Wednesday, December 27, 2006
Today was my first day back at the office after a nice, long break for the holiday. I was the only one there today and though it was a little lonely, it was the most productive and fun day I've had in ages. I pulled up my itunes on the computer, hit party shuffle, cranked it up and got more done in one day than I usually do in 3 or 4. The phone barely rang. No packages were delivered. It was "all about me" today. I even had time to pseudo-dance around.
Why is it that on any other regular work day, I can't seem to make any headway? I can so see the Church Lady curling her lips and saying "could it beeeeeee......Satannnnn?" right now. Nope, I just seem to do better with a soundtrack, not just the hum of computers and fax machines. There are days I turn on my tunes while working, but it's usually on very quietly, but after today, I don't know how I'll be able to accomplish anything without full, frontal "wear that chair out" rock. Hey, the boss gave me an iTunes gift card - so he can't blame me, right? He'll just have to get over it.
I'm off to New York this weekend, so won't be posting for a few days. Hopefully, I'll have some fun stories to tell you about next week. Who am I kidding? Of COURSE there will be stories. What's funnier than a Texan in New Yawk? Yee haw!
Happy 2007, y'all. Now git!
Thursday, December 21, 2006
Okay, so that's done. Now what? I grab the TV remote and do a little surfing o the dish. Nothing new on - no new Grey's. No new ER. Dear heavens above, please let me find something to veg-out to; I do not see a toilet brush or scrubbing bubbles in my near future.
*click* "In Her Shoes". Okay, chick flick. Three stars. *sigh* Okay, I'll give it a whirl. No one has to know, except me and CruiserDog, right? Two hours later, I'm weeping and sniffling like an idiot.
My sister died about three years before I was born. I have an older brother who I adore, but have never known the feeling of having a sister, unfortunately. I sometimes wonder if she and I would've ganged-up on B or if they would've ganged-up on me. (they were 8 and 10 years older than me) I often wonder what she would look like now. She was such a pretty 6 year old. I idolized her in her Easter dress and wide-brimmed hat in the photo in Mom's dressing room. For years. Would she be married and have children by now? Would she be funny and carefree or serious and stern?
I will one day find out, but for now I happily have my other sisters. You know who you are. I don't have to tell you that I love you for what you've contributed to my life, but I want to.
I love you for the laughs and the tears, the gossip and the advice, whether I followed it or not. I love you for the encouragement in all my endeavors, no matter how flaky. I even love the awful bridesmaid dresses you've made me wear. (I can't seem to part with them.) I love the quotable quotes we share from ages ago and the embarrassing moments stored away to be used (or not) against me when and if that "moment" comes. I love you for the plans we have for living in an old age home, drinking cocktails (or prune juice) and fighting over the few living men at "the home."
In short, I do have a sister. I have many sisters. I am one of the luckiest girls in the world. I am crying as I am typing, the thoughts coming faster than my little hands can possibly type, so I will stop here.
Before you go, I want to quote the best movie line I've ever heard about "sisters". This is for you. "I love her. She's my sister. Without her, I don't make sense."
Okay, go now. I need a new Kleenex. QUIT IT - you're making me cry.
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Uh. No. I've been able to do my Christmas shopping on the internet and I'm totally done. I'd rather get a root canal than shop in a mall.
Now that I've gone through my naughty and nice list and found it to be complete, it's "me" time. I've got a fun little trip planned to NYC for New Year's weekend and I'm on a mission to find the right pants to go with a top I bought some time ago and haven't cut the tags off of. Jeans are the perfect answer to go with it (it's one of those middle-eastern looking tops that's got just the right amount of sparkle, without looking too blingy). But I hate all the jeans I own. I should be upfront here and say I own exactly 2 pairs of jeans. They're just not my style most of the time, but jeans are a must for this top (along with cutest pair of clogs EVER - purchased online, thankyouverymuch).
So off to Kohl's I go today, on advice of a co-worker. (I was embarrassed to say that I really don't even know where to buy jeans anymore!) I had never been to a Kohl's until today, as their stores had remained figments of suburban myth in my mind....always 30 minutes from where I live. But recently, Kohl's has gone urban and moved within a 5 minute drive of my casa.
It can't be all bad, I say to myself, as I pulled in the parking lot. But the parking lot was the only part was wasn't all bad.
I entered the ugliest, messiest, least-organized store, short of one of those stores run by Christian women selling clothes that should've been burned and not sold, but aren't, because Doris and Ruth need something to do to get away from their husbands of 50 years.
I took a deep breath and headed for what looked like the ladies' jean department. Aha, found 'em. There were nicely labeled shelves, organized by size and length. That's where the organizing stopped. There were size 4 longs in the bin marked size 10 short and 18 longs in the 8 medium bin. I took another deep breath and rolled up my sleeves and dove into the blue denim like I was on a mission from God.
Armed with 3 pair, I made my way through the gauntlet of little hispanic children with sticky, chocolatey fingers and high-pitched squeals of Christmas joy, the parents of whom were nowhere to be found. I stepped around sweaters which had fallen off the hangers and abandoned on the floor. I weaved through purses that were fashionable in the early 90's and teenaged girls testing every cheap cologne (have they really brought back Charlie from the 70's?) before I finally found the dressing room.
I stripped down, took a deep breath and prepared for the bad news. This couldn't be this easy, could it? There's no way one of these 3 pair will fit and/or look good, but I gave it the ole college try. Voila! Pair #1 fits. Looks good. Feels good. I can sit AND stand in them. Mission accomplished.
I didn't even try on the other 2 pair. I was so eccstatic I wanted to run out into the store, spray on some cheap cologne, and even hug a sticky child. I decided against this when I saw the line at the cashier......at least 15 people and forty 6-yr olds deep. Ugh. Twenty minutes later, I was home.
This is why I hate shopping.
But once home, I tried on my new acquisition with my cute brown clogs and the ensemble is complete. These jeans rawk. I can't wait to be in New York City, looking all Greenwich Villagey IN Greenwich Village! Shopping's not all bad, now is it, CruiserMel? Yup. Yup, it is. But if I can look this cute as the result, I'm willing to give it the ole college try.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
I work in a small office of all men, except moi. And we're popular according to the pile of prezzies we've been amassing.
Case in point: I seem to be the go-to girl whenever the UPS or FedEx guys come around. Maybe they just feel like a chick should be the person to receive prezzies. And they would be correct. Maybe they think I'm cute. And they would be correct again. Maybe it's because I sit near the door. Dammit, that's probably it, but I want to think it's because I'm cute, so I'm going with that.
It's not the constant Christmas muzak playing at the local mall or the return of "A Charlie Brown Christmas" on television that reminds me it's the holiday season. It's the barrage of packages that the UPS and FedEx guys keep bringing. Yesterday, we got three honey-baked hams, 4 turkeys, a tower of tasty treats (have you seen these tower things?), the biggest tin of candied pecan halves, and a box of chocolate covered almonds. That was just yesterday!
