Ruminating Slav

Get yer fresh hot Slav!

2005-02-08T21:48:00.000-06:00

Friends, we stand (or sit) here on the eve of a revolution. Beginning tomorrow, you will be able to access your daily dose of Ruminating Slav at:

http://www.ruminatingslav.com

That's right, my little goslings, we've got a domain name registered and thanks to a free 90-day trial, a move to TypePad. We've got a homemade banner, categories, and typelists. Feedback is appreciated, so leave a comment or send an email and let me know what you think. Don't forget to update your bookmarks and blogrolls, and I'll be seeing you on the flip side.

Please me, tease me

2005-02-08T09:07:00.000-06:00

Last night after purchasing the Delicious Library software I scanned in 218 books and 52 movies. And I still have six bookshelves to go! I really can't remember the last time I found a Mac application to be so pleasing. Mad props to Kelly and TCW for apparently calling my love for the media organization software before I even knew it existed!

Oh the hours you'll spend gazing at the neat ranks and files of your media empire.

Well put, my friend, well put.

In other news, BK has lost his keys and has gone so far as to actually blame the dog. Honestly, man, that is so cliché. I may not know much, but I'm pretty sure that the dog did not pick up your keys and bury them in the landscaping in the backyard.

For the Mac Mafia

2005-02-07T16:21:00.000-06:00

Dudes! Check out what I just learned about on Lifehacker (the newest member of the Gawker empire, and very useful -- I learned how to make a favicon for the Slav last week!): Delicious Library. You can use your iSight to scan the barcodes of your books, CDs, DVDs, etc. and create an iTunes-like digital library of all your media (you can also just paste in the ISBN number). It's so very pretty and so appeals to my OCD-like sense of organizion. I'm actually thinking about plunking down the $40 for it.

OH MY GOD CAN YOU IMAGINE THE SCANNING THAT WILL BE DONE???

It's ten o'clock on Saturday night and I can't see my hands

2005-02-07T08:12:00.004-06:00

Saturday night BK and I went to a (!) concert at the Granada Theater on Greenville. Before Bob Schneider hit the stage at about 10:45 (I'll spare you the old-woman bitching about why does it have to be so late, yadda yadda yadda), we were treated to two opening acts. The first band was so completely forgettable that both BK and I thought we might die of boredom as a result of just being in the same room as them. The highlight of that performance was when the lead singer spoke up between songs and told the audience, "We wrote this one for William Faulkner." I'd like to tell you what the Faulkner song was about, but I regrettably sipped back into a coma when they started playing.

The second band -- The Deathray Davies -- made quite the impression, however. As I type this, I am fully aware that I am outing myself as singularly lame. I am sure that all the kids listen to The DRD, and by professing my pre-weekend ignorance of their existance AND by preparing to mock them, I am branding myself as An Old Fuddy Duddy. Still, the following needs to be said, so here goes.

The Deathray Davies weren't bad. Some of their songs were pretty catchy in that 00's rock renaissance sort of way. No, my problem with The DRD centered solely around one person -- the keyboard player. Now, the keyboard player ROCKED, y'all. He had one mean straddle going in front of his keyboard, and nodded his head back and forth in a spectacularly violent fashion throughout the set. His patented move, though, reserved for particularly ROCKIN moments, was an impressive sideways kick with his left leg. So it would be straddle straddle nod nod straddle straddle nod nod KICK and let me tell you, homeboy did not play. The Kilgore Rangerettes would be honored to have him on their line.

But here's the problem: every straddle straddle nod nod straddle straddle nod nod KICK would be followed by one more element of this finely-tuned tango -- the right hand would inevitably wander over to the button that controlled the fog machine and PRESS. Imagine, if you will, every 10 seconds:

straddle straddle nod nod straddle straddle nod nod KICK ... PRESS

straddle straddle nod nod straddle straddle nod nod KICK ... PRESS

straddle straddle nod nod straddle straddle nod nod KICK ... PRESS

It's really not surprising, then, that halfway through The Deathray Davies' set, the entire Granada Theater was filled with a dense layer of smoke, completely obscuring the band on stage. Even we seated lameos in the balcony could not escape the wrath of the keyboard player's right hand. It's a good thing we weren't driving, people, because visibility was LOW.

Right before their last song (hallelujah!), the lead singer remarked, "Man, this fog machine has taken a few years off our lives tonight." So what does Mr. Keyboard do? You guessed it:

PRESS. PRESS. PRESS.

"But there's only like 1½ people in the world you're comfortable with besides me"

2005-02-04T08:13:00.000-06:00

Having decidedly tired of his mid-morning wakings, BK decided to bite the bullet and buy an automatic cat feeder with a timer. It arrived yesterday, and BK spent some time in the kitchen with Joshua Wanat, putting kibble in the bowl, closing it, opening it, and showing Josh that there's food in there. Joshua, being the gifted kitty that he is, spent the next 20 minutes frantically pawing at the feeder, scooting it around the floor and making a clatter that was, quite honestly, very disruptive of my Alias-watching. PRIORITIES, people. And cats.

In any case, the feeder was set to open at 3:45 a.m. BK reported this morning that he woke up at 4:00 a.m. (I guess old habits are hard to break even when the cat's not actually meowing) and went to inspect the feeder -- it was open but the kibble was still intact. HOWEVER, Joshua Wanat must have eventually found the bounty laid out at his paws, because there was no meowing! All night! No meowing = success! I imagine that what I'm feeling right now is like a fraction of what parents feel like when their kid sleeps through the night for the first time.

I just had the following conversation with my husband on the phone:

BK: We need to do some fun stuff this weekend.

Me: Hey, I did my part. I found the Bob Schneider concert and bought us tickets.

BK: Right! And I think we should go have dim sum with the church group Saturday afternoon.

Me: I don't want to do that.

BK: Why not? It'll be fun. You're always saying how we need to do more stuff.

Me: But I don't want my entire Saturday afternoon taken up.

BK: But you have to eat lunch!

Me: I can just have a sandwhich at home. No, wait a minute, I can't, since Buster pulled the loaf of bread off the counter and ate the whole thing.

BK: Well, let's invite my co-worker Andrew (this is a pseudonym -- do you think dooce has taught me nothing?) and his girlfriend over for dinner.

Me: No, I don't want to do that. He's a creepy Republican.

BK: Come on now, we need to do more stuff with people.

Me: But I'm not comfortable around them. I'd rather just be with you than people I'm not comfortable around.

BK: But sweetie, there's only like 1½ people in the world you're comfortable with besides me.

You see the problem, I'm sure.

Promoting the emigré agenda

2005-02-02T20:19:00.000-06:00

Dudes! I finally finished The Russian Debutante's Handbook. It took me weeks to finish. WEEKS, I tell you. I think it may be nipping at the heels of Mists of Avalon in the lists of books it's taken Karo a really long time to finish only not really because for some reason I putzed out like 10 pages before the end of MoA so I guess I can't really claim to have finished it and no I don't know what the hell is wrong with me. Why don't you ask Susanna Clark cause I never did finish her geedee book, either. Whoops.

ANYhoo, back to Gary Shteyngart. Contrary to what you may think, it took me such a long time to finish his book because it was good. He was all being a good writer and shit (Like me! Right now!) and that made it hard to fly through the book like I do with a lot of the slop that crosses my path. Every sentence had a purpose, oftentimes more than one -- clever little inside jokes would be lurking where you least expected them. And lemme tell ya, clever little inside jokes referencing the plight of the post-Stalinist Eastern European immigrant are a not exactly a DIME A DOZEN, PEOPLE.

That being said, I'm not sure if some of the book wouldn't be lost in translation on someone without at least a fraction of those memories and cultural touchstones. If you've read The Russian Debutante's Handbook, or ever do, let me know what you thought.

More of it's funny cause it's true

2005-02-02T20:15:00.000-06:00

Do any of Chickenhead's Absolute Bottom 50 Blogs ring true to you?

Pardon me, I have to go cover my shamefully exposed soul now.

Do not watch if easily offended

2005-02-02T13:19:00.000-06:00

Thanks, C, for passing that along.

Interesting development at amazon.com

2005-02-02T08:31:00.000-06:00

If you go to amazon's home page, you'll see a letter from Jeff Bezos announcing something called Amazon Prime, a $79 yearly membership which gets you unlimited 2-day shipping on most anything you buy on amazon.

What do you think, tender nibblets of the sea? A fantastic opportunity for more immediate consumer gratification, or just another way of getting FLEECED by the man?

The crimes against humanity file: foot fashion

2005-02-01T09:32:00.000-06:00

A young lady on a message board I frequent started a thread titled "Is this tacky," and since I am obviously the Internet Judge of Good Taste, I dove right in.

(Official disclaimer: I didn't actually post any of the following on her thread since that would be, you know, mean.)

So it turns out that Miss Thang is just in love with these shoes and would like others' opinion on whether they are appropriate footwear for her wedding dress. I'm going to leave the wedding dress part aside, since that's her prerogative, and will address the shoes on a completely stand-alone basis.

Ok.

Let's begin with the description of the shoes from the seller's web site. Bolding is mine:

Slip into this elagent vinyl thong sandal.
Lovely accented with a heart rhinestone design.
Clear lucite strap upper for extra style.
Polyurethane sole.

If you managed to make it through the egregious spelling and grammatical errors, you may agree with me that the words "vinyl," "rhinestone," "lucite," and "polyurethane" do not inspire confidence when discussing elegance and style. AND HERE'S THE BEST PART. Please enjoy the following excerpts from responses to the thread in question:

"they're just lovely and totally classy"
"it will look quite lovely"
"I love the shoes"

Apparently I have lost my mind because I fail to see the allure of shoes made out of the same material used to make carpet underlay and wound dressings. I am just SO OUT OF IT because I think shoes should be leather and not have heart-shaped designs on them.

But that's not even the worst of it. In her post, the vinyl-shoe-lover wants to know if she can WEAR PANTYHOSE with these lucite beasts. Oh God. I teeter on the brink of a pulmonary embolism every time I see a woman wearing the dreaded sandal/pantyhose combo, particularly the black pantyhose/black sandal pairing.

Thankfully, people seem to have talked the poster out of the pantyhose. HOWEVER, someone helpfully suggested THIS atrocity -- the TOELESS PANTYHOSE (shown here in the knee-high version to enable readers to fully grasp the horror).

Look, America. I know you love your pantyhose. I know you do. But this is really just too much. I am going to take a stand here and say that I think the TOELESS version is even worse than the original sandal/pantyhose combo. You know why? Because it shows me that you've actually THOUGHT about it. You went to the store and carefully selected hosiery that will render the front half of your foot a completely different color than the rest of your leg. CAN YOU NOT SEE THAT??? And then? And then? Then you pair up this ATROCITY with strappy sandals so we can ALL SEE the lovely seam and line of demarkation. YOU'RE NOT FOOLING ANYONE.

SHAVE YOUR LEGS, BE COLD, AND SUCK IT UP LIKE THE REST OF US WITH GOOD TASTE DO.

While I'm at it

2005-01-31T20:22:00.000-06:00

MerryDrunkenChristmas, originally uploaded by *Karo*.

I don't even know where to start here. The Elaine-like hair shelf partnered with the hot roller action? The also out-of-Seinfeld puffy shirt WITH shoulder pads? My dad's expression? The fact that I'm 16 years old and I look drunk out of my gourd???

The hair that ate the world

2005-01-31T19:52:00.000-06:00

The hair that ate the world, originally uploaded by *Karo*.

I've been doing some scanning this evening (might as well add maudlin to maudlin, right?), and I really think the blogging community would enjoy this photo of me all dressed up for the EIGHTH GRADE DANCE, BITCHES. That's 1990, natch.

I can't even imagine how much dried Aqua Net you're looking at right now.

The ying and the yang

2005-01-31T14:46:00.000-06:00

Why I hate the world: Being new to this whole acne thing, I thought I was doing the right thing by going to the dermatologist and getting a professional opinion.

Uh, no.

I am sitting here a full $91 in the hole from a variety of prescription medications foisted onto me, creams and washes that of course do NOT come in a generic form. I can't vouch for the effectiveness of these magic FIFTY DOLLAR OINTMENTS, but I have a sneaking suspicion that my post-miscarriage hormones will continue to rage on (We like to party. We like, we like to party.) and will LAUGH at my ineffectual dabbings and washings. I might as well just dunk my head in a bucket of Sea Breeze every morning.

Why I love the world: My friend S. done had herself a baby girl today! Congratulations to her, her husband, and the little butterbean. Yay!

I'm two-toed, how about you?

2005-01-31T08:42:00.000-06:00

Such a weekend of sloth you never did see as what went on in the Slav household for the past couple of days. We made it out of the house Friday night and saw In Good Company at the Studio Movie Grill. Nothing says good times like a middlin' movie accompanied by cheese fries and Shiner. Mmmm-mmm!

Saturday night we went to the Improv and saw a very spastic gentleman named Pablo Francisco. Please enjoy the following quote from the Improv web site:

Pablo brings forth strikingly authentic off-the-wall sound effects and brilliant impressions. He takes the stage with the confidence to improvise and has a talent that is undeniable.

Fuck yeah!

I also managed to churn through about 6 Alias episodes (almost done with season one!), and we watched The Forgotten (which gets an official Slav rating of "meh").

Sunday started off on a high note, featuring some dee-lighful waffles made by yours truly. We decided to go with the Joy of Cooking recipe this time around, as opposed to the Fannie Farmer version BK has been sticking with since we got the waffle iron (we rock the Hamilton Beach Flip 'n Fluff). Eggs were separated! Whites were beaten into stiff peaks!

