Saturday, March 31, 2007

Order of the Rabbit

A bunch of damn kids for this?I heard today that the original title of Hitler's Mein Kampf was, "4 & 1/2 Year Struggle Against Lies, Stupidity and Cowardice." I still don't know for sure if this is true, but I wouldn't doubt it. I'm not a Hitler fan or foe to be quite honest, and I'm curious to read the book. I mean, the guy was fucked up but it is interesting and somewhat admirable how much influence he had.
Anyway, if you're still reading after that statement, I learned something today from George Duncan's Lesser-Known Facts of World War II.

Every year on Hitler's mommy's birthday, he would give an award called "The Mothers Cross" to all German women with a lot of kids.

Four fruits of the womb was enough to receive a Cross of Iron.
Six sucklings got her a Silver Cross.
Eight episiotomies earned her a Gold Cross.
7 & 1/2 years of being pregnant was worthy of a Cross of Gold and Diamonds. Plus, Hitler himself would act as honorary godfather.

And a partridge in a pear tree.

Friday, March 30, 2007

Capezio Shamezio

Ben Astaire Jackson
There are few things cuter than a four year old in tap shoes.

Especially with his bug pajamas tucked into my sparkly Michael Jackson socks.

Yep, I'm a lucky mom. My son wants to be a tap dancer.
He starts class next Tuesday.


Thursday, March 29, 2007


Mother of Alpha Beta!
I've been writing all damn day and I don't feel like writing another perfect word. I'm going outside to enjoy some beautiful night air.

Here's what I learned today:

Not a damn thing

That's right. Nothing.

Wednesday, March 28, 2007

Beware the Spanked Monkey and the Stinky Pinky

Now I know!
I had no idea!

I know this is mean, but I nearly died today.
There are kitty scratches all over my face and back.
Which of you is responsible?

Tuesday, March 27, 2007

My First Tag

This is one of my top 3 favorite books of allWell, I got tagged today, which means I get to play a little blog game. Sort of. And it's a good thing too, because I didn't learn JACK shit today. Well, maybe I did learn that Grind House is FINALLY going to be released on April 6th, and the website is pretty fucking cool. I could spend hours there if I had hours. So on to the game.


Look at the list of books below.
*Bold the ones you’ve read
*Italicize the ones you want to read
*leave blank the ones that you aren’t interested in. If you are reading this, tag your it!

1.The Da Vinci Code (Dan Brown) (I only read half of it)
2.Pride and Prejudice (Jane Austen)
3.To Kill A Mockingbird (Harper Lee)
4. Gone With The Wind (Margaret Mitchell)

5. The Lord of the Rings: Return of the King (Tolkien)
6. The Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring (Tolkien)
7. The Lord of the Rings: Two Towers (Tolkien)
8. Anne of Green Gables (L.M. Montgomery)
9. Outlander (Diana Gabaldon)
10.A Fine Balance (Rohinton Mistry)
11.Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (Rowling)
12.Angels and Demons (Dan Brown)
13.Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (Rowling)
14. A Prayer for Owen Meany (John Irving)

15. Memoirs of a Geisha (Arthur Golden)
16.Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone (Rowling)
17. Fall on Your Knees(Ann-Marie MacDonald)
18. The Stand (Stephen King)
19. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban(Rowling)
20. Jane Eyre (Charlotte Bronte) (I only read half)
21. The Hobbit (Tolkien)
22. The Catcher in the Rye (J.D. Salinger)
23. Little Women (Louisa May Alcott)
24. The Lovely Bones (Alice Sebold)

25. Life of Pi (Yann Martel)
26. The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy (Douglas Adams)
27. Wuthering Heights (Emily Bronte)
28. The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe (C. S. Lewis)
29. East of Eden (John Steinbeck)
30. Tuesdays with Morrie(Mitch Albom)
31. Dune (Frank Herbert)
32. The Notebook (Nicholas Sparks)
33. Atlas Shrugged (Ayn Rand)
34. 1984 (Orwell)
35. The Mists of Avalon (Marion Zimmer Bradley)
36. The Pillars of the Earth (Ken Follett)
37. The Power of One (Bryce Courtenay)
38. I Know This Much is True(Wally Lamb)
39. The Red Tent (Anita Diamant)
40. The Alchemist (Paulo Coelho)
41. The Clan of the Cave Bear (Jean M. Auel)
42. The Kite Runner (Khaled Hosseini)
43. Confessions of a Shopaholic (Sophie Kinsella)
44. The Five People You Meet In Heaven (Mitch Albom)
45. Bible (I read some)
46. Anna Karenina (Tolstoy)
47. The Count of Monte Cristo (Alexandre Dumas)
48. Angela’s Ashes (Frank McCourt)

49. The Grapes of Wrath (John Steinbeck)
50. She’s Come Undone (Wally Lamb)

51. The Poisonwood Bible (Barbara Kingsolver)
52. A Tale of Two Cities (Dickens)
53. Ender’s Game (Orson Scott Card)
54. Great Expectations (Dickens)
55. The Great Gatsby (Fitzgerald)
56. The Stone Angel (Margaret Laurence)
57. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (Rowling)
58. The Thorn Birds (Colleen McCullough)
59. The Handmaid’s Tale (Margaret Atwood)