Let me give you a brief description of my coworkers. One is a body-builder who's one and only treat in life is an occasional Dr. Pepper that he must work off with an extra hour in the gym. One is constantly thinking he's dying a slow death from his high cholesteral numbers, blaming the company for his condition, and also hates sweet on his meat (heh, that sounds funny) so he's unlikely to enjoy any of these treats, except the turkey. There is one guy who I've never seen let anything untoward pass his lips; he's one of those freaky eaters who is maybe 26 at best and should be eating all the crap he can before his gut keeps him from seeing his shoes. Then there is CruiserMel.
I've been a very good girl lately, in preparation for my Christmas gift to myself, a trip to NYC, except for the occasional Tex-Mex meal, but I live in Texas and it's a necessary evil. Hey, what are you lookin' at?
But COME ON - get these things the F outta here!!!! In fact, all the guys left early today for one reason or another and I can't find my desk because of all the packages of treats. I'm probably paranoid, but I just know they've got a hidden camera aimed right at me to see if I turn into a ravenous beast only to be found tomorrow morning in a coma under my desk with tiny bits of honey-baked ham and chocolate dotting my chin whilst clutching a turkey carcass. Maybe it's my imagination, but it's at least keeping me from breaking into the treat tower, thank goodness.
This is so unfair! If companies want to send gifts, fine. Can't it be cash? Shoes? Liquor? Amazon.com gift cards?
Anyone with me?
Okay - rant over. What are YOU lookin' at?
Sunday, December 10, 2006
Saturday, December 09, 2006
I started thinking about all the great singers out there in the popular music world and how their voices have always brought a smile to CruiserMel's face. I've got a really long list, but I thought I'd share just a few. (And I'm remembering that CE told me to keep it brief. Wench.)
In no particular order, here goes:
Todd Rundgren - you guys know how I feel about this one and yes, he IS #1.
John Waite - one of the greatest of all times, and who didn't love The Babys and Bad English?
Robin Zander - so unique, a perfect rock voice.
Billie Jo Armstrong - gets my vote for king of alt rock, and pretty damn cute.
Roger Daltrey - a rock classic.
Rob Thomas - the rare combination of voice & song-writing ability. Ahhh.
Steve Perry - the clarity was magnificent and rare, sadly he's not performing anymore.
Kasim Sulton - such a beautiful voice and he's sung with almost every artist you can think of, believe it.
Jon Bon Jovi - forget the hair, this guy's like butter.
John Lennon - I don't know why, but his voice always grabbed me.
Usher - man, oh man, oh man.
Paul Rogers - still kickin' it and lookin' good at the same time. Double whammy.
Barry Manilow - I'll take heat on this, but he's still selling out Vegas and there must be a reason.
Gwen Stephani - she never disappoints and has great versatility.
Shania Twain - so talented and knows how to select the best songs for herself.
Amy Grant - angelic.
I'm interested in hearing about your favorite singers in the world of popular music. No limits on the genre. Have some fun with it and get back to me.
Now go on, you have homework to do!
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
I admit I'm a little green when it comes to the ways of IPodery, but I've had this thing for a good 3 or 4 months, used it almost daily ever since, and bought all the bling-bling accessories, including a battery pack that allows me to listen to non-stop tunes if I should ever go "Around the World In 80 Days" in a hotair balloon, without recharging and an over-priced sounds-better-than-my-home-theatre speakers charging gizmo. I'm no techno-geek, but I kind of know my way around the IPod. Until tonight.
I have zero idea what I did, but the damn thing is stuck at warp speed. No kidding, it's going 75 mph and I can't stop it. Well, I can stop it, but I can't stop it from trying to break the sonic barrier. Somehow Meat Loaf singing Bat Out Of Hell III* just doesn't have the same punch in Mini Me-voice.
Geez. Will I be forced to listen to my tuneage (?) in hyper-speed? F. It's way too late to be dealing with this. Crudamundo.
I guess I'll go back to the old-fashioned way of listening to music. The CD. (insert sarcasm)
*fyi: Hey, I didn't think I'd like the Bat III CD, either, but I'm just sayin': buy this sucker. Fantastic music. Tremendous angst. This CD goes from hard rock to metal to pop to gospel to "Phantom of the Opera" to good ole Diane Warren songs and back again. It's got John 5 from Marilyn Manson and Nikki Sixx. Are ya kidding me? Tremendous. And previously blogged Kasim Sulton is on board, too! Ya can't go wrong with that.
Good grief, why are you here? This isn't interesting. Move it along. There's nothing to see here. Except a woman who wants to kitchen dance in her slippers and is forced to den dance. This isn't gonna be pretty. Carpet, you know. Take my word for it - raise your hand to the level of your eyes and save yourself.
Update: 14 minutes later and all is right with the world. Meat Loaf is cooking at regular speed. All it took was unplugging from the wall and a few un-ladylike words. Just call me techno-geek.
Monday, December 04, 2006
Sunday, December 03, 2006
I really do. Have you seen them lately? They are utterly brilliant.
What I'm talking about isn't the movies they show. It's their episodic series. And I'm not sure there's a bad one that exists. (Okay, I don't care for "Deadwood," but I digress.)
They started it all with "Sex and the City", "The Sopranos", "Queer as Folk" and "Six Feet Under." Now we've got "Dexter", "Weeds", "Nip/Tuck" and so many more. Oh looky looky, here comes good ole "Sleeper Cell" in a couple of weeks just in time to scare the bejeebers out of us for the holidays.
Their brilliant scheme works. They get us hooked with awesome writing. A couple of months of episodes and then - nuffin. Hiatus, whatever that means. Hey, man, I don't get to go on hiatus! They'll be gone for months and months until we alllllllmost forget about how good that show is and then like Emeril doing his magic, BAM! they bring it back for another 10 episodes or so, hook us, and then go on hiatus again. Totally brilliant marketing. And I hate it. The art of "leave 'em wanting more" really bites.
And the best (or worst?) part is that mainstream network television is hitching a ride on the same great writing wave. Cases in point: "Grey's Anatomy", "Studio 60", "Brothers and Sisters", "Jericho." Way too many to mention here. (My friend CE says I need to start keeping my entries brief.)
I'm really hating these TV people. Oh, I can actually participate in life, oh yes, but I have to devote hours of my off time to hit play on the DVR, in order to get all caught up before the next episode. It's enough to make a girl........write a blog.
Now, don't you have some Tivo or DVR to watch? Then what are you doing hanging around here?
Friday, December 01, 2006
But not without a little help. That's right, kiddies, I had "THE SCRIPT" next to me, all marked up with possible dialogue and some of the lines were actually highlighted (hey, I was nervous!). Though I have never met Golightly, my new hero, I felt her presence right there in the kitchen - threatening me with "I'll get Kate to pick up the extension and get this done & overwith if you don't pare this down to less than 10 minutes, wuss!" [Kate scares me.] I don't know how to link the script, but try looking here under http://dramatidbits.blogspot.com/2006/11/infamous-script.html Wow, it worked. I rule.
The call began at 3:26 and was wrapped up in 8 minutes. It would've been about 4 minutes, but he's a talker.
He: Blah blah blah and then this happened and then we're using new software and did you get out of work early yesterday and it sure was cold last night and something about cats and you have big plans this weekend?
