Clareified

TOP FIVE SIGNS YOU’RE DOING JUST FINE

5. Heated twenty minute debate about whether ‘tits’ and ‘boobs’ are synonymous or descriptions of different sizes.

4. Guy calls your 77 dollar bet drawing dead.

3. More than one offer to chop the pot pre-flop.

2. Magician breaks!

1. Southern Comfort: The Great skill equalizer.

WOW! HOW COOL

The Gibs have the most awesome collection of Buffy stuff for people never actually employed by Joss Whedon.

AS A HUGE FAN OF DAYS OF OUR LIVES FROM THE 1980s…

The next person to refer to Victor Kiriakis as “Jennifer Aniston’s dad” is gonna get it.

UNIVERSE:1, DAWN: 0

God wants me to stay in the ECB. The fates have decreed I can pay rent on all the apartments in Manhattan that I want, but I will never be able to move out of East Coco Beach.

How else can one explain being turned down by a moving company for a job being “too small?”

So, of course, I find a moving company small enough to take my job. I agree on fairly favorable terms: $55/hr plus tolls and tips. I set an appointment time: 9 a.m. Friday morning.

Not-quite-so-promptly at 9:11 a.m., the doorbell rings. A fiftyish man and his strapping son show up at my door and make quick work of getting all the boxes out to the curb.

The father goes to get the van and comes back holding a slip of paper instead.

“Well, this is gonna cost you an extra $115,” he says reading the ticket he received for double parking.

Assuming that he meant the “royal you,” as in “you’re damned if you do, damned if you don’t, I nodded sympathetically.

He then proceeds to hand me the ticket.

Indeed, there in black and white is a fancy municipal summons and fine for 115 bucks.

“Yeah, sucks,” I say still quite sympathetic as I hand him back the ticket.

“No, you’re going to need to pay that.”

Huh. What now?

“It’s considered a toll.”

“A ticket is not a toll. You don’t need to pay a toll to go from Brooklyn to Manhattan.” I intend the royal you.

“Well, I came here for this job. I got this ticket to do this job, so you have to pay it.”

The boy, meanwhile, starts to load the truck.

“HANG ON,” he bellows at the lad, “you gonna pay the ticket or not?”

Most definitely not.

“You’re charging $55 an hour, this job will barely take two hours. You’re basically doubling your fee. I can’t pay that.”

“Fine. I’ll just eat this and we’ll go.”

“You’re going to just leave my stuff here?”

“Yes.”

Hmmm.

“I am not going to pay you double the agreed upon rate. You shouldn’t have double parked.”

“Let’s go.”

He and his son climbed into the van and sped off.

Huh.

I stared at my wordly possessions on the curb.

This is no good.

I’ll spare you what happened next: the tears, the sweat, the pleas, the broken nails.

I will only say that I managed to get everything back into the apartment and secure another moving company that agreed to come at 1 p.m. for a price of $120.

At 12:45 the mover called to say that his van broke down and I would need to make other arrangements.

So, fine. That’s it. I am going back to my room facing a dark alley.

I’m no fool. I know when I’m beat.

I need a nap.