60. The Time Traveller’s Wife (Audrew Niffenegger)
61. Crime and Punishment (Fyodor Dostoyevsky)
62. The Fountainhead (Ayn Rand)
63. War and Peace (Tolsoy) (about half)
64. Interview With The Vampire (Anne Rice)
65. Fifth Business (Robertson Davis)
66. One Hundred Years Of Solitude (Gabriel Garcia Marquez) (my favorite!)
67. The Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants (Ann Brashares)
68. Catch-22 (Joseph Heller)
69. Les Miserables (Hugo)
70. The Little Prince (Antoine de Saint-Exupery)
71. Bridget Jones’ Diary (Fielding)
72. Love in the Time of Cholera (Marquez)
73. Shogun (James Clavell)
74. The English Patient (Michael Ondaatje)
75. The Secret Garden (Frances Hodgson Burnett)
76. The Summer Tree (Guy Gavriel Kay)
77. A Tree Grows in Brooklyn (Betty Smith)
78. The World According To Garp (John Irving)

79. The Diviners (Margaret Laurence)
80. Charlotte’s Web (E.B. White)
81. Not Wanted On The Voyage (Timothy Findley)
82. Of Mice And Men (Steinbeck)
83. Rebecca (Daphne DuMaurier)
84. Wizard’s First Rule (Terry Goodkind)
85. Emma (Jane Austen) (maybe half)
86. Watership Down(Richard Adams)
87. Brave New World (Aldous Huxley)
88. The Stone Diaries (Carol Shields)
89. Blindness (Jose Saramago)
90. Kane and Abel (Jeffrey Archer)
91. In The Skin Of A Lion (Ondaatje)
92. Lord of the Flies (Golding)
93. The Good Earth(Pearl S. Buck)
94. The Secret Life of Bees (Sue Monk Kidd)

95. The Bourne Identity (Robert Ludlum)
96. The Outsiders (S.E. Hinton)
97. White Oleander (Janet Fitch)
98. A Woman of Substance (Barbara Taylor Bradford)
99. The Celestine Prophecy (James Redfield) (almost half)
100.Ulysses (James Joyce) (I think but I'm not sure)

I'm terrible about finishing books. Now I'm going to go watch Kill Bill 2.

Monday, March 26, 2007

What? Why? Wow!- W Magazine

WTF?!Earlier tonight I couldn't figure out what I learned today, so I wasted an hour watching episodes of Robot Chicken on YouTube. I just discovered it last night and I totally love it. Then my first born giant came and watched some with me and we had some good laughs. After a while he noticed a ricockulously ginormous magazine sitting here and we started looking through it. I think we laughed more looking at the models than we did watching Jasper the Douche Bag Ghost. By the time we were done, I'd learned two things.

W magazine is excellent bonding material for a mother and her 18 year old son. We must have wasted another hour making fun of it.

Then he told me something I probably already knew, but hearing it from him made it real.

It doesn't matter how cool your clothes are because guys just want you to take them off.

I also love that he said he knew I was his mom because I think Kill Bill is a fucking great movie.

I love that kid. Pain in the ass and all.

Sunday, March 25, 2007

Still Works After 100 Years

Let's eat it for dinner!After several bad cases of poison oak as a kid, I learned very well how to identify and avoid the "leaves of three." When I got older though, I started getting it from my then husbands clothes. He worked in landscape and would forget to tell me that he'd been clearing it all day, and I'd innocently pick up a nice rash just doing laundry. Around that time, an old man told me that if I ever come in contact with poison oak again, to wash with a bar of Fels-Naptha as soon as possible. I had no idea what he was talking about and just assumed it was an old fashion wives tales. Fells what? Crazy coot.
But one day in the laundry section at the market, I noticed some bar soap on the shelf, and a name that I recognized. Years later, my boys seemed to have poison oak more often than they didn't, and one day I remembered the old mans advice and bought a bar of the strong smelling laundry soap. I can't say for sure, but I think it actually worked.
Today on our first letterbox treasure hunt, we discovered that most of the hiding places were surrounded with poison oak. When we got home, I dug up an old bar of Fels-Naptha from the laundry room, and we had a human laundromat in the bathtub. My skin is drier than shit right now, but it might be worth it.
Anyway, I decided to look up this soap today and find out more about it. I apologize right now, because what I learned today is pretty boring.

You can make 5 gallons of homemade laundry-soap with one bar of Fels-Naptha, which costs less than 2 bucks.

I have no idea why I find this mildly interesting, but I do. I guess I never thought about making my own laundry soap. If anything, I think I'll put the recipe and a bar of this stuff in our earthquake survival kit. You never know. I could be the richest bitch on the block if disaster strikes.

Saturday, March 24, 2007

Chocolate Covered Crap

Fucking disgustingI was too lazy and tired to learn anything today, but I did find out that today is National Chocolate Covered Raisins Day.

How disgusting. What a waste of perfectly good chocolate.
When I was a kid, my grandparents grew grapes that were dried into raisins for Sun-Maid, and we always ended up with bags and bags of chocolate covered ones. I'm sure my grandma thought she was spoiling us when she sent them, but I always thought it was a cruel joke. Why couldn't she send chocolate covered almonds or something?

