Friday, September 30, 2005

Blogger is a Butthole

And that is why the first version of this post is lost forever. Let’s pretend it’s still Thursday, and I’ll owe you one.

Today I ate lunch at an authentic Jewish deli which is something that I usually enjoy immensely. Though I don’t have a taste for pickled herring or tongue, I do so love tuna/chicken/macaroni/potato salads made in the plainest and simplest manner, which is how I was raised eating them due to my father’s picky palate. I always feel confident that I can order a sandwich and not worry that there will be something random like mustard or raisins in the tuna salad.

I was in line behind a very grouchy old lady who was yelling at the Hispanic immigrant deli worker. The deli worker was asking her the same questions repeatedly in a very thick accent, and the hag was getting increasingly agitated. At one point she turned to me and said loudly enough for the entire restaurant to hear “She doesn’t understand anything I’m saying!” Seeing as how I modify people’s behavior for a living, and the fact that I hate deliberate rudeness, I stared straight ahead, kept my mouth shut, and refused to join her in her theatre of cruelty. When it was finally my turn to order, the old lady cut me off at least three times to further berate the deli girl. After much huffing and puffing and writing a check for her order (you can do that?), the old lady left. As soon as she was out the door, the deli girl looked at me and said with perfect English dialect “She thought I couldn’t understand her. Ha ha ha!”

Score one for Hispanic immigrant deli workers everywhere.

Wednesday, September 28, 2005

Wednesday Will Now Be Story Day

Once upon a time Joe and I went to Cumberland Island, GA for the day. The only thing to do there is to hike around and picnic and get married if you're JFK Jr. There are animals like wild horses running all around, and everything is so tame that you can walk right up and touch it if you’re not afraid of losing your delicious hand. Among the animals were scads of armadillos which Southerners think of as leprosy-carrying pests, and if you haven't hit at least seven of them with your car, you should really be buying lottery tickets on a regular basis because you are luckier than average. While on our walk (I don't hike) we were following some Canadian tourists who were fascinated by the armadillos. One guy crouched down and took lots of photos with his very expensive camera. In the meantime Joe and I were having a contest to see who could touch the most armadillos with the toe of their shoe, because we’re mature like that. We made up this game because in the real world you couldn't get within 10 feet of an armadillo unless it was road kill. Anyway, when we noticed that the enthralled Canadians had reached the high point of their vacation, we had to walk far away from them so all the laughing and the making fun could commence.

Fast forward several months. Joe and I are on vacation in Mexico. We are on the beach near some houses, and someone had put up some cutesy sign in their yard that said "Iguana Crossing" or "Beware of Iguanas" or something. There was an iguana literally perched on the sign and the irony of it all was more than I could bear. I immediately crouched down and took lots of photos. As I returned to my beach chair it occurred to me that the locals were probably walking far away so that they could laugh at and make fun of the stupid ass gringo who thinks taking pictures of native vermin is a worthwhile activity. I said to Joe "Oh my God, do you think this is just like the Canadians taking pictures of the armadillos?" And he said "Definitely." Then we both looked around to see if anyone was pointing and laughing at me.

The End


Tuesday, September 27, 2005

Where It's At?

My stay in the greater Ft. Lauderdale area has been quite enjoyable thus far. I made a friend at my training, so I have someone to eat lunch with for the rest of the week. The only problem is that she's a close talker and she keeps looking at my disfigured upper lip.

I saw Heaven today. It is called "not your ordinary mac and cheese" and it's served at J. Alexander's. Oh sweet mystery of life. If I knew how to make this I would end up like the woman who was too obese to get off her couch on last week's Nip/Tuck.

My hotel room is like a tiny little apartment. It has dirty movie channels, a king-sized bed, five bed pillows, two turn tables and a microphone.

I may have had a drink with dinner.

Monday, September 26, 2005


I am in South Florida which I abhor. When I got here I went to Starbucks (huge surprise) while I waited for my friend Renee to get out of a meeting so we could go to dinner. At the table next to me was a couple who was on a first date. It had the definite awkward feel of a set up or a computer date. They were both very cute, but I don’t think she liked him. She left first, and I have been on enough blind/set up/computer dates to know that there won't be a second. I cannot believe that I am quoting Balki of all people (I refuse to learn his real name), but last week on The Surreal Life he made reference to God being the most merciless comedy writer of all. I can attest to that because blind date man walked up to me to talk about my computer at the exact moment I was writing about him and his date. I always have to learn things the hard way.

