Wednesday, April 29, 2009

Ring My Bell

The theme from Pirates of the Caribbean.

I went to church on, no, lightning did not strike. I saw a friend performing in a hand bell choir. I probably should have put in the SNL I Need More Cowbells with Christopher Walken, but alas, I could not find it on You Tube.

Twinkle twinkle little star was one of the first songs they performed by the little kindergarten kids. So cute. They sit at the long table with their color coded bells in front of them with their choir teacher in front of them with a large easel and a pointer. The notes are color coded to match their little bells. She starts her arm waving to get the rhythm going. Then with her handy pointer, she points to each note and then looks at the child who is supposed to whack their bell. If you listened carefully, you could hear her say each child's name.

"Twin..kle, twin...kle, lit...tle........wait for's" Whew.

My brother and I are sitting in a pew , heads wagging up and down like human metronomes. We get into the rhythm, but waiting for the last note is killing us. The nice older people sitting behind us are cracking up.

Little boy in the green shirt with the big ears is not quite sure of the concept.

"Twin...kle, twin...kle,"

They finish their little show and get a loud round of applause. The people behind tell us they were laughing because it was so funny to watch our heads go up and down, and then pause waiting for the final note. They were also cracking up because Lop (brother's friend) opened the box of cookies he brought for the church social afterwards and was passing them out. I needed a sugar rush, so I grabbed one. (A church social. Wow. I never thought I would be typing those words.)

The big kids were good but the adults were pretty cool. They have some big honkin' bells they play. And they actually whack the bells against a pad on the table for a different sound and they also use them like percussion instruments. Very cool sound. But their choir leader reminded me of every PTA president I have tried to forget. I was a PTA president but really it was a puppet presidency. My friend, Debbie, really ran the show. She had done it for 2 years and talked me into doing it. I keep looking but I'm not sure where the word sucker is printed on my body. If it wasn't for some of those wonderful women, I would have been in PTA prison for some infraction of the rules.

More cowbells anyone?

Monday, April 27, 2009

Why Bathrooms Need Full Length Mirrors

When we were sitting around my mom's kitchen table telling stories, my mom joined in a with a story of her own. I had told my nephews the story of their dog and the other family dogs. We started telling funny stories and she piped in with a story of her own.

She said that she had gone to Costco to do some big shopping. She went to the bathroom first and shopped till she dropped. My mom had a knee replacement quite a few years ago and still hobbles along and uses a cane. If you ever spot a cute older woman with nice highlights in her hair with a cane in the eastern part of the Valley, be careful. She uses the cane like an extension of her arm swinging it this and that away. "Oh look, dear, isn't that cute? Look right there." And there goes the cane swinging wildly to point to whatever bright shiny object has captured her attention. I have told her she will need a wheelchair soon because I'm going to take that cane and commit a violent act with it. She laughs and thinks it's funny.

Anyway, she goes to the bathroom and then shops for a long time. In the line to pay, a lady comes up behind her to whisper in her ear, "I don't mean to embarrass you but you have a toilet seat cover stuck in your pants." My mom is so upset and says, "How come no one told me~!"

Okay. Confession time. I went out with my friend to a nice restaurant in town that has a nice bar, Penfolds Cattle Company. We went to the potty and as I came out to wash my hands, she started laughing and said that I had the seat cover stuck in my pants. Sigh. I have never done that one again.

I always give my ass a nice pat now when I leave the bathroom just in case. Of course, I am waiting for the day I leave with the toilet paper trailing behind me stuck to my shoe.

Sunday, April 26, 2009

Happy Birthday, Dad~!

This video shows how I felt all day yesterday. From beginning to end it was wonderful. I wanted everyone to join in.

My dad turned 80 on Friday, April 24th, and, of course, the only "present" he wanted from his kids was for us to be all together. He loves it even if he sits there and watches the Lakers in the playoffs~! And what more could he ask...Lakers kicked Jazz butt.

I actually got to wash my car yesterday and make it shiny and silver again and then drove out the Valley. My baby brother called me just as I was getting on the freeway because Red Writer was hungry. (Yes, that will be her name in the blog from now on. She did not like her stripper name, Cinnamon. Sheesh.) She was STARVING and wanted to meet somewhere to eat. We decided on the Old Spaghetti Factory off the
210. Duarte? Not sure, but it started the day in the best way. I told my brother that I finally give up--I am going to get the iPhone. Leo LaPorte convinced me. He did say though that once you get used to a smart phone, you can't live without it, so I may be in trouble. My laptop is already an extension. People just assume I always have it with me now. Poor Red Writer. She is so not a geek, not even a wanna be geek. Her eyes glaze over and you can see her mind wander off into Red Writer land. I pestered her into a blog because she tells the best stories and I know she would be a hit in blog land. Now, I am tormenting her to get on Twitter (my new love). When she started to glaze over I asked her what was she thinking right NOW? She said do people with hairy moles not own mirrors or do they think it looks cool or do they not care? LOL. She also wanted to know if graffitti could be done in the Comic Sans font? (She heard me ranting about how people had their panties in a bunch about this font.) Graffitti in a funny font?

