Friday, December 28, 2007

Druggie nymphomaniacs have feelings, too

I feel bad for Lindsay Lohan. I never thought I'd say that.

Her little douchebag rehab fling is telling the whole world the juicy sexual details of their relationship. And he's flashing pictures, too. Can't a girl enjoy a roll in the hay with a mere mortal substance abuser without courting tabloid revenge? Guess not.

Reason number one million and two not to get busy with anyone you meet in rehab. That plan never works.

Fortunately, in the same column, MSNBC also reports that Martha Stewart showed off her prison art--a clay nativity scene she made while at the Big House--on her Christmas Day TV show. It's like the yin and yang of fabulously tacky celebrity incarceration stories.

Thursday, December 27, 2007

I have an alibi

While you people are watching me, I'm watching you, too. Every once in a while I check SiteMeter to see who has so much free time that they would actually read my blog. The answer? My mom. And a tiny group of fans. I'm huge in New Zealand and Antioch. (Thank you, loyal readers). Every once in awhile, I get someone new, a high school friend who Googled me or someone searching for a discounted Butterscotch Pony.

But today I saw something weird and kinda scary. Yesterday morning, I had a hit from Pakistan. That never happens. My mom never goes to Pakistan. I clicked the entry point to see if this Pakistani fan just had to know my opinion on overpriced Japanese pencils, or roving packs of lesbian teens. Turns out this person clicked onto my blog through my entry on A Perfect Mess. Odd that someone in such a culture would be focusing on the celebration of slovenliness. But the headline on that entry: Vindication is Ours.

Given the events of the past 24 hours? Yikes.

While I'm reasonably sure that my diatribe about neat freaks did not directly influence the assassination of Benazir Bhutto, the timing is uber-creepy. Was it an opposition hater? Or the CIA? Are black helicopters flying over my house right now? In case the Bush administration comes beating down my door to drag me to Gitmo, let me state for the record that I was here the whole time. Working. Reading. Playing with the kids. Blogging about something completely stupid and non-fundamentalist in nature. And Pakistan, don't drag me into your bullshit. I have plenty of bullshit of my own to keep me busy.

Wednesday, December 26, 2007

Watch out, walls

A week ago, I ran into my doorway and scraped the shit out of my hand. My knuckles were bleeding and it hurt like hell. But my hand looked totally tuff. I had an obvious injury, but I couldn't go around telling everyone I bumped into my own door. Because that would make me a moron. (ahem) So I decided to tell people I punched a wall.

Hey, guys do it all the time. So much so that ER doctors have a name for this particular outburst of macho--the Boyfriend Break. My husband did it when he was in college and his psycho girlfriend was making him crazy, man. The most well-bred, well-mannered gentleman I know could not resist the wall punch when his kids just would. not. sleep. Which cracks me up because I could sooner see Miss Manners punching a wall than this guy.

I even remember my dad doing it when I was 7. I was not being a morning person and my mom was trying to leave my dad with the horrific task of getting me off to school. He not only punched the wall, but the wall was made of cheap drywall and he punched a hole clean through to the other side. He was pissed, but somewhere deep inside I bet he felt like a total badass for punching a fist-sized hole in our house. And that wall never fucked with him again.

Shockingly, no one believed me when I said I punched a wall. Rick said that was just because they didn't know me well enough. I've still got the scabs on my hand. Maybe I just need a little more embellishment to secure my rep. I could be the only mom at Tea's preschool with LOVE and HATE tattooed across my knuckles. That would be cool.

Sunday, December 16, 2007

Parade of fools

It's Sunday! Do you know what that means? Yes, it is the Lord's day. And I subscribe to a special religion where Sunday is reserved for one activity, and one only--reading Walter Scott's Personality Parade in Parade magazine.

We are completely fascinated by the Personality Parade. How can you not be? It's a collection of the most moronic questions you could ever ask about celebrities. It really makes you think about life. For instance, are there really people out there stupid enough to ask these questions? Or, does Parade think we are stupid enough that they can make this shit up and we'll believe other people are stupid enough to write in? It's a philosophical question for the ages.

I mean really. If you had one question to ask about one celebrity, would it be, "Who does Brian Boitano think are the prospects for America's ice skaters in 2010?" Or would it be, "Was Britney Spears really found in a motel room in Riverside with a stripper and an eight ball?"

