We're Rocking Now

Woooo, it sucks coming to work after having a great weekend. The Rib Fest was all it was cracked up to be. It was a bit cold and raining, but that did not stop me and Alissa from getting our bar-b-que on. We met so many nice people. Cameo and the Time played a great set. We danced, people laughed at us. My husband was kind enough to drop us off, and then pick us up. Good thing, we were in no shape to drive. Alissa spent the night and we got breakfast the next morning. Then I took a nap. It was a great day.

Sunday we finally saw Star Wars III. BIG SPOILER - IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN THE FILM, DON'T READ THE REST OF THIS PARAGRAPH. I got a bit weepy that Darth Vader did everything for love. I knew Anakin got messed up, but geez! You get not only your one good arm cut off, but your legs as well. Then you catch on fire. Replacement parts are screwed into your bloody stumps with no painkillers, then you find out your wife died by your own hand. Talk about a bad day.

More bar-b-que that night. You'd think I wouldn't want any more ribs after Friday's food fest, but I ate with gusto. Too much, because I was up all night with a horrible case of heartburn. Monday we were supposed to go on a 34 mile ride, but both ends of my anatomy were screaming in pain, (shouldn't have ate those beans.) Hubby went by himself. I felt so guilty I cleaned the whole house, finished the laundry, and even put his clothes away for him. He came home, mumbled something about hills, and passed out on the living room floor. So glad I skipped that.

The Mrs. Universe pageant was on last night. Those of you with testosterone probably missed it. Here's a quick wrap-up specifically written for you:
The countries introduce themselves wearing the same dress. A lot of boobs.
They come out in their country costumes. Lots of leg, and lots of boobs.
They whittle the girls down to 15.
Evening gowns. Dominican Republic's dress was the most perfect dress I have ever seen. The cut, the fabric, the freaking ton of jewels sewn into it. White without being a bit virginal, it was breathtaking. Switzerland dress was stunning, too, if you like mermaids. I concentrated on the dresses until I saw USA walk on stage. What kind of brick did she have up her butt? She walked like she'd been raised by John Wayne and the Elephant Man. It was horrifying. Indonesia was hot enough to clear my mind. She took a big risk on her evening gown choice. It looked like Big Bird and Snuffaluffagus created it. Trinidad &Tobago was gorgeous in that mu-mu. Very tropic, good color. Israel looked like she had a tail, or a long, golden poop. Greece went the Lil' Kim route with half her dress being a pasty. Puerto Rico rocked in her S&M ensemble.
The Final Ten are announced. Girls cry. Girls squeal. Boobs jiggle.
Next up: Swimsuits.
They were hideous. The losers came out and did a little jiggly dance in flesh colored bikini's. The the big 10 come out. They got to wear sheer capes, but the suit was the same color as ugly. They pranced. They turned. Canada looks good in a bikini. Switzerland has legs to heaven. Latvia is just plain hot. USA, again with the cowboy walk, was turned up to high speed. Israel worked that shit like someone should get her a pole.
Final Five. Ha-ha, USA got the boot.
The final question. But first, a dedication to the Tsunami victims, please, a moment of silence. Then, Mexico, tell us what book you would recommend to someone? All five questions were trivial. All five contestants fumbled through them. More boobs.
Final walks. A run down of the winners many prizes. The old Universe takes her final walk. Canada is the winner! Jumps, boobs, jiggling, women hugging each other.
Credits.

Now, back to work.

Can you say "Ribs?"

Rib Fest, Rib Fest, we goin' to da Rib Fest. For those of you unfamiliar with this phenomenon, lots and lots of bar-b-que connoisseurs gather in our fair city to smoke each other out and stuff the patrons with as much protein as humanly possible. Pulled pork, pulled beef, beef brisket, hot dogs, chicken, bratwurst, and RIBS, baby. Not to mention a few sides of onion blossoms, spuds, fries, sweet corn, ice cream, milk shakes, and deep fried Oreos. Mmmmm- mmmm. We're going to have to push our stomachs home in a wheel barrow. Tonight, we will sleep like the dead.

My best friend actually suggested this event...and that's why she's my best friend. I mean, we'll have to wash all this meat down with gallons of beer, that's the only way to truly enjoy good bar-b-que, right? No one can drink like us. We are an alcoholic tag-team apocalypse. My poor husband, he's the designated driver and God bless him for it. It's a good thing we entertain him or we'd be up Budweiser creek without a paddle.

You'd think I wouldn't want to see that much food after spending last weekend in Chicago. But this ain't no fu-fu affair of shrimp cocktail and chilled crab. This is the domain of butt-crack sporting, beer-bellied, stubbly-faced bearing construction workers and league bowlers. Real food. Fat food. If-you-drop-it-on-your-shirt-it-will-be-licked-off-by-a-stranger food.

