CruiserMel Goes A-Cruising

Thanks for checking in on Ramblings Of An Idle Mind. CruiserMel is cruising on the high seas right now, enjoying the sway of the waves, getting cute animals made out of towels from the room steward, sipping a tropical drink complete with umbrellas and other frou-frou stuff dangling off the edge, hearing the ca-ching of the casino and trying to decide between the cabana boy and the casino manager.

And thinking of you, and wishing you were along to enjoy the sunsets on the Caribbean.

Please leave a message after the beep and she'll blog back at ya as soon as she possibly can.

BEEP

Let This Be A Lesson To Ya

I've debated telling you, my precious readers, about the incident that happened over the weekend. I could completely ignore that it happened and thus push myself further into alcoholism or I could come clean and maybe we all could learn a lesson. Let's delve in, why don't we?

It was Friday and my workday had been productive. I was in a zone. A really good, motivated zone. I had the grand illusion that I might actually be able to tackle chores like my taxes or organizing my junk room or *gasp* dusting and vacuuming. But first, I had asked S to come over to my house to fix some stuff, because we all know I need a wife to take care of this crap, but single, straight women have difficulty finding said wife. I think it's the straight part, but I can't prove it. So after my friend helped me out with stupid screwdriver stuff that I'm too girly to attempt on my own, it was happy hour somewhere and we decided to hit our local dive bar "only for 1 or 2 and dinner, we must have dinner, right?" And we must call CE because it wouldn't be a board meeting with only two.

I still had the motivation groove going, but damn those drinks tasted good. And the topics covered at our board meeting were enthralling, to say the least. Of course, as you have probably already guessed, I cannot recall most of them.

CE was smart and left after 2 drinks. This is why she's able to stay self-employed. S & I were in full-tilt-boogie and ordered another round. I mean, it was Friday, for God's sake. We deserved another one. And another. Then it gets fuzzy. No, actually, it was fuzzy after two drinks, but I want to appear to be good at drinking so roll with me.

At some point, we closed out our tabs and parted. I was left to my own devices (or vices?) in my own home. (And yes, I found more bourbon. Deal. I was home and safe.)

There was some drunk-dialing going on for awhile, but that might be my imagination; I'll have to check my cellphone. And if I commented on any of your blogs, I apologize and invite you to mess up my comment section in return; no judgements. I also recall quite alot of kitchen dancing going on at Casa De CruiserMel. Hours. Until 5:30. In the A.M. Yeah. I got alot (make that nothing) done, except for maybe getting the kitchen floor dust-mopped by my slippers.

Of course, I still had a list of to-do's a mile long and amazingly still had my motivation goin' on. I set my alarm clock for 10:30 and settled in next to CruiserDog for the night. Or morning. Whatevs.

Here's where it gets weird: at 2:00 P.M. (yeah, 2:00), I cracked open my eyes and found that I had no electricity. I looked through my bleary eyes outside and saw what could only be described as post-Apocolypse, without the mess. The sky was a pale brown, a cloudless pale brown. I could hear no sound. I could smell no fragrance. CruiserDog had bed-whiskers and looked like he'd slept for four days. I wandered around the house, holding my head, took two Advils and tried to wrap my brain around what had happened to me.

In one motion, I dove for the telephone and called CE who cheerily answered. Before she could finish saying hello, I shouted "What's going on? Do you know what's going on? Do ya? Well.....?" She muttered something about a dust storm and 50 mph winds but I wasn't buying it. I hung up the phone, sat down and figured Dallas was like "Jericho" and she just didn't know it yet. But I did. We'd been nuked. And we were left to repopulate the world. And oh man, did I just drink the water from the faucet to take those pills? Oh well, I wasn't meant to birth babies after all.

Finally, I decided to scrounge for foodstuff. Of course, I was happy to see that my new garage door opener operates on batteries when the power goes off. Yay! I headed towards the Taco Bell and saw the mess of the Apocalypse - huge trees downed, roof shingles astray, and couldn't see a human being for blocks. To my relief, Taco Bell was open. Thank God, they didn't get the Taco Bell!

Once the greasy food (that I was hailing as manna) absorbed the remaining alcohol in my system, I finally realized that I had made most of that up in my head. By this time, it was after 5:00 and I hadn't accomplished one single thing on my to-do list.

