Austin's Lesbo BBQ

By the way...Girls suck. I'm sure all you men know this already...in fact, you're probably thinking...'Hey, you lesbians have it easy...you all understand each other and there's no guessing about what anyone wants'...But, just so you know, this is not the case.

Just imagine TWO of your significant other (e.g. wife, girlfriend, crush, third grade math teacher, etc...) trying to politely communicate thoughts and intentions...lots o' harmony with a lack of straight-forwardness. Yeah. So, eventually, there's really nothing to be said for any sort of a progressive relationship...and then we're back to ground zero...Girls suck.

What I really don't like about the whole 'dating' thing, is how someone else has the power to make me feel insecure and insignificant. Fuck that. Yeah, so I say "fuck that", but at the same time, I'll do just about anything to prove that I'm far from worthlessness...damnit. Now I'm in a position that appears aloof and cold. I'll tell you, I'm not far from writing my own personal power ballad that simultaneously declares my sensitivity and toughness.

So, besides my lame-ass dating issues...how was Christmas for everyone?...Good, I hope. I know mine was quite tolerable. We had turkey, sugar, gifts and way too much a Christmas music and decoration.

Everything was just peachy...My dad gave me the best accommodations a daughter could ask for...a bedroom complete with a creepy balloon caretaker. You thought clowns were scary? Well, a floating snowman with googily eyes is far more unpleasant. Apparently, my stepmother thought it was appropriate to decorate my stepbrother's bedroom with a festive balloon creature. I actually didn't notice it until I lay down to sleep on Friday night...at which time, I was greeted with this bit of frosty nightmare fuel.

I was so moved by the experience that, as I lay in bed, I took a picture from my perspective. I'm working on getting it up here for all blog enthusiasts to enjoy.

Until then, get back to work! I'm going to sleep now...

Did I ever mention that I have the coolest potluck roommate ever? I have to give mad props to both her and Craigslist...

My roommate of two months has been nothing less than ideal...she's never here, yet she's constantly attentive to household needs, such as toilet paper, trash bags and cat litter. In addition to her already evident radness, I came home this evening to find a nice little Christmas gift left on my desk....'twas a bottle opener decorated with Homer Simpson reaching for a second beer while desperately trying to finish the one at hand. It's way cool...and it's officially replaced my four year old Miller Lite promotional beer key (not that this will be tossed aside or anything, just put in the archives...)

Can anyone think of a more suitable gift for yours truly? So, let's just keep it between you and me that, due to her absence, I will be freely smoking in the house tonight.

...Here's the funny thing: roommate barely knows me...what she does know of me comes from my ever-present empty beer bottles and collection of Simpsons DVDs...so basically, I'm pretty damn predictable. Go me. I figure I owe her one...and I have to come up with something as equally suitable from the clues that her bedroom decorations present to me.

Ahhh...I knew there was something out there that would revive my Christmas spirit.

So, this is where I find myself during Holiday 2004...about to embark, yet once again, to suburban Houston...once there, I will spend a set amount of time (I'm estimating approximately 26 hours) with my dad, brother and step fam. After this, I'm thinking I will head 2 hours north to a moderately-sized east Texas town to spend some time with a friend who should not be alone this Christmas. I bet LaQuinta has a fabulous post-Christmas continental breakfast...

Granted, these are beer induced plans...but, then again, some of my best laid plans have come from the beer sessions...

Ok...most likely I'll end up spending Christmas day debating the best Wham! singles with my brother and how the Pet Shop Boys never really got due recognition in the States....

Is it still December? You mean it's not over yet? Damn.

I still have two and a half days to get into the holiday spirit. You never know...it could happen.

All the moderate stress of working a customer service job coupled with a lack of real attachment to anything has left me less than excited about...sigh...Christmas.

Really, though...I can see the appeal. There's a certain kind of predictability in Christmas...you always know what sort of music, smells, colors, and flavors to expect. It's the same thing every year. No changes. Ever.

This is probably a good thing. If things changed, it would just be confusing...nobody would really know how to get into the holiday. Learning a new Christmas "hipness" every year would be too much work and the holiday would eventually fade due to shear laziness. I can't imagine the general public accepting teal and purple as this year's green and red. Bells? What are you talking about? This season it's all about the white-gloved accordion choir...

This makes no sense. But, then again, how often do I make sense?

I returned from Houston earlier today...my friend's wedding was quite nice...all elegant and stuff. Candles, classical music and anything else you could ask for. Oh yeah. Bells. Lots of bells. The only thing that was missing, that I could think of, was a dove...or a possibly even a flock of them, for that matter.

Other than the pure elegance, I also got to experience a bit of a high school reunion...and all the awkwardness that comes with it. I was able to talk to some really old-school friends...and then be hit on by them...as smarmy as they all were.