IT’S A DOG EAT DOG WORLD AND THAT’S NO BULL

OK, last post in the “Texas: what I did for my summer vacation” series. Promise.
Can you believe that with six weeks off, I only managed one trip? But do you know what I hate more than flying? Animals.
So, understandably, it took me some time to come to grips with the fact that I actually held a leash, with a real live dog at the end of it.
Of course, Jon and Norah’s dog, is not just any dog. He is a specially trained dog named after our nation’s chief security officer: Jack Bauer!
Indeed, dog Jack Bauer’s celebrity status doesn’t just end at his name. Oh no, the curly haired, black, not at all retarded ‘Portie’ also shares an animal behaviorist with Sharon Stone’s dog!
So, when Norah asked me to watch him while she got a caffeine fix, how could I say no?
Especially since I was paralyzed with fear and the trembling.
I took the very tip of the leash into my hand.
There I was:
Dawn vs. the beast, with nothing more than five feet of cloth separating the five fingers of my right hands, from his vicious, Portuguese water dog teeth.
He sat and stared at me.
Ok, dog.
Dawn.
Dog.
Dawn.
Dog.
He stood up.
Sit.
No.
He walked toward me.
Back. Sit. Play dead.
He moved closer and sat at my feet. Staring hungrily at my carotid artery.
A couple of students wearing SMU T-shirts came over to pet him. He ran to meet them.
When they left, he resumed his neck biting post.
“Doesn’t CTU need you?”
He opened his mouth to say something, but Norah came out and he resumed his innocent non-vampiric dog act by sticking out his pink tongue and running toward his mommy.
Saved.
But not for long.
On our way to Zest Fest 2005 (which reminds me, I really should send that poor girl, that had to work the ticket counter, a letter letting her know that she didn’t miss anything. I’d hate for her to wonder for the rest of her life.) we spotted a huge marquis advertising “Canine Agility Trials.”
“Oooh, let’s go!”
This is how it starts. You hold leash, end up at statewide dog agility trials.
Dog agility trials.
How did this start?
“I’m bored.”
“Me too.”
“Oh, My God! You know what would be sooo fun?”
“What?”
Let’s set up like five hurdles, a couple of ramps, some rubber tubes, weave poles and then send Lassie through it!
“YEAH! Ooh…and we should make like a see-saw and TIME it!”
Yess!!!
Fast forward three hundred years, add team T-shirts that say “Go Hard and Go Home,” dogs of all shapes and sizes, and voila! An afternoon of fun and amusement.
Well, not for the psychos in the matching T-shirts or the dogs who fail, but pretty much for everyone else.
I don’t know much about dog makes and models, so it’ll take a wee bit of imagination to begin to get a sense of the state-wide agility trials.
There was one dog, which looks like Dr. Evil’s hairless cat, if it were a dog.
This thing could run. At the starter gun, it was off like a shot, jumping hurdles, sliding down the ramps, wiggling itself through the tubey things, zig zagging through the poles.
I thought for sure it was done when it got to the see-saw, I mean, it couldn’t have weighed more than nine ounces soaking wet and stuffed with Purina.
But, it ran right up on the seesaw and when it got to the middle, the thing leaned its whole little body on its front paws, until the see, sawed all the way to the ground.
He then scurried down the ramp and crossed the finish line in record time.
The next doggie didn’t fare so well. This one looked like Lady from Lady & the Tramp.
She started out alright, but earned a foul when she jumped over hurdle 3 before hurdle 1. She then got a balk for jumping off the end of the ramp, inside of running down the end. The last and disqualifier misstep came on the poles.
The umpire blew the whistle and it was all over.
Her owner clipped on the leash and practically dragged her out of the arena.
The pair reappeared on the level where we were standing.
The dog was happily wagging her tail and barking.
“Shut up. Just shut up. You drink some water, and then I don’t want to hear another word from you,” the owner hissed through clenched fists and teeth.
Whoa Nelly.
Hers would not be the last disappointed owner/punished pet scene that day. There was the chihuahua whose owner wouldn’t even touch him after he was disqualified. The pit bull, yes, pit bull that was yelled at all the way back to his cage.
Of course, there were the stories of triumph – the dog owner that wouldn’t let her dog quit even though it was already disqualified. The plucky terrier that barked his way into the heads of the other dogs causing them to choke on the course.
He did a little victory dance when he crossed the finish line and yelled “in your snout” as he pointed his four paws at the competition.
I can’t believe the ref didn’t dock him for conduct unbecoming a dog.
What a son of a bitch. Get it…get it? HAHAHAHAHA
Walking down the streets of Fort Worth – where the West officially begins – we didn’t see any saloons with swinging doors, but we did see a bull standing on the corner. I actually got with in spitting distance of it.
Why is it Spaniards like to be chased by these things? Do they know about the horns?
Memo to self, tell the Spaniards about the horns.
