Wednesday, December 31, 2008

MOAM's Best and Worst of 2008

Well, I firmly believe that if you don't chronicle the mundane details of your life, you'll forget to chronicle the more important events and you might forget whatcha did for all that time. Thus I publish my second annual Best & Worst list, which contains heartbreak and wonderful moments alike. Peace out, 2008. 2009, we welcome you warily.

MOAM's 10 Best Moments of 2008

10. This particular madwoman decided she will not visit a doctor unless it is absolutely fricking necessary, which frees up some of my time to eat more chocolate chip cookies.

9. I received a badass new camera for Christmas, which I'm sure you'll agree takes awesome photos when you take a look at the photo below of a creepy doll collection from Hubs' grandma's house, discovered over the weekend.




8. We discovered Livermore's wine country with a dying breed of friends (couples without kids).

7. Sadly, a meal is making it onto my list, but that's what happens when your body mass index is too high and you have an unhealthy hankering for sauerkraut. I think wistfully of the giant porkchop and, yes, sauerkraut I ate during Hubs' birthday dinner at Teske's Germania. A close second to this meal is the one I enjoyed at Minal & Ben's wedding. I could have eaten a vat of whatever it was I ate (such is my ignorance when it comes to Indian food).

6. Hubs and I visited Santa Barbara for our very drunken second anniversary in April.

5. The family got together at Chuckchansi Gold Resort and Casino for my grandmother's 80th birthday. Although 50% of us came down with norovirus, the buffet was well worth the resulting week of nausea.

4. In January, we took a trip to Sedona. That was our last real vacation, so we are due for another pretty soon here...

3. The American people elected Obama.

2. I finished the last class I need in order to obtain my college degree.

1. We bought a house!

MOAM's 10 Worst Moments of 2008:

10. The movie "Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story," which we thankfully rented on Netflix and did not waste $20 going to the theater for.

9. David Duchovny is supposedly a sex addict, on top of which the X-Files movie REALLY SUCKED.

8. Number 8 has been removed to protect the innocent.

7. I didn't take a vacation after January.

6. I turned 30.

5. I am still fat.

4. I was sick. A lot.

3. We struggled (and still struggle) to clean out Hubs' grandma's house.

2. Milly left us.

1. So did Beth.

30 going on 13

As it turns out, I am a child. And so is my husband. We're apparently in complete denial about being in our 30s and so we've taken to behaving like children.
We realized this during a visit to Target the other night, where we were hoping to find an extra guitar for Hubs' Rock Band 2 (a video game widely enjoyed by youngsters everywhere) and the sequel to Twilight, which I recently tore through in about three days. There were only two paperback copies of "New Moon" left on the shelf and I almost had to have a throwdown with a couple of 14-year-old girls in order to get my copy. At the checkout, our hickeyed cashier eagerly told me the last book is the best one.
Hubs has taken to dancing around whenever I'm reading my book, and singing, "Oooh, look at me, I'm a little girl who looooooves vampires!"
To which I usually reply something like, "Whatever dude. Go bang on your fake drums some more."

Tuesday, December 23, 2008

The New Girl Starts Monday

Me: I hope I like the new girl.
Shirley: Don't be silly. You don't like anybody.
Me: Hmm. True.

Monday, December 22, 2008

I Drink Your Milkshake

Pardon me for being behind the times, but I am just now catching up on all of last year's Oscar-winning movies, which has made it difficult to understand when people are joking about said movies. I only recently watched "The Departed," and "No Country For Old Men," and last night I had the pleasure of watching "There Will Be Blood." My favorite part of the whole movie was at the end. I don't care to explain what the main character was talking about, but he says, "I drink your milkshake. I drink it up!"
Now first -- if you haven't watched the movie, watch it. You tell me if it's as great as everyone says. Hubs and I were a bit baffled by the time it was finished, although Daniel Day-Lewis did a great job.
But second -- watch this SNL clip. It's so much funnier now that I've actually seen the movie.


I've decided to use the phrase "I drink your milkshake" in some form or another any time myself or someone else is getting shafted. For instance - Hubs and his coworkers won't be getting raises this year. Their milkshakes got drank. We'll be owing the IRS lots of money next year. They're gonna drink our milkshake. If I ever steal a parking spot from someone else, I will yell, "I drink your milkshake!"
The possibilities are endless.

Traffic

Today I am trying to decide what I would be willing to pay for the privilege of never having to sit in traffic again.
I don't think my pinky finger would be too much to ask.

Sunday, December 21, 2008

Christmas lights

Last night we saw this in person with some friends:



It's on Glacier Drive in the Cambrian area. It took two neighbors eight days for 10 to 12 hours each day just to set up the lights. That doesn't take into account the programming one of the guys did -- 15 hours for each song.

For the story go here.

Saturday, December 20, 2008

Shopping with the masses

They say you're either very dumb or very smart to do your Christmas shopping this weekend. Very dumb because anyone who waits for the weekend before Christmas is in for nasty crowds. Very smart because the best deals of the season are this weekend. I noticed today that both of those things are true.
Being very dumb, I did the following today:
7:45: Forced self out of bed
8:25: Checked internet for opening times -- all stores opened at 8 a.m.
8:30: Noticed strange box someone apparently dumped at side of house. Stared at it for 30 seconds. Emailed husband regarding said box.
8:35: Arrived at Starbucks for morning sustenance and caffeine. Nasty line. Left without sustenance or caffeine.
8:45: Arrived at Cost Plus. Felt uninspired. Bought some lame gifts. Was asked by strange checkout girl if I would like to own an owl. Said no.
9:30: Arrived at the mall. Wandered through Ann Taylor Loft checking out buy-one-get-one free sale. Husband called to ask about box. Mom called twice with gift ideas. Left emptyhanded. Checked out GAP. Husband called about box. Left emptyhanded. Went to Macy's, which was throbbing with people. Husband called about box, which turned out to be an oven. Left emptyhanded. Went to Old Navy. Bought four items for under $35. Great sale. Went to Borders. Found book aunt wants. Stood in enormous line. Felt like crying. Went to Target. Found several items. Felt like crying but didn't. Success!
11: Arrived at sporting good store. Chose two items for under $35. Another pretty sweet deal. Was accosted by strange girls requesting large donations. Declined.
12: Arrived home. Discussed ditched oven with Hubs. Suggested we put "free" sign on it and trick other dumb bastard into taking it. Hubs chooses to pay $60 for its removal.
12:15: Drive through neighborhood. Notice dishwasher dumped in school parking lot and sink on neighbor's sidewalk with "free" sign on it. "See?" I said.
12:20: Arrived at Panera. Too busy. Left.
12:30: Arrived at Wendy's. Busy but oh well. Ate.
1:15: Arrived at Post Office. Waited in ridiculous line with people who had their heads up their asses. Left half an hour later with desired stamps in hand.

Current time: Procrastinating on cleaning the house.

Friday, December 19, 2008

I'm blaming you, anyway

Driving back from lunch just now, I saw a trailblazer with a "Nobama" sticker and another sticker that said "Drill here, drill now, pay less," or something like that.

And then there was a license plate frame that said, "Don't blame me, I vote Republican."

No shit?!

Please, dear driver, tell me how long you have had that license plate frame on your car. Because are you effing kidding me?

Wednesday, December 17, 2008

Finally, some direction

We are a spiteful nation

Last night was the finale of "The Biggest Loser," a TV show on which contestants compete to see who can lose the most weight.
Viewers had an option to vote for one of two contestants who could be one of the Final 3 competitors and possibly win $250,000. The two contestants that viewers could choose from happened to be husband and wife. The husband, Ed, asked viewers to choose his wife. His wife, Heba, asked for the same thing.
Eighty four percent of viewers voted for Ed.
Why?
Well, whether it be via editing or whether she simply is what she is: Heba came off as quite the obnoxious bitch throughout the season, and there was just no way that loyal viewers were going to let her get her hands on $250K.
It's unfortunate for Heba, because I believe she might have won had she made it to the Final 3. She'd lost about half her body weight.
At any rate, I thought it quite interesting that so many Americans would choose to do exactly the opposite of what Ed and Heba wanted. Although Hubs and I didn't vote, it certainly occurred to us to do so, and if we had, it would have been for Ed, too.

Monday, December 15, 2008

So, yeah

I was just looking at some photos a friend took from a baby shower I attended recently. I look like the fat "before" pictures you see on Jenny Craig commercials.

Gaaaaah.

A rainbow



Hubs took this picture this morning from our backyard. He emailed it to me and noted that he was unable to find the pot of gold.

Monday, December 08, 2008

Reverse

A little over a week ago, my grandma was picking out carpet colors for her new apartment. A helpful woman who worked for the senior facility my grandma would be moving into brought in an oversized catalog, and opened it before us on a table.

Grandma drew in a breath.

We thought they'd give her a choice between taupe and cream or some such standard carpet color, but shown on the catalog were carpet samples of every color imaginable. I saw her eyes slide down to the carpet square in the lower left corner: Pink.

No doubt about it. It wasn't a brownish shade of pink or a subtle creamy pink, it was a warm, rose hue. She passed her hand over the square and remarked on the color's similarity to the pink detailing in her couch. She looked up at her daughter, who was frowning slightly and motioning toward more neutral shades.

"I think I want pink," she said in her soft, Texan way.

