Hey - did I tell you guys I finally won a Gold Medal for a Photoshop piece? This was my April Fool's day entry. The Gold Medal is a kick, but maybe even better is that I got a "That's some great work Carol! Very disturbing, but great work!" from my Photoshop Sensei, Randy. I'm so proud.

Labels: cult, personal urban drama

I met my dear friend Mel yesterday afternoon at The Flower Corner to talk with them about the flowers for her upcoming wedding. After the flower chat, I was driving north on the West Loop, trying to get back to my side of town. It's about 2pm and the loop is PACKED all the way back before the 59 bridge. We're inching along - one of those where you make it to 2nd gear thinking maybe you'll get to move but no, not really.

I'm thinking well it must be an accident. Since the loop was rebuilt a few years ago it's unusual for it to just be stopped at this time on a normal Friday. Inch by inch, I make it toward I-10. When I crest Post Oak and can see the feeder leading up to Memorial, it's truly an "Ah HA!" moment. It's a trail ride. I know that if you're in Boston you can't even begin to understand this, but on a Friday late in February every year, the trail riders finally make it to Houston in anticipation of the Houston Live Stock Show and Rodeo. They've been on the trail - truly - for days or weeks, traveling with chuck wagons and sleeping under the stars. It's a huge thing down here, a religion for some of the folks who ride.



There is one ride, the Salt Grass, that rides down a road close enough to my house for me to just walk down and sit on the curb to watch it go by. It's a little bit surreal to sit down in your urban neighborhoood while 1,300 people go by on horses. I delight in the sound of the horse's shoes clomping on the road and the wind-chime sound of the tack. I've been stopped at a red light while the same ride crossed the road I was on. It's such a gas - people get out of their cars to watch, the riders smiling and waving, people yelling greetings back and forth. The folks who have kids with them - those are the best. They put their kids up on their shoulders, or stand them up on the hoods of their cars, and you can see that it's magic for the kids. It's the only traffic jam you don't mind being in.

Which is why, when I crested Post Oak and saw that the feeder was down to one lane - the trail ride had one all to itself, and that the jam on the loop was because everyone was slowing down to look at the trail riders, it was one of those traffic jams that turns out to be OK.

And I'm pretty sure that folks in Boston have no way to get that. Ya'll should come down here in late February and just pull over to watch the world pass by on a horse.

Labels: cult, personal urban drama, texas

One of the many reasons I love my Lisa: We're out for supper together at a Chinese restaurant. We've finished our meal and we're cracking open our fortune cookies. She opens her tiny bit of paper and looks at it. Without looking up or blinking an eye she says "Oh, well, this can't be good".

On the other hand, I was out with a different dear girlfriend recently for supper. As a total non sequitur, she leaned over the table close to me and in a low voice, referring to her boyfriend, "He's a grower." I knew exactly what she meant and because of that we laughed wildly and decided that we have one more reason to love each other. It's not just any friend who you can say that to and not have to explain.

Labels: cult

OK Foo just for you:



Because I know the overwhelming sexiness of James when he tilts his chin down and his head to the side, narrows his eyes, and purses his lips juuuuuust the tiniest bit means as much to you as it does to me. ;-)

Seriously folks, I warned you. I told you I was about to mainline Buffy. And oh boy are there needle scars on my arms. I always start out with this show thinking DAMNED that Angel and end it thinking Angel you're interrupting my lust of Spike, go away and brood somewhere else. And then he smiles and it all goes to hell.

But I'm up for a breath. The great news is that during this time I have had a birthday and my dearest cult member Lisa has gifted me with....wait for it.... the entire set of Angel disks. So pretty soon I'm going to have to start looking for veins in between my toes.

But quick - before you loose me again.

One day last week on the way home (yes I have had to leave the house a few times) I stopped at my local overpriced yuppie grocery store because, for all of their sins, they do indeed have the best darned hummus in a twelve state area (although Utah doesn't count because I don't think Mormans eat it).

While walking back out to my car (hummus in hand) I saw something that looked like it had come right out of a Mad Max movie:



This thing.... I guess it's homemade? Although it's not something I've ever thought about a motorcycle before. I know they can be "custom built" and "special design" or whatever but this doesn't bring any of those lofty ideas to mind. This makes me think of the professor in back to the future. I can picture him with those goggles on and that crazed white hair welding those tanks onto it. SEE THE TANKS??? Would you wrap your crotch around them?? Oh, and yes... this is the seat. I bet the farmer whose tractor it was stolen off of wants it back (or maybe not). I'm guessing... not too many road trips on this thing.



I'm just fascinated by this bike. You know it's got either a wildly fascinating story/character behind it or just some weird ass sleeps-in-a-closet so the Feebs can't get him with their sonic radar kinda guy.

I would have hung around to find out but, you know, I was in the middle of season five and Spike looks soooo good in that season. LOTS of eye narrowing and chin tipping.

Labels: cult, personal urban drama, video

Today I became the owner of a 28% share of 17.5% of a Peruvian cow. Have you bought your holiday presents yet? Mel, Lisa, Mrs. VDH, and I have formed a consortium. We are now known as Cow Watchers. And we are watching a Peruvian cow.

In truth, we have made a non-secured, no interest loan to a woman who is going to buy the cow, milk the cow, and use the profits from the milk to help sustain herself and her family, and to pay back the loan.

At which point we Cow Watchers will get our money back. And we will buy something else. Then we may become Pig Watchers or Donkey Watchers but, neither of those sounds as cool as Cow Watchers, so we might buy another cow just so we can keep the name. I guarantee you we will never be Chicken Watchers.

We are doing this instead of spending money on one another for Christmas presents. It's certainly more fun, and it's a group activity that will keep us all interested for a long time to come. Unlike most Christmas presents - especially the ones that end up on the "To Be Re-gifted" shelf in the closet.

So go check out Doña Georgina, read about Kiva, and maybe buy yourself part of an Azerbaijanian taxi, or some Tanzanian charcoal.

And oh yeah, if fun isn't enough of a reason, how about changing someone's life forever who maybe didn't grow up with indoor plumbing, air conditioning, and Twinkies at the corner store, all for the price good steak dinner? Get it? Steak? Peruvian Cow? HAHahaha I crack myself up.

Labels: cult, personal urban drama

No I haven't deserted you. But you know, sometimes life interferes with blogging. Things on my mind today:

Tacos al pastor with cilantro and onions from Taqueria Arandes. The one on 290. There are a lot of them in town and, even though they are a chain, the one on 290 is the only one that makes these tacos this way. You know, the right way.



_______________________________

These presidential "debates"? What a crock of shit. First, they aren't debates. I took debate in school. Ladies and gentlemen, this ain't it. Second - a common question this year is "How, in your brilliant high worthiness, would you fund your new wacko bullshit scheme to rebuild the American Health Care System (which isn't actually broken but that's another story)?" To which the answer, in one form or another, is always "I would take one third from the individual users, one third from taxes, and one third from the government".

Doesn't this make you want to go out and kill a wombat?? What do these people think - that we ALLLLLL are stooopid?

