Why? Because you deserve the best, darlings.
--------------------------
Menopause Jewelry
My husband, being unhappy with my mood swings,
bought me a mood ring the other day so he would be
able to monitor my moods.
We've discovered that when I'm in a good mood, it turns green.
When I'm in a bad mood, it leaves a big
fucking red mark on his forehead.
Maybe next time he'll buy me a diamond.
So, today was the day I was going to march into Site X and find out what their effing deal is with me.
I got there early in the morning - nice and on-timey, natch - to find the boss at Site X. I show her the appraisal from my co-worker - she is the head of a sub-department, and we'll name her "Florence," on account of the time of the month. The site boss says that she's cool with me, and didn't know about any problems. She and I decide I'll go talk to Florence at the end of the day, but generally there is no crisis, and this appears to be the end of it. Cool. One worry down.
The work day proceeds without incident, though I'm a little worried about talking to her all day. I go to meetings, do some writing, have a nice conference with another co-worker ("Carol," who has said how much she values my opinion) race very quickly home for lunch to let out the idiot puppy, go to some more meetings, and it was the end of the day. Bracing myself, I go down to Florence's office to find out what is her damage.
I walked in, settled down, and began with my carefully rehearsed speech.
Me: "Hi, Florence. Listen, I've been meaning to talk to you about some things you wrote on my performance apparaisal that got sent to my boss."
Florence: "Oh, yeah...that wasn't me. That was Carol. We filled it out together. I think you're awesome."
Me: "Ummmm...what?"
Florence: "Yeah, she was mad at you, maybe for forgetting that meeting? I mean, I'm the head of the subdepartment, so it has my name on it, but she wrote all the comments. Really, you're fine. I have no problems with you, and I don't think you're argumentative."
Me: "Erm...really? I guess...OK; well, uh, never mind, then. So...anything else I can do for you? No? Well...have a great afternoon, thanks!"
So, I spent all damn day worrying and stressing over this conversation, and I didn't even have the right person. (And no, I don't know why she'd put her name on it if she didn't write it.)
The damn thing gets more comical the longer I worry about it. In fact, I hereby deem this little incident funny, and no longer a problem.
-------------------------------------
As my hair muse, Sienna Miller, is going with mid-length hair this season, I went with longish. (I'm totally KIDDING about Sienna being my muse. She's not. Well, truthfully, she would be if I was a 105-pound millionaire.) It doesn't look much different, but it's shorter in back.
And there it is. It's a cute cut, though it needs a dye job something fierce.
(Jeez. Where did I get forehead wrinkles? At what point did I begin worrying about every damn thing, and thus furrowing my brow ALL THE TIME? I have always mocked the notion of injecting botulism into MY FACE, but perhaps there's something to all this. Note to self: Investigate multiple cosmetic surgeries.)
-----------------------------------------
The new puppy and kitten are learning to like each other (NOTE: For the following pictures, please disregard Ugly Couch! It's not mine! Really! I'd never have a piece of crap like that in my house! My house is all hip and modern, and my furniture is all expensive and from Copenhagen!)
This is the biting and wrestling. It is very cute. It is generally followed shortly thereafter by the puppy yelps. (But she totally eggs it on.)
Are all puppies stupid, by the way, or just Shi Tzus? To say this dog is not the sharpest tack in the box is a violent understatement. Seriously, I can take her to the potty, and she will poop on the floor like three minutes later, staring at me with that sweet but vacuous little expression. "Do you love me? Am I pretty? What's your name? What's my name? What's "potty?" I don't know! I just want to wiggle and lick you!"
However, I am glad that I have Curbie to whip her ass, since I feel guilty doing it.
---------------------------
George W. Bush has 666 days left in office!
AIEEEEEEEEEEEE!!! SATAN!!!!!!
(Which, come to think of it, I've been shouting at the TV since November of 2000 anyway.)
What do I do with it? Do I keep it all long and flowingy, or do I go revisit The Sienna, because it IS spring, after all?
This is very, very important, folks. My hair is the one and only part of my body that I'm totally vain about. It must be right! It must be me! It must be expensive and smell all Aveda-y!
And you only have until three o'clock tomorrow - when my first haircut since the holidays has finally been scheduled - to advise me, so chop chop! (No pun intended.)
------------------------
Oh, and thanks, all for the support. I feel much better.