Since there would be no other way to end a leash holding, bull observing, dog agility trials ending day in Forth Worth, we headed to the Rodeo.
The Mesquite Resistol Rodeo to be precise.
Ahhh…Resistol.
Really you smell the Rodeo long before you find your way to the seats waaaaaay up in the bleachers that were sold to you when you asked the ticket lady for suggestions about where to sit because you look poor.
We got there just in time for the singing of the National Anthem that started with a prayer.
Sitting in front of us was a family of four, grandparents, I think, and their two grandsons.
The oldest boy, who was maybe seven, at the most, was dressed in a crisply pressed white shirt, dark pants, cowboy boots and the matching cowboy hat. When we were called to stand for the singing of the anthem, he solemnly placed the hat over his heart in preparation. You can see a picture of him for yourselves, should be right next to adorable in the dictionary.
The rodeo is just like on TV….and by “TV” I mean, just like on ‘King of the Hill.’
It’s got sawdust on the ground, clowns and barrels and gates where bulls come shooting out with a huge man-sized lump on their backs. Cowboys go flying every which way, men on horseback chase the bulls back into their pens and the announcers mock everyone involved.
“Oh, sorry. The Australian cowboy gets no time for that performance. Looks like he’ll have to be content with just your appreciation.”
My favorite banter?
Announcer 1: “Come on, bull! Get back in there you bum. Your mama’s a cow and your sister’s a heifer.
Announcer 2: How do you know?
Announcer 1: I’ve been married to her for twenty years.
During the seventh inning stretch (well, that’s what I call it – I make no claim to understanding the sport of Rodeo, how it’s scored, what body slamming a calf and tying its legs have to do with anything or why oh why there was a Ben Hur Chariot race right in the middle), the announcer asked everyone from Texas to stand up.
“Turn to the people sitting and welcome them to God’s country.”
Based upon which, you’d think he was a Texan.
You’d be wrong.
“I’m from Oklahoma mahself. But we’ve got a little bit of Texas in us.”
Sad really.
Interspersed between the cowboy vs. upright calves competition, were events catered to the audience.
One crowd pleasing activity involved releasing two angry bulls into an arena where the rodeo clowns were playing poker. The PA system blasted the theme from jaws until the bulls gored the clowns in the butt and stomped the table and chairs into splinters.
Then there was the strapping of young children to the backs of racing sheep and timing them until they fell off.
At one point Norah said “we’ve come a long way from the Fort Worth agility trials.”
Personally, I wasn’t so sure.
He last non-competition event was the “children’s run.”
All the children in the stands, under age eight, were invited to the floor of the arena. About sixty kids were lined up several rows deep and given their instructions.
“Whoever is the first to tag the bull calf will win.”
Oh. This can’t be good.
The little cowboy in the row in front of us, headed down to the arena floor. His grandma offered to hold his hat for him, but he declined. I mean, really, grandma, a Bull Run without his hat? What are you thinkin’, woman?
He carefully made his way down the bleachers and onto the floor.
I took my eyes of him for a moment to stare at a woman who had brought a toddler down to the floor with her.
Suddenly, the little cowboy was back, he squeezed past his grandma and reclaimed his seat next to his brother.
“What happened?” She asked
He merely shook his head and stared at the mass of children lined up on the arena floor.
“You a chicken!” his little brother offered.
Again, he made no comment.
The starter gun went off and fourteen million children went tearing after the two bull calves in the pit. Seconds later, a whistle signaled that the game was over. A winner was declared.
As the officials were awarding the winner with his prize for tagging one calf, the other calf was on the other side of the arena.
And a little boy went after it.
From the stands, we had a clear view of little Timmy running up behind the calf, reaching out to touch it, the calf turning around and then charging him. The kid was trampled.
The calf went on to knock over two more kids, who were swooped up before they got trampled. The screaming got the attention of the officials and the calf was corralled and put back in the pens.
Two men brought out a stretcher for Timmy.
He seemed fine, but for the screaming.
The little cowboy, who also watched the whole scene unfold, stood up, turned to his grandmother and said:
“I didn’t want to be that kid.”
Seriously, adorable. Look it up.
The Rodeo broke up shortly after that and we headed back to the gayest little bar in Dallas.
It was my first time at a gay bar. Do they all have men two-stepping to Dolly Parton’s ‘best little whorehouse in Texas’ on the dance floor?
I thought so.
Oh, and you would not believe how fast the dance floor cleared out the minute the DJ played “YMCA.”
Go figure.
Well, that’s about it.
Jessica Simpson good; Village People bad.
Oh, and Jon taught me that twisters were invented because “there’s nothing God hates more than a double-wide.”
Go West, ladies and gents, Go West.

