Queso, My Friend, My Love, My Life

The Boy's mother is visiting, and we took her to Trudy's tonight, where she was a bit confounded by queso.  She wanted to know what it was (CHEESE, my god lady, it is MELTED CHEESE!), and then wanted to make sure she was doing it right.  Is there a wrong way to do queso?  I find that licking the bowl is perfectly acceptable.  Though, to be clear, only I am allowed to lick the bowl.  Your tongue may come nowhere near my queso.  We can always tongue kiss after I eat my queso; I suppose I am open to that. 
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I know I promised to discuss my Boston trip, but it seems so far away now.  My little fantasy bubble has popped, and I'm back to being my typical curmudgeonly self, which mainly consists of being resentful at work, and grumpy at home.  They don't call me Grumples for nothing. 

Basically, I had tons of fun with Ivy Vyne, Double-N and Laroux.  I ate way too much food, steadily drank alcohol, froze my ass off and then mysteriously got it back while sleeping, did some accidental trick-shots during a few games of pool, and fired my first gun (where I am so terrible at it, that instead of shooting the target, I actually shot an overhead light out...no really, that's exactly what I did.  I think I almost cried in embarrassment, but The Boy texted me to say it's okay, because it's exactly what Ian McCulloch would have done).  There was the night of Settlers of Catan where I kicked ass and built the longest road known to Catanians.  Double-N's roommate drunkenly felt up my arm while everyone else was discussing some Disney DVDs on the shelf.  This only happens to me, I swear. 

It was an amazing trip.  I will be back in the late summer to fetch Ivy Vyne, and bring her back to Austin, permanently (mwuhuhuhuh-huh).  Oh, and I was bit by her dog my first night there.  Loup bit me.  That rascally, over-protective bitch.  She's going to be a medium-small ball of angry fun in the car during our roadtrip.  I look forward to her biting my cheek and making me go deaf with her incessant barking.  Joy!
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I blame this banana for making me such a bad shot.

Though, I guess this gun made me a little jittery, too.

Sadly, I have no picture of the light I shot out--I was too busy crying on the inside, and avoiding eye contact with everyone.  I didn't take many pictures while I was there--I was too preoccupied with it not being my real life.  Or I was too drunk, possibly too cold, and definitely really sleepy (I always end up having a cold when I go to New England--it is beyond a coincidence now, my body must be trying to tell me something).  And, my dear bowls of melted cheese, that, that was Boston.

Did We Win While I Wasn't Looking?

Despite having some serious misanthropic tendencies, I am a fierce believer in human rights.  While I may tell everyone to shut the fuck up and die out of one side of my mouth, I will turn around and help people even if it means hurting my own self in the process.  A long time ago, Wikus advised that I should probably stop taking care of everyone else, and start taking care of myself.  I'm a mother hen without the peeps.  I may not want to actually have to deal with people, but I am thoroughly invested in making sure people are treated equitably.  It seems so simple to me.  Yet, obviously, it isn't.

Yesterday, I let myself get very annoyed by some anti-union sentiments on FB.  This emotional tangle of nerves I have been in for the past months made me want to knock some heads together.  Which is not exactly an appropriate response, except it does seem like the easiest thing to do.  It is easy to dis on unions, and I think even easier for people my age who have never had to work a hazardous, back-breaking job.  Jobs where you are easily replaceable by someone else who is desperate and willing to put his/her life literally on the line.  Or work a job where you are responsible for the actual well-being of other humans (like teachers).  In every job, there is a bottom line, a profit margin that must be met, and quite often, that is at the expense of the workers. 

This is so frustrating to me--I don't even want to be writing this.  It is so innate to me.  I am having a hard time believing there is even a need to write this.  If we don't fight for our rights, we won't have any.  Whether that be at work, reproductive rights (and shit, reproductive health for fuck's sake), sexuality, race, religion, you fucking name it.  Sure, you can say unions are not relevant today, but can that possibly be true?  Is there really nothing else to fight for?  Did we win when I wasn't looking?  Has sexual harassment been eliminated?  Do all employers gladly provide affordable health insurance and contribute to retirement funds?  Are employees no longer encouraged to work more for less money?  Is there a clear path for advancement whether it be through promotion or education?  Are we all as employer and employee invested in doing what is best for the company and the individual?  Can we answer yes to all those questions?  Hell no. 

There's this idea that if you don't like your job, you don't like your boss, you don't like how you are being treated at work, you can feel free to go find a different job.  Sure, yes, that is true, but why is that an acceptable attitude?  It makes me vomit on myself a bit.  No need to hold an employer accountable, just find a different job!  Oh, you were abused as a worker?  Stop your bitching, find another job!  Never mind the fact that finding a new job is next to impossible these days, why would you ever accept any individual or group degrading you in some way?  In general, if I am feeling used, I don't walk away from it. 

