Austin's Lesbo BBQ

Dun dun dun...dun dun dun...dun...dii...doo...dah...dun.

That's me singing Jingle Bells...for you. Hope you liked it.

My entire family's at midnight Mass right now, so I have 45 more minutes to get this out before someone hovers over my shoulder and asks, "Hey...what are you doing?"

Of course, I'd just give 'em my standard answer anyway...stuff.

I say my entire family's at Mass, but my brother actually had the balls to cop out this year. Took him long enough (I'm still sailing on The Suburban Church Boycott of 1995...ten years and still going strong!)...so, really, my father is the only actual member of my family not around...unless you count my step family. I guess I don't. Give me 15 more years or so for it to sink in.

So, I spent the entire afternoon and evening eating ridiculous amounts of food that should not be considered food (e.g.: pate, mini-eclairs, various nuts, etc) and, of course, watching TV...because, when it comes down to it, there's NOTHING else to do here.

Oh. But I forgot the drinking. My dad keeps a fully stocked bar (more so than when I was in high school...surprisingly...) and I've been keeping myself entertained by playing bartender. Right now, I'm finishing off what they call a "Pure Fetish"...I think the name's a bit much, if you ask me (which, I'll just assume you did..).

So, vodka, peach schnapps, orange and cranberry juice are the ingredients for a fetish these days?

Man, and I thought I was square.

But, I will say...the cocktails soften the creepiness of Suburbia. I really just don't get it. I grew up here...went to school...family...friends...sports...blah blah...and this place is STILL uncomfortable and weird to me. I always feel like I'm in a movie or some reality show...or that everyone around me is an actor that, at any moment, might freeze in place and start laughing...because...I'M ON CANDID CAMERA!

Ha.

Maybe it's the drugs. Yes. I'll blame the drugs...they're always up for being the scapegoat.

Speaking of scapegoats, it's now officially Christmas...so, Merry effn' Christmas. I'm going to sleep...

I think that purchasing The Simpsons Season 7 is easily the best thing I've done this year.

I love sitting at home...drinking beer...and watching TV by myself...and being tired and delirious enough to uncontrollably laugh at everything that I've already seen probably 20 times in the past...

Oh. And I love, EVEN MORE, that I can recite the majority of the script...generally, unprompted...but, WITH prompts...I'm unstoppable!

I mean, I don't understand why I don't have a girlfriend. I personally think that this has to be the most attractive quality any singular person could possibly have...pssh...

Who needs a career...or education...or, what's that other thing? Oh yeah. Love....when there's The Simpsons?

I'll tell you who! Um, that guy....over there....

It's almost here....and then it'll be over.

The second half of that is what I'm waiting for.

I've decided that I'm only spending two days this Christmas with Dad and Stepmother...I can justify this by telling myself that I've spent PLENTY of time with them in the past 4 months to satisfy any family obligations for the year.

Plus...my father never asked me what I thought I might want/need this year...I actually don't care if I get anything. I'm really past the Christmas attitude where I expect to get something significant and awesome...I mean, it's not like the gifts I give are all that great, but I try to put a little bit of thought into it.

But, what this really means is...not that I will get nothing for Christmas, but rather that Dad's probably taken it upon himself to decide what it is that I need...

Hmmm....now that I think about it, this actually makes Christmas a little more exciting! I can play the "This is the daughter Dad wants you to be..." game inside my head! I have a feeling I'll probably get a significant amount of clothes (which I can exchange...) and a replacement earbud headset for the one that my dad's stupid dog chewed up last time I was home (I don't think this should be a gift...but, maybe I'll be able to listen to da IPod again when I'm out and about)...

...so, whatev. I've already bought myself a Christmas present...I went all out and ordered myself Simpsons Season 6 and 7..they came in the mail yesterday and my newest hobby is watching all the episodes in Spanish...a whole new world has been opened up! Although, the Bumblebee Man parts really loose their humor...

But...I'm just pushing on...I'm incredibly ready to get out of town (and Houston doesn't count)...and then, after the New Year, I can look forward to having a possible new job...the school district send me an invitation to attend one of their substitute teacher orientations. Of course, this would still be far from full-time employment...real employment, that is...but, my God, this is looking far more appealing than pizza/remodeling business right now.

I'd be nice to have a job that let's my injuries heal...and, hey, maybe even refrains from inflicting them on me in the first place! I know that's a lot to ask for from an employer...but, I figure it's worth a shot.

