The Mary T. All-Star List of Flame Extinguishers

You know what I find to be an irritant? People who describe themselves as hopeless romantics. I have blogged about said expression before, but this time, I intend to offend more people. Let me just say right off that people who describe themselves as such should stop at hopeless.

Ex: I am a hopeless (STOP). 'Nuff said.

Said people usually like to pull out all the [please] stop[!]s for such a holiday as Valentine's Day. For you naysayers, I would like to say in advance that I am one of St. Valentine's biggest fans. I enjoy celebrating love, wearing pink and red, eating conversation hearts, et al. I generally pass out cards and treats and festive lapel pins. What I do *not* enjoy are the Valentine's antics of "hopeless" folks. Generally, these hopeless hopefuls make big productions out of their "love" involving rose petals and a single red rose.

(Please call in vomit control at this time.)

Attention all you boyfriends out there: GAG ME! Seriously. Ick. Get an original idea. Who are you? The Bachelor? I get enough of that irritainment on TV, so if you could please leave out the icky baby's breath in those flowers and not mess up my tidy household with all your lamester petals, I would appreciate it muchly.

In the words of Tammy Wynette, antics like this can only lead me to believe that not only do you not have original thoughts and hate me, but that there is only one solution: D-I-V-O-R-C-E. (Okay, so I sort of extrapolated on that one.)

Bonus suckability points for the following.
-Any of those stuffed animals bearing (if you'll pardon the pun) such messages as "I wuv you," will immediately exile you from...everyone.
-I am joined by M! in noting that poetry, unless you are freakin' awesome and published, is totally unwelcome.

Roses are red.
So is my dad's truck.
Please don't write any poetry.
It'll prolly really suck!

Proud to be an Uhmurkhan

I hope I don't die of "respatory failure" from laughing at the new poll!

More Extremism

In Texas, home of Big Red red soda, it seems that almost everyone has a definite opinion on the drink. It was invented in 1934 and somehow, despite being the most loathed beverage of many, it has endured to live on in my refrigerator.

Most people hate Big Red. I, however, adore it. More for me, I say. Why don't y'all like it? It is so good. If you haven't tried it, I recommend taking the plunge today. You might thank me. Also, you might add me to your comprehensive list of people to kill. It's a toss up.

Just another great thing from Waco, Texas. hee hee

Lucy, you got some 'splainin' to do!

So, over the last few months, one of the most common questions I get from my random readers (by which I mean, peops who find my blog randomly, or without actually knowing the dynamo that is Mary T.) is:

Why do you say you used to be funny?

You know how you find stuff from when you were in third grade and you spelled everything really umm...phonetically or said something to indicate that you believed you were the smartest person alive? Well, it's kind of not really at all like that.

But really, I used to be funny and I still have my moments, but now that everyone is looking--all my good material is gone, right? This is like how I can juggle really well except when someone is looking. Ugh! I hate that!

So in summary: I used to be funny. No, seriously, you would have bought my book, had I had one--which I didn't because then I would have ceased to be funny (as now), or at least as funny.

If you have read Sideways Stories from Wayside School, it's like the dilemma of school lunches. The fewer people that buy school lunches, the better the food is. Yet, when the food is really good, everyone wants to buy school lunches, thereby making the food awful. Consequently, on French-Roast.com, I continue to see perfect balance and communion between school lunch quality and school lunch quantity.

And I thank you.

Putting the 'I' Back in Alumni

In 7th grade, my English teacher, Mrs. Lamb, a very plain sort of woman and mirthless, as it happens, made us take quiz upon quiz about pluralizing words. By that time, I was 12 years old and an accomplished pluralizer. I was annoyed at the simplicity of it all, but apparently, I was alone in that irritation. The reason? Some people *much* older than 12 sure don't know...well, anything.

I am always behind these proud alumni of some school or another. Considering the part of town I live in, what I really mean is that generally I am stuck behind a behemoth of a car that I can't see around, so I look at their stickers, license plates, whatever fodder I can find to feed my loathe of them.

Example from today: Princeton Alumni

Alumni is plural and while peops often marry other peops from their same school, thus making it possible that more than one alumnus or alumna owns the car, the likelihood is that it's just one. If you're just one, you're an alumnus or an alumna. If a whole bunch of individual alumna get together-- they're the alumnae.

People have no idea what stuff means when they put it on their cars. Princeton would be ashamed. Please do your utmost not to displease me in the future. (Please note: E. regularly gets on me that people, can, in fact, do stuff that they want, with or without my permission. Usually without.)

More fun plurals...
1 Cactus-- 2 Cacti
1 Sister-in-Law --2 Sisters-in-Law ( Mrs. Lamb thought she was so tricky!)

