The Fuck?

How irritating is Jenny Lewis? She's pretty, she sings good, and she writes great songs.

Alright, now, I may not have mentioned this before but I really really really love Elvis Costello. Not in a "OMG! I'm his number one fan!" kind of way. But in a "He's the best. I love everything he does and he's hot" kinda way. The other night, I even had a sweet dream about him (call me!!).

Anywhore, I don't know where I heard it but apparently my main man EC is a big fan of this tweeting tart JL. Grrr. At first, I found this endorsement harmless. Thought it served to justify my admiration and appreciation for Rilo Kiley. Now it seems this shit's gone to her head. No more band, dudes. She's on her own. Bitch is having Diana Ross hallucinations! But it doesn't stop there. Check this out:



Hrmph! Nice jumpsuit, Lynda Carter. Oh, Hey--Sgt. Pepper called, he want's his jacket back.

Why I oughta!

OMFG!

Needless to say, I am over the moon!

Label Whore

In an interview with NBC news anchor Brian Williams, Sarah Palin, when asked whether or not she considered herself a feminist, said she doesn't like to label herself. Hmm. Really, Hockey Mom? Is that right, Pitbull in Lipstick? You don't say, Maverick? Seriously, Miss Wasilla? Don't like labels, huh? Well, I mean, except for Chanel, Valentino, Gucci, etc.
Hey, Sarah--remember when you said this?

“It’s like kind of providential yesterday what happened to me,” Palin said. “I am reading on my Starbucks mocha cup the quote of the day. You’ll never believe what the quote was! It was Madeleine Albright, former secretary of state and U.N. ambassador, and Madeleine has as her quote of the day for Starbucks — now she said it, I didn’t say it — ‘There is a place in hell reserved for women who don’t support other women.’

Actually, she said there's a place in hell for women who don't "help" other women, but whatever. Just want to make sure that I understand there's a place in hell for me if I don't "support" a woman who doesn't "support" other women?

Christopher Buckley Says Goodbye to NR, Republican Party

Christopher Buckley's Obama endorsement hasn't gotten as much attention as Colin Powell's, but at least the Right-Wing Blowhards can't call it "race based."
Through his blog on "The Daily Beast" Christopher Buckley (son of William F. and contributor to conservative publication "The National Review") wrote of his decision to support Obama. Shortly after, he decided to leave the NR. It's a good story, check it out.

From The Daily Beast:

I seem to have picked an apt title for my Daily Beast column, or blog, or whatever it’s called: “What Fresh Hell.” My last posting (if that’s what it’s called) in which I endorsed Obama, has brought about a very heaping helping of fresh hell. In fact, I think it could accurately be called a tsunami.

The mail (as we used to call it in pre-cyber times) at the Beast has been running I’d say at about 7-to-1 in favor. This would seem to indicate that you (the Beast reader) are largely pro-Obama.

As for the mail flooding into National Review Online—that’s been running about, oh, 700-to-1 against. In fact, the only thing the Right can’t quite decide is whether I should be boiled in oil or just put up against the wall and shot. Lethal injection would be too painless.

I had gone out of my way in my Beast endorsement to say that I was not doing it in the pages of National Review, where I write the back-page column, because of the experience of my colleague, the lovely Kathleen Parker. Kathleen had written in NRO that she felt Sarah Palin was an embarrassment. (Hardly an alarmist view.) This brought 12,000 livid emails, among them a real charmer suggesting that Kathleen’s mother ought to have aborted her and tossed the fetus into a dumpster. I didn’t want to put NR in an awkward position.

Since my Obama endorsement, Kathleen and I have become BFFs and now trade incoming hate-mails. No one has yet suggested my dear old Mum should have aborted me, but it’s pretty darned angry out there in Right Wing Land. One editor at National Review—a friend of 30 years—emailed me that he thought my opinions “cretinous.” One thoughtful correspondent, who feels that I have “betrayed”—the b-word has been much used in all this—my father and the conservative movement generally, said he plans to devote the rest of his life to getting people to cancel their subscriptions to National Review. But there was one bright spot: To those who wrote me to demand, “Cancel my subscription,” I was able to quote the title of my father’s last book, a delicious compendium of his NR “Notes and Asides”: Cancel Your Own Goddam Subscription.

Within hours of my endorsement appearing in The Daily Beast it became clear that National Review had a serious problem on its hands. So the next morning, I thought the only decent thing to do would be to offer to resign my column there. This offer was accepted—rather briskly!—by Rich Lowry, NR’s editor, and its publisher, the superb and able and fine Jack Fowler. I retain the fondest feelings for the magazine that my father founded, but I will admit to a certain sadness that an act of publishing a reasoned argument for the opposition should result in acrimony and disavowal.

My father in his day endorsed a number of liberal Democrats for high office, including Allard K. Lowenstein and Joe Lieberman. One of his closest friends on earth was John Kenneth Galbraith. In 1969, Pup wrote a widely-remarked upon column saying that it was time America had a black president. (I hasten to aver here that I did not endorse Senator Obama because he is black. Surely voting for someone on that basis is as racist as not voting for him for the same reason.)

