Archive for September, 2008

Observations From the Texas State Fair

{ September 30, 2008 @ 12:12 am } · { Uncategorized }
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Every year for the last ten years, I’ve told myself, “self, we are so totally going to the Texas State Fair this year!”  And every year for last ten years, I’ve not made it there for one reason or another.  Most often, it’s because I’m in a show and doing school and/or work and I’m just out of time and Dallas is so far away.  The last excuse is crap because Dallas is about a 20 minute drive-hardly an all day automobile excursion.  But this year, I finally made it despite being busy with a show and with work.  A friend wanted to go to the fair as well, and it just worked out.  Rather than a long detailed description of the day, here are a few moments/observations:

  • Big Tex is just not as big as I remembered.  ‘Course I was four years old at the time and therefore a little bit shorter. 
  • Free stuff is great.  I love getting free stuff at places and the Texas State Fair is no exception.  It doesn’t matter whether or not I’ll use any of the free stuff.  It’s the principle of thing.  If someone is giving something away, you MUST take it!  It is written. 
  • When I was sixteen, I could ride roller coaster after coaster and not be sick.  Now that I’m in my 30s (even though I totally look like I’m still in my mid-20s…what?  I do.  Shut up.), I find that to be slightly less true.  I didn’t upchuck, per-zackly, but I had a slightly drunkish walk after a couple of them.
  • Friend and I stopped for a moment by an art deco fountain and watched, amused, as this adorable little girl played in it.  She’d run in, shake her head around, jump up and down, dance, clap her hands together, and zoom back out with a high-pitched, utterly irrestible giggle of glee.  It was the cutest thing.
  • Mariachi is cooler than I realized it would be.
  • There was an acrobatic/dance troupe from Harlem made up of about seven extraordinarily pretty athletic men.  Apropos of nothing.  I just wanted to mention that we saw seven really, really, preternaturally attractive men.
  • I ate a fried oreo.  It was actually pretty tasty.  Here’s the thing about the state fair of Texas, and Texas in general.  We fry everything.  But participants in the Texas State Fair take it to unusual heights.  This year’s contest winner, chicken-fried bacon, is a line I was not willing to cross.  Think of it.  Double-battered bacon deep fried and served with a side of ranch or honey mustard.  Yeah, it nauseated me too.  But seeing as how I was at the state fair, I felt compelled to eat something that was inappropriately fried.  The bacon was out.  Fried coke just felt so last year.  Fried snickers will NEVER happen, nor will fried twinkies or snowballs.  That left either the oreo or a fried s’mores.  The oreo won out. 
  • Since I’m on the topic of food, the corn dogs and lemonade at the Texas State Fair are ridiculously tasty. 
  • Puppets are a little bit creepy.  We watched a puppet show that was part super-cute and part…creepy is really the only word.  One of the child volunteers was so wigged out, he ran off the stage and into his daddy’s arms.  It’s probably wrong that I found that so amusing.  But honestly, I think every adult there secretly sympathized.  It was…creepy.
  • Celtic Rock is cool.  We saw the Killdaire’s.  They were killer.  I went there.
  • If you are ever at the Texas State Fair and decide to go on the ferris wheel, be forewarned-they require at least four to six people in each lift.  If you’re super-lucky, you’re already a party of four or six.  If you’re lucky, the other group with you is cool and you will make some new acquaintences and potentially, some new friends.  If you are me, you will be stuck with two drunks enthusiastically sucking face the entire ride.
  • I won a really cute growly lion.  Okay, he doesn’t growl, actually, unless I’m holding him up and making growl noises for him.  Noises, which incidentally, aren’t very convincing in my low, super-sweet southern accented voice.  But he’s still terribly cute and happy-making.
  • Skeeball is fun.  Even when I lose, it’s still fun.

Overall, it was a really great day.  I was super-enthused to arrive at the fair and equally enthused to leave it.   Every part of me ached, so when I got home, I slipped into our jacuzzi tub and stayed there for a good 45 minutes before showering and going to sleep.  Is it wrong that that alone was one of the day’s highlights?