Plurals that are incorrect, but should be used for comedy purposes:
1 Fetus -- 2 Feti
1 Jesus-- 2 Jesi
1 Penis-- 2 Peni

If nothing else, I know E. and M! will appreciate this. So there.

Whore-ifying

Okay, so I am currently unemployed (in Greenland!). I work 12 hours a week in a law office and some other random hours for the imbecile I mentioned a few days ago, but basically I am unemployed. So I have been watching a *lot* of reality tv. Why? Because it is always on. No, really.

Here is my reality tv schedule:
Monday: (I'm excused--it's cheap date night at the Angelika)
Tuesday (at least this one): American Idol and Meet My Folks
Wednesday: the Bachelorette
Thursday: The Surreal Life and Joe Millionaire
Friday: I think I was pretending to have a life on Friday...

The one I'd like to comment on at this time is Meet My Folks. I can sum the contestants on this show up in one word: whores. Male whores. Female whores. They're all whores. The show is famous for the lie detector test and the parents ask questions like: So have you ever had an affair with a 50 year old married man named Bruce with 3 kids, a guitar playing cat, and a kidney bean shaped swimming pool in which you had sex with him in a tuna fish net? And the contestants get all panicky and are like...ummmm, no? And it's a lie!

The ex-boyfriends of these girls show up and talk about how they've all been to jail or enjoy sex with pee or burned their neighbor's house down or something.

Who are these people? If these girls came in my house and wanted to date my son, this would be my answer: No.

Maybe I'm just too much like an old person. When will the young people learn that whoring isn't the way? In the meantime, I will sit back and enjoy the freak show. Yay.

P.S. Sorry it took so long to post. Something was wrong with either my host or blogger pro and after excessive complaining, everything seems to be go, so Council of Elders is also back up. Yay.

God Listens. So does Van Halen.

Tonight, I was listening to the radio in my car, coming home from watching The Golden Globes at Ang and Bo's (thanks for the swell party, girls!). You know how the radio plays random clips of sort of dumb people saying cheery things about the radio station? Well, this one girl was saying how she has been "praying and praying for a station like this." This wasn't the Christian pop station (gag me: Michael W. Smith!), it was 106.9 The Point: (free advertising) Houston's Home for the Best of the 80s.

Though I love the Point (some might say I listen--get ready for it-- religiously), when I think about things I would pray and pray for, an 80s radio station doesn't so much make the list. Priorities anyone?

Forget About the Boy

Now is the time for mix tapes and shoeboxes of nostalgia. Mary T. is a newly-minted single.

It really is the best thing, I know.

Mary T. is heart broken.

P.S. When I am feeling a little more chipper, I will blog about my completely incompetent boss who makes George (of The Chronicles of George) look like some kind of savant.

Welcome to the Old Apartment

Living in an old, weirdly layed out apartment has become an experiment in extremes. Here are the ways life can be in my house.

Temperature
Arctic or Stifling

Olefactoryness
Smelly or Less smelly

Condition
Immaculate and empty or you know, icky and populous

That's all (alls-hee) I have to say. So enjoy central heat, if you have the means and have a lovely evening.

Ready Correction for the Email Inspection!

Okay, there was a serious crying jag last night after the email incident, but when I pulled it together, I found that the information was simply saved in another file. I assumed I had deleted it because I couldn't find it and that is the sort of moronic thing I would do. But if I've learned anything besides the fact that I need to love myself and not blame myself for email emergencies, it's this: back junk up.

Broken Heart

I upgraded my computer to a newer operating system today and in a hurry to make room for my music files, I accidentally deleted *all* of my old email, some of which had a lot of sentimental value and some which could cost me at least one of my jobs.

Along with the only evidence that J. once cared about me.

I am super depressed.

YAY!

J.K. Rowling and Scholastic Books have announced that Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix will be available on June 21, 2003!

Read more here.

After three years of scheming and dreaming--only 5 months and 7 days left until the new HP!

Spooky!

Ok, J. doesn't think this is scary, but whatever. He doesn't seem to have emotions. Tell me if you think this is scary.

Last night, E. and I were returning from the movies and were at a stop light next to a convenience store just talking away. blah blah blah and so then I hear this click and I turn to my back seat to see that this man that had been standing on the street had tried to get into my car!!! He wasn't creepy or homeless-looking or anything, just a regular guy--attempting to get into my car at a stop light!

I was so scared and I think E. was, too and it shook us both up. I hate being afraid in my own neighborhood.

Also weird: around the same time that this happened last night, my sister had this really bad feeling that something bad had happened to me! I am perhaps being overly dramatic--what do you think?

So funny I am playing in my pee!

E. has one of the most brilliant rants on annoying people at school that I have *ever* read ( and I've read and written a few)! Please, please read it now!!!

Caution: If you have attended college recently, keep clean pants on hand.