My point, simply, is that William F. Buckley held to rigorous standards, and if those were met by members of the other side rather than by his own camp, he said as much. My father was also unpredictable, which tends to keep things fresh and lively and on-their-feet. He came out for legalization of drugs once he decided that the war on drugs was largely counterproductive. Hardly a conservative position. Finally, and hardly least, he was fun. God, he was fun. He liked to mix it up.

So, I have been effectively fatwahed (is that how you spell it?) by the conservative movement, and the magazine that my father founded must now distance itself from me. But then, conservatives have always had a bit of trouble with the concept of diversity. The GOP likes to say it’s a big-tent. Looks more like a yurt to me.

While I regret this development, I am not in mourning, for I no longer have any clear idea what, exactly, the modern conservative movement stands for. Eight years of “conservative” government has brought us a doubled national debt, ruinous expansion of entitlement programs, bridges to nowhere, poster boy Jack Abramoff and an ill-premised, ill-waged war conducted by politicians of breathtaking arrogance. As a sideshow, it brought us a truly obscene attempt at federal intervention in the Terry Schiavo case.

So, to paraphrase a real conservative, Ronald Reagan: I haven’t left the Republican Party. It left me.

Thanks, anyway, for the memories, and here’s to happier days and with any luck, a bit less fresh hell.

And a link to the original endorsement (if you're interested):

Knock On Wood

Who Knew?

Warning: Editorializing Ahead

It's no secret to anyone who sees me on a daily basis that I am no fan of Sarah Palin. Yes, there is a lot of gossip about her out there. And to be fair, that stuff's personal. Like, the fact that she's against teaching sex-ed in schools and in favor of teaching abstinence despite the fact that she has a knocked-up teenage daughter has nothing to do with her policies or her ability to make executive decisions. Sure, just prior to accepting McCain's offer to be his veep she wanted someone to explain what "exactly" it is that a VP does, but do YOU know what a VP does? Didn't think so. And yeah, seems she's got a reputation for firing (or having someone else fire) persons in her life who piss her off, but really--what does abuse of power have to do with the issues? And all this stuff about an affair? I mean C'mon! Just because the day after the interwebs picked up on the rumor the man she is alleged to have the affair with filed a motion with the Alaskan courts to have his divorce papers sealed and then another motion to expediate the first motion--so what?! That could mean anything. And even if she did have an affair, that is not how we should be judging someone's ability to do their job (ahem, Bill Clinton, cough cough John Edwards).
While I am getting sick of all the gossip about her (it is getting kinda old), I will say can you fucking imagine if Barack "Hussein" Obama had a pregnant teenage daughter who's baby daddy had a myspace page that said shit like "I'm just a nigga who likes to shoot shit up" and " I don't want to have kids"?! His campaign would be OVER. But, we love hypocrisy in this country so what is good for the white goose...you know where I am going.
In any event, tawdry tidbits aside and looking to the issues only, how can anyone believe a word this bitch says? And furthermore why, for example, when someone from CNN wants someone from her camp to answer for the fact that she said she told the Feds "No thanks!" to that "Bridge to Nowhere," when it is, in fact, the opposite of what she said, instead of an answer it's just "Look out for the 'liberal media'"? What, as Jerry Seinfeld would say, is the deal with that? It boggles the mind! I've attached here an article from those most liberally biased of sources Time magazine and CNN that summarizes nicely how full of shit and hypocritical this pitbull with lipstick is. Enjoy!

Sarah Palin thinks she is a better American than you because she comes from a small town, and a superior human being because she isn't a journalist and has never lived in Washington and likes to watch her kids play hockey. Although Palin praised John McCain in her acceptance speech as a man who puts the good of his country ahead of partisan politics, McCain pretty much proved the opposite with his selection of a running mate whose main asset is her ability to reignite the culture wars. So maybe Governor Palin does represent everything that is good and fine about America, as she herself maintains. But spare us, please, any talk about how she is a tough fiscal conservative.

Palin has continued to repeat the already exposed lie that she said "No, thanks" to the famous "bridge to nowhere" (McCain's favorite example of wasteful federal spending). In fact, she said "Yes, please" until the project became a symbol and political albatross.

Back to reality. Of the 50 states, Alaska ranks No. 1 in taxes per resident and No. 1 in spending per resident. Its tax burden per resident is 2 1/2 times the national average; its spending, more than double. The trick is that Alaska's government spends money on its own citizens and taxes the rest of us to pay for it. Although Palin, like McCain, talks about liberating ourselves from dependence on foreign oil, there is no evidence that being dependent on Alaskan oil would be any more pleasant to the pocketbook.

Alaska is, in essence, an adjunct member of OPEC. It has four different taxes on oil, which produce more than 89% of the state's unrestricted revenue. On average, three-quarters of the value of a barrel of oil is taken by the state government before that oil is permitted to leave the state. Alaska residents each get a yearly check for about $2,000 from oil revenues, plus an additional $1,200 pushed through by Palin last year to take advantage of rising oil prices. Any sympathy the governor of Alaska expresses for folks in the lower 48 who are suffering from high gas prices or can't afford to heat their homes is strictly crocodile tears.