Book Review: Thin Is the New Happy

{ September 26, 2008 @ 11:17 pm } · { Books, book review }
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I’m sure you’ve seen the Weight Watcher’s commercials loudly proclaiming “DIETS DON’T WORK.”  For those of us obsessed with body image (e.g. you, me, and everyone we know), this is old news, about as shocking as Clay Aiken’s revelation that he is, in fact, gay.  (Really?)  And yet, despite knowing diets are evil and wrong, many of us still persist.  We have an ideal of ourselves living somewhere inside that is thin, and therefore happy, because after all, thin equals happy, doesn’t it?

In Thin Is the New Happy, author Valerie Frankel humorously and frequently profanely chronicles her lifelong obsession with her own body image, made worse by her “fatphobic” mother who started nagging her about weight when she was only 11 years old.  She spent her childhood and later her adult years on a succession of diets, losing and regaining hundreds of pounds.  Her body issues were front and center.  Thin equaled success, beauty, determination and control, while fat equaled lazy, ugly, failure and a lack of control.   This cycle continued until Frankel had what would become a series of epiphanies, centering on the idea of weight as symptom of bigger issues-literal emotional baggage manifested in a physical form.  Flab.

Instead of dieting, Frankel determined to resolve her body issues and end the cycle of dieting; to send a message loud and clear to her daughters, the eldest aged 11-the same age Frankel’s obsession began-that they could be comfortable in their own skin, that they were beautiful and strong and capable.  Frankel would be a chain-breaker.  The struggle of body image and acceptance would end with her. 

Frankel enlisted the help of friends, family, and therapists to explore her body image issues and ultimately, put them to rest.  Her account is painfully honest, at times heart-breaking, and frequently hilarious.  (Her favorite defense mechanism as a teenager enduring verbal abuse of the “hey-fatso” variety from a group of boy bullies, was to eviscerate them in the pages of her diary via her alter-ego, Sal.  Sal killed her tormenters in a variety of ways, her creativity rivaled only by the multiple deaths of Kenny in South Park.) 

Because Frankel is an inveterate list-maker, she started her new life philosophy with a list.  I won’t spoil the reader.  The lists are part of the fun.  At her heaviest, Frankel wore a size 14.  If you are now rolling your eyes and thinking something like “poor baby…I’d kill to be size 14 again,” don’t let that sway you from reading her story.  Poor body image is a universal problem among women and Frankel has much to share.  Her epiphanies are brilliant and as I read her story, they became my epiphanies as well.

This isn’t an “accept your fat and be happy” book.  It’s about forging straight through the issues that scar us and coming out on the other side with true self-acceptance.  While Frankel did, in fact, lose weight on her journey, the book celebrates the shedding of old thoughts and old attitudes rather than the shedding of pounds.

Buy your copy here.

Happy Birthday, My Pretty…

{ September 25, 2008 @ 10:24 pm } · { My Friends, birthday wishes }
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…and your little dog, too!!  :)

Today is the birthday of amethyst.  Wise and wonderful amethyst, I hope your birthday is filled with so much awesome that it overflows!!

What The Hey; I’ll Play

{ September 25, 2008 @ 2:56 am } · { Meme }
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Chauceriangirl saw this at Pop Sensation, and decided to play along, since it’s a slow day today.  I stole it from her because I do that sometimes.  Like that one time I “borrowed” her Beatles tee-shirt and never gave it back.

If your life were a movie, what would the soundtrack be?

1. Open your music library (iTunes, Winamp, Media Player, iPod, etc).
2. Put it on shuffle.
3. Press play.
4. For every category (see below), type the song that’s playing.
5. When you go to a new question, press the next button.
6. Don’t lie and try to pretend you’re cool.

Here are the categories, and my results / responses:

Opening credits: I’m Sticking With You- Juno soundtrack.  Fair enough.  I’m fond of my friends and very loyal to them, so this makes some sense.

Waking up: Overblown – Mudhoney. Wow.  This is pretty perfect.  Everybody loves us; everybody loves our town; that’s why I’m thinking of leaving it now.  Heh.  Kind of funny.

First day of school: Pilgrim – Enya. Hee!  That’s funny.

Falling in love: Penis Song - Eric Idle. Hahahahahahahahahahahaha!!!!!!!!!!!!!

