Monday, July 31, 2006

Bill Clinton's reply to Ann Coulter

So, apparently, my favorite pundit has recently suggested that Bill Clinton is GAY.


Sunday, July 30, 2006

My Beer Personality

You Are Heineken

You appreciate a good beer, but you're not a snob about it.
You like your beer mild and easy to drink, so you can concentrate on being drunk.
Overall, you're a friendly drunk who's likely to buy a whole round for your friends... many times.
Sometimes you can be a bit boring when you drink. You may be prone to go on about topics no one cares about.

Friday, July 28, 2006

True Story

As previously noted, I've been on a bit of a technology-buying spree lately. One thing that I've bought recently is a DVD recorder, because I was frustrated with the whole disappearing-format tendency of video camera technology. I figured, well, if I can put everything straight to DVD, that will help with this problem. (Remember, I have an old computer, which did not have the capacity to store any movies. Or, I did, until I bought a new 160-gig external hard drive yesterday to support my iPod habit...sweeeet. I am downloading now with impunity.)

But, before that, I bought this DVD recorder, also because we have skillions of videotapes that I am getting sick of storing, but am too attached to their contents to throw away. (e.g. hundreds of episodes of Mystery Science Theater 3000, The Kids in the Hall, Ren and Stimpy, Space Ghost, and multitudes of movies.)

Before I go any further, I am by default the tech person at our house. I do the researching, buying, and hooking up of components related to video, audio, and computer. (The Man would like it to be known that he is competent in these matters, but that I just get there first.) He seems to think of me as acting like The Computer Guy that Jimmy Fallon used to play on SNL. ("*Sigh.* MOVE!")

Upon transferring a few movies (I started with MST3K's version of "The Giant Gila Monster," which is a gem,) I noted that the videotapes tended to stick upon ejecting them. I'm thinking, well, that's not going to get any better, so I decided to pack it back up in the box and exchange it for another of the same brand.

In between interacting with the girls (alternately scolding, redirecting, and taking to the potty every half an hour,) I unhook the recorder from its clusterfuck of cables, pick it up, nestle it neatly back in its styrofoam (Mags' momma taught her to not throw away the boxes until you were SURE it was working just perfectly,) and pack up ALL of the accoutrements that came with it, remotes, cables, and all.

I tried unsuccessfully to find a brief babysitter gig so that I did not have to take the girls to what was indisputably going to result in a wait in the Customer Service line, but to no avail. Deciding to soldier on, I haul the recorder, myself, and two wiggly girls to Best Buy. Surprisingly, the wait is short, the exchange painless ("Do you have the remote in here?" "Why, yes, I do!" "And the cables?" "Yes, sir!") and the girls amazingly well-behaved. Cheerful now, we decide to go to Radijazz, because I'm just that good a mom. (I promised Older Girl that we would stay until she got tired. FOUR HOURS LATER, I decided that was impossible, and made them leave.)

So, later that day, we get home, and I pull out the new DVD/VCR combo. Looks fine, all is good. I pick it up and go to plug it back into the clusterfuckage, when, lo and behold, I realize that there is, in fact, STILL a DVD/VCR combo on my shelf.

So...what did I take back to the store? Yes, that's right, I packed up MY CABLE BOX and returned it to Best Buy! And nobody noticed it, not me, and not the Technology Professional that looked through my box with such care.

There was another, hurried, trip to Best Buy, again hauling the two children. The situation was remedied quickly...but not without some gloating from The Man when he heard this story. "Oh, you're such a TECH GODDESS, how did that ever happen?" I'm all "Well, I was TRYING to watch your CHILDREN and not let them KILL THEMSELVES or something, it's no WONDER I was DISTRACTED." Bastard.

And the upshot of all this? The new DVD/VCR? Tapes still stick in it.

Tuesday, July 25, 2006

Recovering, and 10 Days of Summer Vacation

How's my head?

Well, erm...I never had any complaints...

Oh. You mean my headACHE! It's better.