The day pretty much went downhill from there. I plopped my ass down and watched the extended version of Return of the King, while BK escaped from the booming surround-sound Nazgul screeches and read comic books in the study. Soon the weekend was over, and all that was left was peering at Buster's last-walk-of-the-day poo to make sure that his intestines weren't being shredded to bits by the sharp, hard pieces of plastic that he gnawed off a contraband spatula Friday afternoon.

Wheeee!

Someone threw it away!

2005-01-28T11:34:00.000-06:00

From: [redacted] BK
Sent: Friday, January 28, 2005 11:14 AM
To: Dallas Users
Subject: The Case of the Missing Muffin

On January 28, at approximately 7:25 A.M. I purchased a Very Blueberry Muffin at Starbucks, located in the lower level of Renaissance Tower. At approximately 7:30 A.M., I arrived in the kitchen in our office. In the process of making my coffee, I set my muffin aside. At approximately 7:35 A.M., I left the kitchen and walked to my office, forgetting to take my muffin with me. I soon became involved with work and did not remember that I had bought a muffin until approximately 10:55 A.M., when I realized I was hungry. After a brief head-scratching (why am I so hungry? Didn't I have breakfast? Oh, right. I bought a muffin. Didn't I eat it? Oh, right. I left it in the kitchen), I returned to the kitchen. THE MUFFIN WAS GONE. After another brief head-scratching (did I leave it somewhere else? Maybe I ate it and forgot?), I asked passers-by whether they had seen an abandoned muffin in the kitchen that morning. The muffin's earlier abandoned presence was confirmed. I can only conclude that someone has taken my muffin, hopefully just for safekeeping.

If you have my muffin, please let me know and I will fetch it. If you have taken it and eaten it, please feel a little guilty (but only a little, as it probably appeared abandoned).

Three unrelated items

2005-01-28T08:11:00.000-06:00

Many thanks go out to Mr. Small White Dragon, who was kind enough to give me some CSS pointers yesterday when I was attempting to add a blogroll to my sidecolumn.

Also! I've printed a few CD inserts from iTunes recently, and the cover art mosaics are pretty sweet!

And finally, does anyone else watch The Apprentice? If so, you will agree with me, I'm sure, that last night's episode was psycho-riffic. Where do they find these people?

This level of writing genius is WASTED on a blog

2005-01-27T13:44:00.000-06:00

"I don't know what's more disturbing: that these naked people are covering their meat ports with computer hardware or that it appears all these photos were taken at a technical school."

This one goes out to Richard, my favorite mexikid

2005-01-26T18:36:00.000-06:00

Something remarkable happened when I went to the grocery store after work today. I was picking up some staples, lots of veggies to go in the rice-cooker/steamer that BK got me for Christmas (steaming RAWKS), and I picked up a 2 lb. bag of frozen shrimp that was on sale for 1/2 off the regular price of $14.98.

[I'd like to take a moment to reminisce about being in 2nd grade and thinking that a lb., which I pronounced "lib" in my head, was a completely separate unit of measurement. The shame that resulted when I was reading aloud about some dinosaur in class and said that it weighed 1,000 LIBS! GOD DAMN YOU, NON-ENGLISH SPEAKING PARENTS. GOD DAMN YOU TO HELL.]

So I'm at Albertson's (It's My Store) checking out, and as I'm rolling my cart out the door I look at my receipt to check the bottom line where they tell you how much you saved with your PREFERRED CARD. I'm disappointed to see I only saved $5.00, and then I stop because that can't be right. My savings on the SHRIMP ALONE should have been $7.50. So I look on the receipt (which is now helpfully organized into categories likes "meats" and "produce") and in the "seafood" category I see that I was charged THE FULL FIFTEEN BUCKS for the shrimp.

Well! You can bet your bottom dollar that I marched my little self right over to the customer service counter and demanded satisfaction. And then! And then the lady told me that Albertson's policy is that if the wrong price gets scanned, they REFUND YOU THE WHOLE AMOUNT. Score! That's $15 right back in my pocket.

When I told BK this story, in a move very unlike his usually goody-two-shoes-self, he asked, "So did you go back in there and buy another bag of shrimp? Because the wrong price will probably scan again and you can get another bag free."

SNAP.

Even lamer than Snoop

2005-01-26T15:56:00.000-06:00

I've added Buster and Joshua Wanat to their respective 'sters.

Please, for the love of god, add your pet and select them as pals. Tell me I'm not in this alone.

He keeps a blue flag hanging out his backside; but only on the left side, yeah that's the Crip side

2005-01-26T14:16:00.000-06:00

Well, it's official. Snoop Dogg officially has no cred left whatsoever, cameo appearances in Old School and failed MTV shows notwithstanding.

If Shannen Doherty and Tobey Maguire are caught throwing signs at your concert at Sundance, you are mos def not gangsta.

OH MY GOD I JUST MADE AN AWFUL RAP PUN DID YOU SEE IT?!?!

JIC Bill Gates is a loyal reader and is feeling generous today

2005-01-25T10:55:00.000-06:00

Before you read today's post, please note that I fully comprehend how frivolous and materialistic it is. Understand that I am highly appreciative of my spoiled American life, and that I am cognizent of the fact that, world-wide, children are starving to death daily at an alarming rate. I am grateful for the heaps of food on my plate, the warmth of my 2000 sq. ft. home, and the thousands of dollars of ridiculous and unnecessary gadgetry contained within. WHO AM I to have the ability to record FOUR DIFFERENT TELEVISION SHOWS at the same time when there are people suffering so much misery and pain?

However.

The flesh is weak and I am a lothesome human being who knows these things but is too lazy to Do Something About It. I am not out there in the soup kitchens and Peace Corps where I would be Making a Difference. My Teach for America karma is all used up and now I can only sit, troll-like, in my living room and contemplate my place in this world as a fraud. And then when the self-flagellation grows tiresome, I can think about ...

More Useless Shit I Covet

If I had an extra $14.95 a month, I would move my blog to TypePad. I am under the impression that this would give me more street cred as a blogger. Ideally, I would just build my own blog using Movable Type, I know. But the thought of that makes me tired. But if I used TypePad, there would be categories! And TypeLists! And FOAF GENERATION! (I'm just kidding about that last part. I mean, it would be there. But I wouldn't know what the hell it was.)

If I had roughly an extra $1000 lying around, I would buy a digital SLR, mayhaps the Nikon D70. I have this fantasy going where owning a D70 would magically transform me into a master photographer and I would quit my job and slink around town in a beret taking really sweet photos of shit really close up and really far away, all properly focused and never blurry. Also, I would be able to take photos instantaneously instead of holding down the button for 30 seconds which is fine for Thanksgiving with the Family but not so much for anything, you know, cool.

I would not say no to a dvd player for the bedroom. This fantasy involves lounging about in bed watching Meg Ryan movies on a Sunday morning while the rain pitter-patters against the window. Since Sunday mornings in the Land of Reality involve waking up at 8:30 and vacuuming and doing four loads of laundry, I can pretty safely say that I'm not missing out on that much.

Were a few more hundred dollars to magically appear in my bank account, I would buy many items at the Posh Baby online store. Don't worry, it's not the grief talking -- I am fully aware that I am neither a mother nor with child. But hopefully I will be one day and in the meantime I could take out my brand-new, not-yet-pooped-on, diaper bag in Twirl out of the closet and pet it during the hard times.

Frequent manicures, pedicures, and eyebrow waxings got canned post-salary-cut. As a result, my husband now shrinks back in horror when confronted with the chipped mess that is my toes, and although I give my eyebrows a few half-hearted plucks every now and then, they're teetering on the brink of Teen Wolf. Sure, I could do my own fingers and toes, but that would require time and effort and I just got the next Alias DVD in the mail from Netflix so I couldn't possibly SPARE THE GEEDEE TIME.

Having now alienated all readers with my wretched display of commercialism, I am now going to quietly hate myself while enjoying a Sonny Bryan's frito pie.

Served best with sound

2005-01-25T08:13:00.000-06:00

I don't know wtf this is, BUT I LIKE IT.

I think my uterus just swooned

2005-01-25T08:08:00.000-06:00

lil' baldy, originally uploaded by *Karo*.

The nephew at three months.

The most shocking rose ceremony EVER

2005-01-23T18:31:00.000-06:00

The Sunday after the 2004 presidential election BK and I went to the First Unitarian Church of Dallas. We were both pretty beaten down by the election's outcome and local poll results made us feel at odds with the vast majority of the city we now call our home. We wanted to gather together with like-minded folks and lick our wounds. I have friends who are members of UU churches, and BK and I had both emerged as budding Universalists when we took the beliefnet.com quiz. We figured, what the heck. At worst we hate it and never go back.

But the thing is, we liked it. So we joined. And today we took part in the new member recognition, where you shlep up to the front of the sanctuary and are recognized with a few words and a rose. Two notes:

1. I guilted BK into breakfast out this morning because he called me last night at ten to tell me he was done playing poker with his buds but was going to "go out" for a few more hours, "go out" being a thinly veiled euphemism for "look at naked ladies." Something I ate made me very, um, [stage-whisper]gassy[/stage-whisper], and I was convinced a big, nasty fart was going to escape from my tightly-clenched buttcheeks just as I stepped up to the front of the sanctuary. Thankfully, I managed to Keep It All on the Inside, and the congregation was spared the trumpeting of my angry bowels.

2. The ceremony was almost exactly like the rose ceremonies seen on The Bachelor. TO A TEE. You walk up to the minister, who is holding a long-stemmed rose, and he addresses you by name and says the same few sentences he's said to the 10 people before you. I was trying so hard not to laugh as I stood there gazing into his earnest face, totally expecting him to say, "Karo, do you accept this rose?" At which point I would say, "Of course!" or some other phrase I'd been cooking up all week to say in lieu of "Yes" and we would hug and I would run back to the rest of the new member group with a smug look on my face. Then Chris Harrison would appear and tell the people who didn't get a rose to say their goodbyes, and I would hug them and act all sad but would slowly and distinctly mouth "SUCK IT" to them when my back was to the cameras.

Official disclaimer: The above paragraph in no way indicates that I watch, or have ever watched, The Bachelor. And I especially do not watch the current season of The Bachelorette. Because that would be BAD. Just don't call me at 8:00 on Monday nights, ok?

Man v. Cat

2005-01-21T08:51:00.000-06:00

I am a very sound sleeper. BK, on the other hand, is a delicate flower who wakes up at the slightest provocation. Throw in a cat who gets ravenously hungry in the middle of the night and has no qualms with telling you about it, and you've got the recipe for what I like to call:

The Old Vodka Glass and Flashlight Game

Here's how it goes down: Every night, somewhere between the hours of 2:30 and 5:30 in the morning, Joshua Wanat slinks into the bedroom and starts clawing at the bedskirt on my side of the bed. I of course sleep right through it, but BK is up and ready for war! He gets out of bed, and Joshua Wanat knows the game has begun, so he runs and hides. BK goes for the flashlight and vodka glass full of water that he keeps on top of the armoire in the bathroom, and ... THEY'RE OFF!

The object of the game, of course, is to find Joshua with the flashlight and throw the water at him, thereby scaring him shitless and ensuring that he will no longer come clawing at the bedskirt. (I kind of imagine Joshy hiding under some piece of furniture with his paw over his mouth, shoulders shaking as he tries not to laugh and give himself away.)

In reality, though, things are a little different. First of all, J-Dub thinks playing hide-and-seek with one of the Big Cats is FUN! Second of all, he's a lot better at hiding than poor, sleep-addled BK is at seeking. (Except for that one time when Joshua forgot to tuck his tail in and BK saw it sticking out from under the armchair and Joshua got soaked and boy howdy I would have paid a lot of money to see that.) And lastly, the thing about kitties is that they have very small brains and aren't so good at Remembering Life Lessons, so even if BK manages to give Joshy a faceful of water every once in a while, I'm not sure that it's going to stick.

When I think about all this activity happening in the middle of the night, it really tickles me that I'm lying there asleep, completely oblivious to the whole Man/Cat power struggle that's going down right there in the bedroom.

The matter of the meat

2005-01-20T17:54:00.000-06:00

A couple of Saturdays ago when BK and I were both at home waiting for the new furniture to be delivered, there was a knock on the door. I was in the middle of vacuuming, so BK answered the door and I only turned off the vacuum cleaner long enough to ascertain that it was a salesperson. Assuming BK would quickly deal with whoever it was, I kept vacuuming.

Imagine my surprise when I turned off the vacuum cleaner ten minutes later and found BK in the dining room with the salesman, examining boxes of MEAT. Apparently this man goes door to door selling MEAT. And instead of telling him politely that we are not interested in his wide array of MEAT PRODUCTS, BK invited the man into our home where he proceeded to launch into his spiel of Why You Need To Have a Freezer Stocked Full of Beef At All Times.

Well, friends and neighbors, not only did BK invite the Meat Man into our home, he also purchased steaks from him. So many steaks that we had to take them out of the decorative packaging (because as we all know that is a sign of a quality meat product) and stuff them into the freezer individually. BK's reasoning for buying Scores of Steaks was, "Well, sometimes I want a steak but they're expensive." Riiiiiight. So we remedy the expense by blowing an entire month's pay on MEAT?

That night we settled down to have us a good, old-fashioned meat-and-potatoes kind of meal. I made some AWESOME mashed potatoes with the KitchenAid mixer (oh how I love thee, KitchenAid mixer, let me count the ways) which may or may not have involved copious amounts of butter. There was a green thing which escapes my memory since the green things often do, unless they are drenched with a sauce involving the aforementioned butter. And there were the newly aquired steaks, prepared by BK.

After gorging myself with mashed potatoes for a few minutes, I cut myself a piece of steak and popped it in my mouth. I chewed. I chewed some more. And then I opened my mouth and let the "steak" fall back on the plate, because I'll be DAMNED if I was going to eat something that disgusting.

