I CAN RESIST EVERYTHING EXCEPT TEMPTATION

Tuesday, October 28, 2008

now are you sure you want a piece of me?

Question: What's worse than Mondays?

Answer: Tuesdays.

I have been at work for three hours and I feel like it's been closer to ten. I'm exhausted, partly because I couldn't shut off last night but more accurately because the homosexual couple down the hall from me decided that Monday night at eleven o'clock would be the perfect time to host a soiree. I've seen this elusive couple only a handful of times in the year I've lived at the apartments, but each time, judging by the hotpants and glitter, I could tell the score immediately. Watching the sexier of the pair (and I say this only because they have to be ranked somehow) shimmy up the stairs and exclaim with glee over the strawberry buttons on my dog's collar, I shouldn't have been so foolish as to think that some night soon, the Cure WOULDN'T be blaring out of their open windows at 1AM. The rayon blend shirt practically demanded it.

So, last night as I was walking Laura down the stairs, I can't say I was completely surprised to hear Rihanna "breakin' dishes" at top volume because her man had done her wrong. And as I scuttled past their open front door (I didn't want to linger in case it seemed like I was being nosy) I heard a high pitched voice ask if everyone had seen that little dog. To which, oohs and ahs followed. I had half a mind to parade Sheba back in front of the door, because after all, attention is attention. But two hours later when I was finally ready to go to sleep, and I could actually FEEL their music in my bed, I just wanted to go over there and strangle them all with their pom pom scarves. But of course, to beat them at their own game, I'd do it singing Britney-style "you want a piece of me?" I love me some gay men, but you mess with my REM cycle, you're just asking for a bitch slap.

Monday, October 27, 2008

not dead but dying

Erica brought it to my attention yesterday that I haven't written anything in a while. This isn't because nothing has happened to me lately, but because of a combination of an extreme amount of work, effectively making it impossible for me to take a half hour out of my day for paid blogging, and my ever-present excuse -- laziness. So I will pull together all of my faculties in an attempt to post something today, even though I am pretty sure I killed at least 10% of my brain cells this weekend and am not entirely certain my sentences are complete.

It was Berta's 30th birthday celebration on Saturday, and although I have been taking it really easy on the drinking over the past few months (although Hector would probably disagree) I decided that all the stops would be pulled for this party. We got rooms at the Holiday Inn right next to the bar the party was at, which I feel was extremely responsible and forward-thinking. Unfortunately, Hector found out he would have to work Sunday which put a damper on things and made me vow not to get totally wasted so he would have to deal with me. Cut to 6 hours later, and I am black-out drunk. Apparently, four drinks is all I can handle these days, since it reduced me to falling in front of the elevator and cussing out guys punching security guards outside the bar. Hector says he had to carry me because I refused to walk, and wanted to be left behind in front of someone else's hotel room. Wonderful. So much for Plan A. But on the plus side, I had a really good time before scenes started missing and I remember distinctly having some great conversation with Laura which we don't get to do as often as we should anymore. So aside from pissing Hector off and probably making his day miserable Sunday, things were not as bad as they could have been. Until I woke up Sunday morning. I am not exaggerating when I say I was still pretty drunk. I had the spins, and I had to run to the bathroom multiple times when I was getting my stuff together to attempt to empty the contents of my stomach. Hangover: 1, Me: 0. In an effort to hide the fact that I had smuggled in Sheba, I went out the side door of the hotel rather than through the lobby and spent the next ten minutes painfully making my way in the bright sun around the entire hotel to my car. When I got home I threw everything down and proceeded to sleep for the next 4 hours. You know you're getting old when sleep does nothing to cure your hangover. I woke up feeling only a little better and spent the rest of the day feeling sorry for myself. My dad came over and although he acted sympathetic, I think he gets a sense of satisfaction from seeing me suffer for my sins. I guess it's not every day you get to watch your daughter curled up on the couch in last night's makeup, moaning every five minutes and shaking uncontrollably, evidence in the flesh of the poisons of alcohol.

Thank god I will forget all about this in a month so I can do it again for Thanksgiving.

Thursday, October 9, 2008

a good time will be had by all

"One hundred years ago, in May 1908, 16 US Navy battleships with dozens of escorts and 14,000 sailors entered San Francisco Bay. Called the "Great White Fleet" because the ships were painted white, the fleet remained in San Francisco for two months, departing in July for Hawaii and the remainder of its 14-month cruise around the world. This was San Francisco's first Parade of Ships and first Fleet "Week". One of the objectives of the Great White Fleet's voyage was to ensure that Americans were aware of the reasons for having a strong and capable Navy and to let them see those capabilities first hand. This objective still resonates 100 years later and provides the primary rationale for our annual Fleet Week celebration.

The modern version of Fleet Week commenced in 1981 and it has become one of the best-attended annual events in Northern California. In 2008, we are fortunate to have the participation of the USS Bonhomme Richard, an amphibious assault carrier, and USS Pinckney, a guided missile destroyer, as well as the Coast Guard's newest cutter, the USCG Bertholf, which was commissioned in August 2008. We will also feature a robust air show with both the US Navy Blue Angel and Canadian Snowbird jet demonstration teams.

Fleet Week is also our annual opportunity to honor the men and women currently serving in the US and allied armed forces, particularly in the United States Navy, Marines and Coast Guard, and to learn about their character and skill, and the pride with which they carry out their duties. Please help me make them feel welcome in our City and assist me in thanking them for the remarkable contribution they are making to our security and well being."

What the Chairman of the San Francisco Fleet Week Committee forgot to mention, of course, was that Fleet Week is also an excellent chance to bang Seamen. (and women, if you're into that).

See you there!

Wednesday, October 1, 2008

number 3,473,962 on my list of hates

I admit it, there are a lot of things that get my blood boiling. I mean, a LOT. So it's no surprise that maybe 60 times a day various people/events/actions/breakfast items piss me off to no end. But there is one thing that deserves special mention, since not only is it supremely annoying, but also pretentious, self-satisfied, idiotic, and just plain lame. I'm talking, of course, about those ridiculous decals that proud mothers get to adorn their hideous minivan/SUVs. Only slightly more infuriating than the "Baby on Board" signs that were so popular in the '90s and yet still somehow remain today, these decals not only advertise that the driver is a dipshit whose number one accomplishment in life was to spit out two, three or (save us Jesus) four children, but they also presume to imagine that we, the other drivers on the road, give half a shit. What they really do is make me wish I had a larger vehicle to ram them, their basketball-loving son, ballerina daughter, and goldfish right off the road.

I'm not saying having a family is bad. But is it really necessary to plaster them on your back windshield? I think not , unless those specific members of your family have done something special. A decal of a little girl in pigtails holding up a flask containing the cure for cancer is something even I can't find fault with. But until then, I think I will continue to hate silently in my car as I'm stuck behind the Chevy Astro crawling along the freeway with the happy stick family smiling at me from their perch on the glass.

And maybe, someday, I'll have my own family I'm proud enough to slap on the back of my car...