I hear tell that molds are really, really high in Austin right now. (Once I saw a car that had one of those "Austin - Live Music Capital of the World" bumper sticker cut up - bumper sticker cutting is a prime source of amusement in Austin, BTW - to say "Austin: Evil Mold Capital of the World." I have never, ever forgotten that, because it is SO TRUE. I will never understand why a town that never gets any rain grows such startlingly toxic and copious molds. The Man was laid up with it this afternoon, so I guess that's the most likely culprit.

Today, I realized that summer vacation was nearly over. I realized it because I was fantasizing about committing sixyearoldacide. But I stopped myself, because I realized that we only have 10 more days left together before we are both back off to the races. Sigh. Thank god. (But, to her credit, it's never taken us THIS LONG to get to that point before. When she was three, I wanted to go back to work after Memorial Day weekend.)

Younger girl, though pretty calm and blessedly still in the cutie-pie stage, can also be a lot to handle, A case in point; she "went boneless" during the brief errand involving insurance paperwork. Ain't no fun hauling 27 pounds of limp meat plus holding the hand of a six-year-old that may as well be a squirrel monkey. However - when they're two, you kind of laugh when they chirp, brightly, "I GO BONELESS!" to everyone in the office as you carry them out. (Poor O.G. When they're six, they get an ass-chewing for that kind of behavior.)

So, as I'm feeling guilty for such horrible thoughts (and because I know that most folks DO NOT WANT TO HEAR people in the education field complaining that they have "too many vacation days,") I'm putting my game face on for the next 10 days. It's fun mom central, I promise. Children's museum, indoor gymnasium, Central Market Cafe, swimming pools all over town, lunch at Sandy's Frozen Custard, whatever. Maybe there'll even be Peter Pan Mini-Golf. I'm finally feeling motivated to haul my ass out of here (which reminds me; it's day 3 of post-vacation diet. So far so good).

I have to say, though, the alternative to going out is to being at home. If there's TV on and it's actually me that's chosen the channel (which never happens,) I have it on the news, and the news is simply depressing. Oh, well, maybe I'll just focus on my happy certainty that this Mideast war will bring on the rapture. ('Cos damn if this won't be a much happier place without all those fundamentalists!)

I leave you with this nugget of joy...YouTube has the unreleased, never-before-seen pilot of "Buffy the Vampire Slayer." It's more or less the same as the original, but there is a decidedly different Willow present. (Sheesh...that was 10 years ago already, and I was old to watch that show when I did watch that show.)


Monday, July 24, 2006

Something is WRONG with me.

I have had the Biggest. Fucking. Headache. For like three days. I can't post, I can't think, I cannot rouse myself off of the couch. The children are being watched by their reliable, if potentially harmful, babysitter, Mrs. 27-Inch Panasonic.

Molds? Day two of cold-turkey caffeine withdrawal? Vacation hangover? Dieting lethargy? (Or the bastard stepchild of the latter two, Vacation Eight-Pound Weight-Gain Depression?) I don't know. But I am too struck down to care.

Tylenol didn't work, nor did ibuprofen. I brought out the big guns last night - Demerol and Darvocet left over from my bunion surgery in February. I think they just made me more tired, though I was noticeably more relaxed for poker over t'McJo's last night.

I am going to VALIANTLY haul myself to the pool just so the children do not start to suffer from my pain. I believe I'm going to go for that Greta Garbo hat and sunglasses thing, though, 'cause there's always parents from Older Girl's school there, and I DON'T want to talk to anyone. (I almost put "Making small talk with other parents at school functions" on my list of activities in hell.) I'd wear a scarf, too, but I don't know how. Never could pull one off like Karla and Tricia can.

I vant to be aloone.

Friday, July 21, 2006

Vacation Recap; Movies Reviewed; Other Detritus

(Prelude and subsequent interludes to wordy essay...The periodically interrupting iPod report. I wonder if it can do the iPod Magic 8 Ball thing that the old iPod can do. Let's see.)

It is currently playing Belle and Sebastian, "Stars of Track and Field." I love that song. And, I married one!

