It's not easy being cheezy. I know I have been not-so good with the blogging lately, but it's no piece of cake running your own fan club newsletter and writing a blog everyday. You try it. I'll get back to regularly scheduled programming soon!

The Good Stuff ? The Bad Stuff? The Right Stuff? Is it too much to assume that country music fans must be excessively hokey ? Seriously. I have heard this song on KKBQ a couple of times now and though it is not the first I have heard like it, I would like to give you the gist of it. A guy goes to a bar after a fight with his wife and asks for "the good stuff." The bartender's like, "Yeah dude, we don't have that here." The philosophical and tender bartender goes on to explain that your first kiss with your wife, her burnt dinners for the first two years of marriage (If you have not ever cooked by the time you get married and you continue to burn dinners for two years, frankly, you're incompetent.) and the sight of the birth of your child all compromise what is to be understood as "the good stuff."

[ Short interlude for vomiting.]

During either my junior or senior year of high school, the country song "Butterfly Kisses" was hugely popular. It inspired a ridiculous line of merchandise, including, but not limited to: stupid poems inspired by the song, the butterfly kisses journal, mini-books of fathers and daughters sold next to the register and mugs with festive catchphrases from the song.

The people that bought this crap probably also have Anne Geddes photography on their personal checks. I'm sorry if you like her stuff, but you should be aware that it is practically baby porn. It is so irritating. Seriously people, I know there's no accounting for taste, but that stuff is just not good.

Other country music songs ( a plethora by Brad Paisley, please note!) that induce waves of nausea: And We Danced, He Didn't Have to Be, Good Morning Beautiful, She Said Yes, and many more!

What do you think?

It's like raaaaaaaa-eee-aaaain!The irony of my not participating in the blog-a-thon is that I haven't blogged since Thursday. Wow. That's so ironic. Nevermind.

America's HopeYesterday, despite being warned by M2, M1 and I ventured out to Katy Mills with M2 and Lizzypie. Folks, it was KIND of awful. The worst was standing in line at Sbarro-- you know, the Italian Eatery. Eatery. Hmph. This girl behind me kept bumping into me, but not like accidentally because the line was NOT MOVING.At one point, she definitely leaned forward and around to stare at me until I turned to her with a "What the hell, dude?" look. That's right. I stood in line at sbarro for a good HALF HOUR while my other three friends had been sitting at eating their food court goo for at least twenty minutes. They predicted correctly that I would be irate when I stepped out of line. M2 says that of all the crappy mall jobs there are, working at the food court is the lowest on the totem pole. The worst is that this wasn't even a good mall; it was an outlet mall. I shudder to think.

This is not a funny blog, but I thought I would post it until I can think of something better. Cheers all and Happy Sunday!

Who needs the Kwik-E Mart? I doooooo! People say they like to live in big cities for the convenience of having all the things you need: goods, services, variety, people close at hand. Having lived in a big city (Houston) and a small town in the East Texas Piney Woods (Mineola-palooza), I can now say with some authority that that argument is kind of a crock. Today, I went to get a keychain at Old Navy, order a cake, and buy some Dran-o. I left my house at 2 pm. I returned at 4:40. I'm not some kind of inefficient fool and these purchasing destinations were not far from my home. This is the result of construction, traffic, and moreover, a lot of incompetence in a concentrated area. In Old Navy alone, the buying of a key chain was excruciating, as M1 can attest. The staff didn't know where anything was even when I told them and I ended up having to get prices and crap for myself after waiting and waiting for them to pull their heads from out of the ground like ostriches. The key chain, originally $1.95 cost me only $0.54 in U.S. Dollars, but also a large chunk of my sanity. (The importance of the key chain is for another day.)


If I were in Mineolapalooza, I could have driven to Tyler (25-30 min) picked up all of those things and returned, all within a shorter time than it took me in Houston, even with the Old Navy fiasco. Also, if I left off the Old Navy bit, I could have done it all in Mineola in about...10-12 minutes. M2 ranted about commercialism in his blog and here I ask you-- does the city really have so many things that we *need* that it is worth abandoning nature and fresh air instead of an occasional commute? Mineola doesn't have a starbucks, it's true ( a fact I lament *each* time I am home there) but the stars that look like pinpricks in a big canopy of dark sky allowing the best bits of heaven to shine through and the cool grass free from the smell of refineries and alive with the tomatoes bursting on a nearby vine seem to make up for it tenfold. Are we really saving so much in *convenience* in a city? And I ask you-- is it worth it?

Update on Blogathon 2002 I didn't get enough sponsors (3) by whatever date and so I am out of the Blogathon. :( Please, support others at Blogathon. I will at least get to sleep and I will write those pups a check anyway.

Fried Stuff with Cheese. As per usual, the foolish Ms (1-3) went bowling last night around 9:15 without eating dinner first, so we surrendered to the fried goodness of bowling alley fare. Basically, we just ate a lot of fried stuff and by the end of the evening, my game was seriously suffering for it. Not that I have any "game" per se (some might call me the anti-game), but I am a consistently not-horrible bowler (well, by my friends' standards and they suck, too) and had a 114 score on the first game. The second game, however, when all the fried stuff was kicking in, I got a 54. I left to go to the bathroom for like the last 3 frames. (Just kidding. Kinda.)