...so, that's it. As for more positive news, my be-fri gave me a popcorn tin present...and I've found that it's quite enjoyable to throw piece of popcorn at Cat B's head and watch her freak (she also loves to eat the stuff...and pretty much anything I throw at her...she's a goddamn garbage disposal!)...

And I was at the bar last night and was witness to one of the most disturbing "Slutty Christmas" outfits I've ever seen...it was pretty horrific from behind, but to make it even worse, when I caught a glimpse of her face...she was old enough to be my mother...at least...

SO...when I thought the velvet, red, sparkly lace-up teddy outfit was as bad as it could get...she bent down over the pool table to make that ever-so-pesky bank-shot...and flashed (oh..not JUST me...the ENTIRE bar) her matching red THONG...

The petrified look on my face was so obvious, that I think I actually caught the attention of her pool-playing buddies...the sad thing is, it's going to take a while to get her out of my head....and to stop shuttering...

Man, the things that a little bit of pent up annoyances will get me to do...

There's another thing about Chrismer I forgot to mention....it's the time a year where all the bad things that DIDN'T happen to me during the rest of the year get together and scheme*....secretly...and then they hide in the shadows and wait for just the right moment to spring into action!

...and I believe the Mel-a-rific Karma-hunting season has begun.

Today, I worked nice and hard only to find at the end of the day that I had lost all my tips and gas money somewhere along the way...I walked out of work with $1, so basically, I PAID to work today...now THAT's some good times!

I took the long way home...stopped off to buy a six-pack, although I don't usually do this when I don't make much money, and tried to naturally relax myself before diving into the beer...because, there's nothing I could do about this...it was my accident and it happens (luckily, not very often)..as sucky as it is.

So, I make it home, crack open one of my beers and sit down to (as Tiny says..) "breath in God, breath out anxiety"...and, next thing I know, a repetitive and HIGHLY annoying noise is loudly penetrating the walls of my house and directly into my ears...thrashing it's way into my brain...poking at the "lose it!" region of my grey matter...

I walked out my front door to casually to investigate...and found pretty much what I expected....a dumbfuck in the apartment complex across the street with his super-cool, kustomized Honda racing in-between the complex's parking lots...he would pull out of one lot, floor it, and then peel into the other one....AND to make things even more annoying, he had one of those Flowmaster things on his exhaust...

MY GOD! HIS KOOLNESS IS UNSURPRASSABLE!

He did this about four times...only one of which I saw, the other's I just heard (not to mention, the number of times it's woken me up in the middle of the night)...and, before he had a chance to reverse it and do it again, I had made my way across the street and was leaning into his car window...

The conversation was pretty much one-sided:

Me: "Hey. Is that really necessary?"

Super-kool Guy: "Uh...what?"

Me: "That shit you keep doing...it's really FUCKING annoying...and, dangerous...there are people around here that have animals that run around outside and kids in the complex..AND it's just stupid. I know YOU think it's cool...but, guess what...it's not, ok?"

Super-kool Guy: "Uh. Ok."

Me: "AND...if I hear it again, I'm going to call the cops...I don't think they'll think it's cool either."

Super-kool Guy: "Ok."

He had a few of his cronies with him...one was video-taping the pure entertainment! that is watching your friend race between parking lots that are 15 feet apart...oh yeah, and these peeps were probably around my age if not just a couple years younger...seriously...get a fucking life...

So, I walked back across the street to my house and my next-door neighbor (um, the non-squatters) came out and said, "We (meaning her and the husband) saw you walk across the street and were like, 'Wow! She's a badass! I can't believe she's going over there!"...I responded with, "Well, I'm just sick of their shit...it's annoying...and they sometimes do it late at night...and their going to kill a cat one of these days...basically, it's just stupid and and I want it to stop."...

Of course, she agreed...it's been bugging them too...as I'm sure it's been bugging lots of people on the block...

But, why would she think I'm a badass for doing what I did? Well, probably because I live in the ghetto...and if these cock-lickers are bored and dumb enough to be racing in parking lots, they're probably not above retaliation. I'm sure you won't have to hold your breath too long for the post about my truck's slashed tires or the firebomb in my living room (...it was pretty obvious what house I walked out of and then back into...)...

