Wearing your heart on your car

A few weeks ago I was stuck behind a large truck on my way to work. I often am stuck behind a large truck or two on my way to work. This particular truck, however, had the normal “offensive” stickers all over it. One of which said, “Welcome to America. Now learn English.” I posted about this topic on my Facebook and got quite a response. Although I do understand the frustration of trying to communicate with someone who doesn’t know much English (and the irritiation that comes with knowing that some families choose not to EVER learn once they arrive here), imagine being in their shoes. And let’s just remember that when we visit outside of our Land of the Free, we should never assume everyone there will or CAN speak English. In this instance I found myself torn on the topic for the reasons I mentioned above and for the fact that I am an American. And I know how many people who come here want that affiliation but don’t have it yet. Bumper stickers as food for thought isn’t really a new thing. But I have found myself noticing them more these days. My friend, who is a farmer for a CSA, gave me a sticker that says, “Who’s Your Farmer?” Well, she is. And I was proud to display it. And it must have been a pretty cool sticker because when I came back to my car after lunch in Deep Ellum yesterday, it was gone. Peeled clean off. I guess they wanted Marie to be THEIR farmer too…

But all of this just makes me wonder, should we wear our thoughts, ideals, emotions and our hearts on our cars? In the journalism biz, we are pretty much forbidden to place political stuff on our cars. It shows bias and is frowned upon. However, I’ve seen plenty of J folks sporting their beliefs loud and clear on their back windows. And in today’s interesting climate in the media industry, does this even matter anymore? The rules have changed. We have changed. So is it wrong to share our thoughts as openly as what we stick on our cars? Even if you aren’t a media type, what about if you are a teacher? A pastor? A therapist? Should your car remain silent and forever hold it’s peace?

It’s hot here…

And it’s the DAY AFTER CHRISTMAS! And only a week after freezing conditions. It’s official. Either Texas is located in Hades or the world is ending.

Don’t mess with my trash…

It was bound to happen.

A few weeks ago I forgot to set my trash bin out the night before pickup and decided, stupidly, to leave it out the rest of the weekend as to not forget for today’s run. Not a habit I plan to develop because I think it is very tacky to keep that thing out. It makes the neighborhood look bad.

Anywho, I still had a few bags left the next morning and trotted out in my nightgown (also tacky) and got ready to dump the rest of my stuff when behold! There were several black bags of trash (filled to the brim, mind you) that I knew darn well were not mine. On top of that, they were filled with yard waste which you all know is a no-no. It wasn’t even bulk week! I was reminded of that King of the Hill episode…the same thing happened to Hank, though I was only a tad tempted to dig through the bags of trash to ID my bin-stuffer.

Mad as Cain (or McCain for that matter), I looked around and tried to see who the culprit was…yes. In my nightgown. All I did was kind of look for evidence of who might have cut some branches down recently. And of course I could not figure it out.

What would you have done? I’m sure this won’t be the last time this happens and even if I put my trash out the same day, who is to say someone won’t add last minute junk to my bin?
I need advice as a new homeowner, missing her old apartment dumpster.

I know my quest for advice is a little late, because once I got dressed that morning, I went to my computer and got to work. I typed these words:

KEEP YOUR TRASH TO YOURSELF

THIS IS A FRIENDLY REMINDER

TO THROW YOUR TRASH IN YOUR OWN BINS.

IF YOURS IS FULL, DON’T WAIT TO THE

LAST MINUTE NEXT TIME…

I posted this note on every bin on my alley. Think the neighbors hate me yet?

The new W.

I’m sorry. I may be ignoring the issues right now, but John McCain’s “breast of fresh” flub from the last debate has got me inspired to find some links to his Freudian slip. Seems like we have already had eight years of odd comments, mixups and unintentionally funny speeches with George Bush. If John gets elected, here’s to four more!

http://airamerica.com/content/breast-fresh-air

http://www.buzzfeed.com/nicholas/sarah-palin-a-breast-of-fresh-air-5k

http://www.reddit.com/r/reddit.com/comments/77ef6/did_mccain_just_say_that_america_needs_a_breast/

I dunno. Just proving it wasn’t just me that thought he said that!

