticize me for this since Sephoria is the closest thing I have to a religion.
  17. Between my husband and I we have close to 3000 cd's. Maybe more, since we've stopped counting.
  18. My mom's idea of a lulleby was "Mercedez Benz" by Janis Joplin and "Eve of Distruction by Berry McGuire.
  19. I'm concerned that if the FBI people ever downloaded the searches on my DVR that they'd haul me in for questioning since I'm constantly watching shows about serial killers and vampires.
  20. Nick calls this my "fascination with the Macabre" and blames many of my personality "quirks" on it.
  21. Who am I kidding? Based on the record of which library books I've checked out the FBI probably already has me under surveillance.
  22. People do not like playing board games or sports with me because I'm extremely competitive.
  23. After the move Titanic came out I got very sick of random people I did not know walking up to me and saying "you look just like that girl in Titanic". Shut up. Yes, I already know I look like Kate Winslet and you're only the fifty-third person today to tell me that.
  24. I looked up today while I was riding the bus home from work and saw a sign that said "Needed: Salespeople" only I thought it said "Naked: Salespeople".
  25. I think Jon Stewart and Barack Obama are geniuses.
  26. I tend to refer to Ted Kennedy as "Drunken Uncle Teddy", but I still love him.
  27. Bill Clinton was my favorite president.
  28. I tend to get waaaay to worked up over politics.
  29. My friends swear I'm attracted to guys who look like they're on heroin (Dave Navarro, Rob Zombie, Trent Reznor, etc.).
  30. I married a very normal looking (but cute) guy.
  31. I cannot stand when people sit next to me on the bus. MOVE DOWN PEOPLE and STOP TOUCHING ME!!!!
  32. I'm drinking a little too much red wine right now in the attempts to be creative and finish this list.
  33. I *heart* red wine.
  34. You should all meet my friend Jen. She's amazing and you would all love her.
  35. I talk to my mom almost everyday, my grandmother once a week and my aunt/godmother at least once a month.
  36. I cried like a baby the day the day Johnny Cash died.
  37. I have a mouth that will make sailors blush and this annoys my husband.
  38. Fuck is my favorite's sooo versatile.
  39. I have really bad road rage.
  40. I have road rage even if I'm a passenger.
  41. When I go up I want to be Emmylou Harris.
  42. "Tangled up in Blue"and anything by Gram Parsons makes me cry because it makes me think of my stepdad who passed away in July.
  43. My stepdad and I were fighting/not speaking when he died and I don't think I'll ever get over that.
  44. I tend to hold grudges. Sometimes for years, sometimes for five minutes.
  45. Yes, I live in, I did not vote for George Bush....either of them...either time.
  46. I'm against the death penalty...Vehemently.
  47. I wish I lived closer to my family.
  48. My father-in-law is a short Indian man who tends to do impromptu Elvis impersonations.
  49. I'm 100% Croatian and extremely proud of it.
  50. I'm addicted to Ohio State Football....GO BUCKEYES!!!
  51. Because of Jen, on occasion I'll also watch LSU football.
  52. "The Road Goes on Forever" will always put me in a good mood.
  53. The phrase "I want my two dollars" will always make me laugh.
  54. Steel Magnolias and An Affair to Remember will always make me cry.
  55. I once got fired from a job and when they asked me if I had anything to say I responded with "Damn the man, Save the empire".
  56. My mom's a rageing Hippie and I love her for it.
  57. I think "Romeo and Juliet" by Mark Knopfler,"Lonely all the Time" by Rekless Kelly and "Into the Mystic" by Van Morrison are the most romantic/sexy songs of all time.
  58. "Affirmation" by Savage Garden describes exactly the values my mother raised me with.
  59. I am forever grateful for the values I was raised with.
  60. I really want to have a child, but I'm afraid I'll give birth to a football playing-fraternity joining-head of the young republicans type kid.
  61. I think I'll raise a kid that sees what all is wrong/evil with being a Republican.
  62. My hope is to raise a kid who is able to think for him/herself.
  63. I worked at Planned Parenthood for five years. It was the best job/most worthwhile job I've ever had.
  64. My friend Rod's birthday is tomorrow and I'm fairly sure drunken debauchery will ensue. I can pretty much guarantee an intresting entry either on Sunday or Monday, depending on how hung over I am.
  65. I can drink an Irish Car-Bomb faster than anyone I've ever met.
  66. I once, drunk on tequila, ran my own face into a tree. The next morning I forgot about that and demanded to know who hit me and why I had a black eye.
  67. I have no respect for people who have casual sex without a condom.
  68. I firmly believe that women who say they've never masturbated are lying.
  69. I wonder why women feel like masturbation/their bodies in general are things to be ashamed of.
  70. I hate Rush Limbaugh and Jerry Fallwell.
  71. Dr. Martin Luther King's "I have a dream" speach will always bring me to tears.
  72. Ft. Worth Blues by Steve Earl is one of the most heartfelt, powerful songs I've ever heard. Especially if you know who he wrote it for.
  73. I wish I knew more about the Hindu religion.
  74. I was raised Catholic, but have issues with the Catholic church.
  75. I love my dad, but I don't think we'll ever see eye to eye on anything but The Bulls, and that makes me sad.
  76. Houston's a great town, but Chicago will always be "home" to me.
  77. I miss good pizza. Specifically Home Run Inn pizza.
  78. The Field Museum is the happiest place on earth....not Disneyland.
  79. I want to see Macchu Picchu one day.
  80. I think Nick and I would love living in London.
  81. "Redemption Song" is one of the greatest songs of all time.
  82. I wonder if the plural of "penis" is "peni"?
  83. Rusted Root always makes me want to dance.
  84. Did I mention that I'm drinking red wine?
  85. The best man at my wedding was a woman.
  86. I think this confused some people, but I wouldn't have had it any other way.
  87. I have a really great singing voice, but get embarrassed singing in front of people I can care about. However, I can sing in front of random strangers until the cows come home.
  88. Where the fuck were the cows that they needed to come home in the first place.
  89. I live in Texas, but HATE bar-b-que.
  90. My idea of the perfect Saturday is breakfast with Nick at Empire Cafe (ooohhh, french toast) and going to the art museum.
  91. I cannot believe I've gotten this far with my list.
  92. In high school I did waaaaay to many drugs.
  93. I am obsessed with "Gilmore Girls", and if you watch the show, you already know this based on the "Oy with the Poodles Already" reference.
  94. I smoke to damn much.
  95. I'll quit smoking when we buy a house (which we're in the process of).
  96. My hips are double jointed.
  97. No, that does not have any pratical applications.
  98. I was lucky enough to marry my best friend.
  99. I'm completely enamored with Stich (of Lilo & Stitch fame).
  100. I fucking rock!!!

