Monday, February 28, 2005

Excuse Me While I Throw Up

Working on Big Project at Work + the Stomach Flu + Having Big Oscar Party= No Blogging. I'm so sorry to leave you hanging on my second Evile Baby Boomer Vs. the Whatever Gen Xer's.

My stomach flu had seemed to go away today, but then I watched the Academy Awards and now it's back.

Talk about sucking big ass. The seventh sign also happened as I lay on the couch and Donald Trump said in an interview, "Making those people gather on the stage or worse yet giving them their awards in their seats was the vision of tackiness.

Actually, it's like two seventh signs. One, I agreed with Donald Trump, and two, Donald Trump found something tackier then him.

So I promise to be back with my second Gen Xer observation, and maybe a small wrap up of the whole Oscar fiasco if my strength is up. I'm still kind of woozy and weak, so it'll depend on how I feel.

Thanks for all the "Are you Dead" emails. I'm not dead, it just felt like it for awhile!

Wednesday, February 23, 2005

Angry Xer's Vs. Delusional Boomers

Ok, so blabbing on and on about the little echo boomers being pumped out into society may well have come back to karmatically bite me in the ass.

I've had two, count 'em two comments about my Gen X status since then by delusional baby boomers...

*Disclaimer* When I say Gen X, I don't mean every single person that is Gen X. When I say Baby Boomer, I don't mean every single person that is a Baby Boomer. I am just venting here, and I full well realize that every single person in these generations encompass all the qualities I am about to bitch about. *End Disclaimer*

The first commenter is an older Boomer who really, really needs to retire. He has the whole Boomer mentality of "The World Shall Fall Apart Without ME Here." We were debating the pro/cons of privatized social security.

"Just wait until there is nothing left for you," he said. "You think people like me should retire, but wait until you are my age. You'll think twice with the problems going on with social security. It's your damn Generation X, just wanting to take over everything."

"Dude, I've been told my whole life that I'm not going to get social security. I've dealt with that fact. I've saved money in my 401k since I was 19 years old."

I really think we should be called Generation 401k, since almost every one I know my age has been saving for retirement in one of these kinds of funds as soon as they could.

I have no doubt that my Generation is fucked up. Think about it. We will never have a huge voice in this country. The advent of the pill and legalized abortion (which I am for) pretty much cut our numbers down. It wasn't until the Boomers started reaching their late 30's that they thought, "Hey! I should pump out some kids!" thus creating the little Echo Bastards.

I read a statistic somewhere once that said we won't out number the Boomers until 2040. I'll be 69, and the huge Echo Boomers will then take over the majority.

How much does that suck?

We are very unique, us Gen Xer's. We grew up somewhere between the time our Moms put their sneakers and power suits on and went to work, to when the Columbine massacre happened, and people decided, "Hey, we should actually watch our kids!"

Our generation was a generation of self reliant little kids that had a big portion of their childhood sucked from them, myself included. My parents were great, there is no doubt, but things were different back in that time.

My little niece A, who is in 2nd grade, isn't allowed to go to the bus stop by herself. I used to walk home from Kindergarten by myself. When I got home, there was a 20 minute lag between when I arrived and the babysitter appeared.

Kindergarten. Image that now? Never. People would go to jail. Back then it was common practice for us good little latch key children to go home, unlock the door, lock it behind us, and wait for the adult to come home.

As I got older, my Gen X brother was responsible for any lag time between when we got home and my Mom got home. He went to Junior High when I was in 2nd grade, leaving me home about 30 minutes before he got home.

To keep us out of trouble, we had certain responsibilities aka chores to do before my Mom got home. This kept us busy and out of mischief. It also taught us a lot about self reliance and independence.

Gen Xer's are a freakin' independent lot...

So it's no wonder we became to be known as slackers once we got a bit older. With all that responsibility we faced as little kids, something had to give once we were old enough to really do what we wanted to do.

Ahhh, rebellion. You gotta love it.

I mean, think about it. What did we Gen Xer's inherit? The first Generation in America (Boomers) that didn't really give a fuck about the next (Xer's). It's true. The ME Gen was to self absorbed to worry about a measly little Generation like us, as THEY were the ones who really mattered.