Me: STOP. I need to say something and I don't have alot of time, so just let me say this, okay?
Me: Whatever this is with us, I'm just not getting a connection. I'm just not feelin' it. And I have to be feelin' it to make it worth the effort. You're a really nice guy and I admit I had a good time Tuesday night, but I just don't have a good vibe. (yes, I actually used that word - WTF?) I really hate to waste your time. And mine.
He: Well. Okay. I see. I guess you have to live life to learn a lesson. [what?]
Me: Alrighty then....... well good luck with selling your house and have a great weekend. It's been nice. (click)
Nice? Of all words. Admittedly it wasn't verbatim to Golightly's script, but it sure was close. And thank goodness I had it right there with me as a security blanket. Predicaments like these send me back to age 15 all over again, and 15 wasn't a particularly good year for CruiserMel, self-esteemwise.
Poor Mr. Nice Guy is probably licking his wounds now, so that makes me Miss Mean Ole Mel and that doesn't feel so good, but these things are rarely a happy occasion, right? That doesn't mean I didn't do a little happy dance when I hung up the phone. My feet sprouted wings. Little happy free wings just made for dancing in the privacy of one's kitchen. You know that line about "dance like nobody's watching"? That's what I did. And I'm still doing it. The sprinkler dance, the vogue, the dang cabbage patch dance. I even did a little chicken dance for good measure. If I'd had a football, I would've spiked it. It was magnificent. And I felt really triumphant. I'm baaaaaaackkkkk!!!!!!! And my chicken wings are gone.
Thanks go to my sisters in the blogosphere. If it weren't for you gals, I'd....well, I wouldn't be dancing in my kitchen like a dork.
Ooooo cool, "Pretty Vegas" by INXS is on the radio. Gotta go dance some more!
*hugs* to all y'all. That's plural, ya know. Happy Weekend! Now GO. DANCE!
Thursday, November 30, 2006
I promised to bring you a really good post earlier tonight and since I'm done watching Grey's, here ya go!
Attention Whore is a blog I really like reading. She's Canadian. And seems really cool. And she's been nice enough to stop by here and I bow down in flattery as a new blogger. (If I could figure out how to do a link to her blog, I would, but try as I may, I can't figure this stuff out. It's like child-proof tops on aspirin.) Here's the best I can do: http://kimmermav.blogspot.com/
Anyway - today's post grabbed me by my musical balls (or ovaries) and I had to drop everything and participate. Music is where it's at, people. I can't exist without something playing in my head at all times. (to quiet the voices) Anyway, I'm sure it's quite scientific and totally accurate in determining one's past, present, and future. Precise as heck, in fact.
Here's what you do. Get your IPod and put it on shuffle. Write down the songs as they play. This is the soundtrack to your life. As an example, I am including my soundtrack. And it's creepy effin cool. (You could probably do this with a favorite radio station, if you are lacking in IPodery.)
Opening credits: "Money, That's What I Want" by Todd Rundgren. Ahh, Todd. Of course, you'd be my opening credit. But geez, my reader(s) is/are going to get the wrong idea about me, dude.
Waking up: "Curbside Prophet" by Jason Mraz. Hmmm.... "and I'm waiting for my rocket to come." Freudian much?
Falling in love: "Lessons in Love" by Level 42. 'Nuff said.
Fight song: "Don't Stop Believin'" by Journey. Wow.
Breaking up: "Mammon" by Todd Rundgren. Bashing organized religion, Todd? I'm going to hell for sure now.
Making up: "My Place In The Line" by Jude Cole. Comforting. I like this.
Life's OK: "Instant Karma" by John Lennon. Hmm. Oh well - it makes me snap my fingers for some reason. I guess that's pretty much OK.
Mental breakdown: "All I Want Is Everything" by Jellyfish. Honest, I did not make this up. That's what came next. Sorta makes me want to take the fetal position though.
Driving: "Save a Prayer" by Duran Duran. Great song. Nice driving groove. Not sure if the words apply but Duran Duran? Yes. Yes.
Flashbacks: "In Repair" by John Mayer. Ahhhh. Now THAT'S prophetic.
Happy Dance: "Stay With Me" by Def Leppard (well, Rod Stewart once). I'm dancing all over again thinking about this one.
Regret: "I Just Want To Touch You" by Utopia. Wow. Sexual aggression. Man, I need to get into therapy.
Final battle: "Heaven" by Psychedelic Furs. The Furs? "Heaven"? That doesn't sound like a battle to me.
Death scene: "Daughters" by John Mayer. Whew, good thing I don't have a daughter. She'd probably be killing me right now.
Final credits: "Drive" by The New Cars (well, originally The Cars). "Who's gonna drive you home tonight?" Man, I hope it's someone with wings on their back and not dressed in red.
I'd love to hear about the soundtrack to your life. I shared, you share. DO IT!
I actually had a good time the other night with Mr. Nice Guy. But that's where it ends. I am a firm believer in chemistry and basically he flunked that class. The experiment flopped. I think I gave it the old college try when I first met him and heard a voice in my head say: "You know, he IS the kind of guy you should be dating. Stable. Conservative in appearance. Polite. *deep breath* Oh all right, here's my number." And I tried. I honestly tried. I had two official dates with the guy since August and I just couldn't get my engine revved-up. Maybe it was my alternator? Starter? Oh hell - he just doesn't blow my skirt up - figuratively or literally.
So, no I didn't use the "going to the ladies' room to smoke some crack" line Tuesday night. At best I did excuse myself to the loo and gave myself a pep talk in the mirror, only to return to the table and put on my charming self. I so totally give up.
Fast forward to today - the last day of the month is my busiest business-wise. Mr. Nice Guy calls right in the middle of me trying to get a day's worth of last day business done in 1/2 a day so I could get the F outta there and practically sled home on the icy streets of Dallas. (oh yeah - Texas ice storm!) Anyway - before he could even finish saying "hi" I cut him off and said "Can't talk now. Sorry." I hung up and my boss came flying out of his office and scolded me. WTF? Yup, he scolded me for not just doing it right then and there.
"But, but, but you and Greg would be listening!"
"Mel, we know the story. Do you want me to break up with him for you?"
(GOLIGHTLY, I APPARENTLY HAVE MY OWN VERSION OF KATE!)
Holding back the giggles, I hung my head in shame and vowed to handle this tomorrow. Vowed. It's bad enough to have a friend break up with a guy for you, but to have your boss do it? Pity the fool.
SOOOOO - tomorrow, Friday, will be the day. I've got the day off and my to-do list has "cut the guy loose" at the top. No alcohol allowed. Not even an Advil.
Let me say right here: you readers are fantabuloso. What a sense of sorority. And I wasn't even in a sorority. Unless you count the fact that I went to a woman's college with only 700 women....so it was one big sorority, sorta. Oh well, you know what I mean. *getting verklempt*
Now - it's time for Grey's so the earth must stop rotating for an hour. Will be back with the coolest of the coolest posting ever. Promise.
*turing on telly and settling in with CruiserDog* Shhhhhhhhhh.