Friday, March 23, 2007

Jack Be Quick

Jumpin' itMy special musician, Colonel Angus, has been practicing for an upcoming gig, and I've had to listen to the Rolling Stones Jumpin' Jack Flash song over and over tonight. I used to like the song before that stupid Whoopi Goldberg movie ruined it. Now whenever I hear it, all I can think about is her crazy hair. So knowing that Mick Jagger wasn't singing about a crappy movie, I've always wondered what he actually was singing about. Now I know.

Jack Flash is a slang term for heroine. Jumping Jack Flash is heating it over a candle, sort of like the nursery rhyme character, nimble little Jack.

"I was born in a cross-fire hurricane
And I howled at my ma in the driving rain,
But it's all right now, in fact, it's a gas!
But it's all right. I'm Jumpin' Jack Flash,
It's a Gas! Gas! Gas!

I was raised by a toothless, bearded hag,
I was schooled with a strap right across my back,
But it's all right now, in fact, it's a gas!
But it's all right, I'm Jumpin' Jack Flash,
It's a Gas! Gas! Gas!

I was drowned, I was washed up and left for dead.
I fell down to my feet and I saw they bled.
I frowned at the crumbs of a crust of bread.
Yeah, yeah, yeah
I was crowned with a spike right thru my head.
But it's all right now, in fact, it's a gas!
But it's all right, I'm Jumpin' Jack Flash,
It's a Gas! Gas! Gas!"

Not this

I hated this movie!

I can't promise that I'm totally right about this because I haven't actually asked Mr. Jagger himself, but it sounds pretty damn accurate to me.

Thursday, March 22, 2007

The Magic of a Bar Napkin

Brilliant! Ahhhh. I got my hair done today, just the way I like it. I completely love sitting there in that cute little French studio, yakking with Barbara while she does her magic for two glorious hours. If it weren't so expensive, I'd probably go once a week. It's extremely therapuetic for me to spend time with a woman I admire, to be away from work and kids, and to get that spoiled brat fussing-over I need and love.
Today while sitting under the dryer, she gave me some reading material she knew I'd find interesting.

"Here. It's a men's magazine, but it's very interesting. Especially the ads."

And how! It was more interesting than those fucking boring glam mags that say the same shit in different colors every month. I don't care what the best lipstick color is for women with yellow undertones. I don't care what movie star B wore to fabulous party number 8. And I already know how to give a mind blowing blow-job, thank you very much. "One Cosmo a year" is my motto. And Barbara was right. The ads were interesting. A little too many men with purses maybe, but beautiful men no less.
Anyway, it was interesting to read a magazine written for the metro male. I learned why pointy shoes are better than snub nose shoes (they make your feet look bigger, thereby making your legs look longer, making other things appear larger), and the best way to take care of those shoes. I now know that you could rotate a light blue, a white, and a blue and white striped shirt for two weeks without anyone noticing. And I learned some interesting exercises that can make you run, jump and hit harder than ever. But what I really found the most interesting when I came home and looked up Esquire on the net was something about a writing project they did.

Esquire magazine mailed a napkin to 250 writers to write a story or something on. They got about 100 back, and you can read most of them, still in napkin form, right on their website.

The Esquire Magazine Napkin Fiction Project

I haven't read them all so I don't have a favorite yet, but I'm going to go find one right now.

Wednesday, March 21, 2007


Giant eraser stuffToday I learned how to make my own letterbox stamp.

All the how-to sites I looked at said to take an eraser and carve it with an Exacto knife. So I went down to the art supply shop to get the right kind of eraser, but they didn't have what I was looking for. Instead, they had something called a Speedy-Cut carving block, which is like a giant 6 x 11 inch eraser.
I had to think of something I wanted my very own, personalized stamp to be, so I went looking through my Modern Drunkard magazine and found it. Then, using a soft pencil, I put a piece of paper over it and traced it a few different times. After I got a good one, I cut it out and laid it pencil side down on the giant eraser stuff, and rubbed the back with the eraser from my pencil. It transfered like magic. After hunting for nearly 20 minutes for our Exacto knife set, I found it and started the scary process of carving it out. I can't explain with words how I did it, but I did it. It's not perfect, but here it is.

Hand carved by Donna Piranha herself!
And here's my very own, personal letterbox stamp.
Pretty damn cool if I say so myself. It's a little fucked up, but it was my first try. It was totally fun to do, so I think I'll make a few more since the Speedy-Cut stuff is big enough to make a dozen or so.

Tuesday, March 20, 2007


A good example of a hidden letterboxCall me a dork, geek, loser, lame-o, whatever you want. But today I learned something so cute that I'm actually excited about it. When Rebecca stumbled across it at the office and read it to me, I couldn't wait to come home and find out more. Unfortunately though, I don't have a lot of time to write about it tonight.

