Kid Music

At the end of January, I had a couple of girlfriends come to town for a visit, one of whom is the mother of 6 and 8 year olds. She bestowed upon me four hand-me-down CDs that are like "Sesame Street's Greatest Hits" or something. Alls I know is that there's Elmo and shit on them. We joked around about how her giving me these CDs was a sure sign that she hates me (which she doesn't), but it got me thinking: am I obligated to play this horrible shit for The Geej? I know that they sing all the standards at school ("Twinkle Twinkle," "B-I-N-G-O," "Wheels on the Bus," etc.), and there are times that even I bust into a rousing rendition of "Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes," but really--it's one thing to SING the songs, it's another thing entirely to listen to Burt and Ernie do a round of "Row, Row, Row Your Boat."

We have music on almost all the time. I've generally got the iPod on random shuffle any time we're at home, and then when we're in the car, we listen to my music, not hers. I just feel like I want her introduction to music to be enthusiastic and eclectic. I want her to see me enjoying music and singing along gleefully, which I'm sorry, I just can't imagine me doing with some lameass CD of "kid music" playing. For instance, today in the car we listened to Steve Riley & the Mamou Playboys and The Neville Brothers in honor of Fat Tuesday. Yesterday, we listened to Stevie Wonder on the way to school, and Arabic dance music on the way home. Some music she responds to more than others, but she generally seems to enjoy it all. I just pray the day doesn't come when she starts hollering for The freakin' Wiggles from the back seat. If that happens, I guess I'll just have to crank up the P.J. Harvey a little louder...

Screw you, Austin-American Statesman!!

I am so glad I don't own a firearm. Because, I swear, I would march right down there to South Congress/Riverside Drive and take out the entire telemarketing department.

I've taken the stupid ol' Statesman on weekends forever. Weekends only. That's all I want. If I wanted more, I'd fucking sign up for it. I'm not retarded. I can figure it out. But the fact that I'm ALREADY A DAMN SUBSCRIBER does not shield me from the terror that is their telemarketing department. Even when I lived at my previous residence and had an unlisted number, I'd still get a call from them about every 6 weeks, asking if I'd like to take advantage of a "special offer" and increase my subscription to daily...for free!!! And no matter how many times I turned them down and asked that they take my name off of their calling list, I'd still see them on my caller ID from time-to-time, and it just PISSED me off.

Flash forward. I've moved. Worse yet: I've bought a home, which means that you're suddenly enrolled on every junk mail and telemarketing list known to man. And although I've signed up for the bogus as hell "Do Not Call" list, I'm still getting--at the least--3 telemarketing calls A DAY! And the fucking Statesman is the worst offender. I have officially asked them 3 times now--THREE TIMES--since late November to take me off their stupid call list, and still they call. Friday night, I picked up the phone when I saw it was them calling and answered by saying, "Seriously, ya'll have GOT TO TAKE ME OFF YOUR LIST." The poor bastard on the other end of the line counters with: "Is there any reason you don't take the paper?" And I practically jumped through the phone with my hands around his throat: "I DO TAKE THE PAPER!!! And I've asked you guys two times already to take me off your call list (two times since the move, mind you...NUMEROUS times prior to), and ya'll just keep on calling. Every day when I get home from work, there's a call from ya'll on my caller ID. It's ridiculous!!" He comes back with some mumbo jumbo about how he needs to associate my new phone number with my subscription and then the calls should stop. That was Friday night. Since then they've shown up on my caller ID Saturday AND Sunday.

I'm about to go postal ya'll...

Why doesn't this surprise me?

You Are Las Vegas

Wild and uninhibited, you enjoy all of life's vices. You're a total hedonist, especially with sex, gambling, and drinking. You shine brightly every night, but you do the ultimate walk of shame each morning. Famous Las Vegas residents: Wayne Newton, Howard Hughes, Penn & Teller, Siegfried & Roy

What American City Are You?

Thanks Badger for the tip.

GO!

One of the tradeoffs for living in "the burbs" is that you get more house for the money, but then you have to deal with the Daily Commute. My current residence is a mere 3.2 miles further from work than my former, however, it takes me twice as long to get downtown each day than it used to. Usually, it takes me about 25 minutes. And that's not terrible, I realize. But everything's relative, and my former commute took 15 minutes at the most, and had about 1/2 dozen alternate ways to get from home to work if the major thoroughfare I take (MoPac) was ever too clogged.