I'm in Ft. Lauderdale all week for work training. Actually I’m in Boca Raton and the training is in Plantation, but I call this whole 60 mile stretch of I-95 “Ft. Lauderdale” because like Balki's name, I don’t care enough to learn the difference.

People are generally rude here. I don’t fit in because I weigh more than 98 lbs., I'm not tan, and I don’t drive a convertible Mercedes. Part of the reason I hate South Florida is because I’m jealous of certain aspects, not the heat or construction or weird flora, but the culture. For example, this was the largest and best Starbucks I’ve ever been to. It rates up there with the ones in New York City. My yardstick is whether or not they sell sandwiches and such. They do, and they're made fresh daily, which is like twisting the knife in my back. What they also do is charge for wireless internet service. Fuck them and T Mobile. I have given ¼ of my paycheck to Starbucks for as long as I can remember. They owe me some free internet for fuck's sake.

As I was driving down I got hysterical because I was watching through my rearview mirror as a guy drove for miles with a very large piece of cardboard that covered his grill, hood, and the majority of his windshield. He was probably being sensible and waiting for a safe place to pull off the road. I’m so glad that didn’t happen to me because while I would be screaming ala Chevy Chase and trying not to cause a 22 car pile up, I would be mortified by all the people staring at me and thanking God it didn’t happen to them.

I printed off directions from Yahoo or wherever, and I was reading the fine print. It said something like "these directions are only for planning purposes. In case of road changes, etc. it is important to do a reality check before traveling." Where would one get a reality check?


I found her. I feel connected to Dianne Farr—despite her nasally voice—because we have the same birthday. Same year and everything. Shannon Elizabeth shares the date with us, but I don’t care about her whatsoever. Funny how that works. Anyway, Dianne was my favorite character on Rescue Me because she was a tough broad who cracked me up and I could relate to her. On the season finale it appeared as though she was written out of the show which made me cry hysterically and pull clumps of hair from my head. I was just watching Numb3rs (purely by accident because you know I would never watch anything with a title that was grammatically incorrect) which is about math and crime and other boring shit. Rob Morrow stars in it and he has aged quite deliciously. Anyway, Dianne is now on this show. I guess I’ll be watching it, but I’ll try to ignore anything that may teach me something.

Have you tried a little something called Diet Coke with Splenda? I had to physically restrain myself from drinking the entire 12 pack today. I can now forgive the folks at Coca Cola for that atrocity called Diet Coke with Lime. I have also had to physically restrain myself from buying songs from iTunes so that we may pay the mortgage this month. A computer, a credit card, and an addictive personality are a dangerous combination for someone like me.

Here’s an embarrassing problem: yesterday I paid money for a PROFESSIONAL to wax my mustache. Yes world, I have a mustache among other things. The bitch let the wax dry too long and now I have a one inch long area where the skin has been ripped off. Painful - yes. Embarrassing - you have no idea. Don’t ever ask someone what happened to her face if you see something like this. Because then you are forcing the dumbass to admit her mistake, and the fact that she had a mustache to begin with.

Sunday, September 25, 2005

How to Regain Your Status as a Most Excellent Husband:

1. Don't squint your eyes every time I speak to you with my iPod earphones in. Surely I'm not talking that loudly.
2. Don't laugh directly in my face when I suggest that we go see Just Like Heaven. Wait until I leave the room at least.
3. When I ask you to guess what I am baking for you as a surprise, don't let one of your guesses be "lasagna" when the smell is clearly banana bread. Duh.
4. Please stop taping every episode of Star Trek ever made. They are all the same you know.
5. Stop telling me to get off the coffee table while I'm screaming "there is no fucking you, there is only me!" You don't appreciate Trent.

