The Chronicles of the Crazy Magnet

Last night, KoF and I returned to the place where we first met: Valhalla for a drink and to hang out. We rode our bikes over there and were enjoying pleasant chatter about...whatever. And that's when we were accosted by the crazy. If you're just tuning in, you probably think I am dramatizing this. Well, I likely am, but this is my second loon in just a few days time, so it feels severe.

The thing about being accosted by a completely insane person is that if anyone is with you that you even remotely like, you will be forever bonded by this one incident of total trauma hilarity. Even forty years from now, I could say "Hey remember that guy that "built" Valhalla?" and KoF would roll his eyes and go "That dude was *messed* up."

Now without further ado--the story of the man behind Valhalla.

This man (allegedly) holds a B.A., a B.S., and M.S., a PhD from Rice and an M.D. from God knows where and four U.S. patents. But in his words--"never mind all that. Rice was really crazy back in the 60s."

Yeah, and homey never really got past the 60s, seems like. The reason he said he wanted to talk to us is that he could see we were enjoying Valhalla and as a man who helped to build Valhalla (?) in the 60s, he just liked to greet people that came there.

Hmm.

was he drunk? Hard to say. He wasn't falling over or slurring his speech, but man--I really hope he was drunk. Because if not--well, I just hope he was.

He reminded me and KoF of several Rice profs he'd had who'd committed suicide because Rice has a reputation for having the highest suicide rate of any school in the country. (This is a myth, btw.) He did ask if I'd ever had the urge to jump off the Campanile and seemed disappointed when I said no.

Upon learning I had been an English major, he asked if I knew calligraphy. By chance I do because I learned it in art in high school, but this was apparently not what he had in mind. He told me he was working on a calligraphic translation (?) and fished a piece of paper from his pockets and asked me if I knew what it said. When I told him that the writing appeared to be in Chinese and that I don't um, read or speak, Chinese, he looked aghast that I would claim to have any knowledge of calligraphy.

Meanwhile, KoF is laughing at everything this man says, which is especially entertaining because the man isn't funny as much as everything he says is a totally outlandish claim and/or non-sequitar. That in itself was hilarious, but umcomfortable. The laughter seemed to encourage Mr. "It went through like corn through a goose."

I won't even get into the racial remarks, but he did keep referring to HPD as "our dear boys in blue." Also, he apparently lived in the middle of a black neighborhood in college, but kept his door open all the time. No one messed with him (and roommates) on account of them having a reputation for being "wild and crazy." Also, he peppered all incidents with hefty doses of phrases like matrix multiplication, simplified thermodynamics and on and on.

I'd like to explain all this in a more cohesive manner, but the fact of the matter is--I really have no idea what happened until KoF somehow excused us from his company and the man again squeezed our hands (which made me shudder after how many times he had run it through his greasy combover) and gave us his "best wishes." It's all quite blurry. Hilarious and traumatic.

And now KoF and I are forever bonded in the way that Jen and I are eternally allied under the banner of the down-the-street loon.

Brownies

KoF goes through a painstaking little ritual every time he makes brownies. To be honest, it makes me a little nuts. There is a lot of noise and a lot of cocoa powder on every surface within 15 feet of him. Every air bubble is removed. Chocolate density is paramount and time becomes irrelevant.

A healthy amount of Maker's Mark whiskey is added. But the secret ingredient is one part Swedish chef, I think.

And they are the best brownies in the wide world.

Nice to See You Again, Lunatic

Since November, Jen and I have had a series of run-ins with a down the street neighbor of mine who can best be described as a stark-raving loon.

No seriously. On our first meeting, she introduced Jen and me to the concept of "gainful unemployment." Right. Jen had occasion to see her at the dentist's office and then I at the store where she works, picking up the slack for her gainful unemployment, one would imagine. Both instances were somewhat memorable, but my run-in with her today while getting a coffee with KoF cemented her status as a certifiable drama queen...and nut.

I didn't elaborate fully about our first meeting when I blogged about it, but I will now. Suffice it to say that details of one's life that are typically a mystery to one's closest friends were readily available in that first conversation (if you could call the verbal bulldozering we received a conversation).