Which reminds me. We had to go to CVS Pharmacy near my mom's house so they could buy a card for my dad and while waiting in line I noticed the tattoos on the guy in front of me. Don't get me wrong. I like tattoos for the most part. But this guy looked like a Mexican gang member, or if he wasn't, he sure was wearing the uniform of one. You know, kind of baggy pants, white t-shirt, attitude. He had sleeve tattoos, really well done, but the one I was dying to take a picture of was on the back of his neck. (I admit it, I tried to sneak a pic but I figured that probably was not too smart if he caught me.) It was a bar code with his birthday-09-18-1985. I really really wanted to ask him if the bar code was real. I mean it looked real. Thick lines and thin lines. Like the movie "Hitman."

We went home and had the best BBQ. These are my nephews up a tree in my parents' backyard. The youngest one is Mr. Stoic. He takes pride in not talking a lot and getting him to laugh is a challenge. Yesterday we got them both laughing so hard we were all crying and our faces hurt. Teddy Bear and Killdozer drove in late and I think Killdozer is now convinced I am nuts. It has been a long time since the family has sat around my mom's kitchen table and told family stories for hours, took tons of pictures, and laughed till it hurt. He has never actually seen me that way before.

We sang Happy Birthday to my dad (8 candles), he opened his gifts, and everyone ate cake and ice cream and jello with spray on Cool Whip. What is up with that? Cool Whip was made to eat right out of the container with as big a spoon as possible for goodness sake. I wish my sister could have been there with her family but she is in Coachella at the Stagecoach Festival with a good friend of hers. I hope she brought her shit kickers.

I love you, Dad~! Happy Birthday~!

Thursday, April 23, 2009

Figure 8, Double 4's

Schoolhouse Rock--I loved when they would play the Schoolhouse Rock videos.

So I got tagged to do 8 Things by Welcome to Sageville. Very cool blog. Naughty but cool.

Eight Things I'm Looking Forward To:
1. Buying a house after all hell stops breaking loose.
2. A real Republican, or even a real conservative.
3. The new Star Trek movie. (Yes, I want to be geek.)
4. Fourth of July.
5. Seeing my grandson.
6. When I can pull my money out of Prudential and tell them to shove it.
7. The next Happy Hour with BFF.
8. When Chloe's mom has been in remission long enough to be called "cured."

Eight Things I did Yesterday:
1. Got up at 4:00 a.m. to work.
2. Actually cooked and made dinner.
3. Matched the first season of House, M.D.
4. Played on Twitter WAY too much.
5. Read the new Wired magazine.
6. Enjoyed talking with Teddy Bear and Killdozer.
7. Watched some incredibly funny You Tube videos.
8. Read a little bit of "March" by Geraldine Brooks.

Eight Things I Wish I Could Do:
1. Sing, sing, sing!!
2. Remember things.
3. Make every liberal "clarify" and explain their position without resorting to name calling. (That's how I know I won the argument with my dad and my ex-brother-in-law anyways. As soon as they said I was stupid or an asshole, I knew they had no idea why they believed what they did.)
4. Make every Republican explain why they are still Republicans. I come from California, home to Arnold, Maldonado, etc. Of course, I am not to blame for Specter and his ilk.
5. Win the lottery, never work again, and travel the world.
6. Develop a better sense of gratitude.
7. Learn to enjoy exercising.
8. Be 23 again.

Eight TV shows I watch: (anybody who knows me is laughing right now)
1. Dog Whisperer
2. Ummmm.. Those I watch on DVD: Heroes
3. Lost.
4. Weeds.
5. South Park
6. It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia.
7. House.
8. Gilmore Girls

Eight People I Tag:
Thia Karen
Doibie Journal
Chloe's Mom
Life Right Now
Teddy Bear

That was fun~! Thanks, Sage.

Monday, April 20, 2009

Please Don't Put Me to Sleep

I dislike having someone knock me out for a "procedure." Yeah. I love how the docs call it a procedure. I am so sure I will talk in my sleep and say something incredibly stupid or suggestive that will keep the surgeon from holding the scalpel steady. "Hey, doc, you up for a threesome with the anesthesiologist?" Man, I know it would be worse than drunk talking. "I love you, man. I mean I really love you."

I only went once to camp and the only thing I remember is the girl sleeping in the bunk above me telling me how we had had a whole conversation and boy wasn't that funny because I did not remember a thing about it. I feel like if someone were to ask me a question in that condition I might say the truth. The problem is, I am not always sure what that would be.

I only hope I'm not like poor Bizkit in this video. Propelling my legs frantically in my sleep and then running into a wall.

Sunday, April 19, 2009

Fractals and Fonts

Font Conference by

Just thinking out loud. Finding your first gray hair will do that for you. That, and a bottle of Jack Daniels to drown your sorrows. My sister-in-law plucked out the gray hair for me. I know. You're not supposed to do that because it will bring all its little buddies with it, but somehow I just could not stand to know it was there. As if being 51 didn't suck enough.

Anyways, I was reading an article, which for the life of me I cannot find on Yahoo, about people getting their panties in a bunch about Comic Sans and wanting to ban it. Yeah, banning a font. A FONT. Did you know there is a documentary out there about the Helvetica font? It looks fascinating and I really want to see it now. But what got me thinking was no matter how much you look into a subject, you can still go deeper into it. People were waxing poetic on fonts and typography and I totally get it. The love and fascination for graphic design and typography. I started doing what always gets me into trouble, jumping from link to link to learn more about a subject, and the more I looked the deeper the subject went and finding out how much there is out there which I have no clue about.