So now, my advice to you: Limit yourself to one order of fried stuff per bowling alley visit because neither your mom, nor mine, would approve of the following dinner: Large onion rings, large order of fried cheese sticks, part of M2's spiced fries and a large root beer.

Oh yeah, so I am working on getting my poll in the right place, but some of the HTML involved in my template is as good as magic, so if it goes to the bottom of the page for awhile (moreover, if it stays there), you're just going to have to deal.

To all you virgins out there: Thanks for nothing. When seeing this on a bumper sticker, my friend S. immediately responded: To all you whores: thanks for the VD! Back to the point: bathhouses.

All manner of movies suggest that such and such a place are the bathhouses of the 80s/90s and so on. Now, am I correct in thinking that bathhouses were the bathhouses of the 70s? What were the bathhouses before the bathhouses? Am I further correct in thinking that bathhouse was just a cover-up for some kind of orgy/pleasure palace? I mean, these are the places that I can think of that have public showers: ancient Rome (and the like) and the YMCA. Perhaps the Village People were on to something. (You can get yourself clean. You can have a good meal. Uhhh...)

I would like to submit that grocery stores, Kroger Signature in particular, are the bathhouses of the current day. Sure, Disco Kroger on Montrose was always a sort of refuge for the sexually deviant/frustrated/curious and so on, but now even Yuppy Krogers catering to the hetero crowd are all about being the meat market. By Yuppy Kroger, I refer to the West Gray and Cambridge locations in Houston. Today after getting my butt kicked in Jazzercise (jazzerdie), I went to pick up a few groceries at my neighborhood yuppy kroger and the place was ridiculous. 20somethings post-work, post-workout, post-whatever were teeming in the aisles. Even sweaty me who looked in no mood for any kind of funny business got the eye a few times. (People, really. Eww.) What is so hot about meeting when you fight over the last trees of organic broccoli ( as IF Kroger has a decent selection of organic anything!)?? Seriously people-- just go meet people on the internet. That's what I do. ;) Ha.

Maybe chat rooms are the bathhouses of the...now.

Help me out here. What exactly is a bathhouse and how does one determine if such an institution exists, or even, its modern equivalent.

M2 reports that bathhouses are referred to as "Grandma's House." When I asked him why, he responded: "I dunno, but they go and have lots of sex. " (You see why I love this kid.) Don't forget to read about M2's adventures at Grandma's House in New Orleans this weekend.

If my apartments were Survivor, guess who I'd be voting off ?

My chicky-boom neighbors are at it again. Really, it's just one guy and a lot of his stupid friends who seem to understand the concept of parking in one space-- not at all. Not ONLY is parking for residents only, but it's damned inconsiderate to block every single spot with your friends who stay over until 4 or 5 in the morning partying while all the actual residents are parked on the narrow and dangerous street of (get ready for it--) Hazard. MY mother is here trying to have a normal 62 year-old's life, going to bed at reasonable hours, and because of her habits and my punk neighbor, my life was consequently a bit of a hell last night.

Okay, how much of a jack ass would I be if I left a note with the following for chicky-boomster? "Hey, you know what's cool? Double parking. You know what's even cooler? Non-residents who double park and keep rent-payers up all night! Great job. Well done. Jackass."

I realize I am letting this get to me far too much and am investing too much energy, but I am sick of the b.s. Little people have rights too.

Afternoon update: The PEOPLE are back! His stupid friends are doing their laundry here!!! I went out to do my laundry and this girl wants to borrow my laundry soap. I wanted to be like-- listen chicky boom chick, I've had enough; I pay rent here. You're a squatter. I have dirty clothes, so...bye. Ugh. Also, they are intermittently stomping their floor (my ceiling) to the time of the chicky-boom and it is freakin' loud.

People-- what will I do? This chicky boom-osity is driving me crazy.

P.S.



Currently, Patrick is my sponsor. My only sponsor. Yea Patrick and BOO to all of you. And boo to the chicky boomsters!

Lose sleep. Get change. The 24 hour Blogathon is coming up on July 27th. For those not in the know, this is a charity event that requires participants who get sponsors to post to their blogs every 30 minutes for 24 hours. If you just can't get enough of the French-Roast cynicism, this would be a great opportunity for you to get what you want and help make a change. If I get sponsors, my charity will be Pit Bull Rescue Central, a virtual shelter for Pits, Pit Mixes and Am Staffs and the organization that helped me to find my best friend. If you think you might be interested in learning more, click the link above (for Blogathon) or use the button on my side bar. You can also learn more about PBRC by clicking on the link above or the banner, also found on the side bar. I will have information on how to sponsor me by tomorrow (today, really) afternoon. Help make a difference in the lives of some wonderful pups!

Blogathon update: I need at least three sponsors to participate, so here's how you can help me help the pups! If you would like to sponsor, please go here. Once you have entered your pledge, you will receive an email when the blogathon is over telling you that you need to pay X amount. Sponsors pay directly to the charity, which in my case, is PBRC. You can visit The PBRC Donation Page to find out how you can pay. They accept pay pal, credit card, checks, money orders, and pretty much anything else you can think of. If you're not a member of PayPal, PBRC will get $5 more if you sign up through their site. Thanks for helping me out everyone!