The day after my appraisal conference, my boss called me to let me know that another performance review had filtered in on just that very day, and on that review it was strongly opined that I was by far the best at my job that this person had ever seen in her twenty-some odd years of experience.
And, I haven't decided if I'm going to do anything about the chick that went all backstabby on me. I'll probably wait until I'm totally over it, and then attempt to say something graciously inquiring into her concerns, sincerely stating my attempts to improve communication, with just a soupcon of "fuck you for going behind my back to my supervisor instead of saying shit to my face, bitch." (However, my history of such encounters suggests that this will not go as well as I intend. I will probably either a) cry again, or b) chicken out.)
There's still a lot of other work angst, too. Stuff from a few weeks ago that is not resolved, even to the point of having to call my supervisor to defend me. That's harsh. (Hey, maybe I really DO suck at my job!)
But...when it comes right down to it, I have WONDERFUL friends. I have an amazing family. They support me when I'm down - hell; they support me when I'm up, too! When I feel sad at work, I look around, and think "Wow; I'm so glad that my REAL life rocks. Whew!" (And sometimes, that fabled dark, dark part of me wants - in situations like I've been through just lately - to shout out "And yours DOESN'T, which is why you are a BITCH!")
Thanks, friends.
(But, this time, I'll spare you all the damn song.)
I'll preface this by stating that I usually LOVE my job. I've been at it five and a half years now, and it is interesting, and challenging, and rewarding in many ways. I have a wonderful boss, though I don't work on site with her. I have many friends amongst my co-workers, and I generally feel accepted and valued. I have my bad and sucky days, like the one from a couple weeks ago, but most days are not high on the suckage factor.
This year, I volunteered to add a third worksite to my two existing ones, where I have been established comfortably for about four years. This third site - we'll call it Site X - had a reputation as a challenging spot, but I felt fine about establishing myself there, and I had the complete confidence of my boss. Admittedly, the beginning of the year there was a bit rocky, as they had been used to doing things in a very different (i.e. WRONG) way in the past, and I knew that I had come off a bit strong at first in my insistence that we overhaul the existing system. However, that was several months ago, the boss at that site has been very complimentary to me and pleased with my work there, and there has been smooth sailing since then.
Or, so I thought.
So, my boss - my real boss - has appraisal conferences for us every year. We choose who we want to review us, and they are given a form with several factors on which they are to rate me on a scale of 1 to 5. They then send it in to my boss, who then goes over them all with us, and we have a nice hug. Without bragging too much, I can state that I have almost never gotten less than a "5" on any form by any person that has reviewed me in the past five years, even my FIRST year, when I was a completely clueless snivelling worm.
Anyway, so, this morning, I go in for my yearly appraisal and hugfest. Four people out of the six that I recommend review me have sent in their forms (the other two being one of my best friends and the boss at Site X, who is on my side). No matter; we go through the first three reviews. Review 1, 2, and 3 - Mags is fantastic, or at least pretty darn good, in most instances, with most people.
Then, Review 4 - from a co-worker at Site X. Mags is...argumentative during meetings? Mags forgot a meeting? (That's true; I did, the day I lost my planner. I apologized profusely and made amends immediately. That makes one meeting forgotten in FIVE AND A HALF YEARS.) Mags needs to communicate better with staff? Mags is...MOSTLY 3's???
Total shock. I had no fucking clue about any of this. I tell you, internets, it felt like a truck had hit me, to have this smacked in my face at MY APPRAISAL CONFERENCE WITH MY BOSS. (She, to her immense credit, told me that she did not believe it for one second, and was taking it out of my file, and so forth. And she hugged me repeatedly. Because I STARTED CRYING! AT MY APPRAISAL CONFERENCE WITH MY BOSS! Because I'm THAT professional!)
Urgh. Now, what do I do? Go to Site X Boss to tell her? Go to this other person who thinks I suck? And try not to cry AGAIN?
Sitting here in my house, after a few glasses of perspective, I'm feeling a bit better. Perhaps crying over some criticism was a bit of an overreaction. It was not exactly a truck that hit me; more like a bicycle. (But, hey! Ouch! Stupid fucking bicycle!)
OK, enough with the SXSW bellyachin'. I got out of the house, and away from child rearing duties, for the day!
