Drifting thoughts of a snowflake

Wednesday, September 28, 2005

I’m going to do that again

I was lying in bed recovering from a long weekend and making a list of things that I should never do again. These lists are a constant result of doing something incredibly senseless and erratic the weekend before.

My list started off a lot like one composed by a third grader would. I will never again drink 4 grape sodas and stuff my face full of pop rocks. Except the grape soda was really vodka and the pop rocks stood for pizza. Then I started to criticize myself for being so emotional at times. You know, like the time in 2nd grade when I locked the chubby girl in the coat closet for wearing the same dress that I had on. Even now I’m still wondering why we had a coat closet in Texas. I blame the poor architecture for my emotional shortcomings. If it wasn’t for the contractor poor design, I never would have pushed her into that closet.

After I got down to the 50th “I’ll never”, I decided this game was too negative and thought maybe I should focus on the positive. Maybe that will help me be a better person. So I’ve been trying all week to fit in “I’ll do more of”’s instead of those dreaded “I won’t”s.

Simple things like, “I will sleep more and go to bed earlier” and “I will extend my running from 45 minutes to an hour at least once a week” were working into my repertoire. I was beginning to feel like a more peaceful and gentle snowflake until I heard a local radio announcement.

The stupid Cheryl Crow will be hosting a free show this weekend in the park as a “thank you” to how nice we’ve been to her meat puppet Lance Armstrong. (If you’ve forgotten – I hate him).How egotistical is that? “I want to thank the city of Austin for being so nice to my fiancé, Lance” Oh puke some more you scrawny wretch!

Agreed we should be thanked for allowing that asshat to live in our community for all these years, but did she have to endure him during his early days when he was a whining baby? Did she have to sit around and listen to him being an ass to people who asked for an autograph in his pre Tour de France days? You should thank us, you no good harlot.

I might add that if you really wanted to thank us don’t drown us out with your tone-deaf whimpers, but instead move your boy out to LA. Could you? Since he’s all about name-dropping and such an over the top groupie of every bad band out there, he’d actually have friends in LA. I think people he could relate to would be great for his oversized ego.

You might be thinking that all this ranting isn’t very peaceful or positive for me. It’s just a purging so I can get back to being healthy on the inside again. I’d hate to pop, you know. Extremes in either direction are bad.

Extremes like say, how the NRA is campaigning to allow guns in the work place. Things that ridiculous could make me go back to ponytail pulling very easily. *Breathe, breathe* I will be happy at the face of such stupidity! I will, I will!

Tuesday, September 20, 2005


In celebration of talk like a pirate day, The Playa MC and I went down to our local pirate bar. I should mention a couple of things about this bar to you. First off it’s on 6th street, which is all fine and dandy if you’re 18 to 20 something. However at 32, it’s a bit like slumming it. I’m no longer impressed with $1 wells and test tube shots, nor do I wish to explain to some boy in a baseball cap that I don’t have a major because I have, in fact graduated.

Unfortunately for me, I’m not above it like other people my age. I suppose this exposes my undeveloped emotional intelligence. I can’t help it! The people watching is fantastic.

I met up with the Playa MC at an ultra snobbish bar downtown and we started our dissension into the street with the catcalls for drinks coming from every direction. We reached the pirate bar only to find out they weren’t going to open for a while. Oh yea, we’re the only people out on this street who work an 8 to 5. What were we thinking?

We decided to kill some time until they opened and stopped for some pizza. At that point we were privy to 2 crack addicts trying to talk. I’m pretty sure the woman was a hooker, but I was wondering how either of them could function to the point where sex would be a possibility. Not only did they weigh 100 pounds put together, but balance didn’t seem to be one of their stronger suits. Either way they made for a good 5 minutes of people watching. Thanks crack people! I really enjoyed your dancing efforts at entrance of that dance club. Sorry the bouncer was so rude to you and made you leave. Better luck next time!

We were still leaning against the lamppost checking out the happy couple above when a guy sleeping at a café table on the street woke up and asked us if we would like our picture taken. He was waving his Polaroid around like it was flag in order to entice me to his photographical whims. The minute I replied in the negative, he tilted his head back down and was out cold again. Could it be that he is the narcoleptic Polaroid man? I always wanted to meet that man!

We had a couple of drinks at a low-key bar and watched the cops and the bar owner haggle over a scratch on his car. What were you thinking bar owner? You parked your car on 6th street where they serve more liquor than anywhere else in Texas. Did you not realize that something might happen if you leave your car around so many drunks? And you serve drunks, so you must know they don’t have the best judgment. You’re dumb bar owner, even if I did think you were hot and reminded me of Jason Stratham. Side note: What’s my freaking obsession with bald men? Even the PMC asked about it last night. I can’t help it. Who wouldn’t want to lick up that guy?

We headed to the pirate bar in order to find ourselves the only people in the joint. It was a little pathetic, okay really pathetic. The music was loud enough to deafen small children and the endless whines of Sheryl Crow weren’t helping. What’s wrong with these people? It’s NATIONAL talk like a pirate day and you are a pirate bar. Is it me, or do you think that maybe you could use this as a way to pick up a little extra cash on a Monday night? Hire some pirates, do a little advertising about your fun pirate bar and taaa-daaa! It could be a pirate extravaganza!

Instead it boiled down to the PMC and I sharing stories and laughing at random people on the street. The lack of pirates aside, I had a great night. I must say it ranks above people watching at both the airport bar and amusement parks.

Monday, September 19, 2005

You know you wanna!

Allrighty mates! It’s talk like a pirate day for starters, so you know whose panties are all wet right now. On top of that ACL festival is this weekend and as long as hurricane Rita doesn’t wipe us out, we’ll be out and about all weekend with some super tunes.