But...I really think that, somewhere along the line, I crossed the "lay down and take it" threshold...I'm brazenly fearless of people bigger, stronger, male, older, more powerful or perceivably more dangerous than myself...generally...but, there's always exceptions...strangely, physical appearances don't usually scare me...I'm more likely to be taken down by some sort of mental undermining...

I don't think this makes me a "badass"...if I would have taken a minute to reasonably think about what I was about to do...I probably would've decided that it wasn't worth starting a war over...but, at the same time, what he was doing was STUPID and pointless...I did that kind of shit when I was SIXTEEN...and, somehow, we managed to find parking lots to race in, rather than pissing off the neighborhood...I mean, come on...I want to know if he really thought that he wouldn't eventually bug somebody with his fuckwit antics....

Who knows...I'm hoping the rest of the Chrismer season perks up in the joy department...


*in previous years, my house or car have been burglarized...or I end up in the emergency room due to random injuries...or somebody dies...it's always something...

Smarty Chirs Mer everyone! I've been having far too much fun with Merry Christmas anagrams lately...

That's my favorite...and the only one I could come up with in under a minute as I re-arranged my friend's "Merry Christmas" letter blocks...while she had her back turned, of course.

But, thanks to the power of the internet, I looked up some more to share....without using my brain! Including:

Smarty Scrim Her

AND...my second favorite:

Ass Cry Therm Rim

Yeah.

So, I'm not sure what it is about Chris Mer that brings out the evil in people, but...I'll tell you where it goes...straight to me and other people who are lucky enough to be employed in customer service this time of year. In the past week of work, I've endured more shit-treatin' than I'm usually subjected to in an entire year...

I guess I usually don't mind it when I deserve it...I take it...and, even when I don't deserve it, I can generally just shrug it off...but most of the time, I don't think I deserve it. As low on the "beneficial to society" chain as my job is, I still do it as well as I possibly can...I mean, I don't walk around with delivery driver pride, but, fuck, there's some things that are just out of my control.

I actually think that my *extensive* years of customer service have made me more zen than bitter. Basically, unless someone's life or lively-hood is at stake, you're not going to catch me freaking out...because, hey....IT'S NOT THAT BIG OF A DEAL and it can be fixed. Because when you look at the big picture, it's just kind of hard to get upset and take it to heart when somebody gets an unwanted olive on their pizza.

They kill girl babies in China. Isn't there a war, or something, going on...? Are there still starving people in Africa? Maybe they want this pizza, because, there is NO WAY that I'm going to eat THAT...sick.

Yell at me ALL you want...get it out...it's good to vent! You've chosen your battle...and apparently, this is as good as it gets. Oh yeah...and go ahead and complain to "management"...this doesn't change the fact that most restaurants are run by underpaid part-time workers that turn over about once a month...so, once the staff that keeps fucking up gets a good "talkin' to"...they're out the door and another group of slackers take their place...but, if it helps you feel like you're contributing to the betterment of the restaurant industry in general, please...complain/suggest away.

My brother and I were at a restaurant a few months back...and, as we passed the Suggestions? Comments? Thoughts? box...he, um suggested, that everytime I encountered one of these boxes that I should leave a hurried and scrawled note that reads only: "I'm on to you..."

I think that's a good idea...because, it may have the effect of leaving someone, hell, ANYONE, paranoid...which is far more than any reasonable suggestion will get you.

In another dimension of perceived futility...the JV delinquent students are off for Christmas break as of today...the entire program, full of middle school and high school kids AND their parents, was at the school today. It was interesting to meet the kid's parents...I'm also pretty sad that I'm not going to see these kids again. They've graduated, in a sense, and get to go back to their real schools...I guess I kinda became friendly with some of them and then, next thing I know, their gone..I figure that's what school's all about though, so I best deal with it.

Although, I did have a fun time explaining to one of the students what my undergrad degree consisted of!

Hey...he asked. I told him that sociology is basically what psychology is to invidivual people...
I tried to explain to him that it's the study of groups of people and the way they act...and that people come up with theories (uh...individual idea that lots of people agree on) on why groups of people do what they do...and, I studied their studies...I guess. I mean, when I wasn't being hungover.

I left out the last part.

His sister and mother were also at the table during this conversation and, after I said what I thought was a decent explaination for a my half-assed liberal arts degree, his sister chimed in with, "So, I guess you know why Joe acts so different from the group!"

My response was a futile, "Uh...no...THAT would be psychology...I only took one class in that. But, put a bunch of him together, and maybe I could help you."