They gave us Disco. That in itself should condemn them to Hell. While as teenagers they enjoyed sexual freedom, we as teenagers were scared out of our collective minds by the AIDS epidemic. While they experimented with their drugs as teenagers, they brought Crack to our inner cities as adults and ruined them about the time most of us would think about smoking a joint.

We've got the shaft. We've been collectively fucked by society over and over again.

But we soldier on. We will be in our 50's before we get the promotions that the Boomers got in there 30's. Hey, at least by then our educations might be paid for by the time we are 50, unlike the generations before that saw relatively affordable tuition fees and didn't have to sell off their first born to go to college.

I think I'll save my second account for tomorrow, as this post is long, and my Gen X ass is tired. I'll also let you in on why my Grandpa, who is from "The Greatest Generation" believes that Generation X will inherit that title...

Monday, February 21, 2005

It's Almost Time...

It's almost that time of year again. The Women's Superbowl is coming up this weekend, and I can hardly wait...

It's not like there is anything really exciting going on with the Oscars this year. There are no big movies, nothing that will really be a big surprise (Jaime Foxx anyone?) unless Marty finally scores a win...

Oscar day is a dedicated Jammie Day. R and the niece and some other close friends come over, all in their Jammies. It is also a well known fact that on Oscar Day nothing has calories or sugar, so all bets are off when it comes to food intake...

There is one thing about this year's Oscars that is rather disturbing. Gil Cates, the producer of the lovefest, is proposing some changes to this year's format to make it run shorter.

The "less glamorous awards", you know, the hard working folks that do make up and sound and costume design and lighting, will get their awards at their seat.

This is so wrong on every possible level. Trust me, cutting down the Oscars to under 12 hours is a good idea, but why take away a moment in the spotlight for these people that are never in the spotlight? I mean hell, without these people the "glamorous" people wouldn't look so "glamorous", they'd look like us for fuck's sake!

I mean really. It's always kind of bothered me when you see the people coming down from the North Pole in their parkas to accept their award when there are a ton of seats in front filled with people like Demi Moore who aren't even nominated for an award. Or you see people like Nicole Kidman's little kids filling the front seats while the poor screenwriter treks 5 miles to receive their award.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

His other idea I read about over at MSNBC is to gather all the award nominees on stage. I have to admit, this could be kind of interesting, watching all the losers standing behind the winner, listening to their acceptance speech with a smile frozen on their face. The one time botox might actually come in handy for an actor...

But that is my sadistic side speaking I suppose, as that would be really, really mean....Funny, but mean...

I'm still excited about it, and I'll plan my menu and get ready for the Estrogen fest that begins around noon with the pre-shows and drooling over the gowns and the jewelry.

If they don't do something with the Oscars pretty soon though, it might end with the Pre-Show, and we'll just drink margaritas and bitch about men until 11 o'clock...

Sunday, February 20, 2005

Where's Waldo?

Or better yet, where's kj?

Kj is working her little ass off.

I have this really huge project at work, and it is cutting into my writing time. Usually I write my posts at work when I take a break, but lately, I haven't exactly been getting a break.

It is one of those huge problem solving/time saving things, which is one of my fav things in the world. I love figuring out and doing something that some say is impossible. I live for that kind of stuff actually...

I still write every day, but my "at home" writing time is usually dedicated to my scripts, and after I've pounded out some pages on that bad boy I've expended my built up creative energy. The whole "impossible project" type deals also zap away at the creativity, so unfortunately not much is left over for my blog.

The really good news? I had a breakthrough on Friday, and my lil impossible project at work is about to become a reality next week. So next week will be a little rough while I implement it, but after that hopefully I will return you to your regularly schedule goofy blonde chick blog....

Don't fret though, as I'm sure I'll find junk to bitch about even though my creativity is zapped at the moment...

Thursday, February 17, 2005

Who's Keeping Score?

"What do you mean they don't keep score?" I asked the coach of my then-little nephew.

"We don't want the kids to feel bad that lose," he replied.

What the fuck?

Thus defines the new generation, the Echo Boomers.

I totally missed it last night, but I guess 60 Minutes had a special on about the "Echo Boomers" or "Generation Y" or whatever you choice of label for those born between 1982 and 1995.