On our second meeting, I recalled that she was my neighbor, who like me, owned a pit bull. "I own [name of dog]," she confirmed as though to indicate that her breed was her name. Like if you asked me what kind of dog I have and I answered I have a Molly. That's descript. But whatever.

Today...

While enjoying the lovely weather on Diedrich's Montrose side patio (not an endorsement of their coffee--I still dislike it), I hear a woman speaking at about four times the volume of normal conversational tone. In her defense, she was not doing this into a cell phone, but still. I heard many details of her failed relationships, her own experiences in rehab and with back-stabbing friends in rehab, predatory rehab sponsors, a "passionate sex life" that she used to distract her from reality and her amazing ability to beat the 1% failure rate of properly administered birth control. I love listening in, but this was frankly, too easy. Even KoF was uncharacteristically partaking*. I laughed and told him it would be HILARIOUS if it were my dramatic neighbor who had a penchant for revealing herself on every occasion on which our paths had crossed.

And you know the rest of the story.

When I turned around, it was her. I wonder at what point she will just walk up to my front door naked and chat about construction noise in the neighborhood. I fear it's in the near future.

* Later that evening at Onion Creek, KoF overheard something else he was mocking, though the subject was not as loud or as um, sensitive. So I told him that eavesdropping is rude and I am appalled he would do such a thing. Well, it seemed funny.

Dear Prude?

I never really thought of myself as a prude, but I am starting to think I might be one. Only, I don't mind. For the past couple of weeks, I have been involved in imposing a moratorium on craigslist for that most inflammatory of slanderous words for a woman: c---. You know the one. And suddenly, I am berated by so many other posters for being uptight, conservative and a censor.

Well FINE. I certainly never claimed I wasn't uptight, but if making an effort not to slander people because I think it is genuinely insensitive makes me conservative and censorial then great. I guess that's what I am.

Further, I am horrified by the things that people post on others' myspace comments. Is it old-fashioned to not wish to "jokingly" be called a slutty whore, a bitch, a hooker or somesuch obscenity in the name of good fun? I'm sorry, but I don't find that funny. I find it harmful and damaging and frankly: passive aggressive. Really, just say what you want to say, but please do not glitter-coat it and post it via photobucket.com or whatever.

I sometimes get the feeling that I am a dinosaur. KoF often reminds me that I am shaping up to be a very cranky old woman. Oddly, I don't mind this designation-- and that worries both of us. I think he is secretly terrified that I will one day hide his false teeth because I am irritated that he did my crossword puzzle in pen. Between you and me, his fears aren't just paranoia.

Special shout out to Jo, who fully shares my prudish horror. We have determined that we are both ahead of and behind our time.

P.S. I may start wearing a t-shirt that says: Just so you know, I really don't find you to be funny.

Stay Tuned, Fiends

In brief: I went to California for five days, I'm kinda sick (the flu? maybe. ick.) and I have a million things that need my attention at work and home, including most excellent houseguests, friends with birthdays and a highly awesome dog who needs additional petting due to my absence.

I'll be back soon when the sea settles a bit. In the meantime, enjoy myspace or something.

Love,
MaryT

Cause for Worry

I have a song stuck in my head and it's not even an official song. It's the winning entry in the school song contest from an episode of Saved By the Bell.

"We'll always remember Bayside as our friend."

At least it isn't Screech's rendition of "Home at Our School" (nee "Home on the Range"), though.

Fun Fact

A recent visitor to F-R found the site by searching for "red hair, full bladder" on the German Google.

Who are the people in your bloggerhood? A Guide.

It occurred to me today that the outside observer might have a terrificly difficult task of tracking the cast of characters in my blog. The thing is, I don't care.

Just kidding.

Not sure that anyone ELSE cares, but just in case you need a little help, here's a handy reference guide of most frequent visitors and characters in my tomfoolery. All are members in good standing of Team Awesome, the official team of F-R.

Noonan=my sister=Lekkermama=Natural Baby Supply(ha! ha!)