You know that episode of Friends where Monica gets hired to create recipies using Mochlate? It's like that.

MOCHLATE:CHOCOLATE::DOOR-TO-DOOR SALESMAN STEAK:REAL MEAT

Dudes, this steak was so bad and rubbery that I couldn't even eat it after dousing it with A1. AND THAT'S BAD.

On the bright side, everyone I know will be receiving a homemade Mixed Meat Gift Basket for Christmas this year!

Please enjoy

2005-01-19T10:32:00.000-06:00

Two funny animated gifs: a) first this one, b) and then this one.

When I win the lottery I'm placing a full-page ad in the local paper

2005-01-19T08:15:00.000-06:00

Drivers of Dallas, there seems to be a misunderstanding. The majority of you appear to have been granted driver's licenses without grasping the fundamental rules of operating a motor vehicle. Fear not! Karo is here, and will help you avoid debilitating car accidents with a few Tips for Driving:

Tailgating: This needs to stop. F'real. There is no excuse for you driving your Escalade three inches behind my back bumper. BACK OFF, YOU 5'2" BLOND SHE-DEVIL.
The turn signal: This is controlled by the little level coming out of your steering wheel. You do not appear to be familiar with it. Please, please use it. Also, for those of you who do use your turn signal, but only when you're halfway into my lane -- YOU'RE MISSING THE POINT. The turn signal is supposed to alert me to your future actions. If you're already in my lane, I'M ON IT.
The pedals: Dallasites, I'm here to tell you that 75% of our traffic woes could be remedied by clearing up the misconception that your foot must be depressing a pedal at all times. Believe it or not, this is not true! You don't need to be accelerating or riding your brakes at any given time. Sometimes, JUST GIVE YOUR RIGHT FOOT A BREAK. This will cut down on the tailgating and the ...
Merging: We really need to work on this. When a car is approaching on the on-ramp, take your foot off the accelerator. Please note I did not say, "Slam on the brakes." I also did not say, "Ignore the other car." Take your foot off the GODDAMN ACCELERATOR AND GIVE ME SOME FUCKING ROOM.

Five failures and one wobbly success

2005-01-18T11:40:00.000-06:00

You know how sometimes you tell yourself that you're going to do something or not do something and then for a while you do or don't do it and you're all proud of yourself but then you slack off a little and before you know it it's like you never made that promise to yourself and MY GOD THE GUILT?

Yeah, me too.

So I present to you Karo's List of Recent Failures:

Putting dirty dishes directly into the dishwasher instead of on the counter/in the sink. I cannot comprehend why this is so difficult. It's just one extra step. And yet.
Waking up five minutes earlier and making coffee at home. I am one lazy mofo. And Atlanta Bread Company and Starbucks are reaping the benefits. And the thing is, I don't even have the excuse I did in D.C., where the hazlenut coffee at Bread and Chocolate was far superior to anything I could make at home. I'm just LAME.
Not letting the dog get on the furniture. IF YOU WERE FACED WITH HIS BIG BROWN EYES OF COWERING SORROW YOU'D GIVE IN, TOO.
Taking a daily multivitamin. Now, if you could get pregnant from not taking a multivitamin every day at the same exact time, I'd be all about that shit. But healthy insides? Fuck that.
One word: treadmill.

I have, however, managed to keep the armchair in our bedroom completely clear of clothing. Granted, the pile that used to be on the chair is now on the floor of my closet, BUT STILL. The clean chair is a SUCCESS.

Doth mine eyes deceive me?

2005-01-18T09:17:00.000-06:00

Four words: Bill Gates. Tiger Beat. I am so not kidding.

First, some notes about movies

2005-01-18T08:20:00.000-06:00

Gooooood morning, chickadees. I hope that everyone had an enjoyable weekend. Mine was a delightful three days of not having to come to work, and I even left the house a few times! First I forced BK to see Sideways, and then yesterday he forced me to go see Million Dollar Baby. Throw in a little red carpet Golden Globe action on Sunday night, and you've got fucking Cannes in Dallas. Kinda.

Sideways was enjoyable, although I made the mistake of really building it up in my head ahead of time, so by the time we actually went, I'd heard from many people how it's the best movie ever, blah blah, so then you're sitting there expecting an out-of-body experience, and when all you get is a movie, it's a little disappointing.

I had the opposite experience with Million Dollar Baby. I am not a fan of men, let alone women, beating one another senseless and therefore not a fan of boxing (and hockey*), so I was really digging my heels in. HOWEVER, BK was chomping at the bit to see it so I gave in, and I gotta say, that was a hella good movie. Check it out when it comes to a Theater Near You.

Which brings us to the Golden Globes, or as I like to call them, the 2004 Golden Globes: Tits on Parade. I swear to all things holy, every actress out there on the red carpet was one stiff breeze away from a wardrobe malfunction. I stared in horrified fascination at Lisa Ling's right breast, which was COMPLETELY EXPOSED up to a millimeter of her nipple when she stood sideways to interview the glitterati. I gaped in awe at Paula Abdul, who appeared to be high as a kite on prescription painkillers and who was wearing a mammogram as an evening dress. And I marveled at how cold Mariska Hargitay must have been when she accepted her award. THE "GOLDEN GLOBES" WERE TRULY ON DISPLAY SUNDAY EVENING. Ha. Ha. Ha.

* Perhaps one day I will share with you just how disgusted I am by hockey fans, how frightened I am by the individuals who jump up and down in the front row, beating on the plexiglass divider Just. Like. Chimpanzees, hooting and screeching in excitement as grown men attempt to club one another to death on the ice.

Taxi. Look into it.

2005-01-14T09:12:00.000-06:00

Dear Person Who Just Emailed An Entire Local Yahoo User Group Asking for a Ride From the Airport,

You are an idiot.

Sincerely,
Karo

Say it like Marvin the Martian

2005-01-14T08:02:00.000-06:00

I bought a RF modulator on eBay recently, a little gizmo that allows you to hook a DVD player up to an older tv that only has a coaxial cable input. FedEx delivered it yesterday, and I opened up the box and took it out. The packaging had been ripped open and then taped back shut, and it was awfully basic -- didn't even have an S-video input. So I'm standing there at the kitchen counter with the RF modulator in my hand, and my thought of course was:

"Christ, how drunk was I when I bid on this piece of shit?"

Thankfully, I then checked out the auction listing and learned that I had not been drunk -- instead, I was getting SCREWED. I had bid on a brand-new CRF910, but instead had received a mauled CRF900. So I fired off an email to audiowrx demanding satisfaction, and now we wait. Hopefully I will not have to resort to leaving the dreaded negative feedback.

Update: Have received the following email:

You were shipped the wrong item. I will send you a crf910.

NICE.

A letter to our country from myself

2005-01-11T16:21:00.000-06:00

Dear America,

I hate to be the one to break this to you, but you are guilty of egregious overuse and misuse of the word "myself." For example, the sentence, "My husband and myself have two children" just ain't right. I don't get why this is confusing, since I never hear you saying, "Myself has two children."

Also, while I have your attention, can we discuss the pronoun "I"? I know you think you sound smart when you swap it out for "me," but believe it or not, sometimes "me" is right! That's just between you and me.

Love,
Karo

The best IM I've ever received

2005-01-11T13:57:00.000-06:00

"i could blog about how my childhood belief that manatees mated for life was crushed and i found out that a herd of man manatees gang bangs one female manatee"

My husband, the wit

2005-01-10T20:34:00.000-06:00

I caught The Neverending Story on HBO this evening. Man, did that ever bring back some memories. That's some scary shit, yo! I'm not sure how I made it through that as a kid. And when Atreyu's horse dies? Oh man.

Some creative IMDBing as I was watching yielded the following information: The Neverending Story was directed by Wolfgang Petersen, who's directing a movie version of Ender's Game, to be released in 2006.

Another movie I loved as a kid was The Last Unicorn. Apparently, they're making a live-action version of it, also to be released in 2006. Interestingly, it stars the same people who did the voices for the 1982 animated original.

BK got home from a business trip while I was finishing up The Neverending Story. I had paused the TiVo and the child-like empress' little cherubic face was on the screen. BK asked, "What's that?" I said, " The Neverending Story! Have you seen it?" To which BK replied, without missing a beat, "I tried, but it was too long."

Badum-ching.

How cute were my parents?

2005-01-10T10:54:00.000-06:00

snuggling, originally uploaded by *Karo*.

circa 1957

Nobody puts Karo in a corner

2005-01-09T18:33:00.000-06:00

On Friday BK finally succumbed to the cold he's been fighting off for the past week, and I followed suit yesterday. I managed to do quite a bit of housework before I became completely useless, but for the past 24 hours I've been wasting away on the cushy chair, only moving when absolutely necessary. I've managed to watch 5 (five!) movies this weekend, including:

None of them stunk, and all allowed me to wallow in my sickness, blowing my nose pathetically and moaning quietly when it occurred to me. I wish I could stay home from school tomorrow -- I could fall asleep on the couch and my mom would bring me a sliced up apple and hot tea to cheer me up. Hrmph.

Signed,
Princess Fussypants

The Incredible Journey this is not

2005-01-07T15:26:00.000-06:00

Last night as we were falling asleep, BK and I had the following conversation:

Me: Do you think that if Buster and Joshua got outside at the same time they would stick together?

BK: No.

Me: You don't?

BK: No, I think Buster would run off and Joshua would slink around the house. Or maybe Buster would chase Joshua off.

Me: No, no, I mean like if they got dumped off together miles and miles away from home. You don't think they would stick together?

BK: No.

Me: Whyyyyy? (I'm almost in tears at this point, thinking about Buster and Joshua, both lost and so horribly ALONE.)

BK: I don't think Joshua could keep up with Buster.

Me: But Joshua is very fast!

BK: Goodnight, smoochy.

Why I can't ever be left alone

2005-01-07T15:05:00.000-06:00

Sometimes when BK is OOT* I like to indulge in a little vino. Sometimes I like to indulge when he's sitting right there, too, but that's neither here nor there. CAN WE PLEASE GET BACK ON TOPIC?

Ok.

So last night I was polishing off a bottle of Rioja (I open it WENDESDAY, I'm not a DRNK). Imagine me, if you will, in sweatpants and my Oxford, Mississippi sweatshirt, sitting in the cushy chair with the iBook in my lap, glass of wine precariously waving around as I tell the television quite sternly that Committed is Not At All Funny and NBC needs to check itself before it wrecks itself.

Then Buster barks v. v. v. fiercely, in a desperate attempt to protect me from the psychopath, knife-wielding squirrel which I'm sure was scampering across the front lawn. And I, in my tipsy state, completely freak the fuck out as if my five-year-old son had just jumped out of the closet and shrieked SURPRISE! at me, and I sloshed half the contents of my glass onto the open iBook.

I don't think I've ever moved as fast I did at that moment. I gently placed the iBook on the ottoman and sprinted to the kitchen for a dishtowel. I ran back to the iBook and started to dab at it lovingly, and mid-dab I realized I was APOLOGIZING to the computer, a kind of frantic "I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry" mantra.

Oh, and also, I might have gone online after that incident and searched the Northern Virginia match.com and Nerve listings for STEVE.

* That's Out-of-Town for those of you lucky enough to never have had to spend hours attempting to book a block of hotel rooms for OOT wedding guests.

The post in which I mention my unmentionables

2005-01-07T14:14:00.000-06:00

I don't like thongs. There. I said it. However, I don't like VPL*, either. This makes me very selective in my underpant selection. Last year I found an underpant called the Modern Brief, made by Jockey. It's good stuff, kind of like a modified boyshort. I went to buy some more on their website last week (Buster got into the laundry again, natch), but they don't make the ones I like any more! All they had was the saggy, hang-off-your-ass plain cotton version, of which I am not a fan.

I'm sure you can guess where this is going.

Yup, I went straight from jockey.com to eBay and bought me some underpants. They do not appear to be used, so I am a satisfied buyer. I will be leaving positive feedback.

* That's Visible Panty Line, for those with external genitals.

I'm on a roll

2005-01-07T09:10:00.000-06:00

Ok, one more thing that is making my blood pressure skyrocket this morning:

This idiot is suing Fear Factor for $2.5-million, claiming that the episode in which contestants ate rats mixed in a blender made his blood pressure rise, resulting in being dizzy, lightheaded, and vomiting. Because he was disoriented he ran into a doorway, "causing suffering, injury and great pain.''

My favorite part of the article: "Asked why he didn't shut off his television before the rat-eating segment, Aitken said he couldn't do it quick enough."

And while I'm at it

2005-01-07T08:41:00.000-06:00

This news about the film adaptation of Philip Pullman's The Golden Compass ALSO pisses me off.

Currently about to have an aneurism over ...

2005-01-07T08:12:00.000-06:00

Virginia House of Representatives Bill 1677

I seriously think my head is about to levitate off my neck and start spinning around.

The Mysterious Affair at Mississauga

2005-01-06T09:05:00.000-06:00

A few posts back I made a somewhat cryptic reference to my father having fallen in with a Polish neo-Nazi cult in Toronto. Because I know you've been hanging off the edge of your ergonomically correct office chair since then, here's the poop:

(Background info you need to know is that once upon a time my mother shared with me that my stepmother -- an old family friend -- is an anti-Semite. So that's something I've had stored away in my little acorn brain for years.)

Here are Four Clues:

1. The second day BK and I are in Toronto, everyone's eating breakfast and conversation turns to Iraq. During this conversation my father and stepmother start talking about The Jews. Things walk a fine line for a few minutes -- nothing negative is said, but lots of "they run the world's banks and the entertainment industry"-type comments are made. My body is all tensed up and I'm ready to pull the trigger the second one of them steps over the line, but thankfully conversation soon turns to other things (most likely the weather or the price of gas, the Stanimal's two favorite topics).

