Oh, NO

The world is now a little less interesting without Robert Goulet in it.

Only slightly?

Yep. That seems right.

What happens when you don't read the memo

This Saturday, Conor's school is having Spooktacular, the annual Halloween blowout. I, being a PTA member and guilt-ridden single working mother, offered to make cupcakes for the bake sale. So last night, I made glorious butter-recipe chocolate cupcakes with an added surprise: Halloween bittersweet chocolate chips inside. Because what on earth is better than chocolate except even more chocolate?

As I pulled them out of the oven, Conor came sidling in (the oven door sound to him is like the sound of a can opener is to a cat, I suppose).

"What's that?"

"Cupcakes for Spooktacular."

"They're chocolate."

"Yes. Yes they are, and I even added chocolate chips in there, too."

. . .

"What, hon?"

"The paper said no chocolate."

"The paper?"

"In my backpack. The signup sheet said no chocolate."

There was no sound at this moment. But if there had been, I imagine it would have sounded a lot like a bubble bursting.

"Mom. Can I have one?"

"Yes. Yes you can."

Tonight, She Who Cannot Follow Directions will make yellow cupcakes instead. And tomorrow, She Who Cannot Read will bring 23 chocolate chocolate-chip Halloween cupcakes to work, where there will be much appreciation and no knowledge of She Who Is A Dumbass' mistake.

All better.

Because Ricki did it.

How will I die? Your Result: You will die while saving someone's life.   The most noble of all deaths. Your rewards will be great in the next life. You are most definitely a humanitarian. If not currently, you will be. To give one's life is a precious moment that will be remembered by friends and family for many decades.
You will die in a car accident.
You will die from a terminal illness.
You will die in a nuclear holocaust.
You will die while having sex.
You will be murdered.
You will die in your sleep.
You will die of boredom.
How will I die? Create a Quiz

Hm. I don't know if that's a good or bad thing. Good for the save-ee, I suppose. For me, not so much. Oh, well, it's better than going from a terminal illness.

Three weeks

It's been three weeks since I've had a cigarette.

And boy, am I pissed.

Maybe I said that wrong, but the thing I've noticed most is the irritability. And the mood swings. And the depression. That's been a big barrel of super happy funtime.

The tightness in my chest and the coughing as my body still tries to rid itself of the poison I'd been feeding it . . . that's a bonus. As is the night-waking, the fatigue and the spotty concentration.

But it's all good. I keep telling myself that. I'm going to be so much better in as little as a week. All I have to do is hold on, ride it out. And FOR GOD'S SAKE, don't have one, don't think for a moment that you can contain it to just one, just when you really need it.

I DON'T NEED IT. I DON'T.

Cripes, I feel like ass.

Mr. Silver Bentley

Dear Sir,

This morning, as I sat at the turn signal waiting to get onto Summerlin Parkway, I saw you coming up in my rearview mirror. I had a moment of sheer admiration for the size and obvious power of your massive and massively expensive vehicle. My admiration turned quickly to unease, however, as I noticed that you were not slowing down so much.

You, Mr. Bentley, must have an amazing braking system on that thing, because I was sure you were going to hit me. It was at that point that my unease turned to mild terror. My mild terror was mitigated, however, by my annoyance as I focused on your flaccid-lipped, puffy, middle-aged face, flapping excitedly as you talked on your cellphone.

The thought came instantly: I actually wanted you to hit me. I craved it. I wanted your car, a car that cost easily five times my annual salary, to be embedded in the back of my cheap-ass econo-model Honda. And to have it be all your arrogant, jabbering fault. A silly thought, I know. No good would have come from it, and I'm ashamed the idea crossed my mind.

But you saved me from my own weakness. Or at least your car did. Your brakes were pitch-perfect and slid you to a sweet, razor-edged stop just two feet from the rear of my car. And then you did it, Mr. Bentley. You dispelled all my negative emotions. Better than that, you put icing on the cake. And it wasn't just any cake. It was better than birthday cake and Christmas cake combined.

You, still blathering on the phone, took your right index finger and jammed it, decisively and almost triumphantly, up your right nostril.

And then the light turned green.

I wish, Mr. Bentley, I had hung back to get your license plate number so I could have posted that, too, with my letter of gratitude. But I had to get to work, and you were too busy still talking on the phone and blocking every car behind you with your Sunday-speed progress up the on-ramp.

Maybe someday we'll meet again. I hope so. You are quite amusing. But even if we don't, I'll have the memories of your astounding douchebaggery to sustain me. You see, Mr. Bentley, you may not think you share the same planet as people like me –- how else to explain your actions? -- but rest assured, the people like me cannot help but notice you.

But then again . . . isn't that what you, Sir, crave the most?