As if it couldn't support itself, Alaska also ranks No. 1, year after year, in money it sucks in from Washington. In 2005 (the most recent figures), according to the Tax Foundation, Alaska ranked 18th in federal taxes paid per resident ($5,434) but first in federal spending received per resident ($13,950). Its ratio of federal spending received to federal taxes paid ranks third among the 50 states, and in the absolute amount it receives from Washington over and above the amount it sends to Washington, Alaska ranks No. 1.

Under the state constitution, the governor of Alaska has unusually strong powers to shape the state budget. At the Republican National Convention, Palin bragged that she had vetoed "nearly $500 million" in state spending during her two years as governor. This amounts to less than 2% of the proposed budget. That's how much this warrior for you (the people) against it (the government) could find in wasteful spending under her control.

One thing Barack Obama and McCain disagree on is an oil windfall–profits tax. McCain is against it, on the theory that it is a tax and therefore bad, and also that it would discourage domestic production. Obama is for it, on the theory that if oil companies can make a nice profit when oil sells for $50 per bbl., they can still make a nice profit when it sells for more than $100, even if the government takes a bit and spreads the money around to those who are hurting from higher oil prices.

Although Palin's words side with McCain in this dispute, her actions side with Obama. Her major legislative accomplishment has been to revamp Alaska's windfall-profits tax in order to increase the state's take. Alaska calls it a "clear and equitable share" tax. The state assumes that extracting oil from the tundra costs about $25 per bbl. and takes as much as 75% of the difference between that and the sale price.

Why is a windfall-profits tax good for Alaska but not for the U.S.? Well, it's obvious, isn't it? People in Alaska are better than people in the rest of the U.S. They're more American. Although there are small towns and farms and high school hockey teams in the lower 48, there are fewer down here, per capita, than in Alaska. And there are many more journalists and pollsters and city dwellers and other undesirables who might benefit if every American had the same right to leech off the government as do the good citizens of Sarah Palin's Alaska.


Oh yeah, I forgot about the Jesus shit. Well, that's not really a big deal, though. I mean, you really can't compare scientific "theory" to a 2000 year old book written by different people and compiled at different times and edited over and over that says unicorns existed. Can you? Nah, she's probably right, God created Man and then used one of his (Adam's--he's the one dude God created) ribs to make a woman so that he could have a companion. Then they mated and so on and so on. That's how we got here. Don't know why that fact is so hard for this Darwin dude to grasp?

Dick In A Box

Growing up I was a really shitty student. Every year on the days leading up to the first day of school I would tell myself how this year was gonna be different. This would be the year I would show up to class, and even do my homework. Eh. We all break promises.
Unfortunately, there seems to be a pattern to my behavior. Every morning I am going to eat right that day, exercise even! Every Friday I am going to put some money aside, not spend what little money I earn willy-nilly so that when rent comes around I'm taking the change into Coinstar. Every time I clean the litter-box is the last time I let it get that bad--from now on, I am going to clean it everyday! And when I started this blog I wasn't going to be one of those "one-hit wonders," those "everyone else is doing it, I may as well join in-ers," I was going to post insightful, meaningful, and humorous content every day! So, my apologies dear reader(s) (?). From now on this blog is gonna be better, fresher, newer, and with more stain fighting power.
But if you'd just indulge me for a bit by letting me make an excuse for my inactivity, I'd like to point out that the problem is my job. It's uninspiring. It's monotonous. It's predictable. It's dull. Yes, it does provide me with plenty of free time, but it leaves me with only enough energy to contemplate what my next move is and how much longer I can last there.
Please don't tell anyone I work with. They are all very nice people. Well, nearly all of them--there is that one asshole, and that cranky old bag, and that woman who's rarely there what with her "sick kid," and who even when she is there can't manage to smile. And that says a lot coming from me. I have a hard time turning this frown upside down but am able to manage the task every once in awhile. In the end those people don't even matter. 92% of all my time is spent sectioned off away from my co-workers. I even have headphones on and listen to music lest I have to hear any of their voices. We see each other in the cafeteria come lunch time, but still manage to avoid conversing with each other while we all face the one 19" TV hanging in the corner tuned into CNN with no volume on. Then at quitting time, we tip-toe out in the fear that someone might notice it's a few minutes before the hour and make a comment about our "leaving early nearly everyday" to the wrong person.
I hear it's different with the smokers. Now that we're all sufficiently grossed out by cigarette smoke and totally offended by the puffing perpetrators they've managed to band together in a designated outdoor area and talk about the rest of us while they figure out what it takes to move ahead.
It is as Billy Corgan says it is: Despite all my rage I am still just a rat in a cage.
Well, I see that it's 9:56. Better get to bed, gotta get up early tomorrow morning.

Good Grief!