2. Later that day my father shows me and BK a 9-11 DVD he's borrowed from some friend. It's a "documentary" called In Plane Sight, and he's really excited that we watch it. We get through about 1/2 of it and we just can't stomach it any more -- it was chock full of ridiculous conspiracy theories, and I couldn't find a single reputable online source that so much as referenced it.

3. The friends from whom my dad had borrowed the DVD were vacationing in Cuba over the holidays, so after we watched it, we went with my dad to water plants at their home. So we get there, and BK and I just kind of stand around uncomfortably as my dad overwaters plants. As we stood around, we spied numerous other conspiracy DVDs, as well as more Hitler biographies than you could shake a stick at.

4. A few days later, my dad and stepmother take us to the home of another couple. In the time we were there, we learned:

a) There is no way those planes were hijacked.

b) "I told my son that if he ever brought home a colored girl I would shoot them both in the doorway." (followed by uproarious laughter)

c) The world is being run by a small, shadowy group of people whose goal is to create Zion throughout the entire Middle East.

d) The Masons are one of the arms of this group, and both of the candidates in this year's American presidential election were Masons because they were both in Skull and Bones at Yale, and everyone knows that's the Masons.

e) Homosexuals should not be allowed to get married or adopt children.

Um ... yeah.

Completely unrelated factoid of the day: Miscarriages can cause acne. REALLY REALLY REALLY BAD ACNE. My face has looked like a nuclear testing zone for weeks now, and I'm REALLY FUCKING SICK OF IT.

Word of the day, followed by synonyms I enjoy: TETCHY: Peevish; testy: “As a critic gets older, he or she usually grows more tetchy and limited in responses” (James Wolcott). [syn: cranky, fractious, irritable, nettlesome, peevish, peckish, pettish, petulant, testy]

Some things you need to know about me

2005-01-05T11:44:00.000-06:00

1. The people who came to install our second DirectTV TiVo receiver (this one goes out to you, Tom Wanat!) this morning might have been the biggest hicks in the world. And people, I've spent gobs of time in MISSISSIPPI. I honestly could not understand what the woman was saying half the time. And the man had a cold and kept making that horrible loogie-making noise every five minutes. I really wanted to push them out the door and connect the damn thing myself, but you know, they're "professionals."

I KNOW I AM A BIG SNOB AND I DON'T CARE SO SUCK IT.

2. BK is in Pascagoula doing document review. He forgot his rubber finger, which, though it looks like a gerbil condom, is apparently a very important tool in the document review process. Hang in there, BK! Power through sans finger!

3. I have signed the Slav household up for Netflix again. We had Netflix in DC, but BK cruelly cancelled the service. APPARENTLY the same three movies lying there on top of the TV for 6 weeks was a Waste of Money. WHATEVER.

I think I've realized that the reason I was not a successful Netflix user in the past is because I really need to be feeling a movie to sit down and watch it. Sometimes I am in the mood for something heavy, sometimes I'm in the mood for, say, Dodgeball. And if one does not monitor one's QUEUE (am I the only person who gets a delicious thrill of excitement every time I type "queue"?) properly, one runs the risk of being stuck with Schindler's List, The Ice Storm, and Saving Private Ryan all at once. And then you're screwed if you're not in the mood to shoot yourself in the head.

4. I lost my wallet yesterday, in a shameful display of not being on top of things. Luckily, someone turned it in to the campus police. PHEW!

5. My love for Colin Firth was drastically decreased upon viewing him as greasy-haired Vermeer in Girl with a Pearl Earring. Luckily, I'd watched Pride and Prejudice and Love, Actually over the holidays, so he didn't fall out of favor completely. But Colin's now barely clinging to the top three, after Hugh Grant and George Clooney. Will Smith is RIGHT THERE, buddy. One more stringy-haired performance and you're HOSED.

And lastly, here is a non-comprehensive and completely random list of movies coming out this year that I'm excited about:

The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch & the Wardrobe
Hitch (this could be awful, but, WILL!)
Bride and Prejudice
Batman Begins (only cause I can't wait to see BK pee on himself in public)

To dream the impossible dream

2005-01-04T09:42:00.000-06:00

I almost never remember my dreams. The rare times I do are usually when I'm really well-rested. Towards the end of the holiday break I had a doozy:

I'm pregnant again, not too far along, and I'm at the doctor's office. Suddenly the doctor tells me that I'm about to miscarry again and that the only way to possibly save the baby is to get it out RIGHT NOW. So she gives me a shot and then SLICES into my abdomen. I'm lying there thinking, "Please cry, please cry, please cry." No dice. I don't see the body, but the doctor tells me that it had two sets of arms, like one of those Hindu gods.

Then things got all crazy, as they often do in dreams, and I do get to see the fetus -- it looks like one of those vestigal twin tumors that get removed from people, all full of hair and teeth.

(I'll pause here while you yak discreetly into your cubicle's trashcan.)

So THEN they tell me that I'm going to miscarry every baby I ever conceive. Just in case you're rubbing your dry little hands together in glee, having psychoanalyzed my subconscious fears of having another miscarriage, go ahead and add BLAMING MYSELF to the mix, because THEN the doctor tells me that the reason I'm doomed for miscarriage after miscarriage is

BECAUSE I'M TOO FAT.

Communist terry-cloth shorts

2005-01-04T07:58:00.000-06:00

seaside, originally uploaded by *Karo*.

That right there is some three-year-old Karo goodness.

A love letter

2005-01-03T21:30:00.000-06:00

Dearest Public Library,

I am writing to you in hopes that you will forgive me for the shameful way in which I've treated you since we broke up. I forgot how you stood by me for all those years I moved from place to place, knowing no one and leaning only on you for support. I traded you in for younger models, the flashy amazon.com and others of his ilk. Sure, they were shiny, wealthy and new. But Public Library, I'll be honest with you -- dating Jeff Bezos' love child was an expensive endeavor. We are now just friends, and I've come to beg for your forgiveness. Please take me back. You have everything a girl could ever hope for -- wide selection, online renewals and requests, and best of all, you are free. I love you, Public Library. Let's be together forever.

Love,
Karo

Come on over and sit for a spell

2005-01-03T14:03:00.000-06:00

Our living room will be completely empty no more, cause we done bought this couch!

And two of these here chairs!

AND THEN! We can disassemble the contraption BK rigged to be able to see the tv over the top of the treadmill (Rubbermaid storage container perched precariously on top of low tv stand), cause we ALSO got:

Please note that every "we" above should actually be read as "BK." Husband, I am eternally grateful that you will allow me to rest my bunz on the furniture you, in all your benevolence, purchased for Our Home.

My Velveteen iBook

2005-01-03T09:37:00.000-06:00

I keep hoping that putting off posting in the blog will somehow magically extend my holiday break. Sadly, this doesn't seem to be the case as my alarm clock went off at 6:30 this morning as usual, and I'm sitting here in my cubey with a sky as dark as it can possibly be and still be daylight outside my window.

I really need to apply myself at winning the lottery.

Happy New Year, everyone! Can you believe it's 2005? Doesn't it seem like just yesterday that we were all cowering in our underground bunkers, surrounded by cases of Dasani and Ensure, trembling in fear of the apocalypse that was to be Y2K?

My new year was supposed to have started on an all-new low -- the right speaker on my iBook was acting up and the computer sometimes wouldn't wake up from sleep, so I was going to be sending it to Apple today to get fixed up before my warranty expired at the end of the month. CAN YOU IMAGINE?!?! Days, even WEEKS, without my iBook! Sure, I have an iMac at home sitting in the study, but that's just not good enough. I want to surf the internet from the COUCH.

So yeah, I was backing up my hard drive last night in preparation for the, *sob*, separation when I accidentally double-clicked a song in iTunes, and whaddya know! The speaker is back to normal. And no powering up from sleep issues recently, either. I bought Apple Care today just in case, cause you know that shit's gonna break again the day after the warranty's up. My first use of Apple Care was to order a new keyboard, cause the letters on my A and E keys have completely worn off. I may not install the new keyboard until my iBook and I part ways via eBay when I upgrade, though. In a way, I like the worn keys -- they're very Velveteen Rabbit:

"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't often happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

Walking David Sedaris

2004-12-30T16:20:00.000-06:00

I am not a big fan of David Sedaris. *collective gasp from the peanut gallery* The one book of his I've read is Naked, and that experience solidified that he and I do not share a sense of humor. In Naked, Sedaris describes a trip he took to Greece when he was a teenager, to attend Greek Orthodox summer camp. Apparently he'd never had to share a bathroom before that trip, and the idea of pooping around others horrified him so much that he just ... didn't. The man did not poop for the entire month he was in Greece.

Apparently, my dog is the canine incarnation of David Sedaris. When I picked him up from the boarding kennel Tuesday evening, his abdomen was VISIBLY BLOATED with packed-in poo. Every walk since then, there have been VOLUMES of poo. Were it not for the scores of poo baggies I carry with me on walks, our neighborhood would be awash with the tidal wave of Buster's poo.

Two Christmas gifts

2004-12-30T14:43:00.000-06:00

Little Children, originally uploaded by *Karo*.

I'd like to take a moment to share two extremes of Christmas giving with you, dear readers. The first extreme you see above. I have a friend who looked at my amazon.com wish list and saw that I wanted Litte Children by Tom Perrotta. Apparently this friend had Mr. Perrotta as a professor at Yale and also babysat his kids, so she contacted him and had him mail me a SIGNED copy of the book, DEDICATED TO ME. I wish I had a recording of the voicemail I left this friend after I opened the package the book came in, because I have a feeling I was very amusing in my babbling shriekiness. Thank you again, dear friend.

The other extreme of Christmas giving you see below. It was given to BK by my father and his wife, and I'm afraid I'm going to have to keep referring to it as "it" because we have no idea what the hell it is. I can only imagine my father saw what he thought were manicure scissors and thought he was giving poor BK a personal grooming kit, but JESUS CHRIST DAD. The evil-looking pliers! The copious amount of lengthy tweezers! THE PLIERS ON THE FAR RIGHT THAT CONTAIN MATTER WHICH INDICATES A DISTURBING LEVEL OF PREVIOUS USE!

Readers, help us. What the hell is this? Our guesses are a DIY Surgery Starter Pack or a They Won't Be Keeping Those Secrets Long Torture Kit.

What is it?, originally uploaded by *Karo*.

Stay tuned for the next Slav installment, wherein I describe the Neo-Nazi Polish Cult my father has fallen in with in Toronto!

Next time we fly direct

2004-12-28T15:04:00.000-06:00

Before I delve into the many delights that was Christmas with the Stanimal, I just have to say that I've been up for 13 hours. AND IT'S ONLY 3:30!!! Our flight from Toronto was at 6:15 this morning (Priceline, natch), so we hauled our butts out of bed at 3:25 a.m. Eastern time. We checked in at the airport, no problem, and then sat in line for 45 minutes waiting for US Customs to open at 5:00 a.m. We got on the plane, and learned it was apparently being used as a cannibalistic crockpot, cause I swear to baby jesus that it got so fucking hot in there before we started moving that I was about to start weeping. We had to wait for people clearing customs late, taxied to the runway, taxied back to be de-iced, taxied BACK to the runway, and took off an hour late. Thank god I don't carry a concealed weapon because if I had one I would have shot the man behind us squaw in the middle of his forehead. The fucker would not. shut. up. His gravelly, Pittsburgh-accented hamburgery voice CLAWED at my brain until he finally fell asleep and started snoring. Actually, I shouldn't say "snoring" as it was more like "waking the dead." FINALLY we arrived in Pittsburgh and hauled ass to our connecting flight that was about to leave. The whole time we're powerwalking to the terminal I'm all, "Our luggage isn't going to make it, our luggage isn't going to make it." Luckily, WE make it but then sat on the plane for 30 minutes waiting for people who were checked in but stuck in the security line. Every time one would appear he would be half-trotting, looking a little sweaty and worse for the wear from the jog across the terminal, blotting at the Christmas turkey grease that was beading up on his forehead. The flight to Dallas was relatively painless, and three hours later we're standing in the middle of the circus that is U.S. Airways baggage claim. Round and round goes the conveyor belt, with no sign of our bags. I gave up ten seconds after the belt stopped moving and left BK standing there with all the other chumps who were gazing hopefully into the luggage maw. FOOLS! I knew the belt wasn't going to start up again. So I parked myself in the lost luggage line and was rewarded with the knowledge that our bags indeed did not make it on the plane to DFW. So we filed all the paperwork and went to go stand outside to wait for the EXPRESS parking van. EXPRESS. Well, apparently EXPRESS does not mean what we all think it means because we stood there at the curb for thrity minutes while FIVE Express North parking vans went by and THREE remote parking buses came and went before an Express South showed up. We finally made it to the car and started driving home, absolutely exhausted and starving. We decided we're going to stop at Schlotzsky's for lunch, oh-wonderous spiced meat delights, and as we exit and pull up we realize that

THE SCHLOTZSKY'S HAS BEEN CLOSED DOWN.

Though the despair did cause us to consider walking into I-35 oncoming traffic just to make this day go away, we instead settled on a burger and came home. And then BK repacked and left for DFW again. He's got a business trip in New Orleans, don'cha know.

Happy Holidays from Toronto

2004-12-24T21:55:00.000-06:00

bulb reflect, originally uploaded by *Karo*.

The lights are turned way down low

2004-12-22T14:28:00.000-06:00

Dallas snow 2, originally uploaded by *Karo*.

I brought some corn for popping

2004-12-22T11:23:00.000-06:00

young squire, originally uploaded by *Karo*.

Those of us in the DFW metroplex, as well as those of us about to spend 5 days in Toronto, can all agree that we'd much rather be floating around in a pool in St. Thomas than venturing out into the cold.