First love song: Stockholm Syndrome – Muse.  This is strangely appropriate.

Breaking up – sleep – The Dandy Warhols.  Well, I could sleep forever, but it’s a forever dream…if I could sleep forever, I could forget about everything.  Um.  Yeah.  Spot on, yo. 

Prom – Do What You Have To Do – Sarah McLachlan. Huh.  I went to senior prom with a friend as friends only.  This one is actually more appropriate for my junior prom.  I went with a friend (again) but I really wanted to be there with someone else.  Only he took for-freaking-ever to ask me and by that time I’d already said yes to someone else.  So we spent the entire evening staring longingly at one another across the room.  It was very pathetic and not fun for our respective dates.

Mental breakdown – I’ll Never Tell - Buffy the Vampire Slayer Once More With Feeling Soundtrack. Nah.  Though fairly amusing considering the way Xander and Anya’s grand love affair ended.

Driving – State of Love and Trust – Pearl Jam.  Well, it’s a great road trip song, I guess.

Flashback – big indian- The Dandy Warhols. My iPod seems to like the Dandys.  But it’s a pretty good flashback song.

Getting back together – Tree Hugger – Kimya Dawson-Juno soundtrack.  My iPod seems to lack creativity.  Honest, I have more on it than the Juno soundtrack and the Dandys.  If this is indeed my getting back together song, it might possibly explain my love life.

Wedding – No One Mourns the Wicked – Wicked soundtrack. Wow.  That’s kind of a lame wedding song. 

Birth of child – Judas – Kelly Clarkson/My December.  This would be really appropriate if I got knocked up by someone other than a husband.  Or if my husband knocked up someone other than me.  Otherwise it’s a crappy birth of child song.

Final battle – Tomorrow We’ll See – Sting/A Brand New Day.  Hmm…this song is about a prostitute.  What are you trying to say, iPod?

Death scene – Ship of Fools – Erasure. I can’t believe what is happening to me; but it’s spinning…huh.  Maybe.  NOT!!  Dude, iPod.  You’re totally betraying me, here.  And also, why is life so precious and so cruel?

Funeral song – Hoodoo – Muse. Okay, that’s just sad.  “come into my life  regress into a dream  we will hide  and build a new reality  draw another picture of the life you could have had  … i have had recurring nightmares that i was loved for who i am and missed the opportunity to be a better man.”  Dude.  Dude. 

End credits – Just as I am – Air Supply. Now the entire Internet knows that I am a closet Air Supply fan and have them on my iPod.  Well, you know what?  Who gives a crap?  ‘Cause Air Supply is AWEsome!!!!!  And this song kicks ass.

Izzybella and the No Good, Very Bad Day

{ September 25, 2008 @ 2:13 am } · { rant }
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It’s never the truly catastrophic events in life that turn me into an evil, cranky bitch.  I can find a way of dealing with truly catastrophic, especially with the kind of support system I am blessed enough to have.  No, it’s the little things that get me; that climb into my guts and work their way around, leaving slimy traces clinging to every last nerve I have.  In the grand scheme, everything currently upsetting me is all so silly.  Yet here I am-in a vile mood-the sort that enables me to produce total bitch-face.  In case you’ve never met me in person, that’s the expression I get during my very worst moods that causes all to flee before me.  If you think I’m exaggerating, let me assure you this is one (rare) instance when I mean bid-ness.  When you see that expression, you should walk the other way fast, because I will say something I don’t mean that I will be forced to apologize for later on.  And it’s all over a bunch a stupid, idiotic, lame, stupid things that don’t even matter.  For example…

There’s a person at my office (and this person exists in every office) who is extraordinarily kind to my face and back-stabby to my back.  I heard through the grapevine that she said something snotty about me.  Now this is no surprise.  This person always says snotty things about me, and to be fair, every one else.  So ordinarily I blow it off.  Whatever.  blah, blah, blah.  But it upset me this time.  It really upset me and I want to confront her, but I’m too angry to confront her right now, and anyway confronting her does no good.  I’ve confronted her before and she’s completely oblivious.  She geniunely doesn’t see that she does anything wrong and trying to explain how it is, is pretty much an exercise in futility. 