The only thing I don't like is the tickets. You have to buy tickets, then exchange the tickets for food and beer. Why? This is just one unnecessary step delaying the inevitable. Just take my cash and give me the goods, no middle man needed. I'm not riding a roller coaster or playing skee ball here, I came to eat. Money - food, money - beer, see how easy that is?

But no bother, the chow-down is on no matter how many ticket booths I have to tip over to get there.

Yeah-bo-oy!

:: how jedi are you? ::

Grrrrrrrrrr

Today is a good day to stay away from me. My husband is holding out on me again. He can go weeks without having sex. A few days without it and I get extremely crabby. Like right now. I guess he's too tired from playing all those video games. And he wonders why I drink.

I have driven through some form of construction on my way to work for the last five years running. I hate construction. It causes nothing but a migraine. But today I actually got a little entertainment out of it. Some asshole in a little sports car thought he'd be clever and try to cut in at the last moment (you know, two lanes become one. Instead of getting in line, he shoots to the front and tries to barge his way in.) Well, of course, some little old lady lets the asshole in. But asshole is talking on the cell phone, and when he cuts in he's going a bit too fast. He runs into the newly dug hole that the rest of us have been avoiding and pops his front passenger tire. The hubcap goes flying off towards one set of workers while he screeches to a halt a few inches away from another set of workers. The looks on their faces! It would have been so much better if he had just mowed them all down, then I wouldn't have to put up with his stupidity for the next 10 - 20 years. Eh, but I guess the construction would have to stop in order to process the crime scene. Ok, they can live.

A co-worker of mine is going on vacation and wants me to do some of her work while she's gone. I don't mind, but she takes forever to get to the point and insists on telling me how to do her job exactly the same way she does. Listen, sister, as long as the end result is a completed job, shut up and go away. And yes, I know how to print without you giving me a tutorial. Just because she's 40 years older than I am doesn't mean I'm an imbecile.

Speaking of imbecile's, I can't believe Carrie won American Idol last night. Now it's confirmed, most of America is retarded. I wonder if they are the same majority that voted for Bush?

I have to go kill something. Have a great day.

The Joy of the Windy City

I love Chicago, I really do. The people, the look, the feel, and everything is so big. Chicago always gives me a sense of living that I haven't found anywhere else. When I'm in Chicago, I feel that I can quite literally do anything. My husband and I went to Chicago this weekend to tour the Food Show. I'll explain.

When I lived in Savannah I worked for a catering company. The owners, J and A, operated the business out of their home. They have since grown and now have their own building, but back then it was common to clean up the mess, grab a drink from the kitchen, and jump in the heated pool before heading home. J and A became very good friends of ours. When we left Savannah and came to St. Louis, we kept in contact. J and A are the kind of people you rarely find in a lifetime. The kind of people that make you feel comfortable, the kind that make you laugh non-stop and enjoy being alive. People like this you hold on to with everything you have. They came to Chicago for the NRA show, that's the National Restaurant Association's Convention and Trade show. The Food Show.

Food show indeed. All we did was eat. We started off with breakfast at the Four Seasons hotel. How to describe this mastery of buffets.... There was so much good food just lying around begging to be eaten that it should have been illegal. We sat seven stories up with a wonderful view of Lake Michigan gorging ourselves on lobster bisque and veal Marcela. We drank an endless supply of mimosas. The dessert table was almost too beautiful to touch. Almost. It's just so good. We rolled out of the hotel and headed towards McCormick Center.

Before us stood rows and rows of tables and booths, every vendor of every kind hawking their wares and giving out free samples. Wine, champagne, hot dogs, desserts, bacon, caviar, gelato, and fried chicken just to name a few. Free pens, free bags, free coupons, and brochures were tossed at us like we were Cesar returning from war. Ben & Jerry's gave us a free scoop. Coke gave us free samples of their vodka key lime lemonade (we went back a few more times just to make sure it was good). The ice carving competition was a bit disappointing, they were always just starting when we went down to the show room. Big blocks of ice are not impressive. We saw silver serving trays and glassware that defied imagination. Cooking demonstrations caused bottle necks, the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders were there. The fifth Beetle was there signing autographs. (I didn't know he existed, either).

Dinner that night at The Saloon was magnificent. It was a wonder any of us could eat, but we all managed it. The next day we woke up and did the same thing all over again. For dinner that night we went to Mike Ditka's restaurant. Ladies, if you are single and looking, go to Ditka's. You'll walk in alone but leave married, maybe pregnant. The caliber of men there is *kiss* magnifique. And there are so many of them. Warning, the testosterone levels in that place could cause you boobs to shrink, so keep it short.

With heavy hearts (and sore feet) hubby and I said farewell to our friends and rolled back to the hotel to put on the fat pants. Those two days flew by all too quickly. Every moment is a good memory. Martinis at the Inter-Continental. Watching the clouds swirl around the John Hancock building. Seeing Millennium Park for the first time. Sigh...