Kansas City is my hometown. My parents built their current house the year before I was born, meaning they have lived there for 38 years. That's a startling figure to me, as I, and the house, have usually come to represent recent developments in my family, what with my sister and brother being seven and twelve years older than me, respectively. They had two houses before I came along, and I always found that really strange.

(iPod interlude. The Chipmunks, "Whip It." Nonononono. Fast forward! OK, next up..."Pink Bullets" by The Shins. Much better.)

I grew up on a lake, which is in high contention for the prize given to the best part of my childhood. I swam every day of every summer, in my memory. My friends came over to swim, to grill out, and to lie out on the dark after dark and talk, and later to sneak cigarettes and giggle. It's the biggest attachment I have to my house, which after 38 years is getting a bit long in the tooth. (That actually hurt to write.)

("Happy Family." The Ramones. Ooooh! It works!)

Anyway, the parents still live on the lake. My father is not well, my mother takes care of him. It's hard. But, home visits are still something we look forward to, not the least reason being the total devotion my mother has for my children, even when they are Not Deserving Of It. (There was a pool ball incident, in which a ball was THROWN ACROSS THE ROOM hard enough to break an antique picture frame. Older Girl was at least an instigator. There was killing.)

("Le Freak," Chic. I did freak out, come to think of it. C'est chic.)

Of course, the girls, too share my love for the lake. Here's a bomber-suited darling with The Man:

And on our friend's pontoon boat, right at sunset:

("Cherry Cherry," Neil Diamond, "Lay Your Hands on Me," Thompson Twins. The iPod loves Erin's wedding barbecue music CDs.)

So, there's my highlight reel, really. I love the lake I grew up on. KC - well, it's fine; there's good barbecue (YES, Texans, I WENT THERE) and pretty architecture. More "culture" than Austin, in the old money sense, but less things to do. Unless you are right in the heart of downtown or midtown, you could mistake it for any other city in the country. There's a reason many "family chains," e.g. Applebee's, Houlihan's, Swensen's, are based there. Even if you go into a restaurant that isn't a chain, you have a feeling it wants to be one.

("The Armadillo Jackal," Robert Earl Keen. Actually don't know that song very well; haven't listened to No Kinda Dancer much. So I don't know what that means. Oooh, now it's "Scary Monsters (Super Freaks)" by David Bowie. Yes, there are scary monsters and DISTINCTLY super freaks in my past, some of whom currently live in Kansas City. Probably in the suburbs.)

Other than swim and visit with the family, we did get out and about a bit. We went to Worlds of Fun, which is KC's version of Six Flags. Older Girl rode the Mamba, which is the scariest fucking roller coaster I have EVER been on. Even though she was totally yoked in, I spent the entire ride with my arm pressed into her chest. I spent a nice day eating lunch at Andre's (not a chain, a lovely little Swiss chocolate/pastry shop that serves girly lunches...too wonderful, and NOT available in Austin) and shopping with the friends on the Country Club Plaza, wherein at some point I was talked into spending several hundred dollars at J.Jill (!) and Eddie Bauer (!!) (Seriously! I KNOW! And nothing was even BLACK! There's a fucking orange shirt in there! It was those women!)

("Landslide," The Dixie Chicks, "My Baby Loves Lovin," the White Plains. Who? Wait a there a theremin in that song? I'm hallucinating; must be the South Beach.)

The Man went to the Nelson Art Gallery that same day, which is way up on lists of things you should DEFINITELY go see if you ever visit. D'Bronx Deli is also a required stop, for me, at least. Deli is also not done right in Austin.

("Long Tall Texan," Lyle Lovett. "Can't Keep It In," Cat Stevens. I am wavering in my ability to process potential parallels to my life story. But, I'm glad I found the former, and I'm glad I left home, which is what the second song discusses.)