Boom! Chicky Boom! You're the bomb, baby! Often in my rants, especially those referencing my upstairs neighbor, I use the term chicky-boom rather gratuitously. The M.s (1 and 2) suggest that there is no such thing as "chicky-boom" music or anything else. E. notes that it is not so much the valid term. However, S. gets it (although honestly, she gets all of my total weirdness) and as long as I have one person who totally gets me, I have faith that you TOO can appreciate the sublime reality that is the chicky-boom.

It's 11pm (or later) on a Saturday night. You're on Richmond Street. You have become a participant, willing or not, in the Saturday night chicky-boom scene. The cars are there: huge mufflers, olde English letters spell RODRIGUEZ across tinted glass, lowered cars with bright blue undercarriages pound in time to the rhythm of the chicky-boom. Now, one might argue that the chicky-boom is really just rap, hip hop, and R & B, with occasional touches of country thrown in for the attendees of Wild West. This is exactly my point, The amalgamation of thumping bass and unsightly car modifications are the rain on the umbrella term of the chicky-boom.

A chicky-boom personality is one who posesses the necessary traits: irritating demeanor, lack of class/taste, inconsideration of neighbors when blasting chicky-boom music at all hours, and so on.

Friends, this is the chicky-boom. Are you with me?

The twixt of the optimist and the pessimist... The difference is the droll; the optimist sees the donut; the pessimist sees the hole.

Today, I had some mighty hilarious IM conversations that began when I posed a question to my friend. The answer shocked and amazed me.
In the IM conversations below, I present to you: The Fundamental Difference Between Men and Women (This will, of course, be appearing in my upcoming book, so don't feel free to steal it.).


*The Alpha_____________________________
E. Pigeon what do you make for dinner when you're trying to impress someone?
Male Friend depends on what date it is
E. Pigeon two
Male Friend so it should be light so you can leave after dinner
E. Pigeon leave?
E. Pigeon huh?
Male Friend leave your place
Male Friend to go out and do something
E. Pigeon why would he want to do that?
E. Pigeon you can't go out if you're full?
Male Friend right
E. Pigeon I'm confused
Male Friend : that's why it should be light
E. Pigeon wait, I can still function when I'm full
E. Pigeon: I think you're making this up
Male Friend you don't want to make a filling dinner so you can leave afterward to go out for drinks or something
Male Friend : no, I'm not
E. Pigeon but we could have drinks here
Male Friend : I read this somewhere
Male Friend : no, no, all wrong
Male Friend : you have to go out after
Male Friend : you should leave if you don't want him thinking you're putting out tonight
Male Friend : otherwise, expect to get laid, or have thick advances

*Questioning of other suspects_______________
Male Friend : second date
Male Friend : a girl makes you dinner
Male Friend : and has drinks at her house
Male Friend : what do you think is the next logical step?
Male Friend of Male Friend : bang her
----
Male Friend : second date, a girl makes a guy dinner and has drinks at her house; what do you think is the next logical step?
Male Friend of Male Friend : blow job, at least
E. Pigeon: !!!
Male Friend of Male Friend : after dinner, then one more nice date and it should be home run time
E. Pigeon: what?!
Male Friend : seriously, we're not crazy. That's how the shit works.
----
Male Friend : second date, a guy makes you dinner and has drinks at his house; what do you think is the next logical step?
Female Friend of Male Friend: in a guy's mind?
Male Friend : yes
Female Friend of Male Friend: sex
...
E. Pigeon: who are these people?

* Conflict_______________________
Male Friend So you girls have it all wrong
E. Pigeon: I'm sorry, but men and women are not SO different
E. Pigeon: all of your friends are big, rowdy lacrosse jocks
Male Friend : yeah, well, understand when I give you some info
Male Friend ): take it to heart; don't be a tease
E. Pigeon: I'm not a tease!
Male Friend : hey you may think so, but if you stay in for drinks and don't have sex
Male Friend : you are
Male Friend : it's a freakin' unwritten rule
E. Pigeon: it's unwritten because it's stupid

*Cross-examination___________
Girl Friend: I don't think that's true. [Male friend] sounds like he's oversexed.
E. Pigeon: he is oversexed
Male Friend : hahahhahahahahaha
---
E. Pigeon:[same situation]does that mean we're supposed to have sex?
Girl-sensitive Male Friend :like, that night?
E. Pigeon:yeah
Girl-sensitive Male Friend : I don't think so, no.
E. Pigeon: [Male friend] says if you keep a guy at your house like that and don't put out, you're a tease
Girl-sensitive Male Friend :I would probably just go home.
...
Male Friend : Oh come on
Male Friend : what's wrong with him?
Male Friend : go home?
Male Friend : does he have testicles?
Male Friend : go home?
E. Pigeon: he's a boy
Male Friend : this is straight-talkin [male friend] here, so listen to me

*Mocking commences_______________________
E. Pigeon: well, when we went out last time I invited him in; he came in and stayed for a couple of hours and we talked and had tea
Male Friend : so you think after dinner and drinks at your house he's going to want tea?
Male Friend : that's a good one, [E. Pigeon]
----
E. Pigeon: But what if he's like me and has pets to get home to?
Male Friend : well, pets
Male Friend : I mean, hey
Male Friend : that's a crazy variable I never thought of
Male Friend : then he'll never act like a man because he has PETS
Male Friend : the pets don't mean a thing

*Resolution____________________________
Male Friend : you can say whatever you want
Male Friend : you can ask him when he comes over
Male Friend : and he can deny it
Male Friend : but for God's sake, I'm not a liar
Male Friend : I know this stuff and I'll tell you the truth
Male Friend : straight-talkin [male friend]
E. Pigeon: what would I do without you?
Male Friend : I don't know. I just don't know.

