You are currently browsing the monthly archive for December 2007.

The Singing Bee is THE WORST SHOW EVER to be broadcast on television.

I swear that this whole writers’ strike is really just a plot by the cable company to get me to pay for viewing pleasure beyond what my rabbit ears capture from atop my 1996 television, even though I spend a total of 5 nights a month actually staying at my apartment. How can I live in a world that cancels Arrested Development after 3 seasons and allows this shit to pollute the innocent viewing public?

So tomorrow morning I am off to Port Clinton, Ohio for the world famous New Year’s Eve Walleye Drop. Home of Wylie Walleye, every one’s favorite giant papier mache fish. Strung up by crane to a towering height of, I would guess, about 20 ft, so he can slowly be lowered upon the townspeople as they count down from 10 to the new year. Goofy? Yes. Anti-climatic? Well, yes. Fun? Oh hell yes! If you are one of those people that prefers the bit out of the ordinary …likes to seek out traditions, funness, adventures of a different breed. …loves to be around small town folk when they have had a few too many, then the Walleye Drop is just for you. For those who think I jest, or want to look for me on the live Web cam at the evening’s festivities – http://www.walleyedrop.com/.

Personally, I think it is hugely preferred to standing in Times Square amongst millions of drunk people peeing on themselves. Actually, its also hugely preferred to paying obscene $$ to be at a bar or club or anywhere, where you wish the annoying people would just go piss on themselves.

We all say it (in whiny voice)- “New Year’s Eve is overrated. Always the biggest let down ever. Huge build-up. Never fun.” Yet we continue to plan for it year after year like this time around somehow the $475 for 2 drinks, a reserved table, and a crap DJ will all be worth it for the ‘magical experience’.

I like papier mache. Sounds like a perfect project for when I return.

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So I live in a complex that surrounds a courtyard. We are talking mini-courtyard. As in, I can talk in my ‘sit on the couch next to someone conversation’ voice and have a perfectly audible chat with the person on the balcony across the yard from me. There are four floors, 12 apts on each, so 48 apartments facing said courtyard. Who… in their right mind, that is not a total inconsiderate asshole, hangs a fecking wind chime on their balcony? I get it. Some people like that irritating tinkling metallic sound. Personally, I put it up there with the shriek of an ironing board when you unfold it (have you EVER opened one that didn’t shriek?). Come on people. Hang it in your room with a freaking fan in front of it if you cannot live without. Please don’t subject, no matter how unreasonable and bitter they may be, your otherwise peaceful neighbors to your bullshit “I got this along highway 290 in an art shop outside Fredericksburg” noise making trinket collection.
End Rant.

So, I will go back to bed and try this counting sheep thing again. My friend’s lovely mother, who turned 80 this year I believe, told me today that counting sheep really does work. She said that sometimes she sees goats instead of sheep, which I love because I love goats, but that is a totally different story. Anyway, she said it stops you from thinking about all the other crap running through your mind keeping you awake.

So I envisioned a fence, because I think that is what you are supposed to do. And I placed hundreds of sheep on one side of it, counting them as they jumped the fence one by one. Problem is… next thing I knew there were sheep jumping willy nillie. Sometimes four at a time. Some of them crawling under the fence. Some of them simply going around it. It was like a stampede. I couldn’t keep track of them all. …This scenario makes it sound like I really did smoke crack earlier. But I am not shitting you.

So I put up a wall. With a door. And only let one sheep out at a time. They still overpowered me and came rushing through faster than any human brain could ever calculate. This is supposed to help me sleep?!

Please. Share suggestions that don’t include Tylenol PM or draining another bottle of wine.

Meanwhile I will lay here and listen to the music of the wind chime, periodically masked by the screeching sound of a train going by, the running toilet of the apartment next door or the sound of yet another text message coming in from the millions of people that sent out mass “Merry Xmas” messages today to everyone in their phone logs.

Sweet dreams ATX.

So I know I explained the whole traumatizing experience when I was 2 and chased by a peacock at the zoo. That was the inciting incident of my fear and loathing of birds. The swallows that dive bombed me while I mowed the lawn in Omaha (seriously, my neighbor mowed with a tennis racket), the pigeon that dropped green poo on my head in NY, and the irritating bird crap and noise that came with my ex neighbor who we referred to as Ace Ventura, did not help matters. I am telling you, there is something about birds. They know things. They know I am afraid and they mock me. I have witnesses. Every time I am around them they swoop extra close to me or come way nearer to my food than I am at all comfortable with.

