Queen Mediocretia of Suburbia

Puppies

As you know, my new company, TeddyJ, has been cuckolding my old company, Elliot, at the rate of one employee a week. During this "difficult transition period," we disloyal employees were forced to speak in code so our infidelities weren't discovered. One of the codes we adopted was the Puppy Code.

Examples

Getting a new job = Getting a puppy. As in: "Puppies sure are expensive when you first get them, with all the new shiny play toys they need."

Puppy mill = the new employer, TeddyJ. As in: "I had to drop by the puppy mill and visit with the breeders" (fellow former employees who tempted us with the new puppies).

Still, only friends #2 (Libby), #4 (Caroline) and I joined Friend #6 (Gracquel) as we lined up for our new puppies.

That's why I was glad to see this recent email from Marcia, Friend #3.

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Subject: Just thought you should know.

- Marcia

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Happily, Marcia's puppy is from the same litter (department - see, this is fun!) as mine. We were all very concerned because her puppy took the longest to wean. (Her approval process took twice as long as everyone else's.) Nonetheless, her patience was rewarded when she wound up with the pick of the litter, the International Travel puppy.

This whole new-employment campaign was cooked up by Marcia, so while she was waiting it was ironic that, like Moses, she led the Exodus but was not allowed to view the Promised Land.  We could have had as much fun with that as we did with the Puppy Code, but none of us knew Jewish history, particularly Marcia. Well, she did compare Libby to Joshua, as she led the way into Israel. There is a friend (#0.5 - she's really short) who went to a company other than TeddyJ, I suppose she could be one of the Lost Tribes.

Too Sick to Meme

Or, How to Lose Eight Pounds In Two Days.

I think the title says it all.

Or does it explode?

My high school was newly integrated the first year I went there. You would think I'd have tales of riots, public demonstrations, protesters, National Guard and such, but no.  In fact, you couldn't that tell my school was integrated. I never saw a single student of color in the halls, much less my classes. I would go to our infrequent assemblies and notice the leftmost quarter of the bleachers was an uninterrupted field of brown. "Oh, yeah, those are the kids from Kinloch," I'd think, "Because of the busing. I forgot."

There are several possibilities why I never saw any of them:

1. I passed them in the halls and they were invisible to my middle-class white eyes.
2. They missed the bus they had to catch early in the morning.
3. They took a different track of classes; I was in the college prep classes and they weren't.

I always thought the reason was #3, but after watching Raisin in the Sun the other night I'm starting to think it was #1.

We studied Raisin in the Sun in college-prep English that first year. (After viewing it on TV, I would like to applaud the curriculum director for his or her behemoth stones.) We discussed it at length, and debated assimilation, and were scandalized that anyone would want to buy out a black family. And then I think I must have gone into the lunchroom and floated past all the tables full of  African-American kids without seeing them.

In a similar example of Ballsy Curriculum, our senior play was South Pacific. I remember the Theater instructor sighing over the casting options: for a play about prejudice, with several juicy roles for people of color, only one kid from Kinloch had tried out.

Then she admitted that given the bus schedule, bussed kids who participated in the musical would have had a twelve-hour school day three times a week. Perhaps they didn't think of that.

(As I type this, the guest on the Colbert Report is this minute saying, "You can't integrate what's invisible." Kind of spooky.)

I've heard that we are to be color-conscious, not color-blind. I'm certainly conscious of how very ethnically diverse my new TeddyJ team is. Every race, creed, sexual orientation is represented. If I'm color-blind, I'm dismissing a part of each one, if I'm color-conscious, start the pool of how many days before I'm fired for some stupid overly-direct remark.

Brain Lint

• First of all, do you think I can't see you?  Do you think you are invisible, scanning through all the categories trying to find a wattlicious photo of my chins? Oh, aren't you secretive? And you too, Scroogle user. Humph.
  

• Oh, and, thanks for teaching me about Scroogle.

• TeddyJ has seduced another of my friends. I will be working alongside Friends #2, #4, and #6. If Friend #8 drank the corporate Kool-aid we could have a run of all the odd numbers. The latest seductee is Friend #4, also known as International Guest Blogger of Mystery, who explains:
  
  "You ever get to the 'screw it' point?  That happened to me Wednesday at 6 am.  No, my cell phone bill isn't resolved.  But so what?  I've been shopping.  I have new clothes.  I have new shoes.  I can walk in heels.  Why should $230 stop me from enjoying them?
  
  So at 6am I wrote my resignation letter.  At 3pm I ducked into my boss's office.  On March 7 I will leave the company where I met the Queen, Friend 2, and Friend 3.  And on March 17 I will join the Queen and Friend 2 at Teddy J's, while wearing a new charcoal pantsuit and red patent leather heels.

• Of course, that meant I had to buy these shoes for myself:
  

  

• I don't know how I'm doing it, but one day into the Six-Bite Diet I've had to start taking in my pants with safety pins.  Perhaps all the new shoes have made me aware that my pants crotch is grazing my knees now.

• Mom is going to the physical therapist tomorrow to build strength in her legs, then next week she gets her first cataract removed. So she's offsetting decline in one area with improvement in another.

• See, you didn't have to hunt for it:
  

  

Model Wattle

I remember the morning I woke up with a double chin. I was about 11, and overnight my chin poked  out. And by the end of the week I became self-conscious about my chin. Chins.