Some more minor objections were made, but, after all, Grandma would be the one moving into the apartment and if she wanted a pink carpet, then by God, she would have it, and it would be perfect. I mentally cheered her victory.
We toured the building. She chose bathroom tile and ceiling fans. We surveyed the dining room and admired the library. We said hello to other tenants -- her soon-to-be neighbors.
After a bit, we parted ways. We hugged and kissed. Grandma gave me a carrot cake-muffin she'd received as part of her breakfast -- she can't eat sugar due to her diabetes.
Grandma returned home. I'm told she went shopping a few times with my aunt last week. She was in high spirits, with Christmas approaching and her new apartment being readied for early January occupancy.

Friday morning her speech was slurred from a stroke she'd apparently suffered. Friday night, she was gone.

I'm wrestling with a few emotions.

I'm heartbroken that she left so unexpectedly.

I'm happy she's with the Lord. As she's said many times, she is deeply religious and has always known with conviction that she'd eventually get to hang out with God for eternity.

I'm glad her suffering was short.

I'm angry I'll never get to see her again. I should have videotaped her doing something -- anything -- at some point. I'd pay anything to hear her say, "Well, Paul..."

And I keep coming back to that pink carpet. It makes no sense but I'm agonizing over the apartment that will never be. Surely the carpet never even had time to be installed.

There must be some greater lesson for me that has little to do with carpet and more to do with choosing what you really want. Other people's desires for me (or you) be damned. Let's not wait until we're 80 to realize that if we choose the pink carpet it's not the end of the world. Others might think we're nuts but, ahhh. That carpet.

It would've really been something.

Friday, December 05, 2008

We live in trees, too

Riddle me this.

Why did we receive weekly updates from TV news about the tree sitters on the UC Berkeley campus, but I have never heard anything about the tree sitters on the UC Santa Cruz campus, who have been living in the redwoods for 13 months?

Wise words from Will Smith

I annoy myself anytime I find that I'm nodding my head in agreement with movie stars during their TV interviews, but alas, sometimes (albeit rarely) the words that leave their mouths are not pure drivel, and sometimes (even more rarely) the words that leave their mouths are actually meaningful.
Such was the case last night, during Barbara Walters' interview with Will Smith, whom she considers one of the most fascinating people of the year. Which -- I beg to differ on her list of fascinating people. Tom Cruise was on the list and let's face it, he's just annoying. Although, not to stray too far off topic, but he was hilarious in "Tropic Thunder."
So anyway, Barbara's doing one of her softball interviews with Will Smith, and she asks him something about marriage and how he keeps his strong. Smith is currently on his second marriage, to Jada Pinkett Smith.
He told Barbara that divorce is not an option this time. He said marriage is the hardest thing you will ever do. He said if you're married, and divorce is an option, then you're getting divorced.
I thought that was insightful and probably true.
My own marriage has been something of a trial by fire. Divorce isn't an option, so even though he or I may leave the house in anger or slam a door or yell and scream or cry in frustration, when that nonsense is done, we figure out how to make it OK.
I tell people all the time, if my husband and I had lived together before we got married, we never would have gotten married. If you're serious about it, marriage forces you to do the hard work that's required when you've made a lifelong committment to someone.
Not to make marriage sound awful. It's the best thing that's ever happened to me, but also the hardest.
I can't explain it much better than that.

Wednesday, December 03, 2008

Clacker Part II

A conversation between my husband and I this morning while he was still wrapped in warm blankets and I was doing the cold-hardwood-floor dance in my underwear while trying to figure out what to wear:

Him: Want to know something funny?
Me: Hm?
Him: I was getting into bed last night, and you rolled over a couple of times like you usually do, but then you said, 'Clacker' and then you went 'Rrrrruuuuuuhhhhhhhh,' and I was like, 'Oh my God, you just said Clacker in your sleep.'
Me: Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! No fucking way. Are you sure you didn't dream it?
Him: No, I didn't dream it, I was awake!
Me: Are you sure I said 'Clacker'?
Him: Yes! Clacker!

My Parachute

I heard "My Parachute Won't Open" on 105.3 this morning and it got me to chuckle. If you're interested, he's apparently playing before the opener at Live 105's Not So Silent Night.

Tuesday, December 02, 2008

Evaluation

A telephone conversation with my mother this evening:

Mom: "And what do I always say?"
Me: "Don't underestimate yourself?"
Mom: "Don't sell yourself short. Act like a man. A man would go for it and would never doubt that he can do it. You can do it, you just need to be given the opportunity."

Sunday, November 30, 2008

The Clacker

On Thanksgiving, my 88-year-old grandfather explained that he and my grandmother had purchased a device while watching what was probably an infomercial. He explained that this device has been extremely helpful in cleaning the floors and that the commercial contained dogs. The more I listened the more confused I became. The device sounded like a cross between a mechanical dog and a Roomba.

Grandpa: "What is it called, Ev?"
Grandma: "Hmm? Oh... I'm not sure."
Grandpa: "I don't know what it's called but I call it The Clacker."

This information led me to believe the device makes some sort of clacking noise.

Excited about his purchase, grandpa led my husband and I to the room where he stashes The Clacker. It was a broom/vacuum, similar to those seen in restaurants that are used to clean floors, although this one is battery powered and has suction. It did not make a clacking noise. Grandpa passed The Clacker over some crumbs, which obediently allowed themselves to be eaten by The Clacker.

The Clacker has led to several entertaining follow-up conversations. My mom later explained that grandpa has always nicknamed his favorite things. My mom was nicknamed The Raunch. My sister was nicknamed Cha Cha. Incidentally, myself and my aunt have never been nicknamed.

Since our return home, "clacker" has taken on new meaning. B and I have used it to substitute for the F word.

"Where the clacking camera?"

We've used it as a term of endearment.

"What's up, Clacker?"

We've used it as a verb.

"I was just clacking down the sidewalk and saw that cat from across the street."

We've used it as a noun.

"Where's the clacker?"

Ah. We've found our new javelina.


(Post Script Dated 10/4/10: My aunt informs me that her nickname was 'Ace.')

Monday, November 24, 2008

Come join me, won't you?

Want to get in a fight? Merely speak, and I will find fault with your words. Merely behave like a human and I will find fault with your actions.
I am having what my husband refers to as my "monthly bitchy fiesta," and no one is really safe.
It is unwise to allow my bitchy fiesta to take hold, particularly at work during layoffs.
"Hmm, who should we lay off?" my bosses are probably asking each other. "Her. Definitely her. God, she's bitchy."

Thursday, November 20, 2008

Take a lickin & keep on tickin

Today the Dark Hand of Job Death passed over my place of employment and I emerged unscathed. One of my three fellow team members, however, did not. She informed me her position had been eliminated, and, being the Estrogen Monkey that I am right now, I promptly burst into tears. There are so many things wrong with the way the whole layoff went down that I can't begin to get into it. Let's just say I have a tough row to hoe ahead of me and a bottle of pinot calling my name.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

omigodpuppies

You've probably heard of the puppy cam that has enthralled everyone for the last couple of months, but have you seen it? My god. These puppies are seriously hypnotizing. I can't put my finger on why, and I certainly can't describe it in words. I watched for 5 minutes. One puppy got up to drink some water and sniff some poop on the pee pad that's laid out for them. Then it hopped back into the bed it shares with its sublings, walking all over them before finally sitting in a vacant spot. I looked away for a minute and came back and one puppy was lying half in, half out of the bed, having apparently decided to go play but falling asleep on the way out. Arrrggghhhhpuppppieeesss!!

Monday, November 17, 2008

Meditation: Ur doin' it right

Because I am a basket case and looking for natural ways to lower my blood pressure (which: baby shower + Indian wedding this weekend = major diet blunder), I have purchased a book titled "Meditation for Dummies." I have never meditated, but from what I've read online, it's supposed to help your health in all sorts of fantastic ways, one of which would be the lowering of blood pressure.
My preconceived notion of meditation was that it was a lot of sitting crosslegged with one's eyes shut, repeating a mantra and trying to clear the mind. Apparently, it's a lot more. There are 20 chapters in "Meditation for Dummies," summing up to a grand 339 pages. Stay tuned for more details. I'll monitor my own blood pressure at home (which invariably is always normal when I do it anyway and then high at the doctor's office) and letcha know how that goes.

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

I can explain

I am, of course, still strictly following doctor's orders, thus, as my father-in-law would put it, life just ain't worth living. He once tried a healthy, low sodium diet in order to keep blood pressure down, but decided he'd rather brave the meds than give up his beloved pizza, hot dogs and various other sodium-laden and delicious foods. He now enjoys a cheeseburger whenever he feels the urge, and his blood pressure is low enough that I am envious. So since life has less meaning without food (I am pathetic, really, that I derive so much happiness from food), I am finding little inspiration to blog.

Thursday, November 06, 2008

Mmmmmmm, salt

Today my doctor says I must radically change my diet and start exercising in order to lower my blood pressure. I mustn't eat any salt whatsoever. I mustn't eat any carbs other than fruit and yams. I may eat Luna bars, whatever the hell those are. I may eat unlimited portions of vegetables. I must drink water when I wake, before each meal, and before bed.
Ahhh. I'd accomplished so much this year. Really, I'm just going down my New Year's resolution list and checking things off one by one. With less than two months until 2009, I've yet to lose the 20 pounds I resolved to lose this year, but it seems that with my doctor's strict instructions, this resolution may also be accomplished.
Now of course, me being me, this radical diet must come at the most difficult possible time of the year. My doctor actually had the hilarious nerve to suggest that at Thanksgiving dinner I simply shovel turkey into my mouth and avoid stuffing and mashed potatoes at all costs.