Saturday, September 24, 2005

Ba da ba ba ba

I have been in a shitty mood all week. At the risk of sounding like a McDonald’s commercial, I’ve decided right now to focus on the things I’m loving:

1. One day I bought a granny smith apple candle at Bath and Body Works. On another visit I bought a caramel one. I had the fabulous idea of putting them side by side and lighting them at the same time, and voila, my whole house now smells like caramel apples.

2. That new Nine Inch Nails song “Only” gives me goose bumps and makes me want to jump on my coffee table and scream “There is no fucking you, there is only me!” while the cats run for cover under the bed. I had kind of forgotten about Trent Reznor since he was incognito for the past 10 years, but not many artists can sing a song that invokes in me such a feeling of being alive.

3. I have figured out how to purchase and download songs onto my iPod. La la la la la. Since I loathe reading directions, I have figured things out the hard way. I cannot, however figure out how to navigate the thingamajig to make it play, but maybe I can call Alicia and she will talk me through it.

4. I just spell checked “thingamajig” because it didn’t light up in red. I did not think it was a real word, but apparently it is. Synonyms include: thing, thingy, doodad, thingamabob, gizmo, and doohickey.

5. My family is home from Italy, I can swallow without punching the wall, and my face has returned to its normal shape. I still have to get a root canal, but we’ll save that worry for another day.

Good night.

Oops I Did It Again

I went to Barnes & Noble yesterday because they are the only place in town that gets the new issue of People on Friday afternoon the way God intended it. And damn it internet, I was dying to find out what went wrong with Kenny and Renee's marriage. And Tori Spelling's for that matter.

I went straight to the magazine aisle and tried to avert my eyes from any and all new releases. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a beautiful, glossy tower of turquoise books that I was drawn to like a magnet. It was A Million Little Pieces which is Oprah's new selection for her book club. Shit. You know I bought it because the I liked the cover. Oh oh - and I also like books about real people recovering from stuff. Yeah. I hung my head with shame and embarrassment as I headed to the register. I wondered how many other women in this country bought that same exact book on that same exact day. At least I read books that she hasn't recommended, I started reading long before she started a book club, and I am positive that I've never taken a recommendation from Kelly Ripa. Carry on.

Friday, September 23, 2005

I'm Back on Caffeine!

Yesterday my work travels brought me to a very questionable neighborhood. I had to pee so badly that I stopped at a convenience store. This was a case of desperate times calling for desperate measures because it is not unusual to pass this store and see prostitutes standing out front and drug deals being made in the parking lot. I went inside and started looking for the ladies’ room. The only restroom door was closed and there were boxes stacked up against it like a barricade. The owner saw the frantic look on my face, sized me up and took a gamble that I would most likely not be using the restroom to shoot up or to give blow jobs to strangers. So he led me over to an unmarked door which was blocked by large amounts of soda. He moved the cases, unlocked 3 locks, taught me a secret handshake, and then let me into the private restroom which doubled as a storage room. It was surprisingly clean and I was very grateful. That is until a 6 foot long fluorescent light bulb fell over from its standing position and hit me on the head.

Today someone brought into the office the best donuts in town. Sweet Jesus, they are like little bites of heaven. One of my co-workers said “I’m not going to be greedy; I’m only going to take two.” That’s really funny when you have been mainlining caffeine and Vicodin all morning.

My friend Nicole just returned from New Orleans where she was part of a pet rescue mission. They saved 67 pets which makes my heart happy. See – I can be a positive person.

I just got home from Michael’s because I had a 50% off coupon I had to use before tomorrow. There was a huge Halloween display, which is understandable. What is not understandable was the huge Christmas display right next to it. The howling monsters loudly competing with the elves singing Christmas carols made me feel like my head would explode. Earlier today I was looking on ebay for Christmas gifts for Joe. I always try to get him something tasteful that features his college mascot. I came across a homemade purse made out of bright blue fabric with little orange alligators on it. I thought “Who the hell would buy that?” It turns out that she shops at Michael’s on Friday afternoons so that she can use her 50% off coupon as well.

Listen Up Girls:

Amber Frey – I have supported you for the past couple of years and sympathized with you because your experience could have happened to me or any one of my friends. It is not fair that your baby daddy drama made national news. What concerns me is that you have two illegitimate kids by two (or in this case 3) men, have multiple partners, and you don’t use birth control. Come on, you are smarter than that. Or at least you played smarter than that on your made for TV movie.