Let's see:

1/3 from individuals = Money out of your pocket directly.
1/3 from taxes = Money out of your pocket through taxes.
1/3 from the government = Money out of your pocket through taxes.

This equals 100% from you, the blind and foolish person, citizen, individual. Where do people think "government money" comes from? ARE YOU THAT STUPID??? Maybe you're the wombat I want to go out and kill.

_______________________________

Ever got an urge to go over to one of your best friend's house, stick her into a plastic trash bag, mold memory mesh screen to her breasts, and then plaster a life cast of them? Me, neither. BUT. My friend is in luuuuv. Bad luuuuuv. And she's also one seriously horny little girlfriend in luuuuuv.

So she decided she wants to dress up in the Leia slave costume for her boyfriend - you know - the one she luuuuuuvs. Off to the costume shops we skip. On to the net we surf. Then we have to take some nitroglycerin because we're both having heart attacks over the prices people want for these costumes. Holy. Cow.

Now, this is the friend who, a few years ago when I hand made valentine's papier-mache candy bombs and folded little origami boxes for them to live in until they were popped, came up to me with a deeply quizzical face and said "So. Do you just go home sometimes and.....craft????"

My answer was of course, yeah - you got a problem with that?

So I'm sitting around - actually I was laying in bed trying to go to sleep - when I was struck by in-spi-RATION. Let's mold her breasts!! Yeah!! We can MAKE a Leia slave costume!! I've spent enough time trolling the aisles of Michael's and Hobby Lobby to know that they have this memory mesh screen stuff and this pre-plastered cloth strip stuff. And I have tons of gold paint (naturally). And I've got the craft know how.

All these things came together one night when I went to my friend's house and felt her up. Now, I remember the first time I ever met this friend. It was in an all staff meeting at a job two jobs ago. I remember when she walked into the room and I heard her talk that I thought: Oh Wow this girl is so freaking cool and pretty and unbelievably SMART. I like her so much but she is so cool I know we'll never be friends. And here we are, six years later, me feeling her up. You just never know where life will lead. These two picks are of the first phase: The Feel Up Your Friend Phase. The first is the "Yeah haha I actually got her to wear a garbage bag" photo



The second is the "Wow this is what your tits look like molded in plaster!!" photo. As you can see, we've drawn on the basic outlines for the decorative gold swirls and I am now ready to do the build-up for those and cut out the actual pieces. Not pictured here is the girdle piece that goes over her butt.



I'll share more of "The Making Of" photos as I make progress.

Labels: cooking, cult, fashion, headlines, personal urban drama

I read a story in the local rag on Monday about a big fundraising supper for the Memorial Hermann LifeFlight capital campaign. It was tre' swanky. Tons of local bold-type-face people were there. It was a gathering at Tony's, a big time tre' swank grub house here in Houston. I read that the supper featured a beneficiary guest speaker who is a LifeFlight alum, like I am.

I immediately called my Cult Leader, who is working on the capital campaign.

Me: HEY! Why didn't you invite ME to be your alum speaker at the Tony's supper? I've never been to Tony's!

Her: HEY! Even I didn't get to go to the supper, and I've never been there, either!

Me: SO?? You didn't EARN it like I did!

Her: You can be my alum speaker at my next big fundraiser.

Me: Cool!!

Her: It's a 7am breakfast at the Ship Channel.

Me:

Her: Hello?

Labels: accident, cult

So a friend of mine works at a small local school for children with learning disabilities. There is a story in the paper today about how a thief came onto the school's property and stole a 1991 vehicle that belongs to the school. Before stealing the vehicle, the thief took the time to tear all of the stickers off the vehicle that identify it as belonging to the school. My question is: In a city the size of Houston, with probably a million cars in Harris County, why go out of your way to steal one made in 1991? I mean c'mon.

How's the pig, Jane?

I know a lot of physicians are up in arms about that Rate Md's web site, however - I've done some browsing there lately and found it to be right on the money. The physicians I know who are great have great ratings. The physicians I know who are asses or incompetent have bad ratings. I've found two specialty doctors there recently and referred friends to them based upon the physician's "5" ratings and the comments that accompany them. In each case, the friends came back and said "I love this doctor - every thing that you read to me on that web site about this doctor was true."

Hey, Lisa? When you email me at work and say "my ass is tired", and I email you back and say "You said ass.", please don't email me back and say "Fuckin' A". It is a work email, ya know. It's a big stretch from ass to fuck. And no, don't go there.

It didn't rain here today. Must be global warming.

Labels: bloggers, cult, personal urban drama

It's not so unusual in Houston to see a homeless person walking down the road pushing a purloined shopping cart filled with all the person's worldly possessions. Sometimes the person has a dog along for the ride. If I were a homeless person I would want a dog, too. But I can't figure out the logic behind the homeless woman I saw yesterday pushing her purloined shopping cart down the road. Balanced on top of all her worldly possessions was one of the biggest bird cages I've ever seen - one of those with four different levels and a penthouse. It had three birds in it. Still trying to figure that one out.


The Sister called me today. She was stuck in traffic on a road not far from my house. She called to tell me how glad she is that I was able to drive home today and be alive. She was stuck in traffic because of a big car accident. She had watched two ambulances leave, and she called me when she saw the Life Flight helicopter come in to land. Three years ago tonight I was living on morphine, dilaudid, and fentanyl as my body adjusted to having been broken and crushed the day before and then literally screwed back together again. Life is good.


I got to have lunch today with a couple of ladies I used to work with. (Hi Brandis! Hi Lacey!) One of them is pregnant with her second blessing. The other is frustrated with her many years longtime boyfriend because she knows he is going to officially propose but he keeps saying he wants to surprise her and he wants it to be perfect. Hey guy here's a hint: the perfect proposal is the one that ends in "yes". Just give her the damned ring, already. She's a keeper.


My dearest Mel's house got broken into this past week. BASTARDS.


I saw my favorite family practice physician yesterday. At one part he started talking about a certain subject that always makes me cry. I started to tear up and I waved my hand between us "OK time to talk about something else! If we talk about this anymore I'm going to cry!" He said that would be OK. I said no, I leave his office crying too much already. He said no, that he thinks it would be OK because I don't. See why he's the best?


Buffy is way finished. Now Angel is over. I am bereft. I may have to break down and read that new Potter book.

Labels: accident, cult, medicine, personal urban drama

I was out for supper this weekend with a few lady friends. One of them, Mel, loves me dearly but declares that she has no time to read AC because when she is at work she "WORKS". My thought is, well, yeah. But it's not like she lives in a cave so, if she really loved me, should could read me at home.

The other two ladies said they both read me regularly. One of them, Lisa, I know reads me at work (even though I know that when she is at work she also WORKS).

The other one, She of the Loveliest Hair, Mrs. VDH, well, I have no idea where she reads me. But she started complaining that I haven't been posting enough lately. And then Lisa started complaining, too.

I complained back that I'm not getting the love. I told her that if my loyal public would leave me loving comments, i.e. "Hey Carol Damned You Post Already", I might be inspired to spew more often. To which, she and Lisa both declared: WE ARE LURKERS. Well damned. I'm getting no love from them. But here I am, giving it to them.