Gruesome discovery at home…

I posted this over at my work blog. But I just could not pass up posting it here. It’s not often you find a body part in your driveway…

Yesterday evening when I came home from work, I went outside to take in my garbage bins as I normally do on a Monday. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary other than the fact that the weather seemed to be shifting to the cooler side. First I took in the regular trash bin and then on my way back to get the recycle bin, I noticed something odd in my driveway, just outside of the garage door.

At first it looked to be one of those black sponge rollers. But it seemed moist, like clay or something so I took a stick and picked at it. But the more I moved it around, the more it seemed apparent that this was no sponge roller or piece of felt or mud or even doggie business. No this thing looked to have nostrils. And I was quite sure by the time I had rolled that thing halfway down the alley to get it off my drive that it was certainly a nose. Not sure what to do, I took two sticks like chopsticks and tried to pick it up. That took about 10 minutes as the floppy thing kept falling back on the ground. Finally I was able to move it near the creek by my house and I just stood there. Not sure what to do…

So I went upstairs and took a shower. Being that I’m supposed to be a journalist, my curiosity and need to “do the right thing” overcame me and I figured I should at least take photos of it. Of course by the time I was back in the alley, my neighbors were walking their dogs. I told them of my discovery (because I’m sure I was about to look really funny taking snapshots of mud and grass) and I kept reassuring them I wasn’t nuts. However when I tried to find it, I forgot where I hoisted the thing!

That’s not MY MTV…

Why isn’t Paris Hilton so 15 minutes ago…?

Blogging for sanity

That really should be on a shirt someplace. And actually I already have a worthless CafePress account so maybe I should make some.

I am a converted, longtime yeller. If you aren’t sure what that means, it basically says I’ve stopped yelling. Well, at least I’ve tapered off a great deal. For one: It was one of my resolutions. And for two: It gets old. People don’t care what you have to say when you yell. So I pick my poison, which is usually this blog. People may still not care, but at least I’ve saved my vocal cords and a day’s worth of headaches.

I mean it when I say I stay sane here. I could of course choose other routes of medicating which may have been the true reason why I have been so sick. Drinking is evil. What’s even more evil is Tuaca. I loved him once before, but he and so many others have ruined me. And now I can’t drink anything. I’m now a tonic water and lemon drinker. I’m now the chick who may look lame when she doesn’t ask for a martini or margarita while among those who can drink both on a good day. I’ve channeled it all at this place and I guess I have been for a while — even during those times when Tuaca actually was good to me.

Times have changed and I’ve hit well over 30,000 hits for this almost year-old blog. I’m happy to report that I’m much saner than I would have been without it. Between LOL cats, venting my frustrations about politics, relationships and whatever else gets stuck in my craw or whatever brings me seer delight — I throw it all down. I have a journal I keep by my bedside but I have since neglected it. I will be in some real trouble if I don’t keep this blog up and print everything out because it’s been an interesting year.

I’ve loved and lost (thank God), ventured into the adult world and tried to be a homeowner, dropped some weight and then some since coming down with what I’m calling my “Turning 30-itis,” been in the emergency room four times, threw up on an airplane 50 times, put up with a comic (a bad one at that) for a boyfriend, helped throw together a benefit concert, became estranged with a good friend, became un-estranged with said friend, went to Vegas, got a new position at work, had my first ever art show, bought a new car that gets better gas mileage than yours  (hello 36 mpg) and mentored a high-school student through the pains of journalism. And that’s all off the top of my head.

I know I will be repeating something like this spiel of crap next month when it’s been an official year since I’ve started blogging, but I felt like rehashing the good, the bad and the downright exhausting in one post. If you get curious, feel free to play in my search box at the top of the page. You might like what you dig up.

And as for commemorating 30,000 plus, and hopefully hitting a million one day *sigh*, please enjoy this bit of bliss…

 I don’t care if it’s old…

Oh. You know that I had  to link to my favorite. It makes me happy and it never gets old.

And finally…for you Breakfast Club obsessed people who KEEP googling Anthony.

 

 

I really wanted to talk about pant suits…

               I found this image here.