Other than that, I saw a few movies. First, we saw "A Prairie Home Companion," an odd, but enjoyable, little film. I'd say your barometer of whether you will like it falls exactly in line with your tolerance of the show. Meryl Streep and Lily Tomlin were fantastic, as were Woody Harrelson and John C. Reilly. Kevin Kline is a god, and has been on my list from WAY BACK. But, like I said, it's definitely an odd little pic.

Next, we saw "Superman Returns." Confession alert: I'm a fangirl. I haven't gone into it much here, but I am a hard superhero customer to please. I went into the theater totally expecting to hate it, as Christopher Reeve is always, and will always be, Superman to me. I was also afraid they'd try to sex it up, put rubber nipples on his suit, that sort of thing. But, no...instead, the theater darkens, and I hear "Dah dah dah dah dah, DAH DAH DUM, etc." The credits roll, and the letters are the same diminishing blue outlines of old. I completely geeked out. They had me at the credits. Brandon Routh and Kevin Spacey were perfect...and I can't believe that I think that Brandon is ... as handsome as Chris! Kate Bosworth I was unimpressed with. She's no Margot Kidder. ("You've got me?? Who's got you???")

Then, we saw "Pirates of the Caribbean." Johnny Depp was fantastic, and the movie was pretty good. Kinda surprisingly long, considering the audience. The story was actually nonsensical, but I could watch Johnny Depp brush his teeth for two hours.

(I've lost track. "Why Have I Lost You," Cameo. "West of The Fields," R.E.M. "Something to Say," Toad the Wet Sprocket. I totally lose cool points with the last one.

And, that's about it. There was a waterpark in there somewhere, but it bears no observation, as it pales in comparison to Schlitterbahn, the Taj Mahal of all waterparks. The Man found a brew pub he liked, and actually sucked up his snotty Texan attitude long enough to have some decent Mexican food.

Nighty night, friends. This is long enough. For several posts. I believe I'm bogarting the internet.

I leave you with this, on the iPod, which is sure to be revelatory...

wait for it...

"Does Your Mother Know." Abba. I shit you not. No, Benny and Agnetha, she did not. Ever.

Wednesday, July 19, 2006

In Which Mags Returns

...from a 10-day vacation! To Kansas City, Missouri! Wheee!!! (I'm sure Karla is supadupa impressed. Jeez...she was in Italy when they won the frickin' World Cup. That is so damn amazing.)

Oh, lordy, it's been 10 hours in the car, and I'm brain dead. It's a 12-hour drive if you get from Point A to Point B in the most straightforward manner, which is I-35 through Oklahoma and Kansas, and then to the Kansas Turnpike to KC. On the way up, we did six hours in one evening, stopped in fabulous Norman, Oklahoma for the night (at what is inarguably a nice and comfortable Super 8), and then did the next six the following morning. (Had to get there before 1:00 so The Man could watch the World Cup finals, dontcha know.)

On the way back, though, we stopped and visited some dear friends in Arkansas, who put us up for the night. Love them, love the visit, always do it. It usually means eight hours in the car on the way back, which is totally doable, but I think we stayed too long savoring that scrumptious Braum's lunch or something, because we ended up spending 10 hours in the car.

I'm not quite to adding "10 hours in a station wagon with my children fighting in the back seat" to my "What's In My Hell" list, but only - ONLY - because of the iPod. See? Totally justified spending.

I'm probably gonna post some kind of highlights reel tomorrow. But, quite frankly, it was a family vacation, and my biggest highlight was getting to see my family and friends. My parents and my sister live there, so I see them twice a year or more. In a very cool development, my brother and nephews also flew in from Boston, and I hardly EVER get to see them, so that was thrilling for me and the girls. Also, two of my dearest friends also came in, in a completely choreographed fashion, to also see their parents. (We know what we need in a home visit, eh, girls?) I'd post their picture, 'cos they're lovely, but I didn't ask their permission, and they're much more important than I.

But, I will post one picture, the one taken at the moment that I realized that Summer 2006 is the Season of Mags Unexpectedly Having Birds on Her Body And/Or Head During Her Vacations:

(From the Kansas City Zoo's new lorikeet exhibit. They let you in to feed them every hour. How cool is that?)