Co-Noonan=Daniel, son of Noonan= brilliant

Noonie=Pinky von Megwhit= Wee Meglet= Ms. Whit= Meg Awesome

Danny= Mr. DiP=co-stuff is cool capt with/bf of Pinky von M.= wallflower or in some instances wallf= facedancer

Team Jo(e)= Jo plus Joe= The Incomparable Mango Lassy +1= occasional "Anonymous" poster=co-fan club captain for the "Farbulous" one

MRT2=KoF=King of February=Matt 2006!=obsessed with GPS caching=new boss of Molly Dogg= has exceptionally awesome gf

Jen=Jen (hey, the woman is straight-forwardly awesome)= voice of reason for Pens

Pens=IlovePens=Pens von Fartcar=The Boy who Loves Pens= another Matt= turkey frying king= inexplicable lover of ground turkey

Bish= TheBish= calls babies and Meg whores= likes cowboys

Dr. N.N. Mind= Erin= in Iowa, but greatly missed

Molly Dogg= superpuppy=apple of my eye= mess with her, expect a painful death=KoF's surrogate dog (because he stole her)

Emeritus

M!=Dr. Freeze=The First Matt I ever knew= the late Anonymous Rex= now married and retired from the blogging community

How I Knew I Didn't Love You #3

The third in an occasional series.

• You have absolutely no concept of irony*. None.
  
  
• You can say with a straight face that the likes of Chili's, the Black-Eyed Pea and the Olive Garden are among restaurants you would consider "fine dining**." Or as you might put it, "fine dinning."
  
  
• You did not know how to correctly use a post-it note.
  
  
• You would not laugh if I started signing all my emails "Praise Jesus, MaryT"
  
  
• You have a favorite stooge.

*Originally, this was featured as a corrollary in How I Knew I Didn't Love You #2, but it bears repeating in its own post. Fortunately, my cup of irony overfloweth. And actually, all items are really about irony. Irony, irony, irony. Way more important than that location, location, location junk.

**KoF and I often remark to one another that if he or I act particularly nice, we may be rewarded with a trip to such a fine establishment as Red Lobster. There really seems to be no limit to how many times we laugh at this joke.

Why did you not love someone? Feel free to share character flaws in the comment section.

Cranky McAngrypants: An Explanation

Those of you that are my gmail chat pals have noticed that this week, my away message has been "Cranky McAngrypants." So I'd like to offer a brief explanation.

This is a bad week to get in a fight with me because I *will* bite your head off. And no, I will not give it back. But, I'm sorry (ish) in advance.

Why though? Well, the explanation is complicated and deeply rooted in my psyche, but other than that--I'm just not sure. Every time I have read a news story online, paid a bill, checked my email, gone for a walk--you name it-- this week, I have become absolutely incensed by what I see/read/hear. Also, more than usual, with matters of insurance, government (Tom Delay's easy win in the Republican primary anyone?), money, corporations and so forth, I'm feeling like an unwilling cog in the machine. So I've come out swinging.

In other words, someone might have to pour kool-aid on me at some point because I am en fuego. However, if you do this, I might kill you. (Sorry. Again.) Also, if you were thinking about playing any kind of prank on me this week--even a lesser one than pouring kool-aid to douse the flames of my fury-- you'll be doing it at your own risk.

RAWR.

Oh, and Vote for Noonan. (Do not say Noonan lacks political experience.)

Reminder

Don't forget to VOTE for Noonan. She has apparently slid in rankings below the gross-o Diaper Zone. Put Natural Baby back on top!

I'll repost this frequently to remind you. Sorry if it gets annoying, but Noonan is number one in the awesome department.

Oh, great! The Right Wing continues to trample rights.

Here I am getting in a tizzy about "the money shot" and South Dakota governor Mike Rounds is signing a bill into law to completely ban abortion in the state, except in cases where the mother will die if the pregnancy is not terminated.

Has history not shown us that in many cases, the mother will die--whether at her own hands or another's--in many cases where it might not be "medically necessary" if she must be forced to carry an undesired pregnancy to term?

It's an obvious ploy to challenge Roe v. Wade, but man oh man is there going to be all kinds of hell and ripping apart of the country at the seams if that is overturned.