But this week? My morning commute has sucked donkey. Big, dirty donkey. Why? Well, there were a couple of days where the fog was so thick, you coulda spread it on your toast and eaten it. There weren't any accidents, just fog, and a lot of stupid, stupid Texans who apparently lose their abiliy to drive if there's so much as a drop of rain, flake of snow, or molecule of fog. One morning this week it took me 49 minutes to make the trip, then the next, it took me 42. But this morning took the cake: 50fucking3 minutes to get from my driveway, to the daycare!!! It was Chicago traffic. Or worse yet: Atlanta traffic. It was so bad, in fact, that I balanced my checkbook during my commute. And the guy in the Chevy Silverado next to me? He was playing the fucking mandolin. I am not lying. Just sitting there, playing away.

I'm pretty sure there's a tight correlation between this stupidly effed up traffic and the fact that The Geej's latest word is a very emphatic sounding, "GO!"

Faaaaaaaaaabulous Friday.

Man, I needed today. Yesterday--Hell, this whole week--has been totally fucked up at work. I'm not going to go into the gory details, but let's just say it's highly unpleasant there right now. So I gave myself the day off, and just did a bunch of stuff (almost) totally for myself:

• Got up. Put on a sloppy oversized longsleeved t-shirt, jeans and my Converse. No makeup. Zilch. It took me like 2 minutes to "get ready."
• Dropped The Geej at daycare, and she was in a good mood, and there wasn't any separation anxiety, so that was nice.
• Went and got my car really, really cleaned up. The poor thing was dirty outside and in. Mostly in. I mean, there were yogurt raisins, and cereal crumbs, and various types of trash everywhere in that mofo, but now, she is nice and clean and tucked away in the garage so that none of the rain that's supposedly headed our way will mar her beauty.
• Got a breakfast taco from Taco Shack--a rare pleasure. I LURV their breakfast tacos for some reason.
• Had a 1-hour deep tissue massage at Daya. Have you ever scheduled a massage and then been looking forward to it, sometimes for weeks, and then you have it, and for whatever reason, it sucks? That's happened to me a couple of times. Bad massuse. Weird/loud surroundings. Extra shitty new age music. And when it happens, it just SUCKS. But I've always, always had a great experience at Daya, and today was no exception. It was quiet, and serene, and the gal who worked on me did all the right stuff. I had knots in my shoulders that felt like speedbumps. It was sad. But she did a great job. I only wish I'd been able to afford the 90 minute one instead of the hour. (BTW--If you ever have the money and the time, do yourself a favor and book the Batu Panas stone massage with Adrian. Mere words can not describe it...)
• Seriously debated going home and sleeping for the rest of the day after my massage, but instead, I went to the nail salon near my old house and got a pedicure. My feet look human again!!
• Met a friend at the Alamo on South Lamar for lunch/movie. Saw "Walk the Line" and really enjoyed it. I know it's been out forever, but I don't get to go to movies very often, so it was a real treat. Joaquin Phoenix is stunning in it. I had a crush on Johnny Cash when I was a little girl. Him and Elvis. This movie is such a touching love story. And I had the goat cheese salad (with dried cherries and pine nuts), which was very, very good.
• Ran home and transferred all of the junk that was on one side of my garage to the other side. Long story.
• Went and got The Geej and beat traffic to and fro.
• The Geej was in a good mood, ate well, and asked to go to bed (that's right: asked) 15 minutes before her usual bedtime.

There was about 10 minutes early in the day that I thought about work. The rest of the time, I was like "fuck it." I need more days like this one. If I could, I would do this once a month. But there's just no way. Perhaps every other month though...

Bad, bad blogger.

Yeah, I know. I haven't written in a while. But, damn if I haven't been so busy I don't know if I'm coming or going lately. For reals. The work "situation" is crazy at best, unadulturated chaos at worst. I'm also pulling my tax stuff together this week. And it's a short week for me because I'm giving myself Friday off. Truly, this is a badly needed "mental health day" in every sense of the word. I know I have buttloads of work I could/should be doing, but fuck it. I'm going to get a massage and a pedicure, go see a movie, mail off my taxes, get my filthy car cleaned up, and--if I can work it in--take a big ass nap. It's totally indulgent, but I deserve it damnit.