It got me thinking about fractals. You start with a formula, create an image, and when you zoom in on that image, it continues to stay complex and interesting no matter, it seems, how much you zoom in. (My understanding of fractals is strictly an amateur's fascination. I may be totally full of shit here, but this is what I far.) What is a fractal? Ah, this video might help.

Well, I'm off to go play with Times New Roman. Well, one doc likes his transcription in Arial. Maybe I should invoice in Comic Sans....nah, the docs already think I rob them blind and will not appreciate the comical light-hearted touch I think. I should make it something tough and bossy. Helvetica sounds bossy but I'm not sure.

Any ideas?

Wee Bladder Club

So, do you have a wee bladder? Or a camel bladder that can go hours and hours and hours? My sister-in-law (who now wants to be called Cinnamon instead of JuJuBeez) is a founding member, president of the Wee Bladder Club. Hell, she is Queen and Empress of the club. When we would drive to Vegas from Temecula she would be dying by the time we hit Victorville doing the sitting in the car pee pee dance. For a year or two I reluctantly joined her club. All I had to do was think about taking a leak and off I would go. Thankfully, this affliction is much improved.

I went to a Padres came last Saturday, Padres vs Giants. Truthfully, I am not a baseball fan but if I were it would probably be the Dodgers. Sorry. Killdozer will probably kill me for that. The new Petco stadium was a blast. We left early so we could eat before the game started and not have to worry about the crowds. We parked in the convention center parking lot, paid our $8 and walked across the street, across the trolley tracks, and went to the Tin Fish Restaurant. I had some awesome beer and fish and chips.

The place was packed with Padres fans. It was a sea of blue. They had a guy singing crazy Irish songs and trying to get the crowd excited. Message to fellow geezers. Lighten up. We sat outside on the patio. I could see the entrance to the Gas Lamp and could people watch like mad. Unfortunately, beer goes through me like nobody's business, so I had to fight my way through the crowd to the bathroom. Of course, I was expecting a line. They have one potty for men and one potty for women. When I get there, there is a line but the line had men in it and one woman. Okay, what the heck. I get behind the woman and wait. It is one line but the men are waiting for their bathroom. A lady comes out of the women's restroom and the lady ahead of me goes in. The men are starting to mutter. Another lady shows up behind me and we giggle about how the men are having to wait and they start laughing and complaining about how that never happens. At this point, only one man has gone in. It's my turn and I go in, do my thing, and leave and the men are still waiting. Three women to one man ratio. I laugh and ask them how it feels to have to wait. One man is truly doing the bladder full of beer dance and starting to sweat.

The Padres won that night and I got a great t-shirt. And I still want to know if the 2 men who sat next to us were gay or not. The one was kinda of yummy. Not that I did that well at flirting. Sigh. Any tips and lessons would be welcome. My 19-year-old thinks it is hysterical that I have no clue how to flirt. I'm not sure how to tell her that I met her dad, my ex, at a New Year's Eve party at age 16, we were making out within hours, and we eventually got married. I'm pretty sure at over age 50 that making out on the first date is against the rules.

Darn. Coffee is kicking in.

Thursday, April 16, 2009

Buck Nekkid

I always wondered why the Governator came back naked in the Terminator movies.

I enjoy seeing a nice naked ass. A sexy six pack. Popping pecs. Well, you get the idea. Remember Universal Soldier with Jean-Claude Van Damme? When I saw that in the theater we got there late and had to sit in the second row back. My head was practically in the lap of the guy behind me so I could see the screen. The advantage to that was the naked butt scene. (The sitting close was the advantage, not the head in the lap.) Man, that was nice. Reach out and touch someone.

I am so clueless when it comes to figuring out plot lines in movies or mystery novels. Maybe that's why I like some pretty lame books and movies. I have friends who figure out a story way before the movie ends while I am still waiting with bated breath to see how it all works out. The Others had me going right up until the very end. Never figured out Sixth Sense. Even lame ass romance books where anyone should be able to figure out the ending, I never do. We read Nights in Rodanthe and I did not see that coming at all because I read it too fast. When I went back and re-read some of the chapters in the beginning, I could only blame myself for missing the obvious. But I was still pissed. Because I hated the book and I really hated the story but at least it was a short book.

You know what really bugs me though is reading a book where the writing is incredible but the story is so-so and then it ends and...and...nothing. I HATE that. I feel like I wasted my time. It's like excellent tailoring of a potato sack. Who gives a crap? Tell me a great story, even somewhat badly and I will forgive you. I will overlook clunky dialogue, strange plot lines, improbable characters, just keep telling the story.

So tell me your favorite naked butt scene. And I call dibs on Brad Pitt in Troy.

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

The Invisible Man

I actually started this post looking for a cute video of a cat because my dogs think she is invisible now. Yes, they now magically cannot see the big gray tabby cat that shares the garage with them. She meows more than any cat I have ever heard, ever. My dogs bark more than any dog should be allowed to bark. In a past life, I must have been a loud mouthed pain in the butt because all my animals are loud and obnoxious and cause me endless grief. Bo and Indy nearly got sent to doggy jail on Monday.

