The Newest Member of the Family!

Yesterday our little sassmouth family got a little bigger – a Betta Bigger. Yes, upon the recommendation of my beloved uncle and the desire to have someone “to just listen” to me while I’m at work, I decided that I needed a pretty piscine pal* to swim around in a lovely bowl on my office desk. He is very handsome. (I would say “pretty,” but people have been telling me that I am effeminizing him too much.) He is a light peach with dark purple and white fins and tail. His body has a bit of iridescence to it. I am very pleased with this happy addition. (Although I do keep getting sent into a panic when he is sleeping because “I’m certain that this time he is actually dead!”) The one thing other than a net – which I will have to run back to the store to get (Way to go, PetsMart staff for being sooo helpful!)** that my new scaly buddy is lacking is a name. So what I would like to do is put it to a Blog vote. This first vote will probably just narrow it down before a final vote. Also, feel free to put forth some other suggestions as well!

• King Louie
• Walter
• Lunch
• Dubloon
• Fancypants
• Slimey
• Sassmouth
• Mort(e)
• Sushi
• Dampy
• Arthur Curry
• Marco
• Horshak
• Scobster
• Basquiat

Letting the voting begin!

*thanks to Jonathan for the alluring alliteration.

**I apologize for the over-abundance of parentheses in this blog. They all seemed necessary.

My Toes are Frozen, my Fingers Numb, but Hopefully Ralphie is Worn Out.

Last night, the first night of spring, (for those who are keeping track), it snowed. It was one of those absolutely beautiful, wet snows where big clumps of snow fall gently, but quickly from the sky. Its moistness allows it to stick to everything from branches to flower petals. (The only sad thing is that since the weather here has been so up and down lately there were bulbs that had already bloomed.) When I took Ralphie out for his last walk of the night, the snow was falling fast. Ralphie had a great time jumping around and playing in it while I had a great time simply admiring it and laughing at how much he loved it. My only regret was that I couldn’t let him off his leash to run, roll around in it, and just go crazy in general.

This afternoon I was able to give him his chance to frolic and enjoy the freshly fallen precipitation at the Dog Park that we recently joined. I expected him to bound into the play yard, leap head first into the snow, and start wrestling with the other dog park canine patrons – but, no, instead my little beagle buddy chose to spend his precious few outdoor leashless hours chasing the other dogs around while INCESSENTLY barking! In the whole hour that we were there, I think that he did something that actually constituted playing maybe twice.

I guess that it is my fault, really. I mean, I was a bossy, bossy kid that spent her time playing with friends ordering them to say certain things on behalf of their Barbie dolls. So I really shouldn’t be surprised that I spawned a bossy dog that spends his own playtime yelling at his friends. I guess in this case, payback is literally a son of a bitch.

City Livin'.

I may not live in any of your "big cities" like New York, Chicago, or L.A., but I still have my fair share of Big City-Crazy Happenings.

For example on my way to work today I saw three to four cop cars blocking off one direction of traffic searching a car while four young, stylishly-dressed black women - each with hair a different color of the rainbow sat with their hands cuffed behind their backs.

Later on in the day, I was called to the window at work only to find a group of at least 20-30 college students dressed as zombies - yes ZOMBIES! - walk, well zombie-walk, down the street handing out what looked like flyers while some other college students videotaped them. The best part came when they reached the end of the block and were forced to wait patiently for the "Walk-sign" to come on. Two of the Zombies, who were clearly devoted to truly becoming zombies (I bet they studied Stanislavski and Meisner) stumbled over to the streetlight post and pressed the Walk Button - all the while never dropping their zombie-characters.

Take that New York!

Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!

Last night I did Stand-Up for the first time ever. I was terrified (which is mostly the reason why I did it). I was sure that I wouldn't be able to hold the mic still because I would be shaking so much. Luckily, however, the occasional waver in my voice and my initial pacing (think the Micromachine Man) were the only real signs of the complete panic that was eating up my insides (think Pacman eating whatever those things were).

I mostly just made fun of my upbringing ("Fairies don't make the bus go?!") and my young ridiculous melodramatic self ("Leave me in the bathroom to weep and study myself weep!"). It actually went pretty well. Well enough to make me want to do it again (which is saying a lot considering how horrified I was of the whole thing). I actually liked it more than I thought. Now I just need to come up with a better reason for wanting to do it (I'm trying to come up with something to do with how it is great for my improv or some other bullshit) other than the fact that I kind of love the attention (damn my inherent narcissism of my funny!). Ideas?

I Shall Remain Behind the Door Holding this Iron Skillet Until You Return Attack of the Zombie-Robots Part 4!