It still worries me when I watch Katherine Heigl on Grey's Anatomy. My chin alarm goes off constantly.

Watch the chin! I think. Don't smile. Chin! Chin! Ah, no chin. CHIN! Stop talking!

In the past thirty-plus years, I have gone from the chin above, to the chin one can disguise only with great difficulty after taking thirty-plus photos for ones About page, to this:

...and currently, to this:

I seem to be carrying an inordinate amount of weight in my chin, as if all the water and fat in my face slid down below my ears and is making a semicircle of softness below my mouth. It's really out of control.

So, my plan is to follow Gary on the Six-Bite Diet, add fluids and exercise, and call it the Wattle Diet. My goal is to lose my Iguana Wattle, or at least shrink it down to Tree Frog Wattle size.

I'll succeed quickly, I think, because I retain a lot of water in the Wattle.

Some of you are thinking, how will she objectively judge weight loss in only the wattle? You can't see your own wattle, and if you do, it shrinks back into your body in fear. So my plan is to stand in the laundry room and have Gary trace the shadow of my profile on the wall. Then, every week, I'll stand there, line up my lips and nose, and Gary will trace my (hopefully smaller) wattle.

And if there is progress, I will let you know.

In Which Gary Changes His Underwear

Gary came into the room Thursday, while I was on the phone, hooked his thumbs into a worn-out hole in his pants, and silently tore his pants off his body.

He's done this before. Usually I applaud and gush, but as I say, I was on the phone.

This may explain why Friday he upped the ante. He walked in and began stripping to his own interpretation of '70s porn music, revealing ...

These!

"Okay," I asked, "Why are you wearing Mormon underwear?"

The story begins when Gary was walking up a slushy hill to get to work, and slid face-first back down. His coat, shirt, pants, and underwear were drenched in mud, so he drove to the nearest mall to buy new clothes. (It's okay. He needed to replace the pants he tore up Thursday anyway.) When he got back to work and changed, he found not only that the three-pack of undies he bought were not all white (one red and one black were hidden in there), but that they were these girdle-shaped underwear. Evidently they are Jockey Boxer/Briefs. For the man who no longer takes gym class.

They look good on him. But, you can't get the true effect without the porn music and the bumping and grinding.

I really like Gary's new underwear.

She Looks Great!

Back in '94, five days after my elective insurance started (victorious smug snort of self-satisfaction) I woke up and my feet were asleep. Oh, and I felt like my guts were super-glued together.

"Like a tight band is around your torso?" asked the neurologist I saw seven days after the insurance started.

"Why, yes, it feels just like that!" (Torso band. Classic. Textbook. So unimaginative.)

This all happened in less than a week. I went on a cruise, returned to an MRI and I was back on the medical Fast Track. The secret to the fast track? Have something so obvious even the receptionist can diagnose it.

"Hmm," grunted the neurologist, "I think you might have a mild case of MS."

"Hunh." I grunted in return, as these thoughts went through my head, in this order.

1. No, I don't. You are wrong. (Stage 1: Denial.)

2. Shit. The second question that gastroenterologist asked me was "Do you have MS?"  Shit! (Stage 2: Anger!)

3. But he said it's a mild case. (Stage 3: Bargaining?) 

4. Crap. I bet everybody starts off with a mild case. Then they DIE. (Stage 4: Depression ... )

5. Okay. What do I know about MS? (Stage 5: Acceptance.) Well, when I was in college  there was that evil character on Days of Our Lives. She was in a hospital bed and Stephano DiMera came by and complimented her on conning the doctors into thinking she was sick (for some evil DiMera scheme) and the MS thing she threw in there, that was a nice touch. No, she sobbed, they found out I really do have MS, and I could get amnesia, or go blind, or be paralyzed! (Or, evil DiMera lady, you could poop uncontrollably for a year. Classy.)

I bring this up because today I had the tv on today and I surfed past Days of Our Lives, and there she was. "Dang," I thought, "She looks good." So I did a little research, and it looks as if after a 20 year absence "Anna DiMera" is back.

Here's the cool thing: "Anna" has a MySpace page. She can be your "Friend"! You can wish her a happy birthday! Even though she isn't real!

Click here to see her MySpace page. Personally, I think she should have more sophisticated taste in music and color.

The best part appears at the beginning of her bio and is the only reference to MS:

"Roman believed Anna was dead, but she told him she was rescued and then sold into white slavery. Anna had red marks on her back which she claimed where whip marks, but were actually scars from multiple sclerosis, which she kept a secret."

Yeah! Because white slavery, society accepts that. Not like the DREAD Multiple Sclerosis Back Scars. Which are entirely fictional. I Thank God I didn't asks the neurologist, "but...but...will I have Back Scars?"

I'm Loving Teddy J

My new employer, TeddyJ, has bought me lunch the last three days. And it was good, and there was cake.

On the other hand, my husband Gary is starving me. There is no food in the house.

Remember this photo?

 

Clear all the fluids off the top and bottom shelves. That's what's in our fridge right now. Condiments and bread.

Now, take sheets of ice and rain them down from the sky. There was a sleet downpour in Saint Louis today. TeddyJ said, "Hey, go home, and if it's bad stay home tomorrow too."