Then the power came on. There was no excuse after that. Dammit.

#1. Laundry
#2..........

'Ello America, My Name Is James Morrison

Can a person be reincarnated before they actually die? If you close your eyes and listen, you would swear it's Stevie Wonder in his younger years singing the songs. Alas it's not.

His name is James Morrison. He's my new music fetish. Give it a listen. The video will play automatically. How can you not dig on this?

http://www.jamesmorrison-us.com

And if you're anywhere near Austin on 3/16 or Los Angeles on 3/21, go and show him some love. Trust.

Ooops, She Did It Again

This just in.............Britney Spears has gone into rehab.

And this just in.......Britney Spears has left rehab.

And this just in.......Britney Spears has shaved her head and gotten a tatoo.

And this just in.......Britney Spears has gone into rehab yet again.

And this just in.......Britney Spears has left rehab yet again.

Man, the ticker on the bottom of the television can't even keep up with Britney. Or should we say Quitney?

It seems Quitney has commitment issues. She has mastered the art of the 24-hour marriage and 24-hour rehabilitation. Britney, Britney, Britney.....honey, pick a side, any side. You can do it. You can commit. Go towards the light. Or the dark. Just don't straddle that fence with or without your underdainties. Please.

Making New Friends Out Of Old Friends

Saturday night I got to spend the evening, well maybe into the night, okay wayyyy into the night, with an old friend. We've known eachother since we were in our early teens when we were in the same high school sorority. Though we were not all that close, our paths have crossed many times at Nascar races and high school reunions (official and unofficial) over the years.

Her life is quite different from mine. She's married with an amazing kid. I'm single with an amazingly lazy dog.

We've tried and failed a few times to get together for drinks or dinner, but this time the stars were aligned properly and we both found ourselves with a free night, and most importantly, she convinced her hubby to babysit.

We had a night of girl-talk, pizza, bourbon (and even some tequila) and our mutual love; music dvds. We discussed everything from losing weight to men to migraines to politics. After what seemed like 3 hours, she left. Let me clear that up - after what was really 8 hours, she left. Yup. For old ladies, we rock. It was fantastic getting to spend one-on-one time with her. I feel we've bonded. And it's a great feeling. I feel like I have a new friend. Yeah, a new one.

Everyone repeat after me: Awwwwwwwwww.

On some other notes:
Are wasabi peas fattening?
Is Britney Spears the next Anna Nicole Smith?
Where can I get a wife to fix stuff around my house while I'm at work AND fix dinner for me so I don't have to live on Triscuits?
Aren't fish tacos divine?
How does a person learn to order at Starbucks?

Whaddya think of the daily puppy pics I've added?
Are your lips as chapped as mine?

While I'm finding my Blistex, please leave me a comment. I'm feeling a bit at loose-ends right now. Tootles!

Sinfully Your's

Your Deadly Sins

Pride: 60%

Envy: 20%

Greed: 20%

Gluttony: 0%

Lust: 0%

Sloth: 0%

Wrath: 0%

Chance You'll Go to Hell: 14%

You will become famous - and subsequently killed by a stalker.

How Sinful Are You?

What, no lust? This thing's a rip-off.

Typical, Just Typical

I had not bought any peanut butter in years, but something got into me a month ago when Dallas' meteorologists predicted (incorrectly) that our city would soon become the Great White North. I attacked my usual grocery store for the ingredients to make homemade soup, remember? Well, I also bought peanut butter. I'm not sure why. Does peanut butter count as comfort food? Perhaps it did. Once.

Luckily, I didn't open the jar that weekend. Or the next. But last weekend I was feeling a bit peckish (I've been waiting to use that word) and shuffled into the kitchen for one of those times where you open the fridge and just stare until you decide that nah, nothing looks good in there and so you go to the pantry and continue to stare until you just say "what the hell" and grab something. What I grabbed was that unopened plastic jar of creamy goodness and some crackers.

Apparently, it's a good thing I only ate a couple of knifefuls of the stuff.