My doorbell rings..twice...very irritated sounding. I stop working to see who is there. Look out the glass in the front door and see a cop car with lights on parked in front of my house. Oh my. Open door but no one is there. What is this? Ding dong ditch? By the police? Then a man's voice says "I'm over here." He asks me if I own 2 dogs. Oh. Shit. I tell him yes, I own 2 small dogs. He says they are out running around and that they nearly got hit. He is looking and sounding just a wee bit annoyed. I tell him that the gardeners were there today and they probably left the gate open. But what I am really thinking is "Oh, please, dogs, don't come back while Mr. Policeman is here." Neither one of my dogs has a license. Bo, the fat wiener dog used to have a license. I had him fixed and properly registered. Honest. Indy is my daughter's dog and I will be damned before I get him fixed and pay for the license.

I call and call and here comes Bo. He looks happy to see me, so maybe escaping is no longer in his blood. He is an old fart now and fat to boot, so running around is a little harder nowadays, although the puppy has caused him to lose weight recently. I call and call for Indy. Teddy Bear will cry her eyes out if he gets lost. Finally, he comes flying from the around the back so happy to be found. I think he was trying to find a way back in through the back fence. The cop is back in his car by now and looks like he might say something, but then decides not to. I think it was the same cop who came to the house when someone painted a swastika on the side of my house right after the election. I did not know it was there but across the street is an elementary school and I guess a parent saw it and called it in. The same vandals also spray painted my daughter's car with red paint that said "Fuck Obama" and "Die Obama," but that was another post. He lets me take them in the house and I am very happy I did not have to chase anyone down. It was embarrassing enough that I was still in my pajamas.

Anyway, about my invisible cat.... Ah, dang. Look at the time. Gotta run. Book Babes are meeting in less than hour and I am still in my pajamas...maybe I should change the name of my blog to "Hey Lady, Do You Own Any Real Clothes?"

Monday, April 13, 2009

Why Do Goofy Things Make Me Cry?

This is Susan Boyle, 47, on the show Britain's Got Talent. Will someone please tell me why something like this makes me cry? Like a gift to fight cynicism. Pure talent. Something real, something appreciated. Her tears are so real and her talent amazing.

All she needs is a frog to hop up so she can kiss him and then he becomes a prince.

I remember years ago a commercial on TV around Christmas time. Family getting ready for the holidays. Lights. Gifts. Family. It was all there. Beautiful. But the mom in the family kept wistfully looking at a picture of a young man in uniform, obviously not home for the holidays, god knows where in the world. Of course, you know what happens. But, damn, I still cry for some reason.

I am too trusting to be totally cynical (ask anybody who knows me), but I am slowly becoming more wary of everything, and I mean everything. Things I never would have questioned before, I question now. Maybe that is naive on my part. Like I said, I think everyone is good until proven otherwise. I think everyone is honest. Even my daughter laughs at me and says I am not confrontational enough. There are certain things that send me over the edge though lately. Unfairness, dishonesty, arrogance, deceit.

You know how reformed smokers are the worst at preaching against the evils of smoking? Are they not the most obnoxious? Almost as bad as the greenies. I don't want to fall into the cynical world and never see the optimistic side again.

Maybe I should watch Pollyanna. Play the glad game. Anybody want to join me?

Sunday, April 12, 2009

Famous Monsters of Filmland

The Cosmic Cowboy goes all Wild West. Fun. You have to watch both videos, especially the first one here to figure out just how nuts Billy Bob Thornton is. Poor Billy. He wants so badly to be a hillbilly but actually ends up being a Beverly Hills diva. I think all that butter and mud went to his head.

When you watch the video, you can almost see BBT go insane. I wish I could have been in his head. It might have sounded like this.

I’m going to show you. I fucking INSTRUCTED you not to talk about my acting. You want to talk about movies? Fine. I’ll go all bat shit on you. Talk freaking weird. Famous Monsters of Filmland. HAHAHA. I see you freaking out. I love it. I’m a fucking music historian, man. I’m going to mess with your head, you little shit. I’m going to show everyone what a dickhead you are. I am Tom Petty, man. No, wait, not what I meant. I am the great and powerful Billy Bob. When I tell you not to mention my acting you fucking better not mention my acting. I’m a fucking music HISTORIAN man. I am a MUSICIAN. I am so well known as a musician, made 8 albums, you don’t need to mention that I’ve won an Academy Award, written screen plays. Shit, man. I made a name for myself as a musician, not an actor. But that figures. You’re a Canadian. Mashed potatoes without gravy, man. Yeah, right. And, I can’t fucking smoke where I want to smoke man. White stripes. What’s with that crap?

Yes. Everyone needs to run out and buy the Boxmasters CDs right now. The Cosmic Cowboy needs to ride again.

Friday, April 10, 2009

Eye Candy and Chocolate

Las Vegas...ah, the things you see there. Gobbling our ice cream, we gawked at all the beautiful people, and laughed at all the tourists.

Once a year, all the women in the family used to go to Las Vegas for a long weekend. I loved planning these trips--picking the hotels, the shows we would see, the piano bar night at Paris, Paris, and, of course, lying around the pool and drinking all day. Since only a few of us gamble the hotel is a BIG deal. It has to be nice and fun to s
tay at. A few years ago we stayed at the Bellagio. What a beautiful hotel and beautiful pools, but for the chocolate lovers in our group, the best feature was the biggest chocolate fountain I have ever seen.