I have been backsliding on political banter for some time now. I have good reason. Most of which is that I’m tired of politics. Secondly, I’m dying. OK. That’s a bit dramatic, but I have not been 100 percent for a few months now. And I just found out that my CT scan results from last week need to be analysed by a specialist. It could be nothing. But it could be a really big something. I have been spiking fever all weekend, can’t eat and delirious which may explain this post.

Anyway, I realized I hadn’t talked about pant suits and whether or not they have a place in the White House. Let’s face it. Barack may just win over McCain if the Democratic party can get its head of out its ass. And by the “secret talks” with Obama, Hillary will have a bunch of placement in the campaign or even beyond. If not as VP (yea, right), she surely will be in another role also not suited (pun intended) for her just to keep the party together.

But I just can’t help wondering: Would America want to see pant suits or power (skirted) suits on a “politically powerful” woman in the White House. This isn’t really an important question; I just wondered what other people thought. To me pant suits try too hard. They say: “Look at me! I can be just as strong as a man!” And even though I’m guilty of wearing the latter, I like seeing a real powerhouse of a suit, equipped with a skirt and killer heels. To me that says, “Get the hell out of the way, boys.” Especially paired with the right jewelry giving way to a feminine power as well as taste and class.

Is red too communist?

                                                        Lady Di did it…                

  Oooo…1960s vintage.

Of all the things that this presidential election brouhaha represents,  this is the least important. But is it? What do other countries see when they watch Hillary strut in pant suits? I bet they say, that’s one wuss in a suit. We can take ’em.

Related links that have nothing to do with each other:

 See what has been deemed Hillary’s Top Ten pant suits.

A nice variation of clothing options for Hillary and Barack.

How to dump your girlfriend with “class”

As you have read here, my ex chose the wonderful opportunity to be a real gem by passive aggressively dumping me by not calling for a week and then not bothering to check up on me after I had procedures done to see what has been making me sick. I emailed him this:

I know you didn’t ask, but I wanted to let you know I had a polyp in my stomach and have been diagnosed with Hemorrhagic gastritis and reflux esophagitis. I didn’t get further instruction until I see the doctor again. I have to have a CAT scan of my stomach and pelvis next and then probably another procedure. I really am sure you didn’t really want to know all that, but thought I would tell you since you had to be around me during my flare-ups. The polyp is being tested.

Anyway, look for a package in the mail. I will be mailing your clothing and DVDs. I’m sure you would like those back. Don’t worry. I’m not going to be some weird psycho chick about this. I won’t be emailing you again or bothering you.

Here is his business transaction (like he did ALL things) approach about it:

I’m glad to hear that they’ve finally found the cause of your ailments, and hope that can finally start addressing the pain you have been suffering thru. Thank you for the return of my stuff, I appreciate it. I hope you do well in the future, and wish you luck.

That my friends is how “real” men let you down easy.

(For the record, he doesn’t read this blog…at least I don’t think…)

 

Up the pooper, down the hatch

So the colonoscopy and upper scope are over. They have diagnosed me with hemorrhagic gastritis and reflux esophagitis. They found a polyp in my stomach which is being tested as we speak. And through all this, I didn’t even get ONE CALL from my supposed boyfriend. Doped up on anesthesia, I sent a text:

I had my procedure today. You didn’t even call to see how I was. OK. I get the hint. I’ve let you go. I hope all your dreams come true. I wish you had said goodbye when I asked you to…

I’m still in a dopey fog, and I don’t want to go into that “goodbye” reference. Point is, he didn’t even respond. I was worth THAT much?! After he took me to Vegas, had me meet his family and wanted a committed relationship, I wasn’t even worth the call. What is funny is that everyone else did. Even an old friend I had become kind of estranged with and hadn’t talked to in almost a year. She has been wonderful and checks up on me.

The irony is I would have never got everything checked out like this if I hadn’t got so sick while I was in Vegas. It’s not my fault I haven’t been as fun anymore — I am a shell of my former boozing good time self.

Maybe all this was/is a blessing in disguise. Everything happens for a reason (and other crappy cliches). Or maybe life just sucks.