This is the latest randomness. I don't normally do randomness, but that's all they're getting.

When I got home tonight and walked into the house from the garage, I smelled food. It's nice to come home and be greeted by the smell of The Husband having supper almost ready.

Hey, you - in the big black SUV who almost rear ended me so you could get around me in traffic today? Yeah, you. You're the same guy who cut off the little red Honda Civic in the lane next to me so you could get in front of them, too. Didn't you feel like a big man when we both pulled up behind you at the red light? Yeah. All that maniacal driving got you way far ahead, huh?

My ZoomZoom has been in the shop for about a week because it had developed a leak at the apex of the driver's side window, the wind screen, and the top. They had to replace all sorts of rubber pieces. I had a loaner. There is a lot of room in a Mazda 3 but there isn't any ZoomZoom.

Exiled Cult member Celeste was in town last week from Virginia for a short visit. I love hugging her. She's tiny and she smells wonderful. She gives great hug, and her hair is like silk. She has the greatest smile, and she hugs like she never wants to let go, even if she just saw you yesterday. Also, her shoes are great. We all miss her.

Cult Leader Susy left me again last Wednesday. I've been really snippy to her because I can be, but I did bring her a dozen roses on Monday. When I dropped them off at her new office the receptionist asked if she should tell Susy who had left them. I told her that no, Susy would know. I'm thinking the receptionist thought maybe I was a girly stalker. Every time Susy leaves me I make sure she has flowers the first day at her new job no matter how snippy I am being. This makes THREE. Bitch.

The 4 year old nephew of one of our Honorary Cult members drown last week. All the horrible things you can think of accompanied that along with some things you couldn't imagine. For instance. On the online version of the Houston Chronicle readers can leave comments. Folks who read the first news story about it left the most vile comments, such as "Why was the mother at work and not at home with her child?" etc. Just disgusting stuff.

Moleskin really works.

I was really sleepy this morning while I was in the shower. I didn't even take the time to dry my hair before I left for work. I had the windows down in the car and I was finger combing my hair, trying to get it to dry. It was very silky because I am using a new kind of conditioner. It felt so good I started to worry that I hadn't remembered to wash the conditioner out of it. I concentrated really hard but I just couldn't remember. Hmmm. Work conditioner into hair. Shave legs. Scrub face. Rinse conditioner??? RINSE CONDITIONER??? Am I going to look like I used Brylcreem all day? Thankfully, no. I apparently am capable of bathing from start to finish even when I am asleep.

I've taught The Black Dog a new trick that is absolutely HELL for him. I take a chicken flavored rawhide. I place it on my left shoulder. (He and I are both on the bed when I'm doing this.) I make him sit at the foot of the bed while I'm at the head of the bed. I make him sit and stay. HE QUIVERS. He mourns. His tail vibrates. His nose sweats. I say, "Stay". I move the rawhide around a bit just to torture him a little. I'll let this go on for three or four minutes before I say "OK!". MAN does he move! But then he very, very gently lifts the rawhide off my shoulder and lays down to kill that hard piece of cow. He's a good dog.

I got a wild hair and bought a bright red purse on eBay the other day. Can't wait til it gets here. Enough of this oh so chic black crap. I want to glow in the dark.

There, Mrs. VDH and Lisa. Happy now?

Labels: cult, husband, miata, personal urban drama

People come and go so quickly here! A few weeks ago I went back to work. Same boss, same job, different school. I love my Cult Leader. This is the third place we've worked together. She told me a couple of weeks ago that she was looking, and she told me last week that she had found. The 85% of me that is Nice Carol is thrilled for her. The other 15%? Not so thrilled. That is the selfish, curmudgeonly Carol who wants everything she wants and doesn't want change unless it is change that SHE wants.

So my Susy is leaving me again. And you wouldn't BELIEVE where she's going. To work on the capital campaign of a certain local emergency medical helicopter service. IRONY upon IRONY.

And remember I mentioned that issue I have with change? The day Susy told me I took a break and went for a short drive. I wanted to call Mel and cry to her that my Cult Leader was leaving me A G A I N. So I cried, Mel commiserated, and I cried some more. Then I went back to school and went to the restroom to wash my face with cold water. I may have a nasty 15% but Susy is 100% not nasty and I didn't want her to be upset because I was upset.

So I'm leaning over the sink, splashing cold water on my face, and I hear this "THUNK". I think "I wonder what that was?" Then I realize the thunk was in the sink where my hands were. I quickly put my glasses on and saw....my cell phone in the sink. I tried. I really tried to save its life. It took about 30 minutes for it to beep its last beep. It was a sad, slow death. At first the screen would come up. Then it would turn itself off. Then I would turn it on and the address book would open. But it wouldn't scroll. You get the idea.

I left and, in a frantic manner, drove to the nearest T-Mobile store. I went in, holding the phone in my upturned palms the way a six year old carries a dead bird into the house, hoping it can be brought back to life. HA! So now I have a new phone. It doesn't have the ring tone I like. I'm having to adjust. It doesn't have the big outside screen that I've gotten used to. I have to adjust.

My Susy is leaving me in two weeks. I have to adjust. BUT I DO NOT HAVE TO BE HAPPY ABOUT ANY OF IT. Now. Give me some chocolate.

Labels: cult, personal urban drama

Damned but I can go on and on. I could talk to you for 45 minutes about how cool it is that the first time I used a new bottle of $5 face scrub I didn't close the top correctly. Since the bottle sits with the top down, it all leaked out in a stream down the wall of the shower and in a puddle on the shower floor before flowing down the drain. The cool part is that where it puddled there is a perfectly sparkling clean spot in my shower! Not that my shower is gross or anything but this particular spot now looks brand new! So I'm thinking about coating the entire enclosure with this stuff and leaving it there for a few days. How exciting!!

Brevity, however, can be just an facinating. My fellow cult member Lisa sent me a link to an article in Wired called "Very Short Stories".
The gig is that the writer asked various luminaries to write a short story using only six words, ala Hemingway. The results are often wonderful. Note:

Longed for him. Got him. Shit. - Margaret Atwood

It’s behind you! Hurry before it - Rockne S. O’Bannon

Epitaph: He shouldn't have fed it. - Brian Herbert

Thought I was right. I wasn't. - Graeme Gibson

Dinosaurs return. Want their oil back. - David Brin

Starlet sex scandal. Giant squid involved. - Margaret Atwood

Leia: "Baby's yours." Luke: "Bad news…" - Steven Meretzky

Labels: cult, headlines

Meet the new boss. Same as the old boss.

It's been a week of repeats, all of them good!

Last weekend I got the Austin itch again and zoomed off to the Capitol City to test the tread on Lime Creek Road. Nothing to get your blood pumping like running 15mph hairpins at 45mph while The Black Dog smiles like a maniac. And again, I can't recommend the chicken verde enchiladas at Kerby too strongly. Nice visit with The Bro. He keeps saying "It feels like you live here and we get to hang out! I know you want to move here. That's how I ended up in Manhattan."

I do love Austin but I wonder if I would like it so much if I had to get up and go to work or do laundry up there all the time.