I know I'm easily annoyed, but shit's annoying. My new job is going well in the sense that I get paid, but not so well otherwise. I'm sure it isn't a good sign when less than two months after your first day you dread the place.
Today after the too long drive home but tolerable traffic, I stopped by the bank to deposit my paycheck. How do I do it? How am I able to spot the asshole every time? It's a talent, and it never fails. I pulled up to what I just knew would be the fastest moving lane only to sit behind some ding-dong who couldn't decipher her deposit receipt for twenty minutes. Twenty minutes! Here's how long I was there: I drove up to the front of the bank and noticed a young girl in the driver's seat of a parked Ford Falcon. I thought that was kind of a cool car for a young girl to have and for a minute thought of my cousin, who drove my Dad's old Mustang when she was in High School. Then I pulled around to the back of the bank to enter the drive-thru. While sitting behind the dimwit in the Kia with the "Keep Austin Weird" bumper sticker, I noticed the girl in the Falcon again. She had the door ajar, and her left leg was hanging out. She was text messaging, and, apparently, waiting. We were all waiting. Minutes later a tow-truck arrived--one of the downfalls of driving a cool old car: they rarely work--and she got out and met with the driver. They chatted, pushed her car a bit so that it lined up with the back of the truck. He affixed the necessary chains and whatnot to the underside of her car, she steered it safely onto the bed of the tow-truck. She rifled through her backpack for a check to pay the man. They chatted a bit more. She left. He left. And I'm still in the god-damn drive-thru! I could see part of the perpetually pokey woman's face in her side view mirror. She was wearing glasses with a chain attached, and they had a tiny bit of the cat-eye. Only, she wasn't 80 years old. Whatever the hell you call that canister that you put your business in came down the tube and I thought "Oh my god! Here we go. Finally!" But no, she sent something else up the tube! I was at a loss. I didn't wanna honk, but had to do something. I rolled down my window and shouted "C'mon!" No response. "What the fuck?!" Nothing. Finally, she got her shit together and rolled, yes rolled out. "Hit the gas bitch!"
Ugh. I really should have more patience, I know. I think though, at least this instance was legitimately more trying than most of the stuff that wears me out. Like when I'm texting and I'm trying to type "Food" and my phone suggests "Dood". Or when it wants to capitalize random words.
Here's one last thing that really annoys me that I just thought of and must share: Although this doesn't happen frequently, I have had the occasion to pay for my goods and wares with a hundred dollar bill. And, occasionally, some wise-ass cashier will feel it necessary to get out their magic pen and scribble on the currency in order to make sure the bill isn't counterfeit. Are you joking with me? Put your fucking pen away and put my money in the till before I lose it!
I've got to get a hold of one of those pens. I can't wait for the day I hand over a large bill and have it scrutinized. And then, when my change comes back--tens and twenties even--out comes the pen. Now, lets just see how clean your money is, Mr. Tom Thumb!

It's The Little Things

A week ago yesterday my bf and I had a blowout and he took off. It's been rough but looking on the bright side, some good things have happened this week.
- I got a car. Yeah, it's 10 years old. No, the AC doesn't work. But, it's mine; I don't have to ask permission to use it.
-I got my pants back from the cleaners. I had to have them altered and have never done that before. Perfect length. Very exciting.
-I got my first paycheck, and it was more than I was expecting.
-I got some new red shoes.
-I went to walk around the dirt track at St.Ed's and witnessed a bird in the middle of a mating dance--live and in person! He was all puffed up and walking weird, then he did this weird lift-off move and fluttered above the object of his desire like a hummingbird, bobbing up and down. She wasn't into him. It was kind of sad. Still cool to watch.
-I had two nice nights out w/ friends. One involving tasty margaritas and nachos.
-I took my ipod in to the Mac Store for "servicing" and found out it was still under warranty. They couldn't fix it so I got to trade mine in, which was a year and a half old, for a brand new one. For free!
-I spent quality time with the kitties.

Happy Fourth

“Any society that would give up a little liberty to gain a little security will deserve neither and lose both.”
Benjamin Franklin

Estrogen Powers, Activate!