Some random stuff I've been meaning to write about:

• Saw "Being Julia" with Annette Bening the other night on cable. Pretty good film. But what I REALLY loved was the costuming. My god, the late 1930s were simply the most lovely time for fashion. Women's clothes, men's clothes, the hats, the coats, the hair/makeup. It was all just so elegant and the lines were flawless.
• The Geej calls the sky "airplane," and is obsessed with blueberries.
• I had a dream that I was mauled by a red panda. WTF?
• Some of ya'll may have noticed that I turned on "comment moderator." Why? Because I was getting some accusatory, ugly anonymous comments, and I just won't stand for that shit. Why anyone would waste time and energy in such a negative way is completely beyond me. Fuck 'em.
• I'm an avid NPR-junkie, but lately the news has all been so depressing and dismal, that I find myself wanting to be as ignorant as possible, so I just turn it off. I can barely listen to the news anymore because it gives me a knot in my stomach.
• I went out on a dinner date last night and had really good sushi and two really, REALLY good martinis that gave me a wicked buzz.
• I had some king cake and gumbo this week. I'm so happy Mardi Gras is going on in New Orleans.

Okay. That's about it for now. Tomorrow night I'm going to a play date/margarita swilling gathering at Mama Malcontent's abode. I'm sure there'll be dirt to dish from that in a future post. Until then, nighty-night.

Gloomy Weekend Activities.

It is not easy to entertain an 18 month old all weekend when going outside is not an option. I don't know how people who live in arctic climates do it. Thank God I live in Texas, is all I can say, because I'm not all that creative when it comes to being the Geej's constant playmate.

This weekend it was super cold (which is extra weird since it hit 83 degrees earlier in the week) and drizzly. Not fun. So I just sort of let her run amok. I mean, every toy, every book, every thing that wasn't a toy but wouldn't maim her, got pulled out and utilized. We danced. We sang (new favorite song? "Twinkle Twikle" which she calls "up-uh" because of the phrase "up above the world so high." I must've sung that mofo 100 times this weekend).

The following photos were taken during one of her numerous "night night fake out" sessions. She's OBSESSED with her pacifier, which she calls her "dah-dah" for some unknown reason. But she only gets her dah-dah when she goes to bed, when she's in her car seat, and in moments of dire emergency (meltdown at Luby's? Dah-dah to the rescue.) Anyway, the "bedtime only" restriction also applies to her little elephant (AYN-ah-hoont) and hippo (AH-poh) that I've written about before. She's a complete hippo-elephant-dah dah junkie. So all weekend, she walks over to her crib, pulls down the bumper to see if all her stash is in there, and then she looks at me with those eyes and asks, "nigh, nigh?" To which I reply, "Night, night?! Are you sure?" She always nods enthusiastically.

I put her in the crib, and she immediately sticks the dah-dah in her mouth and grabs the hippo and elephant, one in each hand. Then she looks at me, because she knows she's screwed.

Exhibit A: You can't really see 'em, but trust me: she's got the death grip on the hippo and elephant in those little fists of hers. And yes, that's a freakin' bow in her hair. Don't judge...

This whole night-night fake out thing is so epic and dramatic. It's like something out of Ibsen or Chekov. She is so torn, because she doesn't want to really be in her crib, but she sure as hell doesn't want to leave her true loves:

So yeah. That's the kind of crap you do when it's rainy and cold outside all weekend. That, and go to the grocery store. Just for the hell of it. Twice.

Bad luck.

I seem to be somewhat cursed when it comes to having work done on my house. First there was the whole bathroom re-tiling/toilet debacle. And then, yesterday, I suffered a one-two punch of incompetence.