Apparently, the one time a year that I can be found donning heels and skirt is enough to bring in my yearly quota for male attention. Ok. For sure, I know that not all guys are sleazy...nor are they as un-tactful as their representatives that I encountered this weekend are...but, in case you guys didn't know, it's not suave to slap a girl on her ass or to otherwise try to grab her when she's not paying attention. Not so cool. This won't generally get you a second date. I am speaking generally, of course...it depends on what kind of girl you're looking for...Granted, I am the kind of girl who probably wouldn't be dating a guy to begin with, so maybe I'm a bad representative for the female sex.

But, besides the overall shadow of sleaziness, my weekend was good. I spent the remainder of my Sunday afternoon eating, napping and, finally, hitting the bar.

During the early stages of my evening, I decided to cook a turnip. I bought this vegetable out of pure curiosity. I mean, we've all heard of them, but how many of us can actually say that we've eaten one? This alone baffled me. I've never personally heard anything about a gourmet turnip dish or even Mom's homemade turnip special....and there's a reason for this: They taste like ass. Imagine eating a bit of mashed, slightly rotten cauliflower...and you'll have a cooked and prepared turnip. I suggest taking my word for it...turnips are best avoided.

The rest of my night was fairly typical. I checked my hideous work schedule, watched some TV and then bar-ed it up. My intention at the bar was pretty simple: to drink A beer and say 'hi' to bartender...of course, my best intentions never seem to surface. Sooooo...I managed to indulge in five beers, be hit on, yet once again, (this time was a little more settling, seeing that I was in civilian clothing) and realize that my goals of going home early and resting up will never be met.

So it goes.

...and other fun stories brought to you by Mel-a-rific!

One would think that this dreaded virus would make me slow down and take care of myself, but...no...that's too much to ask.

During the past two days of being achy, sleepy, sore, cranky, and feverish, I've been strangely productive. I got my car cleaned, hair cut, credit card bill settled, cleaned my house, worked constantly and made sure to hit the bar nightly...did I mention that I was asking Santa for a pneumonia for Christmas?

Yay. Oh...and on top of all this, I'll be leaving for Houston tomorrow, bright and early, in order to attend a wedding...then coming back the next day to try to figure out why the fuck I've been moving myself so frequently around this damn country.

All along, all I can think about is why the girl (a.k.a. a particular bartender that may have been mentioned in previous posts) I've been dating has been blowing me off, the impending holiday and its required gifts that I have yet to purchase, and my lack of overall personal and financial stability.

There seems to be something about this time of year that gets me overly thinking about the future and my rudimentary life goals...this inevitably leads me to depression and more beer drinking. It's an endless cycle...

The Beatles tell me that there shouldn't be enough time to hang a sign on me...but, over the past few weeks, that's all that I've felt that has been done for me. The abundance of family time that I've been exposed to has made me feel less than equipped for human existence...no boyfriend, no babies, no school and no career doesn't make for many a topic of conversation among the devout Catholics in my family...all I can say is that one night of Sunday night dancing at Elysium would be the remedy for all my woes...

Oh. Hi. It's you again.

Here I am again, back at the BBQ. I still don't feel like I have much to say. Why? Maybe it's because I'm menstrual, maybe it's because it's cold outside, or maybe it's because the damn bar keeps serving me Fat Tire instead of Sunshine Wheat beer...I'm not sure yet. There's at least 3 other maybes that I could add to that list, but it'd be too whiny, so let's just keep it at that.

I do, as always, have a few small rants to make everybody cringe simultaneously:

No. 1 -->I decided to do some impromptu shopping today...seeing that I still need a present for this wedding that I'm set to attend on Saturday, and, oh yeah...Christmas. So, on my way to Target, there just happened to be a Christian book store that was subtly calling me saying: 'don't forget...you have a mother who loves Jesus, you beer swilling heathen' Yeah. It wasn't that intense, but anyway...I went in. Everything was decently normal...I mean, I figured that I'd be immediately pressured into accepting Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior just by entering this retail outlet, but apparently, that's not the case. Whew. Instead, I was overwhelmed by the ridiculous amount of literature (available for purchase) dedicated to more efficient prayer*, bible study for Dummies, and Bad Girls of the Bible**. Let's just cut to the chase...I got a journal and got out. Case closed.

No. 2 --> Avril Lavigne. I've done my best to ignore this Brittany Spears reject for the past 3 years...even when her clever pop lyrics rhyme 'boy' with 'boy'...but, honestly, her tv commercials featuring footage from her newest hit single have really gotten to me. For some reason, it really chafes me that there's legions of moderately alternative*** student council members who find this chick to be a bad girl of rock.