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
They agreed that I should stick with my current course - to appear as wild, crazy, bitchy, die-hard-rock-fan, drunk, and generally out-there as I can be. In other words, be myself.
But they added a touch to my plan that may be the deal-breaker (or winner from my POV). If he disagrees that I'm too wild for him, I should politely say something like "Maybe you're right. But will you please excuse me for just a moment, while I go smoke some crack in the ladies room?"
And they also added that perhaps I should ask him where I can find some clean urine for my drug test coming up, seeing as how all my friends are fresh out.
Ya think that'll work?
Will post an update later. *putting on my subtle bitch hat*
Monday, November 27, 2006
Double post Monday! I meant to share this photo with you guys days ago, but I was in a tryptophan haze and totally forgot. Sowwy.
But is this the cutest little thing ever? This is CruiserDog. This is his usual pose. No, I'm lying. He's usually airing his privates, but this is a family blog!
Okay - get off the couch. You know you're not supposed to be up there! Go on! Off!
If you've read my blog, you've probably seen my posting about taking an internet dating test and finding out I am a Random Brutal Love Dreamer. (I'd have a hot link for you, but I'm too stupid to read the directions....) In a nutshell, I'm picky about my men. There's no one "type" for me, sort of like art. I may not know exactly what I like about a man, but I do know what I don't like about a man. Wussy, wimpy, overly nice, bubbly, blechy men.
And I've got one. And he's like a glob of Juicy Fruit stuck to my shoe: sticky sweet and will not leave me alone.
The fault lies with myself. Apparently, he thinks I'm pretty wonderful (and he's right) but he has somehow, perhaps subconsciouly, picked up that I'm not that into him. He would be right about that, too. He's even asked me if I want him to stop calling me, after I've turned him down for happy hour, movies, etc at least 4 times since we met. What was my answer, you may be asking. Well, lemme tell ya. "Oh my, of COURSE I want you to keep calling." WTF? I absolutely hate myself. Never, and I mean never, have I been given the ultimate "out" and didn't even pause to NOT take it. I'm sprouting chicken feathers this very moment.
Luckily the time between his calls is getting longer and longer, but that only lulls me into thinking he's gotten in touch with his own subconscious messages and then RRRRRRINNNGGGG. My teeth clinch, but for some reason I get that smile in my voice and find myself accepting a date with Mr. Nice Guy for tomorrow night. My eyes are so rolled back in my head that I can literally see my butt upside down and it's looking a little yellow.
When I say my prayers tonight (yes, I pray!), I will be asking for the strength and courage to kindly express the following: Hey, Mr. Nice Guy, I am not the woman for you. I am willful. I am cranky alot of the time, when nice guys are around. What? You haven't noticed? I am into going to concerts and you're not. I do not like country music and you do. You have no idea who Todd Rundgren is and that's just un-American in my eyes. I am into foreign accented boy-toys whilst I'm on vacation and you have never, nor ever will fit that profile. I have a potty mouth and it begins the moment I wake up in the A.M. I enjoy an occasional, make that frequent, bourbon and diet coke and I don't really care that it has aspartame and is killing me!
Bottom line: I'm a wild woman. A rebel. Hear me roar. And you will end up being walked upon and frankly, I don't like men as doormats. So - please please please figure out that I am not your type. Please. You do not want to mess with this. Please dump me, so I don't have to stomp you into a pulp.
Everyone out there in the blogosphere, wish me luck. I don't want to be the b*tch here, but I may have to pull that out of my bag. It wouldn't be pretty. At least we'll be in a public, but dark place so he shouldn't suffer too much humiliation. Shouldn't.
Now, don't you have work to do? Like putting away the good china from Thanksgiving? Shoo!
Thursday, November 23, 2006
I'm finally coming back to the land of the living (i.e. I've digested AND John Mayer's on Letterman tonight and let's just say I'm a-twitter) and I'm seeing all these Christmas commercials on TV, along with previews of the local news with people already lined up at the Best Buy or Sears or Bed Bath & Beyond or whatever to get the newest Barbie doll or Playstation crap and I'm finding myself involuntarily catapulted into Christmas mode.
I love those letters that some send out with Christmas cards that cover all the fun things people have done / accomplished in the past 12 months. Some don't care for these, but I actually love them. I've even been known to send one out of my own a time or two. It's been a couple of years since I did one, but I'm feeling the need to connect with my peeps in 2006.
Here's the problem: In the grand scheme of things, I've led a pretty dull life this year. I haven't cured cancer. I haven't gone to Egypt to dig up stuff. I haven't paid millions of dollars to fly on the space shuttle. I haven't even changed that bulb that lights up the driveway.
What I have done probably sounds very self-indulgent. And it is. (I've become my MasterCard company's best customer as I have spent countless dinero travelling the country to recapture my youth at concerts.) So my question is - how does one not sound self-indulgent and yet share some happy adventures with loved ones? And not sound like a complete nutball?
Heck, maybe I'll just make something up. Yeah, that's the ticket.
Happy Thanksgiving, Y'all! It's late - so go make a turkey sammich or revisit the Tums bottle. Doesn't matter - just quit hanging around here! Didn't you see the "No Loitering" sign?
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
So, I'm eavesdropping at lunch the other day and I hear two 40-ish men talking about fatherhood. Actually, one of the men has a daughter just learning to drive.
Father #1: I'm actually glad to buy her a car. I'm so sick of us having to drag her around to all her sh*t. Now we can actually have a life of our own.
Father #2: Aren't you worried she'll wreck the car or something?
Father #1: Nah, she can wreck the car all she wants. As long as she doesn't kill herself or someone else.
Father #2: Really?
Father #1: Yup. I'm not worried. I spent the first 16 years of her life keeping her off the pole. Which she did. So she'll be fine on the road. Just as long as she keeps off the pole.
The pole. I nearly wet myself.
I guess my own dad would be proud. I kept off the pole.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
This past weekend I was fortunate enough to see The New Cars for the third time. Though I've always loved The Cars' music, I had never seen them live back in the 80's. Dunno why. Just didn't. When Ric Ocasek declined to tour this year and it was announced that Todd Rundgren would be taking his place, I was the first to sign up. Two of my all-time faves joining together! Todd + Cars' music. Wait, make that three faves. Todd + Cars' music + Kasim Sulton to reinvigorate my over-40 hormones. Mmmmm, tasty. (For those uninitiated ones, Kas has been Todd's bass player since 1976, between gigs with Meat Loaf and others.)
I first saw TNC in Dallas in May. Then again in Chicago in June. Then I saw Kasim do a solo accoustic show in Philly in July, after TNC had to make a pit stop due to a bandmember's collarbone injury which left Kasim with time off for a few months. By the way, Kas does a fantastic solo show full of great music and tales from his storied career with Todd, Meat Loaf, Joan Jett, and too many to mention here. But can I also add that he's awesomely yummy? (I'm not sayin', I'm just sayin' that's all.)
When Elliot Easton's bones were all healed, The New Cars announced they were going back on the track, er road, and I was once again, first to sign up. I convinced E to tag along and we towed our life-long friend Merv, T, L, and M along up into the Pocono Mountains to see them last Friday.