After watching Grey's and ER tonight, I was having a pre-bedtime blogfest while the television in the next room was starting the local news. Usually, I hardly pay attention but what I heard scared the bejeebers outta me. The brand shown above, which is now dead to me by the way, has been causing salmonella poisoning. Let me repeat that: salmonella poisoning. Oh and this part is key: the offending batch is labelled with 2111 on the top.

I almost knocked over a chair to get to the pantry to check out my jar. During the 2.1 seconds it took me to get there, the logical side of my mind said "no way, you'd probably win the lottery before you'd have that special batch." Nuh unh. We have a winner folks.

I guess I can't say I never won anything.

The Cars: Unlocked

Keep your eye on the swinging watch......swing to the left.....swing to the right.....your eyes are getting heavier......swing to the left.....swing to the right.....you're getting very sleepy.....very sleepy......The year is 1979. Disco is dead. British punk rock is trying to pound it's way into the American psyche, but you're not completely enthralled, are you? It's a little too angry and brash for many US teens and young adults. But if it could be softened somehow to make it more playable, more danceable, more rhythmic, more hypnotic, less harsh, wouldn't that just be too cool?

Enter The Cars with their self-titled first album (remember albums?). Can you remember? "My Best Friend's Girl," "Let's Go," "Drive," "Let The Good Times Roll," "Just What I Needed," (yeah, the Circuit City ad) "Shake It Up," "Don't Cha Stop," "It's All I Can Do." This was the future. This was New Wave. This was the beginning of the 80's, ladies and gentlemen.

I got to watch a DVD this past weekend that came out in late 2006 called "The Cars: Unlocked." The former lead singer Ric Ocasek has compiled rarely seen live footage along with their home videos (including a taping of Elliot Easton reading the directions of their new camera). And it's nothing but fun and a quick trip back to a time of originality in music.

Ric Ocasek, the main singer/guitar player looked somewhat like The Fly. Elliot Easton, their lead guitar player looked like the marching band wienie next door, except you would forget that image when he wailed away on upside-down guitars restrung for a leftie. Greg Hawkes, the keyboardist extraordinaire, looked like he'd had a bowl haircut done by his mommy, along with specs worn by the likes of John Denver. David Robinson, drummer for The Cars, was a contradiction in terms: a quiet personality but fierce on the drums. Benjamin Orr (bassist, co-lead singer, and resident hottie of the band) had a dreamy-eyed, sultry sexiness and pounded out clean clear basslines. (Sadly, he passed away in 2000 from pancreatic cancer.) But they were THE thing in the early 80's. And according to many of today's bands, they remain a very strong influence. The Killers, Interpol, and Jason Faulkner all cite The Cars as early influences. Not The Beatles. Or Led Zeppelin. No, it was The Cars.

What surprised me most while watching the DVD was that my own ideas of the band were somewhat wrong. I was a fan - oh yes indeed - but only in the sense of listening to their records and watching their videos on MTV. Someone (and if I remember who the F it was, they're going to pay dearly) led me astray and said The Cars were terrible live; they never moved around, never interacted with the crowd. So I never took the chance to check out their live show, though I worked for Ticketmaster at the time and could have scored myself some wicked tickets. From watching the DVD, I was duped. Can you say regret? Also, I had a picture of the band in my mind's eye of five very stoic, serious, dead-pan guys who showed their personality through their clothing (peg-leg pants, lots of black and white, usually striped shirts, sunglasses, pushed-up jacket sleeves and skinny ties). If you watch the DVD you will see a group of goofy 20-somethings, putting pillowcases and lampshades on their heads, blowing pot smoke at the camera, and falling down face first on the floor in a heap of giggles. These guys were loaded with fun, though they kept their backstage antics a secret from the general audience. But that was what made them a standout.

The Cars brought the word "tremelo" to the American public. They wanted to "Shake It Up." They knew a girl named "Candy-O." They were "Magic." We liked them, we really liked them. Rarely did the words to their songs mean much, but the feeling was always clear. They changed fashion. They were truly ground-breaking in so many ways. I can proudly say that not a single one of my friends was neutral about the band. We all loved them. From their first album to their last in 1987, The Cars ruled New Wave. There were many who tried to copy, but never got it quite right.