Well, I'm off to go do something that is not sitting in a car, or eating fast food, or in fact venturing outside at all - it's one hundred and one fucking degrees outside. It was a hundred and FOUR in Dallas this afternoon. Did I mention that there were two children? Small and lovely, but bored and thus either a) hyperactive or b) extremely pesky, in respective order?

Have a lovely evening!


P.S. Will one of you more bloggy-experienced folks (are you blogsperienced?) write me and tell me how you link to one of your own posts? I seem to remember reading it somewhere, but my computer's too old and tired to do extensive research on it. Thanks!!

Friday, July 07, 2006

Sporadic Posting Alert

We're computerless again for the next several days, so posting will be sporadic, at best, until the 19th or 20th or so.

I leave you with a photograph inspired by Karla May, whose cat Earl has a sizeable, and yet still very attractive, belly overhang. My cat, Molly, weighs 16 pounds, and has been on a diet for 10 of the 12 years of her life. (Do we not feel her pain? I FEEL YOUR PAIN, baby.) She loves to drape herself over the back of the couch, and though I have several pictures of this, I cannot seem to find them right this second.

But, I do have a picture of her that I dearly love. You ever try to cram yourself into jeans that are a size too small? And you know they're tight, but you just steel yourself, and hope that nobody ELSE will notice that they're so tight that they had to be zipped up with a pair of pliers?

Well, that's what happened to Molly, and the shoebox:

She wanted in there SO BAD, and she was really quite content for some time, even with several of us walking past, pointing, whispering, giggling, and eventually snapping pictures.

Oh, we have other cats...several other cats...actually, we have far too many cats. But that is a story for another time. Suffice it to say that Molly is the best "big-boned girl" kitty that we have ever had.

Those are her "pissed-off ears" in the first picture. I wish I could pull off "pissed-off ears."

Have a happy few days, y'all. Stay cool; go swimming. If you're in Austin, go to lunch at Enoteca Vespaio on South Congress. We went there today, taking advantage of a day without the six-year-old (mad props for summer day camps, yo). It was AMAZING. Not quite as pricey as Vespaio, but I still had a NICE Italian meal. Not easy to come by in Austin. Mexican, Tex-Mex - another story. And worthy of a post someday. But, must be industrious, damn it.

LYLAS!! Mean it!!

Thursday, July 06, 2006

I'm a bad, bad Mags!

I shouldn't have done it.

It was really so naughty of me.

But it was just so sexy, sitting there in the Mac store at Barton Creek Mall; and it was clearly lonely and in need of a good, warm, home.

Mmmmmm...and it's soooo good. No! It's BAD! Stop this madness! Did it HAVE to be the 60 GB? Did you REALLY think you needed that POWERFUL and MANLY a machine? Why, why, why? Did you have illusions of wealth, or coolness, that you JUST. DO. NOT. POSSESS?

In a word; yes. It's mine. It's all mine. And I lurrrrrve it. I don't care what everyone else says. You just don't understand LOVE. (stomps off to room. With iPod.)

Wednesday, July 05, 2006

Technology BREAKDOWN at the Mags Household

May I scream?


I started a post a few days ago about how my digital camera, my video camera, and my television had all DIED or gone kerfluey within a couple of weeks of each other. It was called "Despair at the Best Buy," and it was supposed to be a funny, Seinfeld-ish musing on the purchasing of new technology when all the other fucking electronics in your house are too old and breaking down to support anything new. But, I got halfway into it, and it just sounded cheap and whiny, so I bagged it.

But tonight...the beloved new (to me) iPod? The one I've loved and carried for the past eight weeks or so? Dropped on the bathroom floor. The little earphone jack is now loose, and thus the whole thing does not work - this being a pre-docking iPod, and thus one that heavily relies on the little earphone jack to make the music, you know, AUDIBLE?

I was so pissed off that I sulked around the house for about two hours. Seriously. I tried to go for a walk, but it WAS NOT THE SAME. God. Damn. It.