Let me just say - YOWZA. Freakin' yowza. Un. Be. Lievable. It's only been 5 months since I last saw TNC, but I forgot just how great they sound. If you live near any of their stops, be sure to see this show. You will not be disappointed. Guar-on-teed.
Meanwhile - yes the weekend was full of frolic, laughter, gallons of bourbon, quotable quotes from junior high up to the present, Philly cheesesteak sammiches, cracked pepper potato chips, and a gorgeous sunset from E's deck. Did I mention that these over-40-year-olds stayed up three nights in a row until 4:30 and beyond? Did I mention that somehow I am living to tell about it? Not bad for old chicks, huh?
Oh my golly - I actually posted a picture! Wow. The whole world is now my oyster!
Now - why are you hanging around here? Go take a walk. Go clean the fridge. Don't you need to floss? I don't care - just go!
Thursday, November 09, 2006
I am soooooooo never watching that again.
Imagine my surprise when they teased that they had something I needed to know.....after the break.
Indeed, I did need to know. Apparently the nasty, gooey stuff on my car is not pecan tree sap. Uh-oh. This can't be good. Radioactive fallout? GEEZ WOMAN, TELL ME BEFORE I GO TRIM MY BANGS, BECAUSE I SWEAR I'LL DO IT!
No, it's not fallout. It's poop. Aphid friggin poop. According to the expert interviewed, aphids are the "pigs of the insect world." (yet another phrase I never thought I would write) These little boogers gorge themselves on the sugar in leaves so much so that they are constantly pooping to make room for more leaf sugar. It's sort of like they are bulimic bugs. Eeeewwww.
What's frightening is that this actually made the news. Dallas must be overrun with the little pigs. Now that's really a boggling thought.
Or maybe it was a slow news day. I'll stick to FoxNews next time I need a fix.
On a positive note, CruiserMel is off to the east coast this weekend for some fun and frolic with her life-long buds, E & Merv. It'll be a weekend of virtually zero sleep, non-stop girl-talk, lots of alcohol, and we're catching a show by Todd Rundgren and The New Cars. My insides are jumping with glee. Todd. Lovin' me some Todd. I could just eat him up til I poop on my own car!
Happy Weekend, y'all. Okay, be off with yourself! NOW.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
First off - these people are serious! I've done a few of these tests in the past, but sakes alive if this isn't pretty personal! I swear, I was wanting to cover myself up as I got further into the test. But I perservered sensing I might actually learn a bit about CruiserMel. Did I ever!?!?
Yes, I've cheated on a boyfriend. (You would've, too, if you'd seen KiwiBoy.) Do I think it's alright to cheat? No. (Not usually - but you didn't see KiwiBoy.) Is it alright to flirt if in a committed relationship? Not just yes, but hell yes! (Well, I can, but he can't.) Ever had a one-night stand? Yes. (Well, could actually be one-week stands, as they usually occur on vacation and there's usually a foreign accent attached.) Is a one-night stand okay with you? Yes. (when on vacation and there is a foreign accent attached.) The test went on like this....but wouldn't let me interject the comments you see in parentheses. Though it isn't entirely fair - it does prove something: I'm a trollop. Officially.
BUT - I like the way they softened the explanation of my "type" to read "you're the rare, independent, self-sufficient kind of woman who does want love, but not from a weakling." This is after they've stated I like men to bleed. I am so ashamed. But kinda digging it, too - 'cause it's true. Heh. I'm apparently selective. Yeah, that's what my mother tells me.
Read what else I figured out about myself below. Really freaky. Better yet - go check it out yourself at okcupid.com I'd love to see someone else's results. Come on - share!
The Wild RoseRandom Brutal Love Dreamer (RBLDf) Colorful, but unpicked. You are The Wild Rose. Prone to bouts of cynicism, sarcasm, and thorns, you excite a certain kind of man. Hoping to gather you up, he flirts and winks and asks you out, ultimately professing his love. Then you make him bleed. Why? Because you're the rare, independent, self-sufficient kind of woman who does want love, but not from a weakling. You don't seem to take yourself too seriously, and that's refreshing. You aren't uptight; you don't over-plan. Romance-wise, sex isn't a top priority--a true relationship would be preferable. For your age, (excuse me?) you haven't had a lot of bonafide love experience, though, and this kind of gets to core of the issue. You're very selective. (damn right)
Your exact opposite:The Dirty Little SecretDeliberate Gentle Sex Master The problem is them, not you, right? You have lofty standards that few measure up to. You're out there all right, but not to be picked up by just anyone. "You're never truly single as long as you have yourself." ALWAYS AVOID: The Bachelor CONSIDER: The Vapor Trail.
If only I knew who "the vapor trail" guy is. Sounds a little gassy to me. Just great.
Okay readers - go take the test - and let me know if you think it's dead-on or out of the ballpark. What cha waiting for? Git!
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
Easy and convenient? Not so much.
File this under This Can't Be Good, Can It?
My tried and true grocery store has buckled under pressure. I will always hold my Kroger store close to my heart, but they are on shaky ground right now. Lucky for them, I can't tolerate the other two closest stores.
It took me a good three years to get to know the exact layout of the Kroger. I could actually make out my grocery list by the geographical layout. Produce, meats, deli, pharmacy to the left. Dairy, beer, junk food, cokes to the right. Frozen pizza, canned veggies, T.P., greeting cards, etc were somewhere in between. I could literally do a whole week of shopping in 15 minutes if I had to do so. But I rarely did the "grocery sprint" because I love to shop at the Kroger. It's actually a pleasant experience for me. There's something about knocking items off a list that just feels good.
I entered the store last night after work for a few items. Oregano, Kleenex, Diet Cokes, pickles. Should've been a 7 minute trip at most.
WTF? I walked inside and had to actually look around for something that said "Kroger" to be sure I was where I intended. Yup - there's a label for Kroger soda. But something was way different. The big bad wolf had come in and blown down my Kroger, eaten my porridge and slept in my bed!
The floor was different. The aisles were scooted into weird formations. And who puts the pharmacy to the right instead of the left? There is an employee designated to help you choose which gourmet cheese to serve with your wine. Can you say olive bar? I could feel my temples throbbing. This was purely a reaction to the other two stores in the area going urban and upscale. Succumbing to peer pressure. Hmph.
To make matters worse, they didn't close the store for a couple of weeks to do the renovations. Nooooo, they have stayed open and seriously inconvenienced us by moving merchandise to the most illogical places possible. Wines by the health & diet foods. Whaaaaaa?
Bottom line is that a person who has worked 8 hours must now weave up and down every single aisle to find their items. And you know where this is headed. I'm tired, cranky, I need to piddle and there's the one item I absolutely do not need: Zapp's Sea Salt & Cracked Pepper potato chips. DAMMIT, why are they sold in such a small bag? I need at least 2 of these to make it worth the trip. And, oh yeah - Betty Crocker pasta salad mix. And, oh yeah - I really should pick up a new lipstick. And, oh yeah - soy milk. (I've already got a carton that doesn't expire for 3 more weeks, but that's beside the point.) And, oh yeah - cereal bars. And the pickle aisle? My goodness, you need a graduate degree to decipher the roughly 100 types and brands. Where are the just plain ole pickles?