Then there’s parking.  Nothing to bring an inner rage on like trying to park at the office when there is NO parking available.  Ordinarily I don’t leave the office at lunch, but today I just had to get out.  Went to Best Buy and Barnes and Noble.  When I got back the lot was full.  But I knew classes would be ending soon, so I just pulled up next to the building and waited.  Fifteen minutes later I notice, periphally, that a car is backing out and I missed it.  Stupid me.  I knew by the time I got there someone else would have it, so I let it go.  Ten minutes later my boss walked out.  I explained my predicament and she told me where she was parked.  It was awkward getting there because the lot is angled parking and I was coming from the wrong direction.  Right when I was about to turn into that row, another employee zipped in right in front of me and took the spot.  I tried getting her attention, but she pulled that “I’m-going-to-pretend-I-don’t-see-you” expression and strided on by.  Pissed.  Me.  Off. 

Etc.

Those are the types of small things that are aggravating me today.  And I’m so controlled, I’m doing all I can to not explode, but the thing is, there’s this deep-down me inside that really, really wants to explode.  I want to lose my temper.  I want to stamp my feet.  I want to tell “the great one from up on high” that she can kiss my fat ass.  I want to punch the parking space thief.  I mean, seriously.  I really want a full-on temper tantrum.  I know that I would regret it the moment I started.  I know I would mean only 25% of what I would say, but damn, it would be so awesome to say the 25% I want to say, but never, ever should.

So instead, I chose the responsible option-ranting and raving on the Internet.  Thanks, Internet.  You’re a pal.

Warning: Flat Iron May Be Hot if Turned On

{ September 20, 2008 @ 11:55 pm } · { technology }
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In my never-ending quest to join the century in which I live, I’ve found another new gadget that is, and this should surprise no one, only new to me.  The flat-iron.  With my spiffy new short do, I was having trouble with the bubble-pouf.  While the round brush and blow dryer was a kind friend to my long all the way down my back hair, it is an evil enemy to my new short hair.  Enter the flat-iron.  It unbubbles the bubbly.  I was going to say it pops the bubble, but somehow that sounds all wrong.  This morning is the third morning I’ve used it, and I find that I grow more and more attached each day.  Honest, it’s a really nifty gadget.  So, now the funny (to me and also if you don’t live in Canada)…there’s a warning on my flat iron and it’s directed specifically to those in Canada.  It has a drawing of some crazy lady trying to use it on her eyebrows and the text reads “Caution, may burn face.”  I’m interested in the lawsuit that prompted that particular warning.  I really am.

National Talk Like a Pirate Day

{ September 19, 2008 @ 10:42 pm } · { Holiday Greetings }
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I can’t believe I’m even doing this, but apparently chauceriangirl’s enthusiasm is catching.  Today, good friends and foes (scalawags) is National Talk Like a Pirate Day.  So go ahead and find yer inner pirate.  Argh!  Or if all else fails, just find yourself some Capt’n Jack and prepare for boarding…

And who is my Inner Pirate?  Three guesses and the first two don’t count and the last one will cost you yer guts…argh…(ya’ll I’m lousy at this talkin’ like a pirate thing…)

You are The Cap’n!
Some women are born great, some achieve greatness and some slit the throats of any scalawag who stands between them and unlimited power. You never met a man – or woman – you couldn’t eviscerate. You are the definitive WO-Man of Action, the CEO of the Seven Seas, Lee Iacocca in a blousy shirt and drawstring-fly pants. You’re mission-oriented, and if anyone gets in the way, that’s his problem, now isn’t? Your buckle was swashed long ago and you have never been so sure of anything as your ability to bend everyone to your will. You will call anyone out and cut off his head if he shows any sign of taking you on or backing down. If one of your lieutenants shows an overly developed sense of ambition he may find more suitable accommodations in Davy Jones’ locker. That is, of course, IF you notice him. You tend to be self absorbed – a weakness that may keep you from seeing enemies where they are and imagining them where they are not.


brought to you by The Official Talk Like A Pirate Web Site. Arrrrr!

What’s Yer Inner Pirate?