With a taste of poison paradise

2004-12-20T10:53:00.000-06:00

Saturday afternoon I spent a couple hours wrapping all the gifties BK and I will be taking to Toronto at the end of the week (assuming our trip is not cancelled as a result of the Stanimal's wife having bronchitis, but let's leave that for another post). One of the items I wrapped was a box of fancy chocolates. Once I finished, I packed everything into a large Samsonite duffel bag I'll be checking, and then left the Samsonite sitting on the dining room floor, partially zipped up.

Big mistake.

We left the house at 6:30 and got back at 11:00. At 11:01 we realized that Buster had gotten into the duffel back, gnawed on some other boxes until he got to the chocolates, which he then brought over to his dog bed (which some of you may call "the couch"). Buster then apparently chewed off all the Christmas wrapping, gnawed through the cellophane wrapping, savaged open the box, and ate all 12.2 ounces of delicious chocolate truffles.

BAD DOG! VERY BAD DOG!

So I call the emergency vet clinic, and they ask me how many ounces he ate. I say 12. They ask if it was dark or milk chocolate. Out of six chocolate types, four were dark chocolate, so 2/3 dark, or eight ounces (the box top had luckily escaped the jaws of terror). Only not eight ounces of chocolate, but eight ounces of chocolates with creamy fillings. After much chocolate math, we decided that since Buster didn't seem any worse for the wear, we would opt out of spending $600 to put him on an IV drip for 24 hours.

That night, every time one of us would get up to pee, we'd shuffle into his room, turn on the light, and peer into his crate to ascertain if he was still alive. Every time the answer would be yes, so we'd shuffle back to bed with the victorious knowledge that we had not killed our dog with a loving combination of frugality and inertia.

However.

The dog was completely apeshit yesterday. It was harmless bouncing off the walls until he actually attempted to MAUL Joshua Wanat. There was very scary real barking and biting and oh it was just awful. Joshua Wanat now has a SCRATCHED EYEBALL and puffs up to cougar size when Buster get near him. Buster, on the other hand, has been banished to his crate for the day, where he will hopefully work on a) Thinking About What He Has Done and b) digesting the remaining sugar and caffeine.

BK, however, is bidding on an electroshock collar on eBay. Buster doesn't know it yet, but the times, they are a-changing.

Out of the mouths of babes

2004-12-19T13:00:00.000-06:00

death to frosty, originally uploaded by *Karo*.

It was a kid-filled weekend here at the Slav household. Friday night we helped chaperone a birthday party at the movies (Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events was surprisingly boring). Here's a picture of one of the boys mercilessly abusing the inflatable snowman in the front yard. Please allow me to take this opportunity to say that, as a country, I think we need to rethink this whole inflatable holiday cheer kick we're currently on.

social butterfly, originally uploaded by *Karo*.

Saturday night we drove to Waxahachie to celebrate the birthday of a high school friend. His niece was also visiting, and here she is pictured with their dachshund puppy, Harley. Yes, her t-shirt says "Social Butterfly." Yes, her necklace is made out of candy. Yes, my camera lens almost shattered from the cuteness. Too bad it didn't; it would have been the perfect opportunity to buy that digital SLR I've been wanting.

pageant, originally uploaded by *Karo*.

Sunday was the Christmas pageant at the Unitarian Universalist church we've begun attending here in Dallas. The whole thing made me very weepy in a Linus recitation in A Charlie Brown Christmas sort of way. The pageant was very realistic since there was a real, live baby Jesus who objected to the singing and screamed his head off for most of the play. Good times!

A notice

2004-12-16T10:57:00.000-06:00

To those readers who may be visiting chez Slav in the near future:

The management chez Slav would like to offer its sincere apologies for the couch smelling like dog farts. Steps have been taken to remedy the situation; however, those steps will not be enacted until Saturday afternoon. Please accept this clean bath towel in the meantime. Thank you.

Why I might have raised my voice at my father this evening

2004-12-15T21:25:00.000-06:00

Background information you need to know: My father still owns our old apartment in Poland and is selling it. I've legally inherited a share from my mom, and so I had to get a power of attorney notarized. I then had to send to the state of Texas for notary certification. Then I had to send it to the Polish embassy so they could put a $200 stamp on it.

So I get all this done, and every. single. time. I've talked to him since my dad reminds me to bring it with me over Christmas.

FINE.

I've got that.

So he calls today. For the 3rd day in a row. He's obviously grumpy about something. The first thing out of his mouth is, "You didn't send me that list of drink ingedients you said you'd send yesterday."

(He's become obsessed with BK mixing cocktails while we're in Toronto. Don't ask.)

I said, "BK was supposed to do that. Did he not? I'll remind him."

Fine.

THEN he says "You need to scan in that power of attorney document and email it to me."

I say, ok, I'll do it at work tomorrow.

"OH NO, do you don't have a scanner at home?"

No dad. No, I don't.

"Ok, well, tomorrow will be ok."

NEXT he says, "I'm also going to need the receipt that they sent you from the embassy for the $200."

At this point I'm ready to shoot myself in the face. The stamped document came back with what looked like a cash register receipt, and I had no idea it would ever be needed. So I threw it away.

OH MY GOD, the stunned silence.

"But wait, you paid with a money order! You have the receipt for that!"

NO DAD, I THREW THAT AWAY TOO. I will CALL the EMBASSY TOMORROW AND ASK FOR ANOTHER GD RECEIPT.

Just when you thought it was over ...

"I talked to the real estate agent today and the guy accepted the counteroffer."

So I say (keep in mind he told me about the original offer yesterday and I expressed my GLADNESS then), "Cool."

ARE YOU READY?

ARE YOU READY FOR ME TO LOSE MY SHIT?

Because THEN my father says, after a long pause, in the most accusatory tone possible, "I just don't understand why you're so apathetic about this."

Inadvertent guest column pieced together from an IM conversation

2004-12-15T15:27:00.000-06:00

The Crazed and Violent Luby's Child
By Suze

The crazed and violent Luby's child was upsetting - he was screaming and hitting his mom in the head and hitting the Luby's man.

And he was screaming, "Waaaah! Waaaaaah!"

Like, prounouncing the "waaahs" because he wasn't really crying.

He had to have been at least nine.

And I scared JR and Bill because I said if my child acted like that I would want to shoot myself in the head.

And then I said, "No, I would probably just get in the car one day, drive to the beach, and never come back."

FIN.

Snowbunny in paradise

2004-12-15T14:51:00.000-06:00

This morning I got to create a digital holiday card for the provost of the university that employs me. I got to practice all those InDesign skills that I've been highlighting in my Creative Suite for Dummies book. Once I get done highlighting Dummies, I'm going to move on to highlighting Peachpit Press' InDesign book. And then I will be ready to create a program newsletter so illustrative and informative that the gods themselves will weep.

Or something like that.

TOMORROW is a banner day because your friend and mine, Suze, will be rolling into town, on her way to go on a Vail skiing vacation with her new boyfriend's family. I believe she will be meeting them for the first time at the airport! I hope Suze realizes the gravity of this meeting and takes measures to tame her overactive right pit before the handshaking ensues. I also hope she has purchased a pink, fur-trimmed snowsuit and strides up to her departure gate with her snow boots on, skis thrown across her shoulder, and her goggles up on her head, holding back her curls. Because this is how I imagine the parental meeting, AND I DON'T LIKE BEING DISAPPOINTED.

Then again, I also imagine her boyfriend waiting for her at said departure gate with a sports jacket slung across his shoulder, wearing a black cashmere turtleneck and Ray Bans. So my mental picture may not be 100% accurate.

Attack of the appliqué sweater

2004-12-14T13:03:00.000-06:00

This afternoon the administration of the university for which I work had its annual "Christmas Pig-Out." I was told that 103 people signed up to either bring a dish or paid $7 (correctly guess which category I was in and you win the satisfaction of being right). Of the 103 people who were there, I would estimate that 85 of them were wearing a Christmas-themed appliqué sweater. The remaining 17 were wearing Christmas-themed appliqué vests.

I am well aware that the upcoming rant is based purely on my own urban/European snobbery. HOWEVER.

What the fuck is wrong with the women of America and their goddamn appliqué sweaters?!?!

I understand the desire to be festive during the Holiday Season. Really I do. But must we celebrate with our clothing? Must we don these woven monstrosities heavy with bows and bells and all other manner of adornment that can be adhered using a hot glue gun? MUST there be an unwritten law that one may only wear red or green during the latter half of December? Must there, I ask you? MUST THERE?!?!

Now then. Having thoroughly offended those of you currently sitting at your computers wearing an appliqué sweater, as well as those of you picking up an appliqué sweater from the dry cleaner's after work to wear tomorrow, let me move on and offend the other half.

Let me move on and offend those of you who are guilty of egregious marshmallow overuse.

To me, there are FOUR allowable uses of the marshmallow. The first would be on a stick while camping. The next would be s'mores. Next is in hot chocolate. Finally, I'm throwing in the subsidiary marshmallow product of marshmallow creme, used for making fudge.

You may have noticed that in my list, I have left out all manner of salad. THIS IS INTENTIONAL, PEOPLE. Put the marshmallows DOWN. And while you're at it, you may need to seriously reconsider your use of mayonnaise.

Update: It has been brought to my attention by eagle-eyed reader Twink that Rice Krispie treats take marshmallows. My apologies! Please make that FIVE allowable uses for the marshmallow. Then again, she also mentioned THIS abomination, so perhaps Twink's advice should be taken with a grain of salt:

"Twink special for all nighters": hoagie roll spread with honey, peanut butter, sliced bananas, and then you take the other side of the hoagie roll, put marshmallows on it, nuke it until the mashmallows are big and puffy, and then slap it down on the other side.

The post in which I go off on Jude Law for no particular reason

2004-12-14T08:26:00.000-06:00

Just when I thought that Jude Law's cruel reign over the movie theaters of America was going to be over with Martin Scorsese's Leo's-career-isn't-dead-no-really, Oscar-buzz-so-loud-its-deafening, Howard Hughes biopic The Aviator, IT'S NOT. It turns out that Jude has managed to dip his weiner into yet another 2004 feature film, Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events. Granted, it's only his mellifluous voice in the role of Lemony Snicket that will be featured in this one, BUT STILL. This man must be stopped! Since he faux-drawled his way onto the big screens this time last year in Cold Mountain, Jude has appeared in I Heart Huckabees, Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow, Alfie, and Closer. With two more movies to go before the year wraps up. You'd think with all that exposure he'd be the one raking in the three Golden Globe nominations, and not Jamie Foxx. Speaking of, I think Mr. Foxx needs to fear the wrath of my poison keyboard next, 'cause the whole Twista-Kanye collaboration was really too much. STICK WITH THE ACTING, JAMIE. It's working for you.

And while I'm at it, SHAQUILLE, STICK WITH THE BASKETBALL. And RON ARTEST, I haven't heard your rap album yet, but I'm willing to bet IT SUCKS, TOO.

The reason I have Lemony Snicket on the brain is, incidentally, because BK and I have been volunteered to help chaperone a nine-year-old's birthday party this Friday, the central event of which will be the movie. So really, with THAT looming in my future, the blog entry possibilities are truly mind-boggling.

"Spices We Have" -- where irony comes to die

2004-12-13T13:22:00.000-06:00

Ok, crazy Asian teen blogs aside, I think I may have stumbled across what is The Lamest Blog in the World.

One of this blog's posts consists of a list of 25 spices the owner has in her apartment. And before you ask, no! There is no irony! Not even a PINCH! (Ha! Get it? Spices? Pinch?)

Um.

Also! There is another post in which the author lists items she would like for Christmas. These items include mascara and (!) spices. Also on the list is:

Books - The one by John Stewart of the Daily Show, I think it is called 'America' or something. 'I am Charlotte Simmons', I think the author's name is Wolfe. Some old white guy talking about sexual relationships among young people today.

Now, I am not one to toot my own blogging horn, but lord please let my blog be a better read than whittersco dot blogspot dot com.

This post is sick

2004-12-13T11:00:00.000-06:00

Um. There's an ad for this thing on the front page of amazon.com. The text for the ad runs as follows:

It's one sick pogo stick.

Dear lord, just take me now.

Raking and Stuffing, Attorneys-at-Law

2004-12-13T08:13:00.000-06:00

Friday night BK went to play poker and be all testosteroney, so I treated myself to Thairiffic (I know, but what can you do?) and the latest gripping Degrassi: The Next Generation episode. That was some heavy shit, yo!

Saturday afternoon involved some shopping, both for Christmas and for myself. See, I've been putting off buying any new clothes since I figured that soon I'd have to start buying horrific elastic-waisted jeans and items of a similar nature, but given the events of last week, fuck it! I bought me some regular pants! With a zipper and everything!

That night was BK's office Christmas party, which sadly did not involve anyone Xeroxing their ass, which was a big disappointment. Really, the only highlights of the night were 1) being recognized by someone who was in the same scholarship program as I was in college (not really that surprising since I now live in Texas and half the state's population went to UT) and 2) BK getting into a political discussion with some poor lawyer's wife and drunkenly offending her Christian sensibilities. Guess we've got some work to do before ol' BK is ready for the political circuit.

Sunday morning was all about the leaves. Piles and piles of leaves that needed to be raked and stuffed into bags. Every bag was dedicated to a different apartment/condo dwelling friend who has not yet bought into the chumpitude that is home ownership. I'd tell you the ugly truth now, but then the homeowning mafia would come and drill holes in our roof and pour sugar in the pool pump while we slept, so suffice it to say SAVE YOURSELVES WHILE YOU STILL CAN. Move to New York City and be fabulous and carefree and ...

Fuck, I gotta go. The roof is leaking.

