Information Age, My Ass

Caution: I just got off the phone with SBC and I may be a little bit of a maniac.

First of all: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! I am going to rip all of my hair out! They're the devil! They are soooo the devil! Oh my God! AHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Okay, I'll spare you all the details, but basically, I just called SBC about my DSL bill which they have been continuously fucking up since April. A-PRIL. As in nearly 5 months ago, which is awesome because apparently, they can only correct things within the last three months, if they owe you money, even if you've been calling them continuously since oh, say, 5 months ago to correct it. What's even more amazing is that when you owe them money, their memories are long. So very, very long. 5 months? That's rookie shit. Rookie shit to them.

Electricty has been the lowest common denominator for literally a HUNDRED years; gas even longer. Phones have been common for at least 50-75 years. How is it possible that in the year 2003, cars with like 3 inch high engines (hydrogen cars) are being built and yet, there is not one goddamned utility company out there with it's head *not* buried in its ass?

Examine the facts:
- To switch electricty providers, it takes 6-8 weeks (apparently, everyone and their uncle's monkey has to confirm and approve this switch...say what?!)
- When you *call* the phone company to make a change on your bill, that change does not appear systemwide for 30-60 days (the irony makes me dizzy)
- The gas company cannot give you any helpful indication of when the gas person will be by your house to turn on the gas service. The best estimate? Three business days, but you *must* be home when they come by or you won't get your service turned on. ("service" turned on)
-When you call any department of a utility, apparently, the whole rest of the utility is oblivious to the fact that you called and/or exist. For example: "Hi, I'm moving and want to change my electrcity service address." "Okay ma'am, we will be changing your service, but not your billing address because that is another department. You'll have to call everybody and their mom within our company, otherwise, you will not receive a bill for many months, at which time your late fees will be exhorbitant. Maybe a memo then? Cheers!"

How are their movies with smart sharks, but two computers in the same company can't talk to each other? I think we should get those smart sharks over in customer service, or something with frickin' laser beams attached to their frickin' heads.

I call my concept of time travel: Richard's Burrito*

No need to read this unless you just want to. I saw it on E's and Carnitaur's blogs and I wanted to do it to be like all the other kids. Also, I like burritos.

The Ten-Layer Burrito..
LAYER ONE:
Name: Mary
Birth date: Aug 23, 1980
Birthplace: Tyler, Texas--the rose city
Current Location: Houston, Texas
Eye Color: Dark Brown. My friends will tell you dark brown. They're right.
Hair Color: Dark Brown, on the black side
Height: 5'8"
Righty or Lefty: Lefty Loosey/Lucy
Zodiac Sign: Leo/Virgo Cusp

LAYER TWO:
Your heritage: 10th generation Texan (or so). A lot of people think I am Hispanic, which is fine, but misguided. Fun fact: My grandmother's name was Juanita, even though no one in my family is remotely, even a touch Hispanic (she included). They're all crazy French Cajuns and French Canadians. Eh?
The shoes you wore today: Navy and red reef flip-flops, which at this point in the summer might need to be surgically removed
Your weakness: Men/dogs/apartments I think I can change.
Your fears: Failure/not being "good enough" tops a long and distinguished list.
Your perfect pizza: tomatoes, roasted corn, sweet basil
Goal you'd like to achieve: Job. Need job. Must get job. A real one.
LAYER THREE:
Your most overused phrase on AIM: "Dude." IM is the most awesomest! :)
Your thoughts first waking up: Do I have to work today? Damn. or My puppy smells like fritos.
Your best physical feature: a winning smile *ding*
Your bedtime: I have one sometimes. Usually midnight when I have to work the next day.
Your most missed memory: How should I know? It's missing. I miss my grandma though.
LAYER FOUR:
Pepsi or Coke: Coke, and none of your namby-pamby diet junk.
McDonald's or Burger King: Pass.
Adidas or Nike: I have adidas running shoes, but I don't run and I don't endorse, so...
Lipton Ice Tea or Nestea: Empire Cafe's Black Currant Tea is something I have daydreams about.
Chocolate or vanilla: Vanilla
Cappuccino or coffee: Either, as long as it's served in the proper vessel.
LAYER FIVE:
Smoke: No! (cough, cough)
Cuss: sure
Sing: without ceasing
Take a shower: as much as possible. Unlike E, I love water and take excessive showers and baths when sick or feeling low.
Have a crush(es): Almost always, but it's been a hard summer of un-fun and non-love, so only sorta now.
Do you think you've been in love: Not sure.
Want to go to college/graduate school: Yes, and soon. I am headed for a PhD in History, I think/hope.
Like(d) high school: It was fine. Good and bad memories.
Want to get married: I guess that'd be okay.
Believe in yourself: At inconvenient times.
Get motion sickness: no, only if I read for a long time in a moving car
Think you're attractive: good days and bad days
Think you're a health freak: yes, but I don't practice what I preach, except on my dog
Get along with your parent(s): Yes and though we've never fought, they have made me a little crazy from time to time.
Like thunderstorms: The darker and stormier, the better I feel.
Play an instrument: A little of this; a little of that. Piano, clarinet, bass clarinet, and oboe. And I was a recorder fiend in 8th grade.
LAYER SIX:
In the past month...
Had alcohol: Yes, my mom bought me a margarita on my 23rd birthday.
Smoked: Never.
Done a drug: Nein.
Gone on a date: Look, it's been a long, hard summer. Leave me in my misery.
Gone to the mall?: Yes with S. and her mama, but only once which is kind of unusual for me.
Eaten an entire box of Oreos: "Oreos don't come in boxes."(and I quote E.) but no, I have *some* self-control
Eaten sushi: No; I love it but can't afford it. I used to always go with J.
Been on stage: No.
Been dumped: No.
Made homemade cookies: No. I made cupcakes for my birthday last week.
Gone skinny dipping: No.
Dyed your hair: No.
Stolen anything: No.