Lately I've really been struggling with my identity as a feminist. Am I one? And if I'm not, am I supposed to be? Is it a bad thing? I mean, I certainly don't identify with the women out there who wouldn't vote (and apparently didn't) for Hillary not b/c they disagree with her politics, but rather b/c they feel the White House is no place for a woman. I can't stand those women. Then I have guilt about not standing them, since they're women and I'm a woman. I believe in Women's Rights. I believe things could be and should be better. I don't like to see women being objectified. But at the same time, there are a lot of women out there that get on my last damn nerve; that I relate to about as much as I relate to a Tibetan Monk. I just wanna say to them, "Who are you? And why are you the way that you are?" This is something I struggle with. The truth is that I have instincts that tell me that other women are my competition. I don't know if those instincts are biological, or sociological, but they're there. If you look better than me, then you must not be as smart as me. If you're smarter than me, then your personality must suck. If you've got a great personality, then you must be unattractive. Because if you look better than me, are smarter than me, AND have a great personality...I hate your guts. I don't want you around me or my friends, or any guy I find even remotely attractive--even if I'm currently unavailable to that guy. I don't want him to know that YOU exist. You old thunder stealer!
This is a very dark side of the fairer gender.
Then there are other times I wanna look out for other women. I want to talk to and confide in other women. I want to stick up for other women. Sometimes I even get a little Gloria Aldridge: "Tell me what he did to you Sister. Not only will I believe you, but I'll make sure everyone else does, even if the evidence suggest otherwise."
Sometimes I'm so hyper-sensitive about my gender, that I read into things, or take offense when none was intended. This happened last night. I was at a friend's with another friend hanging out and sharing some Prosecco and a little gossip. It was a girl's night. After a couple of hours her doorbell rings. It's a neighbor. He's had a few beers and his pregnant wife's hormones are a little more than he can handle so he decided to stop in and say Hi. During the course of casual conversation the subject of having twins came up. My one friend said it might be convenient, you know, having them all at once. My other friend who's a new mom said Hell No to all that. I bent each of my elbows up under my breast simulating having to hold two babies at the same time. "No free arms!" I point out. "How would you feed them?" "That's why you have two boobs!" a deep voice from behind me proclaims. Ugh. Really? You're hanging out with three women in their thirties on a Friday night while your pregnant wife is at home bellyaching about her swollen feet and you want us to know we have two tits so we can breastfeed two babies at the same time? I wasn't having it. The femi-nazi in me shoved the girl who laughs too hard at lame jokes told by hot guys aside and took over. I gave him a good glare, followed by a pronounced rolling of the eyes. Then, THEN, he starts talking about how he wishes he could be the one that stayed home with the baby all day while his wife went to work. But since he makes more money than she does it just wouldn't make sense. At this point I open my mouth. "You don't get it...It IS work...You're not a woman...You have NO idea, you're a GUY!" (dum, dum, dum). All the while I'm thinking "Oh! His poor wife!" My friends are silent. They tell the guy he's going to make a good dad. It's obvious they are trying to compensate for the tongue-lashing I just gave him. I start to wonder whose side they're on? OK, NO, I'm not a mom, but I know it's hard work. I know better than HE does, that's for sure. Fortunately the topic of conversation changes. Unfortunately, we moved on to politics. I wasn't having any of his conspiracy theory "Obama's running mate choice is being debated among white supremacists who are trying to figure out who they like enough to be President after they shoot him" bullshit. Finally he decided it was time to go home.
Then the shitty part came. Apparently, this guy's a real ace; does all the housework, the yardwork, runs all the errands, cooks all the food, etc, etc. Apparently, he's really excited about being a Dad and would, most likely, do a better job of taking care of his tot than his wife would. Oops. Guess I better take my eye-mask and my cape with the insignia of a giant tampon on the back of it off.
So, Mr. Nice Guy, if you're out there--I'm sorry, it was the estrogen talking.

It's A Dirty, Dirty World

I really, really like what this guy does. I have a similar fascination with dirt. I like to clean mainly for the before and after effect. I love all those commercials for cleaning products that show a kitchen counter or living room carpet or bathtub completely covered in dirt and muck until they take their superior spray product, or vacuum, and voilà--pristine again!
Like new...because no one likes old.
I also have similar experiences with dirt as this dude. I've worked in a number of restaurants and bars and on my down time couldn't help but look around to see what needed cleaning. Inevitably, I would find one particular dirty spot--spruce it up, step back, and then just like this dude see the contrast between my recently renewed spot and the rest of it, still covered in cigarette smoke or oven grease. It's overwhelming. It's like that Cinderella song "Don't Know What You've Got (Till It's Gone)".
Anyway, cheers to this dude. I wish he lived in my neighborhood instead of the thugs w/ spray paint who like to "tag" everything in sight with illegible letters and misspelled words that mean absolutely nothing to anyone but themselves. Dirtbags.

Thank God That's Over

Something I've always wanted to do but never really committed myself to working toward was going to law school. I thought, "that'd be cool. I'd like to be a lawyer." But then said to myself, "Naahhh. That's a lot of school, and it takes a lot of effort." Then recently, I decided What the Hell? I may as well take the damn LSAT and see how I fare. (I think I mentioned this in a previous post.) Well today, test day finally arrived.

After little preparation and much consternation I took my number two pencils and my current ID (which took a trip to the DMV beforehand) on up to UT to sit for five long, miserable hours with 95 or so recent college grads and bubble in answer sheets. The printable instructions online informed me that a number of items would not be allowed in the testing center. Namely, no cell phone. Furthermore, what items were allowed (wallet, ID, pencils, non-analog watch, sharpener, eraser, and highlighter pen) had to be brought in via a clear ziploc bag no larger than one gallon. Can you believe this shit? It's easier to get on a god damned plane than to take this fucking test!