The Man and I started at cross purposes; I had visions of driving downtown by myself first thing in the morning, and then idling around downtown by myself, sipping coffee and reading the paper at Jo's, until Ms. Noxious and her friend Alison could join me. The Man thought it more prudent for me to take the bus downtown, and not pollute the air in the process. I did not want to take the extra forty-five minutes to get down there, prudent as it may have been - and I was a bit defensive on this point; yes, I was, as I had been the one on kid duty for the past week, and particularly for the last three nights straight. Ms. Noxious and Alison saved the day, however, as they arrived just in time, and provided both of us with a solution that made us happy.
We arrived at Mojo's Mayhem at the Continental Club at about 10:45, and I started drinking Bloody Marys. (With all that celery and greenery in them, those Bloody Marys made me feel positively healthy. As Ms. Noxious pointed out, they're like a little salad in a cup!) Mojo Nixon was on-hand to emcee the whole thing. He's older, grayer, and paunchier than he was when I first saw him at the Blue Note in Columbia, MO when I was 19; however, he still inspires the same brand of drunken lunacy as he did back when he was singing "Stuffin' Martha's Muffin" and "Debbie Gibson is Pregnant (With My Two-Headed Love Child)." It's good to actually be of drinking age now, though.
We missed the jalapeno pancakes, but I wasn't really broken up about that. (I am unintrigued by the potential combination of jalapenos and maple syrup.) An interesting band called The Rokkatones were playing...I don't really know how to describe them, other than a collection of hyphenations - country/reggae/oldtimey? They had a guy playing the steel drum, a gal playing tom-toms, and another guy playing a keyboard that you blow into. They were fun; I'd definitely check them out again.
Right after that, an Australian band called the Beasts of Bourbon played. Now, again, a band can easily have me at the name, and this band easily had one of the best names I've heard in a while. They were Rawk and Roll, children, down to the unwashed hair and the "target" tattoos on the inner arm, right above the vein. The lead singer postured and stalked; he resembled Jim Morrison channeling Mick Jagger. I was unsure what to make of them at first - serious, or not? After a song or two, I decided that, obvious rock-and-roll-lifestyle or not, their tongue was very well-acquainted with their cheek, and I did truly enjoy myself.
The best band we saw was right after them, though - another excellently named band, The Mother Truckers. As can probably be derived from their name, they play rockin' hillbilly music. I love bands with interesting lyrics, great harmonies, and girls that play smokin' guitar, and this band had them all. Totally go check them out.
After they were over, Ms. Noxious and I decided - against our better judgment - that we should call our respective husbands to see if they were on their way to Auditorium Shores for the kids' concert. We stepped outside to do so - and then promptly realized that we had left the club for good, as there was a line around the block just waiting for some of us to stumble into the sunshine. Our decision made for us, we caught a cab to Auditorium Shores.
We arrived just in time to miss the Sippy Cups, who I'm led to understand are a fun parent-and-kid pleasin' band. The Jellydots began to play after that. Just then, The Man arrived with YG and OG, just in time to hear a few songs (including a cover of The Police's "One World is Enough (For All of Us)" and some enthusiastic shout-outs to Flavor Flav). OG stayed long enough to get a snowcone, and then declared it "too loud," and retired to the perimeter to climb trees with Young Sir Noxious. (So much for having fun with the kiddos!)
With that resounding endorsement ringing in his ears, The Man decided to take the kiddos back home, and the rest of us went to Yard Dog for their free beer/music/fajitas party. Feeling little pain by this point, I indulged in all three of these, and an ill-advised cigarette bummed from Allison. (It is true, and annoyingly cliched, that I will very occasionally smoke, when just drunk enough. I am not proud, but there it is.)
Ms. Noxious went home with her kids, leaving me with Josh, Bret, Bob, and Bill, all of whom decided it was a good idea to go see Josh's friends' band at Kenichi, the swanky sushi restaurant downtown. We were promised free sushi and beer; as it turns out, only the former was true, but hey! Free sushi! The band was great, but the name is escaping me at the moment. (Did I mention that there was beer there, too?)
At about 5:30, Allison called my cell phone to let me know that my ride wagon was here. The gang went out to party on into the night after that, but as Allison was my ride home, and because she was ready to haul my tipsy ass home, the day was done for me. I came home, tag-teamed The Man, and let him continue on the SXSW train without me.
And now? Well, I'm tired! And dehydrated! And though it's not true, I'm bizarrely certain that I embarrassed myself, made somebody hate me, or made out with someone not my husband!
In short, I appear to have had a typical Mags Party Down Drinking Fest.