LAYER SEVEN:
Ever...
Played a game that required removal of clothing: If you count Marco Polo, but only because it's in the pool.
If so, was it mixed company: Does it matter? I am boring.
Been trashed or extremely intoxicated: If my mom is reading this, then no. Otherwise, yes, but it doesn't take much for me.
Been caught "doing something": I talked about my high school French teacher when she was standing behind me once. That was bad news bears. (Walter Matthau)
Been called a tease: No.
Gotten beaten up: Yes, in 6th grade for stepping on a boy's foot (accidentally).
Shoplifted: Some fruit stripe gum long before the age of reason, but my mom made me go in and pay for it and apologize and my sister got the gum. Not me. :(
Changed who you were to fit in: I don't think so, but that said, we were all in middle school once, so probably.
LAYER EIGHT:
Age you hope to be married: doesn't matter
Numbers and Names of Children: 47: first 25 or so named after me, the rest named things like Scylla and Charybdis.
Describe your Dream Wedding: As few peops as possible and lots of candy.
How do you want to die: Medium well.
Where you want to go to college/graduate school: Berkeley is wishful thinking. ($$$!) I guess Yale will do....but seriously. Maybe UNC Chapel Hill. Maybe good old Rice U.
What do you want to be when you grow up: whenever that is...
What country would you most like to visit: France. since always.
LAYER NINE:
In a guy/girl..
Best eye color: not red
Best hair color: not icky
Short or long hair: short
Height: 5'9" and above, please.
Best weight: 172 pounds exactly. What? This is dumb.
Best articles of clothing: conceal your privacy; please do not take the liberty and please, no jean shorts; santa is watching
Best first date location: Paris?
Best first kiss location: bleh.
LAYER TEN:
Number of drugs taken illegally: None.
Number of people you'd trust with your life: Anyone who has made it this far because they obviously love me.
Number of CDs that I own: 1 million, rounded up to the nearest million
Number of piercings: one in each ear-- BOOOOOOring.
Number of tattoos: one on each butt cheek. none.
Number of times my name has appeared in the newspaper?: a lot, but I'm from a small town. next.
Number of scars on my body: everywhere. I have an insane dog and I am the youngest of five. Makes sense.
Number of things in my past that I regret: a handful, but nothing that haunts me excessively; I try to live in a way that I can be proud of.

*Name the movie reference. Get a prize!

Well you know my name is Simon...

Exploring MaryT's World: Part I

Like the other kids in elementary school, I often brought a juice box in my lunchbox. All the other kids drank Hi-C or Capri Sun.

But a Liiiittle Bit Different. I brought Hawaiian punch. It was the only size juice box I could finish in the allotted hour. And 6 oz was pushing it at that.

What do you mean "I love you?" You sound like that girl Sheila!

