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Six hours of my life that I will never see again.

Issue Date: Tuesday, Aug. 09, 2005

Dude. Ya’ll?

Defensive driving.

Nay… Comedy defensive driving. ::sigh::

Six hours of my life that I will never see again. All because of 6 nanoseconds of stupidity. GreenlightGreenlightGreenlightYellowlightOneonethousand….
Annnnd Sue gets a ticket.

But? It is over. And I will never have to smell the body odor of Sven the close-sitter guy. And I’m not saying that my teeth are the most pearly and straight of all whites but my man Sven could bite a pumpkin through a picket fence.

Sweetheart? It is called orthodontia, look into it.

Speaking of, did I hear that they have a new singer for Queen? (Heather, this is my little love note to you. The “Dead Fred” thing? Priceless. Irreverent yes, but priceless.) I can’t even imagine how that would sound. I watched this documentary on tv a million years ago (ok maybe four) that had this show on tribute bands, one of them being Queen. Those people got SO into it. And I must give props, where props are due. (I am so white.) The tribute band for Queen that they showcased rocked. And the lead singer? Sounded a bit like sweet Freddy Mercury.

My ex-step daughter would get all worried when VH1 would air the special, Queen: Behind the Music because I? would cry every time. Freddie’s strong, melodic voice coming out of that body that looked like it should have already given up the ghost.

I love Queen. I always swore that if I ever stripped* that I would do my first number to “Body Language”… and now they are using it for a freakin car advertisement. Gah.

*Again, poor, poor Stacey. Story for another time maybe?

Sorry tangent.

I saw Wedding Crashers this weekend with Mister.


Maybe it is the fourteen year old boy that is currently residing inside my head; the fact that I really, really love to hear my husband belly laugh; I’m a sucker for a love story, regardless of the vehicle; the under the dinner table hand job scene OR that I am just one sick bitch… but that movie was hysterical. I laughed, I cried. It was better than Cats.

Guys. This is a little tip, from me to you, consider it a gift. DO NOT make this a first date movie. Regardless of how cool you think she is. Wait until the post-coital-high-fiving phase.

Take her to see something romantic and witty… like… Land of the Dead. What?

Is it really only Tuesday? Can I get a hall pass for this week? How about this month?

I have all of these worky things to do and I keep forgetting about the personal stuff. In the past two weeks I have spaced on two personal things and felt like complete and total chum about it. Oh sure, I had good intentions and all… but we know where good intentions lead right? Because the road to hell was paved with… linen and small pine cones or something.

Oh and speaking of my new lovah… said the queen of the non sequitur … I jumped in on the just the half end of The Closer last night and about peed my pants with excitement. That show is so damn good.

(ahem. This coming from a woman who was convinced that Ally McBeal, Boston Public, Committed, Medium and Scrubs should all take home all of the awards… in the whole world… for Freaking Coolest TV Shows of All TIMES! (This category does not include cartoons.))

What? I still miss Ally McBeal. She was like Jim Adler … a tough, smart lawyer.

Sooo… there’s that then.

I realized that Mister and I have been around each other a LONG time. Either that or I am becoming senile. A few weeks ago I was in San Antonio doing a conference. And all over the airport, the billboards, the street signs, the buildings and the whole city are signs that say “GO SPURS GO!” from the basketball championships. (Edited to note: I just spelled that championchips and now? I’m hungry. Power of suggestion much, Fat Ass? Sheesh.)

So I was talking to Mister the evening of my arrival after we set up our registration desk for the conference and did all of our worky stuff and had dinner and whatever else we did (::cough:: drinks ::cough::). I was telling him about the decorations still being up and when I said one thing it triggered a memory of being at this bar in Dallas called Cowboys Red River and running into a famous person that reminded me of someone else.

The conversation went like this:

Me: blah dee blah dee blah dee blah

Mister: [totally pretending to listen while he plays on his computer]

Me: …and so they still have all of these decorations up all over for the basketball championships… [thinking… “mmm chips… I’m hungry”]

Mister: .. yeah, they have been over for a while.

Me: Oh my gah! That totally reminds me!

Mister: What baby?

Me: Did I ever tell you about that time I was at Red River?

Mister: Which time?

Me: Well [pause to build the suspension… but really to let him forget what I was talking about… and actually that he was on the phone at all… ]… check this out. [hear a small startled noise when I start speaking again]… Ok… I was at Red River with Hot Barney or someone and as we were getting ready to leave I was walking out the door and Dirk Nowitzki walked in the front door, I about ran smack into his knee/chest/crotch(?) And I jumped back because I thought it was Neal (the bad one)…

Mister: Uh, baby? You weren’t with Hot Barney… you were with me.

Me: Really?

Mister: Really.

Me: Um, whoops. So, this story. Not so much on the “whoa, impressive!” scale?

Mister: Pretty soon, all of your stories are going to include me.

Me: And I’m not going to have any stories that you haven’t already heard, or that you weren’t with me when it happened.

Mister: Isn’t that cool?

Me: Yes, and no.

Mister: No?

Me: Yes, because of the whole [singing] You and Meeeee Have Historeeee! …thing.

Mister: Buuut?

Me: Kinda smacks my story tellin mojo in the ass.

Mister: Heh.

Speaking of story telling mojo. Kathy Griffin and her new show My Life on the d List is awesome. She parlayed her snark on celebrities into a little reality show. It was so cute. I saw it last week. And they are playing her stand up routine (as a matter of fact they are playing it tonight) before it, which is funny too. And yes, it was funny when Rosie O’Donnel did it back in the 80’s when she ragged on the ladies of the Now and Then set… but shit, any woman who can say, “Sharon Stone is the white Whitney Brown, she’ll cut you…” and get away with it gets an A in my book. APPLAUSE! (And that just made me think of applesauce. Fuck.)


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To understand this dear reward (above) at all, you must hie thee on and read gatsby’s grape ape entry and my comments.

And because of said comments he sent me my very own dream turtle in an email titled wee gift with these words attached, “my purple monkey is booked solid so i ordered you a tangerine turtle. hope he proves helpful.”

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