In 2006, Easton and Hawkes wanted to revive The Cars. Of course, with Orr gone, he would have to be replaced, but they hoped Robinson and Ocasek would come along for the ride. They did not. Robinson is in the restaurant business now, from what I hear and was enjoying his life and passed on the offer. Ocasek never liked touring (and would you leave Paulina Poreskova?) so he declined, but gave his blessing to the guys. They replaced Ric with Todd Rundgren (okay, I'll shut up), Orr was replaced by Kasim Sulton, long-time right-hand man of TR's, and Robinson was replaced by Prairie Prince, drummer for The Tubes and many many other bands, past and present. It was a brilliant combination - and that's not just my opinion. Deal with it.

Thus was born The New Cars. They toured America during the summertime (until an unfortunate bus accident injury to Easton that caused them to derail for a few months) and then started up again in late '06 to finish out the tour. Though the promotion was almost non-existent, those lucky few who had the privilege of seeing one of their live shows were on their feet dancing and singing every word and wanting more! They were The New Cars - the old Cars with an edgier edge. A rockier rock. New and improved. And better.

The New Cars will be back. Their engines are revved and the paint is shiny and new. They'll play the old songs (only better), but they've been writing some new stuff that sounds awesome, yet remains true to it's older counterpart. I should know. I have amassed 1000's of airline miles going to see their shows across America. So if they stop anywhere near you, do yourself a favor and check 'em out. You will not be sorry.

Now go on - check them out on Amazon.com or iTunes. You'll be wearing the stripes and skinny ties in no time at all.

The Joys of Homeownership or The Neverending Parade of Repairmen

Once again, I took today off from work to await the return of Prince Charming. Well, two princes, actually. And by princes, I mean two men in uniform, who speak in heavily accented tongues and wear these really sexy utility belts, low-slung in such a way as to surely turn-on the women-folk left alone all day to their own devices in cavernous, scarey castles.

To my surprise, Arturo showed up punctually at 9:00 in the a.m., hoping to find CruiserMel in various states of undress. But alas, what Arturo found was a dishevelled and hungover redhead in sweatpants and Cat In The Hat bedroom slippers ready for action. And by action, I mean ready to get a new garage door installed following said hammer elbow incident a few weeks ago. Poor Arturo had a very cold job ahead of him - it was perhaps 40 degrees when he was banished to the outter regions of Castle de CruiserMel. Don't fret, dear hearts, CM wasn't completely heartless. I offered to make him a cup of coffee, but he declined as his desire for the lonely mademoiselle of the castle would surely delay the installation of said overhead door. So I sat in my family room and gazed at the manly Arturo through the window. And what a beautiful sight! I had to crane my neck to see past Arturo's physique and there it was - a glorious, well-oiled, louvered, and most-importantly WORKING garage door. It was so satisfying. So satiating. I almost had to shower afterwards. And before I could blink, Arturo was gone into the mist.

Before our maiden could catch her breath, Beau came a-callin'. Beau is pure southern charm wrapped up in baby-faced strapping maleness. His embroidered nametag glistened against his blue shirt in that gas station attendent from yesteryear way. He had a bag of tricks, too. A big black floppy bag. He called them tools, but I knew better. I led Beau to the furnace and stepped back to allow him to open the door. CruiserMel has been thinking a critter of large proportions has been stuck in there for a week now, rattling and rustling, surely stuck between two grinding parts of the furnace and I was going to let Beau be the man. Besides, if there was a critter, I wanted to be close enough to hop on the washing machine and let Beau slay the dragon. Bravely, Beau poked his upper torso and calloused hands into the closet for awhile and soon the rustling stopped. I wanted to wrap my legs around Beau and his tool bag, but hesitated when he said "Your stepladder was leaning against the furnace. No charge." And in an instant, Beau was gone like the wind. Ahh, my hero, I swooned.

Our fair maiden can now commence on her next home project: hiring painters to paint the exterior of the castle. Mmmmm, this could be fun.

Ugh

I knew it was too good to be true. I've succumbed to the new blogger.

And here I was thinking I was special as I was reading about all of you guys "having to switch."

Not. Good. With. Change.

Must. Have. Cocktail.