Our friend Tony is also fascinated with Personality Parade. One of his goals in life is to get a question in the column. So far, he hasn't been able to come up with anything ridiculous enough to make it in. But I think this year is going to be our year. I can feel it. There are just too many unanswered questions about Bea Arthur's life. The public needs to know.

Tony, chase your dream.

Saturday, December 15, 2007

Boulder--a safe space for spinning

Remember my horrid experience with the type-A spin freaks at the JCC? Here is another example of how Boulder is different than San Francisco--in a good way. This morning I went to spin class at the Boulder YMCA. Apparently the 9:30 class is quite popular--when I got there the sign-up sheet was nearly full. But I did snag a spot and I went upstairs.

I walked into the room and ta da, all the bikes were full. "I signed up," I said. The instructor said, this always happens. There are 18 spots on the sign-up sheet and 20 bikes. Those of you who are good at math have already figured out that should leave 2 extra bikes, even when the sheet is full. There were no extra bikes. Spin class crashers--it was JCC redux.

While I was trying to decide whether to curl up in fetal position in the corner and ride out the bad flashback or resort to public shaming to smoke out the offender, a nice man offered me his bike. He was a holdover from the earlier class, so he said he could pass on this one. In fact, he insisted that I take it.

Wow. Such a change from Dickheads on Wheels in San Francisco, where everyone just stared around the room with blank looks and said, "Who, ME? Lalalala." Not only that, but I like the fact that Boulderites are shifty enough to try to crash spin class, but nice enough not to go through with it in the end. It's like just the right amount of assholishness without completely spilling over into pure evil. Much how I try to live my own life. I must be in the right place.

Boulder doesn't suck. Next time I'm searching for a decent pair of shoes that don't involve Vibram or I run out of wine on Sunday, I'll have to remember that.

Thursday, December 06, 2007

Web site of the week

How Roy Orbison lost 20 pounds in just 10 days


I've been looking for a site that serves this EXACT purpose. I know you have too.

http://www.michaelkelly.fsnet.co.uk/karl.htm

Hello, and welcome to my homepage. My name is Ulrich Haarb├╝rste and I like to write stories about Roy Orbison being wrapped up in cling-film. If you have written any stories about Roy being completely wrapped in clingfilm please send them to me and I may put them up on the site. ...

As my friend Joe said, "Who doesn't want to read fan fiction involving Roy Orbison wrapped in cling-film?"

And who hasn't written at least three or four of them? Here's your chance to shine. Ulli is waiting.


Wednesday, December 05, 2007

Not-so-Safeway

Earlier this week I made a shopping run to Safeway at 28th and Iris. As I picked out produce and organic snacks, it seemed like any other grocery trip. Ho hum. But then, as I was getting milk, I heard someone say, "Get the FUCK DOWN, and STAY down!" and then heard a struggle.

I looked back into Organic Produce and saw two plainclothes cops wrestling a perp to the ground. And he was resisting arrest, big time. They were trying to subdue him and get the cuffs on. I swear, it was like an episode of COPS. When they finally got him cuffed, one cop went to call for backup and the other one held him there. So here was this agitated guy in cuffs, face down, next to the mixed greens.

What happened? Was this a high-speed pursuit that ended in Safeway? Did he try to rob the store? Was he trying to put a genetically-modified tomato in with the organic ones? Sixteen items in the 15 items or less aisle? Who knows?

In my lifetime I have been in some skank-ass markets. The White Hell Pantry next to the El stop. The 24-hour Safeway in Upper Market, a tweakers' paradise. And of course, the nasty Cala at Haight and Stanyan, where I was always the only customer not shoplifting or trying to buy vodka with food stamps. This store in Boulder? Quite possibly the nicest, cleanest, most well-stocked Safeway I've ever seen.

Random.

Sunday, December 02, 2007

How the other half lives

A very nice family from Gianni's class invited us to ride along in their truck for the Boulder Holiday Parade. We were going to head into Denver for their holiday parade, but how can I deprive my children of the opportunity to ride in a parade? So we stayed local to wave and throw lollipops at people.

I've been feeling a little melancholy in the past week. As much as I love Boulder, it's hard to spend the holiday season in a place where you're new. People are going to parties and seeing friends and loved ones, and you're, well, not. In fact, in my case, you feel like you're traveling in a closed tube between work and home, between software white papers and potty training. It can get you down. So I looked forward to having a holiday-related social outing.