Friends, what are your thoughts? ( I ask for those of you not listed above; and you know know you are) Also, if you're wondering if this dating scene is hypothetical or if real, who the person I speak of is, I say this to you: I'll never tell (*think scary Britney Murphy voice*).

Captain Obvious returns. I am making a frozen pizza for lunch (Yes, it's 4:30 and I am having lunch. I'm quirky. Deal.) and I was looking at the box for cooking time and there's this note after the directions. "Refrigerate or discard any unusued portion." Really. I was actually planning on mounting it to the wall. Who is responsible for this?

Marchons! Citoyens! Allons! Allons! Je me regrette à vous dire: La Fête de la Bastille était hier et je l'ai oubliée. Je m'excuse. Friends, Fans of the Roast, yesterday was Bastille Day and I forgot to send a shout out to our voisins across la mer. La France, cette Bud est pour toi, ma chère! I lift my lamp to thee.

For those who are not all up in the French piece, as I am, le quatorze juillet (July 14th) is much like our July 4th. July 14, 1789 was the day that the Bastille, the main prison in France was stormed and captured by the poor classes of France who were sick of being ruled by a monarchy that did not understand their plight, nor give them any rights. These people (like Jean Valjean of Les Misèrables) were often jailed for stealing bread. (This is the origin of Marie Antoinette saying "Let them eat cake!" when she was told that the masses did not even have bread to eat. Gotta love brilliant monarchs. I prefer the fig newton spin-off: "Let them eat fat-free fruit and cake!") Thus began the French Revolution, a very bitter, bloody struggle indeed which brought us such conveniences as: the metric system and Napoleon Bonaparte. The song of the Revolution La Marseillaise is probably one that you've heard but didn't know what it was. The words are kind of horrific, but also uplifting. (Let's march, citizens! Take up arms! Shoot the hell out of rich folks! Blah blah blah...Let's go!) The song was later adopted as the French National Anthem.

Also, today is my high school French teacher's birthday. She made us learn it in class and I always remembered it was the day after Bastille Day. She was a great teacher, even though she often kicked my butt. French history is rather cool, so I highly recommend it for those of you who have not had it.

To all my French profs, especially Mme. Lepley and Dr. Nelson who put up with my antics for multiple years, I say: Merci.

I weep for the future. "We are not intellectually incurious, for we are not close-minded."

By the way, my darling M2 had this to say in reply to the quote above ( I [heart] that kid!): "We're not not undemocrats because we aren't not unrepublicans." (M2 is also responsible for such witticisms as: "Oh yeah, I authored some legends too. They were called The Legends of SHUT UP! YOU DUMBASS." I'm a big fan of that M2!)

I'm not an obsessiver personality. I'm not an obsessive personality. I'm not... The majority of my summer newsletters and bitching and whining to my friends has been about the dating world, so I would like to escalate my rants to the blog forum. I have mentioned a few times, and am now actually tinkering and writing a book of essays called What I Don't Know About Dating. You know, people are always saying "what I don't know about women could fill a book." Aren't people always saying this? Well, I am going to fill a book. Maybe.

I have some questions for the universe:
--If you're with someone, does going out still count as a date?
--Once you reach the age of adulthood (and am I there? no idea), is kissing on the first date pretty standard? (I am not ballsy about getting up in someone's piece.)

I had some more stuff to ask and consider, but I forgot. Comment away. I will revise this post shortly, but I need to get it out there.

Mary is...

I would feel bad about totally plagiarizing from Clayton's blog except for that he stole this idea from someone else's blog.

If you go to Google and type in "Yourname is" (the quotes are key), you get all kinds of funny results that tell you all the things that you are!

Here are some of the results of "Mary is." Try it yourself and let me know what you get!

Mary is...
-scheduled to begin recording her new album in early March.
-the mother of God (I knew it!).
-rich and positive!
-a four-year preparatory high school (I guess.)
-a community rooted in the gospel of Jesus Christ.
-without a doubt, Long Beach's most famous resident.
-saddened by the passing of Dave Van Ronk.
-committed (or needs to be...).
-an instrument of the presence of God.
-sensational!
-known to tell it like it is.
-one of the foremost psychic mediums in the world today.

Did you all know about me being a badass in Long Beach? Hey, word gets around. I hope you have fun with this, too!

Survival of the Stylin'-est

An article I read in Jane put people with certain dating prejudices (e.g. "I won't date a person without a job.") to the test by setting them up with an exceptional person who didn't happen to meet a specific criterion. Though the project turned out well for Jane-ers, I remain unconvinced. There are some men I will never get along with and this is not to say that I will not get along with BECAUSE they drive a Grand Am, but because of the necessary personality and temperament to choose and drive a Grand Am (i.e. a creepy one).