My boyfriend (and myself to some extent) had concerns that since my photo ID was expired they (you know..."them") wouldn't let me take the test. As it turned out, it wasn't the paper renewal permit the "enforcer" had an issue with, but the actual photo on my old ID. He didn't believe it was me! OK, now, I know it was 10 years ago but jeezus! "Is this you?!" He asked. "Unfortunately" I responded. Silence. Lots of looking down at ID followed by looking up at me. "Are you serious?" I finally asked. "I mean, my hair is different yes. And I look more like my mom in that photo than I'd like to admit. But...c'mon! Have I aged that much?!" He wasn't convinced. He got another one of his "nobody's getting nothing by on us" crew members who asked me to "smile". I did (as best I could; I'm not a smiler anyway and didn't have much of a smile on in the photo). This seemed to work. She told him the smile matched and to check my signature--you had to sign your admittance ticket in front of them along with a thumb print. What drama! I kept thinking "Do I look like a fucking ringer to you?!"

The gestapo then took their roles pacing the aisles back and forth, making sure we didn't open our test booklets ahead of time, that no contraband were anywhere near our desks and that we weren't close enough to each other to get a good glance at a scantron, or worse, speak with one another.

And now, I'm just relieved it's all over. After five hours you don't even care how well you did, you just wanna go home.


(God...I hope I did OK)

You Don't Like Me. You Really Don't Like Me.

Ugh.
So after six years of college I finally finished and said to myself "You will never wait another table again." Oh, if only.
I thought it'd be so simple. I would graduate, then get a teaching job. Boo bureaucracy. Boo teaching certificates.
At first, it was fun-- work sucks, and I wasn't working, all's good.
Then I got broke and it got old. I applied for jobs I didn't want only to never hear from them. What sucks worse than that? It's like when you kinda date somebody you're not really into and then they break up with you.
I curse these people who reject me, each and every one of them.
Finally, last week I saw an ad on craigslist for a hip restaurant in town. It's always busy and totally casual. I thought "Alright, this is it. You need a job; suck it up!" So I went and applied. They called me the next day. I have tons of experience so I suspected they would. Then, I interviewed w/ two people. Not just one, no, he liked me so I advanced to the next boss dude. He seemed to like me. I began to think it was in the bag. In my mind I was already spending the money I was sure I'd soon be making: haircut, color, pedicure, new bag, new shoes....
"OK Shelly. We'll talk it over and get back with you in about three days."
"Oh. OK. Sounds Great. Thanks for meeting with me"
(tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock)
Cut to four days later. No call.
I feeling like calling them to say that they weren't the best candidate for me either. But, it's just sour grapes. And now, finally after 18 + years of work experience, I've learned that sour grapes leave "such a bad taste".

Hey you, new wave, come over here
You're the prettiest thing I've seen all year
Hey you, new wave, don't turn away
Close those pouty lips and listen to what I say
Why must you smoke that clove cigarette?
Why must you act like you've got a hole in you head?
Why don't you split the squares and love me instead?
You're all shiny and clean, I've seen you in my dreams
Like the Rolls Royce I can't have
Your presence makes me scream
Sour grapes - you leave such a bad taste
Sour grapes - I don't need you anyways
Sour grapes - feeding, feeding my rage
Hey you, new wave, I pity you
When you get old, what will you do?
What will you do when you turn 21?
You're cockteasing at the singles bar just for fun
What will you do when you turn 31?
What will you do when you don't know how to love anyone?
I wanted her cherry, I got sour grapes
I refuse to climb the ladder for you
I refuse to pant and paw for you
I need love, don't need no beauty queen
But still, when I look at you, I scream
Sour grapes - you leave such a bad taste
Sour grapes - I don't need you anyways
Sour grapes
Just go riding right by me on the crest of the new wave
Sour grapes - feeding, feeding my rage
Sour grapes

Wookin' Pa Nub

Man I need a break over here. I mean, yeah, I haven't been hitting the pavement as hard as I should have been, or should be. But, I check around on the interwebs and it seems the employment well has done run dry in this town.
Today I applied for a job waiting tables, something I told myself I'd never do again after I graduated college. What are you gonna do? Cash is King. We do whatever it tells us to. If you don't believe me, just check out that shiteously wrong show on Fox where people hook themselves up to a lie detector machine and embarrass themselves and their family on national television in the hopes of winning some cabbage. I'd like to say I'm above that, but...sure am hard up these days. Well, I just remembered that show "Don't Forget the Lyrics". If I was going to humiliate myself I think I'd go that way. So yeah, I'm above that.

The ad for the restaurant job said something about having a good sense of humor. I always wince when I read something like that, or hear people say they are looking for someone with a good sense of humor, or they have a friend who is "so funny!" Funny is subjective. I mean, apparently. Truth be told I believe that what's funny is whatever I say is funny. I'm sure Adam Sandler could make me giggle a few times were we to share a beer together, but I really don't understand his appeal at the box office. An Israeli counter-terrorist bad-ass who really wants to come to America to do hair? Really?
I was thinking about the really good comedians out there. The ones who broke ground. It's kinda sad. Richard Pryor died, Eddie Murphy got real lame, Dave Chappelle lost his mind, and I fear Chris Rock is heading the way of Eddie Murphy: crappy movie after crappy movie.
Then there's the alterna-comics: David Cross, Bob Odenkirk, Patton Oswalt, Brian Posehn, Zach Galifianakis, Michael Showalter, Sarah Silverman, Todd Barry, Blah Blah.
Mr. Show was good. So good nobody watched it. The Sarah Silverman Program is funny...for now.
I'm getting off point now, or I don't have one, or if I do I don't know what it is.
I guess what I'm getting at here is like that old joke: Two cannibals are eating a clown when the one says to the other "Does this taste funny to you?"