Letterboxing is sort of a treasure hunt, where people hide weatherproof boxes someplace, and leave clues, mainly on internet sites, as to where they can be found. Inside the box is a log book and a stamp. Finders carry their own log book and their own personal, hand carved stamp. The finder will take the stamp from the letterbox and stamp their log book with the date. Then they put their stamp into the logbook inside the letterbox, again with the date. Sometimes their will be a smaller box in the letterbox called a hitchhiker. If you find one, you get to take it with you and put it in the next letterbox you find. Some peoople have what's called a personal letterbox, which they carry around with them, that can be opened by anyone who knows the password. There are also parasites, which are placed unknowingly into someones personal letterbox, which of course have to be discreetly placed into another box.

There's a lot more, but since I've got a lot of shit to do right now, here's a link if you want more information. Ya big geek.

It's really pointless, but it sounds fun. I've ALWAYS loved treasure hunts!
I was looking around at some sites where you can find some clues and stuff, and I found several hidden here in town. I think I'll carve a stamp tomorrow and then start hunting. Maybe I'll even make my own letterbox and hide it somewhere special. Ohh, and maybe I'll leave clues here in my postings.
Maybe I'll just make my own version of the letterbox game. What a dork eh?

Monday, March 19, 2007

Loco Coconut Facts

This coconut bra is supposed to be animated, but it doesn't appear to be working.The other day we saw coconuts at the store for a buck each, so we got a couple just for fun. When we got home, we drilled a few holes in those eye things and drank the water inside. Then we cracked it open with a hammer and tried to eat it. Suddenly, the fantastical survivalist in me who often makes birthday wishes to be stranded on an island, thought it might be a good idea to do some training and figure out how to open one without the wonder of tools and electricity. (stop looking at those freckles) But, as usual around here, I got sidetracked and forgot to look it up.
My fantasy island life was in full effect today, and I was reminded that I still don't know what to do if I were dying of thirst and a drill-bit didn't get washed up on shore with me. But now I know that I will survive if there are coconuts on my island, because I know how to open one without electricity.

The first thing I would do, assuming I was alone, is look for a mute native boy in his early twenties. Then later, when I got thirsty, I'd get a stick and sharpen the end by rubbing it on a stone. Next, I'd find the soft eye, which is usually like the black sheep of the three coconut eyes. It's darker, and not symmetrical like the other two uptight hard ass eyes. Then I'd just start gouging it out until, voila! Fresh, sterile, tasty water. Then I'd bash it with a big rock to get the "meat" inside.

So now that the serious stuff is taken care of, let's look at some dumb coconut facts. (or you can just stare at those freckles)
Looks pretty scary to me

The word "coco" was the Portuguese word for goblin, which is what the early Portuguese explorers thought the three eyes on the end of the nut looked like.

Charcoal filters used in gas masks and cigarettes are made from burnt coconut shells.

In Zanzibar, diesel fuel is made from coconut oil.

Wood from old palm trees is called "porcupine wood" and is used to make furniture.

In the Northern India old days, coconuts were fertility symbols, and when a woman wanted to get pregnant, she would go to a priest to receive her "special coconut."

People in New Guinea think that when the first man died on their island, the first coconut palm tree sprouted from his head.

Women in Bali are not allowed to touch a coconut tree, because men think she will drain the tree of its fertility.

In World War II, coconut water became the emergency room glucose supply when there was no other sterile glucose available.

Lauric acid found in coconut oil can be effective in treating the measles, the flu and Herpes.

A wine called "tuba" can be made from palm sap.

I think that's enough for now. Does anybody have a boat?

Sunday, March 18, 2007

Berry and the Bung Hole

Nice bung holeLike the rest of this town this morning, I was feeling a little wrecked when I woke up. For some reason, people around here really party it up on St. Patrick's Day. We went to three bars last night, and they were all packed like I've never seen, and I've seen a lot. Then somehow we ended up in JMB's garage, where we stayed drinking whisky with him and his fun wife until 2am or something. All I really remember is what I learned.

The hole in the middle of this wine barrel is called a Bung Hole.

Drive either end into bung hole for tight fit no matter the size.

This thing over here is a Bung Hole Plug. ------>

The tapered hole fits tapered plugs.

And this thing over here is a Bung Hole Reamer. ------>

The Facetious Nights of Straparola, Madonna Veronica With Her Finger in the Bung Hole, by Jules Garnier.
And this is a woman with her finger in the bung hole.

I'd like to thank Mr. Berry and the lovely Miss S for this classic lesson last night. I'll forever think of you when I hear the words, "Bung Hole."

Saturday, March 17, 2007

Cryptic and Clover

Squint your eyes a bit. Can you read it?

Look closely at this picture and see if you can see what it says.
You might want to click on it first to make it larger.
Did anybody get any of these today?

Here's a tip:
Relax your eyes and sort of cross them.

If you DON'T eventually see the word, click here.
If you do see it, and you want to see more, go here.

What I learned today is the Irish word for shamrock. It's "seamrog." It means "little clover," but can refer to any number of plants having three leaves. And a clover is a clover, and a shamrock is a shamrock. They are not exactly the same thing.
The reason shamrocks are associated with St. Patrick's Day is that St. Patrick, the patron saint of Ireland, once used one to explain the trinity to the people. One leaf represented the Father, one the Son, and the other the Holy Spirit.