Because it's my blog and I can so you can suck it

2004-12-12T09:57:00.000-06:00

scroodle, originally uploaded by *Karo*.

Visions of sugarplums

2004-12-10T22:48:00.000-06:00

christmas wrapping 1, originally uploaded by *Karo*.

Following up with fecal matter

2004-12-09T15:26:00.000-06:00

Man. One thing I didn't not foresee about Putting It Out There is that it's kinda hard to follow up on. I 'spose the only thing to do in this sitchy-ation is to slowly divert attention from the fact that I am Leaking Baby* and move on to the more mundane topics of yore.

So! How about that episode of Lost last night, huh? Whoo! Was that a kick in the pants or WHAT?

I kid! Lost is still safely ensconsed in the TiVo cause BK got a bug up his ass last night and decided that he needed to watch The Iron Giant RIGHT NOW.

But seriously, thank you to everyone who emailed and/or called. It meant a lot to me. For real, 'do.

Since everything is now Out There, I'd like to share with the viewing public the following email I wrote to a young lady from whom I purchased some baby items on craigslist. See, my first experience with craigslist in Dallas was great -- I scored this doohicky, pretty much brand new with an extra base for $60, and I was all, "Craigslist is DA BOMB. The SAVINGS! The SATISFACTION of screwing the Americans! This one goes out to you, Stan!"

Then I bought some other items from a different person. I am now somewhat disenchanted, and I think my email will show you why:

Candice,

Thank you for driving halfway to meet my husband. That was very nice of you. I looked forward to him getting home with our new gear, but I have to confess that when he arrived I was very disappointed.

First of all, the child carrier is not a Baby Bjorn. It is an Infantino. I specifically asked if it was a Baby Bjorn and sent you a link to the amazon.com page. You replied:

"yes, Thats the right baby bjorn"

The Baby Bjorn retails for $89.99 and gets the highest safety and user ratings. The Infantino retails for $19.99 and gets much worse reviews. I did not wish to purchase an Infantino.

There is also the matter of you advertising the products as being in "mint" condition:

"everything is in excellent condition.. no rips or stains..."

This is simply untrue. Perhaps you did not look at the items in bright light, but all are stained. The bouncy chair's fabric seat has what appears to be a fecal matter stain on it. The play mat has a large, visible (urine?) stain on the underside. None of the items appears to have been cleaned at all.

Candice, I am sure you meant well and did not mislead me purposefully, but I feel that I've been had. I've bought and sold on eBay and craigslist for years, and "mint" means that something looks like it's brand new. These items do not look new, and one is simply not what was advertised.

I realize there is nothing I can do now, so mostly I'm writing to let you know that you will most certainly have more upset people on your hands if you continue to sell "mint" items that are in fact, not. If you chose to continue selling on craigslist, please consider being more accurate in your item descriptions.

On the bright side, everything laundered nicely. On the evil wench side, ol' Candy wrote me back, apologizing and asking for our address so she could return the $10 we paid for the "Baby Bjorn." Believe it or not, we haven't seen that $10 yet. I'd like to take this opportunity to publicly ask Craigslist Candice to please kiss my ass.

* We laugh, or else we cry, people.

The post in which I keep it real on your asses

2004-12-08T13:28:00.000-06:00

Yesterday evening at 5:30 I had a miscarriage in the handicap stall of my work bathroom.

I had gone to pee before my department's Christmas party and was instead confronted by enormous amounts of blood. It was a very surreal experience. I kept thinking, "I can't believe I'm having a miscarriage in one of the stalls in my work bathroom." I kind of sat there for a while, thinking about what I should do. I finally stuffed some toilet paper in my pants and went back to my cube to get my cell phone and a dime. I came back to a thankfully empty bathroom and stuffed the dime into the Feminine Products Dispenser, which turned out to be broken. Great.

So I locked myself back into my stall and sat some more, alternately staring at the wall and sneaking peaks at what my body was rejecting. I looked down and saw what I assumed to be the sac, floating in the toilet, a little round thing about the size of a fingernail.

I called a friend, I called BK. Yes, it's me. Yes, I'm having a miscarriage. Yes, I'm sure.

I stuffed more toilet paper in my pants and drove over to the drug store. I bought some pads and then asked where the bathroom was. The girl looked at me knowingly. But she didn't know.

I called my doctor's office and left a message. The doctor on call called me back. He said I should still come in for the appointment I had scheduled for Thursday, the 8-week appointment where I was going to hear the heartbeat for the first time. He said that it sounded like I had a blighted ovum (when a fertilized egg implants in your uterus but the resulting embryo either stops developing very early or doesn't form at all).

I've been wavering all day about whether or not to post about this. It feels disingenuous not to. This is real, it happens to so many women. No one talks about it, but the stats are telling -- about 20% of pregnancies end in miscarriage.

BK and I are bummed. We were both really excited about the July 22 due date. Lots of people are going to be coming through town over the holidays and I was really looking forward to being able to tell them in person. I'd already bought a bunch of baby gear on craigslist (once a kid who likes to play bank, always a kid who likes to play bank). We were so looking forward to watching the Stanimal unwrap the "#1 Grandpa" t-shirt we got him for Christmas, watching him be all "wtf?" until the realization slowly dawned on him and he crapped himself with glee.

How do I feel? I am sad. I am frustrated. However, I am not despondent. I got pregnant our first month trying, so chances are pretty good for cooking up a baby soon. I'm also very thankful that I'm not going to be lying on the examination table tomorrow, completely losing my shit because the technician can't locate the heartbeat.

So long, Embie. See you again soon.

What does this say about my country?

2004-12-07T15:12:00.000-06:00

When I image-googled "Poland," this was one of the top hits. Is this what we are to the rest of the world? Jolly chaps who just love the hell out of ~~sausage~~ kielbasa?

At least there was no traffic

2004-12-07T09:47:00.000-06:00

I squinted one eye open in the middle of the night to see a white shape hovering across the bedroom. It turned out to be BK, coming back to bed. "Whaddyadoin," I muttered as I flopped myself over to my other side. "I had to email and call some people," said BK. I laid there falling back asleep for a few seconds before I realized that it was the middle of the night and generally not the time when you call people. So I grunted out something that sounded like, "Wha ... Huh?" BK climbed into bed and said, "It's for work, I had to leave some voicemails, don't worry about it." I promptly fell back asleep.

Next thing I know BK is standing by my side of the bed, fully dressed and tapping me on the shoulder. "I have to go in to work for a little while," he says. "I'll be back soon." I sat up in bed, completely disoriented, and watched his blurry shape float towards the door. (Have I mentioned I have 20/800 vision?) I finally came to and screached, "Have you lost your mind?" after him, but to no avail. I laid back down and heard the door to the garage. I promptly fell back asleep.

So this morning after I finished drying my hair I walked over to the bed and poked BK. "What the fuck?" I asked him. BK grunted and burrowed under the covers. I poked him again. "Did you really go to work in the middle of the night," I asked him. "What time was it?" BK tells me it was 3:30. My husband drove to work at 3:30 a.m. because he knew he was going to be late going in this morning and wanted people to have information about some fax first thing.

The moral of the story is that when he got there at 4:00 a.m., it turns out that the fax had never arrrived. So BK: go-getter or big chump? You decide.

Lessons I learned this weekend

2004-12-06T09:31:00.000-06:00

When you go to see Finding Neverland, make sure that you take a box of Kleenex with you. Because there will be a preview for Hotel Rwanda and you will sob all the way through it. Then there will be a preview for A Very Long Engagement and you will cry through that, too. Then you will watch the feature presentation and will need to lend some of your Kleenex out to the mustachioed gentleman to your right who is there with his wife and is sobbing unabashedly.

If your husband takes you out for a Hot Date at Outback Steakhouse (I think Dallas has managed to completely devour my soul) and you order a baked potato, make sure to say, "Oh! What a cute, little, perfectly round potato!" when the waiter brings it to you. Because then he will think that Jabba is Displeased with the meager potato helping and will run to the kitchen and bring you a Whole Nother Potato!

When you are helping with a work event wherein high school students come to campus to interview for the scholarship program you work for, do not expect suits and smiles. Because instead you will see surly people born in 1987 who are sporting scowls that would curdle milk. They will slouch around wearing FLIP-FLOPS (At an interview! In December!) and CAPRI PANTS (At an interview! In December!), acting as though they don't really give two shits if you give them free tuition, a semester abroad, and $53,000.

Finally, a lesson BK learned: When you go Christmas shopping and purchase some clothing-type items for your father-in-law, do not leave the bag sitting on the living room floor. Because then you will leave for a few hours, and when you come back, you will discover that your dog has rooted out all the items and dragged them over to the couch, where he fashioned himself a nest out of one article and used the other as a chew-toy.

Please, no pictures or autographs ...

2004-12-03T13:56:00.000-06:00

Earlier this week the morning show I was listening to on the way to work announced it was giving away advance screening passes for Closer. Turns out the place to pick them up was the Mobil station (fancy!) at the next exit, so I decided to GO FOR IT, never mind that I might be five minutes late to work where no one would ever notice since I sit by myself across the hall from the department. (No, I don't smell. Space issues. For real!) I'm not sure what I was expecting at my first radio-station giveaway, but it wasn't a guy sitting in a van with the DJs' faces spray-painted on it, passing out passes by the handful through a barely-cracked window. I can only assume he was cold. So I walked up to him and he shoved a couple of passes at me without so much as a hello, so I quickly muttered "thanks" and scurried back to my car. Not really the celebrity treatment that "advance screening" conjured up in my mind, but hey. Free movie.

The screening was last night -- yet another disappointment since the movie comes out today and how glamorous can you really feel seeing a movie a whole 15 hours before anyone else can? It clearly stated on the pass that they overbook so you have to show up early to get a seat. I got to the theater 40 minutes early and there was already a huge line, but thankfully I now live in Texas ("Where Everything Is Bigger") so that didn't present a problem. When they let us into the theater all the best rows of seats were roped off and marked "Reserved," presumably for the advance screening glitterati, who, before you get too excited, never showed up.

The highlight of the advance screening experience came about 15 minutes before showtime, when the five people in radio station shirts who'd been milling about the front of the theater looking bored and superior announced that people who had a Post-It note or magnet attached to the bottom of their seat would be receiving a PRIZE! I had a magnet! I was in! I was one of the chosen few! But then a very bored, anaemic-looking young man in a SUNNY 97.1 shirt took the microphone and announced that they had enough stuff for everyone. That of course started a mass stampede toward the front of the theater that swept me along with it, where I received a Closer baseball cap and two long-sleeved t-shirts which, oddly enough, though were marked XL, would have barely fit Buster. Being the nice person that I am, I asked if anyone around me wanted them, and the slouchy young gentleman to my right RIPPED them out of my hand before I could finish saying that they were a little on the small side.

Lesson learned: DO NOT GET BETWEEN THE PEOPLE OF TEXAS AND THEIR FREE SHIT.

Still a little miffed that I did not manage to score a Closer lip balm (I am so not kidding about the lip balm), I sat down next to BK to watch the movie. We first got a preview for a film that might have made me wee myself just a little, as it features two of my favorite things: 1) Will Smith and 2) romantic comedy. February cannot come fast enough, people.

Closer was good, but very sad and very uncomfortable to watch. There were moments where I was actually squirming in my seat, squirming completely unrelated to the $5 tub of Diet Coke sitting in my cupholder. My only complaint was that it was so obviously originally written for the stage, which is a fine way for a story to make its way to the big screen, but usually works better when the playwright doesn't write the screenplay. Stephanie Zacharek of Salon nailed it when she wrote that, "[the] dialogue [is] so meticulous it bears no resemblance to the way people actually talk, let alone think. 'She has the moronic beauty of youth, but she's sly,' Larry observes of Alice after he meets her for the first time, a playwright's semaphore, maybe, for 'She's kind of cute.'"

Next time, I'm mowing those fuckers down and getting me a lip balm.

The Stanimal is a Longhorn dad (sort of)

2004-12-02T15:43:00.000-06:00

When I was in college, I bought my father an I AM A LONGHORN DAD burnt-orange bumper sticker in a desperate attempt to be normal. See, our little family of three immigrants didn't do a lot of the things my friends' families did. Things like:

drinking beverages in the car
throwing away receipts for two-dollar items purchased On the Fly
purchasing things On the Fly
socializing with other human beings (Except Poles. Poles were ok as long as they were of the intelligentsia and not that trash that comes over to the States to do asbestos work.)
watching sitcoms
laughing
eating foods that are not European in origin
reminiscing about the past
singing (I don't think I ever heard my mother sing before she died. Note to self: ask the Stanimal to sing over Christmas.)
and lastly: using bumper stickers

An I AM A LONGHORN DAD bumper sticker seemed like a very American, wholesome thing to buy. So I did. But I can't say that I was too surprised when, the next time I came home, I saw that my dad had PROPPED the I AM A LONGHORN DAD bumper sticker up against the back windshield of his car for the occasion.

For those of you who don't know me IRL, this seems like the appropriate time to divulge the following fact: I used to play bank with myself when I was little. Go ahead, laugh; all my friends find it spectacularly amusing. I'd get deposit and withdrawl slips when I'd go to the bank with my mom, and I'd come home, organize them, fill them out. I kept a little ledger of transactions. THIS WAS MY FAVORITE CHILDHOOD GAME.

It all makes sense now, doesn't it?

Susan Cannon was the muse for this post.