Or clueless about modern-day beauty products?
Yes, I KNOW about the whole Brazilian wax things and the pubes shaved into lightning bolts, but are we really coloring the hair down there?
And are we really coloring it flourescent pink?
Lord, I have so much to catch up on. My Betty is not ready.
Last night, I would have gone to see The Bravery and Hayseed Dixie (the country AC/DC cover band).
Tonight, I'd be at the Stax records revue, followed by the Hacienda Brothers, then the Mother Truckers, and then either the Polyphonic Spree or What Made Milwaukee Famous. (There's also a band called Les Breastfeeders from Quebec that, quite frankly, just had me at the name. Also, though, their music sample rocks pretty hard, albeit in French.)
Tomorrow (Friday) morning, I'd go see Bob Mould at a free party at Emo's. Then, if I were Badge Scum, I'd be kind of fascinated to see Thomas Dolby at 2:00 in the afternoon. Later, I'd likely attend the free early Ozomatli and Public Enemy shows at Town Lake. Afterwards, I'd be at the New Orleans music "Ponderosa Stomp" lineup at Opal Devines all night, though I might be tempted over to briefly see Kelly Willis at the Austin Music Hall or Badly Drawn Boy at Stubbs.
Saturday, I'd party all day at Mojo (Nixon's) breakfast, then go to the Auditorium Shores shows, and then go see the Buzzcocks at 8:00. Then, against my better judgment and with a fair amount of shame, though I would TELL everyone I was going to see Spoon and The Stooges, I would really probably end up at the Maggie Mae's show with The Presidents of the United States of America and Bowling for Soup. (I loooove that song "1985." Perhaps in a similar vein, the song "Something About You, by Level 42, just came on my iTunes. That song - without fail - will ALWAYS put me in a good mood.)
Sigh.
Oh, well, I guess if I were going out, I 'd probably have to hang out with these drunk losers:
Dodged a bullet there, I'd say.
Howdy, folks, from Austin, TX!
It's the kickoff night of the SXSW Music Festival (the film part's been going on since Friday, and the tech part before that). Downtown was a big fucking mess today, everybody's got a badge and hip eyewear, we had our one and only big rainstorm of the year - all the trappings of SXSW are firmly in place.
Me? Watching Lost and holding varying members of our ever-growing menagerie on my lap, while my Badge Scum husband gallivants around town with Noxious and his scurvy crew. (He rode the bus, too, so you KNOW he'll come home hammered.)
Oh, I'm not bitter; not much, anyway. My mom is just not able to come down for a week anymore to watch my kids, now that my dad has gotten so frail. Plus, though she can still do it, how much longer is it OK for her to be driving 12 hours by herself? And, most of our friends who would be likely or willing babysitters are either themselves doing South By or have other plans for spring break. Plus, we have no money for $150 wristbands and $60 film passes and restaurants and beer (just puppies!), I'm trying not to weigh a million pounds...there's good reasons to not go.
Eh, I am a bit jealous, maybe just of the freedom to go out and party totally unencumbered. Though, if it has to be only one of us, The Man is much more comfortable going out by himself to see music and shows than I am. I like to have a date of some sort with me when I go out places, you know?
I may check out Mojo's Mayhem at the Continental Club this year - that's his Saturday morning breakfast show with free pancakes - while The Man takes kid duty, finally. Then, I'll probably mosey on over to the kid show at Auditorium Shores with all the other moms who have been inside too long this week. (Brilliantly, I suggested a trip to Zilker Park tomorrow - as I just so brilliantly suggested a trip to the Children's Museum t0day - so I'll definitely be experiencing the downtown clusterfuckage, just without the fun.)
Truly, though, I'm missing the film part way more than the music part. It's tons of fun to go see all those movies back to back, particularly the docs. I've seen some absolutely fantastic docs since I started attending this, and it's too bad that I have to miss most of those. (It's a remote possibility I may go out to see one; we'll see about the sitterage.)
Ah, well. At least Lost is really great again. Lost, you fickle bitch, you make me think you have just veered off into wack territory for good, and then you come back with some sublime fucking episodes. Damn you.
------------------------
How fun is it to watch Alberto Gonzales twist in the wind? Seriously, is that just the best time ever? Even better than Scooter Libby. When, when, when are the REAL heads gonna roll for this administration?