Back to the real world now where we're treated like commoners.

So it begins...

As you may know, I work for a university. It's one of the top ten universities in the nation (yep, I'm proud), so it's pretty pricey. Lot's of rich, snooty kids running around here. Them I don't mind. Today is graduation, so this campus is crawling with the scourge of society that I simply can not stand. Their parents.

We have some pretty rich people walking the campus these last two days. There is a sheik or two, plenty of WASPs, and lots of affluent Orientals (they are snappy dressers, I gotta tell ya). A celebrity or two will probably show up as well, along with their entourage. All walking around with their butts in the air waiting for them to be kissed. All thinking this University is blessed to have educated their child. And all suffering from Parent's Syndrome.

A little background on Parent's Syndrome. When we come out screaming, blind, wet, and cold, a parents job has just begun. They have to feed us, clothe us, rock us, and clean our butts. They teach us the fundamentals such as eating, drinking, pooping, and sleeping through the night. Slowly, through age and education, we begin to develop as individuals. We go to school, fall in love, get into sports, and decide our futures. Yet, not without the constant guidance (and critiquing) of our parents. They tell us what we can and cannot do, when we come home, who we see on a regular basis. Some are better at it than others, but most parents keep a constant leash on their children.

When we grow up and go away to college Parents get what is referred to as "Empty Nest Syndrome." This is actually the shock of finding out that their job is over. Their kids have dreams and aspirations of their own. That Princess and Junior have their own lives outside of the scope of parental control. Most parents find this very hard, so they cling to each and every facet of control they still have. These are their children, after all, and they are usually footing the bill for Princess and Junior college. So if they say jump, Princess and Junior still have to do it.

(In actuality, the second the cord is cut a child is independent from their parent. The growing process is just preparation for the child entering the world as an adult. Contrary to popular belief, children are not for the purpose of re-living the parents fantasies or dreams. They are not extensions of the parent, they have their own personalities. Once they stop shitting in a diaper, they aren't even children anymore. They are people, a lot of parents have a very hard time seeing them as such.)

Anyway, when Princess and Junior graduate from college, Mommy and Daddy have lost everything. There is no more control. Princess and Junior are going out into the world to sink or swim and the parents can't do a damn thing about it. The last official day of parental control is the day they graduate, and by golly, these parents are going to cling onto each and every second of it. This is parent's syndrome. They are losing their control, so they will try to control as much as they can in the short time they have left. All parents suffer from it, but it's the rich that take it to an obnoxious level.

They throw things like respect and manners out the window. They bark orders and expect them to be obeyed. Not just by their kids, but by everyone else within a three block radius. They are the PARENTS, Kings and Queens of the Universe. Hear the beating of the chests, hear the mighty roars. They still have to prove that they are the top dog. Unfortunately, anyone who looks as young as their child/children gets treated with the same rude disregard.

Like me.

For example: One year I was standing in the back of the courtyard watching the proceedings. I was standing by a door. A woman who looked to be in her 50's opens the door violently, hitting me in the process. She looks at me, registers my age, gives me the once over to register my monitory status, then turns away like I am a piece of trash. I'm a kid, she doesn't need to apologize to a child. If I had been closer to her age or dripping in diamonds she would have probably said excuse me. I'll never know. What I do know is I followed the bitch and when she bent down to talk to a young child, I ran her ass over. Do you think I turned to say excuse me? Oh, I turned all right, but I looked at her like she was an invalid and walked away.

These parents push people aside instead of saying excuse me. They demand directions and don't say thank you. They walk through a door that is being opened for them without so much as a nod of gratitude. They give everyone The Look. You know, the I've-just-smelled-a-dead-fish look. When undergrads bring their parents to my building to show them their work (those that will be staying on as grad students), they take great care in not touching anyone or anything, like we're all diseased. And God forbid if their child didn't make straight A's in every subject. It must be the fault of the professor, because little Johnny most certainly couldn't have failed a class on his own.

I detest being here during graduation. It's heartbreaking to watch so many student's day of glory being trampled by overbearing parents.

George Galloway and the U.S. Smackdown

It's about damn time a person with intelligence and a strong grasp of the English language blasted the US about it's own practices. I'm sure you've heard about the British MP who was called to comment about his alleged participation in the oil-for-food scandal. Instead of being crushed by the machine, he gave America a big fat taste of it's own medicine.

Here's a few quotes:

"I was an opponent of Saddam Hussein when British and American governments and businessmen were selling him guns and gas."

"On the very first page of your document about me, you assert that I have had many meetings with Saddam Hussein. This is false," Mr Galloway said. "I have had two meetings with Saddam Hussein, once in 1994 and once in August 2002. By no stretch of the English language can that be described as many meetings. In fact I've met him exactly the same number of times as Donald Rumsfeld met him. The difference is that Donald Rumsfeld met him to sell him guns and to give him maps the better to target those guns."