Kate Moss – I really have nothing to say to you, because I've never really liked you. I am not surprised that you use cocaine, nor was I surprised when H&M and Burberry fired you. Drop your loser boyfriend and clean up your act. I bet your biggest worry now is where you are going to get the money to support both your and Pete Doherty’s habits.

Tyra Banks – Are you trying to out-crazy Whitney Houston, Courtney Love, or Janice Dickinson? You are making a fool of yourself on not one, but two television shows. Who gives a shit if your breasts are real or fake? Have you ever heard the expression “the lady doth protest too much?” Let me break it down for you: Pamela Anderson would never go on television and let someone do an ultrasound on her boobs because the whole universe already knows they are fake. Just like yours.

Thursday, September 22, 2005

Who Am I?

Something very strange has happened to me this year. Something other than the fact that I actually like Mariah Carey’s new album, which makes me question my very existence on this earth. I’ve turned into someone who Christmas shops all year long. I used to wait until December like everyone else. I remember two years ago when I moved out of my apartment on a Tuesday night, and went Christmas shopping the Wednesday night afterward. Between the crowds, no parking, the picked over selection of gifts, and how mean people were, I thought about it and realized that moving from my second floor apartment with a pinched nerve in my neck was the lesser of two evils. I plan to be finished shopping by the end of this October. Since I have made the executive decision to put a moratorium on gift wrap and only use gift bags, I will have everything wrapped by November 1st. Zippity doo da. I will spend this December drinking hot chocolate in front of a roaring fire, trying to keep my Christmas tree alive for a change, and only going to the mall if I want to sit on Santa’s lap.

Wednesday, September 21, 2005

Dear Oprah,

Up until this point, I thought you could do no wrong. I think you're great with all the helping of the people and the giving to the charities. I just have one small request: could you please give me a warning next time before you do a tribute concert to Luther Vandross while I'm having PMS? I haven't cried that hard since my cat Buzz died in the 9th grade. Thanks so much.


Monday, September 19, 2005

Warning: Random

Which is worse: pretending not to see your cat lick the butter off your toast, or talking yourself into believing that animals' mouths truly are cleaner than humans' and then eating the toast? Hey, at least I don't kiss her on the mouth.

Evil ear/sinus pain 2005 has transformed into a very sore back molar and something that looks like a goiter under my right jaw bone. The pain and--because I'm me--the fear is extraordinary. I went to the dentist this morning to get checked out. Pretend you are a dentist and your patient has made it very clear that she is in extreme pain and that her molar is so sensitive that she can't bite down all the way. Would you then take a metal instrument and bang down on that particular tooth? Me neither. I have had braces, surgery for wisdom tooth removal, and countless fillings. Today was the first time I ever cried in the dentist's chair. To his credit, he felt so bad that he patted my shoulder and kept saying "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Oh, and he prescribed me Vicodin so all is forgiven.

Yesterday I lost quite a few hours of my life because AMC was having a high school movie marathon. Not Bring it On or 10 Things I Hate About You, but the true classics like Sixteen Candles, The Breakfast Club, and Dazed and Confused. I love them all, but no other movie sums up my high school experience like Dazed and Confused. We too drove around all night and hung out in parking lots, Seniors tortured Freshmen girls, we had keg parties in the woods, we avoided the police, we always looked for someone to buy us beer, we snuck in at dawn, and there were several older has-beens who continued to hang out with us long after they graduated. Unfortunately, none of them were Matthew McConaughey like in the movie, but you can't have everything. Even though this movie took place 15 years before I graduated, it is a classic because so many things are universal regardless of time or place. Go rent this if you grew up in Smalltown, FL and haven't already seen it.

I also watched The Surreal Life and was rightfully horrified when Balki started crying. Janice was telling him about being molested as a child and he got hysterical. This has undoubtedly been the best season so far. Hey Jose - your ex-wife told the whole world that you have no testicles. Caprice - did you and Madonna attend the same fake British accent class? Carey Hart - you appear so normal, why would you want to marry a man, uh, I mean Pink? Peppa - you are the sanest person in the house. Omarosa - if you want to portray such a high class princess, it would probably be wise to stop saying "shut the fuck up" 30 times per episode. Balki - where have you been for the past 20 years? Janice - I admit that you are my favorite, but I have to agree with Omarosa that your children are probably severely damaged.