I felt like Charlie in the chocolate factory Man, now I know how Augustus Gloop felt. Come on, just a taste. Please.

After spending a long time by the pool and then shopping and walking around the hotel, we stopped for dessert at the beautiful chocolate fountain place, which is at the corner of a long stretch of stores and on the way to the casino. (Well, as best as I can remember.)

JuJuBeez was telling us about how her mom, who was so incredibly beautiful, was taught the way for a woman to walk to strut her stuff. Peeps could have been a movie star. She said you had to walk with one foot right in front of the other and your knees should almost touch as you walked. Say what? You see, that way your hips really swayed and your fanny did that oh so nice wiggle. Honest, I tried. We all practiced doing the walk. I am sure we entertained the other people watchers. But flip flops and tennis shoes are not conducive to a sexy walk. (It is fun to walk like that wearing heels though. It really is a sexy walk.) So, we watched everyone and how they walked. Oh. My.

Here come the chubby ladies in their shorts and flip flops clumping along doing a duck walk. Then THEY came around the corner. Oh, yes. He was a handsome, distinguished older man, white hair and all. Beautiful suit, impeccably tailored. But, really, you hardly noticed him at all. On his arm was the best eye candy. She was tall, blond, beautiful. Serious eye candy and she was literally on his arm. Short elegant black dress. (I really need my own LBD. Large black dress, right?) She had endlessly long legs, killer shoes, and boy did she have the walk down. There had to be a trail of drool following her. Every man was slack jawed as they went by. It was like watching a convention of yokels practicing their secret ritual.

It is fun to watch my tomboy daughter turn into a very feminine girl. It is a secret society. I think Killdozer would be happy if she wore a potato sack though. But, I like that she is sharp and way too opinionated for her own good.

She wore a pair of short shorts last night to nephew's birthday. Let's just say, there was another set of cheeks to powder.

Happy 10 Didgets, Nephew~!

My nephew turned double digits yesterday--the big 1-0~! His sucky aunt (me) and his other sucky aunt (my SIL) were buying his birthday card at Rite-Aid right before we went to their house for BBQ because...because...well, we have no excuse. We had way too much fun picking out cards to put our money in. My card mentioned peeing but I don't think he even noticed what the card said or who gave it to him, he just wanted the moola. I gave him $20 bucks. I have a feeling he thought it should have been triple digit money. Sheesh. Who does he think I am? Ben Bernanke?

Teddy Bear, Killdozer, and I drove out to La Jolla to help celebrate. I have a feeling I'm going to get a ticket in the mail. We got into the newly finished carpool/toll lanes because I have a Fast Trak and it said it was a Fast Trak lane but apparently it is a different Fast Trak than mine so it didn't beep when we went through it and now I'm pissed because the toll was only 50 cents but I think it's fun to be in the carpool lanes and now it will probably cost me $20 friggin' dollars.

We picked up Baby Brother and JuJuBeez. I like when they go because then BB drives. JuJuBeez and I could never live near each other because we would get nothing done except for goofing off and laughing. Some people have a different way of looking at the world and she is definitely one of those people. Her mother is just like that, too. Her parents are in their 80s now, her dad is hard of hearing and her mother's eyesight is failing, so spending time with them is like an episode of "Who's on first?" Her dad, Poops, complains that her mom talks too much. Go ahead. Say it. I know I did. How would he know? He can't hear...and that is what Peeps (mom) tells him all the time. One day, Peeps got so mad, she picked up a piece of junk mail and heaved it at him hitting him square in the chest. He accused her of lying about being blind because it was a great shot. They squabble but are inseparable. They have a caregiver who was spending the nights to help them out, but they let her go on the weekends. Why? Well, umm...well, ahhhh. Parents don't, you know, do it, you know, do they??

My brother's house was full of 1o year old boys. At first it was fairly calm because they were playing Call of Duty or whatever. (This is the game that Nazi Zombies is on, by the way.) They were pretty quiet until the huge inflatable bats and swords came out. Whose brilliant idea was that? Man, why do little boys like beating the tar out of each other? My brother, birthday boy's dad, the Doc, turned on a movie, the newest Ice Age movie, and turned UP the volume. Did I mention he turned UP the volume? It was incredible. His surround sound blew my hair backwards. I am totally going to house sit for him next time.

We ate cake and ice cream and headed home. Of course, Teddy Bear left MY make up bag and her expensive new straightener at the Doc's house. I TOLD her to it pick it up, but because it took too long to say good-bye, it was too much effort to hold it for that long. Gosh, five minutes is a long time when you are young. Anyway, she put it down and there it stayed. They need to call this generation "Generation Lazy."

Happy 10th Birthday, Nephew~! (And it's your aunts fault the card said didget instead of digit.)

Thursday, April 9, 2009

Tartar Sauce for Your Fish Dicks?

"Let all my fans know I love 'em."

"I got my wish. Now I know I'm a gay fish."

Leave it to South Park to skewer Kanye West AND Carlos Mencia in the same episode. Kanye West even responded in his own blog. Mencia does gay well. Maybe they should get together.
Viacom pulled the video off of You Tube but you can watch the full South Park episode "Fish Sticks" at South Park Studios.

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

You Know Who You Are! Get Over Here!!