Air quotes, or as S's erstwhile bf used to call them, flying commas, should be used in the same way that men should wear gold jewelry--sparingly, and only in an ironic way.

I like to use air quotes. I find them to be hilarious, but they can definitely be overdone. (Sometimes things that aren't even funny can crack me up for hours, so best to use anything I find funny in moderation.) Have you ever read something completely hysterical only to find upon the fifth reading that you don't even crack a smile? It takes me about fifty readings, but I am told five is normal for regular people. (Remember fans, MaryT is like all the other kids...but a liiiiittle bit different.)

Conserve those crunching fingers, people. Like a well placed (and rare) "Oh no you dih-int!" they can be comedic gold.

P.S. And to E. I say: "Hagan."

It looks different from here...

So today I am 23. And you know how people ask you what it feels like on your birthday and you're like uh, the same? Well, it feels a lot like yesterday, but compared to a year ago, it's a new world.

Stuff that is changed for the better:
I have a college degree.
My apartment is way nicer. Corrollary: No more man-eating rats.
My dog is closer to well-mannered than puppy kindergarten flunkie. At least I think so.
I'm employed, if only for a bit longer.
I am an aunt to a beautiful little boy.
The market, I think, is finally on the upswing.
I'm wiser, I hope.


Stuff that has me remembering better times:
My week nights are typically spent alone in exhaustion...playing snood.
The start of school without me for the first time in 18 or so years is scary.
Employment was a non-issue when I was a full-time student.
My rent is way higher. Corrollary: No more man-eating rats to eat the man-eating roaches.
My friends are on the verge, once again, of scattering.
I talk more about my blog in real life than I talk about my real life in my blog.
I'm tired a lot more often.

Stuff that's just different (and I am mostly ambivalent about):
Rivers Cuomo-lookalike, J.,my on-again/off-again bf is pretty much off.
My cat and I do not agree on treatment of furniture, nor the proper receptacles for excrement. (I'm obviously not pleased about this, but that my cat and I aren't best pals doesn't really trouble me.)
M2 is an unpredictable blogger.
I stopped carrying my mini-recorder in my glove box to record the secret, evil things I was thinking.

On your mark, get set, pickles!

My birthday is this weekend. I'll be 23. I am going to a women's expo with my mom. My life is awesome.

Also, it is my *golden* birthday. If anyone knows what you're supposed to do for that sort of occasion (on which your age matches your date of birth), let me know.

I don't really have any idea how I am celebrating, otherwise. I better get to choose the restaurant, at least. And if either my sister or my mom's friend Lou are reading this, that means NO Macaroni Grill or California Pizza Kitchen. Seriously, peops. Branch out.

I could have gotten more creative, but I'm lazy.

I even stole this idea from Carnitaur. RAR!

Goths
Circle I Limbo

Richard Gere
Circle II Whirling in a Dark & Stormy Wind

DMV Employees, General asshats
Circle III Mud, Rain, Cold, Hail & Snow

Chickyboom
Circle IV Rolling Weights

Parents who bring squalling brats to R-rated movies
Circle V Stuck in Mud, Mangled

River Styx

Republicans
Circle VI Buried for Eternity

River Phlegyas

John Ashcroft
Circle VII Burning Sands

Ann Coulter
Circle IIX Immersed in Excrement

dog-kickers
Circle IX Frozen in Ice

Design your own hell

The Undisputed Decade of Rad

This is probably the most hilarious thing I have read in a long time. (Mad props to M! for sending it my way.)

As IF you needed motivation to read about "The 10 Eightiest Movies of All Time," here is a quote from the article.


"The plot to The Last Dragon is so beyond a verbal description that it’s impossible to summarize without a trampoline and backup dancers."

and who can forget...

"This is THE arm wrestling movie. In the ‘80s, movie executives didn’t make a film about every single possible subject matter, but it wasn’t due to a lack of trying. 'Gentlemen, have we done a picture about lawn darts yet? How about... C. Thomas Howell leads a group of teen lawn darters to save a... wildlife refuge. No, a salad bar. Speaking of bars, what if a robot entered the Olympics as a pole vaulter? Why am I phrasing that as a question? Make it happen.'”

You may not agree with the choices right away, but read the descriptions. You will. Oh, you will.

P.S. I was making a "High School's Greatest Hit's cd tonight, and even awesome songs like "Whoomp! There It Is!" and "The Informer" cannot top the radness of the 80s.

Hi. This is my actual life.