The best the scrumdiddlyumptious best part of the week was The Cult Leader. The train rides again. My six months of slovenly sweet unemployment has ended with the most perfect resolution. This Monday I started my new job, and I am beyond blessed that it is once again working with my Cult Leader. We make such an awesome team. She calls me her security blanket. I can't see how that is true - I feel so strongly that it is the other way around. How can a person not feel truly loved and wanted when her boss seeks her out and creates three count them three jobs in a row over a nine year period just so the two of you can work together again. Me loves my Cult Leader. Even if she does keep making me get up in the morning.

Labels: cult, miata, vacation

Last week about 30 of us met to celebrate the 40th birthday of our Cult leader. We were downtown at a Mexican food restaurant and it was so freaking LOUD in there no one could hear anyone else talk. So to substitute for conversation, there was a massive amount of drinking. Since I'm not drinking these days, it was fun to watch the humans in the zoo.

At one point, I stepped outside to allow the tightness in my ears to return to earthly atmospheric pressures. Standing on the sidewalk outside were two lovely young women. They were both in their early 20's. Both were thin, fashionably decked out for a night on the town, both holding blue margaritas in their not so steady hands as they balanced on their spiky four inch heals. The blue in the margarita at this restaurant indicates that your chosen poison was made with Everclear. That's right. Everclear margaritas. For those determined to have a liver transplant before they get their Hello! letter from the AARP.

One of the hip, now, with-it ladies was white, the other was black. They were both ripped. I walked past them on the sidewalk when the black young woman exclaimed: "Girlfriend, I love your skirt!". Apparently she was talking to me, her girlfriend. I must admit, the skirt I was wearing was special. We struck up a conversation that went like this:

Young White Girl: Damned this margarita is good!
Me: (to Young Black Girl) I love your boots! But I don't know how you walk in them!
Young Black Girl: I. Don't. EITHERERRRERER! (drunken laughter, stumbling)
YWG: (to me) Where's your DRINK?
Me: I left it inside.
YBG: Nigger, it's LOUD in there! (she shouted this loudly)

Young black girl then put her hand over her mouth and said "Ohhhh I said the N word".

Me: But you're black. I thought only white people weren't allowed to say the N word.
YBG: No! Girlfriend, anyone can say "Niga" but I said the NNNNNN word!
Me: There's a difference?
YWG: (to me, old white suburban woman) Girl! It's like this!

Young black girl throws her arms around me and leans her head on my shoulder.

YBG: Niga you are BEAUTIFUL!
Me: (hugging her back) Well thank you. You're beautiful, too!
YBG: (squeezing me tighter) SEEEE? That's difference! You can be my NIGA but you can't be my nigger.

And so ended my daily lesson in urban chic speak. Not long after that I returned to my three bedroom suburban home, with a homesteaders' tax exemption, Braulio the Wonder Lawn Guy, and a remote control on my two car garage. Without of course, the requisite 2.3 white children. But we do have The Black Dog and he leaves enough hair around the house to make up for that.

Labels: cult, personal urban drama

There's one of those chain e-mails going around in my group of friends. This is the one where you are supposed to put one word - and just one word - describing the person who sent it to you in a return e-mail only to that person. Then you are supposed to send it to a bunch of other people to get them to send one word back to you about you. I normally do not encourage infecting the world with these types of e-mail. However, on this occasion I was heavily medicated and also, curious. So I did it. These are the words I got back describing me:

Witty
Talented
Subversive
Brilliant
Intense
Relentless
Fearless

I like "subversive" best. (Thanks, Lisa! So glad you're not dead anymore!)

Labels: cult, personal urban drama

I showed this to my friend Mel last night. It caused her to observe that, even though she loves me, the stuff that makes me howl with laughter just doesn't do it for her. Then she said that my humor coincides best with another friend of hers, Mrs. VDH, and she doesn't understand why our humor isn't hers.

To which I started in with "Charlie! Hey, Charlie! Come to Candy Mountain, Charlie!" She clamped her hands over her ears and started moaning in pain.

Just watch it. Cow Tse Tung.

To get back at Mel for not having a sense of humor that doesn't perfectly coincide with mine and Mrs. VDH, I snuck over to her house this morning (AKA Damned That's A Big Oak Tree. Oh yeah, there is a house back there.) and spent three hours sweeping up the leaves on her driveway, sidewalks, and curb. I left two piles of leaves.

The one against her garage door is about 4 feet tall and about 5x7 feet square. I was going to make one BIG pile of leaves up against the garage door, just for the visual impact, but I realized about halfway through that if I did this I would not only block off the entrance to her house, I would also cover the entire east side of her driveway and that's where her roommate (who we all like and who has better looking hair than any of us, even when we brush ours) parks. So the second pile is down by the sidewalk. It is a little smaller, about 4x6, and only about 3 feet tall. While it does create sort of a slalom course for He Of The Better Hair to negotiate in order to park, it is better than nothing (AKA street parking).

Upon returning home I swallowed two hydrocodone before I even bothered to peel off my filthy clothes. I tore the curled up skin from the blister on the inside of my right thumb off (I was wearing leather gloves Mom, I swear!) and entrapped it in plastic and tape before I showered because the only thing worse than having every muscle in your body hurt is having every muscle in your body hurt and having Head and Shoulders wash over a freshly burst blister. Mel, you might not love Cows With Guns, and Candy Mountain may make you want to poke your ear drums out with a chop stick, but you damned well better love me.

Labels: cult, video

Just because I live in the bible belt doesn't mean you should make assumptions about how we conduct ourselves.

Example: This photo was taken in a cult member's car at 11:00 a.m. this past Sunday. No, we were not on our way to church. We had all the essentials for a great cult brunch: Cult members, mini-orange cakes, and lots of our straight from the freezer friend Jose. That is a cult member holding the juice but I promised I wouldn't put her face here. She's a giggler and she makes us all laugh like 3rd graders so I had to put her happy smile.

Labels: cult

The THINGS I do for my cult.

One of our cult members bred earlier this year. Tomorrow is the little bundle of joy's Cult Coming Out Lunch. Yeah, we're girls. I got volunteered to bring dessert but would June Cleaver just BRING dessert? No, I didn't think so. I put it to a vote and my orange cake won. It is the orangiest, moistest, most sugar filled white death you've ever eaten (unless you've had my carrot cake, of course). I threatened to bring tiny individual 4" cakes but no one believed me. Ha! HA HA!



The basics of tiny little individual cakes, with their heads cut off. Stacked up and ready to drown in orange buttercream frosting. Man, you should have been in my kitchen when these started coming out of the over. Made you want to go smash your face into some citrus it smelled so good.



This is what happens when I'm not working. Don't ask the secret to making it so moist. You won't like the answer. Celeste - SEE what you're missing being up there in Virginia?

Labels: cooking, cult

A recent email exchange between myself and a friend who is an editor for a science journal at a local university:

HER:

Subject: No appendage movement

Here's a line from one of our manuscripts that describes how my week has been going so far...

An amphipod was scored as dead if no appendage movement was discernible after repeated, gentle prodding.

