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


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.



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


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)
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."