Tuesday, November 04, 2008

Election Day



This photo was taken at the corner of Steven's Creek and Winchester in San Jose on Saturday. It's hard to see what's going on, so allow me to explain. There are people holding "Yes on 8" signs. And there are people holding "No on 8" signs. I found it interesting. This is one of the most heatedly debated propositions we've had in a while. This morning I received a call on my cell phone -- it was a recording of Obama stating his position on marriage: "A union between a man and a woman." Here's my position on his position: He's running for president and there's no way in hell someone who endorses gay marriage is going to get elected. For all we know, both Obama and McCain support gay marriage, but they would certainly never, ever utter those words aloud during this presidential election.

Anyway, let's all raise a beer tonight and toast the fact that this election is finally coming to an end. No matter what the outcome, it's historic. A black man as president, or a white dude with a female VP.
Gays keep their rights to marry, or those rights are taken away. Either way, my neighbor's "Yes on 8" sign will be coming down.
Minors keep their rights to abortion without their parents being informed, or those rights are taken away.
Utility companies are forced to go greener or they are not.
High speed rail from SF to LA is funded, or it is not.
The SF water district is renamed the "George W. Bush Sewage Treatment Plant," or it is not. (this prop was dreamed up by a dude who drank one too many beers and has a bit too much time on his hands. Not that I don't think it's hilarious)

Monday, November 03, 2008

Love Me



This is a pug puppy one of the gals I work with is trying to sell. It's CRW certified or something like that (breeding term, I think) and trained to pee-pee on pee pads although not sure it has the poo thing down.
But look at his little face. I just want to squeeze it right off.
So anyway if you also want to squeeze this dog's face off and you're willing to pay for it (it's negotiable), let me know.

Thursday, October 30, 2008

Eff You, American Idol

Today I heard the troubling news that an American Idol contestant who didn't even make the top 24 may be sued by the show for cutting a record deal with Warner Brothers.
Those who watched will certainly remember Josiah Leming, the 19 year old who was living out of his car and whose mother has terminal cancer.
HEY. American Idol head honcho a-holes: Get over yourselves. We all know AI is less a talent show than a personality and beauty contest. If you want to reject someone with genuine talent that was immediately recognized by another company, you should be gracious enough to allow that person to move forward with their career.

Monday, October 27, 2008

Birthing

I saw a friend on Saturday who I haven't seen since my wedding in April of 06. She announced she is pregnant, and although I was surprised, I can't say I was altogether overly surprised, as I've apparently reached an age at which I can expect many -- if not most -- of my friends to get pregnant and have children. I am resigned to this fact, even though I am still mentally not "there." I don't expect to ever mentally be there, and, in fact, me becoming pregnant is probably going to need to involve some serious cajoling and a couple bottles of wine. If I am privileged enough to birth a child, I am sure I will still not be "there," and then my child will be stuck with a mom who's pretty much winging it.

So on Saturday night we were happily eating fish & chips and discussing a family you may have heard of -- The Duggars. They live Somewhere Out There and they have 17 children. This woman, who's only in her early 40s, has birthed 17 children. And what I did not realize but discovered the following day whilst folding laundry, is that the Duggars have their own TV show, and you can watch them make cake and take road trips and be altogether too happy. Anyway, I happened to be watching the show in which Michelle Duggar, the mom, gave birth to her 17th kid. I figured that anyone who has given birth that many times would basically just kind of lean sideways and the kid would slide out. But it was not quite like that. She experienced what seemed to be significant pain. So. I don't know, it just kind of blew me away!

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

Singletary ain't itchy

I follow one sports team, and one sports team only, and that team would be the 49ers. You may know that recently that coach Mike Nolan was fired and Mike Singletary has taken over. I was a bit sad about the switch -- Nolan was always angry and dapper looking in his suits, but no matter how many suits he wore, the team still lost. Anyway, I heard Singletary on the radio yesterday, and he said something I liked:

"I'm not a sugar-coating guy. I don't scratch my head when it doesn't itch, and I don't blink when there's nothing in my eye."

Love it, love it, love it. That doesn't mean I think suddenly the Niners are gonna start winning, but I just thought that was such an original thing to say. If you think about it, sometimes we do scratch our heads when they don't itch, and sometimes we do blink when there's nothing in our eyes.

Sometimes I snork when there's nothing in my nose. Sometimes I clear my throat for no reason. I'll pick imaginary food out of my teeth. I often do these things to make myself more comfortable. If I'm walking near a stranger, and we're the only two around, maybe I'll do one of the aforementioned things so that I don't look like some stranger who's not doing anything. I'm a stranger who's clearing her throat, wiping her non-runny nose, rubbing her non-itchy eye, sucking imaginary food out of her teeth. I'm busy, dude. Noses to scratchy, teeth to pick. Busier than you, you're just walking along, nothing to scratch.

Aaaaand yes, I'm crazy.

Annoying fat people

So by the way, I love "The Biggest Loser," and I almost always totally relate to the overweight contestants. I cry when they cry, I empathize to the max. This season there are a couple of Really Annoying Fat People on the show, and I can't get over how annoying they are. I can tell they are not annoying in just a playing-the-game kind of way, but annoying in a genuine I-would-hate-you-in-real-life-no-matter-what kind of way. Gawd. The fat people on that show are usually so nice. What's wrong with these ones?

An Open Letter To Madonna

Dear Madonna,
Yeah yeah yeah, you and Guy Ritchie are breaking up, big surprise. You're both dating other people, woop-dee-doo, who knew!?
But really? Putting your kid in a Yankees shirt and parading him in public? Lady, that's hella low. Hella. I mean, say out loud and to whomever you please whatever you please. Say, hell yeah I porked A-Rod and they don't call him that for nothing, woot! But involving your child? I mean, One, your kid will be hella pissed at you someday if he finds out you used him to display your passive aggression. Two: That's hella passive aggressive! Which: Gross.
So yeah. I heard today that Guy is looking forward to having Christmas again, since you apparently banned it in your house, due to Kabbalah. Which: Kabbalah, Schmabbalah, I say. Even lots of Jews celebrate Christmas. Example of conversation between children in your neighborhood:
Johnny: What'd you get for Christmas?!
Madonna's kid: We ate steamed fish. What'd you get?
J: I got a bike!
MK: Oh.

So anyway, here's a warning: Guy is quickly on his way to becoming The Favorite Parent, what with this whole introduction of Christmas thing. Look out, skinny lady!

By the way, my disgust for your passive aggression in no way influences how I really feel about you deep down, which is to say that I have always and will always adore you, since you helped shape my childhood and for a while, I actually wanted to be you.

Good luck with the divorce.

Love,

MOAM

Tuesday, October 21, 2008

Meeting the neighbors (and other preachy items)

Last night I locked myself out of the house with four bags of groceries, including ice cream. Hubs had to leave work early to come let me in. But in the meantime while I was trying to look as though I hadn't been locked out of my own house and was maybe just spending some time in my front yard whilst wearing workday garb for shits and giggles, I met our next door neighbors. They were absurdly, absurdly nice, which makes it difficult for me to hate them due to the "Yes on Prop 8" sign in their front yard. I believe they are rather religious, considering the Catholic Radio sticker on one of their cars. Hence the Yes on Prop 8 stance.

(and here is where I get on my soapbox and start talking about Prop 8)

I can understand people who prefer to keep the definition of marriage as a union between a man and a woman, but people, please. Shall we discuss how men and women treat this sacred union, and how our track record of maintaining said union ain't the greatest? Thankfully, the divorce rate is down a bit from where it was in the '80s, but that may also be because the marriage rate is down quite a bit, according to Divorce Magazine (which -- Divorce Magazine? Really?)

According to the aforementioned esteemed publication, 59% of the population is currently married. That is down from 62% in 1990 and 72% in 1970. 10% of the population is divorced.

The magazine states that married couples have only a 52% of reaching their 15th wedding anniversary. They have a 33% chance of reaching their 25th anniversary and a 20% chance of reaching their 35th anniversary. On my 35th anniversary, I will be 63 years old, and I have only a 20% chance of still being married to Hubs, whom I consider to be my soul mate and whom I can't imagine life without.

My point is, Prop 8 proponents need to realize they are saying marriage is good enough for straight people who treat it as though it means nothing, but not good enough for gay people, for some of whom it may mean everything. Some of these people have been together for decades -- if that is not a sacred union, I don't know what is.

What will happen if gay people are allowed to marry? But but but.... there will be gays! Walking around with wedding rings! Married! Big effing deal, people. Treat your marriage as the sacred union you ought to treat is as, and do not pass judgment on an entire sector of people you can't even begin to understand.