------------------------
Emmylou (EmmyLou? I'm not sure of the capitalization rule) is doing well. She appears to recognize that we will feed her and coo over her as soon as her eyes open. And, she's already angling for a spot on the foot of the bed.
I forgot to mention that she's approximately the size of a very large guinea pig. It's like having a tiny simulation of a real dog. (Come to think of it, that is exactly what she is.)
------------------------
Interesting anecdote from driving my kiddos home from the puppy incident the other day...I was sitting at the light at Airport and Koenig, and there was a panhandler guy standing out in the center. He had a sign that said "Smile," and he gave everyone a thumb-up. He appeared to have all or most of his marbles, and that is appropriate to the last part of this story. As I drove past, I gave him a smile and a wave, and he yells to my kids in the backseat "Hey! You got a hot mom!"
I'm all...erm, thanks, panhandling guy! I'd have given him a dollar for that if I hadn't been driving off. Maybe I should drive by there again.
Hey, a compliment is a compliment. I came home in a much better mood than I had been in before.
----------------------------------
And you? How are you all spending your spring break, if you are lucky enough to be able to have one?
Meet EmmyLou.
She's a little, tiny, eight-week-old Shi Tzu.
No, I have no idea why. I just did.
Well, that's not entirely true...it has a lot to do with the quest to "fix" OG and that whole lack of empathy thing. True to form, she bitched all the way to Del Valle about how she did not want a dog and would not even look at any dogs, to the point that I said "OK, fine, we'll just tell her no when we get there." Of course, when we saw the trio of nummy little munchkins that the lady had, OG was beside herself with joy, albeit mixed with a little anxiety that I had maybe taken her seriously on the way over.
I am so screwed. We have a goddamned dog.
| You Are 54% Misanthropic |
 You're somewhat misanthropic, but you're not willing to write off the human race (yet!). There's a few people you like, and even them you like at a distance. |
| You Are 36% Texas |
 You're as welcome in Texas as a skunk at a lawn party. |
| You Are Socks! |
 Cozy and warm... but easily lost. You make a good puppet. |
| Your Mind is PG-13 Rated |
 Your mind is definitely a little dirty. You're naughty, but not trashy. You don't shy away from a dirty joke, and you're clearly not a prude. |
| You Are a Mac |
 You are creative, stylish, and super trendy. You demand the best - even if it costs an arm and a leg. |
| Your Preppy Name Is... |
 But most people know you as Coco |
| Your Mouth is a Little Big |
 You're not a total tell all, but you don't hide who you are either. You've struck a good balance between discretion and sharing. People know you fairly well, at least on a superficial level. But you save your most revealing secrets for your best friend... or no one! |
| Star Wars Horoscope for Scorpio |
 You are a powerful character. You tend to be possessive and lusty - which explains your greedy nature. You feel threatened when people try to order you around or control you. You are prone to suspicion and jealousy - but your resilience and passion get you what you want. Star wars character you are most like: Han Solo |
| You Are 92% Democrat |
 You are a card carrying Democrat, and a pretty far left one at that! There's no chance anyone would ever mistake you for a Republican. |
I'm too sad to be funny tonight, 'cause someone yelled at me at work, and the person who put me UP to asking the question that made the FIRST person yell at me did NOT back me UP after the first person yelled at me.
I'm also too sad because, like five minutes after that happened, the occupational therapist who was supposed to start seeing OG TODAY called me and let me know that, though she was careful to note that my child is clearly "difficult" and "chaotic," that she was too busy with other clients to start seeing her, and that she was going to have to go somewhere else. (Interestingly, I have found that if you start crying on the phone to a pseudo-medical provider, then they will offer to file all your insurance paperwork for you. Take note of that.)
So, you get a meme. Badger's had some great ones lately, so I'll steal one from her. (I wanted to do the one about the music from the year I turned 18, but I don't know how to do a strike-through font, so that'll have to wait until someone teaches me how....anyone? Any of you people who wouldn't stay up all night with me watching "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" want to help me now? About time, I'd say.)
OK, so, I'll do the latest iPod one, because it's easy, and it amuses me. (Like my husband. BOOYEAH!) Also, my iPod is finally, finally, FINALLY working well with iTunes, as I now have a computer that is NOT half the hard-drive size of the iPod itself!
I believe you all have seen these before. You put your iPod, or other MP3 player, on "shuffle," and then use it as a Magic 8-Ball. It is supposed to be revelatory, and possibly funny. We shall see, shallent we?