I hope to bring you a post sponsored by Vicodin later, or have I already?

Sunday, September 18, 2005

Not For the Faint of Heart

I am currently reading a book in which the author calls her mother a “living urban legend” because the woman woke up with a wasp in her ear. A wasp for crying out loud. This is one of my irrational fears. More specifically, having a roach crawl into my ear while I’m sleeping. I truly believe that my immediate plan of action would include jabbing an ice pick into my ear until I passed out. If I recovered, I would then have to move out of my house and/or kill myself.

I once went to an ear, nose and throat doctor who had a display case in his waiting room full of assorted things he had pulled out of people’s ears, noses, and throats. It was horrifying. There were roaches of varying sizes, corn, peas, an entire tip of a pencil, the end of a Q-tip, and a two inch long fish bone. Those are just the ones I can remember.

While we’re on the topic of things that makes me want to exfoliate with a Brillo pad, one time a spider laid eggs in the back of my friend Jennifer’s dog. Under his skin. She was petting him when she felt some wetness on his back and then started screaming when she saw what poured out of the wound. I believe she’s still seeking treatment for her Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

Saturday, September 17, 2005

So Not a Morning Person

I do not function well on less than 8 hours of sleep. Ok, if we’re being completely honest – I don’t function that well on less than 9 hours of sleep either. Which is reason #43 why I’m not ready to have a child. Anyway, I got approximately 4 hours of sleep Thursday night, stretched over a 9 hour period. The reasons are many: I drank lots of iced tea with dinner; the evil pain in my right ear has returned and is holding my sinuses hostage as well; and the majority of my immediate family was on a transatlantic flight to Italy. I tried the bed, I tried painkillers, I tried the couch. Each time I would drift off the ear pain returned, or an overweight cat would walk on my chest. Let’s get back to the point of the story, which is that I don’t function well on not enough sleep. Friday morning I was too tired to clean the coffeemaker and make a fresh pot, so I was starting my day off right with a big glass of Coke. Which I knocked over in the bathroom. It splashed all over the walls, me, the shower curtain, and the cream colored bath mat. Oy vey. After mopping this up to the best of my ability, one cat snuck into the bedroom where she began to eat the house plants. This is the specific reason she is not allowed in the bedroom. I picked her up, she scratched me, and then I noticed that I had thick black cat hair all over my white shirt. God! I felt like I had lived a full day and it wasn’t even 9:00 a.m. If you were in my neighborhood Friday morning and heard a lot of loud swearing and saw a woman in a grey shirt with a wild, pissed off look in her eyes, that was me. Nice to meet you.

Friday, September 16, 2005

We Don't Need No Education

As I’ve mentioned before, my friend Beverly has begun teaching school this year. Her students are um, “special.” Today she had a seven-year-old boy yell “Fuck you bitch! Kiss my ass! Kiss my doo doo!” (I’ve been around a long time and nobody has ever told me to kiss his doo doo.) She had to put him in the time out room, which incidentally I would wear out if I were her. He yelled and screamed more obscenities at her. Don’t tell the school board, but she then turned off the light and he yelled “Aaaaah! I want my momma!” She turned the light back on and he yelled “Fuck you bitch! Kiss my ass!” She played this game a few more times, and then let him out of the room.

She called and asked me if I wanted to meet for a drink this afternoon. One drink is all we agreed on. It is solely that kid’s fault that we drank a pitcher of the strongest margaritas on earth, and that I ate an order of take out flan with my fingers on the drive home. When I wake up tomorrow with a hangover, he can kiss my doo doo.


Countdown to the New Fall Shows

While I anxiously await the new fall TV lineup, I have stumbled upon some pretty disturbing shows. One is Taradise, which causes me great physical pain to watch. Tara Reid is a drunk, bloated loser with straw-like hair. Her lifestyle has completely robbed her of any looks she ever had. How is it that she is getting paid to travel around the world, eat at nice restaurants, dance at clubs, get drunk nightly, and talk about herself in front of the camera? I want this job the minute she checks into rehab.

