Some Blog

Zigga Zig Ha

Thursday, June 28, 2007

I forgot to say, I will be away for the next week or so. I am heading to the land of the Dunkin Donuts for the fireworks that are lit in time to the 1812 overture. I will have no access to email or my blog. I suppose I should be happy to have electricity and indoor plumbing.

See ya on the flip side.

That’s A Baby For Real

Wednesday, June 27, 2007

Friday morning I left the relative safety of my little corner of the world and ventured into the swamp that is Houston in the summer time. I was met at the airport by Natalie and we immediately determined that the only way to conduct business was if we were entirely intoxicated for the next 48 hours. Even when we weren’t officially intoxicated, I am sure we could have passed as such. Seriously, it was bad. For example, on the way from the airport to Nat’s place we stopped at a store to pick up a birthday gift. I am in the market for a vintage silver handbag to match a black dress. Nat and I combed the store for handbags and I found the perfect bag in a bronze finish. I showed it to Nat and said, “This is what I want, but in silver.” We continue to search, and low, I find the bag in silver. I am ecstatic, my search has ended and because the bag is so affordable, I end up buying both the silver and bronze bags. Too bad when I returned to California and take the bags out I realize I have a bronze bag and a GOLD bag. (What the fuck? I think it was the lighting, but now I own a bronze bag, TWO gold bags, and no silver bags. I think I might just try to find gold shoes that don’t make me look too hooker-esque and call it a day.)

So, yeah, we hadn’t even had a drink yet. So I don’t know what happened there.

There was a party for Brenda, Abe’s friend, so we did the thing where we change clothes and get our drink on. The party was at a restaurant where Brenda worked and thus half our meal (including alcohol) was comped. Natalie and I, not knowing that the alcohol was comped, made it our business to be sure that the alcohol would total a sum that would even out the comp of the meal. That’s right, we drank $55 worth of vodka, only to find out our plan was thwarted. (I like to talk like we PLANNED to drink that much). We were happy that our sober driver home drove us home, at which time we partook of milk and cookies and went to bed like well heeled young women.

Of course, as we are well heeled young women, we were up early and greeting the world with bright, shiny smiles. Again, milk and cookies were on the menu, then lunch, and a trip to target. I took the opportunity to intro Nat to the perfection that is the Swiffer. And thusly, Nat’s life is changed! Really. I did the living room, she took the kitchen and her house is a quick windex away from being the “Cleanest House in Houston.” That comes with a cash prize, so, you know, I’m doing what I can. Also, you should know that I think at this point the television had been on since I had first arrived and wouldn’t be shut off for another 24 hours.

After a mad rush of cleaning we made our way with Atizz to the Pride Parade in Houston. It was um…interesting. There were people and they were doing the thing and then there was a thing and then stuff happened. I think I will Nat and Amy cover Pride. BUT! But, but, but! We went to dinner after at some place and we were ordering drinks. I ordered what should have been a simple replacement (pineapple juice instead of cranberry juice). In fact I ordered two of these drinks. These drinks were marked at $8. What they were not marked as were “as is.” What this means is that when the bill came, the $8 drinks came to about $16 each. At that point I was drunk enough to not care too much, but I think that the waitress who failed to say, “we don’t do replacements for these drinks” should have offered to pay the extra $16 if the restaurant was not willing to comp the cost. And, I know that if this had happened to Amy or Nat they would have raised hell, and I probably should have, but then I am so use to going out and paying for a $15 martini in the city. I figure if the price had been listed as $16, I still would have ordered the drinks so I’m over it all.

There was a thing about the dinner that needed its own explanation. We had the pleasure of having dinner with Penelope. The person had a one up story for everything anyone else said. I don’t think it triggered until almost the end of the dinner, when they were telling yet another story about how their family was the best ever because of something whateverish, and I was about to say something in response, because, my family is pretty cool too, right? Instead I grabbed Nat’s knee. I’m sure a knowing look passed between us, but as this was the end of dinner, we were pretty tanked so I can’t really be held accountable for my version of events. Anyhoo, there was lots of laughter, and I am sure that between Nat and I we made some statements with a questionable basis in reality, but we are funny and we make people laugh, so that works. And After, we managed to find our way down the street to a club wherein more alcohol was consumed.