B

Definitely B:

Everyone else is doing it

This meme:

1. Is your second toe longer than your first?
Yes. One is named Manute and the other is Bol.

2. Do you have a favorite type of pen?
Sharpies.

3. Look at your planner for March 14, what are you doing?
Checking iCal, I see it's both a Friday night and a Conor night. Other than that, I have no idea.

4. What color are your toenails usually?
Some variation of sheer pink. Tonight, though, I'm planning on red.

5. What was the last thing you highlighted?
I can't remember, but I think it must have been something on a Creative Brief.

6. What color are your bedroom curtains?
No curtains. I have white vertical blinds, because there's a sliding glass door to the patio.

7. What color are the seats in your car?
Dark grey.

8. Have you ever had a black and white cat?
No. My mom hates cats, and I'm a dog person.

9. What is the last thing you put a stamp on?
The confirmation for Hugo's adoption papers.

10. Do you know anyone who lives in Wyoming?
No.

11. Why did you withdraw cash from the ATM the last time?
Weekend money -- trip to the Natural History museum, a prescription and breakfast at Einstein Brothers.

12. Whose is the last baby that you held?
Ry-bo, son of my friends Matt and Amanda.

13. Unlucky #?
I don't really have one. That's okay . . . I don't have a lucky number either.

14. Do you like Cinnamon toothpaste?
Blech.


15. What kind of car were you driving 2 years ago?
A Subaru Forester. But last year, the lease ran out. I opted not to buy it and downsized to a cute and vastly more efficient Honda Fit.

16. Pick one: Miami Hurricanes or Florida Gators?
Blech. No Florida teams PLEASE!

17. Last time you went to Six Flags?
Wow. It was before Conor was born, so probably 11 years ago. It was Magic Mountain, and I got stuck on top of the Viper because it was going too fast. That was so cool.

18. Do you have any wallpaper in your house?
No.

19. Closest thing to you that is yellow?
A set of Japanese kanji flash cards.

20. Last person to give you a business card?
This very scary local video editor who was showing me his production facility. Not. Going. Back.

21. Who is the last person you wrote a check to?
Conor's school, for a fundraiser.

22. Closest framed picture to you?
A framed poster advertising some Italian liqueur. I got it for free (with many samples of said booze) at last year's Modern Drunkard convention, and thought it was cool enough to go over the fireplace.

23. Last time you had someone cook for you?
Miles makes me barbecued something-or-other once a week.

24. Have you ever applied for welfare?
No. Hopefully, I can avoid that.

25. How many emails do you have?
On average? Shoot. Like, maybe, 40 a day?

26. Last time you received flowers?
Valentine's Day.

27. Do you think the sanctity of marriage is meant for only a man & woman?
No. Nor do I believe in its "sanctity." What an arrogant term for a social contract.

28. Do you play air guitar?
Wildly. I play air guitar better than I play any of the three real ones I have.

29. Has anyone ever proposed to you?
No. My ex-husband never proposed, either. Somehow, we just decided to get married without going through any of those funny rituals. Until the actual wedding in a Catholic church. Then we were ritualized up the hoo-ha.

30. Do you take anything in your coffee?
Milk or half-and-half. I have this fun battery-powered mini whisk that foams the milk up.

31. Do you have any Willow Tree figurines?
Yes. They're all gifts from Conor for Christmas. Every year, we get a new mother-son one. It all started because he thought they resembled us. Which is funny, because they don't have faces.

32. What is/was your high school's rival mascot?
Oh, God. Pick one. Everyone hated us. I'd say, though, more than anyone, either the Valley Vikings or the Chaparral Cowboys. Assholes.

33. Last person you spoke to from high school?
Maggie May.

34. Last time you used hand sanitizer?
Sunday, if antibac Wet Ones count.

35. Would you like to learn to play the drums?
I already know a little, but a friend of mine can REALLY play. Balls-out. I wish I could play like him.

36. What color are the blinds in your living room?
White.

38. Last thing you read in the newspaper?
Last week, I read about the ex-CEO of one of our clients. He's been indicted for sinking the finances of our county hospital by giving contracts to his buddies. That wasn't the bad part. The bad part was that his buddies never did any work in return.

39. What was the last pageant you attended?
Last year, I went to Miss Exotic World. A burlesque pageant.

40. What is the last place you bought pizza from?
Red Rock Pizza on Lake Mead Blvd.

41. Have you ever worn a crown?
Every Christmas, my mom puts those Brit Christmas Crackers next to our plates. Each one pops and out comes a small toy, a silly joke and a paper crown. And I put it on every time.

42. What is the last thing you stapled?
Receipts to an expense report.

43. Did you ever drink clear Pepsi?
No.

44. Are you ticklish?
Just on my feet. Every time I get a pedicure, I seize up like I'm being tasered.

45. Last time you saw fireworks?
In August, we were at Disneyland. We watched the show that takes place at Sleeping Beauty Castle.