Sorry. I do my best.

Stolen from Overheard in New York:

Professor guy: Women make excellent pirates. Pilots. I mean pilots.

--Vanderbilt Hall, Washington Square South

Hey.

What's up?

Oh? Me? Not much. Same as always, I guess...

Well...there's actually something that I need to admit...I didn't really quit smoking...um, I mean, in the traditional sense. I just quit buying my own packs. But, then again, I quit buying my own cigarettes back in July...after that, I just bought the Connecticuteer HER cigarettes and then stole a few. And now...I smoke almost any cigarette that I can get my hands on...almost any cigarette....Kool's...Camel Unfiltered...Virginia Slims...I have no shame. Granted, I still don't smoke nearly as much as I used to...I don't seem to find myself voluntarily inhaling toxic fumes more than once a day.

You know, I think I was about 9 years old (or so...maybe 10) when I smoked my first cigarette. Of course, I didn't inhale it...I had no idea what I was doing...but, my mom smoked and she often sent me to the corner store to pick her up a pack of Smokes (this was the actual brand name of the $.99 cigarettes)...she bribed me to do this by giving me some extra money so I could buy some Garbage Pail Kids...so, without any question, I was sold! At the time, I didn't really have any interest in smoking them anyway.

But, one summer, my curiosity got the best of me...I took one of my mom's Smokes and in the afternoon, when I was alone (...yes...not ONLY did I buy my mom cigarettes, but I was also a latchkey kid who was left to my own devices on many occasions...oh, and don't even get me started on the shenanigans that went down...)..I took a magnifying glass and caught the sun in just the right position that was needed to light me a death stick...you know, I think I even had access to matches, but I just wanted to see if the whole magnifying glass thing worked...

It did.

I puffed on it...and then I put it out because I was afraid of getting caught...by who? I don't know....a neighbor...one of the tattle-tell neighborhood kids...my dad materializing from thin air...I have no idea. I guess that's what guilt will do to ya.

So...that was my first voluntary experience with smoking...

Six years later, I had taken it up as a hobby with the rest of the, um, rebellious kids...I use this term lightly, because we had nothing to rebel against, nothing to prove, and we weren't bad for smoking....when I see 16-year-old smoking now, I can't help but laugh because I see myself in them...and they have no idea what kind of annoying situations they're walking right into...AND, um, wearing black and smoking cigarettes doesn't make you different...or scary...or special...you're going to have to try harder than that, sorry.

Yeah.

On a similar, yet completely unrelated, note....I've been invited to attended the school district's substitute teacher orientation! Woooo! If I do good, I may be approved to fill in for the real teachers at a variety of schools around town...

Excellent...the time is near for the Homosexual Agenda * to rise up and make it's way into America's education system and blanket the minds of innocent youths...

Ok. That, in itself, is probably not a good thing for me to publish to the world while I'm trying to get a real job...no, not just a real job, but a job in education in Texas, for God's sake.

But, alas, it's not true...I'm pretty damn unbiased when it comes to assiting others to think for themselves...um, I think...I try, anyway...but, who can tell?

*I, personally, still prefer my own Homosexual Agenda...I follow it daily, as one should...if we ever plan to DOMINATE SOCIETY! RISE UP! RISE UP!

Because, what if I had an itch on my stomach and I went up to scratch it on a tree...then I accidentally scrape off my newly born kit that's trying to make it's way up to my pouch?

That would suck...

Sometimes...I'm glad I'm not a light socket...because then you'd have plugs shoved into you whether you liked it or not...and sometimes, they'd even stay there for years...nobody would ask you what you thought about it...it would just stay. I guess you could just get sick of it one day and decide to start and electrical fire...that is, if you had the balls.

Oh, how post-modern we were.

This discussion was had at a Denny's when I was 18...If I recall correctly, my friend and I were involved in a deep discussion concerning the standard issues that came with her *first* girlfriend...it was all heavy...as everything was with this particular person.

I recently got in touch with her...she's a lucky sort...re-created herself with a new name, a new place and a new identity all together. This seems a little weird to me, only because, no matter what, she'll always be that person in a serious situation that needs a bit of lightening...nothing's really changed...and, change what you will on the surface, but the person underneath will probably still need kangaroo humor to put things into perspective.

Or not.

She might have joined the throngs of anti-humor, "everything's life or death", "quit talking about marsupials, this is SERIOUS!", march-on-society, individuals that walk the streets these days...I don't know...