Last night I was sitting in my apartment unpacking and shelving some books when I noticed some things out of order and went into a little bit of a panic. “Omigod!” I thought. “Have I been robbed?!” Luckily however, I realized that if I was robbed it was done by a very particular thief who only wanted a couple of DVD’s and videogames. “Thank goodness,” I thought, “Mr. or Mrs. Thief neglected to grab any of the large appliances or any of my diamonds*.” Just as I was trying to get a handle on the thief’s choice in thievery and figure out the entrance/exit route I remembered a very important fact - I have a roommate.

You see my roommate hasn’t been to our apartment for at least the past three weeks (as far as I can tell) which is totally fine with me. I just forgot that this means that he could still stop by from time to time and move things around or whatever.

It is a good thing for me to keep in mind before I plan my next Tea Party for Baby Godzilla, Creature from the Black Lagoon, Mokey the Fraggle, and me in the living room where my childhood friends and I discuss the topics of the day including Bush’s slipping approval rating, Jessica’s latest love tryst, and whether or not these new jeans make me look fat.

*by “diamonds” I meant large, plastic, kitschy jewelry.

Lover, Do You Want Any Chevre? Bri-Bri, Chevre?

I just got a cryptic message from my friend, Andy, that simply said, “I met someone last night that I thought you would enjoy. I will give you two clues. First clue: “ ‘If Gabriel wants to rollerblade to the Chelsea Pier and back, Gabriel will rollerblade to the Chelsea Pier and back!’ Second Clue: It’s not Gabriel.”

Any of you familiar with this little line of pure comic genius will most likely understand the overwhelming jealousy, awe, and thrill that I felt when I realized that my good friend had been privileged enough to meet the one, the only Sir David Cross. (That’s right, “Sir.” He was recently knighted as “Sir David Cross, Vigilant Joke-Maker, and Loyal Laugh-Elicitor.”) Apparently the lucky S.O.B. was just kickin’ it at this club or something in Austin, Tejas when he turned to see none other than that Balding Bliss-Maker himself chatting with some people. Andy and his much-more-developed backbone than the one that I seemingly possess went right up to the man, who holds that smile-shaped piece of my heart, and actually spoke to him!! Can you believe it? He actually had a little convo with the genius!

As jealous as I am, I have to say that it was probably better that it was Andy and not me – if for no other reason than our ill-fated dialogue would have gone something more like this:
David Cross: (finally feeling uncomfortable enough to address the girl standing at least eight feet away from him, staring with her mouth hanging open.) “Uh, are you okay, lady?”
Me: “Ughuhuhuhguhguh.”
David Cross: “Excuse me?”
Me: “You, David Cross.”
David Cross: “Uh, yes – yes, I am.”
Me: (regaining some ability of tongue and words) “Yeah, I am such a big fan of your funny!”
David Cross: “Oh, thanks.” (turns to go back to original conversation.)
Me: “I mean, I totally love your comedy c.d. and your work on Arrested Development and your face and glasses and –”
David Cross: (cutting me off) “ – uh, thanks. Look, I’m in the middle –”
Me: (getting more and more worked up)“ – and remember that one time, when you were like, ‘Not the Assaulted Nuts! What more must I do!’ ” (now, actually acting motions out.)
David Cross: “Yeah, I remember. Uh. . .”
Me: “And that part where you were like, ‘Maybe that 100th chick likes to fuck on a pile of garbage?””
David Cross: (getting more and more impatient) “Yes! Of course I remember that!”
Me: (practically in a fervor now) “Cuz, I mean, if I was the 100th chick and you were the trash man – I would totally fuck you in a landfill – hell, we could do it right now!” (knocks over trashcan spilling out contents all over floor. Music in club stops. I am finally shocked back to reality.)
David Cross: “. . . .”
Me: “. . . .”
David Cross: “Uhhh. . .”
Me: “Um, yeah – so it was, uh, nice to me—”
David Cross: “Yeah – sure.” (begins to walk away)
Me: “I’ll pick this up.” (now on floor picking up trash.) “Great talking to you. Call me!”

So, yeah – good for Andy. And better for David Cross that it wasn’t me.

Love, Polka-Dot Wrapping Paper, and A Teaspoon of the ol' Bubbly!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ALISHA!!!

May your birthday be filled with spun-sugar dances, and a carpet of petals!

Wish I could be there to share A GLASS of champagne with you before you pass out in a drunken stupor.

I'll Get You, Oscar!!