I did find an interesting article over at CBS, and you can read it over here.

I know, I know....The Boomers told us X'ers that we'd never amount to anything. We were the beginning of this attention defict population, and we've pretty much turned out ok, or at least some have...It's really lame to beat up on the next generation, but damn what the hell have we done to these kids.

It's not totally the parents of these kids fault. Living in a totally different world, these children were the first to have "play dates" and be taught that being a team was better then being me. From CBS:

"Nothing could be more anti-boom than being a good team player, right? Fitting in. Worrying less about leadership than follower-ship," says Howe. "If you go into a public school today, teamwork is stressed everywhere. Team teaching, team grading, collaborative sports, community service, service learning, student juries. I mean, the list goes on and on."

That whole leadership thing is what makes us here in the USA a bit special I believe. The independent spirit. The creativity. The not following the pack. This generation seems content with following the crowd, with pleasing.

"They are more protected," says Howe. "They regard themselves as collectively special, because of the time in which they were raised."

Some people aren't special. Harsh? Yep...but true. If someone doesn't go out of their way to be special, or put the effort into being special, hang it up. What happens when you tell these kids they are special for just doing the minimum?

I shudder to think...

There was one point in the whole article about how if told to go play these kids just stare at you like a deer in the headlights. They are so used to being shuttled from activity to activity they don't know how to just play. Oh how I've seen this.

Even though I don't have kids, I pretty much raised my sisters kids, who are right in the middle of this new generation. Being raised by a single parent and a crazy Aunt, they didn't get the activity to activity limo service, and quite often had to go in their own backyard and "play".

When there friends came over, I could see it then. If we broke out the art supplies, they wanted to know what the project is. My niece and nephew would be busy creating, and their friends would want me to tell them what to make. I'd always tell them to make whatever they felt like making, and they'd just stare at me.

God forbid I leave them alone to think and create. I was supposed to be there to service them.

This is scary stuff folks...

So we've rasied a generation dependent on the one before to tell them what to do. They have a video game mentality, don't know how to think for themselves, and can't do things without being told each step.

Suddenly being an X'er and being called a slacker doesn't seem so bad...

Wednesday, February 16, 2005


So now that I have finally said goodbye to the past, I can now look to the future. What would I want in a man? Here's what a singles ad from me would look like:

SWF seeking SM

SWF, 34, seeks SM for friendship and possible romance. SM must be kind, generous, and ambitious. If SM is over 6' tall, that is a definite plus, but anyone over 5'9 will be accepted.

Some other things considered as pluses: Having a job, having a clue, and having patience. Must be ready, willing, and able to treat me in the manner in which I have become accustom to, or SM will quickly find himself replaced with the next SM who is over 5' 9 that is standing in line behind him.

SM must stay on his side of the bed except for jointly agreed upon activities, but must be willing to be used for heat when it is cold outside. SM will have to get along with the best friend and the best friend-in-law. No compromise on that one.

He must also tolerate the other 7 crazy fuckers that are my good friends.

SM must be brave as my Dad and Brother are 6'5 and 6'4 respectively, and they would kill on site if someone hurt me.

So ya think he exists?


Tuesday, February 15, 2005

Valentine's Booty

Not that kind of booty you pervs...

I cleaned up in the Valentine's Day present category. My inspectors got me sugar free Fannie Mae (Fannie! Mae!) mint melt-a-ways...My repairmen got me roses...My boss got me daisies...My other boss got me a Coach scarf...My used to be boss got me a gift certificate for a pedicure (YaY!).... The Teamsters got me these really cool sugar free heart shaped suckers that were in this really cool looking bouquet...

The paint department got me a Vermont Teddy Bear...The body department got me this really cool bouquet of balloons and they were all shaped like the little hearts with the messages (Be Mine, etc..) on them...The Original Party People sent me a card with a pic of them and my Grandpa smack dab in the middle of a Mardi Gras parade and a really cool looking necklace...(I asked her if I could post the picture on the Internet and she said "Oh HELL no!")

My brother got me a cute pair of silver chandelier earrings...Niece and nephew got me...

Shit this could take awhile and it sounds like bragging here so I'll just stop...