"You have nothing on me, Senator (Norm Coleman, MN), except my name on lists of names from Iraq, many of which have been drawn up after the installation of your puppet government in Iraq.

"Now I know that standards have slipped over the last few years in Washington, but for a lawyer, you are remarkably cavalier with any idea of justice."

Boo-yah! Does our own government honestly think the rest of this world buys into the lies and bullshit that they have been telling? Half of their own country doesn't believe them, why should other countries? I hope this is a beginning of a trend. If other countries continue to lambast our President and his stupid cabinet members, something might actually be done about it. They might actually have to start telling the truth. They might actually find themselves on their asses come next election.

They might actually have to take responsibility for their own actions! Wow, wouldn't that be great.

The Bicycle Chronicles Continue

I discovered an interesting new facet of bicycling this weekend. It's called headwind. I have to say, I don't like it. My husband and I took a drive down to St. Genevieve, MO, to ride there. We got to cross the Old Miss on a ferry. Twice. I think I would have enjoyed the ferry ride a lot more if I weren't hanging over the side panting and watching the swirly water laugh at me.

It was a windy day. A very windy day. The first two miles of the ride were quite pleasant, then we rode to the top of a levy and all enjoyment went bye-bye. Hurricane gusts of 20-25 mph winds slammed into us continuously. If it wasn't trying to knock my over sideways, it was trying to push me backwards. I had to pedal going downhill. How's that fair? I pushed and pushed against the wind for the longest five miles of my life. On flat land. Turtles passed me.

We came to a small town and stopped at the general store. I couldn't feel my legs or arms and my face was burning. My ears were ringing. I had sand in my teeth. I woofed down a Snicker's like there was a million dollar prize at the end of it. The thought of continuing for 15 more miles made me cry. Luckily, we changed direction and had the wind at our backs the rest of the way. It was the best ride we've done yet. You can bet your ass I'll be checking the weather channel for our next ride. Any wind over 5 mph, I'm calling it a day.

No means no, a-hole

I had an interesting lunch. At work there was a photo exhibition by some of the graduating seniors. I was looking through them when I saw a boy, he couldn't have been more than 18 or 19, sitting at an empty table. He was wearing some sort of dirty burger uniform and had a comb sticking out of his hair. I glanced at him and then went back to the photo's. As I got closer I could feel him staring at me. That creepy, stalker kind of stare. I turned around to glare at him. He gave me a nod and said, in a smooth, dramatically deep voice, "How you doin?"
"I'm married," I replied.
"What's that supposed to mean?" he asks, giving me the "Who, me?" face.
"It means I'm not interested."
"So?"

I roll my eyes and turn to leave when he says, and this is soooo original, "I can treat you better than you man."

Uh-huh. Let me think about that. My man owns the home that I live in. My man makes a damn good salary and spends a pretty good portion of it on me. My man commands respect, owns his own car, and can buy his own expensive boy-toys. My man doesn't have to wear polyester to work. My man bathes regularly. And my man doesn't sit around with a comb sticking out of his nappy hair using bad English to hit on women.

I turn and give a him a very short laugh. I slowly give him the once over, making sure he knows that I'm measuring him up. In my most disgusted voice I said, "I seriously doubt that."

What is it about men? Guys, when you hit on a woman, and she says no, she means it. There isn't some secret code that means "I'm saying no but I really mean yes." When we tell you to get lost - get lost. If we are interested in you, we will talk to you. If not, cut your losses and try someone else. If we're wearing wedding rings and tell you to go away, we REALLY mean it. Taken, unavailable, off-limits, spoken for, not interested, got it?

It's insulting to be doing something as ordinary as looking at photos and have some burger dork hit on me. I'm not looking to be sexually harassed today, thank you. Contrary to popular male belief, women do not want it all the time. And certainly not from someone who looks like they still live with their mom.

I guess any loser that hits on every woman that comes within five feet of him, eventually he'll find one with enough low self esteem to say yes. It sure as hell won't be me.

What happened to SNL?

I usually don't watch Saturday Night Live because, let's face it, the last few years haven't been that great. But I watched this last Saturday because Will Farrell was hosting. C'mon, Will Farrell! That has to be funny, no?

No.

Aside from the Jeopardy sketch, the whole thing was one big yawn. Like always, the skits were dull and went on for way to long. "I'm Nuny, and this is my wife, Nuny, and our son, Nuny." Boring! Even Weekend Update sucked, they made fun of Paula Abdul, ooooh, there's a stretch!

Politically there is a goldmine of things to make fun of. Isn't it sweeps month, couldn't they have spoofed Survivor, The Apprentice, or The Bachelor? Everybody Loves Raymond is ending, and they couldn't have done anything with that? How many celebrities out there are doing dumb-ass things that just beg to be made fun of? Have I mentioned political humor?