What is missing from my life?
Kill Surf City - The Jesus and Mary Chain.
(I suppose this means that surly goths are missing from my life. I agree; it's a crying shame.)
Will I find love?
We Can't Make It Here - James McMurtry
(Guess not; sorry, honey.)
Will I become rich?
The Tracks of My Tears - Smokey Robinson
(Yeah, that's the OTHER reason I cried today; The Man called to let me know that we're down to zero on the checking account. Stupid new computer!)
Does someone have a crush on me?
UGLY - Fishbone.
(I fucking shit you not. Goddamn it!)
What is my favorite sexual position?
Slick - Sugar
(Erm...)
Am I good looking?
Falling in Love Again - Marlene Dietrich
(I suppose that that I am a good-looking, if mannish, woman in a tuxedo? And why is Marlene Dietrich on my iPod, anyway?)
What makes me the most happy?
I Left My Baby - The Kansas City Band (from the movie Kansas City by Robert Altman)
(Damn, sister iPod, you tell it like it is! I can't tell you how happy I am that I left all my former "babies" in Kansas City!)
What is my biggest regret?
Hakuna Matata - The Lion King
(My biggest regret? Putting kids' music crap on MY iPod!)
How will I die?
Mucha Muchacha - Esquivel
(Obviously in a loungy way. I hope I have a beehive and am drinking a martini, and am wearing a fabulous Shag-esque frock.)
Do I act my age?
Don't Fight It, Feel It - Primal Scream
(I guess that's a yes. I don't fight it, and I DEFINITELY feel it.)
What type of tattoo should I get?
Rumble in Brighton - The Stray Cats
(Fucking A yes. There's nothing sexier than a rockabilly guy - or gal, for that matter - with tattoos. I'm getting that cat with the duck's ass hairdo that Brian Setzer used to have.)
What is my spirit/animal guide?
You Make Me Feel Like Dancing - Leo Sayer
(I do think Leo Sayer is my spirit guide. For real.)
Do I like pain?
Turn - New Order
(I guess I like pain, but only the kind I have to turn around for. Kidding, honey, LEAVE IT ALONE.)
Is there anyone else like me out there?
I Believe - REM
(There's a few of them. Almost all are in the Pussycat Dolls, as it turns out.)
Do I love to party?
I Know What I Know - Paul Simon
(That's for me to know and you to find out, bitches.)
Where should I move to?
Slumming on Park Avenue - Peggy Lee
(Nice. I dig. But again, who programmed my iPod? My grandmother?)
Will I ever be president?
Sit On My Face - Monty Python
(Yeah, I figured all that would catch back up with me someday. Guess not.)
Of COURSE I was talking about my love for Monty Python. What were you thinking about?
What is fun for me?
Comfortably Numb - The Scissor Sisters
(Um...heroin, I guess. Or merlot; whichever.)
Will I ever learn to fly?
I'll Get Lucky - The Plimsouls
(Yay! Either I'll learn to fly, or I'll have sex in an airplane bathroom! Either is great!)
What is my superpower?
Here Comes Santa Claus - Spike Jones
(Apparently, I'm "Bore My Friends To Death With 50-Year-Old Music On My iPod Girl!")
Will I be successful?
This Drinkin' Will Kill Me - Dwight Yoakam
(Guess not.)
How often do I get angry?
Hot For Teacher - Richard Cheese
(I often get angry, especially when lounge singer guys imitate David Lee Roth.)
What is my favorite thing to do?
Detonation Boulevard - The Sisters of Mercy
(Go drive around with the goths! Back to square one!)
I am typing this on a REAL LIVE LAPTOP, which is in my REAL LIVE LAP on my motherfucking COUCH, and it does NOT have any wires attached to it.
Fucking A.
...so little time. So, you get bullets tonight.
Yeah, buddy, he took me dancing!
I have to say, I never feel quite as many envious stares as when I'm on the floor with a man who loves to dance. We aren't the best out there, but I do love a man who isn't afraid to be the first one out there and the last one standing.
(I was sore, though. I forgot; I'm out of dancing shape.)
Just fine. Nobody wants to stay up all night watching Buffy episodes with me. We are all TOTALLY going to miss a great time. Hmph.
But, on another note, does anybody want to spend scads of money and participate in a long and highly inconvenient car ride to go see The Police with me in Dallas on June 26th?