It did make me think of something though. As I was walking out of work with two guys to help carry all the wonderful "I appreciate and love you" presents, I noticed something. There were other people that had a heart shaped box of candy or a balloon or two.

There were an awful lot of people that didn't have anything, and said things like "Damn where'd you get all that stuff?!?!"

The "Cool Kids" still exist in adulthood, and I'm a "Cool Kid."

Who woulda thunk it? Not that I was unpopular as a teen, quite the contrary. I wasn't the most popular, but I had an awful lot of friends. It seems that my status has been elevated substantially as I've gotten older...

It reminded me of something that David Arquette once said. Yes, I'm going to quote David Arquette.

It went something like this: "It's amazing that the things that made you unpopular as a kid, things like compassion and empathy make you a really cool adult."

Oh I hope that is true. Otherwise my ass is just tighter then all the other girls...

Monday, February 14, 2005

Happy Valentine's Day

So the Prince climbed into his white limo and left without his Princess. He shall not be known as the one that got away, but the one she finally let leave...

It truly is a happy Valentine's Day,even if it's a bit bitter sweet, as the Princess can finally look to the future and know that there are other Prince's out there, and for the first time in a long time she actually might be able to give them a chance.

Friday, February 11, 2005

The Beginning of the End

I've always kind of thought that Valentine's Day was a bit of an unlucky day for me, as I've had bad experiences with several of the X's on this day. In continuation from yesterday, V-Day was the beginning of the end with me and The Mystery Man.

He had moved away for probably about a year when he got a new personal assistant. She was young, early twenty-ish, kind of shy, kind of mousy. I'm sure any attention from this ruggedly handsome, early 30's, powerful, rich man was quite a rush for her. She had a king sized crush on my boyfriend, which I thought was incredibly adorable.

Yes, I said incredibly adorable. I don't think I have a jealous bone in my body. Usually I chalk up my security to arrogance as why on Earth would anyone do something that would fuck up a relationship when they were with ME? Terrible, I know, but it's one of my finer qualities I think...

Anyway, the PA had this huge crush on him, and didn't exactly appreciate me to much I'm sure. She was never mean to me or anything of that sort, but she was always disappointed if I called, with the whole "oh, it's you" tone to her voice. It was worse on the weekends, as she seemed a bit depressed when I was there. He'd always give her the weekend off, but usually she found a reason to come around.

God, I wouldn't be in my early 20's again for anything in the world....

So where was I? Oh yes, the beginning of the end. It was V-Day, and he called to see if I got my present. We were going to celebrate that following weekend when we were together, but he insisted on me having my present ON V-Day, which at first I thought was rather sweet.

I didn't get it the day before, and he was a bit ticked off. He said he had sent the PA to send it and told her to make sure I'd get it on the 14th.

Well, right before I left for work the lovely folks at the USPS showed up, and I signed for my package. I called him up, and opened it while he was on the phone.

The first thing I noticed was that beautiful Tiffany blue box. Expensive was running through my head, but I had gotten used to him being able to spend a bit more then your average boyfriend. As long as he didn't go to overboard I didn't protest.

So I opened it. Inside was a really beautiful diamond and gold earing, bracelt, and necklace set.

I was so pissed off you wouldn't believe. Why, you may ask? First off, I'm allergic to gold.

Yes, he was well aware of that fact and had bought jewerly for me in the past, which was never gold because of it. It was also a bit showy, and I'm not a big fan of diamonds, especially real big ones.

Yes, I'm strange. Great big rocks belong on the hand of a 50 year old, not a 30 year old.

Anyway, what did this all equal? This all equaled not only did his PA send it, she also picked out my Valentine's Day present.

I didn't go off on him, but quietly asked him if he forgot I was allergic to gold. "It's gold???" he asked.


He eventually broke down and admitted that he sent the PA out with his credit card to pick out my present, but that he had specifically told her not to get gold because I was allergic to it.

I dont' know about you, but I'm guessing she did it on purpose. I'm guessing he thought she did to, because he fired her for doing it.

So how was this the beginning of the end? I'm sure a lot of guys probably have other people pick out presents for their significant others.

A guy I would want to be with wouldn't do that.

He'd know me well enough to know what to get, and take the time to pick it out. Hell, he at least could have looked at it before he sent it.