I am the oldest of five. My baby brother is 12 years younger than I am. Being the oldest makes you bossy whether you want to be or not. (Although I am sure they would tell you we enjoy it. Hah. Let those younger siblings be the OLDEST for a day and then tell me what they say.) "You're the oldest. You should know better." When you are the oldest, you are always in trouble for whatever your pestilence ridden younger siblings have perpetrated. Eat all the cereal that mom just bought? Are little brothers going to get it? Heck no. Younger siblings have a whole different set of rules than the older siblings.

My baby brother got away with murder. By the time he was a senior in high school, I was 29 years old, married, had a kid, and lived in a whole different state. (Texas has a special place in my heart.) I had come home to visit and school was still in session. My mom and I are talking and waiting up for my little brother who had a curfew of I think 11:30, it might have been midnight...but it doesn't matter because he busted curfew whatever it was~! He comes strolling in, says hi to me, kisses my mom hello and says he is tired and going to bed. Back the bus up! What do you mean you get to stroll in, kiss mom (who was NOT turning red and looking like she wanted to pop a gasket) and go to bed??

"Mom, isn't BB going to get in trouble?'' Big sisters are a pain in the ass. I just had to say something.

"For what?" Oh, she acted so innocent.

"For busting curfew! For not calling and saying where he was!" I was sputtering at this point at the whole unfairness of it all.

"Oh, is he late? Did you have a good time?" Arghhhhh......

I gave up at that point. When you witness a master in action, you can only humbly bow in awe.

I was bouncing around the blog world and read a post about the Duggar Family. You know, 18 Kids and Counting. I love the Duggars. I wanted a large family, then I became an ardent feminist and NEVER wanted kids, then I got married and once again wanted a big family. Alas, only ended up with 2 girls. And now I am divorced. Sigh.

Anyway some of the comments on one of the blogs were unbelievable for the animosity and contempt for the Duggars. But this is not about whether you think they are right or wrong, crazy or whatever. What amazed me was one lady's objections to this large family.

She said it was awful the way the dad called one of his kids by the wrong name. How traumatized that kid was going to be to only be one of the mob. She has to be a product of a small family. Being the oldest of 5 and all of our names beginning with the same letter (which I think someone else posted about how regimented and what little automatons those kids must be because the Duggars all start with the letter J), my mom regularly got our names all mixed up.

She would start with a name and go through all five of our names, get totally frustrated because she knew it was wrong but still could not get it right. We would stand there, risking life and limb, and tell her we were not coming until she got our names right. This was usually a poor tactic on our part. She would go to the kitchen, rattle the utensil drawer, the one with the spatulas just perfect for spanking, threaten us with mayhem if we did not come when she called.

The poor misguided commenter also said it was so regimented that the kids slept in the same room. I did not get my "own" room until my dad decided to add onto the house. A little drastic but I didn't argue. I most definitely had to share a room with a sibling. Today's kids do not know what the wonderful world of sharing really means. They need to share a ROOM with a sibling to fully understand what the meaning of privacy, liberty, and getting along is all about.

Come to think of it, maybe world leaders should be forced to bunk up in a small house with one bathroom, one phone, and one TV. Let's see if they can negotiate peace then.

Monday, April 6, 2009

Distract the Nazi Zombies...

So you leave at least one Nazi Zombie alive so the next wave of Zombies does not come before you are ready for them. You have to rebuild barricades you know. How do you keep him alive when he is trying to eat you and, of course, you don't want to be eaten I ask? You have someone else distract it. Run around saying Heil Hitler? Teach him the goosestep? What a fun party game. Distract the Nazi zombie.

Teddy Bear said she played Nazi Zombies and was pretty good. Really? How many did you kill? I think 6. Okay. Killdozer how many did you kill? 63. Ummmm.... Six is less than 63, right? I asked her why she was so bad at the game. She played Wow all the time and loves video games. But Nazi Zombies is a first person shooter game, and she said the zombies scared her and she kept turning around trying to find the next one to kill and kept dropping her gun. The zombies scared her? But they move very, VERY slowly. Did she learn nothing from Shaun of the Dead? Arghhh.

She said it was because she was a girl. Oh my. Killdozer thought that was pretty hysterical. Because she's a girl?!! HAHAHA. Now there is a post feminist girl for you.

Sunday, April 5, 2009

Kilroy was Here

Kilroy was real?!!! What do you know? My BFF pops into my blog once in awhile and leaves a cryptic "Kilroy was here" comment. She knows it drives me NUTS~! She is probably laughing at me right now. To be honest, it hurt my feelings sometimes, but she does not even keep up on her blog, so perhaps I should just grow up. Where it really matters, she is always there for me.

We have cried together, laughed together, had way too many Jack and Cokes together. She is my BFF. She knows my secrets and troubles and manages to make me laugh and lighten up. The two of us together can go anywhere. I think we think we are braver when we are together. We both are wannabe geeks. Ruthless moved back home and we can't wait to take his old computer apart and see if we can get it running again. We are both way too curious for our own good. Our houses are equally cluttered. We have had whole discussions on when it is time to finally dust. In my living room right now is a coffee table that every time I see it, I think, "Boy, that sure needs dusting." And I keep on walking. It is almost at the point where if you wrote your name in the dust, it would he obvious. Almost. When it's there, I will dust. She is not as bad as me because she only waits until you see it. I actually have friends who dust every week, maybe even every day. What's up with that? But we laugh about it and I so appreciate that.