And it starts out fun as promised. We ride downtown in the back of a construction truck filled with hay bales and two other families. Gianni is in heaven. Tea is being a pill, but what else is new. All is hunky-dory until we get to the staging area. It turns out that the Barack Obama contingency is riding behind us in the lineup.

John, our host, turns to everyone and says, "Uh-oh, we've got Democrats behind us," and the rest of the group says, "Oh no!"

Oh no?! OH NO??? Great. Our one holiday outing of the season, with people who seem like they could be friends, and it turns out they're the only four Republicans in Boulder. How did this HAPPEN? How could Rick spend every morning this semester talking to this guy at drop off and not realize that he was the big R? And I know he didn't, because this is my husband who has been known to say, "if I found out someone I knew voted Republican, I would shun them." (He has a flair for the dramatic.)

This is a genuine social conundrum for us. Keep in mind that we are coming from a place where, if we were riding in the back of a truck full of hay, and I said, for example, "Dick Cheney sucks cocks in hell," 99.99 percent of the other passengers would agree with me. Hell, in Boulder, you'd think that at least 97.9 passengers would agree. How in god's name did we end up riding with the other 2.1 percent??? What to do? Should we just smile and throw suckers at people? Or should we jump ship and hope that the Obama float will take us in?

I spent the first 15 minutes of the night worried that I would get stuck debating health care, and the next 15 minutes terrified that someone would bring up the R-word and Gianni would blurt out, "But Dad, you said all Republicans were EVIL!" But it all turned out fine. We had a great time, went out for pizza afterwards, talked about all of the things we had in common, and avoided the subject of 2008 entirely. It was a fine, non-partisan time for all.

We learned a valuable lesson last night. Republicans are people too. But I'm still glad we snuck that Obama sign onto the back of their truck before we left.

Saturday, December 01, 2007

Something stinks, and it's not the dog

The New York Times reports that people are buying up luxury perfume for dogs to prevent their beloved pets from stinkin' up the pet-friendly workplace. One brand, Sexy Beast, retails for $65. This unisex fragrance (Unisex. I'm not kidding) is a “blend of bergamot and vanilla-infused musk combined with natural patchouli, mandarin and nutmeg oils.” Best of all, it's vegan. Because, you know, dogs are big vegans.

So instead of having dog whiff in your cubicle, you have a mixture of essential oils AND dog whiff. Lovely. And I don't know about you, but patchouli? I'd rather have my dog smell like a dog than like some 19-year-old hippie on Phish tour. Also, what if you work in a perfume-free environment? THEN what? It's really not fair if your dog gets to wear perfume but your co-workers don't.

I will out myself as having the stinkiest dog on the planet. I love him, but he reeks. And he takes every opportunity to make himself stink more. Wet leaves, squirrel pee, dried earthworms, you name it, he rolls in it. Still, it would be somewhat jarring if he suddenly started smelling like Zsa Zsa Gabor.


You can smell him from here.


Because it's my mission to keep you from blowing $65 on canine cologne, here is my gift to you--my secret weapon against dog stink.

On a camping trip a few years ago, we stopped off at the beach. Vito, a true beach boy, ran off to dig holes and chase sticks. At one point we lost track of him. Where did he go? Oh, no worries, he's over rubbing against that log. That log with flippers. And whiskers. And rigor mortis.

Yes, Vito had discovered the biggest, stank-ass dead seal he could find and he immersed himself. Every inch of him smelled like dead seal. We faced a night in a tiny tent with The Seal Whisperer. We had forgotten our bottle of Sexy Beast, and pretty much anything else we could use to bathe him or remove the stink. The only thing I had in the car was one of those teeny tiny bottles of Purell that you get at Walgreens for 99 cents. With nothing to lose, we poured whatever was left in the bottle all over Vito.


If this is on the list of ingredients, don't buy it.


And damned if it didn't work. The little bit of Purell eradicated every bit of seal stank. To this day, Vito's beauty routine consists of regular baths and the occasional dab of Purell behind his ear.

So if you're worried that your dog is feeling not-so-fresh, save yourself $64.01 and stock up on Purell. It doesn't come in a holiday bling package. And I can't vouch that it's vegan. But it'll do the trick.