In actuality I would have been happy with a card and some daisies. I would have been tickled pink. He spent an awful lot of money to just piss me off.

This kind of made me see the differences between us I guess. In my family, gift giving is never about the amount of money spent, but the thought that is put into it. He came from a totally different world then me, and once his guard was down, I started seeing just how much he expected to "buy" different things in life, including me.

Except I could care less about that kind of stuff, and my ass isn't for sale.

So I don't know if he had gradually worked his way up to buying things I normally wouldn't except, or if he was just comfortable enough by that time to be more like himself?

It seemed like if something was wrong between us money would fix it. He could send me something expensive or take me to an exotic location for the weeekend.

For me, all this did was make things worse, and that is why this first experience was the beginning of the end....

Thursday, February 10, 2005

Rock 'em Sock 'em Robots

V-Day is almost upon us, and two blogs out there have inspired my post today. Rance's site has V-Day as the Essay topic for today, and Pink Poppy talks about her trials and tribulations with getting a gift from Tiffany's.

At Rance's I commented on how my favorite gift ever for V-Day was Rock 'em Sock 'em Robots, from The Mystery Man.

Yes, I know it sounds weird, but hear me out. Any of you that have read about TMM know that he was rather comfortable finacially. Actually, the man probably couldn't spend his money in this lifetime unless he really, really tried.

I was never comfortable reaping the benefits of having such a well off boyfriend. I've always worked for everything I have, so being lavished with expensive gifts just wasn't my style. He never quite understood this, as he had always dated women who were more then happy to let him buy them whatever he wanted.

This made holidays and the like rather difficult for him, as he was used to just being able to plop down a chunk of change at the jewelers and be done with it. Our first V-Day was rather stressful for him, as he didn't know what the hell to get me. We had our first Christmas and rounds of birthdays already, and he had done rather well with both of these, but V-Day was stressing him out.

He ended up buying me Rock 'em Sock 'em Robots, with a beautiful card explaining that he wanted to give me something that would bring up good memories of a time that I loved. We'd been together almost a year at this point, and he remembered some of my stories about how my brother and I would play Rock 'em Sock 'em Robots all day long on rainy days.

Listen up men, nothing is more priceless then paying attention. Nothing.

So we had an interesting V-Day game of Rock 'em Sock 'em Robots, with the loser having to do the winners ummm...bidding.

I've received several emails asking why the hell he and I didn't last, and you'll find out tomorrow when I continue this post. It has to do with how on our 3rd V-Day a gift from Tiffany's and a jealous assistant were the beginning of our end...

Stay tuned...

Wednesday, February 09, 2005

I'm With Stupid

I'm going to get one of those T-shirts that says "I'm with stupid" for next Saturday night. While I'm at it, I'll get him one that says "I'm with stupid" too.

You see, next Saturday night, The Mystery Man is going to blow into town for Valentine's Day.

Stupid. I know this is stupid, yet I cannot seem to help myself. Maybe we'll be able to behave this time...

It started out innocently enough. We still talk a lot, and have maintained a great friendship. We are able to stay friends as long as we do not see each other in person. I've seen him in person exactly one time since we stopped dating, and our friendship landed smack dab in the middle of the pile of discarded clothes in my foyer. We didn't even make it 20 seconds, for fuck's sake.

So three couple friends of mine are going to this really freakin' cool restaurant that I've been dying to go to for like ever. Sorry potential cyber stalkers, I'm not gonna tell you what it is, so you'll just have to try harder.

There are a couple of guys that have asked me out lately, but V-Day is a horrible way to have a first date. No thanks. I honestly don't mind being a 5th wheel, or 7th wheel as the case may be. It doesn't bother me in the least bit, and on more then one occasion I'd rather be the 5th wheel then part of a couple.

But it's Valentine's Day, for fuck's sake. I was lamenting about what I should do to him on the phone, and he offered to be my pseudo date.


I mean, it's been awhile since I saw him-6 months or somewhere around there. We talk about people we date. We truly act like friends, and we both just want to see the other one happy.

For some reason unbeknownst to me, my clothes just seem to fly off when I'm around this man. His tend to do the same when he's with me.

One good thing is he'll get here right before our reservations, so at least the clothes will have to stay on until dinner is over.