By the time I was checking out, I had gone from 4 items needed to 17. And it took me 50 minutes.
Kroger - you're evil. I can barely wait to go back.
Halloween is sacred to CruiserMel. It is a day to reflect on all that is creepy, scarey, strobe-lit, spider-webby and downright horrorific. (hmm......is that a word?)
But noooooooooooooooo. Halloween 2006 will go down as one of those times where I will remember next time to be on a cruiseship somewhere at sea instead of being at home. That's right little creeps, the porchlight, luminarias, and even the blowup Dracula won't be "in" next year.
And who is to blame? Well, I could blame the scores of vehicles from the other side of town that would idle in front of my house whilst seemingly hundreds of children, some not even costumed, would pile out like clowns from a VW in the circus - only to reach their filthy paws into my candy and take it like it was free, uh.....candy. Not only were they spreading countless germy residue throughout the bowl of goodies, but some even had the noive to put stuff back, not even disguising their disgust at my choice of candy! Hey, I realize it's not all Baby Ruths and Butterfingers, but YOU try being the only house on the block willing to play along with this Halloween tradition!
The blame lies with moi. Yes, gentle reader(s? Hullo...), the blame is all mine. You see, I'm only 4 years into the homeownership game......two of the Halloweens during this time were spent at sea cavorting with various foreign crew members, but that's another story for another day. So that leaves me with Halloween Year #1 and Year #4.
Year #1, I had not even moved into the house - so decorations were sparse....but I did manage a string or two of orange lights to advertise that a cool person lived here. Disappointed, I had maybe 15 trick-or-treaters. That was fine. Older neighborhood - meaning, OLDER folks lived here. Over the years though, the tide is turning and by Year #4, there have been new families and singles moving in....so I thought it might have picked up and thus, I went all out with the decor, creepy music, costume, and a killer spirit of fun.
I had lunch today with 3 married men from my office who have had years of homeownership practice. When I told them about how these heathens would put their grubby hands in the bowl of candy.......
Guy #1: "Stop right there. You let them choose the candy?"
Guy #2: "BIIIIIIGGGGG mistake."
Me: "I'm supposed to do the work for them?"
Guy #3: "Don't be silly - if you let kids choose, they'll always take the chocolate and leave you with the crappy stuff."
Me: "Yeah....that's about what's left.....the junk I bought at the dollar store." My head was hanging now.
Guy #1: "You did hold back the good stuff for your own neighborhood kids, right?"
Me: "And I'm supposed to know which ones are which HOW?"
Guy #1: "Your neighborhood kids aren't being let out of a pickup truck at the end of the block or talk with Mexican accents."
Me: "And what about the guy who came to my door, not in costume, about 6' tall, with a full goatee?"
All 3 Guys: *audible sigh and rolling of eyes*
I guess it really is all my fault. I guess I'll have to punish myself by eating the leftover candy and ripping out my fillings. Sugar Daddies. No wonder the kids put it back in the bowl.
Next year - I'll send ya a postcard from the Mexican Riviera, ya little bahstahds.
Hey, don't you have some other blog to go read? Well, go on!
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
It's finally here: Halloween. And I'm downright giddy. It's my favorite night of the year, other than the Sunday of Memorial Day weekend with 1100 miles of Indy and Nascar racing.
Should I be concerned that I actually skipped out of work a couple of minutes early to be certain to get the jack-o-lantern luminarias lit for the sidewalk to my house?
Should I be concerned that I actually bought a strobe light this year that made my hands shake with an-ti-ci-SAY IT-pa-tion?
Should I be concerned that I've been bummed out all month because our neighborhood association said that people love to steal inflatable holiday decorations so I had to wait to put my 8 foot tall Dracula out tonight for one night only?
Should I be concerned that I've got 72,407 tons of chocolate candy, enough for 3000 children (or five premenstrual women) and I've had only 10 trick-or-treaters?
Should I be concerned that the creepy music and sound effects I have wafting inside and out are beginning to give me, Miss Hardcore Horror Queen, the willies?
And most importantly, why am I bummed that I can't get out there so people can see my fantastic costume?
Ooooooo, that's the doorbell! No more worries.
Happy Halloween, y'all! Now get out there and scare some people!!!!! BWWWWAHHHHH
Monday, October 30, 2006
I don't know if I can take it. I'd actually blocked her out of my mind. It wasn't easy. That screechy, can-ya-be-any-more-gullible hick was burned onto my retinas for several months as I was watching the likes of ultra-hot shaved head guys and uber talented guys needing orthodontics on American Idol. I put up with the likes of her by speeding through the DVR to get to the worthy ones. But like the gum on my shoe that she is, she's back to make our lives miserable, at least mine. Remind me not to listen to the radio for a few months. It's a good thing I have alot of CDs and can tolerate talk radio.
I honestly thought I would never have to see or hear that name again. There was no way a record producer could ever morph her voice into something listenable. I guess Clive Davis thinks he can work magic and there will be someone (probably several people) who will buy this junk. I'm going on the record now to say that I must've been wrong this time. It pains me to admit that.
Pickler is listed on my yahoo homepage as the next big thing and has a single coming out called "Red High Heels." I think I just hacked up a lung. Who has she paid or slept with that she gets billing like that? So. Wrong. Clive, you suck.
I knew I shoulda dyed my hair blonde and gotten an accent. Dammit.
The world as we know it has just shifted into ridiculous mode. At warped speed. Grrrreat.
Either way - I have a theory about these pickup truck drivers who insist upon parking in spaces nose-out, or backwards.
There can only be two reasons for parking this way. (1) You are robbing a bank and need to make a hasty getaway. (2) You are homophobic.....or are you in denial? Just sayin.
If it's No. 1, then you just go right ahead, idiot.
If it's No. 2, I have a bone to pick with you. What's with this stupid parking decision? If you have the time to back into a parking space, then you have the time to reverse after the parking job. Either way, you have to reverse at some point. Are you afraid of getting a banana in your tailpipe? Geez, that only happens in Eddie Murphy movies.....20 years ago. Ain't gonna happen now, dude.
So what happened in your upbringing to create this ourwardly aggressive behavior and are you aware that you aren't fooling anyone? Hey, if you had an unfortunate experience with your scoutmaster at cub scout camp, get therapy or come on out of the closet and stop bugging normal car-parkers like me.
I have enough on my mind than to worry about your phobias. Like maybe I need therapy to figure out why this bugs me so much.
Now - get out of my way, homophobe. Git!
Thursday, October 26, 2006
You all know my guilty pleasure of watching VH1 celebreality shows already. Flav. Bonaduce. And now to get us in that heebee-geebee place for Halloween, the nice folks at VH1 have graced us with The Celebrity Paranormal Project. How cool is that? Celebrities getting the begeebers scared out of them - for our entertainment. Pull up a bowl of candy corn and let's get on with it!