I finally looked up at the man, who does not know of the joy of the Pod, and I said, "Honey, I don't think I can go on without one." (Keep in mind that I've spent $1400 at the Best Buy in the past FOUR DAYS.) He, to his credit, just sighed, but not in a "oh, no fucking way" kind of way.

(And, just now, he ventured in to suggest that there are ways I can earn his consent to purchase said brand-new iPod. Pig. And yet...ah, hell, I was tired anyway.)

Tuesday, July 04, 2006

Baby, It's The Fourth of July

We are back from a visit with the in-laws in Salado, TX. A mellow good time was had by all, except Older Girl, who is rarely, if ever, mellow. Much grillage occurred, there was beer and wine consumed, and we went swimming briefly until the rain drove us away. I feel like a fat, stuffed goose. Quack. (Or honk?)

Not quite as much wine was consumed by me today as I would normally put away at the folks' house. Our friends Bill and Julie had us over for a 3rd of July party at their house on Lake Travis last night, where we watched fireworks and enjoyed the music of Bubba Coletrane, a.k.a the band helmed by Bob Noxious. I was not really hung over today, but I did have a bit of wine and beer last night; enough that I amused The Man immensely when, at 1:00 AM, I announced that I really wanted to stay up all night talking to him and watching Buffy DVDs. But, needless to say, I was very tired today.

Anyway, it's a drizzly evening in Austin, and I can hear the Town Lake fireworks going off, but have no desire whatsoever to attempt to go see them. It's such a clusterfuck going down there. Bah, humbug, or whatever Scrooge would say regarding fireworks.*

So, this post appears to be turning into the equivalent of just punching the clock. I truly want to get in bed and finish the book I have checked out from the library (Live From New York: An Uncensored History of Saturday Night Live) It's pretty fascinating, especially since I've watched most of every season of SNL - even the Charles Rocket year - except the last couple of years. I guess I'm not SHOCKED that everyone except Jane Curtin was coked to the gills 24/7, but I think watching some of those old sketches now will be somewhat more revelatory now.

OK, chickens, I leave you with this puzzling bit of wonderment. It's an article entitled "Man of Steel, Woman of Kleenex," and I was made aware of it by my good buddy John over at Harvard Avenue. It's an essay, apparently several years old, regarding the physics of Superman having sex with and impregnating Lois Lane. (I don't know that I can ever see the Ice Bedroom scene in Superman II again without wondering how Superman ejaculated into Lois Lane, what with the Super Sperm that must have exited like bullets.)

It occurs to me that some people think very different thoughts than I do.

Have a great holiday; mind your dogs tonight.

*"If I could work my will," said Scrooge indignantly, "every idiot who goes about with 'Happy Independence Day' on his lips, should be boiled with his own pudding, and buried with a roman candle through his heart. He should!"

Sunday, July 02, 2006

Eyes! Hair! Mouth! Figure!

OK, really, just the first three. Working on the figure is not panning out so well this summer. But I still want to be Rainbow High!

I got a coupon for a free Aveda makeup consultation at JR Salon, which is the local somewhat cheaper version of the downtown real ritzy salon. So, not being someone to turn down free anything, I went.

But, see, the thing is, I've never really been that into makeup. (Badger is horrified.) My makeup history is thus: My bad friend Kelley showed me how to put on sparkly purple eyeshadow from Spencers in the seventh grade. Then, Debbie Davis showed me how to put on gray eyeliner in the ninth grade. That's pretty much it. See, my mother only wore eyebrow pencil and lipstick, and made caustic comments about my trashy appearance whenever I tried to wear any around her. And, my sister was not deeply into makeup either, and was seven years older than I was, so she was pretty much in college by the time I cared to learn.