And not to go off on another tangent, but I want to share something I overheard in the salon the other day about a 4-year-old boy whose elders have accepted is probably gay. He comes from a "normal" home with a mother and father who are still married, and an older brother who's a "boy's boy," as the ladies in the salon said. His parents are perplexed with their son's preferences and don't want to forbid him from wearing pink or painting his nails, but at the same time they won't allow him to display any feminine leanings in public. At his birthday party recently, his parents invited only little girls so that the boys wouldn't make fun of him for dressing as a princess and carrying a purse.

So I'm not saying that people are born gay and I'm not saying they're not. I'm saying I don't know. I'm saying I won't judge them because I don't know. I know they're people, I know I have friends and family members who are gay and who are perfectly capable of love, and I refuse to deny them the right to marry.

That's all.

Monday, October 20, 2008

Wee wee wires

Today Comcast created this phallic-looking thing on the side of my house. My husband sent me the photo of it, with the subject line: "Wee wee wires." Having the juvenile sense of humor that I do, it entertained me greatly.

A summary of the last four days

We spent all day Thursday and Friday packing, and STILL were not completely packed by the time nine of our most masochistic friends and family members showed up at 8:30 on Saturday morning. It didn't matter that we weren't ready, because a few people quickly threw the rest of our stuff in boxes, and the rest jammed our motley belongings into the U-Haul and several of their cars, and we were successfully completely moved out of our apartment in about an hour. It was the fastest move I have ever seen, and I think I figured out how we did it: we invited almost everyone we knew to help and we supplied them with gallons of Starbucks coffee and a tub of Noah's bagels. They handled the rest. I barely moved a thing myself -- mostly I stood in my living room in bewilderment while boxes and furniture flew out the door. Once we arrived at the new house, the U-Haul was unpacked in some kind of crazy record-breaking time, like 15 minutes, and soon our movers were sprawled on our lawn, drinking beer and downing pizza. We are still baffled at the efficiency of it all.
Now that we're moved in, boxes are piled in various places throughout the house, and there are a couple of rooms completely vacant of anything -- no boxes, no furniture -- because there is nothing to put in them. We've been wandering around, enjoying the echoing sounds our voices make now that the carpet's gone (I still plan to post photos, as soon as I find my camera). We're slightly zombie-ish as we unpack: mostly we moan in horror and point confusedly at the piles of junk strewn about the house.
So. In between all of that moving business, I turned 30. My hubs spent an appropriately inappropriate amount of money on some jewelry and after we spent the day packing we grabbed some dinner. Family birthday was yesterday -- mom made lasagna and I received some more lovely gifts. One of my favorites: Clinton Kelly's new book, "Freakin' Fabulous: How to Dress, Speak, Behave, Eat, Drink, Entertain, Decorate, and Generally Be Better than Everyone Else." Kelly is on that show, "What Not to Wear," which I enjoy immensely, despite being extremely poorly dressed. My uniform of choice is ugly mom jeans, tank top and zip up hoodie that's really not flattering but is rather comfortable.

Dolores Aguilar's daughter responds

Imagine my surprise when, after these last few months of writing about the Dolores Aguilar obituary, her daughter leaves a comment on my blog.
I am convinced the comment is genuine -- it's not earth shaking or scandalous. It simply makes a couple of clarifications.

Thursday, October 16, 2008

Flying high

We stopped by the house tonight to drop off a few things, and the varnish on the floors smelled so strong that, although we were there for only a few minutes, it left our eyes and nostrils tingling and I definitely had a little brain buzz going for a good 20 minutes after we left. I am a little nervous about what this means about our first night in the house.

Anyway, the floors look awesome. Photos to follow shortly.

Wednesday, October 15, 2008

It's official: I am an asshole

Why? Because my someone who I constantly talk crap about for being psychotic did a nice thing for me today. She does not suspect that I think she is psychotic and so she went and did a nice thing.

She was kind and giving.

So, I am an asshole. And I am an asshole not only because I, on a regular basis, try to avoid her as much as possible in order to avoid being roped into a long listening session about how good she has been at everything she has ever tried, but also because I cannot stop myself from feeling that she was kind today because it makes her feel important and as though others will desire her company if she does something like that, and if that's not an asshole-ish thing to think, I don't know what is.

Granted, many of us give selfishly -- it makes us feel good to give -- but I find it hard to forgive her selfish giving. I am an asshole. That's all there is to it.

Monday, October 13, 2008

R.I.P. Mother's

So as everyone and their mother (pun intended) knows, Mother's Cookies has gone belly up (although I suspect it's a matter of time before someone else buys them post mortem and the cookies are saved). I've never particularly given a rat's ass about Mother's Cookies, as most of them have seemed like a waste of time to me since they tend to contain little or no chocolate, which is my dessert of preference.
But people are going really crazy about Mother's going out of business. Come on people. If you loved them so much why weren't you buying the damn cookies? I'll tell you: Because they're not that great. Even my own hubs is all boohoo about Mother's croaking.
So we went to a friend's home for dinner last night, and piled neatly near the dining room table were about 30 bags of Mother's cookies. Upon hearing of Mother's demise, she'd promptly run out to three grocery stores. The first two had already been cleaned out. The last one had about 30 bags. Which she bought. She tells us bags of Mother's cookies are selling for $10 on ebay, plus shipping and handling.

Sunday, October 12, 2008

Taking out the carpet

We spent the weekend ripping out the carpet in our new home. It was quite the undertaking, and more than once we mused that perhaps it would have been worth $400 to just have the floor guys who are coming to sand and stain the floors do the job instead. But, we finished it, and although we are sore and tired, we feel happy about having accomplished it and excited about the floors because the place already looks so much better without the carpet.

Here's the living room before, with carpet padding and tile entry:



Here's the living room after:



Here's the hallway before. The carpet was sort of pinkish...



Here's the hallway after (although this is taken before we've pulled up the staples):



Don't ask me what we are going to do with this:

Friday, October 10, 2008

Diagnosis: Mystery Illness

So, yeah! Labs are all clear, no mono, no thyroid issue, no babies (phew!), etc. Mystery illness prevails! Good for you, mystery illness! Now I will try to kill you with antibiotics! Have fun in there while it lasts.

Wednesday, October 08, 2008

Upchuck's

Number of people who went on trip to Chuckchansi: 10
Number of people vomiting within 48 hours: 4
Number of people almost vomiting within 48 hours: 1
Number of people who are OK: 5
Chuckchansi kill rate: 50%

Tuesday, October 07, 2008

Awaiting another diagnosis

All I want is to be excited about buying a new home, and energetic enough to do what needs to be done in order to move into it. A variety of symptoms I won't bore you with are throwing a wet blanket on this exciting event.

Diagnosis is forthcoming, but suffice to say my doctor believes these are the possibilities:

Subacute thyroiditis (sounds bad but this is what I'm rooting for)
Diabetes
Pregnancy
Ulcer
Mono
Other Mysterious Virus

Sunday, October 05, 2008

A Weekend at Chuck & Nancy's

That's what we, in my family (we think we are funny), call Chuckchansi Gold Resort & Casino, which is located in Coarsegold, out off 99 somewhere.
My grandma is turning 80 years old, and there is nothing that woman loves to do more than gamble, so the perfect gift was a weekend at the casino.



Chuckchansi is like any other casino except that it is Native American run. You can drink, you can smoke, and you can most certainly lose all of your money.

You can also eat at the buffet. Here's how we kicked it off on Saturday.



In case you're wondering, that's nachos, an enchilada, two eggrolls, chow mein, broccoli beef, and pizza. The buffet was good, but dinner that night at Nativo's sucked, in case you ever have occasion to be at Chuck's.

We also spent ample time gambling, and losing. Below is my family, dominating a whole wall of quarter poker games. Granny came out even but the rest of us are big losers.

Thursday, October 02, 2008

Biden v. Palin

I've reserved further judgement of Republican VP Candidate Sarah Palin since my intitial tirade-y letter to John McCain about his possibly unwise pick. Since then, she's proven to be fascinating fodder for the media, which is feeding upon her as though it hasn't had a meal in years (think hungry zombies with pained grimaces and crazed eyes). She's made a couple of awful blunders and been YouTubed to death for it. For instance, in her now infamous interview with Katie Couric, in response to a question about which newspapers and magazines she reads, she answered, "All of them." When pressed, she still does not name which she reads and instead seems to become defensive and says something about Alaska not being a foreign country - that they do actually receive the same newspapers all Americans have access too. And then there's the portion of the interview in which she explains how Alaska being kind of close to Russia means she's got lots of foreign policy experience. I cringed watching that interview, and when I showed it to Hubs later he had to look away in horror; it was too embarrassing to watch.

Now, I am going to put the fact that I am a registered Democrat on the shelf for a minute, and I'm going to take down the container labeled "Female." The contents of this container have been stirring like jalapeno pizza indigestion ever since Palin stepped onto the scene. Because as a chick, part of me wants Palin to succeed. A dark part of me wants her to step up to the podium tonight, open her mouth calmly, and blast Biden to freaking Mars. My evil feminist side wants her to be so smart, witty, confident, un-shrill, and wonderful, that the heads of sexist a-holes everywhere spin around on their necks and explode.