Blue Hair

Ione Skye (aka Diane Court) might tell me that she thinks the following statement is ageism-- "and that's being prejudiced against people because of their age! Maybe their mouths don't work as well as yours..." or their minds. She'd be right.

Was there a time or place when a green light meant stop because every time I am behind old people, they break hard and suddenly at green lights.

Why, oh why?

I don't understand how the public expects the following people to do a good job:

George W. Bush


Thank you.

Attention Mr. Zippy!

There is a new poll.

Sleeping is the people's choice for favored holiday activity and who am I to argue with the people?

Breathing: A Step by Step Approach for Idiots

You've all seen the Idiot's Guide to C++ programming or one I recently checked out from the library: Quilting for Dummies. These are things that a normal person is not reasonably expected to know and may benefit from a step-by-step approach. The Idiot's Guides and For Dummies series have now gone a little too far.

Last night, in further dorky exploits, M1, E. and I browsed all the various and sundry sections of Borders to discover a startling amount of "how to" books, as such. (I am not making these up. They were really there.)
- World War II for Dummies
-The Idiot's Guide to God
-The Idiot's Guide to the Vietnam War
-Nixon for Dummies
-The Idiot's Guide to Angels, Reincarnation, and the Afterlife
-The Idiot's Guide to Parenting

Let me just say: there are already too many idiots out there, so if you are one who is considering procreation and then purchasing this book, please--just stop. Seriously. As far as angels, reincarnation, and afterlife--excuse me? There are definitive guides? Nixon for Dummies? I bet the for Dummies peops don't even appreciate the irony.

There you go: Irony For Dummies.

For My Houston Readers

Is Gallery Furniture *ever* not having a $ale?

Nerdtasmagorical

I have never had a shortage of books. Even when we were *really* poor when I was a little kid, there was always money for books and time for reading. What I have not always had, however, is a spectacular library. The Tyler, Texas library was okay, I suppose, but most of my conscious life, I have lived in Mineola and believe me--it sucks. I never knew there could be so many wonderful things at the public library. Tonight, M1 went with me and E. to get library cards at the main branch downtown and I was stunned. Everything I could ever want to read, or watch, or hear was there.

I'm sure everyone is making a weird face at the obviousness of it all, but seriously, I am now taking myself there on several field trips a week. It is way more fun than The Fondren a la Rice. There was even a weird, scary lady who was online chatting on one of the card catalog computers and acting like a complete ass, which amused me for a good several minutes. Amazing fact: you can return your library books at *any* of the Houston branches. Libraries are so rad.

Another book note: I finished My Dog Skip by Willie Morris at work today and I cried--right there at work. Fortunately, my boss is a dog lover and he found it sort of sweet.

More nerdiness: Tonight at 59 Diner, E. and M1 and I discussed--at great length--how the menus might be better punctuated and the proper treatment of fragments. J. was mostly just silent.

This was a scattered and sucky entry, but I haven't really felt like blogging for a bit and y'all are getting shafted, but you know--you will deal with it.

Little Man in the Refrigerator

For those of you who attempted to access my site earlier today and were treated to a welcoming, if stoic, blank page, I apologize. Apparently, the little mouse that turns the wheel has a heart condition. However, upon discovering the problem, I simply took my spare man in the refrigerator (who turns on the light, you know) and voila~ Mary T is back.

Proud to be Compact-- really.

I just returned from Whole Foods Market, which, while my favorite grocery destination, is to be avoided at all costs on Saturday afternoons. Howevber, I just returned to Houston from out of town and I was like old Mother Hubbard when it came to feeding my pets, so I broke down and ventured forth. Of course, there were no parking spaces except at the back, which are marked for compact cars only. I have no problem with this. I am healthy and young and can walk and do, in fact, drive a compact car.

I realize that there may be some confusion about what exactly qualifies as a compact car. Does compact cut off at the mid-size or extend to the full size sedan? Is an Accord *really* compact? Okay, so there is some gray area. However, I was parked between two cars which were *decidedly* not compact. A Chevy Suburban and a Lincoln Town Car. People, if you drive one of these, here is a news flash for you: you don't have a compact car and should you park in one of the spaces and overlap my space, I will feel no remorse in marring up your paint job when I open my car door to squeeze myself out.

I shouldn't have to liquefy to emerge from my car.

This scenario reminds me of a portion of a Dr Katz episode with Gary Shandling.
Gary: You know, there are the people that park in handicap spaces that are not handicapped. They shouldn't do that; we know that. But I saw something today that really bothers me: handicapped people parking in *non*-handicapped spaces. I saw it; it bothered me. I didn't do anything.
Dr Katz: Gary, did you say anything?
Gary: (dramatic sigh) No.... No, I couldn't.