First, I decided to have my A/C vents cleaned. I just figured it would be a good thing to do considering the age of the house and the fact that The Geej seems to be sensitive to airborne allergens. It all went well and good except they messed with the HVAC unit while they were doing the cleaning and now the damn thing isn't working. When I got home yesterday, it was stuffy and warm in the house, and lo and behold, the A/C wouldn't come on. I called them and bitched, and they came out and "fixed" it. Well, not so much. The temperature plunged last night, so the A/C wasn't needed, but then I discovered that the damn heater wasn't working either. You could hear the compressor come on, but the fan wouldn't come on. Grrr... So I called them to bitch, again, and they told me at 8:30 that they would have someone out there to look at in "in an hour or so." Well, two phone calls and 5 hours later, there's finally someone at my house working on it. Pain in the ass much?

Second, I decided right when I moved in to my new house, that the #3 project I was going to tackle (after the repainting of the guest room and the tile in the master bath) was going to be to replace the back door that leads out to the deck. It was just this plain wooden door that was just so blah. It had been painted and repainted on the inside, and the outside of it was riddled with claw marks from the dog who used to live there. I knew I wanted to replace it with a glass paned door--one that had miniblinds in between the panes of glass. So, as soon as I could afford it, I went to Lowe's and made the arrangements. A warning to anyone considering having anything installed by Lowe's/Home Depot: Don't. Here's why--

1) Go to store. Pick out door or tile you want.
2) They order said door or tile if it's not in stock (which, both times, has been the case).
3) Meet a contractor at your house who measures for work; creates estimate for installation.
4) Go BACK to Lowe's to approve estimate, make purchase
5) Wait and wait and wait for items to come in
6) Installer calls you and makes appointment to come out to house to do work
7) Installer invariably arrives 30 minutes to an hour late for installation
8) Something always goes awry like maybe they ordered the goddamned wrong door in the wrong size because apparently their staff includes trained monkeys...and not very smart monkeys at that.
9) More waiting and frustration; meanwhile the money paying for the job has been in their bank account (as opposed to yours) for weeeeeeeeeks
10) Finally item you ordered comes in; make ANOTHER appointment for installer to come to house
11) Meet installer at house, again a good 45 minutes later than they say they'll be there
12) Finally, the job is complete.

Shouldn't it be more like:
1) Pick out/buy door.
2) Dude brings door to house. Installs it.

I know that, once it's all said and done, I'll be pleased as punch. But right now, I'm boiling.

My next project (which will only happen if I get a bonus at work and/or a tax refund) is to install plantation shutters in the front windows. But I'm going to a damn shutter store so I can deal directly with the people who do the ordering/installing. No more of this subcontracting bullshit.

Screw Lowe's.

Exxxxtreme Randomness

Happy fucking Valentine's Day, ya'll. Hope you got laid. If not, I hope you had a fresh set of "C" cell batteries.

Yeah. I said it.

I am running off about 4 hours of sleep last night punctuated by a very disturbing dream about me killing a tiny mouse...by crushing him in my fist. It was fucked up. All that was left was bones. I am going to blame my lack of REM time for the sheer weirdness of this post.

Remember, back before The Geej when I used to be one of those people who frequently posted photos and/or stories about her cat(s)? Yeah...them was the days. I thought, for old time's sake, that you might enjoy a couple of recent photos of the Big Orange Boy doing his thing.

That's him "helping" me fold laundry. Those are Geej clothes he's propped up against. I love how his ears are pointed totally backwards as if to say, "Yeah...I hear you, fucktard. I know you're taking my picture. Now, go get me a treat."

There he is, burrowing in warm, clean towels. I had brought this batch to the couch to fold, went back to get another arm full, and came back to this. It's like he's supernaturally attracted to warm, clean laundry. If you could only hear the disturbingly loud, rattling purr that was going on when I snapped this.

And there he is just looking incredibly handsome. I love that chubby little mama's boy.

Here's The Geej (it's pronounced "Geej" like "gee whiz," not like "geek," by the way), rocking on her rocking horse with a mouth full of wop wop (waffle). She was attempting to sing "Row Row Row Your Boat" (the only words to which are apparently, "row row row row row row row") when I snapped this before school yesterday. Thanks A.O. for the bitchin' hand-me-down sweater!! It's finally cool enough to wear it!! Like her hair? Poor child. When your mom doesn't even know how to use a hair dryer, you're doomed to having fucked up hair dos.