What happened to the edginess? What happened to the shocking yet totally true humor that propelled SNL into the comedic hall of fame in the first place? Are they that afraid of the FCC? Would they rather bore their audience to tears with sketches that don't even make sense than try to comment on the state of this nation? I mean, hello, Bush does something stupid every day. SNL used to be the thinking man's comedy show, but now it's more for zombies.

There hasn't been a classic SNL moment since Christopher Walken asked for more cow bell. SNL is lame. The writer's suck. They don't know when to freaking quit. They also can't tell when a skit bombs because a few weeks later, they pull it out again. They don't know how to use the talent of their hosts (Drew Barrymore's night was a complete waste of time), and they don't take any risks anymore. Mad TV is bolder and funnier. Old reruns of In Living Color put them to shame.

It's about time SNL realizes that they had a good run, but nothing lasts forever. Kill it before it becomes truly embarrassing.

Today's top story - "College Grad's Illiterate"

I so wish I could tell you which University I word for, but that would be just a bit too identifying and I've already had one run-in with a stalker...

It is the end of the semester, and the kiddies are packing up their cars and U-Hauls and going home. There is a road that goes through the center of the University. It is a very narrow road. There are signs plastered all over one side stating "Do not park here to unload," and "No parking this side of road at anytime."

How many cars do you think are parked on that side of the road right now? There were two this morning. I had my windows down and couldn't help but yell, "Can't fucking read, moron?" They've paid $58,000 or more to graduate from one of the top ten universities in the country, but they can't figure out that a parked car blocks traffic?

And their parents? Oh, don't even get me started. Yesterday I put out the final exams for one of my classes. Now, there are two ways a student can get their exam. They can have them put in the racks, metal racks located outside the classroom in another building, or they can elect to have their exams held back (usually by the TA) and collect them by hand in the TA room, also in another building. As it was the final exam, the TA's are no longer working. I had to keep the few exams that were to be picked up in my office. As a courtesy, I posted signs all over the other building letting them know where my office was.

A girl shows up and wants to pick up her exam. She doesn't have her ID, but she does have her mother with her. Ok, I ask her name and rifle through the few exams I have.

"I don't see it, did you elect to pick it up?"
"No, I elected to have it put in the racks, but the note said to get them here."
"Oh, well then, your exam will be in the rack."

The racks were empty before and now are full of exams. Mind you, the note was posted right above the racks... less than six inches from the racks to be exact. After I explained this to the poor girl, her mother gives me an evil look and says, "It could have been explained better."

Explained better? This is the final exam, there have been four exams before now. The procedure has not changed. The racks have not moved. Had princess lowered her eyes half a foot she would have seen the exams in the rack. Don't blame me because you gave birth to a complete idiot.

Future leader's of our country my ass.

Pharmacist's and the Pill

Ohio is trying to pass legislation that will allow pharmacists to dispense medication at their discretion. Meaning if your pharmacist doesn't want to give you your birth control pills, he doesn't have to. And the state will back them up.

Huh?

This is America, right, land of the FREE? When you enter a profession like pharmacology, you have to know that you are an unbias, impartial person doing a job. Your religious, moral, and ethical convictions don't matter. Who's next, doctors? Will they be allowed to only treat patients who share their religion? Will they be allowed to refuse aid to malpractice lawyers? Then what, our teachers will be able to pick and choose who they educate? Restaurants will be able to refuse patrons?

Aren't we trying to stamp out racism and prejudice? This is so fucking ridiculous I can't believe I have to talk about it. If you have a problem with rape victims taking the Morning After pill, become a trash collector. If you're such a religious nut, become a preacher. If you want to tell other people how to live their lives, become a politician.

Pharmacists: You take an oath to help people with their health. The doctor's who prescribe these medication have done so for a reason, it is not your business to question it. Any pharmacist who steps up on a self-righteous pedestal should be shot on sight and buried in an unmarked grave. You are not God. You are not a representative of God. You don't even know God. Do your job and shut the fuck up.

Let me say this, and I mean it: If my pharmacist were to refuse to give me my birth control pills, I would wait for him in the parking lot and beat him unconscious. Then I would cut off his genitalia, because a person like that shouldn't reproduce. If he wants to take away my right to choose, I'll take away his right to have sex. Fair's fair, bitches.

Another day older and deeper in debt...

Woke up at 5:30 this morning and rode 10 miles before coming into work. It's 10:40 and I am ready for a nap. I'm in good spirits, but see me at 3pm. It may not last.