CPP started last weekend and I have to admit I was a little skeptical. They gatherered Gary Busey, Hal Sparks (I heart him so much), Tocarra Jones, Jenna Morasca (from Survivor), and Donna D'Errico (from Baywatch and Nikki Sixx fame) together at a supposedly haunted sanatorium in Kentucky called Waverly Hills. 63,000 people lost their battles with TB here in the 20's and 30's, as the story was unfolded to us. Their mission was to find out if this place is truly haunted or just urban legend. They had from 9:00 pm until sunrise to figure it out. Let me tell you, that place creeped me out not so much for it's ghostly appearance, but because it looked like the middle school I attended. From the outside. On the inside, it looked more like my bedroom, but I digress.
The show is filmed by the cast themselves, using those halos on their heads, which are creepy enough to begin with. They always seem to have a fisheye warp to the picture. Anyway, I was thinking all this was just made-up Hollyweird fiction, but I was sucked in immediately. I wanted to see how they could get any creepier than Gary Busey just being himself - and they nailed it!
I won't give you details as you simply must see this show! Word of warning: I am pretty hardcore when it comes to scarey things, but I would not start watching it too late at night. I found it at 11:00 pm and when it was over at midnight, I had to clear it out of my conscience with an hour of fictionalized horror before I could turn off the lights. (Young Frankenstein - yeah baby.) But I couldn't wait until Monday morning when I could do a little research to see if Waverly Hills Sanatorium was a real place or not. It is. Great googly moogly - the place is for real! Here come the shivers again. The next installment of CPP will have a completely new cast and location. I think Rachel Hunter is involved. Nothing should scare her after having to wake up next to Rod Stewart's spikey hair when they were married. This'll be good.
Speaking of scarey things.....I've got a little haunting going on at casa de cruisermel myself. I have a funky little lamp in a guest room at my house that is turned on & off by basically tapping the base. There is no on-0ff switch. It's super-groovy, shaped like a lava lamp, and it's one of my favorite things. Ever. Anyway - every night since Sunday (did I mention that I watched CPP for the first time Sunday night?) the dang thing is ON when I head to my bedroom for some shut-eye. Hmmm, headcount of residents of the house: 1. me 2. dog. Unless the dog has decided to eff with my head, and unless I'm getting dementia and forgetting that I've turned the bloody thing on earlier in the evening.....then there's a monster living in my house. I'm sure it looks sorta foggy & misty, it's green, covered in scales, dropping appendages due to rotting flesh, and it digs the 70's. Or maybe it just needs lighting to read some Stephen King novel.
Hey, would ya leave already?
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Ruby Jane was surrounded by about 10 friends, male and female. There was no Grecian Formula or Lady Clairol being used by this bunch. They were the real deal. You had to shade your eyes from the glare coming off that grey hair. There was a steady stream of cocktails and beers going to that table. There must've been a special occasion to be having that much fun. Ah yes - Ruby Jane was celebrating her birthday. I didn't think to ask which birthday, but I would venture to say she has turned 49 a few times.
The group was having the time of their lives; so much so that they were attracting a crowd just by their contagious hootin' and hollerin'. Before ya knew it, a group of people from another table were presenting Ruby Jane (and her cohorts) a tray of shots called Chocolate Cake. You can't have a birthday party without a little cake! That would be un-American. Apparently, there is a ritual attached to this shot. First you suck on a sugared lemon slice and then you down a shot of vodka & Frangelico. Makes ya shudder, don't it? But I was assured that it really tastes just like the real thing. Ruby Jane was in her element and it was refreshing to see. I'm pretty sure I saw some of the partiers making little lemon smileys after doing their shots. Priceless.
The scene was something I dream of for my own future; to have good times in my older years with long-time friends, chocolate cake shots, and not a box of hair color within miles!
Be gone with yourself. Get back to work, ya bum!
Friday, October 20, 2006
It got me to thinking about my own years in junior and senior high, in a gym class sorta way and I thought I would share my trip down memory lane with you, dear reader. (*tap tap* Is this thing on?)
Seventh grade gym class meant more than just supervised "play" as we'd been enjoying since the early days of first grade. This was serious. It was all about getting the Presidential Physical Fitness patch. And what were we to stitch this patch onto, but a gymsuit. Gym. Suit. The very word is making me cringe. How come the boys could wear shorts and a t-shirt, but girls were forced to drive to JC Penney to buy a gymsuit? Life sucks.
But we are talking about the early-mid 70's.......before shoulderpads, toe-socks and platform shoes. Lucky for us, we actually had two options for our gymsuits - one was a royal blue, snap-down-the-front bloomer contraption that did nothing but make butts look larger, while also hiding the less-than-ample bustline. This option was the one for me. The other option was a red & white over-all styled suit that snapped at the shoulders. It was cuter than the blue one, but my mom said I looked better in blue and since she was forking over the $15, her vote ruled. My friend E (protecting the innocent) always got what she (and I) wanted and thus, she got the red suit.
One day while training for the PPFT, we were practicing our gymnastics moves. For safety reasons, we had to have a buddy "spot" for each of us. E & I were practicing back bends. (Oh my gosh, how did we bend ourselves like that?) E was in full bend when the lesbian teacher (okay, I don't know this as fact, but it's a gym teacher for goodness sakes) said something creepy about how she needed to bend more. (early pervdom perhaps?) E tried with all her might but needed just that little nudge to get her there, so I grabbed a handful of red polyester fabric at her waist/stomach and tugged - upwards. Suddenly the snaps at both shoulders gave way and I had a handful of red fabric. Poor E was completely exposed, training bra and all. That dang gymsuit sprung away from her body like a rubber band. All we could do was laugh. And laugh. And laugh some more. Oh yeah, and get her covered up again.
I was deep in thought on my sofa last night when this story popped into my bourbon-clouded mind when suddenly I laughed until I snorted. Out loud. Alone. It was a beautiful moment. I giggled for about an hour after that. In fact, I'm still giggling. At E's expense. Sorry, E.
Love ya babe. Don't ever change. And don't do any backbends without a spotter.
Now - y'all move it along. There's nothing to see here. Go on!
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Being on a break between cruise contracts, Chip contacted me and said he'd like to see Dallas for a couple of days in mid-October. A weekend showing off my fair city sounded like fun. What he didn't mention was that he would be flying in on Sunday night. So much for the weekend idea. But I consider myself adaptable, so I rolled with it and took Monday off from work. But what to do on a Monday in Dallas?
First stop: Tex Mex. He'd stopped weekly in Cozumel (cruiseship, you remember) for 6 months, eaten dozens of quesadillas, but never tried sopapillas. Those pillows of sweet yumminess were like nectar to Chip. I've never seen a grown man slurp up all that honeyed goodness in public, until I had seen Chip with a plato de sopapillas in front of him. I was careful to keep my hands to myself. Sticky doesn't look good on CruiserMel. Sidenote: Chip took us to the Transylvania Restaurant in Cozumel. How cool is that? Eating Romanian food in Mexico. It doesn't get much weirder than that.
