Seriously America: You do NOT want to date this guy!

When I was in college, my best friend warned me not to hook up with this guy we'll call "Keith" because, as best as I can recall, I've never actually hooked up with anyone named Keith.

Anyhoo, I was sort of gah-gah about him becuase he was freakin' gorgeous and sexy and flirty. Dumb as a brick, but still... But my friend knew him from her hometown. She knew what a dick he was and how he treated girls like shit. She warned me and then warned me again, and then when I refused to heed her warnings, she was pretty much like, "Well, okay. Your funeral."

Fast forward to a few weeks post-hookup. I'm stalking this guy like a psycho. Why won't he call me back?! I booty call him and make a complete ass of myself. I run into him at a rock show, and he all but ignores me. But wait! A glimmer of hope!! He tells me to meet him at his house after the show. Hubba hubba!! Whatever you say, guy-who's-been-treating-me-like-shit-but-is-just-so-damn-HOT! I'll be there!

I show up and guess what: He doesn't. I just sit outside of his house for like an hour, waiting for him to get home and then leave, carrying an ass-ton of hurt pride and an endless loop of my friend's voice saying "I TOLD you so," going through my head.

Why am I telling you this? Because the way my friend must've felt when she was warning me against Keith? That's how I feel about warning America about THIS hypocritical douche bag:

Trust me, America. We Texans know him. We've dated him for over 10 years, and yes, even though he may be a flirt and may be "handsome" (as far as politicians go), he's an idiot. And I assure you, he doesn't give a SHIT about you. It's all about him and his enormous ego. America, he will fuck you up in ways you've only had nightmares about up to now, just like he's done to this beloved state of mine.

Remember when you had that horrible 8-year fling with that other daft Republican Governor of Texas? Remember how that whole thing worked out?! Why would you want to do that to yourself again, America? You're better than that! And besides, this dumbass makes George W. seem like the fucking chairman of Mensa.

So please America, do not date Rick Perry. Because if you do? It's your funeral.

This is rare.

I hardly ever write a post that is really just to get you to look at someone else's post. But that's what I'm doing today.

Why?

Well, the person who wrote the post is near and dear to me (The Texpatriate). And also, she very clearly captures and articulates the lightning-in-a-bottle fury that many of us--including me--are feeling as the Republican leaders in our country, and especially in this state, attempt to ride roughshod over reproductive freedoms (and many other female-centric issues) because, clearly, we poor little gals need their help so badly. The thinly veiled patriarchal sexism in this legislation hiding behind a sheild of "it's for our protection" bullshit is simply staggering. And the women who are complicit in moving these ideas forward? Shame on you. I'm embarrassed to share a gender designation with you.

This is NOT about religion or what's "best for women", and if any arguement couches itself in either of those claims, then it is in hardcore denial or fiendishly shrewd, knowing that this tack will draw more supporters who want the black-and-white, easy way out. No. This is, pure and simple, about women as property. Women as something to be controlled by men. This is about ensuring that women remain second-class citizens in a country that would like to be held up as a bastion of freedom and democracy for all.

You want to read something terrifying? Read Chapter 9 of Susan Faludi's Backlash: The Undeclared War Against American Women*. It was written TWENTY YEARS AGO, and it reads like Johnny Carson's "Carnac the Magnificent," revealing the punchlines before the joke is read. Except this is no joke. It's terrifyingly, nauseatingly real. The war has not only been declared, it's being won by 7 to 2 votes cast by middle-aged white men.

*After you read the Texpatriate's post, that is.

My least favorite airport in the world.

It's named after George Bush, Sr.

And it's filled with Fox-sponsored retail outlets, including the Fox Sky Box sports bar and this place, where you can pick up the latest books by Glenn Beck and Bill O'Reilly.

Ugh.

Also, I sat behind this amazing Old Lady Texas Hair on the Austin-to-Houston leg of my journey. Fascinating.

Texas, Our Texas...all Hail the Mighty State.