I'm really worried about the state of this nation. I heard a church somewhere in the South has proclaimed itself to be a Republican political refuge, or something like that. If you don't agree, you can leave the church. Isn't this why our forefathers left England in the first place? Wasn't the church pretty much ruling everything with an iron fist and they got tired of the tyranny? So 200+ years later, we're repeating history? Where are we going to go this time, Antartica? Put me on the first boat because I'm getting sick of this shit.

One day our pharmacists will be able to pick and choose who they dispense birth control to on the basis of their regligious belief's, and women won't be able to do anything about it because the courts will agree with the pharmacists. If women take it all the way to the Supreme Court, they can be ruled against because, by then, the Constitution will be changed. This country will dictate rights from the bible, not the Constitution. The"Pursuit of Happiness," will only pertain to those who believe in God. Everyone else will be run out of the country or burned at the stake. It's 2005, but our society seems to be digressing to the middle ages.

I was reading an article about Bo Bice, one of the"American Idol" finalists. He was described as being a "clean animal lover who loves his family, and is a good Christian." So what? If he was a good Muslim, would that be in the news? What if he was a hard-drinking, woman-beating biker who never went to church? My understanding is that "American Idol" is about singing, not if your a good Christian. But oh, no, the media has to throw that in because it makes the republicans all gooey inside. We don't want Bo to win because he has talent, we want Bo to win because he has GOD.

Now Egghead Bush is over in Russia telling the Georgians how great they all are. I mean, he has to, most of America knows he full of crap. He has to get support from somewhere. Even Laura is bashing him in public. This is what I don't get, Nixon lied and got ran out of office. Bush lied, A LOT, about a lot MORE, and he's still there.

Vote Democrat in 2008.

One Hell of a Yard Sale

In December of 2003, I lost a very dear friend named Marilyn. Her husband, Paul, is moving to Birmingham soon and this weekend he had a yard sale. I trapsed over to help him with the crowds. He lives in Soulard, a very old, wealthy, and distinguished neighborhood in south St. Louis. It has a courtyard that is just gorgeous with vegetation. His section of town is quiet, and very private.

We started on the Bloody Mary's about 8am. About 9am we ran out of vodka and had to start in on the beer. Around 10am I went to the store because we ran out of said beer. By 1pm we were both pretty darn snookered.

As most drunks do, we decided to stagger over to a local restaurant and get something to eat. It is only three blocks from Paul's house, but it became a landmine of sidewalk cracks and tretcherous curbs. As the world was a bit tilted, I had to hold on to Paul for dear life. He was holding onto the wall, you see, but then he ran out and we both ended up on the street. If my husband had been there to see us I'm sure he would have been disgusted. As it was, I could hear Marilyn laughing the whole time.

A couple walking their dog hurried past us but refused to help us up. I don't remember crawling, but we made it to the pizzeria somehow. We were both smart enough to order water, but neither of us remember ordering any food. It just appeared out of nowhere. It was then that I discovered that Paul is one of those loving drunks.
"I love you."
"I love you , too."
"You're so great, I just love you."
"No, I love you."
I paid for the meal, but I'm betting my receipt was illegible.

Then came the walk home. One glass of water did very little to dilute 3 Bloody Mary's and 8 beers. Some fool had moved Paul's house while we were eating, we walked into where it used to be and found a completely different area. By this time I had broken into a hops-smelling sweat. Paul started singing. I don't remember much after that.

Sunday morning I didn't feel half as bad as I should have. I guess getting blasted in the beginning of the day gives the body more time to recoup. Hubby and I loaded up the bikes and stuff and went to St. Charles for the Katy Trail. It was so lovely. Lots of shade, no hills, a nice breeze. About mile 7 my body remembered what it had done the day before and started to shut down. My husband was so great is letting me take a lot of breaks. We managed to eek out 20 miles yesterday and I really don't feel that bad.

Tomorrow we're getting up at 5am to go ride before work. Stay tuned...

President Bush is a Bastard

Yeah, that's right, I called the President a very nasty name, but the asshole deserves it. For right now, we still have the right to freedom of speach. That could change tomorrow.

I've just found out that the shitbag has made a new rule. As found on CNN.com, "The last 58.5 million acres of untouched national forests, which President Clinton had set aside for protection, were opened to possible logging, mining and other commercial uses by the Bush administration Thursday."

What the hell is he thinking? I'll tell you, that the money to be made by selling off our natural resources is a hell of a lot more important than the environment. First, he made it possible for wild horses to be legally rounded up and sold for slaughter. Then, he opens Alaska for oil drilling. Now, he's sold off our forests. What's next?

How can any of you dumbasses that elected this prick to the White House live with yourselves? The moron can't see past his own needle, snot-filled nose. What kind of a world are we going to have in four years? Bush has already wiped his pampered ass with most of our rights, now we're going to lose our country. Bush doesn't care about any of you. His God is the almight dollar.