Anyway, today I made a breakthrough. I shared a moment with the birds. I sat outside to eat my lunch at Whole Foods. This in itself was a huge accomplishment as anyone who has been there knows this area is shared with the birds- as equals. At first my skin was crawling but then I formed a special bond with a bird that had a stub for one leg. He was bathing in the water, flying around, and seemed pretty darn happy. Not sure how you know if a bird is happy but just go with it. Anyway, I don’t what all of this means, but for some reason I don’t think it is creepy any more that every day at 5:30pm millions and millions of birds line themselves up on every tree, building edge, electrical wire and stoplight pole along 6th street. All of them at the same time. All of them facing the same way…

Wait… that IS still creepy! There are no other animals that come out en mass like this, line themselves up exactly 61/2 inches apart and chat with each other. Wouldn’t we think it was weird if all the mice or all the squirrels in the city lined themselves up at the side of the same road every day at the same time… as if they were watching a parade? (Would be kind of funny actually) And where does it end? At the city line? How far out can a bird live and still participate this ritual? Are there jurisdictions? HOW DO THEY KNOW?!! What the hell is this all about? I wouldn’t put birds toward the top of the animal list for brains. So how do they orchestrate this? Don’t give me that whole “instinct” thing either. Migration? yes. Mating? yes. Billions of bats off to find insects for dinner at the same time? yes. But gathering for a massive city bird meeting (bird-thirty) every evening? Creepy. Somebody should look into this.

Meanwhile, it is Christmas Eve. I am by myself at home in Austin, as everyone took off for the Holidays. Since I have spent every 3 days for the past year either packing or unpacking a suitcase, trekking through multiple airports, or driving back and forth between Houston and Austin, I opted to stay put for this Christmas. I am beginning to regret it because I do miss my family, although I just saw them at Thanksgiving. So I finished my shopping, cleaned my apartment, baked my dish to take to my friend’s house tomorrow, and now I am sitting here bored out of my mind and only have 3 channels. Trying… to… resist…fancy…bottle of wine…from…client…

Screw it. Cheers and Merry Christmas!

Allow me to continue my rant on plane behavior for a moment here. After cat lady put her giant fluffy white cat back in the mesh bag and took her seat across the aisle from me I heard a strange voice say “Scuze me lady. We’re going to be your neighbors!” I looked up to see a woman with short short curly hair, think Annie, motioning for me to get up so she and her very docile (maybe sedated?) husband could squeeze into the seats next to me. As they made their way into the row with various pieces of luggage, knapsacks, food items etc. (essential for the marathon flight between Austin and Houston), I was surprised to see that Alas! There was some longer curly hair pulled into a ponytail on the back side of this woman’s head. It is important for me to point out to you the mullet-in-disguise, to hopefully prepare you for the disturbing behavior that ensued.

Once the couple finished situating themselves and all the items that would help them pass the time during the treacherous 29 minutes that lie ahead, we all settled in and prepared for take off. Again, this flight is 29 minutes from take off to landing. For the next 20 minutes, the lovely lady next to me whined, fidgeted, and let out an uncountable number of heavy sighs while moving from head on tray, head on husband, head on tray, head on husband, just trying to fall asleep. 29 minutes people.

Then, with about 2 minutes left of flight time, she figured it out! It was her uncomfortable bra that was keeping her from sleeping through this unbearably long flight. So what did she do? Well, she did what any sane person in her situation would do. She removed her bra! Mid flight, small plane, 29 minutes.

She was not a small person, she was not a young person, she definitely did not have small boobs, and she did think that it was appropriate to take her bra off so she could make it through the last two minutes of flight 457 to Houston in comfort.

Now all of us women know the trick to taking your bra off with out exposing the ladies. And we have all been in a time and place where it was called for. That is not the issue here. 29 minute flight. Let’s avoid the possibility of making the humans around us uncomfortable by refraining from taking our pets out and removing our bras when we are trapped in a small capsule in the sky.

Unacceptable small plane behavior that I witnessed today:
Cat out of bag
Taking bra off
Taking shoes, AND Socks off (29 minutes)
Bringing 2 large pieces of luggage and a backpack on a small commuter flight without checking them.
Bringing 2 large pieces of luggage and a backpack on a small commuter flight without checking them, while being the last person to get on the plane, then bitching about having no where to put your 10 days worth of shit.
Being the last person on the plane, putting your luggage above row 23, sitting in row 3, but not letting people get off before you go all the way back to 23 to grab your shit and get off the plane.

I feel better. Thanks folks. I am on the same flight back to Austin this evening. Will let you know how it goes.

1. I talked to the first cute boy in ages, only to find out my straw was hanging from my hair due to sticky lipgloss residue that caused it to be snatched right out of my vodka soda.
2. HP and I sought advice from two policemen on where to meet single men in town, only to find out even public servants find us pathetic.
3. We signed up for the AT&T half marathon, only to find out we hate running.
4. I briefly dated an auto mechanic, only to find out he was so lazy he didn’t offer to get his ass off the couch and come help when I had two flat tires.
5. I moved away from the building 3 motley crew and took up residence downtown, only to find out that my favorite bar did not move with me.
6. I tried to be healthy and take vitamins, only to find out I was slowly poisoning myself with toxic levels of Vitamin A. (Feck being healthy)
7. The fecking trail of lights came to town.
10. I rode in the weinermobile.

That about sums it up. Glad to be back.

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