No. 3 --> Word on the street is that the next Real World is going to take place in Austin. This isn't really a rant, just a statement. There's so much to be said about this that it'll take a whole 'nother post....

...and this has been plenty for tonight.

*there's actually a prayer journal you can buy so you can track your prayers submitted to God and his (and it's always his) answers...oh, and also, so you can make sure you don't repeat prayers twice for any particular person...because that'd just be a waste of time.

**featuring Snoop Dogg of Bethlehem as the narrator.

***high school Stu-Co definition of alternative: individual who sports wacky thrift store t-shirts coupled with plaid pants...possibly also the person who befriends the somewhat mentally challenged boy (seriously! He's actually a really cool guy!). For my slightly more mature readers, this person would be the modern day equivalent of the hardcore Starship fan...because, come on, this band was a part of the psychedelic movement, dork wad.

Hi.

I'm back. I'd like to first say 'thank you' to all my friends who offered up their sympathy. I really appreciate it.

In general, I'm really glad that I went up to Massachusetts for the funeral. Although I've never been all that close to my grandmother, I would've regretted it for the rest of my life if I chose delivering pizzas over going to the service. On the up side, I was able to enjoy seeing my family that I rarely get to see...It has been over three years since I've been up that way.

Since I've been back, I've been attempting to re-ground myself in reality...and as I stated in the previous post, this seems to be a difficult thing to do during the holidays when everything appears surreal anyway. Time will smooth it all over, I'm sure of it...I hate it when I'm feeling so out of it that I can't even find music that fits...I've finally settled on jamming out to The Bolshoi's "Away"...although it has no significant meaning, at least I get to test and retest my ability to hit the high note during the chorus...AWAY!...AWAYYAYAYHEEHEEHEE! Yeah. I still can't do it.

Meanwhile, there's a slew of other things that are coming my way in the next few weeks...a friend's wedding, a possible business start up opportunity (and, no, it doesn't involve illicit substances or becoming familiar with a particular street corner), heading back to 'start' with bartender stalking or possibly just jumping straight to 'end’, and, of course, that day where I'm supposed to come up with things to put under the elf and/or angel adorned pokey tree.

If my typing box holds up long enough, I promise that, in the future, I'll post something uplifting and cheery. Maybe some warm stuff about kitties, flowers, clouds or unicorns...

It was all in my head. There's no urination happening behind my desk. I'd tell you what it ended up being, but the smell went away....lost to the ages.

So deep, so very deep.

On another level all together...I've felt very (and I'll grant myself the permission to make up a word) dishuman today. I found out, post an unrewarding lunch time delivery shift that my grandmother died last night. From that point on, I've kinda just felt like I've been floating (this happens frequently, but usually after lots of drinks and 2 hours of sleep).

Of course, the first thing that I did after finding out the news was to desperately mow my lawn as if a Bentley may find itself parked there tomorrow and then subsequently make my way to the Spin Cycle to take care of the often procrastinated task of laundry...I even seriously considered finally taking care of cleaning the years of funk build-up and filth that has taken over my art deco era bathroom. Apparently, all it takes is the death of a significant family member to kick my motivation into high gear.

After my I got my clothes their whitest and brightest, that's when I officially started floating. I realized that I had deal with the fact that I had to jet-set out to Cap Cod the next day. I called work, my brother, my dad and the psychic hotline. Ok...in reality, I didn't call Dionne (although our relationship probably warrants it), but the rest is true. With the exception of work, I didn't actually talk to anyone. This is a good thing, because after talking to my manager at work, I really didn't have much to say.

This all went down while I was patiently waiting to merge into rush hour traffic on Guadalupe. I thought I'd shorten my trip by cutting through 37th street over to Speedway...I don't know if this was a good or bad idea, but it immediately became evident to me that the path I had chosen just so happened to be the locally famous Christmas light street...horray! So wacky, it is, with its light adorned motorcycles and mannequins*...I had painfully gotten myself into the line of gawkers and holiday spirit filled motorists.

At this time I realize that, not only was I so far removed from holiday cheer, but that I was also pissed that the home owners on 37th street would just see me as another slack-jawed townie out for a quick thrill before they ordered pizza and watched I Want A Dog For Christmas, Charlie Brown!**

Ok. I'm being uber-negative. But, what I really meant to say is that I was just feeling so alienated from the outside world...like I was an observer who was simply taking a ride in a human-pod transportation device.

I finished off the night with a much needed alone jaunt to the bar...I must say, as sad as it may seem, it's still so nice to have a place to go where I can sit and be detached and not really be alone. I feel like I could go to this bar and drink nothing but water and still feel like I've taken a load off.

SO...after this long-winded post, I will end it with stating that Janet Jackson's Miss You Much is a great song and that I'll be back on Friday.

Til then...