People, unless you want to end up like Tokyo we need protection from greedy, souless, clueless, and ignorant son's of bitches like Bush. It is an outrage that one man can have such a negative influence on the future of our resources. Yeah, our FUTURE. Once you cut a swath through a forest, it takes years for it to grow back. Once a concrete jungle is erected, it's very hard to undo.

I'm embarrassed that Bush represents this country. I refuse to accept him as a "Leader." He is Satan himself, bound and determined to bring this country to the brink of hell. Look around, our reputation has been destroyed. No one trusts us, other countries think we're dumbasses. Our status as a great country has been traded for the status of being a menevolent, overbearing, and evil empire. Even Russia thinks we're stupid.

Bush is a cancer and unless we get our heads out of our asses, this country will be comatose in no time. Impeach Bush!

Ladies - I need your help.

Grant me patience, oh please, grant me patience. Ladies, I'd like to talk to you about a little problem we all share. If you have a man, especially if that man is your husband, then you will be able to relate to my problem.

Men. Don't. Listen.

I admit that I am a touch irritated this morning because a woodpecker decided to take on our metal gutters at 5:19am. If there is one thing I can not handle well it is being woken up early for no good reason. That, and I was freezing because the heat wasn't turned on last night. So maybe I'm blowing this out of proportion. That's why I need your help.

I am hosting a baby shower for a colleague tomorrow, Friday. I have been talking about this shower for the last month. As in, "Here are the decorations I bought for the shower," and, "I got my gift for the shower," and, "I sent out the invitations for the shower." This week in particular I have been talking about it a lot, as in, "I ordered the cake for the shower this Friday," and, "I picked up the drinks for the shower this Friday," and, "Oh, I can't go to lunch with you and your sister this Friday because of the shower."

So this morning my husband and I are getting ready for work when I tell him that I need to go to Costco's after work today, Thursday.

"Oh yeah, why?"

Why? Why! Because I have a freaking SHOWER this FRIDAY. Do I have to have a joystick coming out of my butt in order for my husband to retain any information I impart? How can he memorize the entire dialoge of "Young Frankenstein" when he hasn't seen the movie in years, and not recall something I told him A DAY AGO?

I know that my husband does not give two rat's asses about this shower. Because of that, most of the information I've given him is disregarded immediately. I know this. I've accepted this. But to be completely oblivious? Arg!

Ladies, please tell me how you put up with this. Give me some sort of solace. Tips, hints, coping techniques, I'm begging you. I love my husband dearly. But this morning I just wanted to hit him over the head with something heavy, punctuating each smack with "Shower! Shower! Shower! Shower! Shower!"

I don't want to be a bitch, but it seems that this is the only way my husband will retain information. It took three years and two arguments for my husband to finally understand that I get off work at 4:30pm.
January: "When do you get off work?"
"4:30."

February: "Hey, when do you get off work?"
"4:30."

May: "What time do you leave work?"
"4:30."

August: "Hey, what time do you-"
"Four fucking thirty, you ass, f-o-u-r fucking t-h-i-r-t-y! One, two, three, FOUR; ten, twenty, THIRTY!"

November: "When do you get off work?"
"Sploosh." (The sound of me having an aneurysm.)

Help. Oh, please, help.

Observers vs. Watchers

There are Observers in this world, and then there are Watchers. An Observer at work, for example, might watch me walk into the kitchen, get a cup, fill it with hot water, then sugar, and walk back out. A Watcher would see me do the same thing, but before I could reach the door would ask “What cha doin? You just gonna drank some sweet, hot water?”

To which I must explain myself. “Well, I have tea in my office downstairs, but seeing as I don’t have sugar or hot water, I’m forced to take it with me from the kitchen. Thus, when I arrive at my office, I can make a complete cup of tea.”

“Oh.”

Watchers are Observers with control issues. I don’t have to explain myself to anyone I work with in regards to what I drink. It doesn’t affect my job. If I like to drink sweet, hot water it’s no one’s business but mine. But a Watcher must make it their business. They have to have an explanation. They are incapable of forming their own logical conclusions.

I’ve only met one polite Watcher in my life. This person would have said, “Excuse me, I couldn’t help but notice you adding sugar to hot water. May I ask what for?” I still don’t owe an explanation, but the polite manner in which the question was asked prompts me. Most Watchers are not polite. They’re demanding, selfish, and interrupt a lot. Watchers are not at all shy about becoming Tellers, either. As in, “Let me tell you what I think…”

I like to think of myself as an Observer. I’ve been guilty of being a sometime Watcher, but all in all, I try to keep my life out of other people’s business. Sometimes, the less I know the better. Sometimes I’ve found that keeping my mouth shut affords me more information.

I myself hate being watched. I especially hate being questioned while I’m being watched. It makes me violent. I am an adult, unless what I’m doing is hurting someone, it’s none of your damn business. If I find something funny, I am going to laugh without having to explain why. If I get up to leave, I don’t have to tell anyone where I am going. My actions are my own. I don’t care if you think I’m crazy, I’m living my own life, not yours.