Great. Gary buys the groceries, but Gary is on the starvation diet, so he has no motivation to visit the grocery. We can't get Chinese or pizza deliveries in bad weather, because Gary feels it's wrong to risk the driver's lives because we're hungry. He's so sweet. I could gnaw his arm off.

Shooooooes

When I was taking Prof. B_______'s History of EducaZZZZzzzzzz-uhn class, the one interesting lecture he gave was on Appropriate Dress for A Woman Teaching High School.

"No dresses, they'll show your legs," he droned. "Nothing below your clavicle. No heels. No pantsuits."
"Oh come on!" we cried, "No pantsuits? Why?"
"Suits only accent a woman's femininity. Oh, and don't wear your hair up in a bun, either."

Then, I went to teach in the adult sector, and I got to wear suits with skirts and heels. That was fun the first ten years, then our dress code relaxed. Just to be companionable, my abdominal muscles relaxed as well. Then my feet said, "Hey, is there a party?" and we put on our Clarks with many festive socks.

Now that I am catering to the needs of my new job (TeddyJ), my dress has changed again. Evidently, TeddyJ likes me to wear pantsuits and stylin' shoes. The pantsuits were easy, but the stylin' shoes are a little more difficult. I can take them for half a day, but a full day in even semi-stylin' shoes make my feet hurt. I notice it most on the hike across the parking lot.

Mom suggested I wear comfy shoes in to work, change at my desk, then change back when I leave. I suppose Mom does not remember the Horrific Shoe Incident of '92.

The Horrific Shoe Incident of '92

During some of the years I worked in heels and suits for my old job (whom I like to call Elliot), I was stationed off-site at Ralston-Purina. R-P is located across the street from the projects. I had two parking options: hike two city blocks across the parking lot, or park by the projects right across the street. I always grabbed my dress shoes and just crossed the street from the hood.

One day, I was walking back to my car after work and I thought, "I don't remember leaving my window down," and then, "Huh. I don't remember leaving a brick on my front seat," and then, "AUUGH! Where are all my shoes!"

Because the one flaw in the comfy shoe / dress shoe switch scheme is that it assumes when you get home you take the dress shoes back inside to the closet with you. Or, OR, you can demonstrate efficiency and logic like a good programmer and leave them in the car, because you'd probably be wearing those shoes tomorrow, especially your one pair of black shoes. Or brown. Or red. Or navy. Or green. Or beige.  Or blue with tassels. Or strappy red ones. Then soon your entire shoe collection is in your car next door to the projects, and someone trades you a brick for all your shoes. All you have left are the strappy red ones that match only the shirt on your back.

When I explained the situation to my contact at Ralston, her response was to laugh heartily and ask "ALL your shoes were in the car?" The same laugh and question was echoed by the insurance guy and the police officer and the project manager at "Elliot."

I had to buy a pair of $20 black plastic shoes at Payless to wear while I built up my shoe wardrobe again. Perhaps there's a Mini-Cooper locking shoe storage accessory.

MemeMeme

Tagged for two memes! Oh, thankthankyouthankyou, Connie K and Aunt Sabine. I am so tired from this  job I'm doing for Teddy J.

So, first Connie K's meme:

I. You have to look up page 123 in the nearest book around you.
II. Look for the fifth sentence.
III. Then post the three sentences that follow that fifth sentence on page 123.
IV. And then tag five people, just like you were tagged. (Neh. I believe in self-tagging. Or comment tagging for those without blogs.)

"For example, if you want to indicate a first inversion of a C major chord (normally C E G, but E C G in the first inversion) you'd write this: C/E. This tells the musician to play a C major chord, but to put a E in the bass --  which just happens to be the first inversion of the chord."

I know it hasn't been three sentences yet, but, two quick things:

1. I know it should be "an E in the bass."
2. The delight with which the author wrote that sentence makes me laugh. "...Which just HAPPENS to be the first! inversion! of the CHORD!" (Author claps happily.)

"If you wanted to indicate a second inversion (G C E), you'd write this: C/G."

If this made no sense to you, don't worry, this made no sense to me. I stopped back on page seven of  The Complete Idiot's Guide to Music Theory when I was learning about staffs and clefs. I told you I was serious about figuring out why I like some songs. So far I've figured out all the songs I like have staffs and clefs.

We cross into other continents for Surreal Georgia/Aunt Sabine's meme.

It's long, so I put it after the jump. It reminds me of the balloon launch we did in sixth grade. Do kids still do that? Launch balloons and see how far away they go? The directions say:

"You do not have to be tagged to play along. This game is simple and so are the rules.
Copy from *Start Copy Here* through *End Copy Here* Add your site(s) to the list. Just be sure to post at each site you add.

Tag or don’t tag, your choice, however, the more tags you create the bigger the list will grow. Come back and copy the master list back to your site, often. This process will allow late-comers to get as much link benefit as the first ones in."

Go after the jump for the master list. I'm number 539.

International Guest Blogger of Mystery

Or, In Which We Discover That Friend #4 Is a Guest Blogger.

You know how I get with secrets. Here's a secret: Friend #4 has an issue with My Ex. (My Ex-Employer. Lets call my ex-job ... Elliot. My sedate work-spouse of 17.5 years to whom I was faithful until I was wooed away by hot young new employer with the tongue stud. Let's call him Teddy J.)

We had Friend #2's (n*10)th birthday GNO on Friday night. We all pledged GNO secrecy, spat into our palms, and swore that what is discussed at GNO stays at GNO.