I have a very special treat for y'all coming soon featuring an IM conversation, but here is a short one to get you ready for what's to come. (That's right, peops in the know, the motivational speaker one.) Lately, my life consists of very odd IM conversations with ex-boyfriends and for the life of me, I can't figure out how I got to be so lame.

Tonight, my special guest star is my high school boyfriend, J.


HighSchoolBF: hi. I really don't eat very healthy
MaryT: you're just now noticing that? I could have told you 6 years ago
and then...
MaryT: did you do anything fun [on your day off]?
HighSchoolBF: not really, just chilled out. ran some errands, watched a movie, etc. etc
MaryT: what movie? I saw Freaky Friday yesterday with the kids I take care of
HighSchoolBF: I watched Old School. hilarious. I haven't seen it, but the girl in freaky friday is SO hot
MaryT: she's 17 [and you're 25], you perv
HighSchoolBF: I don't care
MaryT: gross
HighSchoolBF: I really want a girl
HighSchoolBF: but I'm socially inept
MaryT: what a thing to say!
HighSchoolBF: thank you
HighSchoolBF: yep
HighSchoolBF: thats what I say when I have nothing else to say
HighSchoolBF: "yep"
MaryT: maybe that's where you're going wrong with the ladies
HighSchoolBF: well, I can't help not being a sophisticated orator
HighSchoolBF: hope thats how you spell that

Now with refrigerated air!

Do you remember thinking Capri Sun was cool because it was in a pouch? Well, to set the record straight, it is *indeed* cool, but all the peops at Kool-Aid (oh yeah!) and Hi-C and all are like: Hey! Look at our awesome new idea! Pouches!

WTF?

In other marketing news, Crayola has teamed up with Kraft Macaroni and Cheese (TM). As if I could pass up any package that combined those two amazing products.

To the roaches who have taken to using my pantry as an outhouse for the last two weeks...

It's throwdown time, you bitches.

Not only are you going to check in, but not check out, this chalk junk my sister got me from Indonesia is gonna fuck you up, but good.

Enjoy the last of the Lipton noodles. Not my choice for a last meal, but I don't poop in peops' pantries.

It's a little bit funny, this feelin' inside...

A new series in which MaryT brings you things that are *funny*
a) ha ha
b) strange
c) not quiiiiiite right
d) sad, like Corey Feldman

It's funny when people talk on their cell phones. Outside. Kinda late at night. Pacing around. Explaining a type of remote control toy that will revolutionize the industry. (The industry?!) In preachy, yet catchy phrases. That are not exemplary of the Queen's English.

A note to all you "writers": I'll be watching you.

I am aware that I am cynical, but for now, let's not play that up, hmm? I was just now reading this book. Nicholas Sparks' Nights in Rodanthe. I last read one of his books in high school, but I saw the movie of A Walk to Remember just last year, which should have been a heads up on the cheese factor. In high school, my friend Celeste used to call this type of book "legitimate porn," though as far as I know, it has not hit grocery store check-outs just yet. Anywho, I am, of course, engrossed.

So there's this love affair (obviously, because no legitimate porn would be complete without it) and these peops are having a romantic moment and the chick, Adrienne, goes in the kitchen and gets a bottle of wine out of the refrigerator. "Ooh, wine!" she thinks. (Much as I would say "ooh, shiny!") Now they're having wine and this is supposed to be intensely romantic, but from the moment she gets the bottle out of the fridge, all I can think is: They're drinking *white* wine? Wtf? I want out of this love story!

Also, there is a storm (because, duh, there has to be) and Adrienne puts stuff in a cooler in case the power goes out. Now maybe I am just being too picky here, but wouldn't you keep the ice and junk in the fridge until the power *actually* went out? That's rookie shit, Mr. Sparks. Rookie shit.

Stand back: This hair cut bites.

The 80s live in Mineola, Texas. At least in hair salons here. Somehow I conveniently forget this when I am home and desperately need a hair cut. So today, I got one. The actual cut is sub-par, but fortunately long enough so it is not particularly traumatic. As I was making the check out, the woman (and I use this word genereously as she was scarcely out of high school) gave me her card (which was little better than copy paper) to recommend her to my friends.

What went through my head: Yes, I'll pass this on to all the other girls who solicit on corners because there is no way anyone who is not a whore would be satisfied with this hair.