Maybe they'll be able to stay on all night. Maybe we have finally gotten over that hump (no pun intended), and we can truly be just friends.

I'm not sure if that makes me happy or disappointed, or a little of both. We shall see I guess...

Monday, February 07, 2005

The Ad Bowl Sucked

So I went to my best friend's house for our annual "Let's totally annoy her hubby by ignorning the game, and bitching about the game until the commercials come on."

It sucked ass, hardcore.

I don't know if it was the morality police or just a true lack of vision, but the commercials just sucked. I have a tendancy not to point at the morality police, because things don't have to be offensive or deviant to still be funny.

There were a couple of good ones. Call me biased, but the Ford Mustang commercial was good. The company explained how it would just be irresponsible to come out with a convertible Mustang this time of year, as a cop walks up to a frozen driver at a green light.

A red Mustang convertible. I WANT ONE. (Sorry Rich, they got to me.)

I liked the diet pepsi truck commercial with P. Diddy, and the sad, sad truth it showed about American culture. Yes, if P. Diddy drove a diet pepsi truck, everyone would. Same for Cedric designated driver commercial. That was pretty funny, with a hell of a message.

The career builder commercials with the monkeys were the best, if you ask me. It kind of reminded me of my own workplace, so I might be biased again. The monkey kissing the bosses ass, and when the monkey picked up the phone and the dude said, "It didn't ring" were two of the only laugh out loud moments I had during the whole ad bowl.

There was one commercial that I'm not sure if it was funny or clever. All I know is Brad Pitt was in it, and R and I just said "Brad Pitt Eeeeeeeeeeeee!" We then zoned out in Brad Pitt heaven as we watched him strut down a street with people following him to some cheesy rock song.

I don't remember what it was advertising, I don't remember if it was funny, but it had Brad! Pitt! in it. Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

I'm so not going to watch these damn Super Bowls anymore if the damn advertisers don't get off their collective asses and start producing some funny shit.

My best friend-in-law was pretty understanding during all of this girl heaven stuff going on, as he tried to focus on the game. He did an eye roll at the Brad Pitt Teenie Bopper Scream, but he was a brave soldier and stayed with us.

Around the 3rd quarter I think it's called? I looked at my best friend and said, "That thrower guy just sucks!"

"What do you mean, that thrower dude?" the best friend-in-law asked. R chimed in, "The dude that throws the ball...Duh..."

"YOU MEAN THE QUARTERBACK???" he practically yelled.

"Yeah, the thrower dude," we said in unision.


Some people...

Friday, February 04, 2005

Let the Games Begin!

Yes, it is Superbowl weekend and I am excited. Even though I didn't know who was playing in the Superbowl until the other day, it doesn't mean I can't enjoy it, right?

In a really good post, Rich Rosenthall II talks about the sadness that is people who watch for commercials and how it must give the consumer Gods an orgasm.

I'm sorry Rich, but I'm one of these people. Please don't be to disappointed in me.

So every year I head on over to the best friend and best friend-in-law's house for the Superbowl, as the best friend R and I have been watching it together for shit probably 27 years. The best friend-in-law T came into the picture about 14 years ago, and we like him so we let him stay.

T really is a saint for putting up with us. While he tries to watch the game we are all talking and laughing and joking. Every once in awhile he'll just shake his head or give us a good eye roll.

Then a commercial comes on. "Shhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!" we'll both say together. He'll get up to go to the bathroom (go to the bathroom during the commercials?? Is he nuts???) and we'll yell at him to get the hell out of the way.

I'm sure it would be much more fun for him to watch the game with guys, but over the years R and I seem to have scared them all off on the big football day. They never come back. I wonder why?

A lot of thought and really good writing it put into these commercials. Remember the one where the guy goes running into the bedroom, slips off the satin sheets, and goes flying out the window? The Osborn's turning into Donny and Marie?

There are so many funny ones it would be impossible to name them all. I'm sure you all remember when Superman walked and when the clydesdale's bowed to New York City.

The thought of that damn Clydesdale one can still bring tears to my eyes, and did when originally shown. R also got weepy, as did T. See, at certain times watching the Superbowl with two crazy chicks has it's benefits.