Unconnected

This past weekend I moved into a new place. It's smaller, but cozier, than my old place. More importantly, it's cheaper. What I didn't anticipate was the inability to steal my neighbor's wireless connection. Everyone around me now has their shit locked up. Stingy bastards. Well, I decided to bite the bullet and Time-Warner's coming on Friday to get me all hooked up. Until then I'm freeloading in public spaces. Man. Living w/o the internet sucks. Especially when you don't have a job. I depend on the world wide web not only to keep me entertained, but also to find a job.
Hanging out in a coffee shop all day sounds cool, but I have guilt about not spending money in a place I'm spending a lot of time in.
Anyway, it's starting to get crowded and loud in here, and I don't like people.
I'm working on getting a digital camera so you guys can get the big picture of what a day in my worthless hum drum life is like. 'Til then, use your imagination!

Don't Get Me Started. Don't Even Get Me Started.

I used to bartend at this place (name not important) in Dallas next door to an Italian restaurant. There was this one waitress over there who would come hang out at the bar at the end of every shift she worked. Sometimes even during shifts. She was all drama. Something shitty and unfortunate was always happening to her. She would sit and chain smoke and tell me all about it. I liked her, she was funny, but I always thought "man...this is what it all comes down to: how people cope." While listening to her and trying to remain sensitive to her problems, secretly I applauded myself for not getting so worked up about every little thing. "You're a coper!" I would tell myself. Well, those days are over. Things have so not gone my way for what seems like so long now that I am beginning to wonder what my breaking point is and when I'll hit it. I have to move out of my place in three days, and at this point I have no idea where I'm going to go. I haven't worked since December, and thought maybe law school would be a good idea. I signed up for the LSAT, have to take it in two weeks, and have given it about ten minutes of serious thought. I'm sure it'll go swimmingly. My diabetic cat suddenly started acting drunk earlier. I ended up having to take him to the vet to find out I've been giving him too much insulin. That cost me more money I had to borrow. And finally there's my boyfriend who, hmmm...let's see...how can I put this? Is a Class A Jerk? Yeah, I think that works.
I know everything will work itself out eventually. I'm lucky I have a kick-ass dad and supportive family. Otherwise I'd be thinking of something witty for a cardboard sign and standing my ass out on the corner of I-35 and Woodward with the "Why Lie? I need beer!" Guy. You would think that someone in my position would have empathy for those guys (and girls. and Vietnam Vets. and American Indians). And, deep down, I do. I know how easy it is to end up like that. But when I see them all I think is "Every little bit helps me too Motherfucker!"
Ugh! All I wanna do is win the lottery. Is that too much to ask?

Creepy Trail

Until May ends, I am living in an apartment complex that backs up to a wildflower preserve with a trail that goes around it. The trail is probably half a mile total, and part of it turns from dirt into a pebbled sidewalk that weaves behind a neighborhood. Now that it's Spring, it's much more scenic. There are lots of trees and wildflowers. Which are really just attractive weeds I guess. I don't have a camera, except for the one on my phone--which sucks--so I couldn't take a picture but found the one above on the internet. Mable Davis Skatepark is just down the way from my apt. You can't see the trail, but it's back there, behind the fence and then on the other side behind all those trees. See that little playground just to the right of the skatepark in the photo? With the yellow slide? It's fairly close to the trail. Anyway, it's nothing exciting but since gas is close to $73 a gallon I can't really justify driving to the trail at Townlake just to go for a walk, so I go there instead. But here's the thing: over the past, oh, I don't know, ten days or so, I've seen three separate creepy guys there. It's not a crowded trail. Sometimes I'm the only one out there. I let my imagination get the best of me, and on these three occasions I've let these creepy guys get to me, have turned my ass around to stay to the side of the trail that's not completely wooded, and come back home. One guy wasn't a guy really, more like 17. Anyway, he just stood in the middle of the trail, with a stick about three feet long, staring. Dexter is one of my favorite shows. I started thinking about it and got the feeling he was thinking hard about whether or not he and his stick could take me down. So I turned around. A few days later there was this guy who was probably homeless and harmless. I could see him up ahead of me, standing off to the side of the trail on the grass, flailing his hands around like he was arguing with an imaginary nemesis. When I got close enough for him to hear me, he stopped suddenly, turned to me and said "Oh! Sorry. I was just practicing!" He had a nick on his forehead and his jeans were dirty. I wasn't sure what he was practicing for and why he'd decided to do it there, so I hurried past him and then rather than make another loop went home.
Then yesterday, everything seemed like it was gonna be fine. I had seen a couple of other joggers out there, and a family of four. But then, on my third (and final) lap, as I'm halfway around I come up on some dude sitting Indian style smack dab in the middle of the trail. At first I figured him for a harmless hippie. But then, I couldn't be sure. It was just that there was no reason for him to be situated where he was. I imagined he wanted to slice my ankle with a switchblade as I passed by, so I turned around before I got to him.
Well, I'm getting ready to head back out there now. My little daily strolls around this creepy, and for the most part crappy, trail are the only activity I get beyond these four walls so I have to go.
Wish me luck.