Still, Friend #4 sent me this Guest Post! She is telling the Internet her business! Here's the guest post:
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Ellen and I spoke Friday night at a gathering where all is to remain confidential. Without breaking said confidentiality, I can tell you that I had big plans for today and agreed to guest blog about them. Said plans did not happen, because of my cell phone bill.

Ah yes, a cell phone bill. A $293 cell phone bill to be precise. I have worked in exile for months in a conference room with two other women, five computers, and a speaker phone. I support multiple clients and continued to do so, even while working on site at one of them. Since it's not polite to discuss one client's business on a speakerphone in the middle of a conference room at another client, I used my cell phone. A lot.

My husband takes care of our bills and does a fine job at it. Unfortunately he didn't realize I had increased usage and was consistently eating into our carryover balance, and I never thought to tell him to look. We ran out of carryover minutes last month, about $230 before I was done talking. My employer does not have a good policy for reimbursing cell phone usage, so it is murky what I can be reimbursed. I have clearly shown that my personal usage is within my plan's limits. A meeting about it today indicates they will pay the difference, pending approval from someone who is on vacation until Wednesday.

What on earth could a cell overage have to do with blog-worthy plans? Tune in later this week to find out.
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Check it out! A guest post from someone who isn't drunk. Or else she's drunk with bitterness. I think she's hinting at these secrets just so I don't follow my usual secret self-sabotage. (When asked to keep a secret I dredge up horrible information about myself and spill that.) So maybe I won't do that this time.

Later: Pig feathers tickle when pigs fly out of my ass. Today, I spent five minutes pulling on my socks and snapping them to make big clouds of dry skin billow around my feet. And I had just worn these socks one day. Uhhh ... like I always do.

In Which We Discover Gary Is "Connected"

Since I've been living at the Queen Mom's the last few days, Gary has been at home pining for attention. So of course, who gives the best attention? HIS Mom. He went to visit his Mom in the Suburb From Whence All Moms Come (Florissant), then he dropped by to visit us at my Mom's house, just to get a few more scraps of attention.

"So," I asked, "How's your sister Sandy and the kids?"
"We didn't talk about that."
"Oh. Well then, what's up with Karen and Mr. Wonderful?"
"I dunno. We didn't talk about them either."
"What did you talk about, then?"
"Oh, stuff. I didn't know my Aunt Pat had lost the Cook family geneology. I don't know why they'd want it though. Mom says her uncle was in the Mafia."
I laughed. Because this is absurd. "The Mafia? You aren't Sicilian. You're Irish." Wilma's family is Irish. Beyond Irish. Gary's grandma was 100% Irish and marched every year in the Hibernian parade.
He rolled his eyes. "The Irish Mafia. In East Saint Louis, where I was born."
"There's an Irish Mafia?" I asked, incredulously. (Don't worry, I went to Wikipedia, and I'm caught up now on the Irish Mob. It's just that I never saw The Departed, or Gangs of New York. Oh, and yes, Gary was born in East Saint Louis, where the crime rate is ten times the national average. I suppose he's a homey of East St. Louis. I don't think this would carry any weight when he was begging for his life, though.)
"Well, of course there's an Irish Mafia. Mom said she'd always have to leave the room when her uncle came over and talked 'business' with her dad."

Now, I knew that Gary's grandfather was a mean man, abusive to his family, and a drunk. But I had never heard of this uncle, or the 'family business.'

"So." I huffed, "I don't know if I would have married you if I had known your family were Mafiosa."
"Oh come on," he said. "Everyone was in the Mafia back them."
"No," I said sweetly. "Some of us," (I exchanged glances with Mom) "owned coal companies."
"And were the founding families of Marion, Ohio," Mom added.
"And married future First Ladies of the United States," I hedged, skipping the common-law part of the DeWolfe / Kling / Harding union.

Of course, I recalled later that at the time Gary's great-uncle was strong-arming shopkeepers in East Saint Louis, my great-grandfather was running liquor across state lines. Except HE paid his debt to society and spent ten years in prison. And he was an Independent Contractor Criminal, not associated with the Mob.

The Mob.
The Irish Mob.
The Irish Mob of East Saint Louis.
Jesus, Mary and Joseph. No wonder Wilma didn't spill this until she was eighty.

The New Diet, Continued

Gary reports that he thinks we can consume cosumme on our soon-to-be vegetarian diet. Chicken broth is okay in his book. I think he believes it's chicken sweat.

He also thinks Oreos are okay.
"Well, no," I said, "The center is made of lard and sugar."
"Lard is animal fat, isn't it? Dang."
"Yes."
"Well, maybe they got it by liposuction."

What a Long Strange Day It's Been

2:45 am - Mom falls and can't get up. She hits her Lifeline button. (I don't know if she actually wailed, "I've fallen and I can't get up." The irony might have been knocked out of her.) The Lifeline people dispatched her next door neighbor to help her, and then called me so I was aware of the situation.

9:00 am - Went to check out Mom before work. Then Fallen Angel On Duty #1 did not show up at Mom's house for work. Replacement Angel On Duty shows up at 11:30. I was very, very snippy to her.

12:00 - Went to work. Immediately went to lunch for an hour and a half. Grouched because that would mean I'd be at work till 9:30, and I wanted to spend the night at Mom's, and 9:30 is late for Mom.