Oh! Today is the anniversary of the first time Lora and I had whisky!
I don't know how many years ago that was....
So now I'm off, in search of more Irish WhiskEy.

Friday, March 16, 2007

Comamos Pintxos

Ummmmmmmmmmmmm.I learned a new word today.


Pintxos (peen-chose) is the word people from the Basque Country in Spain use when referring to tapas, particularly those with toothpicks (pinxos) holding them together. I learned it from a new restaurant that opened today in Philadelphia. I'm not there now, but I keep up. I love Philly.

Then I learned that Spain is made up of 17 autonomous communities, which I think basically means that each one is like a state but has it's own government. Fascinating. I need to know more about this, but I think I'll learn about it tomorrow. Now it's time to play.

Thursday, March 15, 2007

Human Bodyflight

Aren't we pussies because we didn't actually jump out of a plane?Why hasn't anybody told me about indoor skydiving?!?!

I had to find out about it in the lamest way. Someone in Perris, California was reading this here blogg-o of mine-o, and I thought today I'd make some kind of silly comparisons to Paris, France for their reading pleasure. But, alas, with the only thing to brag about being "miles of frontage on interstate 215" and the right to claim "the home of DHL," the town sounds about as interesting as a sugar beet. Then, hidden on the attractions page between the Southern California Fair and the Lake Perris Regional Indian Museum, was something that made my heart fly.
Perris Valley Skydiving. Ok, so what right? We have skydiving around here. Big deal. But since it was the only thing interesting on the page, I read the details.

"The new attraction to the skypark is the Vertical wind tunnel where anyone can experience the sensation of freefall without the fear. Click on the wind tunnel on their web site where they have live feed of people actually flying."

So of course I went to see the live feed, but I couldn't find it. Whatever. But now I really, really, really want to try it! Except that for 40 bucks less, maybe I'll just do the real thing.
In the real Paris.

Wednesday, March 14, 2007

Stardust is Dust!

I missed it!

Tuesday, March 13, 2007

Growing Up

There goes the fun.
When you have a baby, you sometimes try to imagine what they'll look like when they're 16. You care barely picture it because it's so far, far away. . .

Then suddenly, you're there.

Today is my sons birthday, and I'd like to say we had a really great party, but we didn't. We had a really great fight. So great in fact, that my other son decided to participate. Me against 2 bull-headed giants. Great fun.
So now I'm kinda blah and I don't feel much like writing tonight, but I'll blog what I learned today anyway.

I know what my baby looks like as a 16 year old.

I know that my 18 year old is learning what it's like to be an adult, and he doesn't like it very much.

I know that I could have been a better mom.

I'm sad. I'm tired. I'm glad tomorrow's Wednesday.

Happy Birthday P-imp! I love you.

Monday, March 12, 2007

Nature's Porn

Let me see those mating hooks, you big hairy man-spider you.Nature can be so sexy. A few years ago I saw a video of snakes mating, and it was the best porn I'd ever seen. It was so sensual and slithery and good. Then last night on TV I saw some big-ass giant spiders having sex, and not only was it interesting, it was kinda hot. I hate creepy, giant, hairy spiders more than just about anything, but when they described what was going on with these two super-sized boinking tarantulas, I was turned on physically as well as intellectually.

When male tarantulas get horny, the spin themselves a nice silky "sperm web" and rub themselves all over it. When he's finished, he'll suck up the spooge with his two little feelers and go looking for some real love. When he finds a willing she-tarantula, he carefully plays a few games of footsie with her until she rears back into threat pose. Since one bite from her can kill, he's equipped with "mating hooks" on his two front legs, which hold her dangerous fangs out of the way. Quickly, he'll run up and ram his hooks into her mouth. Then he is safe to explore her abdomen, searching for her "epigastric furrow." When he finds it, he slips one of his cum soaked feelers inside.
This can last anywhere from a few seconds to a few hours, but when he's done, he's done, and he runs away as fast as he can. About half of them don't make it out alive.

Ahhh. Precious, romantic, dangerous nature. I love it.
If only I could write porn.

Sunday, March 11, 2007


This is me.I think I met Jesus last night. He was a beautiful (and clean) homeless wanderer, and though his name wasn't actually Jesus, it was a biblical name that started with "J", and I accept him as my personal savior. This does NOT mean that I'm redeeming my Agnostic views for Christian ones, so don't start worrying that I'll be preaching religious crap on y'all.

I may have enough sordid material from last night's bar scene to be a whole chapter in the book of my crazy life, so I'll try to keep this as brief as possible. First off, I'll tell you what I learned today. Then I'll tell you how and why.

NEVER EVER go back to -x- Tavern (name held to protect the innocent, which is in this case surprisingly enough, me) ever, ever again!