Now, I am not all about money. I would date a man without a car (for example, the excellent M2) or a beat up honda or so. That is not what's important here. Let's take some more cars I find offensive:
--Mitsubishi 3000GT, aka the "Asshole Car"
--Chevy Camaro (with the exception of the cool 60s-era Lane Meyer camaros)
--Berettas (not necessarily offensive, but über-milquetoast)
--Dodge Vipers-- these cars scream: "I have money, but no taste. Why would I get a ferrari when I could get a stupid American Dodge?" Sweet.
--Geo Metros-- get a bike; at least it won't look like an egg and it will be about the same power and speed
--anything with a Calvin (of Calvin and Hobbes) peeing on something else, or kneeling before a cross

Other disqualifications:
--Republicans (sorry, it's true)
--non dog-lovers (sorry, M2)
--lack of manners (chivalry, schmivalry-- just be courteous)
--listeners of Chicky-boom music
--abuse of offensive language (occasionally, it is called for, but seriously-- watch the sailor mouth)

There are others, but I am sure everyone will already think me a wretch. These are the reasons why I am single, perhaps, but why settle? It's a style thing.

P.S. What are some of your disqualifications? Please share!

P.P.S. I have a lot more to write on this topic, but I just wanted to throw some ideas out before I went to bed. More coming tomorrow!

Enemy in our midst. Who's the devil? Everybody: Southwestern Bell is the devil!Yea!

Once again, I am being driven to homicidal fantasies (though how do you murder an entity? a conglomerate, if you will) by Southwestern Bell.

Here I am minding my own business, paying my already exhorbitant DSL cost of $49.95 when my bill comes and oh! They're suddenly charging me SEVENTY DOLLARS. (Yes, that is US Dollars, and thank you for the inquiry.) Amazingly (I am on the phone with them now), I was only disconnected once from them this morning, which I find downright encouraging. Alright SWB!

I am contractually obligated to keep SWB DSL until September which means that I was *required* to pay the $50 processing fee when I moved. Will I ever see $50 worth of service. hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha. no. In some businesses they have a name for this kind of thing: extortion.

Today is the day I defend my honor! I just received $28.22 in credit from SWB (something is better than nothing) and I am sending a stern letter to my ex-landlord requesting the $129 that he gouged me for water, even though it says in the lease that he's supposed to pay it. I saw him at Whole Foods the other day and I was astounded. I didn't know he was a human that eats. He sure doesn't act like a human. Hath not a landlord eyes? Hath not a landlord hands? If you prick him, does he not bleed? This is all open for debate.

Okay, so back to the other enemy, Southwestern Bell. I am going to derail the system from the inside out. I am applying today for an SWB internship. With any luck, I will get mad discounts on all of my phone stuff and I will wreak havoc in the customer service department, leaving assistance and satisfaction in my wake. Before I do however, there is likely to be a gap in time when I am seemingly siding with the enemy. I am not! I am joining the resistance for YOU, so cool it.

Who says I cannot change the world by myself?

Listen up. I just returned from the veterinarian. I took Molly in for two reasons (or alternatively, my reasons for going were two-fold): 1) I am starting obedience with her and they need a record of her vaccinations and since I don't DO vaccinations, I needed a health certificate, verifying her non-rabid state. 2) Molly has an ear infection. Okay, so for the ear infection, Dr C. prescribed these food supplements called Zymex capsules. I already have Zymex *wafers* from another visit and since they're about $25/bottle, I said I would skip those since I had some at home. The receptionist gave me this mean look and said: She is the DOCtor! She preSCRIBED the CAPsules.

Ya think? Hello, I'm just a student. I don't have the MONey. ugh.

Maybe I was supposed to hear that as: She is GOD! Duh!

File me under I for irritooted.

We are starting obedience August 5th. Yea!

It's a bust. Apparently, I was wrong about Krispy Kreme being 24 hours. There's not a hot donut to be had in this town after 11:30pm (at which time Rice Epicurean gives them away for free at closing). If we had waited a few hours, the donut guy would get up. Time to make the donuts! M2 suggested asking the passing po-po (cops, if you will) about donut locales, but that idea was swiftly vetoed by M1. Then the Penske moving truck guy kept staring at me and tried to race us in the cahvalyay. M1, the ever-efficient shifter triumphed. Hooray!

Oh yeah and instead I bought these frosted cookies at Randall's. I ate two and now I am thinking that was not so much the good idea. I just need to go to bed. I'm getting wacky.

When blogging goes too far... In a few moments, M1 and M2 will be arriving at my door to head to Krispy Kreme donuts. The reason is simple: the world of blogging is controlling my life.

A group I am part of called H-town Blogs has been discussing this Blog Meet-Up Day. If you go to the link, you'll see that whoever put together the meeting for our area chose three really random locations. One of these locations was donuts.

That began a dangerous line of thinking. M1 and I were having this discussion (paraphrased because I closed the window) on IM (see thoughts on IM below) just a few minutes ago:

Me: I voted for donuts in the blog meet-up thingy.
M1: Kroger is selling pumpkin pies right now and that caught my eye.
Me: Mmm...donuts. You should have bought a pie.
M1: I couldn't so much justify the purchase of a pumpkin pie in early July.
Me: You could-- you wanted it!
M1: You are the devil.
(much later)
M1: Did you leave to get donuts or something?
Me: No, I was just noting the lack of donuts in my kitchen.
M1: Is Rice Epicurean open?
Me: I don't know but Krispy Kreme on Richmond is 24 hours.
[lightbulb]
And since he was on IM, we dragged M2 into our shenanigans yet again.