My First Kiss

In the spirit of Valentine's Day as it approaches, there is a new TV commercial for Victoria's Secret. The superhuman models are showing their human side by describing their first kiss(es)....and most of them were awkward, in fact. They're saying cute things about their teeth clicking together and other cute anecdotes. Very cute. Very innocent. They're giggling with delight. In their dainties. Whatevah.

It got me to thinking about my own first kiss. And then I shuddered. With disgust.

Let's step back in time, shall we? It was a school dance, one where the girl invites the boy. For some reason completely unbeknownst to me today, I wanted to invite a boy I'll affectionately call Speedy Gonzalez.

It took my everything, along with the support of 5 or 6 of my closest g-friends to ask him to go with me. I don't think I'd ever said a word to him before that and to his credit, the boy was sweet and accepted a date with someone he probably hadn't seen before. (This should've been my first clue. Why was this boy who I thought was so cute, still available?)

The date for the dance came and we doubled with another couple. I'd heard the girl was on the slutty side by her own admission, but I thought she was all talk. About halfway through the dance, we adjourned outside for some air. The four of us were talking about something when I noticed it was just myself and SG doing all the talking. My friend and her date were busy kissing in the darkness. This would've been the perfect opportunity for SG to move right in, but he feigned embarrassment, probably after seeing my own terror. It made me feel comfortable with SG. We went back inside the gym and danced some more.

At the end of the night, SG and I went for milkshakes (hey, we were just kids) and then it was time to take me home. I was having a good time, but wasn't feeling any kind of spark. I figured he felt the same as we were walking to my door. Oh my stars, what a gentleman he was being! He didn't need to walk me to the door. I thought to myself, it's too bad I don't like him that way.

Famous last thoughts.

I'd planned on giving him an innocent peck on the cheek just to be polite. SG said he'd had fun and then, before I could respond at all, his mouth inhaled the area of my face from my nostrils to just under my chin. My head hit the doorframe so hard that it just made my jaws open wider, if that's possible. I felt like the bowling ball in that vacuum commercial! And ewwww, something was going down my throat, too! Up to that point no one had fully explained French kissing to me. It felt like some sort of fat eel - all slimy and wriggling. Though I've never seen "Alien," I was probably picturing something like that entering my digestive system via my throat. It seemed to go on for 20 minutes. In hindsight I'm sure all of this took place in less than 20 seconds. A long and miserable 20 seconds!

When he'd thorougly checked my tonsils for nodes, he released the vacuum seal and was gone into the darkness. Thankfully. I let myself inside and there was my mother and father, awaiting a report on my first real date. I gave them the rundown and went upstairs to my room.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Oh the horror. The skin from my nose to my chin was speckled where the capillaries had burst and I was shiny from the slobber that was once SG's. Fully one-third of my face had a hickey.

Choking back the vomit that wanted to make itself known, I put on my jammies, washed off the spittle and gave myself the best dental cleaning ever. I slunk into bed and tried to erase the memory of the evening. It's a wonder I ever kissed a boy after that.

Eh, I got over it. I'm funny that way.

Dogs Watchin' TV

My boss has a saying: "It was like dogs watchin' TV." I'm not quite sure what that means, but he's a west Texas guy and they speak completely different Texan out thar. Yesterday it was CruiserMel watchin' dogs on TV.

Did you catch a glimpse of the Puppy Bowl on Animal Planet? Apparently, this was their answer to the ratings game on Super Bowl Sunday.

And it was terrific marketing, if you ask me. Not that I wasn't into gearing up for the big game. No, I was actually looking forward to watching the Bears vs. the Colts. But that was hours away.

I had never heard of Puppy Bowl until I read about it on a couple of blogs Sunday morning. And boy, was I ever glad I did. Unfortunately, I found it difficult to tear myself away from it, until I decided to record it for those days when I need a good giggle.

This was laugh out loud cuteness in all it's furry glory. These little guys (and girls) would sniff, tumble and romp like little cute balls of fluff should. They even had a camera mounted underneath a big water bowl. This got the biggest guffaws from CruiserMel. I thought my dogs were the only ones who like to submerge their paws in water's cool goodness. But noooooooo. One puppy even laid his undercarriage in the bowl, in doggie bidet style. Of course, there was some on-the-field unsportsdog-like behavior and a few had to be benched. There were flags on the field for piddle cleanups. In hindsight, the Puppy Bowl was way more entertaining than the Super Bowl. Commericals, included.

