"We Both Love Soup."

Okay, this is a stupid rant that has nothing to do with the title, but I don't care. I haven't blogged in awhile, so this is as good as any you're going to get. Plus, I am "enjoying" my third cold in two months. Is it just me or do y'all think I need to stock up on vitamins? I'm probably getting scurvy, too.

I ordered two books from Amazon Marketplace sellers on December 7. December 7! Does this seem like adequate time in order to receive them for Christmas gifts? One would think! This is ridiculous. It is 12/23 and I have received bupkiss.

I emailed the one seller and his response? "Sometimes media mail takes a month."

Oh yeah? "What are you a genius? A wizard?*" Guess how long it takes my foot to travel from the ground to your ass?

As an amazon seller myself, I happen to know that all of the books I have shipped arrived within a week of my shipping them. I mean, postage is $2.30, which isn't exactly like paying $0.10 and throwing them on a truck that may or may not get where it's going.

I mean, seriously, is there a little guy back in the postage room going "Oh, media mail huh? Guess I'll toss this into the 'deliver in a freaking aeon' bin! Not as important as these disiastrously outdated leg warmers from Gap.com!"

What is happening that my books cannot get to my house? I mean, it's not like I paid so much money for them, but if I had known it was going to be travelling by earthworm, I probably would have ponied up the dough to buy them new at one of the fine local retailers.

And by fine, I mean, fine enough.

BAH.

*I was watching the Best in Show dvd a few days ago on my laptop. God Loves a Terrier.

Put Your Hands Together For: Sublime Gravity!

E. hates the phrase "sublime gravity" which I used in a recent cover letter to describe the way I appreciate details (where the devil lives. Look under Delay, Tom or Ashcroft, John).

Sublime gravity breaks down to (for those less vocaburrific): majestic/huge/tremendous + weightiness/seriousness/graveness/importance(ness).

I mean, that is an awesome way to describe the way an Anne L. Retentive devotee, such as myself, feels about the importance of the little things. Some might call this "the small stuff." Those people are stupid. Details have sublime gravity!

Sublime Gravity will be the name of my new band. And if you don't like it, M! will make you be the keyboard player that nobody likes. Because he is SG's manager.

P.S. I will also be in NuPaul's band: Suburban Law, but only as a back-up dancer/singer/songwriter.

*No one* thinks he's ever gonna leave her, Marie.

I find Marie, from When Harry Met Sally to be, perhaps the most prophetic character in all of American cinema.

For example, when Sally is mourning a break-up, Marie encourages her to get back on the horse, thusly: I'm saying that the right man for you might be out there right now and if you don't grab him, someone else will, and you'll have to spend the rest of your life knowing that someone else is married to your husband.

Tell it, sister.

And who can forget:
Someone is staring at you in "Personal Growth." ?

The woman is a damn savant.

The Nature of the Roast Beast

Notes on a corporate Christmas function.

Why is it that any type of buffet--be it brunch or a fancy dinner for say, your company holiday party--will inevitably culminate in a man in a chef hat slicing roast beef at the end? It doesn't matter that your plate is piled high with waffles and hash browns and fruit or tacos and ceviche, there *will* be roast beef. Apparently, no meal, no matter the theme or ethnicity, is complete without roast beef.

Pancakes and bacon for breakfast? How about some roast beef with that?

Interested in a pizza? Don't forget the roast beef!

Roast beef is a part of this complete breakfast!

And since the roast beef is generally served with some sort of roll and mustard or horseradish, it seems like roast beef must be the buffet equivalent of the PBJ sandwich your mom told you you could have if you didn't like what was being served for dinner. "Honey, we're having fish and brussels sprouts for dinner, but go ahead and make yourself a PBJ if you don't want to at least try something."

You may be old and at a corporate function, but by God, if you don't want empanadas and pseudo-quail items and bizarre-o roasted vegetables, you WILL have options*. And by options, I don't mean that some random dude in a cowboy hat and blue suede cowboy boots and a redneck date will show up, apparently for the buffet because he clearly knows no one, and be thrown out by your boss. No. Why would I mean that? I mean, if you want a roast beef sandwich, you can have one. God bless America, indeed.

*Additionally, I don't mean that the cocktail hour appetizers will be an option for filling your stomach, either, because if they are anything like the appetizers we had, they will consist primarily of goat cheese, walnuts, and GROSS. Gross was apparently the first ingredient for each recipe, as noted by many an attendee.

**Please note that at this rather formal function, the grand high boss wore a weirdy blaxer and a black t-shirt, which was not even as nice as the pressed shirt he wore at the office only a couple of hours earlier. But hey, random dude in cowboy hat and blue suede cowboy boots. Go Houston!

P.S. Yes, I did get a little drunk. What are you gonna do about it?

Bag Lady

"Would you like a bag with your one item that is approximately the size of a shelled peanut, ma'am?"

No, I would not like a bag. I do not have Napoleon-projection syndrome for my repaired earring or my thimble or my 1/8 teaspoon of something solid.

Our world is bag crazy. I have written on this matter before. Any conscientious blogger would provide you a link to said archive file, but would you really read it? I'm sure you enjoyed it in that incarnation, so let's just leave it at that, okay? (Besides, if I repeat myself, I don't want readily-available evidence. Which brings me to my next point in that I would have to perform some sort of search of my archives in order to link you and since I consider microwave dinners to be a bit of a time-commitment, I pose you the question: who has this kind of time?)

So, stores, please stop offering me bags and please quit freaking out when I say that I would like to combine my merchandise into one bag. True, it's nice to distribute weight, but if I am carrying both bags in my left hand anyway, what difference does it make if they're in different bags? I am only going to be the kind of dilweed that carries a bag in each hand if each item is so obnoxious and bulky that it necessitates a weeble-wobble (no fall down action!) walk.

And people, can you help me out here? Can you stop asking for a bag when you purchase a pack of Big Red chewing gum? You do not further my cause, asking for a receipt for your one donut ("Don't even act like I didn't buy that donut. I've got the receipt right here.") and a bag for your one half gallon of milk, with convenient built-in handle.

Do not argue with me or offer any kind of sensible explanation for wanting all these bags. I have no time to make qualms over this. Bags are stupid except when they're necessary. Stop asking me if I want them. I don't.

Merry Christmas.