Dreams

I had a doozy of a dream last night. I dreampt me and my husband were filthy rich. We're talking Bill Gates rich here. We owned a HUGE mansion on lots of land and had all kind of servants and so on. My sister was getting married and we agreed to let her have the wedding at our house. We also agreed to help with the expenses.

So it's the day of the wedding and I come home to find my mansion overrun with hundreds of people. I go into the house and have a fit. These people have repainted the walls, replaced our furniture, and remodeled the kitchen! All of our stuff was gone. People I didn't even know were telling me how to dress and act. There were twenty photographers, make-up artists, and seamstresses. Every dress as being hand-made! A bunch of sorority girls were drinking all the booze, wearing dresses dripping with diamonds. There were workers re-landscaping our yard. Limo's and horse drawn carriages filled our garage. News crews crowded my lawn. My sister is bustling about in a silk robe making sure the table settings are perfect.

I find her and just start screaming. This is our home, everything is gone, everything has been changed, and how much did all this cost?

She replies, "I only wanted it to be perfect. Waaaaaaaaah." She bursts into tears and everyone looks at me like I'm the bad guy. I start screaming at her about the importance of money when the cook comes in and wants me to taste the baklava. I've never had baklava before, is it supposed to have corned beef in the middle?

I was tabulating how much it would cost to put everything back versus hiring a criminal lawyer when I woke up. Jeez.

It's Love - Make It Hurt

Another entry for the Biker's Journal...

Today sucked! (This was actually yesterday, but go with me here.) I woke up this morning extremely tired. I wrestled with my husband all night about his snoring. I tossed, turned, flung myself about, poked, and slapped at him for hours but he refused to wake up and stop the incessant roaring. I finally retired to the spare and had to do the same thing all over again with the cat. Luckily, he's a smaller opponent and lost rather quickly.

It was cold this morning. I put on my maxi-pants and little blue short-sleeved jersey, found my tennis shoes (how'd they get rammed behind the sofa like that?) We loaded up the bikes, the camel backs, the sun-block, and everything else and headed out towards the randevous point. This ride was taking place in the city, exactly one exit away from our house. The parking lot was crammed. Schnuck's, the grocery store attached to the parking lot, was not happy about the lack of parking spaces. We heard a customer arguing with the manager and it was only 9:30am. It was going to be a long day.

We parked, got our stuff together, and pretty soon some of honey's co-workers/friends showed up. M, a crazy die-with-my-bike-between-my-legs kind of guy, makes me nervous. Its not that I don't like him, its just that I feel very self-conscious when he's around. I got drunk at a party one night and talked to him for hours. I can't remember what I said, but now every time I say "Hi" to him he tries to crawl into a painting. He's stopped doing that now, but we're hardly close. P and S showed up, they are a married couple (P=male, S=female) who are really nice. But they are crazy die-with-our-bikes-between-our-legs people, too. They took the spin class with us and actually went back for more. We chat. We strip. We ride.

This ride started out very well. Aside from hubby and I having to stop again and again to adjust this or that, and the occassional call from a passing car, things were good. We rode almost the exact route we take to our house if we were in a car. Then we hit THE HILL.

THE HILL is capitalized because it's a mean, jagged son-of-a-bitch that nearly took both of us out. I started out with every intention of completing it, but I was walking my bike up THE HILL in no time, feeling really bad because hubby was sure to make fun of me. Then I saw hubby up ahead, sucking wind and walking his bike, too. We finally got to the top and couldn't speak for lack of oxygen. I've never actually felt that my lungs were going to explode before, but I was damn sure of it this time. All I could think was:
I'm gonna die.
I'm gonna die.
I'm gonna die.

We got back on our bikes and rode down the hill on the other side. We had to stop for a red light and hubby said the most romantic word's I've ever heard save for when he proposed.

"You...wanna....just....go...(hack) home?"

We rode home, got in my car, went back to get his car, and then collapsed in the shower. We rode a grand total of 6 miles. I took a three hour nap.

It's become glaringly obvious that we are both a tad out of shape. Starting next week we will be getting up butt-early three days a week to ride in Forest Park. So, I can not gage the bitchiness of my future posts. It's quite possible I will call my husband every dirty word in the book, as well as some I've invented myself. Honey, please know its the fatigue talking. And my family will probably suffer a few nicks and scratches from my tongue, too. I'm of the school that misery LOVES company and intend to share.

On a good note, we saw "The hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy" this weekend. If you've read and enjoyed the books, you'll love the movie. If you have no idea what's going on, you'll hate it. There was a man there in his house robe and wearing a towel. No matter how much you love the book, don't dress like that. It was worse than a lobby full of storm troopers and overweight Darth Vader's.