You know what would have been cool? If Hillary Clinton had been Obama's choice for veep (Biden, oh gawwwwd WHY?!), Clinton could have gone up against Palin, and it would have been woman on woman, and instead of me worrying about a woman coming off as a total 'tard in the VP debates, I could have left my Female container on the shelf because Palin would be like, "Oh EFF, I have to debate HILLARY EFFING CLINTON?! She is going to blast me to Mars." Sexist rednecks would not even watch the debate because they would instead elect to drink Budweiser and discuss other possible all-male tickets, such as the Nader/Gonzalez team. Nader is, after all, super-quick on his feet, as evidenced by his interview with Triumph the Insult Dog.

The little animal in my Female container is rousing and snarling its teeth -- Palin seems not to side with what are traditionally considered female and, coincidentally, Democratic issues. So I am shoving the little animal's head back down into the container and I am storing the Female container back on the shelf, and I am retrieving my well-worn Democrat box.

All right, boys. You win. Blast her to the moon, Mars, wherever. You won't need much help. I'll just drink every time I cringe in embarrassment, so for sure I'll be three sheets to the wind before the debate's even half over.

Wednesday, October 01, 2008

Oh noes!!

Being extremely old and un-hip these days, I am far, far behind what is new and cool (the word cool is, for sure, no longer cool). For instance, I don't know the first thing about "The Hills" or "Gossip Girl," and I for certain do not understand whether quasi-reality programs (which I think at least one of the aforementioned is) are actually real or fake reality, and if they are fake reality then I am doubly confused.
I try my best to keep up with what is hip (at least as much as I can stand. Much of what is cool nowadays is also mind numbingly DUMB -- look I used TWO silent Bs in a row!) by reading lots of different types of blogs. And there is definitely some weird lingo out there, and I'm not sure where it originated. I thought, perhaps, that LOLcats started the whole thing but I think there may be an entire internet language, netspeak if you will, that appears to have been created by a generation of fast-typing sarcasm wizards. (No I am not 80 years old, nor have I just been transported here from 1955, I am simply behind the times)
For example! "Oh noes!" I've seen this a few times, almost always used in a sarcastic manner. I think Encyclopedia Dramatica defines it best: "Generally used as a sarcastic reply to dumbass posters bitching about something minor."
I felt I had to bring "Oh noes" up because I keep running into it lately. For instance dooce used it the other day in a post on Sarah Palin (which -- uncomfortable interview much? eww), and earlier last month LOLcats used it (as they often do).
I like "Oh noes" because I loves me some sarcasm and "Oh noes" is so cute in an exclaiming kitty cat kind of way. I hope to use it for reals in the near future but I'm not sure it's gonna work out -- kind of like "Oh snap."

Monday, September 29, 2008

Nightmares

Last night I dreamed that I chopped off a certain woman's hand.

Doctors were apparently able to sew it back on and she didn't seem too peeved about it, but I felt terrible for losing control.

There are a few contributing factors to this situation.

1) This person drives me nuts.
2) I watched "Kill Bill Vol 2" yesterday
3) There's a kid in Los Gatos who had her hand sliced off and reattached recently.

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

Cleaning house

Determined not to repeat past sins (moving from one location to another completely unprepared), I've started cleaning out my closet.

My God, I think, as I hold up a pair of pants that hasn't fit in about four years. Did these ever fit me? These look like a child's pair of pants. I continue weeding through the closet. More absurdly small pairs of pants. Two Pepto Bismol pink jackets, one made of stretch corduroy and the other a puffy ski-jacket type thing. A long jean skirt. A long pinstripe skirt. Good Lord, have I never had style?

Clothing that is stained, ripped, stretched to unwearable lengths, faded and altogether the completely wrong size -- I've kept it all for years and years, and now it's time for this pile of crap's swan song.

Adieu, netted tops that were fashionable for about 5 minutes in the '80s. So long, awful synthetic poncho my mother purchased for me for Christmas one year (but which I loved). Fare thee well, short checkered skirt that I should never have worn, no matter how thin I was. Good riddance, unfortunate-looking brown purse that I carried around with me for much too long.

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

Dolores keeps on kickin

Today I got a comment on one of my Dolores Aguilar posts. I've been amazed every day by how many people find my blog by searching for information about Dolores' obituary. Probably about 20 people have searched for it just today and it's only noon. So I decided to write a postscript on my last post, and consider my blogging done for the day.

Monday, September 22, 2008

Begin the sleepless nights


Yesterday, after much back and forth and wringing of hands and anxious scrunching of mouths, our Realtor called to inform us that, against all odds, the sellers of the only house we have offered on (albeit four or five different offers) had accepted our offer and that we will, insanely, be homeowners by mid-October.

The story goes that another couple had offered on the house, but that one of the sellers met the other couple and didn't like them, so decided to sell to us instead, despite our offer being some $5,000 lower.

It's crazy to want something so much, but to immediately regret offering on the house when told it will be ours. It's such a huge step, we dread the unknown and the known -- mortgage payments, endless repairs and upgrades.

Nonetheless, there are so many more pluses than negatives.

Thursday, September 18, 2008

Jabberwocky

When Joe comes to see us, we have to brace ourselves for all of the talking. He represents the company that is putting together our trust for us.

He talks. So. Much.

He talks in this emphatic way that I find hypnotizing. He'll be repeating himself for the 15th time and karate-chopping my kitchen table for emphasis, and I can just feel my brain filling with sleep juice and my eyes will slowly blink and it will take every effort I have to nod and say, "mmhmm" occassionally. Usually he is blathering about how we should invest our money or how his kids are more successful than any kids anyone else has ever had. Ever.

Today, though, Joe amused me when he started talking about how his computer was "eating" his words. BK and I immediately realized he is having an "insert" key problem (wherein one accidentally presses the Insert button and suddenly words disappear as you attempt to continue typing). He is also having a problem with the Paper Clip helper guy in Microsoft Word, who is simply trying to be helpful when he realizes Joe is writing another form letter. Joe, however, doesn't appreciate the help, which he declares for the 17th time whilst forcefully ramming the tip of his index finger into the table.

Wednesday, September 17, 2008

All I wanna do ... is stick my neti pot up my nose

I have purchased a neti pot. Please observe the hilarious demo below. I found it last night at Whole Foods, and I must say, it did flush out my sinuses. Initially you feel like you might be drowning yourself with a teapot, but once you've tried it, you'll be hooked.

Monday, September 15, 2008

Doctor, doctor ...

So yesterday, when my monthly bill arrived, I found out that I am, for certain, not pregnant. Believe it or not, there was a question, although I do actively prevent conception. But the reason there was a question is because I have been nauseous (excuse me. NAUSEATED.) and dizzy for two weeks. Mix those with PMS symptoms and you often equal pregnancy. I, however, got the flu in the middle of my dizzy/nausea thing. Now the flu is over and the dizziness and nausea are still here. There is obviously another problem -- probably a brain tumor.

So I decided I need to go see my doctor, who scares me, but whom I regard as something of a miracle worker, considering last year's revelation of my B12 deficiency.

So I came in to work today. I picked up the phone and called the doctor's office. There was a message that said they will be open from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. I hung up.

I picked the phone up again, deciding to leave a message. I listened to the outgoing message. I hung up before leaving my own message.

I picked up the phone again. I hung up.

Picked it up. Hung it up.

Forty-five minutes later. Picked it up, spoke to the receptionist, secured an appointment for tomorrow at 2:30.

Dread, dread, dread.

I am supposed to have been a faithful Weight Watchers member for the last 5 months. The only thing I have been faithfully doing is eating ice cream, and have, in fact, gained back the 10 lbs I lost in the first place.

I am supposed to have been monitoring my blood pressure. This has not been done in months.

Oh, dread.

Friday, September 12, 2008

Come on little Gamma Ray....

Last night we ate dinner at Chili's, and as we were leaving, "Mr. Jones & Me" was being musacked out at typical Chili's-blast-volume and BK, in classic BK fashion, cursed, and then said he'd been woken up by "Mr. Jones & Me" that morning and who the hell likes that song anyway? It's a quandry. There are a number of songs I know were new like 15 years ago, but are not new now, and which nobody I know has ever said they enjoy listening to, yet they are repeatedly played at top volume in restaurants and various retail establishments. And station 105.3 on the radio.
Examples of artists who are horribly overplayed:
-Natalie Imbruglia
-Red Hot Chili Peppers
-Nirvana

There are more. Feel free to suggest some overplayed artists in the comments section.

On the other hand, on the way into work both today and yesterday, I heard Beck's relatively new "Gamma Ray." Which I like. But I fear it will be overplayed. Which is better than hearing "Mr. Jones & Me" even one more time, but still.

Thursday, September 11, 2008

You are welcome

I don't know if it's because I am drinking the first caffeine I've had in about a year or if it's really this funny, but I laughed so hard, I cried when I watched this. Make sure your volume is turned up, it's nothing without the volume.

Tuesday, September 09, 2008

Uncle!

All right, I give! I take it back -- the baby was not ugly, it was cute. It was terribly cute and adorable in every way babies can possibly be. Please, Ugly Baby Karma, take pity.

Monday, September 08, 2008

Conflicting messages

One of the strangest things about my parents wanting grandchildren so badly is that for so many years they preached abstinence.

Sunday, September 07, 2008

A Sunday survey ...