APPRENTICE BLOGGING

As a joke, I was going to pre-post my annual Apprentice message.

Good thing, I didn’t cause this Season, it needs tweaking.

Not all women of color are crazy.

That is all.

APPRENTICE: DIRTY WHORE

Sorry, I mean Apprentice: Martha Stewart.

Motto: Being the first self-made woman billionaire? It’s a good thing.

Oh, how Oprah would kick. her. ass.

9:06 rooting for Dawna!
9:06:37 Wait! Rooting for Dawn!
9:06:41 Or..Bethany…nah, Dawn it is. Unless she turns out to be a douche.
9:07 Dude, Charles looks just like George, but we like Tracy Chapman.
9:08 Oh Bethany is soooo gonna be the first one fired.
9:09…ummm…is this the whitest show ever or is it just me? Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I think the show will suck completely on it’s own merits.

SANITY BREAK TO WATCH LOST.

TIVO WORKS ITS MAGIC AND WE’RE BACK LIVE BLOGGING TWO HOURS LATER
11:09 “Meeting martha is the culmination of everything that I am” - Carrie “I should probably slit my wrists in the bathtub right now.”
11:10 “From the Producers of Jerry MaGuire…a movie about getting fired, getting dumped…” ummm…isn’t that Jerry MacGuire in a nutshell?
11:11 “Message from Martha!” “oooohhh…ahhhhhh” Kill me. Kill me now. I never thought I would think of “Tyra Mail” are creative.
11:12 Wait… is she Asian?
11:13 No.
11:13 Ummm…”no…it’ll make me feel like a limp wristed sissy boy?” Buddy, you’re trying to be MARTHA STEWART’S ASSISTANT…if that didn’t make you feel that way, nothing should.
11:14 Martha “Don’t be late!” Or obstruct justice. Just don’t.
11:15 Yes.
11:16 Didn’t they reveal these names in the credits.
11:17 Can’t wait for Television with Pity to make up a horrible nickname for Martha’s daughter, Alexis. Something that gies her an eating disorder or a drug habit, hopefully.
11:18 Jetblue sucks. These commercials also suck…wait… this is Tivo, why am I watching sucky commercials.
11:18 I love Martha giving advice. “Don’t drop the soap in the shower.”
11:19 Okay…she might be half.
11:20 Did Dawna apply her eyebrows with a magic marker?
11:20 Uh oh. Dawn’s having a meltdown…we officially now support Bethany.
11:22 Ummm…”THE DR. SEUSS ROOM” For real? Someone should sue.
11:23 “Shut up right now and listen!” Who’s getting fired? Who’s getting fired? Who?
11:24 CONFESSION: I started this live blog exercise as a public service…now I am just trying to get as many people as possible to suffer with me. More detailed reporting to follow.
11:24 Dawn “I want a banana before I talk.”
11:25 “You should stop engaging me. I am going to take a shower now. You may join me in the bathroom, if you want, but I am going to be naked. I’m not kidding.” Kidding? Jeff, that sounded like a threat. Someone should sue.
11:27 Ummm…did that story say we hate our mom, let’s run away and cross the street by ourselves?
11:28 Hansel & Gretel? Jack & the Beanstalk? Wait…a…minute….they didn’t make these stories up! Theives. Someone should sue!
11:29 Dawna, wash your eyebrows off!
11:30 PRIMARIUS! Look at your toga, how can you expect to show up at the coliseum like that.? Do you want me to throw you to the lions.
11:31 Martha: “As a reward, you get to eat with me. ” The utensils will be plastic.
11:32 Fast forward the reward dinner? “It’s on art on the table.” Yup. WAIT, WHAT?
11:33 Howie: “I could possibly be falling in love with Martha Stewart”
11:33 “Dawn can be sacrificed at any time.” Kicking Jim’s ass. “He screwed up, so he’s gone.”
11:35 Jim: “You’re either with me or against me….we need to sacrifice some lambs.” Jim needs to move to Priamrius.
11:36 Martha “We’re into the thick of it…aren’t we.”
11:36 “As a parent” hahahahahahahahahahahahahah
11:36 I have a Master’s Degree in English.
11:37 “One of my favorite Grimm’s fairytales” Of course, Martha favors the story of the witch baking children into a pie.
11:39 “I choose Dawn.”
11:40 I never thought I’d miss Donald Trump.
11:40 I’m meeeeeellllting; meeeelllllting, meeellllting.
11:41 Is it me or is Alexis terrrrified of her mother? NO wire hangers!
11:42 What will Martha’s catch phrase be? “You’re guilty! You’re a bad thing!
11:42 Jim is such a tool.
11:43 Uh oh…is Dawn getting fired?
11:44 “You don’t fit in. Goodbye”? You don’t fit in? WHO THE HELL WRITES THIS CRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP
11:45 MARTHA WRITES A DEAR JEFFREY LETTER? “Not to fail, but not to fully succeed.”
11:45 Well, I do believe Miss Manners requires a handwritten note after telling someone they just don’t fit.
11:46 Oh my gosh. I am crying. I have never taken more pleasure in hitting the ‘Erase Now’ button on my remote.

LOST BLOGGING

Oh, COME ON.

HAHAHAHAHAHHAHAH

Oh, Arrested Development, what will we do when Fox no longer suffers your low ratings?

via Big Orange Michael

On an unrelated note, if anyone in the New York area has a copy of the Gilmore Girls Season premiere that they would want to share…

PRISON WON’T BE CUPCAKE FOR LIL KIM

Hip Hop star sentenced to confinement in Philly.

Earlier, she issued a statement saying she had “unfortunately” been assigned to the concrete, high-rise Philadelphia facility instead of to a prison camp “as discussed.”

“Why should a female hip-hop artist have to spend time in an urban concrete jungle while other female prisoners are assigned to rural, suburban-type prison camps?” said McMillan, adding that he would seek to have his client reassigned.

Who woulda thunk that a black woman would be begging to be shackled down in West Virginia?

Boy have times changed.