Let's compare, shall we? This is The Geej last April:

Pale. Undernourished. Rickets. Anemia. Un-smiling. Silent. Rocking herself to sleep with what is known as the "Orphan Rock." Nearly 8 months old, couldn't sit up on her own or crawl, drowning in a 3 to 6 mos. pair of p.j.s.

And here's that goofball earlier tonight...stumbling around after a marathon session of spinning around to "Ring Around the Rosies":

Amazing what a little love will do, no?

Speaking of "love"...

When I drove up to the house today, I noticed something on my front patio: a single red long-stemmed rose and a little gift box of chocolates and cookies. From Mr. Mumbly, no less. How sweet is that? And, I got an e-mail from the old high school "wonder-what-would've-happened-if" boy that said simply, "Will you be my valentine?"

So today wasn't entirely shitty.

I've always hated Valentine's Day.

This may have something to do with it:

This was a card given to me by a male classmate either my freshman or sophomore year in high school. Here's the inside of it:

In case you can't read the handwriting:

"I thought this would fit you just perfect since you think you are so ugly but I think you are so pretty even if nobody else does. I think you are pretty and will always be!

Love always,

Charlie"

This guy, Charlie, was a good friend of mine for years. And no, I wasn't "hot" by high school guy standards. But still, the "even if nobody else does" is pretty fucking harsh.

Welcome to my nightmare.

You know, even though I'm like 80 years old, I realize at least some of the shit that little girls have to deal with being raised in this day and age. I get it. I saw "Thirteen." I read the news. I've seen what's for sale at Limited Too and Delia's. But nothing--NOTHING--had prepared me for what I saw on the shelves in the toy aisle at Super Target today.

Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce you to downfall of civilization and about 1,000 steps backward for feminism: the My Bling Bling dolls. Because I guess the goddamned Bratz weren't trashy and slutty enough... Now you have this:

And this:

And this: The manufacturer review on the Amazon.com site has the balls to say the following: "The My Scene My Bling Bling dolls are all blinged out and ready to party! Each doll is dripping in faux diamonds and faux jewel-encrusted clothing from head to toe. Each doll comes with a hot outfit, a glamorous side fashion, and tons of bling-themed piece count like a fun purse, a cell phone, and make-up. Each doll comes with a totally sparkly bling ring for the girl! "

Ready to party?!! More like, ready for her amateur porn debut.

Barbie had Ken. I wonder if the "My Bling Bling" hos come with "Twitchin' Jimmy, The Angry Pimp." I can see it now: instead of the 3 story townhouse that my 70s-era Barbie had, I bet they come up with the "V.I.P. Room, complete with Cristal and Rohypnol" set. Instead of the Corvette, these bitches roll in the H2 with phat 32" platinum spinners.

My Bling Bling Barbie, now: With "Brazilian Waxing Kit!!"

I bet her cell phone has the STD clinic on speed dial, and don't you just know her coochie is pierced.

I am really, really disturbed people. I can see fucking Britney Spears buying this for her kidz, but who the hell else thinks this is okay to buy for their daughters?

Stare into the cold, dead eyes of horror:

Barbie! Get thee to a nunnery!!

Pilfered and Filched

In other words, snagged from Amagets who stole it from Karla and so on.

1. Grab the book nearest to you, turn to page 18, and find line 4:
“This book is printed on acid-free paper.” (an example of a paper durability statement that may be found in a copyright mark…from The Chicago Manual of Style.)

2. Stretch your left arm out as far as you can and see what you touch:
The left return of my desk (I’m at work).

3.What is the last thing you watched on TV?
A bit of “The Colbert Report” last night.

4.Without looking, guess what time it is:
11:30 a.m.

5.Now look at the clock. What is the actual time?
11:45 a.m.

6.With the exception of the computer, what can you hear?
The drone of the “white noise” maker above my cube; two coworkers talking; the copy machine; other people typing on keyboards; the voices inside my head, whispering, “Kill…kill…”

7.When did you last step outside? What were you doing?
Earlier this morning; walked through the parking garage and into the store for the requisite 1.5 L of spring water and early morning sustenance.

8.Before you started this survey, what did you look at?
A Yahoo Finance site, watching the primary stock I own plummet.