The controversial nature of acceptance

2004-12-02T08:33:00.000-06:00

Have you heard? It's great! CBS and NBC are refusing to air a United Church of Christ television ad welcoming gay and lesbian couples into the church! In case you think thine eyes deceive you or that I smoked a pound of crack in the car on the way to work, here is the story from an actual news source. Also, for your enjoyment, I present to you a letter BK wrote to CBS yesterday:

The CBS network has recently determined that it will not air television advertisements for the United Church of Christ because those advertisements are "too controversial." What's the controversy? That the UCC welcomes homosexuals as members. Here's a link to the story: http://www.ucc.org/news/u113004a.htm If this account does not fairly represent CBS' position, I'd welcome hearing your side of it.

It is difficult for me to express without profanity my disgust at the decision of your network. CBS' explanation that the subject is simply too controversial is unconvincing. CBS airs news reports and other programming on a variety of controversial topics. CBS' best known program -- 60 Minutes -- is reknowned for being controversial. One of CBS' most famous sit-coms -- All in the Family -- was also famous for addressing controversial issues. CBS' "too controversial" excuse is pure bullshit.

Congratulations, gay-bashers! Way to go! What a victory for bigots everywhere!

Perhaps CBS as a corporate body really believes homosexuality is evil. This is unlikely, since CBS cares only about making money. More likely, CBS is worried that it has been perceived as "too liberal" because of Dan Rather's liberal reputation and the suprise appearance of Janet Jackson's nipple at the 2004 Super Bowl. I wonder if there's an email at CBS somewhere that reads, "Hey, if people think that we hate gays, then they won't think we're liberal!" If this doesn't work for you, consider programming entitled, "Misunderstood Nazis", "Why Can't the Coloreds Just Keep Quiet", and "CBS REALLY loves Jesus!"

CBS, please tell me, just how good does right-wing conservate ass taste? Personally, I haven't kissed it myself.

Goodbye, CBS. Good luck turning yourself into the PTL network. I won't be around to see how that goes for you, as I won't be watching you any longer.

God bless us, every one!

2004-11-30T20:20:00.000-06:00

The Christmas Season is truly upon us, people. And if the story I am about to tell you doesn't warm the cockles of your heart, then you're nothing but a Scrooge with a lump of coal in your chest.

There is a shopping plaza not far from our home that houses an Albertson's, Blockbuster, La Madeleine, and some other stores. We're there fairly often and have noticed that a new Chinese restaurant, Howard Wang's, was being built. After being stymied a few times, we gave it another try tonight and, huzzah!, success. Not only was Howard Wang's open, it was doing crackin' business for a Tuesday night in a relatively lameass part of town. After being asked if we had reservations (Uh, no. You're a Chinese joint in a strip mall.) we were seated and discovered an extensive menu featuring "Chinese" favorites like Singapore Rice Noodles, Pad Thai (!), and ... fried calamari??? Huh. Still, we were willing to give it a shot, so we made our selections and waited for our server.

And we waited, and we waited, and we waited.

Finally, a guy breezed by our table and then backpedaled to ask us if anyone's taken our order. Nope. So he took it, obviously having no idea what he was doing, asking what kind of rice we want with our noodles, trying to sell us on an appetizer 30 seconds after we ordered the lettuce wraps.

Eventually the waiter apologized profusely for sucking, and BK laughed and asked how long they've been open. Waiter dude replied that their grand opening is actually tomorrow. We must have looked confused cause he was kind enough to elaborate, telling us they've been open since Friday for practice, taking walk-ins.

And then the heavens opened up and the Little Baby Jesus, the Reason for the Season, graced us, Karo and BK, WITH A CHRISTMAS MIRACLE. Because, people, then the waiter said:

"Since we don't actually open until tomorrow and this is just practice, all the food is free."

I almost fell on my knees, OH hearing the angels' voices, oh niiiiiight diviiiiine.

So yeah, the lettuce wraps were a little dry, and the entrées were served with a 15-minute gap between them during which the hot tea and (saltless) edamame arrived, and calamari and a second serving of lettuce wraps which we did not order were placed on our table, and my kung pao tofu was lukewarm and had no scallions and huge, unfried pieces of unfirm tofu, BUT WE DIDN'T CARE. It was FREE!

A Christmas miracle. Right here in North Dallas.

Pangs of guilt

2004-11-30T13:55:00.000-06:00

joshua, originally uploaded by *Karo*.

Poor Joshua Wanat is being cruelly ignored in my blog, and it's high time I do something about it. Here he is, fiercest kitty in all the land! No hall rug stands a chance against his snaggle-toothed bite!

Also, when BK sells comic books on eBay he takes pictures of them on this couch. I think it would be a neat idea to name a store Yellow Plaid Couch.

Now I have to go gum some prunes because I just used the word "neat" and did not mean "tidy."

It is so cold in my cubicle my nail beds are turning purple

2004-11-30T08:55:00.000-06:00

Yesterday my father called me to let me know that he thinks my childhood cat might go to the Big Sandbox in the Sky any day now. This is hardly surprising as the cat is closing in on 20 years and apparently no longer does much in the way of eating. In true Stanimal fashion, though, this constitutes a tragedy in which no shred of light can be found.

Have I mentioned that, as a rule, my dad needs to lighten up?

So all this talk of elderly cats got me thinking about the creature you see here. This is Bobbie Socks. Bobbie Socks is the pet of my sasspot of a college roommate, Karen. I had the pleasure of living with Bobbie Socks from 1996-1998, and by "pleasure" I mean "not so much." If you think the Stanimal needs to lighten up, wait til you get a load of Bobbie Socks.

There are some things you need to know about Bobbie Socks in order to understand our antagonistic relationship, the first being that Bobbie Socks hates me. I don't take this personally, as Bobbie Socks hates everyone equally, as evidenced by her inclusion on this web site. Bobbie Socks hates being imprisoned by her vile human captors, and bides her time until she can make a break for it. This involves crouching by the door and darting outside the minute it is opened. The problem is that Bobbie Socks has always been an indoor cat, so when she gets outside she is petrified with fear and immediately runs and hides. I still bear the scars of that one fateful day in 1997 when Bobbie Socks made a mad dash for freedom 30 minutes before my physics final. She hid directly under the center of a parked car, and a sailor would have blushed at my language as I was reduced to laying on the ground and sliding an open can of tuna fish towards her with a stick. She would take a few bites, then I would slooowly slide the can a little further out. She would eat, I would slide, it was like an intricate dance routine that ended with me sliding the can out from under the car and then snatching up Bobbie Socks as she emerged for just a few more delicious bites. She tore my wrist up good with her back claws to pay me back for the indignity of being redeposited into her carpeted, three-room prison.

Ah, memories. There was also the time when Bobbie Socks got shut out from her litter box (oh Karen, Karen, what gourmet foods you cooked and essays you crafted but DAMN if that litter box didn't get STANKY between its three to four week cleanouts) over a Thanksgiving holiday and carefully chose my armchair as her urinal. (A week's worth of turds, meanwhile, were all neatly arranged under the coffee table.)

Which brings me back to my point of elderly cats. Bobbie Socks reluctantly moved on with Karen after college, still oppressed by her captor. A couple of years ago the plumber presented her with just the opportunity she was looking for, and Bobbie Socks ESCAPED. For DAYS. Karen was beside herself and papered the neighborhood with lost cat flyers. The hunger must have been too much to bear, because finally the cat returned to her hated prison. A couple of hours later, Karen gets a knock on her door. It's her mildy creepy neighbor from a few doors down.

Neighbor: I saw that your cat is lost.

Karen: Yeah, I was really worried about her because she's really old. But it's ok now, she just came back.

Neighbor: Oh. Because I was going to tell you, if she's really old, she probably went off somewhere to die.

Karen: ...

Neighbor: Would you like to have dinner with me some time?

A conversation

2004-11-28T15:20:00.000-06:00

thanksgiving table, originally uploaded by *Karo*.

A conversation overheard over Thanksgiving dinner between BK and a relative:

BK: I wish Gore had won the 2000 election.

Relative: If Gore had won in 2000, we'd all be speaking Chinese now.

BK: You think the Chinese are trying to take over America?

Relative: No, but the Jews are.

BK: What? Why?

Relative: Because of the Torah.

BK: Relative, you have lost your mind.

Oh baby, baby

2004-11-26T10:48:00.000-06:00

Here's BK with his 6-week-old nephew. A few hours after I took this picture, we witnessed something incredible as BK's sister changed him. FIRST, Eli gazed off into the distance and a FOUNTAIN of urine erupted from him onto his onesie, his socks, and his great-grandmother's heirloom quilt. THEN he let a tremendous, juicy fart and crapped all over the changing pad. LASTLY, once he was changed, clean, and dry in a new outfit, he vomited all over himself.

I don't think I've ever laughed so hard in my life.

Some reasons I'm currently feeling thankful

2004-11-24T11:13:00.000-06:00

I get to leave work at noon today. WORD.
I will meet my nephew for the first time this weekend, and all photographs point to him being cute and squeezy.
I am married to a tremendously kind and intelligent man. Who also has hott bunz.
There is a coffeeshop in Oxford, MS with free wireless internet access.
Because of point number one, I might avoid contracting pneumonia as it's 45 degrees outside and the air conditioning is on in my building. My boogies are freezing up.

Agony of defeat

2004-11-23T18:46:00.000-06:00

agony of defeat, originally uploaded by *Karo*.

I think it's been far too long since I posted a photo of my dog. I realize I'm a dirty thief who stole the angle from dooce, so there's no need to think disparaging things about me. For that reason, anyway.

So! Tomorrow brings the promise of a Road Trip, which is always good for a trip through one of Texarkana's finest drive-throughs and one of Buster's spectacular in-car pukings. BK and I are going to bop on over to Half Price Books tonight and see if we can't wrastle us up a book on tape. If we can't find something we agree on, I'll be forced to continuously loop A Charlie Brown Christmas (the greatest Christmas album of all time, natch) in the car to get us into the goddamn holiday spirit, cause the 60-degree weather sure as hell isn't doing it.

My father called me tonight to wish me a happy Thanksgiving and to remind me that tomorrow marks the 23-year anniversary of our emigration to America. That's right, we are PILGRIMS, although not the kind that stand on the side of the road holding a turkey muppet. My dad (and you must imagine this conversation in Polish, of course) talked about how there have been some rough patches, but that overall these past 23 years have been all right. I agreed that there were some good memories.

Considering this is the closest we're ever going to come to talking about my mother, and that A Charlie Brown Christmas always makes me a little teary, I might be a little goopy right now.

Stupid feelings.

Jules Verne, eat your heart out

2004-11-23T08:52:00.000-06:00

Too bad it's not "economically feasible for the average home." The Holiday Season is upon us, after all!

1954, originally uploaded by *Karo*.

The shame, my god, the shame!

2004-11-23T08:22:00.000-06:00

There is a red light on my work phone. This is the "you have a new voicemail" light. This morning, it is lit up for the very first time since I started my new job on October 1. I am very excited about my first-ever UTD voicemail and want to listen to it.

However, I cannot.

Would you like to know why I cannot listen to my voicemail, chickens of the internet? I will tell you. But you must promise to keep reading my blog after I admit what I am about to admit, once you no longer have any respect for me.

I cannot listen to my voicemail because I HAVE FORGOTTEN THE PASSWORD.

In the eight weeks since I set it up, my voicemail password has, *poof*, completely vanished from my brain. I have attempted to access the accursed Meridian Voicemail with Every. Single. Numerical. Password I have ever used. No dice. Every time I punch in a new combination and hit pound, all excited that THIS might be the one, I hear, "invalid password." I have spent 10 minutes hunched over my desk phone, stabbing at the buttons in a futile attempt to HEAR MY NEW MESSAGE.

I've given up and have called the lady at telecommunication services. I left her a very rambling message detailing the depths of my shame and begging her to reset my password. I HONESTY HAVE NO IDEA WHAT IT COULD BE. Was I drunk when I set it up? Did I select a numerical string On the Fly? How many digits is it?!?! I don't knooowwwww.

I don't remember the last time I was this embarrassed.

Pilgrim's progress

2004-11-22T08:32:00.000-06:00

You really haven't lived until you're driving home from doing some surprisingly fruitful Christmas shopping and there, on the side of the road, you see a grown woman dressed like a Pilgrim. She is holding a large turkey puppet and is smiling and waving to all the motorists (so was the puppet, at least as much as a turkey can smile -- it's more of a prophetic death grimace, really). Considering that she was standing in front of a hospital, I have no idea what she was selling, but it certainly put a smile on my face.

Just in case you're rolling your eyes at me because I am almost done with my Christmas shopping, let me explain. BK and I are off to Mississippi for Thanksgiving this week, and I need to take all in-law presents with me in the car. Since ye olde paychecke is now somewhat slim, being on the ball is preferable to going broke shipping 50 lbs. of crapola across the country.

The post in which I fake it and use an old photo

2004-11-20T10:06:00.000-06:00

Last night I drove to DFW, a.k.a the airport that a drunk person laid out, and picked up my high-school friend Missy. She will be in Waxahachie for a whole week to plan her July wedding, but she took time off from ripping the heads off live chipmunks (or whatever it is those bridezillas do) to have dinner with ME. So we had Indian food where the naan tasted like pancakes and chatted, and then I drove her down to her parents' house and she turned my hazard light on a bunch of times (see below).

Here is a list of things that I associate with Missy:

Hazard lights. In high school I drove a Mazda Protogé (S.E.X.Y.), which featured the hazard lights button as interior DECOR. It was big and red and right in the middle of the dash. So Missy would press it, ideally when I wasn't looking. Then I would get mad. GOOD TIMES!
CiCi's Pizza. We'd go before football games and eat our body weight for $3.99. I don't think I've been to a CiCi's since. It's probably for the best.
Reckless driving. Missy would, without fail, forget essential drill-teamal items before every single game. So we would hop in the Protogé (so, so sexy still) and drive 85 mph to her house to pick up the top half of her uniform. Or the prop for that week's routine. I am proud to announce that we never missed the bus as the result of me endangering the lives of Waxahachie's drivers and ~~pedestrians.~~ (What am I thinking, there are no pedestrians in Waxahachie.)
7-Layer Burritos Sadly, these I've had since high school.