CruiserDog, on the other hand, wanted nothing to do with such nonsense. He chose to nap in the sunshine streaming through the window. In the other room.

Mommy's such a weirdo.

Go have a romp, a dip in the waterbowl, have a good piddle and take a nap in the sun. It's a dog's life ya know.

Ground Dog Day

Two years ago today, I owned one dog. CruiserDog. And we were happy. Our lives would change by 3:00 pm that afternoon.

I was at the office when I got a call from S, weeping in the phone, wanting to find out how to get to the SPCA of Texas.

CruiserMel: What? Why?

S: Because I just saw this little dog being abandoned and we can't possibly take her in, so I've got to take her to the SPCA and they're gonna euthanize her for sure, because she's got this huge tumor on her and...

CruiserMel: Alright. Bring the dog here. I'll pay to get her checked out at the vet.

S: Be there in a .... oh wait, I'm out front.

Yeah, I should've known that "sucker" was written right there on my forehead when my office is NOT on the way to the SPCA, but I was blindsided by the thought of a little sweetums being abandoned in the middle of a busy street nearby.

There she (well, found out later it was a he) was in the Volvo cowwering at the far side of the backseat.

CruiserMel: Can you do any tricks? Can you shake?

Little Pomeranian Mix: *shake* *moving closer* *snuggle*

CruiserMel: Okay, let's go.

I skipped out of work and headed for the vet. Little Pomeranian Mix was a dude. With a cancerous testicle. They called him the "ball and chain" at the vet, where over the next 3 days he stayed in a kennel/cage and won the hearts of all who were lucky enough to meet him. He even pee'd on the doctor's head as she was visiting the larger dog kennelled below Mickey's cage. He was a little Casanova. Loved cookies. Loved toys. Loved life.

During his stay at the vet's office he lost the ball and chain, but kept the nickname. He also tested positive for heartworms. Oh yeah, there are no free dogs, people. Several hundred dollars later, I was the proud owner of a de-balled, heartworm treated Pomeranian with a personality as big as Dallas.

How would CruiserDog handle not being the only-dog? Well, for some reason, my never-socialized CruiserDog was able to welcome little Mickey into our home...but only if Mickey had to sleep in a crate while CruiserDog got the royal treatment of sleeping on the "big bed" with Mommy. Otherwise, they were brothers, through and through.

For the next 14 months, we all lived as a family. He got the nickname of MickeyMoto. He loved it when my cellphone rang and said "Hello, Moto." Mickey dug life. Life was the coolest thing in the whole world to him. His outlook was more positive than that of any human I've met. He woke with a smile everyday. He slept with a smile everynight, secure in the feeling that he had a "Mudda and brudda who love me." Sometimes, he'd get that Ray Charles look on his face, the one where he'd throw his head back and smile the widest of smiles and just revel in the glory that was life on this planet.

Mickey would eat CruiserDog's food and dog cookies and F with his toys. Mickey added color, shall I say, to Mommy's white carpet almost everyday he lived with us. He would bark so sharply that the glass-break detectors would go off and cause the burglar alarm to activate. He would get so excited that he was getting a tummy-rub that he couldn't lay still. And CruiserDog would roll his eyes at me but somehow he understoood that Mickey needed to be with us. We were chosen to be his mommy and brudda.

Then came that awful day in April 2006 when he couldn't stop coughing. It scared Mommy and even scared CruiserDog. That little trooper hopped himself into the car to go to the vet at 11:00 pm. The car was awesome to Mickey. When he coughed up blood at the vet's office I knew this wasn't good, but I didn't know what was ahead. Not a clue. I got a call at 5:00 am to come. In a daze and at lightning speed, I drove to the overnight emergency vet's office. I'd called S. She was there before me. Innately, I knew what had to happen next when I saw him struggling for breath, yet smiling that famous Mickey smile. The decision was easy. Afterall, he'd waited for me to get there.

Everyone loved Mickey. I still sense he's with us. And he's made us all a little more appreciative of life, for knowing him.

'Night night. See you in the mornin' light, MickeyMoto. I know you're waiting for me at The Rainbow Bridge. Miss you, baby boy.