Huh? Huh? Huh?
I need to know:
Is anyone planning to go to the All Night Buffy Marathon at the Alamo Drafthouse on March 10?
Because I want to go, but I don't want to go alone.
Come on...there's going to be a breakfast taco buffet...
Some of you old-timers may remember the "tech boom" of the end of the last/early part of this century.
Oh, those were heady days, in '99 and '00, weren't they? We grooved to Santana, cheered for that crowd-pleaser "Boys Don't Cry," and admired the gumption of that young Britney (who was still in knee socks back then; albeit whorey ones).
Well, 'long about that time, there was this company called "Intel." And they decided they were going to build a huge building smack in downtown Austin, and Austin was going to be one of their major hubs. The tech folks were atwitter, the city planners overjoyed with the powerful job lure such a major player - in an already tech-heavy city- would provide.
Then, somewhere in the early stages of building...erm, well, that boom went bust. Intel waffled back and forth for a while, but then said, pretty much, "Fuck it, we're cutting our losses and taking off."
So, since 2001, we have been looking at this, every time we go downtown:
After that, there commenced many years of haggling over what to do with it. Do we save the infrastructure and build over it? Sell it to a private company or do something governmental?
In the meantime, they tried to hang art on it and tried (unsuccessfully) to make it a cute little Austin landmark. Finally, a few months ago, it was finally decided that the "Intel Shell," as it was cleverly dubbed, would be blown up, and a federal courthouse would be put in its place.
So, the blowing up was to happen at 7:00 yesterday morning. And - seriously, people, it was like a fucking holiday! The news stations had their own "Intel Implosion!" graphic, and they did constant coverage for the whole hour preceding it, complete with countdown. There were hundreds of people gathered on the streets and on all the hip, hot condo balconies, cheering and drinking Bloody Marys. (Of course, this town needs very little excuse to celebrate and drink in the streets, but still.)
Anyway, this is what you saw in Austin, Texas, were you to turn on the T.V. at any point during the day:
To be completely honest, though, I got a little frisson of joy watching that sucker blow. Fuck you, tech boom that took all our money! We're blowing your ass up!
Because this is apparently what old people do, and I'm getting old, I feel I must need to inform you of the health status of my family members and close friends.
Kerry - She's doing very well. They found it was Hodgkins Lymphoma (not the Non-Hodgkin's kind, which they originally thought it was). It is very treatable, and I' ve been reading some interesting blogging confirming this whole thing, so I feel confident that she will have a quick and speedy recovery, and will just nip this whole drama in the bud. (It's not really her style, anyway.)
YG - recovering from strep. Sticky eyes, whiny/tired behavior, though not SICK sick anymore. (Yes, I'm about done with that.) Taking amoxicillin twice daily.
OG - Now taking Zoloft (for OCD-like behaviors) and Adderall (for ADHD). Behaviors are improved, we think. Although she's still pretty hyper, she hasn't been getting in her emotional "lockdown" state quite as often, and has been generally more fun to hang out with. We're headed to the OT for a sensory integration disorder evaluation on Monday. Also taking amoxicillin for a strep infection twice daily.
The Man - fine, but probably drunk right this second, as he's off with Dave and the boys for a last night out before Dave's impending new fatherhood. He's so going to hurl when he gets home, just like he did after last week's night out with the boys.
Curbie/Kirby the new kitten: Spazzy. Not the sweet little shelter waif that I thought I brought home. He's actually a little guttersnipe, as it turns out, who has marched in and is now trying to intimidate my 12 and 13-year-old cats. (Whoever said that about babies and kittens being so cute so we don't kill them? So right.)
Sneezing a bit; god knows what he brought in from the STREET, little hobo (though he is ostensibly vaccinated and tested negative for FIV/FELV). Also taking amoxicillin twice daily.
Molly (my cat): Sneezing herself, runny nose, a little blood around her mouth. Yet another animal ER trip last night, where she got an antibiotic shot for whatever it is that this little fucker has given her. She ate last night, but isn't again tonight. Fuck. Also taking amoxicillin twice daily.
Hank and Patsy (the other cats): Distancing themselves absolutely as far as possible from this new kitten development. They don't seem hostile, exactly; they seem as if they both agreed that, if they never look at it, it does not exist.
Myself: I'm fine! Thanks for asking! Need amoxicillin? Got a fridge full...