So, where do I begin? It was (another) one of those nights when after arriving safely back home, I wanted to get on the floor and thank anyone and everyone that I survived and would be living to see another day.
The tavern seemed normal enough. It could have been any bar in any town on a Friday night. Dimmed lights, pool table in the back, small stage in the corner with a live band playing, and a long bar down one wall, behind which a tough-chick, tattood, cleavage bearing, loud mouth and short tempered bartender ignored me for as long as was unpolitely possible. When she finally did get my drinks, they were wrong and I had to just ball up and say, "Listen bitch, I fucking said Bushmills with Coke. With Coke damn it! Not Bushmills on ice. Now get yer perty little ass busy making what I asked for. And don't expect a tip."
Ok, you know all I really said was, "I don't think you heard me, but I said Bushmills with Coke. If you just give me a glass of Coke, I'll mix them myself." But I was thinking the fucking bitch part. Especially when she rolled her eyes and said, "I'll just make you a new one with Coke," like I was some whiney little child needing candy. Fucking bitch. Did I say that outloud?

The main reason I decided to go back to this Hell Hole (yes, I had been there once or twice before) was to check out a band I'd been wanting to see. So I'm standing there, totally enjoying myself, when Bozo the Hippy Clown wants me to dance with him. I told him I just wanted to watch the band, and then he grabs me. He grabbed my arms and starts pulling me! I was pissed and I pushed him off and gave him a "Listen mother fucker, I don't want to fucking dance with you," look but I'm sure it really looked more like, "No thanks, I'm busy right now." Then I ran like a little girl to the safety of my Colonel, who thankfully wasn't on stage yet. It was then that I realized I had abandoned my best friend's (who wasn't there yet) husband in the back over near where the killer clown was dancing maniacally with himself. I had to rescue him.
I found him trapped in retarded conversation with an strange couple, whom I was surprised to find out later had twin 2 year olds. They looked so much older than me that I instantly assumed they were one of those couples who's careers were really important and they waited too long to have kids so they adopted 2 at a time to catch up. That or fertility drugs. Wait, this story is about me. Anyway, while I'm talking to this woman about mothering stuff, Bozo pulls her out to dance. She is totally loving it, but not as much as her freaky ass, professional looking but definitely on some kind of drug husband who's about to ejaculate watching his wife dirty dancing with some dude. I mention this not because I find this unusual for this kind of scene, but because later that night, I found myself watching the same scene over and over and over again, but each time Bozo has another victim and he's right in front of me no matter where I try to hide.
Wow, this is getting long. I'll try to cut this short.
At some point in the evening I met the beautiful homeless stranger outside in front of the bar. We had some good conversation, but I left him to go inside and hear my favorite song. Later on I went outside for some fresh air, and here comes the hippy clown. Seriously, he paced around in front of me about 10 times before he started coming over to me, and I know he's going to ask me for a light. It's the usual pickup line in places like that. In 2 seconds I decide that I'm going to say no even though it was totally obvious that I did. Before he could even finish the word "do," my savior appears from nowhere with his lighter already lit, and cuts right between the clown and me. And then he walked away.
I was so relieved. This creep had been following me around all night. When he left the bar earlier, I laughed at myself for thinking he was probably a serial killer and I was his next victim. But when he returned, I was sure he'd just gone home to sharpen his knives for his next kill. A little while after that, I thought I was off the hook when some completely scary psycho chick came in that he took a liking to. Better that he cut up and eat this freak that, I'm serious, was talking complete and utter nonsense gibberish. I couldn't understand a word she said, and she said a lot. She wouldn't stop talking to me. She'd give me this serious look, blather some gibberish verbage, and 3 seconds later, give a head thrown back, toothy laugh. Over and over. Wait, I did understand something she said. She offered me 50 bucks if I'd do something, but I just couldn't understand what the something was. When I asked her to say it again, the offer had dropped to 40 bucks. When I still didn't understand what she wanted to pay me to do for her, the offer again dropped, this time to 20 bucks. I don't know which was worse, her talking to me, or the smelly clown who was dry humping her right in front of me while stepping on my feet.
Somewhere in the mess of all this, my fabulous amazing Lala arrives to claim Her husband that I've kidnapped. I decided soon after she got there, that I'm going to write a book about Her called, "My Keys Were in the Sugar." More on that later. So eventually She must brave the bartender, and even though all She wants is water, She politely stands there with cash in Her hand like a meaty bone, trying to get the bulldogs attention. It must have been 30 minutes later that I see Her (I've also decided after this next incident that when referring to Lala, a capital H is required) walk out the front door and disappear. Since freak clown is on the loose, I went looking for Her, but she was gone. Completely gone. A few minutes later, I see this Glorious Bitch best friend of mine trying to get in the front door with a giant cup of water from the restaurant next door. I can NOT contain my love, adoration and total respect for this Woman. I was super pissed when the bouncer wouldn't let Her in with it because I would have loved to see the bartenders face when She sat down at the bar with it. But I was impressed again when She told him why She did it and he took Her with him to the bar and got Her a bottle of water himself.
So there's a lot more, but my ass hurts from sitting here so long and I must go. I hope I gave a pretty good explanation as to why I won't be going back there. And I hope you can see how after a night like that, a near stranger lighting a cigarette for my stalker could seem like an angel from Heaven.

And I'd like to give Steph Lehman the credit for this image that shows exactly how I felt last night.

Saturday, March 10, 2007

Last Call

Oh no! It's almost 2am!Today I learned why Daylight Saving Time starts at 2am.

