Thursday, November 30, 2006

Will I Make It To OK?

Oh, the weather outside is frightful,
But the fire is so delightful
(would be if we had a fireplace)
And since we've no place to go,
(but I do, dangit!)
Let it snow! Let it snow! Let it snow!

It doesn't show signs of stopping,
And I've brought some corn for popping,
(I'm not hungry)
The lights are turned way down low,
(it's 6:30 in the morning, what do you expect?)
Let it snow! Let it snow! Let it snow!


Wednesday, November 29, 2006


"I love socks during the holidays," she says. "Thick, cute socks with little fun things on them like cherries or skulls."

~Carmen Electra

(It's actually quite surprizing how many pictures came up on Google when I entered "skull socks." I've never even seen skull socks before today...)

Monday, November 27, 2006


Yesterday I went to the mall. I survived. Barely.

70 degrees today. 36 degrees Thursday. Cool.

I'm feeling dry and un-explaination point-y today. Hey, it's Monday.

Saturday, November 25, 2006


Hi-ho, hi-ho, it's off to work I go...again (at least it's fun, right?)

Thursday, November 23, 2006

Ta Da

I've had this song in my head for weeks and weeks, every time I think about what to blog. So I thought I'd share (that's what Thanksgiving is all about, right?)

On top of Old Smoky
all covered with cheese
I lost my poor meatball
when somebody sneezed.

It rolled off the table
and onto the floor
and then my poor meatball
rolled out of the door.

It rolled in the garden
and under a bush
and three weeks later
it was nuthin' but mush.

Happy Thanksgiving, turkeys!

(Ok, I was using that as a cute term of endearment for my friends, but when I consider it, this probably isn't a happy day for turkeys...sad little guys...I'll only eat a few bites of you, don't worry.)

Tuesday, November 21, 2006

Weather and Where Home Is

I heard the words "eighty degrees" and "Thanksgiving" in the same sentence today.


I'm thinking of a song. Starts with, "Guess he'd rather be in..."

And that's where I want to be.

Monday, November 20, 2006


Saturday, November 18, 2006

A Few Clarifications

I thought I would clear a few things up from my post yesterday.

First, not all UGGs are bad. There are some really great shoes out there that pick up the bad rap from the wayward cousin, the boots.

Second, if you wear the boots under your jeans, that is just fine and dandy. It's the whole package, the 3 feet of bare leg, that kill me.

Just so I don't alienize all of my readers...


Friday, November 17, 2006

Geez Louise

The UGG boots are killing me.

I saw a girl the other day (in 50 degree weather) wearing pink UGG boots, a matching pink shirt and daisy duke denim shorts.

And then there is always the 2 or 3 girls a day who, try as they may, can't quite pull off the tucking of the jeans. Part of the hem is bunched up in the back, sticking out uncomfortably...

Seriously, people. (And CZ, this is for you...) Do we see Kate Moss wearing UGG boots? Certainly not.

Unless you live in Alaska and have to walk uphill 2 miles both ways to get wherever you go every day (although if this were the truth, it would probably actually ruin those oh-so-fahsionables), leave them at home (or I can think of something better to do with them if you need advice.) Just use them as slippers.

And if you wear UGG boots as part of your wardrobe...I'm sorry. In more ways than one.

Thursday, November 16, 2006


I saw the Presidente again last night. It's been way too long. I think he and I need to set a weekly date, along with his friend, Mr. Molten. They're the best friends a girl could ask for!

Wednesday, November 15, 2006


I miss my family (hi family.)

Monday, November 13, 2006

Well Said

"I should have been their [Ally McBeal's] target viewer, but I loathed the pathetic heroine who always looked like she needed a bacon sandwich followed by a good slap."

-Claudia Connell, writer

Last Night

Last night, I got the very last pint of Chubby Hubby ice cream that Lubbock had to offer. At least, the very last of the only place I know of in town that carries it. Man, I was totally lucky.

Saturday, November 11, 2006


How come on all those crime scene shows, when they test stuff (that's my technical term) in the lab and put a smidge of something in the little vial, add a few drops of clear liquid, and then put it in the round spinny thing, which then automatically spits out a paper telling the lab dude what the mysterious "stuff" is...