...maybe I should stop joking about marsupials already...they DO have a tough life...you know?

Yay!

Congratulations to my friends Paul and Megan...they had a baby girl this morning around 5 a.m.! Her name is Grace and I plan on testing out all my child rearing skills on her and any subsequent siblings.

Babies like to play in plastic bags and 5-gallon buckets right? Oh yeah...and I have all those extra mini-blind pull cords that I've been keeping around for no particular reason...maybe she'll like follow them with her eyes and paws while I playfully drag them around the floor.

Oh wait. I'm thinking of kitties. Why do I keep mixing up kitties and babies?

Ok. There's two things I realized:

1. Painting helped me relive my frustration. Oh...and in case any of you were wondering, I'm no Jackson Pollock. I'm working on white washing all the walls in my house...I have very little artistic ability..at least when it comes to working with paint. All my artistic qualities lie in my super-trendy fashion sense...yes...fashion.

2. I didn't realize that the opening song for that O.C. show was the Phantom Planet song that was in my dream the other night...I don't watch t.v. too often, but I watched some cartoons tonight and that song popped up in an ad. I'm so out of it when it comes to what's hip these days...I should get involved with this teevee thing more often...

That's it.

How much have I officially fucked up if my little brother is telling me to "get my priorities straight?"

Here comes my venting.

1. I don't want/need anyone feeling sorry for me...my choices are my stupid choices. I know this. I may be slow. I may make decisions with the mentality of a 7th grader...but, you know...it's already been pointed out to me...and the more it's shoved in my face, the more I become this angry 7th grader.

2. I realize I put myself in situations with no easy way out...or, rather, I've exhausted all my easy ways out.

3. I hate being angry. It doesn't get me anywhere.

On top of this, the squatter next door has returned. The house next door to me has been abandoned and neglected for almost two years now, and about three weeks ago a less fortunate, homeless individual has decided to take a shot at moving in. I went back and forth in my head for about a week on what to do about it, and I finally called the police about two weeks ago.

I called them when I was leaving my house for the day and when I came home, he was gone. I breathed a sigh of relief...half feeling like I had done the right thing and half feeling like an asshole for kicking a homeless man out of shelter that wasn't being used for jack-shit anyway.

But, I guess he decided he liked his new home too much, and he came back. I first noticed it yesterday...and I didn't waste anytime thinking about what to do this time. I got online and looked up the property records, wrote the owners a note and looked up their address.

I was so frustrated that I didn't even want to wait for the snail mail to deliver the letter, so I found where they lived and went to hand deliver it myself. Unfortunately, nobody was home, so I just left it in their mailbox. Something tells me that this isn't going to do anything to solve the problem. But, I think at this point, there's nothing else I can do...except wait to send a welcome basket to the new crack house in neighborhood!

I think there's a homeowner's association around here somewhere...in fact, I know there is. About a year ago, they left me a newsletter that assured me that the recent murder in the neighborhood was nothing I should worry about. Silly domestic violence...

Ok. There's my anger writing for the evening...and hopefully, for the remainder of the year if I can get shit together. I think I'm going to try to productively release some energy by painting...or maybe, just sleeping and trying to start over again tomorrow.

Pleasant Monday to all!

So, I went to leave my house this evening to make a quick jaunt down to the corner store for a mighty six-pack...and, I've been feeling uber-lazy this evening...last night and this afternoon pretty much took it out of me, so I've been ok with staying in an doing nothing...so, without any external motivation, it took a while for me to get off my ass to go all of three block to the store...and, usually, I walk...unless it's after dark, at which time, I'm usually too wary of my surroundings to walk down the street alone...with beer...so, yeah...it was after dark and I drove.

Where's this story going? Just wait...well, nowhere really...but, just wait anyway.

Anyway, before I could leave the house, I realized that I should probably put on some sort of shoes...see the above uber-lazy explanation...I wasn't really in the mood to go through the super-stressful motions of bending down, slipping on and tying the typical "shoe"...and I don't own any clogs...but, I DO own flip-flops...score.

But, here's the catch...I was wearing socks...and it would've taken even more effort to take off my socks...and, on top of that, my feet would be cold...oh, the horror of these possibilities.

So..I stood at the threshold of my closet and thought, "Would anyone really notice or, hell, care if I leave my house for 5 minutes wearing flip-flops con socks?"...And here's moment of my life that my stepmother has been waiting for...