Complacency is evil.  Please stand up for what you deserve as a human, as a person, even if you aren't in a union (I'm not), appreciate what they have fought for and what they still are fighting for.  Employers only make concessions because we not only asked for rights, but we have demanded them.  We are not dollars, and should not be treated as if that is all we have to contribute in life. 

Now, don't make me go knock your naive, stupid heads together.  Educate yourself.  Talk to people who work in a service industry of some type.  Talk to the public and private sectors.  See if you can shadow someone on a job to really understand what his/her day is like (like a treatment plant worker or an EMT).  Perhaps read some federal laws to understand that some basic assumptions you probably have are not mandated--for instance, there is no federal law that employers have to provide rest breaks.  It is left up to the states to decide if they want to pass those sort of employee-right laws.  Guess what?  Texas doesn't give a fuck if you don't get a break.  If you are a little crabby that your employer doesn't let you take a lunch during an 8-hour period, and you work in Texas, you have zero recourse.  But oh, right, you can just get another job.  I forgot.

Wanted: One New Liver

Hello there, did you miss me?  I've certainly missed all of you--there's something about the combination of being on vacation, stuck on a plane, and reading a short-story anthology that makes me really want to start writing again.  Serious writing.  Short-story writing.  Yet, because that combination rarely happens, I don't see me sitting down and doing it.  I had so many great thoughts on the plane yesterday, but they are lost to my exhausted Swiss-cheese brain.  I swear I should just go back on my meds for all the good my brain is doing me off of them.  Blogging will just have to suffice.

At some point I'll detail my vacation, but I just can't right now.  I am so damn tired.  My liver hates me.  I'm pretty sure he has packed his bags and is going to move out no matter how much I beg him not to.  He's muttering something fierce about booze and fatty foods.  I must take some care of myself and get some quality sleep.  First some Grey's Anatomy, though, you know, to dull the senses.  Then maybe America's Next Top Model to really really make sure.  It is The Boy's birthday, so I can't become too desensitized.  He's not going to want to watch those shows...or any shows for that matter.  There are birthday expectations!

To give a taste of my vacation, here are some pics:

Are Those Your Pants!

Here in Boston, it's okay to leave your cords lying at the foot of the stairs. Thus they are always readily accessible for those quick trips out in to the blustery winds when you are pantless, and provides a handy place to wipe dirty snow off your feet when you return.

Posted from Blogium for iPhone

Body-Scanner Fretting and Several Text Convos with Nauticalina

Soon, a matter of six hours in fact, I will be leaving for Boston.  The nice thing about flying out of Austin is I don't need to fret about people getting a free looksies at my bits.  The Austin-Bergstrom airport is a nice, compact airport.  I love it for its simplicity.  There's just one, long, gently curved area that all traffic arrives and departs from.  If you are inclined to always run late, this is the airport suited for your needs.  The nicest part is it being a second-floor terminal, the floor cannot support the weight of the full-body scanners.  Brahahahaha!  It's a relatively new airport (opened in 1999), and its fancy, modern design is getting in the way of asinine terrorist-prevention efforts.  Score for people like me who cannot stand the idea of scanners. 

On a recent return trip from Florida, Meggles was forced to not only endure the scanner, but also a pat-down, because apparently, the scanner isn't enough to detect if a woman wearing a tank-top, leggings and a wrap-around skirt is smuggling something underneath her clothing.  Her husband had to go through the same thing, and even had his wallet rifled through (he was holding it above his head during the full-body scan just as he was instructed to do).  So my lovely got a dose of radiation and a pat-down.  Please prepare to see me on the national news Tuesday evening.  I will cause a scene if this happens to me.  I will be opting out of the body scan at Logan, and going straight to the pat-down; thus, chances for a scene are slightly decreased.  I refuse to get upset thinking about it right now. 

I'll send out a note if I am about to get arrested.  Then I'll send out another one when I escape from the handcuffs (Note of full disclosure: I kind of want to get arrested just to see if I can actually slip out of the handcuffs--the bones in my hand are practically collapsible).  The only thing left to determine is if I will go running around the airport trying to evade the cops.  Which will entirely depend on how terrible my allergies are that day--my death wish being directly proportional to the amount of snot in my body.
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Texting with Nauticalina:

Our Thoughts on A Boy
N:...Annoying.  Oh, well.  He's probably bad in bed...Too bony and self-conscious.
G:...I bet he doesn't go down on a girl.  Or, if he does, he surfaces within a minute all proud of himself.