1. My uncle once: was married to my aunt.

2. Never in my life: have I enjoyed roller coasters.

3. When I was five: I slipped whilst running sock-footed and broke my head on the corner of a wall.

4. High school was: rather detestable.

5. I will never forget: what gnawing loneliness feels like.

6. Once I met: Atreyu from "The Never Ending Story." He was disappointingly shorter than I expected.

7. There’s this boy I know: who likes to call his wife bootyface.

8. Once, at a bar: I drank and drank and flung my shoes high, high, high.

9. By noon, I’m usually: wanting to murder someone, if I'm in the office.

10. Last night: I squirmed uncomfortably on the couch due to continuing nausea.

11. If only I had: more gumption.

12. Next time I go to church: will be a long time from now.

13. What worries me most: is completely irrational.

14. When I turn my head left I see: darkness

15. When I turn my head right I see: darkness

16. You know I’m lying when: I seem to be trying to control my breathing.

17. What I miss most about the Eighties is: leggings. And being a carefree kid.

18. If I were a character in Shakespeare I’d be: Titania

19. By this time next year: it will be early September.

20. A better name for me would be: mud

21. I have a hard time understanding: certain people

22. If I ever go back to school, I’ll: hang myself. Because that is not gonna happen.

23. You know I like you if: I insult you.

24. If I ever won an award, the first person I would thank would be: my patient hubs.

25. Take my advice, never: be that person who does everything, anything, that other people want. It's exhausting.

26. My ideal breakfast is: anything at Bill's. Mmmm. Bill's....

27. A song I love but do not have is: Big Pimpin'.

28. If you visit my hometown, I suggest you: bring your noseplugs

29. Why won’t people: be reasonable?

30. If you spend a night at my house: that's your problem.

31. I’d stop my wedding for: a really good reason.

32. The world could do without: socialites.

33. I’d rather lick the belly of a cockroach than: do another budget at work.

34. My favorite blondes are: my sister as a wee one, hubs as a wee one, and Lynners.

35. Paper clips are more useful than: me.

36. If I do anything well it’s: loafing.

37. I can’t help but: loaf.

38. I usually cry: at the drop of a hat.

39. My advice to my nephew/niece: don't become journalists.

40. And by the way: I'm outta here. Leaving. Au revoir. Adios. See ya.

Saturday, September 06, 2008

Cleaning house

We had grand plans of clearing out both bedrooms in BK's grandma's house today (and thought the bathroom might be doable, too), but all that several hours of work yielded on a 100-degree day in that dusty home is a horrible, awful mess, in one room. The other rooms are still untouched. To the untrained eye, it looks like we pulled everything out of the drawers and closet and piled them on the floor. Which is basically what we did. But! There is some organization to the piles. There's the Donate pile, the Trash pile, the Keep pile and the I'm-not-sure-what-to-do-with-this pile. What does one do with one's deceased mother's baby shoes? What about old, fancy hats? Silky scarves?

It's a terribly overwhelming task that our realtor downplayed in a huge way. He made it sound simple. Organize piles in the garage, he said. Clear out the house by mid-September to take advantage of a slight bump expected in the market, he said. This will not happen. Physically and emotionally, we're unable to conquer this mountain in two weeks. The market will do what it does, and as I've often said, Jimmy crack corn, and we don't care.

Friday, September 05, 2008

Wedded Bliss

A stealth bomber had just blown up Air Force One, and the president and his son appeared to be goners. It was probably the cliffhanger of the season.

BK: "We have another one."
EK: "I don't think we should watch another one."
BK: "I do."
EK: "Hmph." I rouse myself from my nest on the couch.
BK: "This show is ruining our marriage."

Thursday, September 04, 2008

Curses upon this heatwave

Last night I was trying to wind down with a depressing novel loaned to me by a coworker ("The Year of Fog" -- can I please have no more children-being-kidnapped story lines? Please?!) when Hubs plopped down next to me.

"We watch too much TV," says he.
"Yes," I say.
"It's your fault."
"Oh?"
"Yes. I never used to watch this much TV."
"Oh. Then, I'm sorry."

Wednesday, September 03, 2008

Ugly Baby Karma

I have some mystery illness today, perhaps mild food poisoning, maybe a slight flu.

Ugly baby karma worked real fast.

We also still have no word on the house. It's sort of rude of the sellers to sit on our offer for so long, I think. In the meantime, we'll be looking at other homes and may withdraw our offer if we find a different one we want to make an offer on.

Tuesday, September 02, 2008

House Update III

The sellers still have not responded to our last offer.

And unfortunately, a house on the same court went on the market last week, and not even a week later, SOLD FOR FULL PRICE. These sellers were asking for $6,000 more on their house, and their house SUCKS. It's so not even as cool as the house we want.

Anyway, the moral of the story is we are screwed. This probably happened due to my ugly baby karma.

Thanks to HMac for this one...

Sexy people -- I can't get enough of it.

Saturday, August 30, 2008

House Update II

The sellers countered our low offer with a high offer. We made our final offer in the middle, but we think they probably will not accept.

Friday, August 29, 2008

House update

The sellers did not accept our offer and will be counter-offering...

An Open Letter to John McCain

Dear John,

I heard on the radio this morning that you'd selected Alaska Gov. Sarah Palin as your VP, and my heart sank a little because she's so young and lovely, even if she is a Republican, that I started to worry she would steal women's votes from Obama. You and Obama have done very interesting, strategic things in selecting your veeps; Obama trying to balance his foreign diplomacy inexperience with Biden, and you trying to balance your grandpa-esque-itude with Palin.

I expressed my concern about women defecting to your camp with this latest move to a co-worker, and she rebuffed it. She feels that your main problem is that you are, indeed, hella old (happy birthday, by the way). Should you die in office, Palin would become president.

This is an unpalatable thought. Sure, she's 28 years your junior, and a woman to boot, but if you want to talk about inexperience, let's talk about how this is Palin's first term as governor, her first real stint in any serious kind of public office. She was mayor of a town of 9,000 people before that. Running for Miss Alaska doesn't count, but at least she has experience in the pageant arena (the ability to fake-smile is a valuable political talent). She's a proponent of air-hunting for wolves -- that is, using low-flying planes to chase wolves and shoot them down. Maybe wolves are a problem in Alaska? I couldn't speak on it knowledgeably.

She's a card-toting lifetime member of the NRA. She supports drilling for oil in her home state. Even you don't support that!

And, she's a mother of five who elected not to have an abortion when she learned she would have a child with Down Syndrome, which -- nothing could be more admirable, and I'm not being sarcastic, for once. That's an extremely brave thing to do.

The point, though, is that she's pro-life, and that's not going to fly with many voters who hang their hat on that very issue. I'm not one of them -- the idea of voting for someone based on their abortion stance is distasteful to me, unless they are running on a platform that has something to do with it. I'm just pointing it out, is all.

So anyway, thanks for making this election that much more interesting. I think you're a pretty decent guy and I don't think it would be the end of the world if you were elected. I just don't think you're the best man for the job.

Good luck,

MOAM

Thursday, August 28, 2008

An Open Letter to David Duchovny

Dear David Duchovny,

Please, oh please, tell me you are not really in rehab for sex addiction and that it is all just research for your role in the Showtime series "Californication."

Please?

Thank you,

MOAM

An offer

Well, we have officially made our first offer on a home. It's a lovely three bedroom, two bathroom house in the Cambrian area. We'll find out soon what the sellers think. Our bet is that they will counter our offer, since we are offering a good deal less than they are asking. You never know!

Wednesday, August 27, 2008

How to tell when a woman does not have a weight problem

Today I asked a co-worker about her wedding plans and she remarked that she is extremely stressed out about the whole thing, which is causing her to stop eating. She said she is normally between 145 and 150 pounds and today she weighed in at 139. She's tall - probably 5'10 or 11. So, this is how you know when a woman doesn't have a weight problem: she tells you what she weighs.
I would rather wear assless pants to work than tell anyone there what I weigh.
And I'm not saying that all overweight people have a "weight problem." I consider a weight problem to be mostly mental. It's a problem wherein one's weight is overly disturbing to the person. For me, it is overly disturbing. I have overweight friends, though, who breezily tell me their weight. They feel more comfortable in their own skin and it's obvious.

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

Kentucky love

After a tip from John on a story about a dead guy who stood for three days at his own wake, I noticed this story right next to it on msnbc.com. How in the world this woman got potentially four different men to marry her is beyond me. She looks a little "touched."

Word to that, Huey Lewis!