Update: Just got back. Creep-free stroll.

Champion Procrastinator

If there's one thing in this world I'm good at, it's procrastination. Just thinking about all the things I need to get done makes my head spin. So, for the betterment of my mental state, I choose not to think about them. Or do anything about them. Then "tomorrow" comes, the day of getting things done, and it starts all over again.
I'm so envious of people who are proactive. Proactive people rule the world. They're not smarter, or more talented, or more capable than the rest of us--they're just doers.
Before I graduated last December, I should have had a plan. I'm not in my 20s anymore. It's not as though I wanted to take time off to find myself, or travel. I mean, it would have been nice, but, time's a wasting! as they say. And I'm old enough to know better. Instead, I put things off. "What are you gonna do?" "I dunno...something will come up!" Well, it didn't. Still hasn't.
I've been considering law school for awhile now. Recently a friend asked what my plans were with all that, and if I'd taken the LSAT. "I'll get around to it" I told him. "Well, it's only offered a few times a year." Stunned silence followed. Of course it's only offered a few times a year! Why wouldn't it be? Why hadn't I thought of this already? I did some quick googling and found out the next test date is in June. Which gives me a little over a month to prepare. I went out and bought some prep books. They're still sitting on the table. I also heard Sodoku was good practice so I bought a book of puzzles. I've completed one. I need to go for a walk. I need to finish any of the four books I'm currently reading. I need to call my mom and tell her I'm sorry, I forgot all about Mother's Day. I need to clean the cat box.I need to get a job. I need to eat better. I need to find a new place to live before the end of the month. I don't even have a TV! Why is it so hard to do stuff. Why does doing stuff have to suck so bad? Oh god. This is all too much for me to deal with right now. Must take a break.

Happy Birthday Christy & Mimi

I met Christy (far left;that's me in the middle) in the fourth grade. She played on my soccer team. Back in the 70s, there weren't a lot of little girls (or boys for that matter) playing soccer in Texas. Our team sucked real bad, but we had a lot of fun. Christy was our only good player. She had played soccer in Germany, with boys! She was like a nine year old living legend. She could of left us for a better team--but she stayed 'cos it was fun. That's the kind of a person Christy is: an underachiever. (Just kidding Christy)
We went to Jr.High and High School together. Made new friends, cultivated new interests, dated the same guy--the usual. As time passed our friendship waxed and waned. Still, we remained buds. Finally, in our early 20s we moved to Austin together. Christy, my boyfriend, and me. Looking back, those were some of the best days of my life. I got a crappy job at Whole Foods and was eventually promoted to a less than crappy job at Whole Foods. They sent me and a friend of my choice to Boulder, CO for "business". I took Christy. We had fun. After about a year, I decided to leave Austin and follow my boyfriend around for awhile, that's how smart I am. Christy's and my paths diverged quite a bit after that. She decided to get all independent and do crazy things like cut and dye her hair (if you'd known Christy as a youth, you'd know this was way out of character). It didn't stop there. Tattoos came. "Who is this girl?" I wondered. I would see her occasionally, if she came to Dallas or if I went to Austin. Finally, after never really wanting to leave in the first place and never liking anyplace else I'd lived any better, I made my way back to Austin.
Now, were kicking in ATX together again. Just like the old days. Even her hair color is back to its natural state. Ok, well, other than hair color it's nothing like the old days--we're too old for that shit. Christy is now a Pastry Chef and I am now an out of work recent college grad. It's really f-ing crazy how life turns out. I'm glad I still have a friend like Christy who knew me when.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHRISTY!

Today is also my Grandmother's Birthday. She's no longer with us, but you all should know she was a kick ass grandma! She spoiled me rotten, taught me how to play "Somewhere Over The Rainbow" on her organ, and made me BLTs every morning after I'd spent the night. She even let me eat in front of the TV. I have been told that when I was very small, clothes "hurt me". I also didn't like having my hair brushed. It hurt too. So when I stayed at Mimi's I got to wear my grandfather's really old, frequently laundered, over-sized tee-shirts. And she never made me brush me hair.
Mimi's given name was Aline. Once I answered her phone and when the person on the other end asked to "speak to Aline" I told them they had the wrong number. I still don't know much about this Aline person, but can tell you that Mimi ruled!

A New Day

Hello Friends. I used to blog here a lot. Then I got bored with the content, so I stopped. But today is a new day. OK, well, tomorrow will be a new day because I'm in the middle of a sugar high right now and can't think. But rest assured, entertaining content soon to come.
Thanks for your continued support.
Sincerely,



Shelly