This is where things are a little fuzzy. I “borrowed” a Vicodin from someone and the combination of a mild pain reliever with alcohol with all the milk and cookies previously imbibed makes things kind of spin. I do remember Atizz forcing me to do a shot of Citron that really fucked me up. And that was when the bell rang. Nat and I “fell asleep” on the couch in various propped positions to alleviate the spinning. Nat managed to find her way to the bedroom but I was still pretty legless so I enjoyed the many comforts of couch sleeping.

Some other stuff happened and then Sarah came over for “brunch” (I don’t know why I am always making plans for brunch when I know the collective asses of my friends and myself are never going to eat before brunch ends). We found our way through some more milk and cookies, and then left for a meal of somewhat epic proportions, followed by, um, more food. God. We nestled in for some TV watching and collective snarking, because in this life, if the four of us are going to be in one place, you better bring your game. Eventually the time came to return to the airport and make my way back to the place where I lay my head.

My flight home went well. I enjoyed some more vodka and greatly impressed Bruce with my quality of life ( “How can you still be drunk?” ). So, okay, that was most of the dirt. 

In The Mix

Tuesday, June 26, 2007

I am working on the post of the weekend, but for the time being, I have a correction. Atizz said that she wasn’t sure that the girl in the Scott Baio clip was Nicole Eggert, I had a nagging feeling she was right. A detailed search of the Internet (seriously, that’s what I did all day today) revealed that the actress was in fact Julie McCullough. You might remember her as the babysitter from Growing Pains.  (Edit: my first link appeared to be broken, so I happily provided a new one.)

Bruce is in stage two of his root canal. As we left the dentist’s office I pointed out that if he would listen to me about things like this, as I told him to go to the dentist a year ago, his life would be easier. I also held him down until he screamed uncle AND told me that I am the queen of the world. He likes it when I treat him like this.

All of my luggage from the weekend is on a turnaround wash. I am leaving for the East Coast on Friday morning so I have to motivate, wash the clothes from Texas (funny, every thing smells like smoke.) and re-pack with the addition of beach clothes and night club clothes. I’ve managed to pack a week with two weeks of activity so I should feel nice and rested when I return to my heavy schedule of watching Judge Judy and reading the Internet.

I’m sure I will have plenty to share when I return.

Race and Ethnicity

Wednesday, June 20, 2007

A reoccurring conversation around Chez Girl the past few months has been about “White People.” There was an Asian woman on TV talking about “Caucasians” when she really meant Anglo-Saxons. I think most people make that incorrect assertion, and I suppose many people don’t know the difference, after all, I think even the census reports use Caucasian to mean White. When I fill out forms on job applications I enter that I am Hispanic even though I am White as a Race and Puerto Rican as an Ethnicity, because the United States (and employers trying to fulfill quotas) has very clearly decided that as someone of a Hispanic background I am not also White.

I think there should be three options: White, Brown, Black. But the forms won’t use those words, instead they should use the categories of Britney Spears, Jennifer Lopez, and Whitney Houston. Then people have to choose who they most resemble. Bruce, oddly, would fall behind Ms. Lopez as would I. However, my sister, my mom and pretty much my entire maternal family will have to stand behind the ol’ Britster. All of my Indian friends would have to be strong with Crack-head Houston (the irony of it is killing me, one of my Indian friends could never come out after work because her father believed that bars were where prostitutes hung out. I don’t know where he got this idea, or what he thought those women in thongs and fishnet stockings were doing on the corners, but that’s what he thought).

Americans seem to be the ones so caught up in the Race versus Ethnicity. I’m sure this is the blowback from America being the crock pot that it is. Whenever I meet people from other places and I ask where they are from, they tell me where they live or where they grew up. British friends might differentiate between Scotland and England, but not one of them say, “Well, my mother is French and Italian, and my father is Dutch, Indian, and Venezuelan.” When people ask where I am from I always say America, usually to be met with a response along the lines of, “No, where are you FROM from?”