But before you take me off your blog roll Mr. Rosenthall II, there is one thing you should know. After the game is over, the beer bottles cleaned up, and the extra pounds gained, we'll usually rehash some of the commercials that were our favorites.

We can't ever remember what they are selling in those commercials.

Yes, that is right. Unless it has something like the Clydesdales, which most know is from Bud, we'll rack our collective brains to remember what the hell the commercial was for.

I'm pretty sure this wouldn't make the advertising Gods happy.

So what was your fav past Superbowl commercial? Even though I'm a comedy chickie, I'd still have to go with the Clydesdales crossing the country to bow at NYC.

Thursday, February 03, 2005

Get your Scrimshaw!

For those of you who have lived in a closet and haven't been reading the adventures of Gus Openshaw, there is a new site on the horizon.

It is for his book, The Pirates of Pensacola.

One of his shipmates, Nelson, is starting a blog over there. Not only is that exciting in itself, but if you send in a pirate story, you can get yourself scrimshawed by Flarq, the harpoonist. Now if you click that scrimshaw link, you will see just how talented Flarq is, and how cool would it be to have someone draw you who is that talented?

Check it out folks, it's totally worth it.

*Any of you looking for the Tall Poppy story, keep on truckin' it's right under this post*

My Mom, The Tall Poppy

One of my favorite, dearest blog friend, Pink Poppy, is going out of town to see her best friend get hitched, (see how I'm throwing the southern references in there Poppster?) and she asked for people to send in a few essays on different subjects on Tall Poppy's and the ever loathesome weeds.

I was supposed to post mine on Thursday, but it is up on her blog now, so here ya go! My story of how my Mom taught me to deal with the weeds of life:

Growing up, people always associated my Mom with some celebrity.
"Your Mom looks like Marilyn Monroe!" or "Your Mom looks like Farrah
Fawcett!" were common phrases heard around the block. I know, Marilyn
and Farrah look absolutely nothing like each other, but she was so
beautiful people felt a need to compare her to a celebrity I guess.

She also had a very successful career while raising three kids. I
supposed my Dad was more progressive then most men at the time, and he
helped out with our rearing as much as she did. We never really had
babysitters, as my Dad would get us off to school, and my Mom would
get home as our bus was pulling up.

Class, style, beauty, and compassion are just some of the words I
would use to describe my Mom. She also has a wicked sense of humor,
and is loved by most everyone she meets, except for the weeds, of

Back then, in my small Indiana hometown, most women were still
housewives. An awful lot of them were pretty dated, and they hadn't
much bothered updating their look from the day they had gotten
married. My Mom floated into school plays and sporting events like an
angel from heaven. She didn't look like any of the other Moms.

One year she volunteered to be the field trip Mom. All the kids in my
3rd grade class begged to go with her. The other three Moms that
volunteered also were not amused by this, not one bit. The children
chosen to go with my Mom cheered, while the other kids voiced their
disaproval with a resounding "Awwww!" when they found out the had to
go with one of the other Moms.

On the bus ride home, I learned what a real weed was. A couple of my
friends had to go with the other Moms, and they were a bit upset when
they got back to the bus. We sat in the back of the bus, with all the
Moms in the front.

When I asked what was wrong, they told me the other Moms had been
talking about my Mom. "What did they say?" I asked. It ranged from
how my brother, sister, and I must be neglected, to my Mom looked like
a tramp. They said these things in front of the other kids, FFS!

My Mother, the classy southern woman that she is, has never looked
like a tramp a day in her life. I wasn't exactly sure what that meant
at the time, but I knew it was bad. Real bad.

This is when my Father's Loyalty DNA kicked in and I marched my butt
up to the front of the bus. My Mom saw my face, as did the other
women who were currently being sweet as pie to the woman that
neglected her kids and looked like a tramp.

"What's wrong Dahhling?" my Mom asked as she pulled me up on her lap.
"They are bad women. They said bad things about you to the other

Dead silence. The whole bus.

"Sweetheart, go back and sit down. Everything is just fine. I'm sure
it is all a misunderstanding that will be cleared up later. Now

I could tell by her eyes that everything was not just fine, and she
was mad as hell. Nothing, but nothing was worse then making this
woman angry.

