your sh*t DO stink

Number of times I've been farted on in coach: 0/1000.
Number of times I've been farted on in First Class: 50/50.

dwarfs, courtesans, sardines

Have you ever lay awake nights wondering what life would have been like for a prostitute and her dwarf companion in 15th Century Venice? I sure have. Luckily, this novel by Sarah Dunant has the answer to that question and more. In one scene, the lovely Fiametta declares that she would sell her virginity for sardines fried with sugar and oranges. The day after I read this passage, I saw fresh whole sardines for sale at Central Market. Since this was the only item for which I did not have to fight a crowd of overachieving Type-A foodies (the cheese section was b-a-n-a-n-a-s), I gave it a whirl. The dish was good, but in this market, I would have wanted more for my virginity.

Boomin' Granny!

Don't hate, player! You WISH you'll look this good when you're in your 70's. When you're her age, are you really going to hustle that titanium hip of yours down to Harwin to pick up the latest fly gear that all the honeys are rockin'? Hell to the nizzo. I bet you'll just stick to some tasteful cardigan and slacks combo. Bo-ring. You'll never pick up your future-ex husband in something like that! Knock-off BCBG is where it's at!

Overheard at Starbucks:

Blaine: Venti hot chocolate, please.
Barista: Name?
Blaine: Blaine.
Barista: What?
Blaine: Blaine.
Barista: Huh?
Blaine: Brian.
Barista: Ohh. BRIAN.
Blaine: Yes. Thank you . . . LaShonda.

signs that I love my camera phone

the McRib is back!

And I still do not get it. People I know and love are irrationally excited by the return of the McPressed Meat sandwich and it really puzzles me. (Kind of like how the funniest people I know think that A Confederacy of Dunces is the most hilarious book ever and yet I can't get through the first chapter.) I've never eaten a McRib before, and perhaps that's my loss. On the other hand, maybe the reason they're only available once a year is that Ronald has to save up enough pig lips and cow buttholes to meet the demand. I do not get it.

I want a second opinion

I took Cricket to the vet the other day because she was limping and she had a bald spot around her eye. The diagnosis: "lameness and alopecia." That cost me $125.00. I should have just sprayed Rogaine on her face.

Economic stimulus package for dummies, brought to you by Skymall

The hucksters at Skymall, who have remained solvent by assiduously underestimating the intelligence of the American public, appear to be turning over a new leaf. Before the economic downturn/recession/depression of 2008, most Skymall merchandise seemed to mock us with their luxurious frivolity.

Take for example "Instant Armrest," which asks "Why spend hours resting your elbow on the hard, narrow factory door panel?" and retails for $19.95 (not to be confused with the "Road Rest" also sold by Skymall, which comes in tan or gray and retails for $24.95). My answer to Skymall: of course I want to cruise down the road with my arm comfortably resting on the door panel, but I shouldn't have to choose between that and my prescription drugs!

Recently, though, there have been signs that the good people of Skymall have heard our pleas. Many of the products on offer in the October catalog seem almost tailor-made to help us through these difficult financial times.

Pet Observation Dome - $29.95

When your tech stocks were riding high, did you spend your weekends watching marathons of "The Dog Whisperer" on the National Geographic channel? Did you then become convinced that your doggie needed to be socialized and exercised for hours and hours each day? And did you then decide that the best way to accomplish this goal was to enroll your "baby" in doggie day care (one named Doggie Woggie or Gucci Poochie) for thirty bucks a day? Typical yuppie mistake. I don't blame you; I blame Cesar Millan. Much to Mr. Millan's chagrin, the new and improved Skymall has your back! Rather than spend $30 each time you take FiFi to school, why not spend $30 just once on the pet observation dome? Step 1: cut a hole in your fence. Step 2: put your dome in the fence. Step 3: make your doggie look through the dome!

Portable Office - $39.99

I for one am relieved to know that the escalating price of chairs will not hinder my productivity!