Who could be more excited than me? No one, that’s who!

I have nothing else to report except that I had a fabulous weekend filled with lot of moonlight and wine. Shiver me timbers, laddie! I finally got it right.

Hope all is well on your side of the sail.

The mad pirate snowflake

Thursday, September 15, 2005

As the world crumbles

Why do people keep putting fatty foods in the break room? What is it about corporate culture that mandates only fattening deserts are be placed in front of American workers? Maybe it’s the French. I could see them creating this conspiracy so they remain the thin people of the world. You fancy French, with your “I walk everywhere” because our culture is so much better than yours, you make me feel pukey. But not in the anorexic way, I’ll have you know!

At my nephew’s school the parents are required to bring snacks for the whole class a couple of times a month. You never see a conscientious mom bringing in sugar loaded pastries or pixie sticks for the youngins. In fact it’s mainly apples or carrots or something in that healthy realm.

I wonder about working parents. Do they ever sneak into the break room at their office, choke down 10 cookies and a piece of birthday cake and then hide it from their kids? I imagine the exchange to go something like this:

“So little Sarah, how was your day”
“Great! We had apples and peanut butter for our snack today! What did you have?”
Lying parent ponders which snack to choose and squeaks out, “Yea, we had the same”

Meanwhile the deceitful parent spent the last 2 hours of work twirling in their chair and playing limbo with their telephone cord, and the “how low can you go” song is still repeating in their head.

We should treat ourselves as well as we treat our children. And by “well” I am not referring to people who have the nerve to adopt children and then locked them up in cages. Thanks for helping folks! Please let them end up in a cage of their own, where the children can visit them and poke sticks at them through the bars. That would be the best therapy imaginable.

I’m also thinking that if we do treat ourselves the way we treat our kids, that not only would we be healthier but we’d have more of an excuse to wear those dumb pointy birthday hats around the office. I’d pay a lot to see some people around here in those hats. And we could bring back the hand puppets! I would much rather talk over my cube to the next person using a hand puppet. Drawing eyes on my hand has gotten old, and I’m pretty sure I’ve sucked every element of surprise out of my neighbor. By this point I can hear her rolling her eyes when I stick my hand over the wall and fake a dumb voice.

**As a side note, I just went to google images to find a good hand puppet to reference. I ended up getting a bunch of pictures of women. You people disgust me! Right there next to Lambchop is a picture of a hooker! Really now, is that necessary?

Tuesday, September 13, 2005

I dream of Genie with flowers everywhere

I’m supposed to be doing a million things right now and I’m not doing a single one of them. I know you are too, you asshat. Surely there is something else you should be doing than reading this dribble.

I just can’t seem to get myself motivated to the places I need to be. Like the grocery store. I need cat food and dishwasher detergent and bread. I just can’t seem to get myself in that place. I can’t stand the type of people who go to the grocery store. Yes, I realize everyone and every type of person has to go. Perhaps I don’t like anyone, which is fine by me. It’s just that people don’t watch where they are doing and the kids are screaming and people don’t stay to the right. Ahhh!

I just need 20 things and I’ll be out of here, but then here comes mom with her 5 nose picking assclowns and I have to sit there and wait until she makes up her mind about what type of Tuna Helper she’s going to buy. Meanwhile my head is about to burst because all I can think is “ Pick one, lady! They all taste the same! Plus your kids eat snot, so surely Tuna Helper is an upgrade for them.”

And then there is the oblivious old bat who doesn’t realize the rest of the two legged world doesn’t crawl at a snails pace. She’s the one inspecting every different kind of milk and has her cart in front of her blocking your access to every other dairy product they have for sale. So help me if she didn’t need the calcium before I bust in her hip, she will afterwards. And for crying out loud, it’s MILK! You know – 2%, whole, skim, fat free. It hasn’t changed over the last 20 years, so I think you should know what color top you are by now. The lid of the milk bottle probably matches your hair color anyway! Just get the blue lid and move on you old bittie.

Right as I finally make my way to the shampoos and body products, I inevitably run into a man who’s just realizing there are more choices for deodorant than he can handle. The only men who can handle themselves in the grocery store are gay; the rest of you straight men might as well go home. Besides I’m pretty sure the gay boys really aren’t there to shop much, so they just wiz through the aisles looking for a good piece of ass. Hooray for them, and boo for straighty! You’re the dumb boy sitting there realizing that there is something different between antiperspirant and deodorant. Wow – I’ll pick you up a sticker on isle 13 for figuring out that triumphant feat. Now move on, I just need my Secret and I will get out of your way. Which by the way, ½ of all men wear anyway.

And last, but not least, I hate the three frat guys who have decided to make shopping a togetherness activity. You are irritating by yourself and now you’ve just exponentially moved up your irritation quotient when you got together a gaggle of your white t-shirts and kahki shorts. And why is your car loaded with meat like that? How much meat can you eat? You would think they were feeding all the homeless shelters in town. And then they have to buy the super gigantic pack of 100 paper towels, which are then thrust on to the top of the meat heap. Now there are three loud frat guys trying to maneuver a cart and they can’t see where the hell to go. Just like your sex life, boys. How depressing.

So I guess I do understand why I don’t want to go, but there’s no escaping it. I’m even thinking about going to the expensive grocery store to avoid all the people. I even had a dream last night about going to the fancy grocery and the whole time I was worried about the prices, but then I got over it because all the lanes were filled with flowers and it was just me zipping through the isles without any obstacles.

This is bad, I’m dreaming of grocery stores. Neurotic much?

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