Why must the will of the self-righteous be tyrannically imposed over all? Just ask KoF: today is a BAD day to upset me. I am on the war path. RAWR!

Mo' Money, Mo' Problems

This weekend while KoF and I were watching tv on my parents' jumbotron in fabulous Mineolapalooza, I heard something that I found a bit troubling.

While watching a news show (Dateline? Maybe. Who cares, really?), the anchor said something to a guest, who worked on a documentary making the point that on urban highways, going the speed limit can be dangerous and invite road rage. Both the anchor and the person she was interviewing were women and as the anchor pointed to a clip from the movie, she said "Amanda, you really got the money shot here."

Excuse me, but when did "the money shot" become an acceptable and non-offensive part of the everyday lexicon? Further more, not to limit the vocabulary of women, but it's doubly upsetting that between women, tossing this chauvinist phrase around is a-okay.

I am sure that most of you are aware that "the money shot" is the moment at which pornographers are said to make their money--that is the moment when a porn woman receives a porn man's semen in her face.

Yeah.

So frankly, I'm just not thrilled to see this phrase making the rounds on shows my parents watch. Or at all. People can be into whatever they want. That's fine. But the gradual deterioration of standards is what I am talking about. At what point will talking about Donkey Punching and Dirty Sanchezes become the banter on 20/20?

I don't mean to be a cranky prescriptive linguist. I realize language is ever-evolving, but it really vexes me that basically the whole world is adapting to pimp culture. I suppose the rationale is to appeal to the largest possible audience and therefore the networks like to spend the most time on our base commonalities.

"Hey pretty much everyone has or wants to have sex. Let's talk about that ALL the time."

Can anyone stop talking about sex for five minutes? Geez. There's always food and sleeping. And frankly, I don't see enough shows about sleeping.

Caption Contest!

I'll go first.

"Is that a WMD in your pocket or am I just about to eat your arm?"

A Lunchtime Sojourn

I was really craving Chick-fil-a at lunch today and since it was such a nice day, I decided to go, go, GOOO for that considerable joy ride over there. In doing so, I made a number of observations, mostly of the navel-gazing variety, but what are you gonna do?

1) Why do all Chick-fil-as make the drive-thru as difficult as possible to get to? I mean, no matter what entrance you come in at any Chicky, you always have to do two laps around the block, cluck like a chicken, stand up, sit down, fight, fight, fight before you can get in line. That is ridiculous.

2)In listening to a mix cd I made circa 2001, I was pondering when, like J-Lo, I will meet a gentlemen who inaccurately assesses that to get my attention, he will need to be "ballin' out of control."

3) The new chicky on Westpark has double drive-thru! What are the cultural implications here? Double drive-thru?! AHHH. I don't know.

4)No matter what time of day you are driving down West Alabama, the person ahead of you will inevitably be going 10-15 miles below the speed limit. Yes, I believe the speed limit is 30.

5)I was pleasantly surprised when a Dave Matthews Band song played on the cd. Miracles do happen.

Exciting stuff, no?

Shoes, Ships, Ceiling Wax, Cabbages and King David

The time has come my little friends, to talk of many things...

It's Lent, fiends. What will you give up or take up to remind you of...whatever. The crucifixion? I hardly think being sans Bubble Yum will keep my eyes on the prize (of course, I don't really chew gum), but I always thought it was a bit ridiculous.

Erin famously said one year she was giving up Catholicism for Lent. I have long since given that up, but even so, I still try to do a little something observant during Lent. It's not so much about Easter as it is a private meditation that allows you to bring your life back into focus. Now, I am a big fan of the JC and all, but I'm not really religious, as you all probably have figured out from the many, many things I have said that had I believed in the Lake of Fire would surely have cast me squarely in it by now.

In any event, Lent is upon us and no, K o F, I am not referring to what is often in your belly button. What will you do to observe it, if anything?

Happy March. (Oooh beware the Ides of it which swiftly approach! Maybe someone should have told Jesus.)



P.S. Not to be irreverent, but WTF? A guy just started playing bagpipes outside of my office. Why? Awesome!