No, seriously; you don't understand. Those that know me know I'm not fussy with my hair. I don't fix it. I'm a minimalist. Ponytail? Bun? Okay! When I leave the hairdresser, I am usually impressed with the style and look fixed up for one day. After that, I have an ice cube's chance in hell of making it look that good again. But today was big. Literally.

My hair cut took approx. 10 minutes.

The style: TWO hours. Yes, that's two sixty minute periods and not a moment less. The hair to hairspray ratio of my head was approx 1:47 and I have a lot of hair. The hair to product ratio: 1:3. The curl action was not unlike that of Betty Boop's. The grease action was not unlike that of a fuel injector. The whore factor? So high.

After a marathon blow dry, the curling iron came out. At many times during this hostage situation was my hair *actually* smoking. I was like--umm, is my hair supposed to be smoking?
She: Oh, it always does that. You just blow on it.
Me (to myself): yeah, stuff always does that when it's on FIRE.

I always say: I can go to someone besides H., my regular hair goddess, for a trim. I always end up so, so wrong. The lesson once again: a free gondola ride is neither free, nor a gondola ride; and if someone had done a simple thing like light a cigarette before I rushed home to shower all the goo out of my hair: I would have burned in effigy.

A free gondola ride is neither free, nor a gondola ride.

I went to Italy when I was 16 with a student group. One evening while taking in the sights of Venice (and smells: p. u. ), my best friend Eldge and I were offered a free gondola ride by some rather swarthy-looking gentlemen. We offered our regrets and continued through the windey streets along the smelly canals. Upon returning to our group, we were informed by one of our adult peops (chaperones, if you will) that an offer of free gondola ride from swarthy gentlemen in Venice is neither free, nor a gondola ride. Apparently, that is the favored way of swarthy "gentle"men to trap naive, young tourists and have their way with them.

Now, that was just background, but I always keep this phrase in my mind. This morning, I passed a house for sale and the sign attached to the for sale sign said, "FANTASTIC!!"

Do you believe for a second that this house is so completely FANTASTIC!!? Of course you don't; that's why there has to be a sign.

Let that be a lesson to you, gentle reader. Sometimes people lie. I know. It's hard to grasp, but it's true*. As you go out into the world: a free gondola ride is neither free, nor a gondola ride. Actually, real gondola rides in Venezia are all about the bling, bling.

*I am not lying.

Dear MaryT

I could never have my own advice column because it would be way too harsh. Here's an example.

Dear MaryT,
I am the mother of three children (and one on the way) under ten and I am super selfish and too lazy to get a baby sitter. Would it be okay if I bring my children to a 10 pm showing of the R rated movie "American Wedding." I will definitely enjoy the bathroom humor, the explicit language, and stripper boobs, so I think my children will, too. Some people in the audience didn't seem to think that this was an appropriate movie or time of day for my children. I say they are wrong.

Sign me, Mother Gone Astray

Dear Mother Gone Ass,
In this case, the audience is absolutely right. You're a moron and while children may not understand all of the crude humor in this movie (which by the way, is hilarious and enjoyable for those of age), they will repeat what they saw ad nauseum and will be prematurely exposed to a number of concepts that are inappropriate in general (though hilarious!), but especially so for children. People wonder why middle schoolers are giving blow jobs in school. Yes, Mother Gone Ass, you're part of the problem. And for the love of God, put your kids to bed before they become up-late-staying hooligans.

Love,
MaryT

I guess I just make it too personal or so.

Suffering from HGBSA

Hurty Great Book Separation Anxiety.

You read a book that makes you swell with admiration for or disappointment in humanity. It moves you. It is a beautiful piece of writing and literature and you have just read the last page. And you have to let go. And it hurts.

So you hold the book for a minute, maybe hug it to your chest, and though you may read it again, you let it go, wistfully.

To quote a passage from my most recent HGBSA-read, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, which I finished this evening: "The last time of anything has the poignancy of death itself. This that I see now, she thought, to see no more this way. Oh, the last time how clearly you see everything; as though a magnifying light had been turned on it. And you grieve because you hadn't held it tighter when you had it every day. What had Granma Mary Rommely said? 'To look at everything always as though you were seeing it either for the first or last time: Thus is your time on earth filled with glory.' "

Another HGBSA-read of old ( The Girls' Guide to Hunting and Fishing) said that real art makes us feel this way because it is: Beautiful, Funny, Sad, and True.

I can't understand people who don't like to read.