Our Thoughts on My Ass' Cash-Value When Determining Oral-Sex Pricing
N:...That's good.  You don't want to freeze off your massive donk.
G: No kidding.  How would I bring all the boys to the schoolyard without it?
N: Offer them your world-famous $5 BJ
G: I can charge $10, though, with this ass.
N: Yeah, but $15 would be pushing it.
G: I know. Sniffs.

Our Thoughts on Days-Gone-By
N: I picked up a few tricks during my short film-making days.
G: Of course. While I just picked up tricks.

Our Thoughts on the Necessity and Direct Availability of Rubber Sheets
G:...I'm pretty confident he'll be really awesome and a good house guest.  Unlike you and all that peeing in the bed you do.
N: I do it on purpose.
G: It never occurred to me that it could have been accidental.
N: You are wise to lay out the rubber sheets.
G: I'll just borrow them from your bed.
N: You can't.  I've currently got your mother handcuffed to the bed posts.
G: I'll just take the sheets out from underneath her.  It'll be no trouble at all.

My Parsimonious Ways

Holy Bejus, I'm being subjected to hearing the most boring, work-related phone conversation ever.  The Boy, for reasons that are unfathomable to me, is going over line by line some score (I'm assuming it's Haydn's The Seasons)...reading each word...slowly...sometimes repeating it.  The world of choir and sheet music is just baffling to me.  It seems to me, in my naivete I'm sure, that one would just email a PDF of the score, and be done with it.  Tell those singers to print and highlight their parts, or feel the wrath of my impatience.  Obviously I would make a very mean choir master (that's what he asks me to call him in bed...or what I know he wishes I'd call him in bed).  I'm sure there is a very good reason why he's doing what he's doing. 

To spice up my evening, I modified my preferred-channel list on the DVR in both the livingroom and bedroom.  I realize how jealous all of you are of me right now.  My life is the epitome of exciting.  Then I folded laundry.  Dripping, wet excitement.

Last Friday, I did get out of the house, and had a good time with the gang at this place called Pinballz.  It was a wet dream for the boys, who could make two quarters last for over 30 minutes.  However, I could only make them last an average of 3 minutes.  I found I had a slight knack for skee ball, but not enough to overcome the nagging feeling that I would have done just as well throwing coins in PVC pipes.  Seems pinball and arcade games tap in to a deep vein of anxiety in me.  I hate sucking at something, and I hate sucking even more when I'm having to pay for it.  I'm totally a flat-rate type of girl.  I'll pay $7.50 for a night of rollerskating, and I can be terrible but pretend I'm totally awesome, and because I'm not having to dump quarters in a slot every time I stumble, I can keep the fantasy alive. 

Thus, since I am such a controlling, sore-loser cheapskate, my evenings will remain being all about programming the DVR.  Hold me back, I'm out of control. 

Mouth Skins

Every thing about today was geared toward getting ready for Boston.  Even when I was up on a ladder wiring a light to our slanted ceiling, I was preparing for Boston.  Same goes when The Boy and I finally fixed the light in our breakfast nook (somehow a wire got disconnected a year ago February when the fixture was jostled when we did our first round of hardwood-floor installation).  Thus, our house is full of light, and I can leave for a long vacation knowing that there is nothing else I really have to do home improvement-wise.  Yay!  I also went to Target, Sally's and Walgreens.  I cut and dyed my hair.  I did a mass ton of laundry, and even folded it.  I started packing my pink suitcase, which the cats will all take turns sleeping in until I take it away from them on Thursday.

Am I excited or what?

Now this post has to end now, before I've said anything remotely exciting, because I am off to Nauticalina's to watch Torchwood.  She's been gone all weekend, and misses my face like I miss her mouth skins with lemons and limes.  What?  That' doesn't make a lick of sense.  It does to us.

Do You Deserve It, Though?

Hey, if you're in or near Seattle (or just really desperate) and would enjoy some free beer and sausage, send my friend Meggles a message detailing why you are deserving of her generosity.  It will be completely at her discretion to determine if you are good enough to receive her free stuff.  She's way nicer than me, so chances are you will get what you ask for (in the food and libation department only, people!).

Ghost in the Mirror

Sometimes, when I slip in to the driver seat of my car, I catch my reflection in the rear-view mirror, and realize how much I'm starting to look like my mother.  The way the light hits my cheek shows a certain softness and slight sag.  No one knows my mother.  There's no way for me to know if I'm seeing things, but it has to be glimpses of an older me.  An almost imperceptible slackness that will eventually lead to jowls like my granny's.  I haven't seen my mother in almost 15 years.  I have a hard time imagining what she must look like now.  Probably sad and tired. 