Airchamber Covers - $799.00 - $999.00

Oops. Did you forget to buy a house before you bought your Ferrari F430 Spider? Don't feel bad; it happens to the best of us! Instead of taking your masterpiece back to the dealership, why not consider storing it in a giant Ziploc baggie? Using this Ziploc baggie is arguably better than any dumb garage would be since the baggie protects your car and lets you rub your neighbors' noses in it. Take that, rest of the trailer park! Thanks Skymall!!!

hello my baby, hello my darlin'. . .

On the way to work this morning, the first two radio stations I tuned in to (yes, I live in the dark ages) were playing 1) with arms wide open, by Creed featuring the insufferably insufferable Scott Stapp and 2) underneath your clothes, by the insufferably flat stomach of Shakira (I bet a dollar that if you click on the Shakira link, you don't make it past 00:36.) My friend Ba and I have a jihad against singers who can only make noises using the backs of their throats. My duties in this jihad consist mostly of (a) screaming "Yeaaarrgh" and changing the channel or (b) not changing the channel, but singing the song in an exaggerated and mocking way such that my version is exponentially more annoying than the original could ever have been with the express purpose of replacing my version in the minds of innocent bystanders (e.g., passengers in my car) thus causing them to hate the song as much as I do if only because they can't stand the thought of my singing it and yet they can think of nothing else the next time the song comes on (see, e.g., Brian Cronin and Wonderwall by the delightfully British Gallagher brothers). This morning, I used tactic (b) on Blaine (yes, we spend 24 hours a day together) to great effect. I only wish I could have toggled between the two songs, so I could knock out two infidels with one car ride. Now I will devote myself to enemy combatant #1 -- 4 Non-Blondes. Viva la Revolucion!

IF I did it. . .

Someone tinkled a little bit on the stairs. I'm not saying I DID do it, just that if I did it was probably because I sneezed REALLY, REALLY hard.

Oh the weather outside is 89 degrees and humid. . .

Have you ever had one of those days where nothing seemed to be going your way? Maybe your 401K was obliterated when the Dow lost a billion points, or perhaps your entire house was washed down Allen Parkway during Hurricane Ike. Worse yet, maybe you woke up to find that the cute pixie-ish haircut you fell asleep with turned into an unmistakeably female softball coach-type mullet overnight. If you need to turn your frown upside-down, you can do what I do -- visit your local Hallmark store to listen to the soothing sounds of Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer. . . in October! Thank you, good folks at Hallmark, for reminding me about the truly important things in life!

reasons my friends will be struck down

Yesterday my friend (who shall remain nameless lest I hasten her struck-down-edness) and I were discussing how much Matilda Ledger is starting to look like her late father Heath. (Don't judge us; we had already covered the vital issues of the day: Britney's new body and the scourge of High School Musical). My friend's take on Matilda and Heath? "She should go as the Joker for Halloween." Zap!

Different nameless friend, discussing whether Thimerosal can cause Autism, tells me she already knows what causes Autism: Jenny McCarthy. And zap.

that's what she said

At the dentist the other day, I was getting fitted for a mouthguard (on account of I grind my teeth at night) and the dental hygenist told me "relax your cheeks."

the future vice president of the United States?

Hey, if Sarah Palin can do it, so can she! Come on, U.S. Americans!


I think that if most U.S. Americans could have access to maps, then they would know how close Alaska is to Russia and the land boundary of Canada and like such as.

keratin is mean

more than meets the eye

Late Friday night and into the early hours of Saturday, Blaine, Cricket and I took cover in our downstairs bedroom as 110 mph winds swirled around us, rattling the windows and howling down the streets. We listened to radio reports of transformers exploding all across Houston, showering the streets with bluish green sparks and leaving 95% of our city in total darkness. The cable went out around 11:00, never to return. Our lights flickered, but they always came back on. We christened our transformer Optimus Prime. There were acts of heroism (Blaine prevented the palm tree in our neighbor's yard from falling on us simply by staring it down for two full hours as Cricket and I napped on the bed) and acts of treachery (if it's brown, you FLUSH IT DOWN!) as the human condition was ripped from its protective wrapping and exposed for all to see. It's Wednesday now and we still have power (and a large dose of survivor guilt); everyone else we know is without. The best part of this hurricane is that we've gotten to spend time with our friends and family, even if they are just coming over to sit in the A/C and charge their cell phones. My parents have been staying with us since Saturday. When my father arrived, he came bearing a Cuisinart and his own canister of King Arthur flour. We ate an apple galette and flaunted our ability to use appliances. There are lines for everything: lines to get into Kroger, lines to get gas, lines to get into the nail salon (what?) I'll post some photos that we took in our hood. Thanks for checking in with us, we're going to be okay.