9.What are you wearing?
A plum-colored, scoop neck sweater, a dark velvet scarf, a blue jean jacket, jean/trousers (Karla, you know what I’m talking about), black trouser socks, black shoes, silver earrings/rings/bracelet/watch.

10.Did you dream last night?
Not that I can recall. I actually slept really well last night for the first time this week.

11. When did you last laugh?
This morning while waking the baby up. She was talking to me in her weird language with utter bed-head, and it just cracked me up.

12. What is on the walls of the room you are in?
I’m not in a “room” per se; I’m in a cube. Let’s see: my company’s quarterly calendar; An enormous, cheesy calendar featuring Asian Ladies sent to me from my friend Tom in NYC; Tibetan prayer flags; a receipt for a workshop I’m going to in March; company phone directory; a certificate from an instructional design course I took in 2004; Buttons: “The Donnas,” “Lucky Me! I live in Pine Tree,” “We are Certified Organic.”

13. Seen anything weird lately?
Yes, actually. On the way to work this morning, I got behind this black Kia Spectra on MoPac, and it’s owner had put all of these big lettered phrases across the trunk/bumper: Duran Duran. A-HA. Berlin. Erasure. Depeche Mode. Mesh. (and finally) Keyboards Rule!

14. What do you think of this quiz?
It’s not totally retarded.

15. What is the last film you saw?
I honestly can’t remember. In the theater, the last thing I saw was “Brokeback Mountain.” But I know I’ve seen something since then on the tube. It must’ve sucked, because I can’t remember it.

16. If you became a multi-millionaire overnight, what would you buy?
I’d like to buy the world a coke… I really don’t know. I guess I’d pay off my mom’s house, and get her whatever else she needed. I’d put a HUGE chunk of it in a trustfund for The Geej and make sure she had enough to put her through medical school debt free. And then, from there, I haven’t a clue…

17. Tell me something about you that I don't know.
I am a very particular sleeper—like the princess in the “Princess and the Pea.”

18. If you could change one thing about the world, regardless of guilt or politics, what would you do?
Eradicate profound poverty.

19. Do you like to dance?
Yes. But I feel sorry for anyone who watches me do it. Elaine from Seinfeld and I have a lot in common when it comes to dancing.

20.George Bush: WARNING. You are being monitored:
Take the hate I feel toward Toby Keith, and multiply it by a billion, and you get close to what I feel for you. You are, truly, an idiot.

21. Imagine your first child is a girl, what do you call her?
I thought I would name my girl child Gilda, but I didn’t.

22. Imagine your first child is a boy, what do you call him?
James or Gordon

23. Would you ever consider living abroad?
Not while my mother is still alive.

24. What do you want God to say to you when you reach the pearly gates?
“You can stop worrying now.”

25. 4 people who must also do this meme in THEIR journal:
You in the pink shirt, you with the short blonde hair, you with the glasses, and over there in the corner, you.

Dirty, dirty baby.

Those of you who've had kids in daycare know what I mean when I say, Daycare Funk. For those of you who don't: It's the layer of snot and dirt and tempra paint and dried yogurt that forms a thin but vibrant layer on your child when you pick him/her up that was not there when you dropped the pristine little prince/princess off around 8:30 that morning. Daycare Funk usually limits where you can "stop on the way home" unless of course you're planning on visiting a city dump or colony of homeless people living under an overpass on your way to la casa.

Today I go to pick up The Geej, and from a distance, damn she looks cute. The daycare workers have put her hair up in this teeny ponytail, slightly off center, and totally disarming. But then I get up close, and I see the crusty boogers in/around her nose, the dirt embedded beneath the fingernails on her filthy hands, and the tablespoons full of yogurt dried in her hair--which is apparently the reason for the ponytail to begin with because, without it, she looked like this:

So feast your eyes on the cutest Daycare Funk covered critter west of the Mississippi

Crusty but cute:

My eyes! My eyes!

I've written before about how much I loathe this motherfucker:

GoddamnedmotherfuckingTobyfuckingI'maFordtruckmanKeith.