ME:

You made me spit coke from my nose you bitch. What the HELL is an amphipod and why are they poking it? And if they want to really know if it's dead they need to poke it harder.

HER:

It's some kind of small aquatic organism. They always appear to be dousing them in chemicals and then prodding them. Gently. Actually, one of the funniest ones we got was one where they had a scale of effects of the chemical on the organism that went something like:

1 normal
3 deformed
5 dissolved (meaning the organism)

Ya know if it dissolves some aquatic creature it's probably bad news in general.

Labels: cult

In the lovely month of March I took a short blogbreak. Never done that before. It was good, and I spent part of the time in Austin where, even though I drove too fast on some steep narrow roads and some nights drank too much beer on the back porch of my cabin, I also did a little bit of writing. This is from about two weeks ago:


I find myself in Austin and I called an otherwise extraordinarily witty and intelligent friend back in Houston to ask what she does here - any special restaurants I've never been to, that sort of thing. She says..

"Yeah I think there's this place called like Saltlick or something. They have you know. Um. Meat. Meat and cold slaw stuff. And pickles. And dumplins'."

I laugh.. "dumplins???

She says "Um. I meant to say rolls."

Labels: ac, cult, personal urban drama, texas

So here's a cool way to waste some time (after you're finished killing to defend your cult leader). My Heritage offers a little bit of fun - you upload a facial picture and it uses Sophisticated Facial Recognition Software to tell you what celebrity you most resemble.

So I uploaded. And...(drum roll please)...their software says I look most like:

Mick!

Problem is...no. I have no upper lip. I have a different nose. And forehead. And cheekbones. And jaw line.

Knowing how our government works, this is probably the same program the US will use for security purposes. Can you say "We're doomed!"?

Labels: cult, personal urban drama

I'm sitting at my computer post PT with ice bags on my knees and the phone rings. It's Mel. She's in 5:30 traffic on the West Loop.

Me: Hello?
Mel: YOU ARE NOT GOING TO BELIEVE WHAT THE BUMPER STICKER ON THE CAR IN FRONT OF ME SAYS.
Me: OK.
Mel: I mean, AT FIRST??? I wasn't sure but I got closer!
Me: OK.
Mel: VAGINATERIAN. V A G I N A T E R I A N.
Me: Bwaaahahahahahahahah
Mel: Can you BELIEVE??

Silence.

Me: Mel?
Mel: Yeah???
Me: Is it a guy?
Mel: Yeah.
Me: Is he cute?
Mel: Yeah.
Me: Hit his bumper. Gently. Just enough to have to pull over and you know... exchange information.
Mel: WHAT???
Me: Mel, maybe he's not being crude. Maybe he's advertising his expertise. Hit him.

Labels: cult, personal urban drama

A dear friend of the Cult is leaving her job. It is a job that she has been at for many years, most of them stressful, frustrating, sometimes demeaning, and often unsatisfying.

A few years ago she left, but found that the new job was worse than the last and asked her old boss to please take her back. She's been paying for it ever since.

The Cult is THRILLED for her because her new job fits her like pearls and sweater sets. There is rejoicing across the land on her behalf.

So they're having a little "Going Away Again" thing for her at her office and they called my boss (our Cult leader) for anecdotes, which led my boss to ask for my memories (we all worked together for many years).

These are the funny things we remembered about her. We'll call her Mandy.

1. One year we had a truly major event at a fancy schmancy hotel downtown. It was a big celebration, and a nice one. Mandy wore a very tasteful and conservative black dress that came to her knees. The event ended well and the staff (us) stayed for an afterparty. Our friend in question (an otherwise very Professional Person) got smashed and danced the night away. That was ok - a lot of other people did, too. But she twirled a lot when she danced, and it turned out that her dress was actually perfectly designed to fly up into the air and assume the general silhouette of a tutu. So we all got a chance to see a lot of her and her underwear that night, because really, she twirled a lot.

2. Mandy suffers from allergies. And she has continuing problems with medicines not working or working too much. When they worked too much we called her "Medicated Mandy" because she got so stupid. We enjoyed her that way, the same way a kid will play with a lizard.

3. There were two years there for Mandy that were unbelievably challenging. She was working ten and twelve hour days and had a really vital job. She took to using binder clips for unintended purposes. She was always cold so regardless of the business outfit she might have on she wore this big bulky yellow sweater. But its first button started about halfway down the front and that didn't keep her warm enough. So she clipped it closed with mini sized binder clips. She also wore one regularly in her hair to keep it out of her face when working at her desk on papers. But she would leave it in, forgetting about it and come to staff meetings that way.

4. And speaking of staff meetings. There was one meeting where this guy was giving a report on his project - there are about 20 people in the room. The report had a lot of things like "below projections" and "not reaching potential". The guy who is talking is a very uptight guy, who's so straight that we all think he's gay, and we also think he married a ball buster of a woman (Phoebe Gets What Phoebe Wants) to prove that he isn't gay. So he is relating his failures and Mandy pops up and says "So I guess your wood got wet, huh?"

The room rolled with laughter. She had NO IDEA why. We quieted down, told Mandy to quit asking why we were laughing and went on with the meeting.

Then Mandy was asked to report on her projects. She gave a nice recitation and delivered good news. Then she was asked "do you have anything else?" to which she replied "Nope, I guess I've shot my wad."

We were crying. People literally fell out of their chairs from laughter. People who were in the elevator heard us and came to find out what was happening. Our boss was trying to get enough breath to tell Mandy to just STOP TALKING. She had NO FREAKING IDEA that what she had just said MEANT SOMETHING. We were dying. She kept saying "What? My dad and brothers say that all the time!"

We love Mandy and wish her great happiness and restraint at her new job.

Labels: cult

A few things that have been said to me in my lifetime that were really nice:

"You're cuter than puppies."

"I'll never forget you."

"You're my giggle factory."

One thing that was once said to me that wasn't so nice but it worked, anyway:

"Hi. My name is Omar. Wanna fuck?"

Labels: cult, personal urban drama

So I went out to supper with the Cult last night for wonderful Italian (and a few shots of bourbon for fun). We're all sitting around this big table and there has been much laughter, hugging, joking and eating of melted cheeses and tomato sauces.

We've reached a point for a review of everyone's day. One cult member says "I had to get four reports into the boss by 3pm that almost killed me and then she wasn't even there to receive them!" Another member says "I was supposed to set up a stage for an event tomorrow and the people who are holding the event never showed up so I just put the pipe and drape where I wanted it. If they don't like it that's too bad." Yet another member said "I had to sit by this guy after lunch in a meeting who just stank of curry and I almost urped."

I said "I had a needle THIS LONG (spreading thumb and index fingers wide) shoved into my right knee this morning!"

I won.

Let us hope that Supartz is all they say it is.

Labels: accident, cult, medicine

I've told you before: I love my boss. We've been together (at two jobs, no less) for about eight years now. We have seen each other through hellish days at work and picked each other up off bathroom floors of restaurants, puke drunk. We've been through marriages and deaths, babies, and weekends in the woods together.