(and yes, the above is actually one of the longest fragmented sentences ever)

well, how come, in the spinny thing, every single other spot is filled with other vials? You'd think if they were only testing one thing, they would just put one vial in there so they wouldn't get it mixed up. I mean, how terrible would it be if they were testing for chlorium dioxide (?), accidentally picked up the wrong vial, and it said it was, I don't know, cotton candy?

Boy, that would really throw the investigation for a loop, don't you think?

Friday, November 10, 2006


(sent by Dale Alvarez)

Now this message is for America's most famous athletes:

Someday you may be invited to fly in the back-seat of one of your country's most powerful fighter jets. Many of you already have .. John Elway, John Stockton, Tiger Woods to name a few. If you get this opportunity, let me urge you, with the greatest sincerity...
Move to Guam. Change your name. Fake your own death! Whatever you do .. Do Not Go!!! I know. The U.S. Navy invited me to try it. I was thrilled. I was pumped. I was toast! I should've known when they told me my pilot would be Chip (Biff) King of Fighter Squadron 213 at Naval Air Station Oceana in Virginia Beach.
Whatever you're thinking a Top Gun named Chip (Biff) King looks like, triple it. He's about six-foot, tan, ice-blue eyes, wavy surfer hair, finger-crippling handshake -- the kind of man who wrestles dyspeptic alligators in his leisure time. If you see this man, run the other way. Fast. Biff King was born to fly. His father, Jack King, was for years the voice of NASA missions. ("T-minus 15 seconds and counting ..." Remember?) Chip would charge neighborhood kids a quarter each to hear his dad. Jack would wake up from naps surrounded by nine-year-olds waiting for him to say, "We have a liftoff."
Biff was to fly me in an F-14D Tomcat, a ridiculously powerful $60 million weapon with nearly as much thrust as weight, not unlike Colin Montgomerie. I was worried about getting airsick, so the night before the flight I asked Biff if there was something I should eat the next morning. "Bananas," he said.
"For the potassium?" I asked.
"No," Biff said, "because they taste about the same coming up as they do going down." The next morning, out on the tarmac, I had on my flight suit with my name sewn over the left breast. (No call sign -- like Crash or Sticky or Leadfoot ... but, still, very cool.) I carried my helmet in the crook of my arm, as Biff had instructed. If ever in my life I had a chance to nail Nicole Kidman, this was it.
A fighter pilot named Psycho gave me a safety briefing and then fastened me into my ejection seat, which, when employed, would "egress" me out of the plane at such a velocity that I would be immediately knocked unconscious.
Just as I was thinking about aborting the flight, the canopy closed over me, and Biff gave the ground crew a thumbs-up. In minutes we were firing nose up at 600 mph. We leveled out and then canopy-rolled over another F-14.
Those 20 minutes were the rush of my life. Unfortunately, the ride lasted 80. It was like being on the roller coaster at Six Flags Over Hell. Only without rails. We did barrel rolls, sap rolls, loops, yanks and banks. We dived, rose and dived again, sometimes with a vertical velocity of 10,000 feet per minute. We chased another F-14, and it chased us.
We broke the speed of sound. Sea was sky and sky was sea. Flying at 200 feet we did 90-degree turns at 550 mph, creating a G force of 6.5, which is to say I felt as if 6.5 times my body weight was smashing against me, thereby approximating life as Mrs. Colin Montgomerie.
And I egressed the bananas. I egressed the pizza from the night before. And the lunch before that. I egressed a box of Milk Duds from the sixth grade. I made Linda Blair look polite. Because of the G's, I was egressing stuff that did not even want to be egressed. I went through not one airsick bag, but two.
Biff said I passed out. Twice. I was coated in sweat. At one point, as we were coming in upside down in a banked curve on a mock bombing target and the G's were flattening me like a tortilla and I was in and out of consciousness, I realized I was the first person in history to throw down. I used to know cool. Cool was Elway throwing a touchdown pass, or Norman making a five-iron bite. But now I really know cool. Cool is guys like Biff, men with cast-iron stomachs and freon nerves. I wouldn't go up there again for Derek Jeter's black book, but I'm glad Biff does every day, and for less a year than a rookie reliever makes in a home stand.
A week later, when the spins finally stopped, Biff called. He said he and the fighters had the perfect call sign for me. Said he'd send it on a patch for my flight suit.
What is it? I asked.
"Two Bags."