2:30 - HR comes by to suggest I stop surfing the net to earn my final paycheck, and that I could leave right now and not come in tomorrow! Woo hoo! She walks me out! Woo - huh? Weird. Especially since it's Hot Mom's actual last day and she has just as little to do. (By the way, Hot Mom tells HR about this blog even before I leave the building. I only just now realized they can't "dooce" me over what I put here. Hah! Hi HR! Hi Old Money President!)

5:30 - I realize it's Valentine's Day and Gary comes home with chocolates for me and his MOM. He give me his Mom's chocolates to take to my Mom.

7:30 - Gary suggests we become vegetarians. He read something that says a vegetarian diet is more environmentally friendly. I say sure, and I think, "Sure, I can be a vegetarian until you realize chicken broth is made from meat." But, he might be an ovo-lacto-brotho vegetarian. He still has to establish the rules.

8:30 - Mom reports that my blog display on her Apple Cube is one long skinny column. Something in the sidebars threw things off, so I stripped it and I'm going to gradually add things back. Perhaps the One.org banner turned on me after I deleted the last email without reading it.

Obsession CD

I'm going to confess something. Then you're going to say, "Oh, yeah, I do that too," and then I'm going to say, "Yeah, well I do that all the time," and you'll be all, "To what degree?" and I'll tell you, and you'll say, "Whoa." Quietly and with fear.

I hit the repeat button on my car CD player when there's a song I like, and I let it repeat until I get to my destination.

("Oh, yeah, I do that too"..."Yeah, well I do that all the time" ... "To what degree?")

I have listened to nothing but I Live With It Every Day, every day, for the last month. Well, every day I had access to my car. It started two weeks before the cruise. 

Sometimes, I would turn off the car, perhaps in the middle of the song, resetting the repeat function, then when I'd get back in I'd hear a few notes of Old Apartment, then jump back.

Going on the cruise and being away from the car CD player didn't break me of the habit. I got back in the car, the song started up, I hit repeat. (Any trauma associated with people sporting sequoias on stage had no ill effects.)

So it's been almost two weeks since the cruise. I have progressed from not only loving this song, but to loving individual consonants in this song. Specifically: "The only thing that they can't take." ("The guilt that spirals in my wake." Sigh.)

I took Mom somewhere in the car today, and I was a big girl and switched out the CD. It made me wonder what qualities certain songs have that get me obsessed. Are there themes? Rhythms? I heard that there's a secret chord? What?

So, I'm going to burn a CD of these songs:

Three songs by Leonard Cohen: Tower Of Song, Take This Waltz, and Closing Time

Closing Time would be followed thematically by Kevin Hearn and Here Come the Chimebell Trains

There would be two Weakerthans songs, Sun In An Empty Room and Civil Twilight. At least, I remember I was once obsessed with Sun In An Empty Room, and I would have heard it again today when I drove home from Mom's, but I couldn't get past Civil Twilight.

For most Barenaked Ladies songs, there's an obvious theme: Running Out Of Ink, This Is Where It Ends, Next Time, War on Drugs - suicidal, much? But then, why Break Your Heart? But that would explain Green Day and St. Jimmy.

There are some lyrically uplifting songs, from Guster - I Hope Tomorrow Is Like Today - and  Ben Folds - Still Fighting It 

There are relationship songs:
Blondie - Hanging On The Telephone
Liz Phair - Polyester Bride
Pelle Carlsberg - I Love You, You Imbecile

And finally, some unclassifiable songs:
Blondie - The Hardest Part
Cat Empire - Sly
Fountains of Wayne - Strapped For Cash

The big question is: what song do I put first? Because I'll be listening to it for a month; I'm not exaggerating.

Dangerous Words

There are some phrases that set off my red flashing BS indicator. These phrases are:

"I don't have a bigoted bone in my body"
This may or may not be followed by "but..." but it always means the same thing. It means, "I am about to say the most bigoted thing you have ever heard."

"That is unacceptable"
As soon as I hear a prim, "Well, that is unacceptable," the conversation is over for me. Sorry you can't accept reality. That's a shame. I know other people who are accepting.

"I'm a very spiritual person"
This is usually coupled with The Jazz Hands of Sincerity laid across the speaker's breast. Picture Mahatma Gandhi saying, "I'm a very spiritual person." You can't. Paris Hilton considers herself a very spiritual person.

What phrases trigger your BS alarm?

Kathy Griffin Review

I love Kathy Griffin. She makes me laugh until I cry. I saw her at the Fox last night. Her shtick is mockery at its finest, mockery of the rich and officious and inflated. Plus, she strikes me as genuine. And after seeing her in person, I believe she is genuine. She really did get off track and say "Oh - so, what was I talking about?"  (She also said, "Mormons are weird. It's true, we all know. They're as weird as Masons." Let's not forget who has Mormon MASONS in his family. Gary. So I laughed heartily at that.)

Oh, and my hearty laughter may have been caught on the DVD she was filming, or on My Life on the D-List, since that crew was there too.

Now, a fair number of the Heartless Cows (specifically, Friends #2 and #3) do not like Kathy Griffin. "She's mean," they complain. These people think Kathy Griffin is mean. Evidently their complaint is that Kathy Griffin is mean to people they don't know.