We were having a cult meeting to celebrate a member's birthday yesterday. Boss and I got there first. Once her margarita and my Negra Modelo had arrived she leaned across the table and, for the first time since I've met her, she expressed Consumer Outrage. She said: "You're going to laugh. I am SO PISSED!"

The background here is that she has spent almost eight years listening to Consumer Outrage Of The Highest Order, with CUSS WORDS, from me.

The most long lasting, life altering, and LOUD I mean with VENOM VOICE Episode of Outrage played out when we had only worked together for about a year. She had to listen to my two or three times daily conversations with my New Home Builder.

The First Call Of The Morning always went like this:

I dial.
I say: What lies do you have for me today demon man?
He says: (smarmy) Now Mizz Carol, you know I do my best to get the work done right.
I say: EVIL! EVIL LIVES AND IT BUILDS NEW HOMES IN HOUSTON! YOU! YOU!

So Boss got an initiation by fire.

There have been so many...things. There was the "Why do we use vendors who charge twice as much as others?" And there's always the "Idiots! Idiots run the pharmacies in America!" and don't forget "INSURANCE COMPANIES MUST DIE! THEY MUST DIE LIKE SILVERFISH!".

Through it all, Boss has been patient. She hasn't really understood, but she loves me (and my King Ranch Chicken recipe) so she listens and nods her head and tries a lot not to laugh or look at me funny later.

And NOW. Now, SHE is the VOICE of Consumer Outrage.

Wanna know what got her hackles up? In EIGHT YEARS, the ONE thing that can really motivate her to be fiery?

KRBE 104 has cancelled the Rula and Ryan show. They have been replace by Sam Malone (Who even someone like me has heard of.) and according to Pissed Off Pissy Consumer Boss, he is EVIL and STUPID, too. Apparently Boss listens Every Morning to the Rula and Ryan show when she drives to work and they make her LAUGH. Boss has reached a level of lava that has driven her to the point of: FIRING OFF A SNIPPY EMAIL.

She quoted herself:

-Don't you LISTEN to all the people who call Rula and Ryan and say how much they LOVE the show? Every day?

-What makes you think you know how to run a business??

-You have LOST a listener, you EVIL EVIL you.

Labels: cult, headlines, personal urban drama

My dear dear friend Mel has broken the shackles of her job and moved to a better position. I am oodles proud of her. In celebration, a big group of us met at Rudyard's in the Beautiful Crime Free Montrose to drink to her health, her future, her beauty, her brilliance, and to the existence of good beer.

Beer leads to lots of things - drunk dialing, poofy paunches, embarrassing emoting, and of course, lots of peeing. So I found myself a few times in the upstairs ladies bathroom.

The only thing to do in a bathroom these days (I haven't smoked pot in them for years since I own a house and a car and have a husband and lungs that I love) is to read the graffiti. It sure has changed since I was young and armed with a Sharpie!

Some of it is classic, like:



Some of it shows that the girls at Rud's have been to college and learned to write essays about the war:



Some of it was both artistic and political:



Some of it is filled with moral outrage (and you wonder what prompted it!):



And...some of it just reminds me of my own young bathroom graffiti writing pursuits:



My wonderful friend John thought that the men's room should have equal billing so he took my camera with him and made these immortal records. (Note: My friend Susy saw me hand John my camera and watched him go into the bathroom. She wanted to know EXACTLY WHAT IT WAS I WAS HAVING HIM PHOTOGRAPH. I reminded her that I'm a happily married woman.)

In the men's room, the artwork is a little more base and the sentiment is a little more high school:



But I guess we all have to be happy for Warren:

Labels: cult, personal urban drama

This morning about 1:30am I still hadn't gotten to sleep so I called my boss and left her a voice mail that I was going to sleep in til 9am this morning, assuming that I ever got to sleep.

So I woke up today at 8:45am and got in the shower and it was soooo warm and felt soooo good I stayed in there about 45 minutes. Hello, my fellow Pruned Bloggers.

Then I got dressed. Dried my hair. Did the teeth thing. And when I found myself in the utility room folding panties I realized that I probably just didn't freaking want to go to work today. I NEVER fold panties. I rarely even take them out of the clean laundry basket until I'm getting ready to wear them.

So I called my boss again. Got her voice mail and left a message letting her know that I would be about as useful to her today as a brain would be to Britney Spears and that even though there isn't a damned thing wrong with me, that I'm looking at a big ol' pile of comp time burning today because unless something was on fire I wasn't coming to work and suggested that if she needed to make fun of me she should feel free to call.

NOW YOU SEE why I quit my job and went to work for her again when she called in October? Who wouldn't want to work for a woman who understands that the folding of panties is a bad sign?

Labels: cult, personal urban drama

A quick update on Happy Garage: (it's VERY happy!)



Also, one of the things on my Christmas List was a can crusher. I hate to throw away all the soda cans that go through this house but it is impractical to keep and recycle them in their original, fully inflated state. So for Christmas I wanted a can crusher. Don't laugh. They laughed last year when I asked for a really high quality pair of professional grade tweezers, but I've been very very happy with these tweezers all year. Aaaaaanyway, I got the crusher (thanks Sister!). And tonight the Husband helped me mount it. The crusher. On the wall. Get your mind out of the gutter. This is hardware, you fool. So I took the time to crush the three large plastic garbage bags full of cans that I had collected since I had put the crusher on my list.



Oh yeah, and I quit my job. I girded my loins after having stressed over it all day and finally called my vice president at her home around 6pm and just gushed out all the words without really giving her a chance to say anything because she is really really notorious for trying to guilt you into staying and for trying to throw more money at you etc. etc. so I told her I was going to two week her when we got back from the holidays, and that I was going to work for my former boss/cult leader and that is was a drop in pay and a drop in benefits and that I hadn't even been looking but that Susy called and it just feeeeeeeels right and there I'd said it could I go puke now? And she of course said I should think about it. Like RIGHT LADY I haven't been thinking about it? Like I just up and decided to quit this job that I've loved for what this is my SEVENTH YEAR? Total Whim Girl. That's what they call me. Yeah. Sheesh!! So tomorrow the cult will gather and we'll talk about my desertion of them and I'll get suggestions for my exit interviews. Terror in the Suburbs!!!

Labels: cult, miata, personal urban drama

Yoo hoo world, what have I done to piss you off? Why would you give me a masty code that makes me talk like dis? I'm a good girl and I didn't deserve to wake up on Friday morning (the first morning of my week long holiday vacation) with sandpaper in my throat. I didn't deserve to have a Rudolph Red Nose for Christmas and I don't deserve to be Phlegm Girl for Boxing Day. Damned it where is the NyQuil? Where are the Kleenex?

The good news is that I'm going to be part of Mad Man's next blog parody (autograph seekers please line up to the rear). And I got good stuff that I'd actually put on my gift list. And I got to spend a pleasant Christmas Eve spreading cold germs to my husband's sisters, mother and aunt. And I got to spend Christmas day at home with the Husband, the Black Dog, the Sister and a Nice Big Sweet Ham. And an apple pie. And a cheesecake. And a huge chocolate almond cake. And a box of Greek wedding cookies.