Anyhoo, I'm channel surfing last night, and I run across a video of his, and I nearly puked. He's gotten on the Kenny Chesney bandwagon (which in and of itself is pathetic enough) and done a song about Mexico, and the chorus is, "What happens in Mexico, stays in Mexico." Gee, Toby. THAT'S fucking original. Ugh.

The video was one of those TOTALLY literal, completely unimaginative pieces of shit where there are people acting out the totally literal retarded lyrics while Toby hovers in the background, smirking, smoking a cigar...lounging on a hammock with two braindead bimbos. I'm getting queasy just thinking about it.

I don't hate many people, but him? Him I hate. And our President. And Karl Rove. That guy's a fucking dick. Speaking of dick, I hate Dick Cheney too. And Rumsfeld. Oh, and Celine Dion. She needs to choke on some horsefeed. And Paris Fucking Hilton. I wish she'd get a flesh-eating STD. And...

I guess I DO hate a lot of people. But TobyfuckingKeith--and everything he stands for--is at the top of the whole steaming pile of 'em.

Grrr...

*I have been asked by a blog commentor to explain my extreme anti-Toby stance. Well, here's the deal: More than the man himself, I hate what he stands for. To me, he's the embodiment of dumb, let's go kick some Iraqi ass, no-talent, redneck, overgrown fratboy, play to the lowest common denominator, think they're God's gift to women, knucklehead dickweeds. Think "Larry the Cable Guy," but with a guitar and an endorsement deal with Ford. Plus, he also stands for everything that's wrong with "country" music today.

Understanding Meme.

Totally stolen, but I'm too busy/lazy to be creative right now.

Movies you need to see to understand me better…
Xanadu
Office Space
Life is Beautiful
Dangerous Liaisons
Somewhere in Time
The Color Purple
Uncle Buck
The Apostle
Brain Candy
Whale Rider
This is Spinal Tap
Elf
Monty Python’s “Meaning of Life”
Finding Nemo
Box of Moonlight
Dances with Wolves
Ghost Dog, Way of the Samurai (featuring my Pine Curtain homeboy, Forrest Whitaker)
Wet, Hot, American Summer
Mommie Dearest
Terms of Endearment
Moonstruck
Napoleon Dynamite
Hustle and Flow
The Fog of War
Meeting People is Easy
Grease II


Albums you need to listen to to understand me better…
Live Through This—Hole
Reckoning—REM
Hunky Dory—David Bowie
To Bring You My Love--P.J. Harvey
Blue Kentucky Girl—Emmylou Harris
Want Two—Rufus Wainwright
Xanadu Soundtrack
Court and Spark—Joni Mitchell
Opiate—Tool
ELO--Greatest Hits
Jane's Addiction--Nothing's Shocking
The Unforgettable Fire—U2
Chore of Enchantment—Giant Sand
Umbrella—The Innocence Mission
OK Computer—Radiohead
Check Your Head—Beastie Boys
Squeeze--Singles: 45s and Under
Parade (Soundtrack to Under the Cherry Moon)—Prince
Day for Night—The Tragically Hip
All Time Greatest Hits—Roy Orbison
Stardust—Willie Nelson
Moving Pictures—Rush
Singles—The Smiths
Back in Black—AC/DC
Badmotorfinger--Soundgarden
And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside Out—Yo La Tengo
Dark Side of the Moon—Pink Floyd
Look What Thoughts Will Do—Lefty Frizzell
Who is Jill Scott?—Jill Scott
Le Tigre—Le Tigre
Breakfast in America—Supertramp
Exile in Guyville—Liz Phair
When I Stop Dreaming—The Louvin Brothers
Off the Wall—Michael Jackson
Try Whistling This—Neil Finn
Dusk—The The
Avalon—Roxy Music
Anodyne—Uncle Tupelo
Reading, Writing & Arithmetic—The Sundays

TV Shows you need to watch (or need to have watched) to understand me better…
Six Feet Under
The Sopranos
Mr. Show
Upright Citizens Brigade
Sex and the City
The Office (British and American versions)
The Daily Show
Best Week Ever
House Hunters
Family Guy
Aqua Teen Hunger Force
The Simpsons
Saturday Night Live
Kids In the Hall
The Miss America Pageant
Any University of Texas Football Game
Days of our Lives
Jeopardy
Freaks and Geeks
Reno 9-1-1
Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show
The State
Curb Your Enthusiasm
The Conan O’Brien Show
The Love Boat
The Carol Burnett Show
Hee Haw
Arrested Development