Now that I'm an adult, I can realize how horrid the rest of the bus
ride must have been for my Mom, and for the weeds. Thankfully we were
just a couple of minutes from home when this all happened.

On the car ride home, I sat in silence. "What's the matter, you?" my
Mom asked. "Why didn't you yell at them? Why didn't you say

"Did you like it when other kids said bad things about me?" she asked.
I shook my head no. "Then don't you think the children of those
women would have been embarrassed if I said something bad about their
Moms?" I said she was right.

"Besides, jealous people are not worth your breath or your energy.
They won't listen to what you have to say, and they will just have
something else to talk about if you lose your cool. Remember that."

And so I have. Over the years, even to this day, I have heard bits
and pieces of little snide remarks and passive aggressive comments
directed towards my Mom. Instead of infuriating me, it almost makes
me smile, knowing my Mom must be real special to have so many that are
so jealous of her.

Tuesday, February 01, 2005


All work and no play makes for a dull and/or cranky kj.

I'd been pounding out my script all weekend, and I had to work on Sunday. After work going home and pounding out more words just didn't seem like all that much fun, and I decided I was in desperate need of some fun.

I called up the brother, to see if he could sneak out of the house without his wife and/or kids. I only had to work 8 hours, and seeing how my brother does most of his work at night, I knew he'd be up.

As it was, a prison break was in the cards for him. Speaking of cards, we decided to go gambling...

So I hit the crap table like always and just killed them. With a nice supply of their money in my pocket, I went out looking for some more fun options. My bro was playing blackjack, which I suck at, so I scoped out these new Multi-Strike Poker machines.

You get 4 hands of poker. If you win the first you go to the second. If you win the second, you go to the third. And so on, and so on. If you lose, you're done.

I sit down, put in some money, and begin to play. It was quite fun actually, and I was betting rather riskily since it was their money after all. My money and a good chunk of their money was safely put away in my purse, not to be touched.

Then it happens. This Neanderthal guy sits down next to me. He's watching my machine more then his own. Or watching something that is. Ok, the jerk was staring at my breasts.

I didn't want to move, as my little machine was paying rather well. I got a hand with 2 4's, a king, a queen, and a 9.

So the 4's stayed and the rest were given away to the reshuffle Gods.

"Whoah there sweetheart, you don't want to do that!" he tells me, smirking.

I just gave him my patented Stare of Death© and kept playing.

First of all, I hate when people I don't know call me sweetheart. If someone I know calls me sweetheart or sweetie or honey or cutie, I think it's rather sweet. When someone calls me that and I don't know and/or like them, it just feels so damn patronizing. Especially in that tone. You know what I'm talking about ladies... Bastard.

Secondly, how does he know I don't know what I'm doing? Fucker.

"You see, if you get Jacks or Better you will win and go to the next level," he tells me.

"I'm well aware of that," I say as I roll my eyes. Some people just don't get the hint, ya know? I could have told him how much I was up, and how I had a little room to take a little bit more of a risk. That would require talking to him, and I had already said 5 words too many to the bastard.

"Here, watch what I am doing," he tells me. What the FUCK?? Dude. Get a clue? I ignore him and continue to play, wondering if this machine is really worth it.

So I keep playing and acting like the jerk is invisible as he does little snorts when I lose. I really, really want to backhand him by now.

Then it happened. I got to the 4th level, and I had an Ace, a 3, a 4, and two 5's showing. I touched the two 5's to hold them, and just as I was about to hit the deal button, he reached over and touched the Ace.

"Don't throw that away!!" he exclaimed. I calmly unclicked the Ace, looked right at him and said, "If you touch my machine again I'll break your fingers." in my most threatening voice, which isn't real threatening at all. I was hoping the fire in my eyes was more then enough for this idiot to know I meant business.

I hit the deal button, and low and behold, two more 5's came up. So that was 4 of a kind, on the 4th line, which is 8 times the payout. It was like $1200.00.

So I pushed the cash out button and waited for my ticket to print.

As I grabbed my ticket and my card, I did something really immature and out of character for myself. I waved the $1200.00 ticket at him and said, "Fucker!" Then I walked away.

Now I know I curse like a drunken sailor on this blog, but I rarely do in real life. Perhaps this blog is having a bit of an affect on me, eh?