I think the next time I get the “No, where are you FROM from?” bit I am going to say I am from Sweden.

A Word of Caution

Tuesday, June 19, 2007

I think people should have to take general knowledge and competency exams for certain jobs.

There was a show on this evening on Court TV where a defense attorney was dating her client. I mean, sure it’s great that you believe the guy is innocent of murder and arson, but dating? Really?  And overlooking 101 North into the city there is a huge billboard saying “Please, Don’t Shake Your Baby.” I laughed (I just keep punching my one-way ticket to hell).

So far, this is my list of jobs that will require a psych evaluation: Criminal Defense Attorneys and Parenthood.

Salvation in a Bottle

Sunday, June 17, 2007

I CANNOT wait for the new show on VH-1: Scott Baio is 45 and single.

The title alone sends me into orgasmic shivers. The promos show him confronting past girlfriends ala High Fidelity. There is a clip where it looks like Nicole Eggert is telling Scott Baio that because of him she had to take her first HIV test.

I am watching the finale of Celebrity Fit Club with Dustin Diamond spreading his angry fat-man anger all over the world (I don’t think he has anything redeeming qualities). He may have lost 30 pound but damn, he’s an angry fuck. Also, not funny. Some Girl knows funny and that sad fucker is not funny. 

Bruce and I are very busy, but not too busy to schedule another dental appointment. Bruce’s cavity needed a root canal so next week we have to return for the permanent crown. The car is looking still sad but we can’t get it fixed for a few more weeks.

Right Before My Eyes

Thursday, June 14, 2007

We were in a car accident last night. We were on our way to dinner and I was ragging on Bruce for missing the lane change to make the right into the parking lot. We took the next right to swing around the block. We were almost to the next corner and a truck cut across traffic to make a left hand turn down a side street. I saw the accident happening in slow motion and let out a scream. Fortunately the impact happened at about 5 miles an hour.

There were some minor interactions with the other driver wherein he wanted to minimize his involvement (“Can we say someone else was driving, I might not have all my papers in order”) but we managed to trade the appropriate pieces of information and take photos of the damage with our cell phones. I have to say, the photos came out much better than I would have ever expected. The damage to the car is a busted out headlight and a bit of denting and the hood is crinkled. The 5 mile an hour impact meant that the damage was pretty minimal, if the hood wasn’t wrinkled the damage wouldn’t even be noticeable.The car has already been traded out and will be looked over in the next few days, hopefully it will be back in less than a few weeks, we’ve got some things on our plate that need the car in fighting condition.

No one was injured (beyond my seatbelt bruise, and that fucking hurts) and Bruce was accepting of the situation (“this is what insurance is for”), but I was sort of surprised that Bruce was so copacetic about the whole thing. He was downright Yoda Zen about the situation. 6 hours later Bruce turned to me and said: “We could have been hurt! They could have been really hurt!” I knew it was a matter of time for that realization to set in, we basically T-boned their truck and I would guess that they didn’t have side impact airbags. Bruce later asked if he could have braked harder. I told him that the only way he could have braked harder would have been if he were like Fred Flintstone and kicked through the base board and use his heels to stop the car. He then said he should have braked .5 second earlier. I told him there was no way to avoid the guy who cut across one lane of traffic and into ours without looking. We were in the right hand lane and traveling at a responsible speed.

I just wish I hadn’t been ragging on him for missing the turn. Yay! Supportive girlfriend alert!

So today we are going to the dentist, Bruce needs to get a tooth drilled and filled. The dentist warned that it might already be at root canal severity. Poor Bruce is having a bad week.

Why Do Women Go From Kittens To Cougars?

Tuesday, June 12, 2007

Bruce and I did something we’ve never before done. It was hot and sweaty. And my forearms hurt.

But the carpets have been steam cleaned and we are living in a much cleaner apartment. The organization around here has hit a whole new level, happily tying into my OCD needs for right angles.

I had an interview this afternoon. I think it went well and the interviewer asked when I would be able to start and about upcoming vacations. I figure if I’m not in the running they don’t bother asking. I just don’t know about the job. I know I need a job, I just don’t know if this is the one. It’s very technical, lots of database and report management and that’s the part of the job that I like the least, so um, huh.