And thus, all because of obsessive blogging, I am out the door to get donuts. It's 1:35 am. La dulce vita! I would also like to say how much I (heart) the spontaneous M.s 1 & 2!

I am AIM. How much of your life have you wasted on IM? Okay, waste some more and drag me down with you, if you dare! Thanks, Patrick, for letting me, once again, steal your code and your stuff.

Thicker than water? Today was my mom's birthday and part of the crazy all-day celebration was spent at the car dealership seeing if we can indeed bring my car back to life. Unfortunately, we can. Actually, this isn't such a big deal. I mean, I guess if my car actually worked, that would be nice, but I was also kind of looking forward to getting a new car. And then, my brother....

Give them what they want. Again, several of you have keenly observed that this week's, or rather last week's, edition of the fan club newsletter is overdue. For my part, I try to bring high quality entertainment to the fans, but just now I have nothing that has really moved me. I am working on a small essay about my emotional baggage, aptly (and tentatively) titles Emotional Valet: A Key to my Psyche. It's a sort of field guide I am working out to present to future friends, therapists, lovers, and business minders. I think it will be very helpful and will allow me to sort of get the dirty work of explaining my sordid past ( with such people as my brother who randomly dropped in, unannounced today, and was blathering on about Federalis [sp?] and whores in Mexico) out of the way and in writing so people can't say they weren't warned. Don't people say (do they?)-- if you can't be a good example, be a horrible warning? I don't know who these people are and I am not sure how it pertains to my life exactly, so I will just leave you with this final thought.

As Janeane Garofalo says in her session with Dr Katz. "Ah yes, all my childhood memories were good. That's why I'm here with you today...."

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOM!!

Much love to the Houston posse! I'm comin' home soon, baby.

The Sacred Rac It's a rite of passage for 16 year-olds. They pursue the beast with a fury that is unmatched by...other stuff. Okay, so I am failing at making this sound like a mythical animal, but what I am talking about is a car. You know: Little GTO? 4 wheels and a runnin' board? I'm your vehicle, baby. I'll take you anywhere you wanna go.

So my car decided to have another heart attack on the freeway today. For those of you who have been closely following the saga of the lemon that is my transport, you will appreciate the fact that this is approximately the bazillionth time that my car has been an inconvenient rat trap this year, bringing my grand total in car repairs for 2002 alone to just over $1500.

Dear Mary's Mom and Dad,
This car is worth approximately $. 45 Please, please, please can we squeeze this lemon?

Your friend,
God

Once again, I called my mother in hysterical tears, as I was not only on the freeway, I was on my way to see HER and I had both my dog and my cat in tow, looking frightened at the cars whizzing past. (55 speed limit my ass! Those people were potential felons at the rate they were going!) The sun is shining in me-land, however, because it looks like my parents have finally taken the hint and are going to let me trade it in for something shiny and new. I am a fan of the 2002 Honda CRV. They're much better looking than their predecessors, have a 5 star crash rating AND come standard with a moon roof and a 6 disc in dash changer. YO. For real. I'd be happy with a single disc so I wouldn't have to be bopping around trying to get all the cords from my discman from being tangled around my shifter dealie while I drive ( another safety hazard, mom and dad!).

Someone recommended that I choose a Plymouth Neon for my next car item. Ok, no offense, anonymous person and others who are plymouth neon owners, but no way, José. Given a ginormous car budget+ parental guilt+ closet greed, do ya really think I am gonna choose a Plymouth? A neon? While we're at it, sign me up for a mini-van. Where can I get a soccer mom sitcker. Anyone? Hee hee. Come on peops, leave me some feedback. You know I'm hungry for it! YUM!

Just for reference, I am still in Mineolapalooza and depending on the car situation, may be here for an extended period. I will, of course, keep you posted, dear readers.

Now we're getting somewhere. I hate to belabor this issue and to keep advertising for yahoo personals, but LOOK! They finally put a person that could be me in their ad scheme, not to mention an adorable pit bull. What did I tell you? I'm an addict. Also, these deals keep popping up next to my yahoo mail. Some have greatness thrust upon them!



Woof!

Ok, this is comedy, folks.

For THIS picture, I have added the link to the image source because I think it's hilarious that part of the name of the .jpg file is "super not hot." Whatever. They're still better looking than most of the people I attend school with. But they look to be clothed. Oh, yahoo, what have you done? I'm off to the wild and crazy M-town, but I will continue to post dilligently. Happy trails.

It's a blogolution, Charlie Brown! When asked about why we blog a day or two ago, M2 and I replied that it helps our writing (maybe) and it's cheaper than therapy (definitely). Also, we want to be on the blogolution bandwagon. Our friends mostly laugh at us and tell us that we should just call people like everyone else. But I bet when the phone was invented people just said: Bah! Young people! Write a letter or come over instead!

My art teacher in high school predicted that in the future, humans will have tyrannosaurus-like arms; they'll be short and scaly and just long enough to reach the keyboard. I am not sure why they will become scaly.