yoga pants and a henley tee

So far, our hurricane prep has looked a lot like what we do before we receive a houseguest. We've hidden all of our knick-knacky junk in cabinets so they don't turn into projectiles, we did the dishes, washed towels, made sure everything had batteries, and tried to get as much work out of the way as possible so that we can devote our attention to our guest. I also just took a shower since the city may have to turn our water off at some point during the storm. After that I got dressed. This took me a while because how the hell do you dress for a hurricane?

here we go again

At the behest of my mayor, I attempted to evacuate before Hurricane Rita in 2005. I left at 4:30a.m. and spent seventeen hours in gridlock slowly going insane. I was running low on gas, not using the A/C, and had nothing to eat but liquified peanut butter. I never even made it to the Beltway before I had to turn around or face being stranded on the side of the road. By the time I got home after 8:00 that night, the stores were closed, the streets were deserted, and I was terrified. Thankfully, we did not take a direct hit and I did not even lose power. Even better, every single restaurant in Chinatown was open for business. This time we're sheltering in place, again at the behest of my mayor. We have water, peanut butter and bananas, and a crapload of dog food. Keep your fingers crossed!

sunday morning at Starbucks

Sexy guys and hot wheels:

Plentiful parking (two spaces for each BMW!):

Two Starbucks stores at the same intersection.

And the seven-year-old who ordered a tall skinny latte.

experimental food night!

Sometimes it pays off; other times you forget to use the bottom half of the broiler pan and your house smells like burned turkey juice. This time it paid off.

step away from the Kool Aid

Blaine has taken this political season pretty hard. I could do an interpretive dance of his emotions over the last two weeks, but how do you express anger, confusion, anxiety, and shame all at once? The other day he turned to me, tears spilling onto his cheeks, and confessed that he had been inspired by the democrats' speeches last week and embarrassed by the republicans' -- not to mention the Star Spangled Banner sung by Gretchen Wilson, John Rich, and COWBOY TROY?!? (just YouTube it). Anyway, just when I thought he could sink no further, he turns to me tonight during Sarah Palin's speech and says, "You know? She's a lot like you."

abomination!!!

I haven't seen this atrocity in its entirety but I bet it has a happy ending! Every time I hear the opening notes, I stand up, yell "ABOMINATION!" and change the channel. Sometimes, if I can't find the remote in time, I just run from the room screaming "Yeaaaaarrrrrrrr" like a pirate, with my hands over my ears like Warren (the same reaction I had whenever Constantine Maroulis would appear on American Idol). Sameness! Frivolity! Lack of angst! Lack of teenage awkwardness! NO INSECURITY!!! This is so, so wrong. Up yours, J.C. Penny!

she's leaving home

My cousin Ashley is starting college, like right NOW! She should be most of the way through her orientation at this point, so here's your chance to save her from the mistakes you made. Post a comment giving her some sisterly (or motherly) advice. I'll begin with my own hard-won gem: "Just because you can eat belgian waffles in the cafeteria every day for every meal, doesn't mean you should." You can see that she's already mastered the sorority-girl pose, so give her something she can use (buying a new five-pack of Hanes Her Way at the Walgreen's so she can put off laundry for another week, for example)!

my platform: awesomeness

I just got the best spam ever from Nordstrom! I was invited to join their online advisory panel, whereby I get to offer my advice on how to create a better shopping experience for Nordstrom customers. My first order of business when I take office will be to demand more shapeless dresses!!! I will propose that the retail space Nordstrom is currently wasting on belts and Spanx be reallocated to square-shaped muumuus and all things with no waistlines. Yes we can!!!

say a prayer. . .

please read this book 3

This book is about Cayce Pollard (don't fret, he tells you how to pronounce it. . . eventually), a branding consultant, or"coolhunter," who is so physiologically attuned to brands and logos that she has been known to have panic attacks at the sight of Louis Vuitton luggage. Companies and advertisers revere her and hire her to go out into the world and identify the next big trend.