To avoid confusion in the inner drinking clocks of regular barflies, the change doesn't take place until after last call. If it were to happen earlier than that, you'd have a bunch of pissed off drunks every spring who were cheated out of an hour of booze. Plus, every autumn you get an bonus hour, and who'd complain about that?

I also learned a few trivial things about DST.

  • In Europe they call it "Summer Time" and it starts at 1am the last Sunday in March, and ends the last Sunday in October.
  • The whole idea of Daylight Saving Time was Ben Franklin's. He was a night-owl and a cheapskate who wanted to use more natural light to save money by burning less candles and using less oil in his lamps.
  • The US supposedly saves something like 300,000 barrels of oil a year by using less artificial lighting and because people spend more time outdoors. Supposedly.
  • This fall, DST is a few days later which is going to suck on Halloween. The idea was to make Halloween safer for kids (kid deaths are 4 times higher on October 31st), but really, who's going to go Trick-or-Treating in broad daylight? All that's going to happen is the kids are going to be out later and more bratty the next day. I KNOW I'm right about this.
  • In the fall, when the clocks go back an hour, Amtrak trains stop running at 2am for a full hour so their schedules don't get messed up. In the spring, they just keep going, hoping to catch up. Why don't they just change the schedules for those days?
  • There are less traffic accidents during Daylight Saving.
  • There is no "s" in Daylight Saving. It is NOT Savings.
Don't forget to set your clocks ahead tonight!

Friday, March 09, 2007


Well, cable TV has done me in. I even left the "Press Club" meeting early this evening. Not just because I'm having the Pavlovian response to the words, "Press club" by having "liver quivers", I have a new favorite show called Xica. To tell you the truth, I don't really feel like writing about it. I just want to go watch some more. Terrible, I know.
Here's a little clip, so hopefully you'll understand. It's a true story about a sexy, kick-ass, black slave girl in Brazil during the mid-19th century. Known for her sexual prowess, she obtained her own freedom by sexually manipulating powerful patriarchical figures. She ultimately became a Brazilian folk hero, and now she's mine. Part of what makes the show great is that it's in Spanish. I can't understand a word of it, but I understand everything.
Since I'm completely handicapped at using the cable remote control, I can't tell you how to get there. I hope you can figure it out by yourself.

Thursday, March 08, 2007

The Real Jethro Tull

Farmer and FlautistWhen I was doing some reading about dry farming yesterday, I saw the name Jethro Tull somewhere in the mix, which prompted me to take another look today.

The original Jethro was a farmer in the early 18th century. Not being satisfied with his crop yields due to the haphazard seed planting methods employed by his workmen, Tull decided to make a machine that would do it better. And he did. Inspired by the workings of an organ, (the musical kind you pervs) he rigged up a device he called a "seed drill," that could dig the holes, plant the seeds, and cover them up, three rows at a time. Not only did he waste less seeds this way, he also had less weeding to do since the seeds weren't cast about and growing everywhere. Like me, he must have hated weeding because he also refused to fertilize his crops with manure, figuring that horse shit would contain weed seeds.
Like a lot of inventors before their time, he took a lot of crap for his ideas. It took about a hundred years before the world caught on, and a lot of his seemingly neurotic farming notions can be seen today.

The folk (or whatever the hell you'd call that music) band Jethro Tull got their name from a booking agent, who was also a history buff. Back when they were just starting out, they must have sucked ass because they would often change their name just to get repeat gigs. When they actually got a call-back using the old farmers name, they decided to keep it.

Coincedentally, last night we caught something on TV, thanks to the cable we've yet to shut off, called, "The Rolling Stones Rock and Roll Circus," which had JT as the opening song.
Luckily I missed that part. The seed drill I understand. Mick Jagger I understand. The music of Jethro Tull, I just don't get.

Wednesday, March 07, 2007

Lunch Lessons with Lala

These baby's have been dry-farmed. Can you tell? Neither can I.Long Lovely Lunch with Lala Lora today, Lounging Like Lizards in the sun. Sounds like page 12 of the Wine Country Divas Animalia book, doesn't it? Well, if I have my way, it will be. Learn your ABC's with the Divas! Maybe next week.
But I did have a nice long lunch with Lala today, where we talked about everything under the spastic, semi-cloud covered sun, Literally Lounging in Lounge chairs. We talked about things like capitalizing on the owners of spoiled-ass dogs who send their poochies to dog spas, (it's true I'm afraid) to the joys of picky-bitch brides coming to the wine country for a storybook wedding. We complained about stupid people, marveled at the brilliant, and dreamed some more of starting our own country. The usual conversations. But while we were discussing which local winery I should choose for my next writing project, Lora said something I'd never heard of before. When I asked her what the hell she meant, she calmly explained it to me.

"Dry farming" is what some grape growers do to produce a smaller, higher quality grape. By not watering their vineyards, the vines get stressed-out and start producing small amounts of tiny, yet intense, little grapes. It's supposed to give them a totally different flavor, and make a better Zin. It only works with old, well established vines with deep roots.