The Texas Independence Day parade happens in downtown Austin this Saturday morning around 10 a.m.

The Geej and I will be in attendance because freakin' Dah will be marching with the damn Plungettes.

Oh my effing God, people!! I think I may die.

Perhaps I should wear this to the parade, just to balance things out:

As if we didn't already know that he was a paranoid, power-hungry, heartless, evil, slimy shit bag...

Now we have this evidence to sort of confirm everything (that anyone with half a brain and/or conscience already knew a long, long time ago).

What's that bubbling sound I'm hearing?

Oh, wait. It's just my blood.

Let's see just how random I can be...

Since it's been a while since a "real" post--you know, one that's not a meme or photos or something like that--I'm betting this one's going to be all over the map.

So here goes:

The Geej has decided that she likes The Go-Gos. She also LOVES "Yellow Sarong" by Yo La Tengo. Every time it finishes playing in the car, she says "Again! Again!" like a damn Teletubbie.
I also discovered, quite by accident, that she likes WATCHING people sing. We turned on American Idol last week (a first, mind you), and she was mesmerized. She swayed and hummed and pointed at the t.v. saying, "Singing!" over and over. Whenever the singer was done, she'd say, "More! More singing!" And tonight, Etta James was on Austin City Limits, and she was mesmerized all over again. Very charming.

Remember when I said I was falling in love? Well, it's a done deal. I'm head over heels, folks. I feel like I'm a lovesick kid. The thought of him makes my heart flutter. The long and short of it is: He's a guy I grew up with (that's right: another Pine Curtain Refugee) and was friends with all through high school and into college. But, just friends. He was always cute, and funny, and unique, but my head was elsewhere. We lost track of each other shortly after our 10 yr. high school reunion in 1997. He was already married with a baby, and I was about to move to Chicago to be with the guy who would eventually become my ex-husband. Flash forward to this past December: I get an e-mail out of the blue via stupid Classmates.com, and it's him. I was thrilled to hear from him because I'd wondered 100 times what had become of him. (In fact, I'd been looking for him when I registered at classmates.com some 3 years ago.) Anyway, we start e-mailing, then talking on the phone. I find out he's divorced (since 2003) and has two boys--11 and 6. He lives in Colorado, and is still as quirky and interesting as always. He sends me photos, and I nearly melt at how handsome he is. Soon, I start having significant feelings for him. I start to feel like, oh shit, this may be THE guy. Finally, I confess that I'm crazy about him. And he does the same. He arranges a visit to see me Easter weekend, and BOOM it's on. He comes down, and it's amazing. I feel so at ease and at home and happy. It's amazing and scary and wonderful. When he leaves, I cry. I also cry the day after (and several times since). I swing back and forth between being so damn happy that he's in my life, and so sad that he's so far away that I feel like I'm on a trapeze. Then we say it: I love you. Holy cow. I'M IN LOVE!! Complicated logistics aside, this is it. He's the kind of man I'd always hoped I would have in my life--kind, deep, interesting, funny, smart, open, gentle, sensitive. And hot. What did I do to deserve this amazing guy? God, I feel blessed. I'm going up to visit him in Colorado in a few weeks, then we'll see each other again in June. This is how it will be for a while. But I'm telling you--I don't know how--but I think we're going to be together. Wow.

Work is KICKING my ass right now. Seriously. I've been at this company for 6 1/2 years, and gone through a lot of weirdness and tumultuous changes, and this is by far the most busy and stressed I've ever been. Work is rarely fun for me anymore. Thank God I like my coworkers, because if not, it would be almost unbearable. And what really sucks is that the light at the end of the tunnel is waaaaay off--like July or August. It's going to be a long summer, folks.

Found out this week that a dear friend of mine is having some serious health issues. I have utter faith that she's going to overcome it all with strength and grace, but it sure does suck. And talk about putting your daily annoyances in perspective...