I had my hair dyed on Saturday. I was going for highlights but the colorist gave me something more along the lines of a blanket of color on the crown of my head. I had to buy a box of hair dye and do an emergency corrective color before my interview. The colorist left a message saying that I can come in on Friday for a fixer-upper, I might go just to show her my excellent home dye job. And it cost a lot less.

Vanity, Thy Name Is Some Girl.

Thursday, June 07, 2007

This evening, as I was getting ready for bed, I went about my normal routine. And then I peed on the floor.

It started out all normal and I did what I do before bed, including, going to the bathroom. As I sat there, I happen to contemplate the last time I shave my bikini line. I had used a new product that was suppose to alleviate the razor rash. As I sat on the toilet I realized that thus far I have been bump and itch free. I then decided to inspect the area, not thinking that I should wait for everything else to finish first.

I gently spread the skin at the top of my thigh and as I did the stream of urine changed direction and there was an unexpected pool of urine on the floor in front of me. I just like to reaffirm to everyone that I am possibly the least graceful person to live on the planet.

Really, the point is that as cool as I seem in some ways there is an appropriate check that balances. I am worldly and well traveled and also klutzy. I am eloquent but often spill soup down the front of my shirt. I have my nails and hair done regularly yet occasionally pee on the floor. I am the embodiment of those photos in the tabloid magazines that scream: “Famous people are just like us: the buy groceries, they pick up dry cleaning, they park cars!”

For the record, this is the second fresh post in two days. Not that I’m counting or anything.

Go Ahead, Google Pussy.

Wednesday, June 06, 2007

Pussywillow came to town and I found where the gays live. Last month I received the text that portends the arrival of a gaystorm, “Coming to SF, can’t wait to see you!!!”

Pussy really became one of my nearest and dearest after I left London. We had had our moment of gay pride, the one where he said he was gay and where I said I love the gays. And we had our moment of excess that still makes us giggle when we think about how totally unfit for publication we were. On my way of of England in 2004 I took some time at the airport to send a goodbye text to a few people to make sure they had my contact info. Even though Pussy and I had only spent a few times reveling through the streets of London, I sent him that text. I just knew that I wanted to be part of his life.

In the years since that text, Pussy and I have seen each other more regularly than intercontinental living often provides. When I am in London I stay at his and when he comes to America I am stop one for him. It seems only fair that when we go out we do the gay thing. I think that we’ve gone from gay reveling to true friends. He tells me things that I don’t necessarily want to hear and I give him advice on dating type things.

We started out at a club called The Stud and it seemed that it was Bear Night. Fun was had by all, but there was a moment when I had to step in and beat a fag off my gay. I believe the exact quote I used was: “Leave my gay alone.” Pussy backed up my claim that I would take out the motherfucker who was messing with my boy. (Side note: Any gay who looks down their nose at my gay will have words with me, don’t treat my gay like that, especially when you are wearing a shirt that says ‘Phat Phaggy Phuck’ when in reality it should say ‘Fat Ugly Fucker’.) The drinks were stiff and kicked my ass, I was off the booze for the rest of the night.

From there we hit Badlands and quickly moved onto the Cafe. If I could figure out how to get a photo from my camera to my computer (sometimes I am so web savy other times I just want a magic button to make things happen) you would all get to see the very nekid men except for the gym tube sock and the thong panties (when men wear thongs I demand they be called panties). The men made some money, the thongs being a convenient place to hold the cash.

Pussy and I had a good time, although we were in bed by 1. I can’t blame Pussy, the jet lag coming that far is a beast and I was ready to beat my way out of where the gays live. I am so glad I had the chance to go out in my jeans and sneakers and drink. I am so out of practice, Pussy was teasing me about it.

Also, I know I’ve sucked with the writing, I know it lets people down (I’m looking at you Atizz) but there are points when I really have nothing to say or write. Hopefully with my super packed summer to come I will have “things to say.” Hang in there, I promise, things will get better.

So sorry to all the people who got here expecting porn. Maybe next time.