I want a new drug
One that wont make me sick
One that wont make me crash my car
Or make me feel three feet thick

I want a new drug
One that wont hurt my head
One that wont make my mouth too dry
Or make my eyes too red

One that wont make me nervous
Wondering what to do
One that makes me feel like I feel when Im with you
When Im alone with you

I want a new drug
One that wont spill
One that dont cost too much
Or come in a pill

I want a new drug
One that wont go away
One that wont keep me up all night
One that wont make me sleep all day

One that wont make me nervous
Wondering what to do
One that makes me feel like I feel when Im with you
When Im alone with you
Im alone with you baby

I want a new drug
One that does what it should
One that wont make me feel too bad
One that wont make me feel too good

I want a new drug
One with no doubt
One that wont make me talk too much
Or make my face break out

One that wont make me nervous
Wondering what to do
One that makes me feel like I feel when Im with you
When Im alone with you

The Beleaguered Brasierre

SFGate reports that a Berkeley woman missed her flight out of Oakland on Sunday because TSA employees wouldn't allow her through security without a pat down of her breasts. She was wearing an underwire bra that kept setting off the alarm. She refused the pat down and instead agreed to remove her bra and then walk through security, after which her luggage was then searched at length, causing her to miss her flight.
This is a pretty dispicable infringement into a person's rather personal space. We're already removing shoes and belts at security, now if your bra sets off the alarm they want to start feeling you up? Oh, hell no.
Personally, I wear underwire bras because I have to - my boobs are too big for that non-underwire BS. I've never set off security at the airport, though. This woman is described as rather heavy chested, so she's probably got a lot more metal keeping those puppies suspended. Let's acknowledge her huge bazoombas and allow her onto her plane, shall we? Instead, she suffers the indignity of walking around an airport packed with people, completely braless. As a C-cup, I would never, ever wander in public braless. This woman is probably way larger-chested, and here she is flapping in the breeze for everyone to see, because she didn't want to allow a stranger to put their hands on her private parts.
Something needs to change with the whole security process at the airports. Decent citizens are being treated as criminals while silly news programs are still finding ways to sneak contraband through security to prove the system doesn't work. I don't know what the solution is, but a grope session is not the answer.

Monday, August 25, 2008

Hold your.....

I went home for lunch and watched "Family Feud," which, if you've never seen it, is a real gem of a show. People give the silliest answers.
One question was: "Finish this sentence: Hold your...."
The first two answers were decent: "Hold your horses," and "hold your breath." The rest of the family couldn't think of any good answers, though, and came up with "hold your pants up," "hold your baby," and "hold your dinner." I nearly snorted lemonade out my nose.
Actual answers were: "hold your tongue," "hold your temper," and "hold your hand."

Another Monday!

Where was all of the traffic this morning? Someone please enlighten me. My calendar says it's a Bank Holiday in the UK. Maybe everyone is taking off early since Labor Day weekend is next weekend? The metering lights were even green. Weird!

So somewhere between a barbecue at my sister & brother-in-law's new place and about six episodes of "24," we drank a bottle of 07 Late Harvest Syrah from Screeching Owl Vineyard, bottled by John Evan of Big White House winery in Livermore. It's a Syrah but tastes more like a port. Normally I don't like port because it's too awfully sweet but this stuff is sweet with a kick of tart. We know firsthand that it goes great with dark chocolate. The bottle's small, probably equivalent to half a regular bottle of wine, therefore we had no trouble drinking the whole thing in one evening (which is probably not how you are supposed to drink port, but heck). Sadly this is another one where I can't point you toward bevmo, but I can point you toward the tasting room.

Friday, August 22, 2008

Fried-brain Friday

We've been having theme-days this budget season and today is Frosted Friday, so my guess is that means someone is eventually bringing in donuts. Truly, it's Fried-brain Friday, as I was here til 9 last night during "Pizza Night," entering numbers into my budgets.
So since ze brain is fried, I vill write a couple quick reviews of some stuff that impressed me greatly recently.
1) Teske's Germania, a German restaurant in downtown San Jose. I ordered Kassler Rippchen mit Kartoffelsalat und Sauerkraut -- translation: Smoked pork cutlet with potato salad and sauerkraut. The cutlet was huge and tender and delicious, the potato salad and kraut were lovely complements. BK ordered their special of lamb shanks and devoured them happily. We also ordered large, yummy beers and as appetizers a sausage platter and two jalapeno cheese stuffed pretzels (we were with a large group), which were all scrumptious. The pretzels are not too spicy and arrive hot. For a trip here you should probably set aside at least a couple hours.
2) The 2003 Loco Lobo Syrah from El Sol Winery. We picked this up at El Sol in Livermore a few weeks ago. I'm afraid there may be no other way to get it than to make a trip to the actual winery, as I'm unable to find it on bevmo or anywhere else (don't mistake this for the Lobo Loco Syrah from Lodi). It's a syrupy red that doesn't bite you back. I drank it with something inappropriate like Taco Bell, but I think it would go well with a strong pairing, maybe a spicy pasta sauce with a generous topping of parmesan.

Thursday, August 21, 2008

A Dolores Aguilar follow-up

Dolores' amazing obituary has been zipping around the Internet and even led myth-busting snopes.com to verify its truth.
A reporter for the Daily Breeze contacted the woman who wrote the obituary, Aguilar's daughter, to ask her what inspired the caustic missive. She explained that her mom had been abusive and kept her children "unfed, poorly clothed and completely terrorized."
I simply cannot adequately express my love of Aguilar's obituary and her daughter's bravery in writing it.

9/23/08 postscript: I feel compelled to write more on this since I get easily 15 hits a day just from people searching for more information about the Dolores Aguilar obituary. Just today, someone commented that they don't consider Dolores' daughter's actions brave at all.
Mostly, I was fascinated that someone would have the guts to write such an honest obituary. My husband and I recently buried his grandmother, who was a spunky lady we loved very much, but if you think we were completely honest in her obituary, you'd be wrong. Of course we wrote honestly, but we didn't put everything in there. A completely honest obituary would have mentioned the heartache my husband's tiny family has endured over the last two and a half years, after enduring the death of my husband's mother, and then the rapid decline of his grandmother as she fell into the grips of dementia. She was miserable, and we were miserable. A truly honest obituary might have mentioned how toward the end she didn't trust anyone, including family, or how she wrote agonized notes to herself over and over that said the same things, in her effort to remember everything.
I know this is different than Dolores' situation, as she was apparently unliked by her family due to what they call a lifetime of abuse and neglect. Is it brave and noble to write such an honest obituary or shameful and vindictive? I can't honestly tell you.
I do know, as a former reporter and someone who's always been obsessed with obituaries, this is a highly unusual one. And it's managed to spark a ton of interest, and if anything the interest seems to grow by the day, despite news agencies having dropped the story. It's been fleshed out, as we say, and there's nothing more to say about it.
Some people, though, seem to still have something to say about it. If you've searched for this information and found it and you have a thought about Dolores' scathing obituary, please feel free to post it here.

Oompa, Loompa....

We are not proactive about laundry in our house. Well, really, we aren't proactive about cleaning in general. It typically has to get to a state where I start having nightmares about it, and then I'll spend a few hours angrily scrubbing things down.
So anyway, the other day BK ran out of black shirts, which is sort of a first. For those who don't know, BK's normal uniform is a black T-shirt and blue jeans. He's one of these lucky engineers who gets to dress casually for work, and believe it or not, he's actually better dressed than many of the dudes I've seen roaming his office. Anyway, he does not deviate from his standard uniform except on special occassions, when he'll wear The Suit. For in between occassions he's purchased khaki-type pants and will wear a black polo instead of a black T.
So when BK ran out of black T-shirts, he was forced to wear a bright blue T-shirt to work. When I saw him later that day wearing bright blue, it struck me as so funny that I made fun of him for it for about two hours. I asked him if he felt a little off kilter wearing such a bright color, and he said something to the effect of: "I feel like a goddamn blueberry."
We did laundry that evening.
What made me think of that is that today I am really, really bloated. Yesterday I ate probably the equivalent number of carbs that Michael Phelps eats on any given day (his typical breakfast includes something like an omelet, two breakfast sandwiches, a stack of pancakes and four waffles) and my stomach is having some major pooch action. I poured myself into my work pants and scrounged for a shirt that wasn't going to hug my belly. I settled on a bright blue three-quarter sleeve number. As I've been waddling around the office all morning I couldn't help but think of Violet Beauregard in "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory," and hear the Oompa Loompas chiding me.
I feel like a goddamn blueberry!

Wednesday, August 20, 2008

As promised - my Costas material

I remembered Bob being more of the main topic of this email I sent to about 30 people on Valentines Day in 2002, but turns out it's only a snippet, so I'm snipping it out and pasting it here for you. I wrote this when I was interning at the News-Press in Fort Myers, Fla.

"Speaking of the Olympics, did you watch the opening ceremony? Who loves Bob Costas? I do. Katie Couric, the poor woman, has a mouth like a bottom dwelling fish, but Bob. Who could NOT love Bob? Here is how truly bored and pathetic I am: I took notes during the opening ceremony. Bob was having a truly quotable evening. I believe the first thing I wrote down was "You know, Katie, it's never good when you're being pursued by giant icicles!" The "child of light" or whatever they were calling the kid with the red jacket, was being chased by these pointy tin foil guys. Jay Leno made a funny about this later in the evening: "Why is the Klan chasing that kid?"
Another Bobism: "...known, to his displeasure, as the flying white sausage," speaking about a German luge guy.
Do you all remember the hoedown or have you managed to block it out? Bob said, "They're about to have their hoedown!" Andi, on the phone (probably with Antonio) in the kitchen, says, "The Olympics are on. They're having a hoedown on the ice. I feel very Olympic just watching it."
I noted in my book: "This is why the whole world thinks we're stupid."

A message from my husband:

What's up, you motherfucker??!!!! It's Hubs. Bitch!!

You have to have read yesterday's post to understand why this is funny.

Mid-morning musings

Today I noticed someone found my blog by searching for "fresno stripper."

Also I realized that not only has No Name been fired from Alice, but Hyphy Mikey seems to have been demoted off of doing traffic and is now doing interviewy type stuff for the station. So Kathy the traffic lady is back, which is cool with me. She's a lot easier to understand. Hyphy talks like he has marbles in his mouth.