Where it's at: High School, Two turntables and a microphone: Last night when we were parking for the fireworks, spaces were scarce. There was, in the spot we found for the event, a group of angsty teens congregating who made it a point not to move when S. attempted to pull into the space. So S. honked and they gave us the finger and mouth 'bitch.' Clever. What's the matter with people? Even when we got out of the car, they tried to get all up in our piece and start a fight. Personally, I think they should have been paying attention to their shorts which were decidedly all up in their crotch. Perhaps it affected their whimsical good nature. Was I ever so annoying? If you think I am still as annoying, I forbid you from posting here. Ha. This is NOT a democracy. It's a Maryocracy, or as they say in Bring It On , a cheerocracy. And I am your cheertator.

Inside every box! By the way, I have been asked to provide a key, as many of you lost the decoder rings I sent you. I began calling people by their intials to protect their privacy, but for the most part, my dear readers are either not stalkers or know who the people are anyway. However, the M1 and M2 thinkg became a joke. M1= Matt Frost and M2=Matt Haynie, And together, they are the Matts. I am just M3 as funniness. I actually should be M1 if all were alphabetical or M2 if it were chronological, but the third M's the charm and you have to save the best for last. I guess. Other people are represented by intials b/c I enjoy it. Yeah.

This is perhaps the funniest site I have seen...ever. M2 thinks it is not that great, but as M1 would say-- he can eat shit. Just kidding. I (heart) both M.s 1 & 2! Republicans beware. Happy J4, kids! Oh yes, and no matter what M1 says in his blog, I think setting your arm on fire with a roman candle is cool!

Food-O-Matic The Matts (1-2) and I discussed whether or not there are any fancy Mexican restaurants and frankly, we couldn't think of any. I would like to post a Mex-o-Meter on here, so I need your input. Is there any greater restaurant than Chuy's? Yeah, no. It looks like we're going to play trivia at the Timberwolf. Stalkers, beware.

Btw, I have figured out my pesky living room problem. Now I just wear a hoodie at all times in there, despite the fact that it is approximately 900 degrees hotter than the sun in downtown Houston right now. Brrrrr.

I think I need groupies. Either that or my page is just UN-funny. Well fine. Yeah. Leave comments already, peops. Do you want me to end up like these people below? Naked and attractive, yet STILL on yahoo personals? Enough on that.

My living room is the coldest place in North America. And to think it's been in Houston this whole time. I have window units at the front and back of my apartment and if I don't leave them at a marginally cold temperature, my bedroom becomes a den of hell at night. And this coming from a person whose body temperature drops approximate 1200 degrees at night. No wonder I don't have fans (no, I have a ceiling fan; I mean shreiking, clawing-at-my-body types). 1) I'm not the Beatles or 'N Sync. 2) I'm really not that funny. I think I used to be funny though. Really. It's like when you learn to juggle really well and as soon as you want show someone, you can't do it at all. I hate being rad in the dark. Clayton suggests this strategy for gaining sympathy fans: "You can post MRI photos and write psycho stuff under them like 'chocolate covered sardines make traffic jump from buildings into the sea of ceiling fans' and then people will be like...'holy shit... that's fucked... lets come here and console this poor being with our worship and adoration.'"
I don't know, would that workfor you?

I hate to be mean. M.s 1-2 would tell you I thrive on it, but it just isn't so. A few weeks ago, I put a profile up on The Onion Personals and boy was that a mistake, though at times a hilarious one. My internet activities have been sketchy for many years and I think we all know that I am obsessed with reading personals ads (see below for proof with the hot, naked people), but truly, I never asked for a stalker. For the most part, the responses have died down, but I got a stray response a couple of days ago that I found to be interesting, despite the insinuation towards medieval obsession by the guy's handle. ( Look folks, chivalry is not dead, but today we call it manners. I open your door; you open mine. This M'Lady crap and the wearing of chain mail has got to go. Thou art lame.) Turns out he's into "Authorian Legends." These legends, not to be confused with those of the Arthurian persuasion are explained here by M2: Oh yeah. I authored some legends, too. they were called the Legend of SHUT UP, YOU DUMBASS! That's good stuff, there. If I can't be funny, I'll live through M2, King Author's biggest fan.

These naked, hot types are the people that personal ads are teeming with? They want to meet me? Why? They're already naked. Come on yahoo! Please. Ugh.

The Bowling Bayou City?

I am blogging like a maniac today. Have any of you heard of Bissonet being known as Bowler's Row? It seems there are a lot of bowling alleys in and around Bissonet as it runs through the city like a crazy, bowling maniac.

Why I Live at the P.O. For those of you familiar with H-town, I live in the happenin', hoppin' inner loop area of the Montrose, a gayborhood with PRIDE. And honestly, I wouldn't live anywhere else in Houston, despite the fact that because of the parade last weekend, I was basically confined to my block by police persons and men in bright colors.

Today, I went to the big post office for the area, on Richmond, and experienced an atmosphere, perhaps best described as gaytastic: Fabulous Men! and rather scruffy looking women that I was not convinced were not there to solicit donations for alcoholic refreshment. The woman I always see at Starbucks who paces back and forth until she finally takes a seat next to you and then proceeds to smoke all the butts in the ash trays was not there, but the people-watching was enjoyable, nonetheless.

The man behind me was wearing some of the nicest shoes and silk apparel I have ever laid eyes on. He was a very distinguished, graying man who spoke very knowledgeably with me about the Golden Girls for approximately 12 minutes. He even knew trivia about the cast.