46. Last time you had a Krispy Kreme doughnut?
Last month. I'd challenged my friend Matt that he couldn't stuff three in his mouth at the same time AND swallow them. He did, but it took a while.

47. Who is the last person that left you a message & you actually returned it?
Someone at work. Against my will.

48. Last time you parked under a carport?
The last time I parked in covered parking at the office. Illegally.

49. Do you have a black dog?
Nope. He's a big blonde.

50 . Have you had your mid life crisis yet?
No, but I seem to be on my fourth childhood.

51. Are you an aunt or uncle?
No.

52. Who has the prettiest eyes that you know of?
My friend Dawn. Her eyes are the iciest blue, and yet they're always warm and smiley.

53. What kind of soap or body wash do you use?
Olay, usually. But if I've splurged, it's something from Bath & Body Works.

54. Do you remember Ugly Kid Joe?
Who?

55. Do you have a little black dress?
It's black, but I don't think it qualifies as little. Neither do I.

At least it's not TB

Saturday night, I sat in my hot tub. It was wonderful. There are jets and hot water and a soothing blue light in the hot tub and this is, now that it's getting cooler in the evenings, a wonderful way to relax. Until now, at least. Because now I have something called "Hot Tub Lung." No frickin' joke.

How do I know? Mayo Clinic told me so:

"Hot tub lung" is an uncommon infection or allergic reaction of the lungs due to inhaling the bacterium Mycobacterium avium (M. avium) from a hot tub. M. avium belongs to the same class of bacteria that cause tuberculosis, but it's not contagious.

Goody gumdrops.

The bacteria get into your lungs when the bubbling hot tub water evaporates. The bubbles rise to the surface, burst and disperse the bacteria into the air. Hot tub lung can be easily prevented by properly maintaining your hot tub, or asking about the maintenance of hot tubs at spas or hotels.

Well, jeez -- I maintain my hot tub. My hot tub, according to the test kit, was all peachy. But test strips apparently don't detect anything in the TB family.

Signs and symptoms of M. avium infection usually include:

* Shortness of breath [shortness? feels like I'm running on one half of one lung]
* Fatigue
* Fever or chills [how 'bout both?]
* Wet cough
* Tightness in the chest

Not to mention the crappy flu-like aches and pains and the feeling like my eyes were going to boil and melt out of my skull. And the fact that my skin hurt? That was a bonus.

Yesterday was messy. Today, not so much. I'm just down, symptom-wise, to fatigue and the shortness of breath. Those things may be related, though.

So tonight, I'm draining the offending appliance and starting fresh.

I know the hot tub sounds like a cheesy thing. Very 70's swinger-ish. But really, it's not that bad. It's fabulous. It's not as if I'm centering parties/seductions around the thing.

Okay. I may have tried the seduction thing a couple of times, but Miles was fine with that. And I promise there were no boxes of Franzia wine, Barry White or gold medallions involved.

In conclusion, if you're going to enjoy the small, swirling pool, either by yourself or with a friend, know that you could be exposing yourself to something completely unexpected.

Today

Remember.

Just remember.

SPELCHK

Funny how the best vacation picture didn't happen until I got home.

UPDATE: I went to the Personalized Plate Search on Nevada's DMV site. As Cullen predicted, the correct spelling was taken. Which makes this guy even more of this:



Or this:



Or maybe this:



By the way, those plates are all available. Really and truly.

In the name of all that's holy . . .

. . . like, say, the memory of Jackie Robinson, DON'T LET HIM DO IT!

The cheating cockroach bastard Barry B*nds has a chance to tie and break Hank Aaron's home run record at Dodger Stadium. The demon spawn are bringing their particularly vile stench to Chavez Ravine for a three-game series. And chances are, the cheater will pop a couple over the outfield fence.

DAMN IT.

The guys at Dodger Blues indulge in a little wishful thinking:

While Ned Colletti spends the next day or two trying to figure out how to fuck up the team's future, Dodger fans will be preparing for the arrival of an even more offensive creature: Barry Bonds. I've been going back and forth about the timing of this. On the one hand, the thought of seeing this asshole in orange possibly break baseball's most prized record on our soil is completely nauseating. On the other hand, what better way to ruin his moment than to have 55,000 Dodger fans telling the world what a cockface he is. And what better way than this for one lucky fan to say cockface: throw the ball back. I can't imagine that anyone would actually have the balls to do it, and frankly it would take incredible stupidity as well, but we're talking about the bleachers, so you never know. I do know this, though: I'd wet my goddamn pants and put that fan on a pedestal. Or at least send them a free shirt.

I wish, at the very least, the Dodgers would walk him every single at-bat.

Just give the cheater a big, fat, "not in my house, asshole."

I wish.