I must admit, there were a number of spots during last night's show when she made me pause. For example, now that we know Britney is bi-polar, Britney's antics really aren't funny. For example, Kathy joked about how Britney should be able to hold her water and not visit three bathrooms in one hour. "Oh, poor Britney," my colon, Colin, sympathized, "It isn't her water she's having trouble holding. She's got too much serotonin running through her system. That'll amp up your bowels."

But luckily Kathy let up on Britney soon after and she started mocking Oprah, who is highly mockable   "And is it just me," Kathy said, "But isn't Oprah as fat as she's ever been? And it's like  she doesn't realize it. And who's going to tell her?" I started to raise my hand and say, "Oprah has a thyroid condition. Didn't you hear? It was in Star Magazine."

"Jeez," I thought, "Kathy doesn't give sick people a pass," just as she started on the Oprah inviting the Osmonds to appear.

"Oh," she said, "Did you know the oldest Osmond has MS?"

"This will be good," I thought, "Because MS, now that's some funny shit."

But she only went on to make fun of Oprah and the Osmonds for making this guy keep working with the MS. Not terrifically funny, but a truly missed opportunity.

(Probably the best part of the act was when she laughed at herself and her new boyfriend, The Woz, and the geeks on message boards who are cautioning her not to break the heart of the Woz. As a geek, I found that particularly funny, and I will until they find that geekism is on specific chromosomes. (Like chromosomes 2, 4, 8 or16. Hahahahaha! Geeks just laughed at that.))

At any rate, I prefer Kathy when she's mocking the healthy, that's all I'm saying.

Okay. I Give UP

You know your life is boring when all you have to blog about is whether or not "barely simmering" chicken broth is enough to cook the egg in egg drop soup (and NO IT IS NOT: http://www.foodnetwork.com/food/recipes/recipe/0,,FOOD_9936_25560,00.html).

Then, your commenters outpace you in the drama category by using your blog as the place to make a Wedding Announcement.

Yes, see http://mocklog.typepad.com/queen_mediocretia/2008/02/marital-advice.html#comments

So, I would like everyone to sign the guest book of comments for

Zayrina

and

Some Nameless Guy Who Doesn't Comment

Even if you don't know her, because you know her about as well as I do, wish Zayrina best wishes in the comments. I want as many total strangers from far-flung lands to wish her well, from the Southernmost Google Analytics Dot (That means you, Big Dot in Auckland NZ) to the Northernmost (Big Dot in Edmondton, CA) and all the rest of you dots.

Sack up! As always, no need for an email or a blog name, just leave meaningless well wishes for total strangers Zayrina and ... the co-Zayrina.

Marital advice

Wives, if you ever want your husbands to talk incessantly, all you have to do is put on your slinky pjs and robe, lie in bed next to him and say "Let's just lie here and cuddle." He will twitch and vibrate and talk and throw off sparks of energy.

Then the dog will jump up and chew on  his bone until he looks directly at your husband and kicks the bone off the bed. Then your husband will hop up and get the bone. Repeat the kick / fetch process thirty minutes.

Get up and go into the other bed and fall asleep until the opening bars of Stan Kenton's West Side Story jerks you awake. Oh, and then your husband will play the Dean Martin CD he just bought for his Dad's birthday and come in with the dog and dance with the dog to "That's Amore."

But, no. No, it isn't.

Productivity Plummets

Conversation while ordering Chinese Delivery for Chinese New Year lunch:

Me: I want to get Special Fried Rice, but I can't. My system doesn't like it any more.
Friend #3: What do you want then?
Me:  The Sweet and Sour Pork lunch special.
Friend #3: White Rice or Fried Rice?
Me: (sub-second pause) Fried Rice.
Friend #3: You're killing me.
Me: No, it's the Special Fried Rice I have a problem with. That's just regular Fried Rice.
Friend #3: Egg Drop Soup or can of soda?
Me: I would have the Soup but I'm allergic to raw eggs.
Friend #3: Give me a break. Egg Drop Soup is fully cooked.
Me: Yeah, as fully cooked as tepid chicken broth can cook an egg.
Friend #3: It is fully. Cooked.
Me: My colon would disagree with you.
Friend #3: Your colon is full of shit.

Top Five

So, the cruise is over and life has returned to normal. For example, Monday I had a scone from Starbucks, went to work, checked my email, tendered my resignation, caught up with voice mail, researched  circular function calls, went to Panera bread for lunch, etc. Wait? Did I tell you I researched  circular function calls? That was exciting.

Oh, and resigning. That was exciting too.

(I accepted a new job the Friday before vacation, after I'd left work, so I had to keep this a secret all through vacation. You know how I am with secrets, if I keep one I have to spill another. I've been dying all week to tell you that on pajama night on the cruise, Gary vetoed my sexy silk PJs and robe because it was too revealing. So I changed into my big red flannel pajamas BUT I removed the panties he insisted I wear underneath, just so I wouldn't be dick-whipped. Whew. There. Okay, now we're cool.)

I've been at this company for 17.5 years, so resigning was a bit of a deal. I imagine people will want to know why, and I know employers want to believe what they want to believe, so I thought I'd make a list of reasons I'm leaving, then let my bosses fill in the blanks in my resignation letter.

Top Five Reasons I'm Leaving My Current Job and Going to Another One

5. I'm at the top of my pay scale at my current company. I haven't had a raise in five years. I'm in the middle at this new company. They talked about raises. They also talked about bonuses.