Then we went to a flag store to buy a Texas flag (and a US flag - yay!) and then it was onward to the place that made Dallas famous......the site where JFK was assassinated. Being a resident of Dallas all my life, I thought it might be a little dull, but at least it would fill an hour or so, until I could think of someplace else to take this almost-stranger. Au contraire (?) mon ami. We ambled around, while he was taking pics with his phone* and came across the coolest dude I've met in a long time. I didn't get his name, but he appears to be a permanent fixture at the Grassy Knoll. He's filled with juicy stories, photos, and....wait for it.....a DVD for a mere $20! We took the bait. Ya gotta give the dude credit - if he's making a living by ripping off the actual Sixth Floor Museum (the REAL museum) by grabbing people's attention before they make it to the door, then good for him. He had beautiful teeth too. I was jealous. I need to sell crap at the Knoll, I suppose.
Anyway, after listening to his monologue for about 15 minutes, we were firm believers that Oswald was not the lone shooter. Okay - so I've waffled on this subject since I knew anything about waffles, but I'm set-in-stone (get it? Oliver Stone? whatevs) about it now. So is Chip. As much as a Romanian casino dealer can be.
*I kept thinking we'd get hauled in by the HSA, not kidding. Here is this very eastern European-non-American-looking man, on foot, taking pictures with a cellphone of sixth floor windows, courthouses, and every skyscraper in downtown Dallas. Are you following me here? I counted myself lucky to not be party to a national incident. How would I explain that to my mother?
What are you doing still here? Off with yourself. Do something constructive, ya hear?
Okay, okay, I know I've been lax at posting the winner of the Flavor Of Love Part Deux. Flav made his decision last Sunday, but I've been wailing and gnashing my grill ever since and just couldn't bring myself to see the result in print until now. New York is out. Deelishis is in.
Miss Deelishis was the logical choice, as she was somewhat demure, quiet, a little classy (though that backside has some serious rumba in da house), and not outwardly calculating. New York was a tornado of all things classless, loud, cunning, brash, and just about all words usually found unflattering of proper ladies. She was also great television. Poor New York lost not once, but twice on Flavor Of Love. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, she put herself on the auction block in both season one and two and still lost. Honey, maybe you need to check out an etiquette class or basically find yourself an older man - preferably rich, white, and deaf - because you just can't cut it in the rap world. Oh, you may "look" good, but those implants will only get you so far.
Let me say that the best quote of the results show happened in the build-up. Deelishis was getting ready for her one-on-one date with Flav, while having to share quarters with NY. Apparently New York was a little antsy and Deelishis took notice and said (oh my, can I type this straight-faced?) "She's in there swinging those nasty weaves!" I about busted a move right there. Girlfriend! I'm am so down wit chu.
Oh well - congrats Deelishis and Flav. I hope you have a bootylicious (er, bootylishis) romance.......until season three is offered up. heh
Tootles! Buh-bye. Scram!
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
The instructions state to use a photo of yourself straight-on, straight-faced. So I went searching for a pic of yours truly. It seems ole CruiserMel doesn't like to face forward in pictures. (Could this be flashbacks to a previous lifetime of having my mugshot on "wanted" posters?) I had to delve waaaaaaaay back into the depths of my photo album to avoid drunken party pics and multi-subject photos. I finally found a somewhat blurry photo from Christmas 2004. That should do it.
Loaded the picture.
Do I not look like anyone famous?
I'm getting nervous now.
MY STARS! I look like THEM?
(I am wishing right now that I could figure out how to include the whiz-bang photo graphics, but I can't be good at everything, so get over it and use your imagination for once.)
I suppose it could've been worse. I could've come out looking like Witchipoo, which surely would've happened if the picture had been taken at 7:00 a.m.
Jane Curtain. Actually I can sort of buy into this one, as I've been told that before, since her days on SNL. I didn't used to agree, but if the experts say it is so then it must be true. Jaime Pressly - hmmmmmm. Pretty girl. Cool. But Zsa Zsa Gabor? WTF? Or a British pop star (Geri Halliwell) or a Japanese pop star (Ayumi Hamosaki)? Wait - that would be my rock-star-dream-come-true. Cool.
You should check this out. http://www.myheritage.com
John sweetie, I'm glad to see you're using your downtime at airports to be creative and feed my internet addiction.
Scat! Get outta here! Don't you have other things to be doing like checking out who you look like?
Thursday, October 12, 2006
My most recent find in the Freak TV Guide is Flavor of Love on VH-1. Don't sit there and tell me you haven't watched even a couple of minutes of this trash. It is the trashiest of trash and yet I can't stop watching it. It's a freakin' train wreck and I'm just looking for the bling to fly. If you think ABC's The Bachelor is women at their complete basest, you ain't seen nuffin yet.
The women (I can't possibly call them ladies) on this show are swinging their backsides in much-too-tight miniskirts like there's no tomorrow. They are pole-dancing to win their man (Flavor Flav, if you've been under a rock). To say they are getting their freak on is putting it mildly. And on national television, no less! You may ask yourself "Where are their mothers?" Well, Flav has an answer for that and to prove it, he actually brings some of the parents to his crib to hang with his posse. Oy vey. The mothers are even worse than the candidates for Flav's affection or riches or his grill or whatevah. I'm not kidding here, this is the epitome of "Freak TV."
And to make matters worse, here is the part that totally chaps me: Flavor Flav is the most normal of the group. I would never be caught dead saying that Flav (I feel I can call him by his nickname since we spent hours together the other day, just us and the DVR) is in any way a brainy person, or even logical, but in comparison to his posse, he's Albert Einstein, or at least Ben Stein. That's the part that scares me. Flav is the normal one? I'll rot in hell for saying that.
All I can say is that I really must have an addictive personality because I'm beginning to prepare myself for the withdrawl I'll suffer when Flav picks his new love this Sunday and the show is gone, until Flavor of Love 3. I'm really wondering if I'll have any fingernails left after that.
But wait - all is not lost. Breaking Bonaduce starts up pretty soon. Whew, close one.
Now go on - what are you hanging around here for? Happy Thursday!
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
I'm talking about that bizarro Rozerem ad. You know the one: bedhead dude comes into the kitchen, scratching himself (pretty), only to find Abraham Lincoln and a badger or something playing chess. And there's a silent astronaut making a sammich in the background. WTF? Rozerem is a sleeping aid. I get it. The whole premise (and I'm only guessing here) is that if take their little pill, you'll have dreams of playing chess with Honest Abe and a hairy, sarcastic mammal.
I don't even know where to go with this. This ad could possibly cause a person to actually lose sleep, ferheavenssake.
First, do you really want to play chess with Abe? Ever? Wouldn't you rather be dreaming of doing a rock star? Secondly, if this guy isn't dreaming, then why the eff are these people (and a rodent) in his kitchen? Does this mean he's already taken the damn pill and now he's actually sleeping? Honestly, Abe, this just puts my brain on spin cycle. Sometimes I think my head is making sounds like those made by the old machines in Young Frankenstein's laboratory and it just needs a whacking from Marty Feldman.
Am I insane to let this stuff get to me? Note to self: contact Rozerem folks for Monarch notes on what this bit of tasty television means.
Whew - I feel better. I'm exhausted now and that's a good thing too, 'cause I don't think I would want to take Rozerem. In fact, I'm gonna go do a rock star tonight (in my dreams) out of spite. Nighty-night.