Places you need to visit to understand me better…
Longview, Texas
Kilgore, Texas
Shelby County, Texas
Austin, Texas
Ingram, Texas
Chicago, Illinois
Birmingham, Alabama

Periodicals you need to read to understand me better…
Bust
Oxford American
Herbivore
Texas Monthly
The National Enquirer

Games you need to enjoy playing in order to understand me better…
Scrabble
Balderdash
Texas Hold ‘Em
Robotron
Tempest
Bowling
Monopoly
Trivial Pursuit

Books you need to read to understand me better...
A Confederacy of Dunces
Griffin and Sabine (the whole series)
The Liar’s Club
Sula
Me Talk Pretty One Day
Stupid White Men
Black Hole (the whole series)
America: The Book
Harriet Tubman: The Road to Freedom

Musicals/Plays you need to see in order to understand me better...
Xanadu
King Lear
Come Back to the Five and Dime, Jimmy Dean, Jimmy Dean
Burn This
The Griller
Mama Mia
The Wizard of Oz
Picnic

Wheeeeeeeeeeeee!

The Geej likes to get dizzy. Big time.

It started innocently enough with "Ring Around the Rosies." She'd get this enormous grin on her face and start whirling around and screaming "Ashes! Ashes!" And as soon as she'd fall down, she'd get up again and look at me like, "Sing, damnit!" As soon as I'd start, so would she, spinning around until she could no longer stand.

Recently, her focus has shifted to the desk chair. The same chair I'm sitting in right now. The same one that she's been around for nearly a year and has paid no attention to. That is, until she figured out it spins around. Now, it's her favorite game. When she gets spun around a few times, she looks at me with drunk eyes and goes, "Whooooooah!" Yeah, no doubt.

In this photo, we were in the middle of a spinning session, and I had the audacity to pause long enough to snap a picture. Why are her hands blurry? Because she's doing the sign language sign for "more" while yelling, "More! More! More!" Doctor, I think we may have a problem.

My Rock Star Past*

*I actually have no so-called "rock star past." But feel free to keep reading.

Back in the early 90s you may remember that there was this thing going on in music called "grunge." A simultaneous offshoot of grunge was the Riot Grrrl movement. My band, I See Blue, was the ultimate combination of both genres. We were the perfect embodiment of the time...of what both musical efforts were trying to achive...but, alas, we were never given the critical notice and acclaim of Nirvana or Pearl Jam, and were never given the "hoist the horns" rock salute that our sisters in Bikini Kill and Bratmobile received. Why? Well, because we never actually existed.

I was lead singer/screamer, and my stage name was "Wynona." My partner in crime was my bass player--stage name: "Fiona." That was our whole band--just her, the bass, my tambourine, and me.

Here we are on a promo photo shoot on this guy's boat who had a LOT of heroin and blow. (That's me on th left, looking particularly snarly.)Hey...it was the 90s. Our band name actually came out of this photo shoot. We saw how "icy" our stares looked in the proofs, and decided to go with a play on the word "icy" and ended up with "I See Blue." I'm pretty convinced that our cheesy band name is the reason we never got famous. Because we were hot (obviously!), and we had a spare-but-innovative band set up (seeing as how we really had only one instrument being played), and we wrote some GREAT songs in my garage.

• Some of the titles were:
  Dude, I'm Done. Leave.
  Fuck Me. Tax Me. What's the Difference?
  Daddy was a Drinker
  I Ain't Shavin', So Deal
  Rock and Roll that Joint, Mother Fucker
  Wet Spot Blues
  Gimme a Dildo, I'm Gonna Fuck Morrissey
  Bundt Cakes and Lobotomies (Life in Suburbia)
  Liquor Dick Dumbass
  Mini Mart MoFo (Why You Gotta Hassle?)
  Don't Expect Me to Remember Who You Are

I mean, you can tell, right? We were fucking HUGE!! Or should've been. Except that we never actually existed. But you would've bought the album. I know you would've...

(As you can tell, I have a very rich fantasy life.)