Thursday, November 09, 2006


I saw a car the other day with a bumper sticker that said:

Texas A & M
The Association of Former Students

I don't get it. Is that another name for "Alumni Association?" Or could it be the name for "Students Who Attended But Never Really Got A Degree?"

Who knows...but that's weird, man.

Something else that's weird? 86 degrees. Today. In November. Where's ther snow? Marco...

Wednesday, November 08, 2006

It just comes naturally :)

"If we weren't us, I would totally want to hang out with us."

~my friend JLA

Monday, November 06, 2006

Oh, What Fun!

So I’ve decided to have a negative outlook on life, but only for a few moments.
A list of my pet peeves…just for you. With love.

1. Public sighing (especially when they’re by themselves and let out this huge sigh. That’s just weird.)

2. Dragging your feet (flip-floppers are the worst. Pick up your dang feet when you walk, people.)

3. Girls who talk on cell phones in uncomfortable places, specifically dressing rooms and bathrooms (first of all, dressing rooms are always quiet and echo-y, so you can hear everything. I personally don’t want to hear how “clothing piece A” doesn’t fit because “body part B” is too fat/skinny/fluffy, etc. Second, bathrooms. That should speak for itself. I used to be embarrassed flushing the toilet while they’re chatting away, but now I take pleasure in the loud plumbing. If they choose to talk in a public bathroom, they can do the explaining.) (And yes, just girls, since I don’t make a habit of spending extended periods of time in men’s dressing rooms and/or bathrooms.)

4. Repetitive tapping (this includes, among others, pen clicking, foot tapping, and key jingling.)

5. People who walk too close behind me (this is my personal space, and that’s yours. I’ve taken to, with clear purpose, stepping aside and standing there until they pass. Back off, yo.)

6. As everyone knows, I’m a huge fan of reality TV (specifically the Bachelor/Bachelorette.) As much fun as these shows are to watch, there is one awful disgusting noise that I just can’t listen to. The kissing (they kiss? On reality TV?!?) I mean, I love the la-di-da as much as the next person, but I sure don’t like to hear the sucking/slobbering/smacking/smooching sounds that come through my speakers. The mute button has become quite handy in situations like these.

7. Necklace clasps that have fallen to the front. Just turn it around. It’s not that hard.

8. Who watches Wheel of Fortune? I really enjoy that show (and I could win, I know it!) But what gets to me is that one overly zealous person who has to holler out each letter/ puzzle solver/introduction, as if we won’t hear them (“I want to, like, say hi to, like, my best friend ever. Hi Wendi!” Like, shut up.) There is a reason they wear mikes.

9. While we’re on the subject of W of F…when it’s obvious the player knows the answer to the puzzle, why in the friggin’ sam hill do they buy a vowel? That’s $250 down the toilet (I wonder if the girl on the phone in the next stall heard it.)

10. White cars. I would never choose to drive a white car (especially a Crown Victoria,) because you will always have to go the speed limit. When people see you coming, what do they do? They slow down, that’s what. So you’d better be a law-abidin’ citizen if you drive one of these. You won’t have a choice.

I'm Sorry!

Okay, seriously. I have about three really really good posts to do, but because I choose to stay up intil 1:00 am watching CSI, and because I decided to read my book for half an hour afterwards, I woke up late and don't have time. Dang it.

But don't worry, I will not let you down. I'll have a good one up tonight. Oh, yes.

Friday, November 03, 2006

I have no clue

*knows I should blog*

*sits and stares at the computer screen for five minutes before realizing that I almost fell asleep*

*says bye*

*for now*

Thursday, November 02, 2006

Bought old house

Bought old house that previous owners updated
Bought old house that previous owners updated but had no clue what they were doing
Bought old house that previous owners updated but had no clue what they were doing and forgot to insulate the master bathroom, which has an outside wall

All this put together = Butt a** cold temps in there when it's 32 degrees outside

I know, I know, I said a "bad" word, but that's what it is:
B-U-T-T-A-*-* C-O-L-D