...immediately following that thought came the internal voice of my stepmother saying, "Mel-a-rific, EVERY time you leave the house, you should be fit to meet the Queen...EVERY time...that's what my mother always told me and I take it to heart everyday."

...of course, my imagination stepped in at this point and I pictured myself standing in line at the Snappy Mart...six-pack of Guiness in hand...my bottom extremities adorned in flip-flops con socks...blankly staring at the register thinking about the cigarettes that I'm NOT going to purchase...

..and then...myself and several other patrons in line instinctively glance at the door when we hear the "incoming customer" bells jingle...and, well I'll be...enter the Queen! We all perk up a bit and try to look honorable while clutching our Ding-Dongs, .79-cent fountain drinks, and porno mags...the check out line morphs into a make-shift receiving line as Her Majesty begins to case the group...

After several seconds, the Queen approaches me, extends her wrinkly, jewel encrusted hand and immediately recoils in horror, proclaiming, "Gasp! YOU!...YOU'VE crushed all my pre-conceived notions of the stylish, respectable American...you, with your sock and flip-flop wearing....Out! Out of my kingdom! Guards!...Oh wait...I'm at the Snappy Mart...best be going now...Cherrio! "

So, in the end, I decided to put on regular shoes...I just couldn't shake it. You never know...it could happen. And, if not the Queen, what about Jesus?

You've won this round, step-mother...you too, Queen...

Tell me...why do I feel selfish when I had a really fun time at a friend's wedding last night...but, I don't feel like writing about it?

In fact, all I can think of to write about is the dream I had the other night that featured the band Deep Blue Something. This dream, unlike the wedding, was incredibly insignificant...

This is how it went:

Me: Hey! (standing outside the gates of La Zona Rosa) There's a band playing tonight...and it's Deep Blue Something.

Indistinguishable Chum: Really? Well, we should go see them, then.

So, Chum and I enter the music venue...the band was playing, but my brain couldn't seem to recall what their hit single was...so, instead, the band onstage played a variety other one-hit-wonders, such as that Phantom Planet song California...and the Soup Dragon's Divine Thing...but, the band only played small snippets of the songs (there were more, but these are the only two I can remember) and during the short song switch-over, I could hear the sound of someone changing channels on an analog radio...you know, that slurry/fuzz noise?

That's about it.

When I woke up, it bothered me sooo much that I didn't know what goddamn song Deep Blue Something was known for (umm...or forgotten for...guess it depends on how hardcore DBS fan you are) that I had to look it up. It was Breakfast at Tiffany's...I'm sure you were all on the edge of your seats waiting for THAT one to be revealed...

So, today I found myself at Waterloo Records...and what CD do I stumble upon in the used CD bin? Yeah yeah...Deep Blue Something. Ok...I really really really was not looking for this...consciously...but, it was the SECOND album that I randomly came upon, therefore bringing the details of the dream I had two nights before into full detail...

Not only that, but next thing I know, I'm recalling some of the, again, incredibly insignificant memories that I have about the time when that song was popular...first, I remember that when I was 16, my 19-year-old boyfriend, who was sooooo cool (so cool, apparently, that he couldn't seem to find a girlfriend in college that could comprehend his wicked coolness as well as I could...), confided in me that he really liked that song...but, "Um...don't tell anyone, ok?"

I agreed. This is the first time that information has ever been shared to anyone....EVER!

And, the second memory that flashed into my head, was one where I was working at my first job...I had a brief stint as a bagel boiler/cream-cheese smearer...this was a very early morning job, and on the weekends, I often had to be there at 5 a.m....the only thing that even really kept me at this job for a whole 4 months was my boss...who gave my friend and I free joints to smoke while I did dishes and she swept the floor every night (it was several years later that I realized that it is actually very,very creepy for a 45-year-old man to give 16-year-old girls drugs...but, that's a different story)

...ok...so, I remembered hearing that song playing on the store radio around 6 a.m. one morning and thinking to myself: "Wow. I sure wouldn't mind eating breakfast at Tiffany's right now. I'm hungry...and sick of bagels..."

I still don't really like bagels...I mean, I'll eat them, but it's never my first choice.

And, there you have it folks...how one dream about a long gone, lame-ass band turns into a walk down waste-of-memory lane. I apologize if you could actually feel your brain atrophying...I hope it didn't hurt too much.