It's startling to see glimpses of my mother.  I inherited her pale skin and plump thighs, but my face has always been all my own.  Neither my mother or father can be found there.  Yet, here she is, and I suppose she will probably emerge more quickly now, stop being a ghost in the mirror and settle more permanently in the lines around my mouth and the shadows under my eyes.  My vanity is suffering enough with this whole growing old business--I didn't really need to be reminded of my mother while it's happening.

As a child, I always hoped I was adopted. Yet, looking at photos of my paternal grandmother as a teenager, I obviously was not adopted.  The only consolation being that she was a serious knock-out as a young lady.  Sadly she married a mean man, and was the first of my grandparents to die.  I loved her dearly, and have never been as close to another relative as I was to her.  She made the best scrambled eggs, and let me play with her arm flab (oh, yes, I am completely horrified now by her generosity--letting me tug and slap around her flesh like that).  I rarely got to see her since my family only lived near her for the first four years of my life, but I remember how I felt when she held me. 

My granny had jowls, and one day I will, too.  My fat cheeks have kept me looking much younger than I really am, so it is only fair that one day they will give away my true age. If only my mother didn't have to be a part of that image.  So it goes.

Therefore, I'll just have to keep rocking the sexy-red-tights-striped-socks look.

Wintry Rant Number Two

So, where was I? Bitching about Texans and wintry weather?  Why yes, yes I was, and I am going to do a bit more of it. 

After that TERRIFYING three-quarters of an inch of snow on Friday that closed down the city and left the majority of town driving 25mph on completely dry roads, the weekend was beautiful--sunny and in the 70s.  So amazing.  But of course another coldfront is on its way--I haven't received any notice if it is another ACF (tm)--and the good, moronic fucktards of this town, who spend an excessive portion of the year whining that Texas doesn't have seasons, and oh my, wouldn't it be most excellent if it snowed, are asking me to cancel my quarterly meeting on Wednesday because there is a 50% chance of sleet.  Never mind the fact that there is no way a single bit of frozen precipitation could possibly stick to the ground.  White stuff is going to fall from the sky...again!  How will we survive?  Shouldn't I be at the grocery store right this very second buying water and band-aids and Spaghetti-O's? 

Of course I hate that it is cold, and have taken to lazing in a hot bath every night instead of making love to the couch.  Okay, sure, I took a bath when it was warm out, too, but I blame Nauticalina and Bath Junkie.  Who doesn't want to luxuriate in cotton-candy smells?  Therefore, I don't plan on stopping this behavior any time soon. 

This afternoon, I was buying a small bag of very expensive catfood at one of those cute family-owned pet stores where they go out of their way to look as anti-big box store as possible by employing a general sense of disarray and rustic charm.  They also let a few animals freely roam, and sass you in a bossy-yet-pleasant way.  A green parrot was hanging out on the counter. He tried to steal my pen as I signed the credit-card slip.  It was really odd to have this bright green bird within inches of my hand.  I could have grabbed that little dude.  It was a bit unnerving--I realized that most of us are so used to birds flying away any time we get within feet of them, to have a bird not only stay put, but get closer and tried to take something I was holding, was a bit surreal.  And I really did want to grab it, but felt that was unwise.  So I walked away and admired a Maine coon kitten, while an extremely obese tuxedo cat demanded food.  Sadly, I have no picture of the parrot.  I apologize.

Naivete Revealed Through Caps

While my friends in Chicago are digging out from 22" of snow, and my Boston friends have practically already died a long, tragic, snow-filled death, there are flurries here in Austin.  OH. MY. GOD.  The end is nigh.  This morning, when there was nary a flake, they were already talking about closing down the city tomorrow.  The mere mention of snow send paroxysms of fear through the dear, dear people of this town. Never mind the fact that they are talking less than an inch of accumulation (to be fair, the worse-case scenario is three inches).  We're in an Arctic Cold Front (ACF), people! (On Tuesday, our building manager sent us a warning about the Arctic Cold Front, and all those caps made me realize how naive I was being about the situation.)  Thus, if you feel I haven't been blogging as much as I should, please remember I am suffering first-world problems like fretting about rolling black-outs and if it is okay to make love to my space heater at 10am or if I should wait for later in the afternoon.  The highs have been in the 20s, and our small little Texas minds are shattering.

I just see it as a great practice run for my Boston visit in two weeks.  I've lived in snow and ice and sub-zero temperatures.  I think I can handle a week of this awfulness.  Am I happy about it?  Fuck no!  However, it's going to be 60 on Saturday.  Therefore I'll just keep wearing lots of clothes, and kindly reminding my boss that it's her fault for saying there would be a chance of snot later in the week.