Every year I go through a swing of total Oscar panic from “Oh man – I can’t wait to see that thing I have been all set to see forever!” to “Oh wait, I really don't care about any of that.” This year, however was followed by – "Oh man, I totally forgot about Jon Stewart!” Now I am pretty much totally in love with Jon Stewart. And for the most part I always love those rare long-term Hollywood romances. I have a tendency to applaud and envy those partnerships – but were Jon Stewart to leave his wife mid-babydom for me and li’l Ralphie, I seriously doubt I would shed a sadtown tear.

He makes everything so merry and awesome. I suppose if I had to narrow down the reason for my love it would be connected to the fact that I love watching people at the verge of letting an overabundant amount of sarcasm spilling out of them at a fairly inappropriate time and place. WHich is exactly what he does. He gets this look and just can't handle it.

Three Six Mafia!!! Montages!! Man, neither Jon Stewart nor I could handle the absurdity of these events and though I was able to immediately and openly proclaim these ridiculous turn –of-events to whoever would listen – he, my dear bf, had to present a center level of decorum since he was, you know, presenting the Oscars. He would hold it back and take long pained pauses until finally there would be that moment of “I know that I shouldn’t say what I am I going to say, but I have reached my saturation point” and the sarcasm flows like Niagara.

I just wish that he also expressed my Fear for the Future when J. Lo, star of Maid of Manhattan, The Wedding Planner, and Gigli, is a presenter of the Academy Awards!

Also the “In Memoriam” always brings me way down. I always get the worst sad-shock feeling ever. It is a mixture of this “Oh God, I totally loved that person” with “Wait, who was that person?” and of course, “OMIGOD! When did that person die?” I always wish that it would go on longer so that I could have more time to forget that I hate most of current Hollywood and just focus on the old Hollywood and the people that made it what it was that I miss so. Oh well.

They Say its Always the Quiet Ones.

The other day my mom gave me a call at work to give me a family update. She told me about a death in my extended family. You see there is a fair amount of impressive longevity on my uncle's wife's side of the family so that when my mom told me about how my aunt and uncle had attended her great aunt's 102nd birthday I was not surprised. I was, however, surprised when I found out that the same great aunt had died a couple of weeks after said party. It turns out that while this centenarian-plus-two was partying it up with the fam they were busy giving her the flu. All of this - sad, obviously. The thing that makes this comedy-blog worthy is the way in which my mom chooses to relay this story to me. When she gets to the conceivably sad part of the story, my mom starts cracking up. I, in turn, also start laughing hysterically as well - half of my laughter being caused by the fact the story is vaguely funny (family throws huge "Way-to-reach-a-huge-milestone!" party only to, in the process, give her the flu that would soon kill her and put an abrupt end to any more milestones.) - and partly because I think that it is crazy that my mom is laughing as much as she is - then my mom in turn crack-ups because I am cracking up and so on. We keep going in this horrible circle until one of my mother's co-workers overhears her. My mom decides to try to explain the reason why she is in near hysterics to said co-worker. In doing so, my mom says, "Well, the woman was a 102 years old; anything would have killed her." At this, I laugh hysterically.

I get off the phone shortly thereafter and try to relate this story to my co-workers. The two women and I are all vaguely giggling about the whole situation. I tell them about the remake that my mother said about anything killing her when the nicest, most gentle woman I have ever known says, "Well, AIDS wouldn't have killed her."

Hilarious!

"Sometimes I Bury my Oxen."

I work for a test-prep company. This means that most of our telephone conversations at work consist of discussing colleges, the ACT vs. the SAT, course locations and schedules. Needless to say when I answered the phone one day and was asked what the gentleman on the other line should do with his oxen I was a bit taken aback. Now, just so we are clear – this question concerning the placement of livestock was neither preceeded nor followed by heavy panting and the follow-up question had nothing to do with what I was or was not wearing at the time. No, this was an honest inquiry from a man wanting to know what he might be able to do with his ruminants. The thing is that one of my co-workers has a side-job. A side-job that you just don’t get to overhear too many people talking about. I won’t say what it is because I think that it’s more fun for you to guess.

Following is a list of some of the better bits of her conversations that I have been fortunate enough to overhear:

• "You mean Joe the Salt-man? No, that's not a good idea."
• "Okay, I'll bring the bucket and yolk and wooden shoes."
• “You mean for ones who already have their clothes on? I guess I could work out a pay rate for that.”
• "You mean Becky with the pail?"
• "I'm curious to see - they have always been so bad at dressing appropriately"
• "I think she has a hoop skirt."
• "There are 2 vertical logs there - one is the Old Courthouse, the other is the church."
• "I've got two guys who usually work the street for me. They don't usually work for free, but we'll see. - one of them has a dog that could work really well."