Here is how Cayce reacts when confronted with a mountain of Tommy Hilfiger at a London department store:

My God, don’t they know? This stuff is simulacra of simulacra of simulacra. A diluted tincture of Ralph Lauren, who had himself diluted the glory days of Brooks Brothers, who themselves had stepped on the product of Jermyn Street and Savile Row, flavoring their ready-to-wear with liberal lashings of polo knit and regimental stripes. But Tommy surely is the null point, the black hole. There must be some Tommy Hilfiger event horizon, beyond which it is impossible to be more derivative, more removed from the source, more devoid of soul.

This book is totally hip and suspenseful and will make the three hours you spend in the airport waiting for Continental Airlines to fix its "routine maintenance issue" just fly by.

Question:

What are the hippest tennies that $16.00 can buy?

Answer:


I'm sure they're made of toxic Chinese paper and will disintegrate the first time it rains, but for now: in your FACE, economy!!!

midlife crisis mobile

Oh sure, I almost caused a five-car pile-up attempting to take this photo with my Blackberry while driving down Westheimer, but I still somehow feel superior to this guy.

bake yourself, fool!

Cricket is the only dog I've ever had who didn't try to make a break for FREEDOM every time the front door opened. When she goes outside, all she wants to do is bake herself on the hot concrete until I scrape her up with a spatula and drag her inside.

The DNC

Are you watching this? I really tried, but it's too excruciatingly boring. Who are these people? It's like watching the Academy Awards for technical merit. Can you believe Jim Leach didn't win for lighting design? Bring back John Edwards!!!

no shame in her game 2!!!

Let's say it's 4:30 on a Sunday and you and your friend Louise want to go to a matinee of Mamma Mia, but you're scared to go to the Marq*E on I-10 because you don't want to get shivved in the McRibs and you're avoiding the River Oaks 3 because you don't want to be inside when the Weingarten family finally swings the wrecking ball. The Angelika would be perfect if you didn't have to walk so far from the parking garage. *Sigh* If only they made some kind of space-age people mover thingie. . .

you kill the joe, you make some mo'!

and other office meditations. . .

NBC's new gymnastics commentator

adds that extra something special to the Olympics coverage, don't you think?

please read this book 2

The last time I begged people to read a book, it didn't go over very well. I think this is because, back then, I was asking people to get all outraged with me over how much corn we unknowingly eat. There was a lot of science and history. It was boring. This time, it's all about work gossip and your co-workers and how sucky they can be but also how sublime they can be. Were you working in an office in Austin at any time from 1999 to 2001? If you were, you should read this book. If the word zeitgeist doesn't come to mind, then you were not working in an office in Austin at any time from 1999 to 2001. Read this book and then call me to reminisce about your kooky co-workers. And don't forget to label your Slim Fast.

Cleveland!

This pretty much sums it up:

Question:

Why would you pour $2.50 down the toilet?



Answer:

overheard in my house

• Blaine: "Blinded by the light. . . wrapped up like a deuce, you know that woman isn't right!"
• Alison: "What did you just say?"
• Blaine: *sigh* "Just correct me."

genius!

While most political campaigns might shy away from using spray-painted threats to get the vote out, Obamites boldly go where others fear to tread. I like that the Obama camp has done its homework on my transitional neighborhood (go one block past the liquor store then take a right at the razor wire, third house on the right!) and deduced that what matters most to us is street cred, biatch! If you want to rep us, you have to come hard! You got my vote!

these are so cute, but. . .

whoever designed these bags has obviously never seen Cricket take a 5lb poo. I bet you a dollar he's some poncy graphic designer who owns a Chihuahua named Thelonious. Cricket has chunks of guys like him in her stool.