4. Perhaps I'm having a midlife crisis, but instead of dumping Gary I'm dumping my job.

3. If all my friends jumped off a bridge, would I do it too? Yes, I would. Friend #6 works at the new job. Friend #2 is leaving for the new company too, but going to a different office.

2.  There's a recession coming, and I'm going to be in the same situation I was during the last recession: I'm the one with dual income and insurance and no kids, so my hours will be cut. As it should be. Or, better yet, I could do everyone a favor and work somewhere else.

1. Did you know Fortune Magazine thinks my new company is one of the top 5 best places to work in the US?

So, I start at the hot sexy new company in a few weeks. Hot sexy company that's half my age and has a tongue stud. Hot company with whom I shall have a meaningless relationship with no intimacy and no pain. Transitional Company, Inc., here I come.

UPDATED: The Last of the Cruise Photos

UPDATE: Okay, one more -

Here is this year's infamous naked photo. You can only see the top of my head, even in hi-res. However, you can see all of Gary.

Gary wants front row next year.

***********************************

Miscellaneous Pre-Cruise Miami Photos:

Our hotel room was 1/3rd kitchen, 1/3rd bed, and 1/3rd flat screen TV.  Here's Gary pointing out some of the hotel accoutrement:

The Miami Marathon took place outside our window ....

...the morning after we arrived. Gary said "Look! It's Katie Holmes!" about twenty times.

Incidentally, the heavily-accented taxi driver who took us to the hotel asked if we were there for "te maranon." I just said yes, because I had no idea what he had asked. After ten minutes of listening I realized he had said "marathon," but it was too late, because the driver was having a lively conversation with Gary about how we have "lizard brains," but at some point the aliens landed and merged with "te cromanon." I was convinced he meant "chromosomes," but it turned out he was talking about "cro-magnons." See, the aliens were the missing link. See? "Yes!" Gary said. "That could be!" THEN Taxi Driver explained how there were 16 comets that landed on Jupiter and they all hit the Eye of Jupiter. Well, when crazy people start talking about the significance of numbers I'm out of my league. I can barely do sane person math.

Come to find out that Gary had read the same issue of Discover magazine that had recently inspired our Taxi Driver.

On the Cruise:

Yeah. Does your band carefully place chips into customized bags and seal them up and give them to you as party favors on board a cruise? Neener.

I think I'll get these artist's names right:

Left to right: Boothby Graffoe, Allan from Great Big Sea, Sarah Harmer, Steve Page, Ed Robertson, Craig from the New Odds, Jason Plumb. And if that list is wrong it's Kate's fault.

Ports of Call:

This is either in Jamaica or Grand Cayman. It is a street corner waiting for a Starbucks.

When I found that the butterflies in the butterfly garden eat lemons, I greatly regretted not wearing my giant lemon slice earrings.

Oh, look! Toe Porn Goddess and Crotch-Watching Rock-Star-Super-Stalker Spunky Labia says hi! (Spunky's middle name is Sandy.)

"Ooooo," Spunky says, "The sand feels so warm on my toes."

(Seriously,  "toes" is only my 17th most frequent Google hit now. It has been outpaced by "How often should I wash my towels." Spunky might need to get some props, maybe some leather.)

I have never in my life seen such relaxed dogs as the dogs of Jamaica.

Zip Line

Well after the brief scare Gary gave me ("I'm too sick to go on the zip line, waaaaa"), we packed up and went on the zip line excursion in Jamaica. I'll let the photos do the talking.

These are the harnesses they strap you into:

They make you feel kick-ass invincible.

Gary skeptically evaluates his pulley:

After you walk down more steps than were in both WTC towers combined:

They take your harness and latch your pulleys on to two sturdy cables, then you just hurtle down them.

Hey, look at me, I look kind of dwarf-like in this picture:

Then after sliding/jumping down a series of 7 cables, you walk down another infinite series of steps and drink a beer while standing in a bamboo tree.

Gary had a beer too.   

You know what's pretty?

Rain forests.

It was a nice excursion. I felt like I could slide down zip lines for a living when I was done.

 

Sort of Like the Dog Story, Only It's Pink Lipstick

So, as I said, an interesting thing happened at the finale show.

The finale show is when all the bands get together and sustain an hours-long free association jam during which they string together all the old-school songs from decades past. They segue  from "Convoy" (Tyler knows all the words) to "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" without taking a breath. Only, no one but Steven knew the words to "Suzanne."

I think this is Boothby Graffoe, fearlessly crowd surfing:

There was an assortment of casual / concert / costume attire.

(That's Alan from GBS, just for you Becs.)

At any rate, Steven, after a week of wearing suits (Photo by WeedMage) ...

...went in costume as his alter-ego, Bartles. I think Bartle's main function is to show off Steven's fine legs.

So I was admiring Steven's phenomenal memory for lyrics and his very small pink shorts. Small, satiny, slinky pink shorts.

"Gary?" I asked, "Look at Steven's shorts. Am I crazy? Does he have -"
"AAAAAaaaaagh!"
"So I'm not imagining it? That's his - "
"Yes! Well, there's a brisk wind, and dancing girls."
"Of course. It's a natural part of being a boy. It's healthy. Can I have the camera?"