I am oblivious to what is going on around me and she notices everything. We were going to the Bonnie Hunt show a few months back and we went to pick up Karen. Karen is the true blue Bonnie fan and we were all very excited. As we were leaving, Karen looked into a little mirror she had and noticed that she had put on lip liner but not lipstick. She asked us how could we let her leave the house like that. Now, to be truthful, I did not notice it at ALL. Casey noticed but said she thought maybe Karen wanted that look or was going to put on her lipstick later. If you have read Karen's blog post about her eyebrows, you know the lipstick thing would probably have mortified her. But, it shows you how oblivious I can be.

I am having a hard time with my other blog. In my mind, I was writing with a certain audience in mind--BFF, Nancy, Jeanne, Karen and someone who pops in regularly (thank you!) but does not comment and all those strange pop ins from all over the world.

I like it, it is much more caustic, but my habit for writing for this blog is so strong and I keep getting pulled back. I like being Happy Hour...Somewhere. I think I may pull my posts from the other blog and put them here. I figure if you want to read, you will. I don't mind being a sucky aunt but I really do mind being a sucky friend. (My nephews only want money anyway, so I actually rule as an aunt when it comes to that. I just may not get it to them on their birthday.)

So, if you have read so far, what do you think?

Saturday, April 4, 2009

Can You Fall Asleep in a Porn Movie?

"The Internet is for porn. Grab your dick and double click for porn, porn, porn."

The first time I saw a porn it was at a drive-in in the San Fernando Valley. You know, like, the Valley man, so like, whatever. I was probably about 18 or 19 and Fritz the Cat was showing, I think at the Sepulveda Drive-In but I could be wrong. It was so long ago, at least one husband (now an ex), two kids, and one grandson ago. The first movie was Kentucky Fried Movie which was funny and cheesy. But for some reason Fritz the Cat was just wrong...there seemed to be something perverted with getting off to animation. Like having an orgasm in front of Minnie Mouse or something. Ewwww. So I fell asleep. Yes, I did. We had already made out and done our thing. Back then the only "tinting" was heavy breathing and fogging up the windows. Kids are lucky nowadays. Even old grandma types have dark tinting on their cars, so gangster like. They don't have to worry about being busted by the cops on Mulholland shining their lights into the car trying for a quick peek. I always figured they were kind of perverted doing that.

I had a roommate whose boyfriend was a friend of my boyfriend. My roommate and I actually met through them. He was a student at Cal State Northridge going for a psychology degree...and he was most definitely a perv. (He ended up being a principal at a school. HAHA.) He suggested all of us go to a porn movie. Back then it was the Pussycat Theater. Do they still have those? Do they even need it anymore? It was so scandalous to be going, I felt naughty and adventurous at the same time. The marquee with the titles of the dirty movies and the XXX rating. I was so glad we were with another couple.

They did not have stadium seating which in retrospect I am deeply grateful for. I really did not want to know what the men sitting by themselves were doing. We irritated the hell out of one man. We busted porn protocol I guess by sitting directly behind this guy. We got a disgusted look and he got up and moved. I was so naive at first I could not figure out why he was mad. It took me a minute looking around at the theater to see that ALL the other patrons were men sitting all alone with no one sitting too close to someone else. All very polite and all. I mean, it was not a gay theater, these guys did not want anyone watching them get off...well, not another guy anyway. I am sure they would have loved to have my roommate and I watch.

I wish I could remember the names of the show we saw, something about candy stripers is all I remember. It might even have been a double feature but my memory is suspect on that point. I do remember it did float my boat. Was there something wrong with me? My roommate was so disgusted we left during the second movie. Ah, so we DID see two movies. She acted so offended and grossed out. Now I really knew there was something wrong with me. I only found it a little bit disgusting because all those men were jerking off around us. Yuck. I hope they had the "decency" to keep it off the seats. HAHAHA. Of course, this was all before AIDS was a big deal.

Do you know they really DID wear trench coats in the theater?


This is the first part of a You Tube video of Ryan Moats being pulled over by a Dallas cop. You really should watch the entire video though to get a feel for what happens. A better version is on the Dallas Morning News paper.

Yahoo News has an article today on Elwin Hope Wilson, a racist nasty bigot who has repented and is seeking forgiveness for his past. His story is amazing for the people whose lives he affected, one of whom is Congressman John Lewis of Atlanta. Picture every caricature Hollywood has ever made of a white Southern bigot filled with hate and apparently Elwin Wilson would have fit the bill. He is now 72 years old with diabetes and in ill health and does not want to go to hell and is seeking forgiveness for his past sins.

It is not up to me or anyone else except the people who he hurt to offer that forgiveness. Many of them have. Many have questioned his reasons. Is it only fear that motivates the man? Does an eternity in hell terrify him so that he is trying to find a way into heaven? Does being a racist keep you out of heaven? Or is it the hate that keeps you out of heaven? It is amazing what fear will motivate people to do. The consequences of some actions, as all parents can attest to, can be a great motivator to better behavior. Doesn't mean you don't want to do the bad thing but that the cost of doing the bad thing is too high.