A List of Things I Love (In No Particular Order)

{ September 14, 2008 @ 1:03 am } · { Books, Movies, My Dogs, My Friends, My Sisters and Me, Theatre, diet Dr. Pepper rules }
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I love the theatre.  I really, truly love theatre.  I love going to plays and musicals.  I love being in plays and musicals.  I love the way the stage smells of sawdust and fresh paint.  I love the magic that happens when an actor forgets their lines or some other crazy thing inevitably happens and another actor (or actors) wildly improvise to cover it up.  I love the pre-show jitters when you absolutely must jump up and down just for the sheer joy of movement and because you might burst otherwise.  I love the moment of silence I always take just before that’s just for me-my own quiet moment where I communicate silently with my character and we become one.  I love the exuberant joy after a good show when I’m possessed with manic energy that sustains me for another hour or two until I quite suddenly realize I’m really exhausted and want nothing more than sleep.  I love the camraderie, the give and take, of the perfect cast.  I love the family that is formed for that brief period of time, and the promises (rarely kept) that we’ll always be this close once the show is over.  Even better, I love reuniting with these actors on other shows and realizing we still connect and we’re still family.  I love watching plays and musicals and seeing how the actors interact-I love when I can tell that they’re having more fun than they’ve ever had in their entire life, and for the small price of admission, I get to be a part of that.  I love the unique relationship between actor and audience-that feeling, so much stronger than seeing a movie, that we’re taking this journey together.  We are confidants of a sort.  It’s the most wonderful intimacy, even if it is short-lived.  I love theatre.  I really do.

I love Dr Pepper.  I know it’s not quite as philisophical as my theatre rave above, but I never promised a perfect segue.  Remember?  No particular order…  Anyway, Dr Pepper is the perfect soda.  Nothing against Coke or Pepsi, or even Sprite, but at the end of the day Dr Pepper is the bestest.

I love dogs.  Nothing against cats-I love them too (especially Dearly Departed Lester)-but over time I have morphed into a dog person.  When I am old and still single, I will not be the crazy cat lady.  I’ll be the crazy dog lady.  I’ll have two or three dogs that I will dote on excessively and refer to as my children.  So basically the only difference between future-me and now-me is age…  Wow.  That was kind of a disturbing thought.

I love people who understand why I would grieve so over my Baxter.  Because those people have loved an animal that much too, and that makes them mighty.

I love reading glasses (though I loathe the fact that I need them now) because they make my eyes all happy when I’m reading.  And since I love reading also, that makes me frequently a very happy chica.

Did I mention I love books?  I love fiction.  I love mysteries.  I love non-fiction, histories and biographies.  I love [some] poetry, especially Dorothy Parker, Edna St. Vincent Milay and Emily Dickinson.  I love comic books (pretty art and clever wordplay, what’s not to love??).  I love scary stories and cozy stories.  I don’t particularly heart romance novels, unless there’s lots of death and blood and guts and horror involved as well.  I have a passing acquaintance with science fiction-for the most part we don’t hang out, but every now and then we meet up and sometimes we even have a really good time.  A rainy, cool day, where I can sit on the back porch with a really good book and a cup of herbal tea or hot chocolate is just about the best day I could possibly imagine.

I love my friends.  I adore my friends.  I have excellent taste in friends.  They’re more like sisters than friends.  They’re chosen family and those are the best kinds of friends to have.  There’s foi, who is a biological.  I’d pick her for a sister even if she wasn’t though.  She’s my bestest friend-the one who has been there-literally-since birth.  I could tell her anything, even the most horrible thing, and know that she’d still love me madly even if she were disappointed in me.  Sometimes, when I’ve been through the very worst, darkest hours of my life, she has been the reason I hung on.  Then, there’s Elle who is the prettiest of all my friends (shut up, elle, you are too!!!!) and as an added bonus has a ridiculously wonderful dry sense of humor.  Seriously.  Funny.  She’s the one person who can bring me out of a crap mood with a brilliantly worded non-sequitor.  There’s Jehara who is wise and lovely and serene and as joyful and sunshiney as her actual real name.  She makes everyone she knows feel pretty-that is a rare gift.  There’s Mel who is utterly, completely, and ridiculously cool.  She is equal parts brilliant and goofy, which makes her 100% fun to be with.  Any truly cool piece of music on my iPod is probably there because she either told me about it or gave it to me.  And also she is an artist and therefore understands what I’m trying to say with my outfit. (you probably had to be there to think this in any way funny) There’s gypsy, who is very loving and very smart and steadfast, loyal and true.  The only downside is that she lives far, far away so we don’t hang out so much.  And V, who views life as the very best friend she could ask for and embraces it whole-heartedly.  There is no fear in this woman.  Then there’s D&C (the boys, not the scripture or any type of medical procedure) who both take it really well when I tell them they’re two of my favorite girlfriends ever.  Well, C takes it really well.  D twitches a little, which just makes me say that more often.  I could make this post entirely about my friends, which is exactly how cool they all are.  But it’s a list, so moving on…