Now, to the treadmill. I can't take its mocking laughter any more.

The triptych is complete

2004-11-19T08:16:00.000-06:00

For those of you who threatened me with old drill team photos, SUCK IT. I'm beating you to the punch and posting what is quite possibly the most humiliating and downright AWFUL photo of me ever taken. Let's talk about it:

OK, here I am. I'm obviously under the influence of alcohol, as I am sporting my Richard Hamilton (Rip!) headband that I had gotten for free ninety-nine at a Washington Wizards game. I am also manhandling a rubber chicken that BK purchased at a garage sale (So unsanitary! Who knows where that thing has been!). Lastly, I appear to be striking what, in my drunken stupor, must have seemed to be a FANTASTIC disco move. Honestly, people, enjoy it while it lasts, because it doesn't get any better than this.

So! Be it not said that Karo embarasses her friends and not herself. We are in this together, BK, Suze and I. We are the proud, the few, the ridiculous.

Suze + Legolas 4 Eva

2004-11-18T08:23:00.000-06:00

Today's entry in my campaign to humiliate all of my loved ones is the following photo of my friend Suze. Aside from being a law school student, Suze is also a devotee of Legolas, a.k.a Hot Elf, so much so that one of her friends bought her this life-sized cut-out of him. Please note that Legolas appears to have recently been to Wurstfest, where he purchased a hat that can be described only as "jaunty." He is also a Lonhorn fan. Suze, on the other hand, appears to have recently celebrated the new year, and may quite possibly still be drunk.

suze, originally uploaded by *Karo*.

Let me ride that donkey donkey

2004-11-16T16:47:00.000-06:00

Today's installment from the annals of the ridiculous is the following photo of BK "dancing" at his sister's wedding. Though he's certainly struck a mesmerizing pose in this photo, perhaps the most exciting moment of the evening came a few minutes later when the DJ decided to grace all the old Southern ladies and small children in attendance with the great 12 Gauge classic, "Dunkie Butt." To my knowledge, BK had never heard the song prior to that moment, but he seized upon it with great gusto. Imagine my husband, if you will, with a circle of people clapping around him, galumping around like a gorilla riding a stick pony, slapping himself in the ass. Sadly, I have no photographic evidence of this fine, fine moment in BK history, as I was in the ladies room, gently weeping as the next 50 years of my life spread out before me like a DEATH SHROUD.

hott stuff, originally uploaded by *Karo*.

A word to the wise

2004-11-15T19:30:00.000-06:00

If you are suddenly struck by the idea that purchasing a treadmill for your home is a good idea, don't. Because then it's there, sitting in your bedroom, overtaking your entire bedroom and staring at you with malignant LED eyes, mocking you because you have to clambor atop it and do something that vaguely resembles a very drunk Yogi Bear stumbling in the woods after BooBoo. (I'm not sure who BooBoo is in this scenario, but let's just focus on the fact that I'm the drunk Yogi.) Then you'll think about how just 6 months earlier you'd run your 3 miles at the gym every day, no problem, and then you'll get sad because now you live in Dallas and don't work out with Michael Jordan any more, and all your friends are very, very far away and the restaurants in Dallas are nowhere near as good as D.C.

Then you will realize that you're being a pissy bitch and you need to get over yourself and fix the goddamn tilapia for dinner.

So don't buy the treadmill. Ok?

Joey, I'm not angry any more

2004-11-13T17:24:00.000-06:00

On my way home from work last night I heard "Joey" on one of Dallas' few radio stations that doesn't suck weiner. Man, did that bring back some memories of high school -- me, shut up in my bedroom, sitting cross-legged on the bed, listening to Concrete Blonde's Bloodletting with a tear slowly trickling down my cheek because Trey didn't ask me to the prom. Trey, if you're reading from Australia, you're a stud, dawg.

Emotional moment #2 of the night came when I got home and took Buster for a walk. I was still reminiscing about the high school days of yore, the dog pulling me along behind him, me humming "Joey" to myself, so I wasn't really paying much attention to the lay of the land. Background information you need to know is that Buster is the proud owner of a brown, furry tennis ball that has a long squirrel tail thing attached to it. So we're walking along ("And if you're somewhere drunken passed out on the floor") when I register out of the corner of my eye that Buster has his squirrel tail toy with him. Huh? I take a closer look and learn that it's not his toy that I spy, it's an ACTUAL squirrel tail, attached to the dead squirrel that Buster had picked up off the sidewalk and was now proudly holding in his mouth. I bellowed "NO!" and started praying to sweet baby Jesus that he'd drop it, becuase I sure as hell was not about to touch dead squirrel. Jesus loves me, this I know, because after a few yanks on his leash, Buster reluctantly dropped it. Now we just have to keep and eye out for whatever disease he might have picked up from his new friend, Mr. Dead Squirrel (who, incidentally, is still camped out in the same spot on the sidewalk, looking a little worse for the wear).

This morning BK and I went to pick up our new treadmill. Though the South African gentleman from whom we'd purchased it assured us that is would fit in the CR-V (I know, SO HOTT), it was, in fact, not even close. So our options were a) BK drive home with the car's back door open and without me, or b) take everything out of the box and try to cram in the individual pieces. Option b) worked like a charm, luckily for me.

After depositing that whole mess at home, BK indulged me in a few hours your favorite past-time and mine, Christmas shopping. Mmmm, nothing gets ME in the Christmas spirit like fighting the well-coiffed Galleria crowds. People, they have SANTAS with WHISTLES in the parking lots DIRECTING TRAFFIC. And the Santas aren't half-assing it, either. They're ENERGETIC and EXCITED about getting all those luxury vehicles safely to their shopping destination.

Oh, and last night BK fullfilled his husbandly duty and went to see Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason with me. And he didn't enjoy those zany romantic comedy hijinks one bitty bit, no siree. Tonight it's The Incredibles at the movie grill -- could we BE having any more fun?!?!

Oh, and Salon published my letter -- suck it, Robert Bryce. FACE!

Yet another example of the downfall of humanity

2004-11-12T09:24:00.000-06:00

It appears as though Miami-Dade County police officers felt the need to Taser a six-year-old child who was brandishing a piece of glass in his principal's office and threatening to harm himself.

Ok, first of all: WTF?

Secondly, whatever happened to the adults being in charge? JTFC.

Singing the chorus of Oklahoma! a couple of times and grabbing myself a Diet Coke

2004-11-11T14:19:00.000-06:00

muzzle, originally uploaded by *Karo*.

I have received an email from a concerned friend:

"You can't let those guys get to you so much - it just ain't healthy!"

So instead of posting a chart that shows the correlation between average statewide IQ and choice of presidential candidate, I will post that which prompts this divided land of ours into a spontaneous bout of hand-holding. Namely, another photograph of my dog.

I stand corrected

2004-11-11T13:39:00.000-06:00

Apparently, I spoke too soon about Sen. Arlen Specter. Thankfully, the rude pundit was there to set me straight:

Specter could have fought back - he could have made a case for the independence of the legislative branch from the executive. He could have said more strongly that he was talking about the reality of dealing with an angry Democratic minority. Oh, how strong and mighty he could have stood for ideals and moderation. Instead, Specter was paid a visit by Karl Rove's Sodomizin' Stormtroopers. God, how the sphincters of Republicans ache at the thought of the black-clad SS and their foot-long black dildos, how the alphabet streets of D.C. are filled nightly with the moans of would-be dissenters from the Bush agenda who are raped back into line with just a wave of Rove's corpulent hand. It took one night of abuse with the sandpapered rough phalluses before Specter put on the Shirley Temple dress and went on the gabfests to lick his giant lollipop about what good widdle girl he would be. Isn't he adorable on CNN's Inside Politics, saying, "I've supported all of President Bush's nominees in committee and on the floor," followed with a stark admission of his bitchery, "I think I can help the president"? Wasn't he a sweetie pie on Face the Nation? Yep, Specter dancing around and showing his cute panties to everyone is a warning to anyone who dares not toe the Bush line.

The rude pundit is my new favorite pundit.

While I have your undivided attention, can we talk about when it was exactly that people in America LOST THEIR FUCKING MINDS? Apparently the new Kinsey biopic starring Liam "You May Remember Me from Schindler's List but Not So Much from Gun Shy" Neeson is now being protested by certain "groups," and by "groups" I mean total fucking morons:

"Alfred Kinsey is responsible in part for my generation being forced to deal face-to-face with the devastating consequences of sexually transmitted diseases, pornography and abortion," said Brandi Swindell, head of a college-oriented group called Generation Life that plans to picket theaters showing the film.

But this one is really choice:

"Instead of being lionized, Kinsey's proper place is with Nazi Dr. Josef Mengele or your average Hollywood horror flick mad scientist," said Robert Knight, director of Concerned Women of America's Culture & Family Institute.

Let's discuss

2004-11-11T09:57:00.000-06:00

Let's discuss the lady that was 20 seconds ahead of me in the restroomial process this morning at work. She washed her hands, dried them, and then got a whole nother (a whole nother, that's right, I said it) paper towel. Perhaps her hands are still wet, I thought to myself as I was drying my own hands and peering at her in what I hoped was an inconspicuous fashion, but was most likely slack-jawed gaping.

But no, she used the paper towel to open the restroom door.

Now look, I'm as hygienic as the next guy, but honestly, lady. Haven't you seen the local news exposés? Haven't you learned yet that POO MATTER IS EVERYWHERE? Sure, you may have deftly avoided the fecal matter on the door handle, but what about that guy in front of you in the hall on the way back to your office? Maybe he just farted. And maybe his poo molecules are going Right. Up. Your. Nose.

Oddly enough though, it really squicks me out when people bring coffee pots and pitchers into the bathroom to fill them up. Can't you do that at the water fountain? Honestly. I don't want to drink the water you harvested in the fields of poo.

If my readership allows me to wax nostalgic for a moment, all this talk of poo reminds me of a girl I went to college with. She was one of those goddamn perfect Barbie dolls you just wanted to pinch (hard): president of Panhellenic, good grades, blah blah blah. She and I were both in a semester-long thingee called the Normandy Scholars Program, during which there was much studying of WWII. The program ended with a month spent in Normandy, ostensibly to look at beaches and shit, but really to drink your body weight in red wine and then yak it all up in the bathroom of your room in the 12th? 13th? 14th? century abbey where you were staying.

Anyhoo! One weekend a bunch of us took the ferry over to England (and speaking of yakking, can I just say that European ferry passengers are the most seasick prone bunch of motherfuckers I've ever seen, as I've had the opportunity to learn TWICE in my life now) and shared a hotel room in London. It was a tiny little room with one of those port-a-potty bathroom/shower jobbies in the corner, kind of like a cruise ship bathroom. So Barbie was concerned that there was nowhere for her to hang her towel, so I suggested she close the toilet lid and put the towel on top of it.

Judging from her reaction, you'd think I'd just suggested she lick the inside of the toilet bowl. Then again, this is the girl whose mother taught her to say "Bless you" whenever someone burped. I guess the rules of ettiquette are a little different in El Paso.

Update! It turns out that my friend C. had blogged about an article on the very issue of germophobes just there other day.

drive home, originally uploaded by *Karo*.

On a note completely unrelated to bathrooms and poo, here's a camera phone shot I took of my drive home. Texas sunsets are spectacular, almost as spectacular as the suckage of my camera phone.

Mencken called it in 1920

2004-11-10T16:18:00.000-06:00

"[W]hen a candidate for public office faces the voters he does not face men of sense; he faces a mob of men whose chief distinguishing mark is the fact that they are quite incapable of weighing ideas, or even of comprehending any save the most elemental -- men whose whole thinking is done in terms of emotion, and whose dominant emotion is dread of what they cannot understand. So confronted, the candidate must either bark with the pack or be lost... [A]ll the odds are on the man who is, intrinsically, the most devious and mediocre -- the man who can most adeptly disperse the notion that his mind is a virtual vacuum. The Presidency tends, year by year, to go to such men. As democracy is perfected, the office represents, more and more closely, the inner soul of the people. We move toward a lofty ideal. On some great and glorious day the plain folks of the land will reach their heart's desire at last, and the White House will be adorned by a downright moron."

- H. L. Mencken, in the Baltimore Sun, July 26, 1920

(emphasis mine)

Earl Balboa is not from Texas

2004-11-10T14:11:00.000-06:00

No indeed, he is from Washington Township, Pennsylvania, which, as we all know, is a blue state and therefore highly enlightened.

I hope the election of George W. Bush is seen as a wake-up call to all the liberal Democrats who oppose God's will.

It is His doing that George W. Bush is still our president. Millions of born-again Christians helped win this election through our prayers and votes. Jesus speaks through the Republicans.

The Democrats will not be able to win elections until they renounce their sinful ways and stop encouraging abortions, gayness, and trying to take away our guns.

Also! I was so unbelievaably pissed off by this article in today's Salon that I was actually moved to write the following letter to the editor:

To the Editor:

You're going to be getting a lot of mail from pissed off Texas liberals for publishing Robert Bryce's "The Texas chainsaw massacre," so allow me to be one of the first to tell you how disappointed I am that Salon would publish such a load of codswallop. Hell, I just moved to Dallas (where we elected a Hispanic, lesbian sheriff last week) five months ago, and even as a non-Texan I'm getting really tired of the constant pre- and post-election Texas bashing. Ignorance exists nationwide, and I would have thought that Salon would know better than to pin our country's current woes on one state. Thirty-eight percent of us did our damndest to get that idiot out of office, and we do not appreciate being told that Bush's Hollywood cowboy worldview represents us.