I love to drive fast. I want to drive 90 mph down Rancho California Road or Butterfield Stage Road here in Temecula all the time. There are a lot of reasons why I do not. I know Officer Nelson would track me down and give me a ticket and probably haul my ass to jail for driving recklessly. (The man loves to give me tickets for doing the California Rolling Stop. Go figure.) I don't want to go to jail, I don't want to pay the ticket, I don't want to have my insurance premiums skyrocket...and I know how incredibly fucking stupid it is. The speed limit now on Butterfield is 55 mph with very few stops signs. I love it. But I absolutely come uncorked when some bozo in front of me goes 54 mph. Do they not see the damn speed limit? And god forbid they go 50 or 45 mph. I know most people assume the speed limit is 45 but it is not. I get so mad I want to become Inspector Gadget, grow my go, go gadget arms, reach into their car, rip off the damn hat they are wearing (stupid drivers always seem to wear hats or beanies), and wring their bloody necks.

But I behave because I cannot imagine driving on a street where anyone can go any speed they choose. Grandpa Joe would drive 35 and this speed demon would go 90 and that is a horrible accident waiting to happen. I KNOW it is unsafe and irrational and I obey the speed limits laws for those reasons, too. It is the rational thing to do.

If you believe in heaven and hell, then I guess it would be rational to try to get into heaven. Hell does not sound like too much fun. But does being a racist keep you out of heaven? My dad is a first-generation American whose parents were from Mexico. Growing up with him, he used every racist term for other people there was. He grew up in a small mining town in Arizona where the local golf course was for whites only, Mexicans were taught they were good for certain jobs only. I understand his anger but it was an embarrassment to me growing up. Martin Luther King was preaching tolerance at that time. The content of one's character is what mattered which resonated with me. Pigment is skin deep, it does not define who you are. Yes, people react to the pigment which has always seemed so stupid to me. Because my skin is brown, what? What does that say about me? But after a lifetime of your pigment defining how OTHER people think of you, I guess it can shape and define your character. But my dad was generous with everyone of every color and invited everyone into his home.

Everyone of every color is racist in some way. George Lopez is a Mexican racist. Maybe. His portrayal of whites is embarrassing to watch but I laugh like hell when he tells stories about being Mexican, so I guess I should stop thinking of it as being racist. He makes Mexicans sound as stupid and as smart as anyone else. Does it matter what's in his heart? Is it only actions that matter? Does only God judge motives? Is it only God who should know what's in your heart?

I think being a bigot is a whole different ballgame. Bigots frighten me. My daughter had a friend who dated a skinhead for a long time. Long enough for me to not like her anymore. I used to tell my daughter, who looks like a little white girl (her dad is blonde and blue eyed and she has reddish brown hair and gray eyes) what this skinhead would do if he knew she was half Mexican? She told me she really did not care. I had to remind her that I did not care what he SAID, I cared what he DID. Apparently Fallbrook, close to Temecula, has a large population of white supremacists and I always worry when they go to bonfires out in the sticks. She has friends of every race and they all go out there together and I worry. The skinheads have been dormant for a long time out here, so maybe they all moved.

I think Elwin Wilson was a bigot. A scary horrible bigot, willing to inflict violence and harm, and did not mind doing so. When asked why he did those things, why he hated blacks so, he has no answer. He did not grow up he says with parents who taught him those things. So where did it come from?

I think perhaps he needs to figure that one out first.

Friday, April 3, 2009

They Pixared Pooh

My Friends Tigger and Pooh: Super Sleuth Christmas Movie

How could they? They Pixared Pooh. It looks creepy. Pooh on acid. Distorted and weird looking. Pooh is supposed to be water color soft, not the crisp edgy CGI looking creature they made him. You know how you can watch a movie where they make a city look warm, welcoming, all fuzzy and soft, and they can take that same city and make it look all noir like. Harsh, cold, unfriendly, faintly menacing? That is how it seems to me.

I still love to sing "I'm Just a Little Black Rain Cloud." I love the voice of the narrator, Sebastian Cabot.

That reminds me. We saw Dennis Haysbert, the guy from The Unit and the guy in the Allstate insurance commercials. Now that is a lovely deep voice, and such a handsome man, too. He was a guest on the Bonnie Hunt show we saw this week. We also saw Cynthia McFadden, co-host of Nightline. I had forgotten about Nightline. Remember Ted Koppel. I liked Cynthia McFadden though. The last time we saw Bonnie, Helen Hunt was on and what a bitch. Cold, arrogant, stuck up. She went on and on how she does not allow TV in her home and told a truly obnoxious story about her daughter and Inauguration Day for President Obama and how she thought because it was such a momentous day, she should watch the swearing in, but her daughter said no, that was not allowed in their home. She thought it was a funny story. Gack.

It has definitely been a blustery day in Temecula? I hope Piglet goes flying by soon.

Thursday, April 2, 2009

Humanoid Spacification

"Peace" rally in San Francisco.

Fight the rich, Not the War.

Eat the Rich

Sign up for Marxism Classes--Sign Up for the Struggle

"We think that the basic problem in our country is that it is capitalist."

Quintological galaxies? Alphatronic rocketification? Tetralogical cosmopolitans? (That might make a cool name for a drink or a band.)

G.W. Bush is the Antichrist. (Ummmm, probably written by an atheist.)

How fun. Maybe T town can host a "peace" rally next. Maybe on Fourth of July at the Sports Park. We mustn't let San Francisco have all the fun.