Speaking of health, I had to have my yearly "let's make sure you don't have cancer" check up, bloodwork and CT scan yesterday. Drinking that barium stuff SUCKS. I don't like milk, and so anything with a milky consistency makes me wanna gag. Couple that with a chalky feel and nasty taste, and you're headed for vomit-town. So I choked down three big bottles of that shit before my CT and thought I was done. So they sit me on the machine and then hand me this little yogurt-sized cup of BARIUM PUDDING and tell me to eat it. I felt like one of those numbnuts on Fear Factor trying to choke down a cup full of worms. It was so fucking foul. It was a monumental feat in human willpower just to get each swallow down. I swear the only thing that made me not hurl was thinking that if I did, I'd just have to start over again, choking all that shit down. After it was all said and done, I thought I was fine until about 2pm, when the toilet and I became one. Yeah, I had to go home because I was so nauseous and sick to my stomach. And have I mentioned how busy I am at work? Blech.

My big dumb young cat, Earl, did something way stupid earlier this week: my deck is covered, and the rafters under the roof are exposed. He likes to climb his fat ass up there, and sit up there and stare down like the Cheshire Cat. Problem is, he's a total chubbo, so when it comes to getting down, he has problems. Well, Tuesday night, it was nice so I had the windows open. He was outside, and I was talking on the phone to Mr. Wonderful, and I hear this ginormous crash out on the deck. Dumbass had jumped down from the considerable height of the rafters and immediately started limping around, not wanting to put any weight on his front left paw. The following morning, it was even worse. So of course I have to take him to the vet and drop an enormous wad of cash in order for them to tell me the weight of the impact had caused him to hyper extend his paw and that he had a severe sprain. I've been giving him steroid/pain killers every night since, and he's doing much better. And guess where he is right this second: perched in the rafters. He is such a fidiot (that's short for "fucking idiot"--It's a new slang term I'm trying to popularize).

It looks like this fucking administration is going to drag us into yet another war in the Middle East. This time, Iran. What the FUCK? How is this nightmare even possible?! God, I wish George and Dick and Donald and Karl would all get on a damn "Patsy Cline" special and plow into a mountain side.

I paid nearly $50 to fill up my car with regular unleaded gas today. When I got home, there was my monthly statement from Shell in the mail: $208. I nearly had a heart attack.

I'm currently listening to Supertramp, The Mills Brothers, the new Cassandra Wilson, Cordero, Yo La Tengo and The Go-Gos. I'm currently reading, "The Best Guide to Eastern Philosophy and Religion" by Diane Morgan and "You're Wearing That?: Understanding Mothers and Daughters in Conversation" by Deborah Tannen.

Okay. That's it for now. I feel better--like I've cleared out the cobwebs from my dusty brain. I'm sure there's more I meant to tell you, but that's all I can muster for now.

Until later,
Karla May

Call the loony bin: My mom's done gone nuts.

I was stuck in traffic on the way home from work/Geej-fetching, and decided to call my mom for a chat. Almost immediately, she informed me that she's decided to join...wait for it...wait for it...A FUCKING DRILL TEAM FOR OLD LADIES!! And not only is it a drill team for old ladies, but these old ladies are REPUBLICANS and they all carry TOILET PLUNGERS...just to be wacky.

Behold: The Plungettes.

"A high-stepping, boot scootin' sisterhood with a crowd pleasing routine, the Plungettes enjoy what they do."

I'm-

I'm sp-

I'm speechless, ya'll.

She tells me that they do cool stuff...they go on trips (to Republican fundraisers, mind you), they have practices, and they "get silly" (whatever the hell that means). They hold their rehearsals out at some old bitty's ranch and she has exotic animals (like water buffalo and zebras). She assures me that they're a legit deal, and she knows this because among their ranks, they have former members of the Kilgore Rangerettes and the Tyler Apache Belles. As if that somehow makes this LESS goofy.

Oh. My. God.

I thought it was extreme when she started taking yoga. But this? I'm seriously considering having her committed.

If she joins the goddamned Red Hat Society, I'm disowning her.