If you have seen the Birdcage, you'll recognize the next man I saw there: the Hank Azaria cleaning lady type. For the most part, as mentioned above, I am thoroughly wowed by the fashion sensibilities of my male neighbors, but here is something I don't understand. Why do gay men think that being a Queen means wearing tight, crotch-length, jean short cutoffs? No. I'm sorry; that is not acceptable attire. I don't care if you're RuPaul (him/herself-- as IF RuPaul would wear that get-up!), Daisy Dukes are a complete fashion crime, ESPECIALLY when paired with a wife beater and construction worker boots. This is not the Village and you are NOT the Village People. (Young man! I was once in your shoes... but not really because your shoes suck.)

M2 argues that the Montrose is not ground zero of the gayvolution and is not, therefore is not under strict fashion police jurisdiction. I say that in our aspirations to be more, do more, be different that we outlaw the jean short. (That goes for straight men too. Really, the jean short? I don't care how long. What are you thinking?!) And ladies, being a lesbian does not mean having a mullet, so as Wesley Willis says: cut that rat's nest; you need a haircut, you filthy slob. I'm more partial to the lipstick look, methinks. (Is that look dead on the scene? I hope not; I'm not on the scene, but if I were....I just am making an ass of myself now, so I'll stop.)

Thank you. This is E.Pigeon reporting on the Montrose fashion scene from the P.O., center of all things fabulous.

BTW My sister said this page looks really screwy on Windows IE browsers, which is heartbreaking to me, considering how long I have been tweaking it. I'd like to send a shout-out to all Mac users who can see the fruit of my labor, but I welcome comments from Windows users on how this looks kinda funkified. Oh yah! Thanks a bunch now!

A Spiritual Experience.

Dear friends-- I'm ridiculous. Yes, you already knew this. M1 was helping me to stain the unfinished furniture I bought at Ikea. We did that a day or two ago. Today, I was putting on the polyurethan top coat and I cleverly bought the wrong kind: oil-based. M1 and I had definitely picked up the water-based type at the Despot, but apparently we put it back down again. As per my usual cleverness, I didn't check the can before I proceeded to get sticky, oil-based good all over my hands. I had to pick up the phone using a towel and beg M1 to get me some mineral spirits. He, of course, always a good sport, did just that even though he is studying for his exam. Good work, M1!

My last experience with oil-based paint was in my days as a camp counselor at old CLH. After re-painting this wall before the start of camp, the other counselors and I decided to have a stupid paint fight. We then decided that a great way to remove the paint would be to pour turpentine, and a lot of it, directly on to our hands. It worked great for the first 15 seconds until we all screamed HOT! and had to stick our flaming hands into the sprinklers. It felt much like setting your hands on fire, as if I know what that feels like. Today, when M1 brought over the less-intimidating mineral spirits, I backed into a corner like a scared little mouse, but eventually discovered that pouring them onto a towel is the way-- and then of course, washing your hands before inserting them into your mouth. Same goes for feet.

By the way, M2 finally found the elusive bowling alley online. Suzy was not too far off when she thought it was Hydraulic Lanes. Tropicana is also not too shabby a guess. Dynamic Lanes is DYN-O-MITE!! which is akin to the feeling you get when pouring turpentine on your hands. I'm off to do more silly things. Go ahead, laugh at me; I don't mind.

I'll Send You A Crush Alright...

ANOTHER email from send-a-crush arrived. No matter what M2 says, I think these are irritating. Either one of my friends (and this is likely) is being "funny," or those email stealing robots are really on their toes. This one got an email address that I actually give out to people I *care* to receive email from. In the words of the Backstreet Boys (or maybe it was 'N Sync ?): Quit playin' games with my heart. I have no desire to become like the people in the bar, especially that guy who kept pulling his gf's hair. God, that was weird. Thank Dog for my pup.

I don't think I'm cynical: rock and roll McDonald's

Out of a hundred bajillion things that I talked/joked/debated about with my friends (known intimately as 'the peops') tonight, I chose this one to dwell on because I am afraid of becoming jaded and crusty(?).

Okay, so I make fun of people, but was it REALLY necessary that man and fashion victim at the bar directly in my line of vision were sticking their hands in one anothers' pants in public? Tonight, the peops and I, while aimlessly driving for an hour in search of the elusive Tropicana Bowling Alley that SC remembered as being named "Something Lanes" (Hydraulic Lanes was one such suggestion), ended up meeting TM in his suburban 'hood for drinks. When in doubt, beer. Anywho, my friends think I'm cynical! They started saying *Cynical M---!!* everytime I noted a weird interaction in the bar.

Maybe this is the reason why I am perpetually single, but for the most part, I find the flirtations of bar-goers UBER-annoying. "You know HOTBOY, I can't think of anything clever to say since I have this handkerchief tied around me in lieu of an actual shirt, so I will just hit you violently with this pool cue and giggle and you will fall victim to my feminine wiles." Ick. "You know HOTGIRL, my life is basically pointless, but did you know I have power windows in my new Civic?" Hold me back there, Tiger. Hold me back.

This post has degenerated from me saying I am not cynical right to the point of extreme cynicism. I think I am an optimistic, happy person, but it could be a lie I am living. I'm already in therapy, so does anyone have other suggestions? HELP. Okay, goodnight.