The sum total of makeup regimen has been, for approximately the past 20 years: Mascara, gray eyeliner, lipstick, foundation (very light,) powder (in a compact, cake-style,) blush (ditto.) I wear eyeshadow maybe once or twice a year. I still have the same eyeshadow I had when I moved here 13 years ago, I think. And, cheapskate that I am, with the exception of some Aveda lipsticks, it's usually all Walgreens. Oh, I went "classy Walgreens" a few years ago and started buying L'Oreal, but I'm still strictly low-rent. (However, when it comes to my hair, I am the EXACT OPPOSITE. NOTHING is too good for my hair. I have a neat line of Aveda products in my medicine cabinet that is my pride and joy; to hell with my kids!)

So, with trepidation, but too cheap to turn down a freebee, I went to the salon (and ended up parking six blocks away because the Brazil game was on at Sampaios, the Brazilian restaurant next door. Man, that's an effing party, let me tell you. Must check it out sometime.) Juanita, the makeup lady, was friendly and nonthreatening to a fancy makeup neophyte. When Juanita asked me how I cleansed my skin, I couldn't just tell the truth, which is "soap and water," so I fudged a bit and said I had some nice antioxidant cleanser. That's not technically a lie, because I do own some. I occasionally do remember to put on moisturizer, but it's Oil of Olay from Walgreens, the one with the SPF 15 in it.

So, I got the tour of the Aveda cosmetic line. Apparently, it is all natural, and it is mineral-based, which I am told is VERY IMPORTANT. I will admit, she sold it well, and I listened very closely when she told me how to actually apply makeup. I figured it was about time, what with being 36 and all. And, though I felt like a French whore when I left, I believe I actually looked pretty good.

Interesting thing about the whole "free" makeup session: it's not ACTUALLY free, when you leave with $71 worth of makeup. Then you run over to the local drugstore for $30 worth of brushes and miscellany to apply the $71 worth of makeup WITH, because damn if you're going to buy Aveda brushes for $20 a pop or something like that, right? So, "free" actually translates to "crap, how in the fuck did I just end up spending $100 on fucking makeup?"

I'd have taken a picture of the professional job from yesterday, but my camera was dead. So, today, $400 at Best Buy later, is my attempt to recreate it, just for you:

Damn, you can't even really tell anything in these pictures. You'll just have to trust me when I say that I am wearing, for me, a LOT of makeup. And I spent nearly 15 minutes doing it, whereas before, my motto was: "If it can't be completed at the stoplights between here and work, it's not getting done."

I have to say, I like the look, even if I still hear my mother's comments in my head, thus ensuring that I continued to feel like a French whore throughout my entire visit to the H.E.B. this afternoon. But, nobody propositioned me, so perhaps I'm overreacting.

So, Sienna hair, check. Makeup lessons, check. Charm and poise, cram that up yer ass. Next up: reducing the thighs and buttOCKS. Lipo! Lipo!

Saturday, July 01, 2006

What's Your Hell Like?

Things in my hell:

Drinks in my hell:

  • Diet. Cherry. VANILLA. Doctor. Pepper. How many words in this name equal "yuk?" ALL OF THEM.
  • Big Red, and any/all and sundry of the "cream soda" family
  • whiskey
  • that horrible Yerba Mate soda I had at the party watching the Argentina/Germany game yesterday
Food in my hell: Flan. And Circus Peanuts.

Occupations in my hell: Cutting off the plastic packaging around electronic equipment and/or kids' toys. Perhaps Armpit Sniffer.

Music mix in my hell: Redneck mainstream country. Contemporary Christian music. Hardcore gay- and woman-bashing/killing rap. And Barney.

President in my hell: um...crap.

The only author in my hell: Hemingway.

Husbands in my hell: Rush Limbaugh. Dick Cheney. Some crazy polygamist cult leader. (Our neighbor! Yay!) Ann Coulter (she is a man, is she not?) And Barney.

Only activities allowed in my hell:
  • Going to a laundromat
  • Waiting for service people to come to my house
  • Looking at pictures of myself when I weighed 20 lbs more
  • Waiting in a long, long line with a hyperactive six-year-old and a fussy two-year-old
  • Dieting
I think that's all I got for tonight. Any other suggestions? Or, have better answers?