Yeah, it's censored. You don't get to see it. What came out on the camera didn't have quite the detail that was burned into my mind. It needs a little contrast and emphasis on the mid-tones in Photoshop. But you still don't get to see it. Because I don't want to be tossed off of Typepad.

So, I think I can start calling Steven "Steve." Now that his erect penis has curved in my general direction and all.

Anyway, soon after he started dancing facing away from the crowd, then he stripped off his jacket and showed off some underwear that didn't have the shine I needed for contrast.

All the noise and joy was supposed to have  lasted until sunup, but at 4:30 am we landed in Miami and Miami had the nerve to shut us down.

Who wouldn't want a noisy cruise ship playing under their window at 4:30 am? 

Concerts

I just flew home from the cruise, and boy is my hand tired. (Sorry. I promise that's the last masturbation  joke.)

I'm dismayed. Thanks to Gary I have a monster head cold, and I wanted to do this post justice, and I can't. So, here is a feeble post about the Ships-n-Dip concerts we saw. Just wipe off the mucus.

We saw these concerts:

BNL Sail Away & Alumni Concerts
The Alumni concert was reserved for those of us who had been on Ships-n-Dip I and were returning for III. (Next year's is V. This requires no explanation.) The band pulled song requests out of a bucket and performed them, even if they didn't remember the words or music, except for a request to play "One Week." I was a bit addled since Steven was wearing a suit.

Guster
Well, almost Guster. The Guster drummer didn't sail because he is preoccupied with his nine-month pregnant wife. The BNL drummer, Tyler, filled in. Gary liked the Guster sound better with Tyler, which surprised me, but Gary's the drummer and he would know.

Great Big Sea
My mistake was listening to the GBS live CD before I came on the cruise. The live performance I saw  sounded just like the live CD, and I know this makes no sense but it killed all the spontaneity for me. Every live audience screams the same way. And that reminds me: I have found my demographic, based on the pre-concert music selections. Before the concerts they played all the artists I like - stuff I thought was arcane. Hmpf. I feel like a tween.

Sean Cullen
Mad men are funny. Sean Cullen  did us all a great service when he  sat  in on the cheesy daily schedule reading  and made it tolerable with interruptions. "Look there's Cuba! Wave at Cuba, everyone. You never know how long it will be around."

Boothby Graffoe
While BNL counters painfully sad lyrics with peppy pop music, this guy counters funny lyrics with  heartbreaking music. I would have given an example of the touching ballad, "Kittens In a Bag," but I can't find the lyrics. But that's a CD I will buy when I have money again. I will also buy a CD from...

Harvey Danger
...because it seems the luggage containing his merchandise was lost. I was forced to buy the Scooby-Doo soundtrack once just to get a copy of Flagpole Sitta, so I was looking forward to a whole CD. I am filled with such pity I will buy one, even though you can get one for free here.

Thinbuckle
Technically we only heard the last quarter of Thinbuckle, so I assume they played Here Come the Chimebell Trains during the part I missed. I probably also missed the drummer's big solo. I only missed these things because I was trapped in the Limbo Stairwell on our ship. ("No, you have to go up." "No! It's down." "No! You stupid cow!")

Brothers Creegan
My favorite from this (I think it was this show) was a song from the upcoming BNL kids album. The song was about a frog. I liked it, th0ugh I'm not a kid. My inner child liked it. If you have kids, buy this Snacktime album in May and let me know if the Polliwog song's any good.

The Vanity Projects
Speaking of frogs ... this is when Steven's voice started to go. This is also when Gary went to the infirmary for more of the Extra-Strength Cepacol and was told they were sold out. I think Steven might have bogarted all the Cepacol. He wore a green suit and is forgiven.

(Bogarted. I am so not cool. It's the cold talking.)

Carbon Leaf 
I kept walking past Carbon Leaf and thinking, "I should buy one of their CDs," but then I'd think I'd have to study the lyrics first, and it turned into kind of a chore. I'm sure I'll love them someday.

54 Seconds
Pro: Hot girl bass player. Con: Drummer has to smoke during the set.

Joe Pisapia
I did not realize Gary has a girly crush on Joe Pisapia. I suggested we skip his set and Gary cried. "No! I love him. He is an amazing songwriter, and an amazing guitarist, and he has class." Well. Okay.

BNL Main Stage Concert #1
Before this concert I thought I'd be content if this cruise was half as fun as the last one. This concert was such perfection that the least I could expect was twice as fun. Somehow we had perfect seats: fifth row (just enough distance) dead center. Someone threw a tiny stuffed monkey up on stage and Steven bit the head off and then, if I recall, spat the head out. I had been trying to compose a good description of the Melted Chocolate Cake, but Ed nailed it as "hot chocolate batter with a pudding skin of cake on top." And Steven sweated through a  suit. And they came out for an extra encore.

The Odds (New Odds/Acid Wish)
We saw the first and second shows, in which the group The Odds perform both as The New Odds (Gary said they were "tight," which is a musical term I don't understand) and then they change clothes and perform as Acid Wish. The members of other bands join them and rock out a constant free-association riff of 70's-80's-90's songs. It sounds like you're spinning the tuner on an analog radio.   

Another interesting thing happened at the finale show, but I'll save that for tomorrow, along with the pictures. Oh, wait, that suggests I have pictures of the interesting thing. Well, of course I do, but I can't post them.