Virginia College Days

Awaiting Mr. Plumber at 4:00 in the afternoon, when he said he'd be here by 1:00, I've got the television on in the other room. When "Animal House" came on, I didn't change the channel as it's one of my favorite movies of all time and frankly, I'm too lazy to find the remote.

Honestly, can this movie have any more great one-liners? I can watch (or listen) to this movie time after time and still catch myself laughing out loud. The premise was a great idea; those National Lampoon writers were damn brilliant to write about fraternity life. I was never in a fraternity, perhaps because I'm not a guy, but I certainly frequented my fair share of fraternity parties back in the day and I could swear that Delta house was NOT a fictional house.

Going to college in Virginia at an all-women's college meant driving the 30 miles or so on the weekends to get my fix of boys and grain punch. And oh yes, there were toga parties. Probably still are. I even got to see "Otis Day and The Knights" play at a men's college nearby. Yes, the real Otis Day. Deal. It's like the whole place was stuck in 1963. And the boys? Yup - there was always a "Boone," a "Bluto," most definitely an "Eric Stratton," an "Otter," a "Neidermeyer," and a "Flounder," among others. And I can recall once when the wife of a professor came to one party as the date of one of the boys, a la Mrs. Dean Wormer. Only the names were changed. To protect the guilty, I suppose.

But enough about Virginia college life....

If I had to pick my favorite line from "Animal House" it would be that which was uttered when Dean Wormer revokes Delta's charter. It goes something like this:

"Christ! Seven years of college down the drain." - Bluto

Got any favorites of your own?

4:21 Edit: Mr. Plumber just called and said he's "backed-up" on a job and won't make it out today. "Can I come at 8:00 in the morning?" (I don't know, CAN you?) Yeah, I'm looking forward to a man who is "backed-up" coming to the house at the asscrack of dawn. Mutha fucka. Seven hours of waiting down the drain.

I Hung The Moon

Good grief, I just get back from the Tundra that is Chicago and NW Indiana and it's freakin' snowing in Dallas. And did yesterday, too. When I got home tonight, CruiserDog and I were set to go outside for potty-time and he heard the snow hitting the grass, looked up at me and had a look in his eye that said "Mother, can't you do something about this? I don't really like dragging my tinkie through the cold." Dude, I wish I could help ya out with this, but Mother isn't in control of the weather, though you do think I hung the moon.

I've been feeling like I wanted to be a fly on the wall all day today. You know, I wanted to be in on all the excitement that is my job and life and stuff, but I didn't really feel like conversing. Nothing personal, just wanted to spectate and absorb. You ever feel like that?

After bribing CruiserDog outside with the promise of a piece of cheese if we have a "goooooood potty," I read through my mail and put on my slippers with the satisfaction that I don't have to talk to anyone again until tomorrow when the plumber comes to fix a couple of things.

Because it's sorta sucky outside, I decided to see what's been hanging out in the fridge that hasn't grown green fuzzy stuff on it. To my surprise, I didn't find anything green or fuzzy. Instead I found nothing at all worth reaching in for. (Add grocery shopping to my list of things to do this weekend. Check.) I guess a can of soup would be good; nourishing and warm.

I could've chosen the yummy, rich and probably fattening cream of mushroom soup that was making me salivate (and might or might not be past it's expiration date), but some invisible power led my hand to the can of minestrone. Yeah, that'll be good. And good for me, too! It was poured into the pan, given a good stir and left to it's own devices while I did a little blog-surfing. A while later, I heard it bubbling away and in my head (not aloud, remember I'm not talking...) I said "soup's on!" and poured the yummy fragrant broth, veggies and pasta into a mug. *slurp*

WTF? This is hideous flavorless crap! Back to the kitchen and what do my wandering (and now ticked off) eyes fall upon, but a can of, dare I say it, HEALTHY REQUEST SOUP. Apparently, the last time I bought soup (during yet another whacky Dallas snow), I was in a healthy effin' request mood and I now have no less than 6 cans of this slightly flavored water in my pantry.

The good news? CruiserDog had a yummy gravy on his food tonight. He now KNOWS I hung the moon.

Go have yourself a night, will ya? Talk amongst yourselves. The hunger pangs will do the talking for me tonight.