I don't know much about wine, which is surprising since I've lived all but 3 years of my life surrounded by vineyards and wineries. I do know that my favorite is called Malbec, and thanks to Lora I now know that it's a "Rhone varietal," which I'm guessing means it originates from France. All I know about it is that it's red, I like it, and the top candidate for my winery writing project is growing it. And watering it too.

Tuesday, March 06, 2007

Exported Files and Gemstones

Soon to be THE birthstone, given to all children at birth to celebrate new life.Today I learned a few things at work, that amazingly enough, I didn't know already. What a bragger eh? But it's true. I'm actually learning new things at work. It seems like its been a long time.

We're getting ready to do our first "e-blast" and I needed to get our e-mail list from our address book to our new "self service direct marketing" peeps. So I exported our list to my hard drive, and then imported it into their whatever you call it. The file I used was a .csv file, but I didn't really care. It could have been .monkey for all it mattered to me. But when I read the formats needed for a successful transfer blah blah blah, I got nervous because I didn't understand what they were talking about. Delimit what? Comma how? Then somehow, in a freaky flash not unlike that migraine I got yesterday, I saw it. I got it. I can't explain it now, but like the lingering scent of salmon when we attempt to cook it at home, here is what remains in my brain.

CSV stands for Comma Separated Value.

That's it. I know, boring and stupid.
I don't completely understand why it's important to separate comma's or whatever. I think it has something to do with getting the right field information transferred into the correct corresponding field or something, but I don't really care. I was just excited that I figured the shit out and it worked.

I also learned some stuff about one of our new stones, Tanzanite.

It used to be called "Zoisite." Tiffany's fell in love with it and wanted to use it in their breakfast, I mean jewelry, but they thought the name sounded too much like "suicide." Since suicide doesn't really sell, at least not at places like Tiffany's, they decided they would re-name it after the East African state where it was discovered, Tanzania. Ironically enough, legends say that Tanzanite relieves depression.

I'm attracted to this stone because we have a lot in common. We were both discovered in the same year, we both get better with heat treatment, and we're both amazingly beautiful. Plus, as of 2002, it's my birthstone. Thankfully. There's only so much Turquoise a girl can wear.
And I love that according to another legend, it's been said to "cause an integration of etheric desires and physical realities."
Just like me.

Monday, March 05, 2007

Water on Glass

My eyes are freaking out right now.
I can only see with the left one because my right is totally blurry.
I might be getting a migraine.

Sunday, March 04, 2007

Food Power

This plate could drive a car for approximately 1 mile.For a long time now I've been wanting to hook my computer up to a bicycle and power it like the radio on Gilligans Island. I used to ride my bike to work every once in a while, and wondered how much Ben and Jerry's it took to get me the 5 mile round-trip. When the Colonel showed me something interesting he saw this morning about calories and exercise, I started doing some math.
If my calculations are correct:

I could eat a whole quart and ride to work, back home, and to the office again the next day, just on Chunky Monkey.

If I drank a gallon of gas, I could ride for 6 months! Of course I can't drink gasoline, but I could, maybe, drink a gallon of vegetable oil, which contains the same amount of calories.
OR, I could just use the 2 and 1/4 gallons of gas equivalent that I have stored in my ass.
I also learned that:

You could drive a car for approximately 50 miles with the energy stored in 123 Big Mac's from McDonalds. If you know how to use a vacuum cleaner, you could run it for an hour and a half on just one.

Alright, now I'm getting crazy, and I need to go pick up my son who is approximately 30 Big Mac's away from here. When I get back, I'm going to figure out how much of this blog I could have written if I had the Professors bamboo bicycle trick, using the Chinese food I just ate.

Saturday, March 03, 2007

Meez and Youz

This could be me!

I just spent the last two hours playing with this site I found today.

This could be me, except there was no button to add 20 pounds.

Thursday, March 01, 2007

Scheme, Connive, and Maneuver As Well As Any Man

I'll probaby be a goddamn celebrity someday!
Wow, we just had a little earthquake a few minutes ago. How fun! I like the little ones. I was just sitting here trying to decide who I was going to write about tonight, Matilda Joslyn Gage or Anna Ella Carroll, and since I was looking at a picture of the latter when my desk started rattling, I'm taking it as a sign. Today is the first day of the National Women's History Month, so I wanted to learn about some of those UN-well-behaved women who did make history.

During the civil war, President Abraham Lincoln took military strategic advice from Anna Ella Carroll that helped kick serious ass against the Confederacy. Of course, because she was a woman, Lincoln decided "for political and military reasons," it was better not to tell anyone. Yet. He promised that he'd give her public recognition later, but he went and got himself assassinated before he actually did. The only real recognition she received was indirect, and by another cool woman. In 1864, Francis B. Carpenter did a painting of Lincoln and his cabinet signing the Emancipation Proclamation, where she left an empty chair for the "unrecognized member of the cabinet."

Chair reserved for Anna Ella Carroll.
Among many other military and political things Anna spent her life working on, one was a writer. She wrote articles for several newspapers, and in the 1850's wrote a book, The American Battle, which was about political corruption at the polls.

Political corruption at the polls, even in the 1850's. Wow. I guess.

Now it's your turn. Go learn about some amazing women in history. Here's a good place to start, the National Women's History Project.