I love movies.  Movies are fun even when they kind of suck a little bit.  I used to go to the movies with my step-grandfather and I’m telling you that man did not care what the hell he was watching as long as he was in a theatre with a big bucket of overbuttered popcorn.  I feel kind of like that.  I love going to movies with foi and elle and jehara.  (mel is great for concerts-especially those featuring artists she really, really, really, really loves because she cries and shakes like a teenager who just got kissed on the cheek by a jonas brother).

I love Joss Whedon.  I’m sure he’s written plenty of crap too, but I’d even pay money to see an actor perform the crap, because Joss Whedon likes to play with words.  He takes a perfectly good batch of words and twists it around till it turns into something wholly unexpected.  That makes Joss Whedon cool.

I’d add more, but I also love lunch and my parents and I have to meet my parent for lunch.  In about two minutes ago.  Be good.  Have a wonderful weekend!!

Baxter The Yellow Dog (1997 – 9/5/2008)

{ September 8, 2008 @ 2:19 am } · { My Dogs }
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Baxter the yellow dog (aka wiggle-butt, slobber-face, stinky-breath, Linus, and Eeeyore-dog) passed away Friday, September 5, 2008 after a valiant battle with liver cancer.

Baxter had the improbable name of “Spike” when he joined our family, a ridiculous handle for such a lovable, snuggly, affectionate fellow.  He was re-christened “Baxter” the same day he moved in, though perhaps “Linus” might have been more appropriate owing to his propensity for carrying around his blanket (an old towel) with him every where he went.

Baxter possessed an extraordinary and unique gift for stealing people’s hearts.  What he did with them, we have no idea, but he never met a stranger his entire life.  Except for squirrels.  He really hated squirrels.

Baxter liked to be wherever his people were.  If they were in the living room, so was he.  If they were outside, so was he.  If they were asleep in bed, he was curled up next to them.  Even if they had to go to the bathroom, he followed, the expression on his face plainly indicating that privacy was over-rated and wasted on dogs anyway.

Baxter had boundless energy and enthusiasm for life.  He enjoyed all of his “daily’s”: the morning banana bites, two square meals, the occasional “oops’ in the kitchen which meant people food (YES!); the car rides; and love and adoration from all who knew him.

His hobbies were eating, walking, eating, sleeping, eating, humping Sydney the dog, eating, and above all, loving his people.

Baxter was also an extraordinarily talented artist, using the medium of nose prints on glass, he created impressionist works of art rivaling those of Van Gogh and Monet.

Baxter loved all people, but make no mistake, he was a ladies man.  He loved the way his people’s friends would invent coy excuses (such as movie-thons and dinners and shut up and read parties) for the express and true purpose of spending time with him.  He was always a generous host, allowing all to marvel at his wonderfulness, but he generally gave extra time to the ladies.

Baxter is survived by his sister, Sydney The Dog, and his people, his beloved Izzy B. Ella, Dad and the monster.  Those who wish to pay a tribute to Baxter, and really, who wouldn’t, may do so by donating to their local no-kill animal rescue.

Happy Birthday Mom…

{ September 4, 2008 @ 11:37 pm } · { Mom }
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It’s my Mom’s birthday.  She’s awesome.

Happy Birthday, Mom.  Miss you tons-see you when the Pharoah gets here…

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