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

Tip for cube rats

Do not loudly swear "motherfucker!!" when the vice president of operations is on a rare trip to your office and is standing behind you.

Shocking news!! Bigfoot is a fake

Check it out -- the two guys who perpetrated the hoax have disappeared into thin air after submitting a rubber costume as their proof.

Fare thee well, Dolores!

SFist posted this obituary for an allegedly nasty lady named Dolores Aguilar, which upon first read seems as though it must be a fake. But apparently the Vallejo Times Herald demanded that a blood relative bring in a death certificate before they would agree to publish what was written. Take a look, it's quite a doozy! I know a certain journalism professor who would get a cackle out of this...

Monday, August 18, 2008

Glory be!

Someone did a google search for "Costas" and visited me. Ha!

By The Way

Recent google searches that have led people to this blog:

Is plain popcorn fattening?

5 reasons to take a vacation

Ha!

Mr. Costas

I know I said I was going to write an open letter to Michael Phelps, but I frankly don't think he needs any more adoration than he is already receiving. Plus, I was reminded of some of the true treasures that fall from Bob Costas' lips during Olympics coverage when he said something about fungus soup -- "Just like mom used to make." I remembered he covered the winter Olympics in Utah and had some really, really funny things to say, which I, in turn, wrote down and emailed to everyone I knew. I plan to find that old email and paste it in here out of pure laziness and narcissism.

Friday, August 15, 2008

Underwhelming Big Foot evidence

Of three supposed DNA tests on Bigfoot, one was inconclusive, one had traces of human DNA and one had opposum DNA. The Atlanta Journal Constitution wrote about today's press conference.
By the way, that link includes a photo.

And, Discover Magazine says they call bullshit.

You mean you don't believe in Bigfoot?

A quote in a separate SFGate article that amused me:

"What I've seen so far is not compelling in the least, and I think the pictures cast grave doubts on their claim," Jeffrey Meldrum, a Bigfoot researcher and Idaho State University professor, told the Scientific American. "It just looks like a costume with some fake guts thrown on top for effect."

Bigfoot found?

Stay tuned -- there will be a press conference today in Palo Alto regarding the origin of some remains found by self-proclaimed Bigfoot trackers.

Control Disease

Panera says: Wash your hands.
BK saw this in a Panera restroom and it struck his funny bone. It's not often that signs asking you to wash your hands go so far as to explain that it will prevent the spread of disease.

Thursday, August 14, 2008

An Open Letter to Netflix

Dear Netflix,

I understand that you are experiencing technical difficulties at the moment, but I must plead with you to please, please rectify the situation as quickly as possible, as I am neck deep in Season 3 of "24," and we're at the part where Jack is busting Salazar out of prison while fighting off urges to shoot heroin and vomit in a corner and Tony's been shot and Michelle is bravely heading up CTU all by herself.

Meanwhile, in real life, spoilers about who dies, who gets stabbed and who gets married keep popping up in Entertainment Magazine, which I receive for free, although I'm still not sure why. So, you see, it's imperative that I finish all six seasons of "24" by November so that I can watch the seventh season live and not risk being told what will happen before it actually happens.

So, please, pay the technicians overtime, but I need my "24."

Sincerely,

MOAM

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

A budget meal

As I crunch budget numbers at work -- I ate the new Southern style chicken sandwich from McDonalds. It is literally chicken with two pickles. No mayo or any other condiment.

Happy Birthday, Javelina

Today is my BK's 32nd birthday. Although I am a notorious grouch in the mornings, I willed myself to say hello to the birthday boy as cheerfully as possible this morning. I believe birthdays have the potential to be special, if you let them. They want to be acknowledged and made a big deal out of. They want balloons and cakes and special dinners and kisses and wine. It's the one day of the year that other people are supposed to focus on you, and you may gladly accept their fawning and silly songs.
That's why I decided a few years ago that I will never work on my birthday, ever again. Working on one's birthday is really just depressing. You're still expected to perform your job, and your co-workers most often are not going to give you the genuine fawning-over that you desire.
So last year, for example, I took the day off, went to a spa with a friend, got a massage and a facial, had a lovely lunch and bought an expensive purse. Then I went to my parents' house for some fawning-over. It was a great day!
BK doesn't seem to agree with me about my taking-the-day-off policy, and he will be heading to work this morning. I'll try to make up for the depressing day at work with appropriate levels of fawning-over later on, but don't say I didn't warn you, babe!

Monday, August 11, 2008

Friday, August 08, 2008

An Open Letter To John Edwards

Dear John,

I rarely deign to write letters to politicians (in fact I rarely write the word "deign"), but today's news of your affair offended me even more than Clay Aiken did a little while ago.
Therefore, I feel it necessary to inform you that you are a Class-A Asshole. Good job on joining that esteemed group of men in the public eye who have the gall to cheat on their wives. I've said it before and I'll say it again: It's not so much the cheating, it's the lying.
Cheat, if you will, but when repeatedly asked about the affair, you need to MAN UP. Admit your mistake, and move on. Not you. For months you've been skirting this little infidelity problem of yours, perhaps hoping to be chosen as Obama's VP? Here's news: I think that VP position just flew out the window.
From what I understand, this affair may have taken place during your own campaign for president. Is that true? Are you really so shameless that you would ask Americans to elect you president, as you publicly stand by your wife and secretly frolick with some hussy?
And seriously, John? The wife, with the cancer? Seriously? Could the situation be any worse? You seriously cheated on your wife, who has incurable cancer? Her imminent death isn't soon enough for you, apparently?
Also, I found your statement to the press today disappointing, to say the least. Firstly, you are denying your mistress's child is yours. Which -- I think we should let a paternity test determine the true answer to that question, since you are obviously not a source of reliable information. Secondly, you felt it necessary to say something to the effect of, "Yes, I had an affair, but I never loved her." Ah, yes. That makes it OK. It's OK for you to be physically unfaithful to your wife as long as mentally you still love her just as much as ever. You are a deluded man.
Honestly, John. I find this sort of behavior disgusting. Really. You disgust me. At one point I thought you were a viable candidate, not just for VP, but for the Big P. Now I think you're just a dickwad.


MOAM

Do you feel lucky?

Happy Luckiest Day of the Century, if you happen to agree with the Chinese that eights are, like, serendipitous.
Although I don't feel lucky (soul suckage going on again), I do feel excited about the Olympics. I've always loved the Olympics. It reminds me of when I was a kid and I felt like I could be an Olympian, too.
I thought perhaps I'd be a swimmer. Maybe an ice skater. Maybe a gymnast. I've never been particularly athletic but for some reason I always thought this might be a possibility. Probably because the adults around me always told me I could do whatever I wanted. My grandparents, deluded as they must have been as I dog-paddled from end to end in their swimming pool, used to say I could be a professional swimmer if I wanted to. Swim for my job? Sounded great to me.
My other grandmother used to say I could be a model. I was a skinny, long-legged kid but not particularly good looking (more grandparental delusion there, I'm afraid). But, a modeling gig also sounded pretty sweet to me. Too bad cookies sounded even sweeter!
My parents always knew I would do something with words, as I had my nose in a book almost constantly from a young age.
My sister was more of a mystery, possessing certain talents that didn't come fully to light until she reached high school. She's a talented artist, musician and singer.
I sometimes read about children of movie stars and how they often grow up to be movie stars or singers, or artists of some kind. The thought is that artists beget artists. In which case, I wonder how two corporate work horses produced two artistic minds? Maybe it was all the wine and the fighting and the movies and the art classes and the family outings and the pine cones and the enchiladas. Just maybe.

Tuesday, August 05, 2008

A Chance Meeting in Livermore

Whilst stumbling about various Livermore wineries, glass in hand, I ran into my sister and her husband on Sunday. That sentence does not sound bizarre, but if you really think about it, it is. My sister lives in Milpitas, and I in San Jose. I rarely go wine tasting; the last time was in April in Santa Barbara, for our anniversary. I'd never been wine tasting in Livermore. There are easily 50 wineries in the area. We spent an average of 20 minutes at each of about six or seven that we visited. Once we'd reached the last one, which we hunted for endlessly and agreed would be the last one due to our level of inebriation, we stood behind a small crowd that was already bellied up to the bar. At some point a number of people began exclaiming loudly at each other, and looking in their direction, I realized my sister and brother-in-law were among the rosy-cheeked group downing generous "tastings." Their friends, an older couple who'd invited my sister and her hubby along for the day, bought a rare bottle of wine for the group and shared it with the approximately 10 people in the tasting room.

Here's a photo of the gang hanging out, although you really can't tell who anyone is. My back is facing the camera, you can see the side of my brother-in-law's face, part of my sister's head, my friend Greg in his hat, and the happy gentleman serving wine behind the counter. This was at Elliston winery, which is technically in Sunol. They have pretty good wine, and a very interesting tasting room.

Monday, August 04, 2008

Sarah & Vinnie reuniting

So I just read that Vinnie is coming back to the Alice morning show that he was fired off of in 2002 for being a drunk. It's an interesting article about how he got sober and where he's been for the last several years. I remember being peeved when he left initially, so I'm hoping the show will resume its original greatness. He's supposed to have started today, but since I was driving BK's car to work today I needed my powers of concentration and didn't turn on the radio this morning.