And I got a new job. Now I just have to get the balls together to call my vice-president sometime next week and tell her so that the first thing that greets her upon returning from the holidays is not that I'm leaving. OK OK I just figured out what I did to deserve the cold. This vice president? She made me personal sugar cookies for Christmas. No one else at the office got them. Just me. And I'm leaving her. Ahhhh there's karma chewing on my butt. Munch Munch Munch.

Labels: cult, personal urban drama

This season my plans include only one holiday party. This party convened on Friday. It was a potluck, and it was held at Mel's house. We have deemed the party a success because of the following:

1. I never made it home. I did make a wildly giggled filled call to my husband sometime around 2am that I apparently couldn't complete because I was laughing so much and Mel had to take the phone to assure him (through her hick-ups) that I wouldn't be driving.

2. When we woke up in the morning we had no idea who had put up all the food and straightened the house. We're still assuming it was elves and it's been almost 36 hours.

3. We've sat and talked and we're pretty sure she didn't make any drunken late night phone calls to the Hot Piece Of Man Meat who has her loins all aquiver. We know she did call him early on to invite him to drop in (to the party and yes, to her, too) but thanks to the miracle of caller id, we think she didn't later embarrass herself.

4. Secrets were told by other guests to me and to her and we were sober or shocked enough at the time to remember them so we now have good new fresh dirt.

5. No one puked.

Merry Ho Ho!

Labels: cult, personal urban drama

Sitting here on the cusp of a new Monday:

1. Shannon rejoins the Cult at work tomorrow after a short hiatus as a fund raiser whose mission was to indoctrinate upper middle class white children into the Christian faith through high schooling. We're very happy to have her back!

2. I re-mounted my stool at my work bench today for the first time since the middle of August. Major steps toward full recovery are happening! I had a piece of glass that I had finished all the metal work on and had put a coat of wax on just before the accident. Total I pulled out my steel wool and polishing brushes and cleaned it up and hung it in a living room window. Very satisfying to be back at the work table playing with glass.

3. Baring any annoying and unnecessary delays I will be the proud owner of a screaming red brand new Miata by the end of the week. Yes I have decided that the only way to do this is, in the words of my big brother, to Climb Back Up On The Horse That Threw Me. My first choice is Strata Blue but in deference to the workings of the human mind and optical system I am choosing the cliche of a red sports car simply because if I insist upon driving a little zippy zoom zoom at least I can buy one that people are more likely to notice when they're running red lights. OK OK OK I realize the fault in the logic there - if they don't see the red LIGHT why would the see the red CAR but help me here, ok? I'm trying. Soon to re-achieve "Happy Garage". My catamaran has been lonely.

4. Did laundry like a good girl so I have clean underwear for the week. My co-workers appreciate the simple things in life.

5. Will have lunch on Tuesday with former Cult Leader, Susy the Wonderful. Can't wait - have you ever had a boss that you just loved? I miss her so much.

6. First real live cold front of the season is supposed to come through tonight - I'll have to wear a coat in the morning. I LOVE the cold. As long as it leaves again soon so I can drop the lid and go zoomzoom.

Labels: accident, cult, miata, personal urban drama

I actually had something satisfying happen today. I've been in a nasty funk since my Cult Leader went to another job, and while I'm very happy for her, I feel like that Austin Lounge Lizard's song "The dogs, they really miss you, and I know just how they feel...."

Every year, at my office, we send out our annual report to about 400 key people. For about two weeks now I have been supposed to write a cover letter. I've been putting it off and just downright ignoring it. Today while I was covering for a co-worker's lunch hour, I picked up the annual report (for the first time) and was really surprised with it. Usually I'm deeply unimpressed but this year it's really a nice product and I'm very impressed by the department that created it. I sat down and wrote the cover letter and it was good - really good writing - that great feeling where you don't even really have to stop to think because the words just come straight out of your fingertips. It could be one of the best letters I've ever written, and I knew it was good while I was doing it.

Nice to have something positive. For a generally positive person, being in a nasty funk is really hard.

Oh - and I'm really pissed off at Kleenex. I'll tell you about that another time.

Labels: cult, personal urban drama

Day Two with no Wonder Boss.

My attitude is, this is a time of transition. This is a time for me to learn if I really love my job, the way I have always thought I do, or if I only loved my boss.

Two days down and it's just not looking good, people.

Patience, I say to my self, I say "Self - be patient." I am telling myself that the times I am spending in the first stall of the women's bathroom on the second floor crying like a little girly girl is just because it's the week before my period, not because my entire future is now uncertain and I have no idea where I'll be earning my living a month from now.

Have I ever talking with you about how much I love change in my life? Oh yeah - change and me - we're great friends. How could I be happier? Hmmm maybe I could have my toenails manually removed with pliers and no drugs by a big, sweaty, hairy man named Gur and then be left to die on the side of the road like a Sandanista. Yeah, that could be fun, too.

Labels: cult, personal urban drama

I am so lucky. I've spent the whole afternoon crying and being so sad and unsure of the future - all because my boss has gone on to another job. Today was her last day and it was really hard! So lucky that I've spent the last five years working for someone who is so outstanding and wonderful that, when she leaves, we're all heartbroken.

Now, the wait to find out what's next. Better not by tacky eyeball jewelry.

Labels: cult

I'm a good person. I went back to work today. After work, I went to Sam's and got a fresh roasted chicken for supper, a big bag of broccoli, some mesquite frozen chicken breasts for Husband's lunches and a 24 pack of yogurt. Nothing sinful. After supper, I attended my neighborhood's monthly Civic Club meeting. Upon returning home, I deboned the extra roasted chicken, packed my breakfast and lunch for work tomorrow and got together a going away present for my boss, who is leaving me. I am a good person.

That's right. The bitch is leaving me. Five of the best years of my life. OK OK she's not a bitch. She's wonderful. I can't believe she's leaving. The whole team is in mourning. How the hell are we supposed to be a cult if our cult leader leaves us????

Labels: cult, personal urban drama

Last weekend, Husband and I joined a few friends at a local restaurant for supper. One of the friends was about two hours late and (I'm guessing) soused when she showed up. She proceeded to drink her way through the four drink floor limit and we all had a great time laughing at her. (She's used to this, by the way.)

Being sober, Husband agreed to ferry said friend to her home while I drove her car so both she and it would get home safely.

Sidebar: I've driven a stick for about 20 years. BUT I've always lived in Houston, which is flatter than a pancake. So my habit upon parking has always been:

Stop the car. Put it in neutral. Pull up the parking brake. Get out. Close and lock the doors. Leave.

Back to main story: Pickled friend gives me her keys and I go get in her car. It's a Saturn, which I've never driven, but what the hey. I insert the key, engage the clutch and depress the brake. I turn the key. I let off the brake and the clutch. Car LURCHES forward, engine dies. Front of car impacts concrete pillar in parking garage. I think, well HELL she's a First Gear Parker.