Thursday, November 03, 2005

Projectile Panties

I have a God-Freaking-Awful cold. I'm coughing like a TB patient and my nose is bright red and chapped because there's a tissue permanently attached to it. All I want to do is sleep for about 72 straight hours, so coming up with a new topic for today's entry is a little beyond me. Hell, I'm having enough trouble doing the eleventy billion data uploads I need to do at work today so being even remotely creative is pretty much out of the question.

However, I promised myself that I would write something every day, so rather than come up with a new and interesting topic I'm going to re-hash one of the more embarrassing and yet pretty freaking hilarious things that's ever happened to me.

A few years ago I was taking a kickboxing class in some bizarre and fruitless effort to get in better shape. I had rushed to class straight from work and had about 3 minutes before the class started to get changed. I had also woken up late that morning and just flung some workout clothes into my gym bag without really paying all that much attention to them. I change into my workout clothes and cram my suit into my gym bag and make it to the class with about 46 seconds to spare.

Things are going well...I'm kicking, I'm punching, I am Billy Freaking Blanks and Bruce Lee all rolled into one! Then, about 25 minutes into the class I kick my left leg up pretty hard and notice something go flying across the room and wack this old guy right in the head. I pause. I am confused. What the hell was that?!?!

The old guy bends down to pick up the projectile that has just wacked him in the head and what do I see? To my complete and total horror I realize that I've just kicked a pair of Victoria's Secret leopard print panties right at this old guy and that this man, who is about my father's age, is standing in the middle of the room holding my underwear!!!!

Oh Shit....This can SO not be happening!!!!

Now, I'm not sure what the proper protocol is or what Miss Manners would say is the appropriate thing to do in this situation, but I know what I did. What I did was (not so discretely) check and see if I was still wearing any underwear. When I saw that I still had my underwear on, I became even more confused, but all I could think of was getting my wayward panties and getting the hell out of that class.

I walk over to the creepy old guy and ask him for my underwear back. He looks at me for a good 30 seconds and doesn't say anything, so I repeat myself. His response? "Can I keep them"!!!! EEEWWWWW. Just ewww. I snatch the panties out of his hands and flee to the locker room where I don't even bother to shower or change, I just grab my stuff and haul ass out of the gym.

On the drive home I figure out that these were the pants (and panties) I had worn to the gym the day before and that the projectile panties must have gotten stuck in the leg of my leggings. Being in a hurry to get to the class on time, I just didn't notice them.

Do I need to mention the fact that I never went back to that kickboxing class again and shortly thereafter bought a treadmill, never to return to that gym?

Wednesday, November 02, 2005

The Shoes!! The Pain!!

For my first entry, I was going to come up with the most remarkable, intelligent, witty entry in the history of blogging. No, really...I was.... that is until the shoe problem.

You see the Devil does not, in fact, wear Prada. She wears these:

Yes...I was defeated by a pair of shoes. Oh sure, they're cute. They've also managed to drain the entire blood supply from my brain directly to my feet.

Now, less you think I'm some sort of shoe wimp, let me assure you that under normal circumstances I zip about the streets of Houston a la Carrie Bradshaw in high heeled, pointy shoes on a daily basis. I am not happy unless my shoes make me damn close to six feet tall. I have friends who constantly marvel at my ability to walk in shoes that would scare drag queens, goddamnit! Granted, I also have a reputation amongst said friend for falling off of my shoes while drunk, but that's a whole other story.

However, had these shoes been around during the Inquisition, believe me they would have gotten more people to confess to witchcraft than any amount of branding or thumb screw usage (feel free to insert any Monty Python, 'No one expects the Spanish Inquisition' jokes here).

So, I log in to with the intention of creating the most fantabulous first entry in history. I look at the blank page and all I can think of is feet hurt. So here it is, my completely lackluster first entry, doing nothing but bitching that my feet hurt. I think the only way to remedy this is to go and visit a very good friend of mine, Tito's Vodka and attempt this again tomorrow.