It was seven years ago yesterday that OG (the older girl, or "original gangsta," whichever you prefer) was born. (I'd have posted last night, but we were at Chuck E. Cheese's, bee-yotches, which is the only restaurant in my hell.)
Oh, darling, how we've grown together, you and I. You were my first real challenge, no? Through you, I see who I was, and who my family was and is; you're the walking phenotype of the clan of Mags. I can't tell you how sure I was, growing up, that I knew far better than my parents did how to raise a child right.
You've made me see more clearly how difficult it is to impress your will upon a human being, even a small one. But, as is true of all challenging things, the joys you bring are incomparable.
Happy birthday, my sweetie, my force of nature.
1) If you are actively trying to lose weight, possibly due to the impending presence of a 20-year class reunion in June, do not, for even one second, get off your diet. Because it is FUCKING HELL trying to get back on it.
2) If you are actively trying to lose weight, resist the urging of those around you to open yet another box of Girl Scout Cookies. (See #1 above.)
Also, if you are trying to not eat carbs, DO NOT impulsively buy any of the indescribably delicious new whole grain walnut bread at Central Market, the Pano Nociato. (Whole grain, schmole grain. It's not good for you if you eat the ENTIRE LOAF, dumbass.)
3) If one's very adorable younger daughter has a fever and is complaining of a tummyache, DO NOT give in to her pleas to lie on your chest on the couch and hug you. Otherwise, you, your hair, and the couch may be suddenly and unexpectedly covered in the vomited-up remains of breakfast (a scrambled egg and yogurt, as it turns out).
In retrospect, I am convinced she was just setting me up.
4) When in Petco - and this is very important, please listen up - DO NOT, under ANY circumstances, allow the lady up in the front of the store to shove any waify little shelter kittens into your arms. You, too, may end up with an unexpected and ill-advised development, such as this:
He was an impulse purchase for OG. She has been so fragile lately, and so desperate for someone to hug and love on, and to sleep with her all night long. (My crotchety, emotionally disturbed twelve-year-old cat Molly has been the focus of her attention for several months. When I recently noticed all of the the claw marks on OG's hands, I knew I had to save both of them.)
I was just beginning to investigate getting her a small-breed puppy; in fact, the trip to Petco was a fact-finding mission regarding doghouses and doggy doors after I had made my first tentative trip to the Humane Society. (They didn't have any small dogs, or the ones they had looked like they might have had pit bull in them. I know, I know, everybody knows this one pit bull mix that's very sweet, but I'm hesitant around dogs anyway, and I just can't take that risk with a two-year-old in the house. I hate to think I'd ever own a purebred, but I'd really like a Shi Tzu or something along those lines.)
Anyway, this little wretch was thrown into my arms yesterday, throwing a monkey wrench into those plans. His name is Kirby*, and he was rescued from an animal shelter in Gonzalez. You can throw him over your shoulder like a mink stole or carry him around like a satchel; he doesn't care. When you pick him up to hold him on your lap, he melts into a big puddle of kitty butter, and doesn't move, ever. (The Man and I wanted to call him "Lumpy," but OG refused such an undignified moniker.) He cries when OG leaves the house, and appears absolutely unafraid of her.
Urgh. We're back to owning five cats. (Hey, but lest you think we're crazy cat people, one lives in the garage that we don't officially "claim," though he's been here like eight and a half years.)
* adorably misspelled by OG as "Curbie," as evidenced by little nametags that have been mysteriously taped all over the house at some point in the past 48 hours.
Come to think of it, that's probably a more appropriate spelling for this sub-quality stray cat, anyway. He was probably found on a curb somewhere, after all. "Kirby" sounds like some preppy boy you'd meet at an expensive summer camp.
One of our old friends, Kerry - indeed, Lee's first friend from childhood, and later his first girlfriend - has had a large growth taken out of her chest this week. They don't know what it is, but are leaning towards Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma.
The good news is that they caught it early. But, jesus. This makes friend number three that's battled some sort of the C-word within the past few years. (Both of the other two - Karla May and Ms. Noxious - made it through with flying colors, so my friend track record is perfect so far, and I intend to keep it that way.)
As previously mentioned several times, I'm a weaselly agnostic. However, I am frequently reminded of one of my mother's favorite quotes, from Anne LaMott; that the only prayers she knows are "Please, please, please," and "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you."
That's about right. No matter who's listening, I still end up saying them. So, once again, please please please.