We're the designated drivers! The drunk girl is safe with Husband, and the sober girl is crashing the Saturn. When we get to her house, I walk to the front of the car and see a lot of concrete dust imbedded in it - I rub it and say "Oh Friend, I've hurt your car!" She proceeds to walk to the trunk and start flailing on it with her fists (which are tough - she spent part of the supper telling me how she could kick my ass) and saying "Nooooo you CAN'T hurt it! The whole car is PLASTIC!" Thud, thud, thud go her fists.

A few days later, I speak with now sober friend and say "So how is the front of your car? Is it bad?" She says "Whatever do you mean?"

She doesn't even remember seeing me crunch her car, or beating on it for that matter. I'm walking around feeling guilty and thinking about insurance claims and she has no freaking idea.

Labels: cult, personal urban drama

Road trip on the schedule again - leaving Thursday for Austin. Strategically scheduled to miss SXSW - I'm entirely too old to be cool. I may hit the Spamfest, though. First time to go alone - usually take the black dog or the Lisa. First time to take the Miata - it BETTER be dry. You HEAR ME? I told the brother that the agenda includes a) chicken enchiladas at Kerby Thursday and b) getting smashed at the Pier on Friday. He said "Are you kidding?" I said no - I really want those enchiladas, damned it! He's so cute sometimes, I swear... He came late in life to this big brother/little sister thing and it's really fun to watch. Gotta remember to pack my liver.

Labels: cult, miata, texas, vacation

Is it any wonder they want me as part of their cult? This is the valentine I made for my team members this year: the box is hand folded, the feature presentation is a miniature (hand made with white tissue paper, little red hand cut tissue paper hearts and watered down Elmer's) pinata that you pull the string on to find chocolates, confetti and a red glass heart...

Yes, Melissa, sometimes I do just go home and do crafts.

(Also, a pic of the whole mess of them, waiting to be packed for delivery.)

Labels: cult

I found out last night that I am, apparently, a member of a cult. It's 'The Cult of Susy'. Even though the five or six people who said they had heard of The Cult were all drunk, and even though I was on my (I think) fifth margarita when I heard about it, I think they were telling the truth because they were all asked individually and they all said "Oh yeah I know about The Cult!".

Susy is my Wonder Boss. There are eight people on our team. Except for one strawberry blonde and one Hispanic (they both know they're tokens) we're all brunette white women. We've been told before that we're a 'clique' and we've heard rumors before that people think we're unnaturally close, but an actual Cult???

This is very exciting for me because I've never been part of the cool group of girls in my whole freaking life so now all of the sudden I'm not only part of the cool group but people are so jealous of our love vibe that they're calling us a CULT! I feel very hip.

Labels: cult

Oh, yeah - I'm going to this Anti-Valentine's Day party tomorrow night. A girlfriend at work came up and told me today that this guy at our office who AT LEAST three of us wimin are droolly over is going to show up.

Just what I need.

Going single (but wearing my wedding band!) to a Down With Mushy party so I can get all bothered watching this guy's shoulders move around under his shirt. Well, my husband should appreciate it when I get home at least!

Labels: cult, personal urban drama

I can't begin to imagine how many times in my life I will feel the need to do this but here I go with this turn:

To my friends: I am so sorry that for all those years you had to put up with the stench that wafted around me 24 hours a day because I smoked cigarettes.

Last night, Mel and Lisa and I had supper and then we went to a real live bar to drink. I didn't notice it really in the bar, but when I got in the car to go home I smelled it - that nasty burned tobacco smell. When I got home and crawled into bed my husband said "OK I knew you were out drinking, but I didn't think you were going to smoke!" My hair reeked! This morning when I got up to take the dog outside I pulled on the t-shirt I had been wearing last night so as not to be nekked and I gagged - the whole shirt just smelled so incredibly rotten.

I haven't smoked for three years now, and in just the last 6 months or so my sense of smell has apparently truly recovered from it. So here's the first of what I'm sure will be many mea culpas. Sorry for reeking and thanks for still being my friends and hugging me and riding in my car and sitting at tables with me all those years. And if you're my friend and you smoke, I love you totally, but please don't be offended if I have to pull back a little or sit down wind of you. I had NO IDEA how badly cigs smell until I COULD smell.

Labels: cult, personal urban drama

Just a quick little survey to my dear readers:

What do ya'll think of someone for whom you buy a Christmas present who can't be bothered to receive said present? And I mean, it's FEBRUARY and this thing is still the in trunk of my car.

Yeah - that's what I think, too!!!!!

At what point does posession become 9/10ths of the Who Gets To Keep The Present Rule?

Labels: cult

Today we have a new cliche statement of doom resulting in our absence (replaces "I could get hit by a bus."):

"So when I make that illegal left hand turn off Main and get creamed by a Metro train..."

This came up at work while talking with my boss and our departmental geek about re-naming an account in one of our proprietary computer systems. Geek's theory was it should be named something he suggested because:

If my boss and I were drunk one night and out driving around and we turned left off Main and got creamed by a Metro train, no one would know what to do about that account if we named it what we wanted to name it.

If you find it surprising that our Geek might think my boss and I would find ourselves out drunk one night driving down Main Street, well, you don't work where we work, do you?

Labels: cult

Special to Lisa: Bite me.

Oh, yeah - and - GET BACK TO WORK.

Labels: cult

Got an email from my boss today:

We miss you - It's been HELL without you -- how did I sign that vacation form????? What was I thinking - look forward to seeing you MONDAY!!!!!!!

It's nice to be needed.

Labels: cult, vacation

Reprinted Without permission: The following is a cut and paste from an email a friend sent in response to my emailed statement that one day I would get her to go tent camping with me. She's every bit as funny in person, too!!

Quoth Lisa:

I'm not opposed to the idea of camping, but it would probably be... interesting... for you to *see* me camping. No Starbucks or bookstores or movie theaters anywhere around, ya know:

Lisa: "So this is nature."

Carol: "Yep." (Pokes the fire, or some other naturely type thing)

Lisa: "Huh."

5 minutes pass.

Lisa: "So... this is nature."

Carol: "Yep..." (looking vaguely annoyed)

5 minutes pass.

Lisa: "Nature. This is it."

Carol: "..." (Looks more annoyed)

Etc., etc. Repeats every 5 minutes (sort of like Waiting for Godot, only in nature) till Carol gets tired of it and decides to drive back to Starbucks, bookstores, movie theaters.

Labels: cult

Today stands out for a number of reasons and here are two of them:

According to my boss, "HELL IS FREEZING OVER!".

This is because:
1. I wore a dress to work.
2. I wore pantyhose under the dress.
3. I valet parked at the luncheon.
4. I danced at the luncheon.

My boss is a smart ass, in case you hadn't noticed.

The other reason it's a red letter day?

My husband actually agreed to go to Cafe Express for supper tonight and even though that's pretty impressive, that's not the thing. The Thing is - get this - he put little chopped up green onions on his baked potato. Now, I know it was just to screw with my head, but the point is, he DID IT.

TWELVE YEARS, people, and he hasn't eaten even a tiny bite of a green onion. They're green and they're onions, after all.

I didn't tell him about the Hepatitis outbreak that has been connected to raw green onion. I just couldn't.

Labels: cooking, cult