*there was a point in my Austin days where this street was novel at Christmas time, but now it just manages to get in my way.

**in all my uber-negativity, the only reason I even came up with this program title is because I watched it myself and slightly enjoyed it. Does this count towards my redemtion?

I think one or more of the cats is peeing behind my desk. I can't quite put my finger on it...nor do I really want to.

See, the thing is that there are so many funny smells that tend to come from my room...add that to the fact that I smoke a pack of death sticks per day....

It could all be in my head. But, I'm watching you...and if it turns out that the cats had nothing to do with it....just mind your back, that's all I'm sayin'.

Our loving t. sent out an email today about a "loco lawmaker" from Alabama. I checked out the article and found solace in the fact that our constitution (at least for now) will likely keep this guy at bay...but, there's much to be said about the existence of people like him to begin with. One of the things he mentioned was how the "Homosexual Agenda" was doing away with the mashed potatoes and gravy culture that has made America what it is today (awww...a warm fuzzy feeling blankets the country)...

Wait a minute...last time I checked, I could be considered homosexual and nobody sent me a copy of the damn agenda! How the fuck am I supposed to know what to do, as a homosexual, at 10:15 a.m. without a working copy of the agenda? Well...I'll tell you what I'm going to do, damnit, I'm going to make my OWN agenda...let's make it even more narrow...we'll call this the Slacker Lesbian Agenda...seeing that the general stereotype of homosexuals seems to center around "Queer Eye For the Straight Guy", I think we need an agenda appendage:
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8:00 a.m. : There's and eight o' clock A.M. now?!? <--I know I'm not original with this joke, Simpsons fans.

8:30 a.m. : Nudge prospective new roommate in the side (waykee, waykee..eggs and baykee!)...gently, of course, because we wouldn't want to irritate her new 'Japanesse symbol of friendship' tattoo.

9:15 a.m. : Snuggles...awww....snuggles.

10:15 a.m. : Move Mittens, Crenshaw, and Puddles (the cutest kitties in the whole world) off of respective head, legs and chest.

10:30 a.m.: Realize that the new Melissa Etheridge/Ani DiFranco compliation is going on sale at Waterloo records starting at noon.

11:00 a.m. : Make a quick breakfast consisting of substitute egg product and Fake-on (it's like bacon, but not quite...)

11:45 a.m. : Drive truck downtown to book store to pick up the newest edition of Bust and Martha Stewart's Living...leaf through bumper stickers and t-shirts.

12:15 p.m. : Place newly purchased cat-shaped rainbow sticker on truck.

12:50 p.m. : Arrive at record store. Find out that the aforementioned album actually doesn't come out until following Thursday. Damn. Settle for the first album by Sophie B. Hawkins.

1:30 p.m. : Meet for lunch with your friends: the police officer and the high school gym teacher.

1:45 p.m. : Discuss how it really, really wasn't o.k. for gym teacher to mention to prospective new roommate how your "old roommate" not only slept with your best friend, but also managed to get with you too...all in one night...eleven times....that both of you know of, anyway. Oh, shit...are we ignoring the police officer? She looks kinda huffy...

3:50 p.m. : Leave coffeehouse lunch spot with just enough time to catch Oprah.

5:42 p.m. : Pick up tissues on left on floor...post Jeopardy, of course.

6:15 p.m. : Open three pouches of Moist Meow Mix for the kids and prepare dinner...mmmmm...semi-firm asparagus and baked salmon.

7:00 p.m. : Call prospective new roommate and invite her over to watch The L-Word. Begin to feel inadequate due to lack of whispy hair.

8:30 p.m. : Discuss U-Hall arrangements and patchouli storage with new roommate.

9:00 p.m. : Hash over the agenda for homosexuals to slyly take over and dominate American culture.

10:00 p.m. : Bed time. We have a big day of Garden Ridge ahead of us.

I got my typing box up and running for the meantime. We'll see how long it lasts. I started a post earlier just to have the fucking machine shut down on me again. Stupid technology.

Next on my list of things to repair: my house's water heater. As much as I enjoy mobile showering, it makes me feel kinda homeless. You know, just showing up at somebody's home and being all like "Hey, what's up. Is CSI on? Rad. Hey...I'm gonna grab a coke and shower...don't mind me."

Much praise to my friends who have been supporting my habit during this period of unprecedented laziness...wait...who am I kidding? My laziness has plenty of examples to look to for guidance.

In other news, I found myself in a self-realized comical situation yesterday at the H.E.B....standing in the "10 items or less" checkout line with a bag of cat food and a tray of single-serving sushi (prepared fresh everyday!).

I was on the look-out for the camera taping for Fox's new reality show "The World's Singlest Slacker"...is that Morrissey I hear playing in the opening credits?