The second is Breaking Bonaduce, which is like watching a train wreck. I cannot look away. Danny Bonaduce is a drunk, bloated loser with weird eyebrows. Scratch the bloated, I think he is actually addicted to steroids and body building. The scenes that are shot of him in therapy sessions with the angry counselor scare the shit out of me. I have never been to a therapist who yells at me, I would consider that unethical to say the least. His wife is a woman whom he married on THE SAME DAY HE MET HER, and they have two children. I worry about the welfare of these kids who are being raised by him and by someone who would actually marry him. Perhaps they will grow up to marry Janice Dickinson’s children, and the spawn they produce will be the first sign of the apocalypse.

The next is The Battle of the Network Reality TV Stars. This isn’t so much disturbing as it is stupid and pointless. I think once you have been on a reality show, you never need to work again. You can just keep participating in reality shows and hopefully win enough money to hold you over until your next appearance on the Real World/Road Rules Challenge. I’ll bet the producers of The Swan are updating their resumes right now, because that Rachel Love Whoever does not look like a woman who got $250,000 worth of plastic surgery. She is plainer than a postal worker. The least she could do is wear makeup while on TV. She owes it to the universe I think. Just one more question: where the hell are Rob and Amber? The only explanation I can think of is that the taping of The Amazing Race overlapped with this show. I shouldn’t worry though; I know I’ll see them next year.

Lastly is the fact that I can't watch The Insider any longer because Kathie Lee Gifford is a new correspondent. Why God, why?

Thursday, September 15, 2005

Did I Ever Mention That I Like to Talk About Myself?

10 Little Questions

Hey baby, what are you wearing?

Boring work clothes. Grey slacks, black blouse, black mules.

What are you currently reading?

We Thought You Would be Prettier: True Tales of the Dorkiest Girl Alive by Laurie Notaro. I chose it because I liked the cover. My name is Cory and I judge books by their covers.

Name five songs to which you know all the words.

It would be more like name five albums to which you know all the words. I can’t remember what I had for lunch yesterday, but I have a freakish memory for song lyrics. Particularly if I hate the song. Coldplay – Parachutes, The Smiths – The Singles, Liz Phair – Whipsmart & Exile in Guyville, Jeff Buckley – Grace.

If you could change anything about your job, what would it be?

That I would have a peer to talk to, and that I wouldn’t be thought of as the enemy because my job = more work for other people.

What's the funniest thing you've overheard lately?

I was talking to Alicia on the phone and she made me laugh. I think we were talking about what a dumbass Britney Spears is.

Are you religious?

Yes, very much so. I have extreme guilt for not belonging to or attending a church.

What makes you blush?

Having someone tell me that her rectum is tilted and that she hasn’t had sex in 13 years.

Have you ever met anyone famous?

I waited on David Caruso at the Chart House. Also the drummer for Reverend Horton Heat, but I don’t think he’s famous. I saw Tom Jones there too. I didn’t meet him, but he tried to talk my friend Sandy into going back to his hotel with him. I bet it was the first time a woman ever turned him down. Still makes me laugh.

What gives your life meaning?

My husband, my family, my friends, my work.

Google your first name. How many results come up?

13,300,000 - this being my favorite:

Great deals on Cory
Shop on eBay and Save!

The Death of Cool

I don’t mind getting older. Really, I don’t. What I find difficult to handle is the fact that I’ve become a yuppie. I don’t even know if people still use that phrase, but that’s what I am. I used to be cool. I used to live in a hip (I hate that word) neighborhood, I used to go to all the popular clubs and bars, I used to sleep until noon, and I used to only wear shoes of the chunky heel variety.

Yesterday I went back to that neighborhood like I do every other month or so to get a cup of coffee or to eat lunch or maybe just to get a dose of culture. I was walking down the street and it hit me: I am 32, I live in a cookie cutter development in the suburbs, I drive an uber safe car, I wear sensible shoes, and I carry Purell hand sanitizer in my purse. What the fuck? How did all this happen? It's been 10 years since I reached the pinnacle of however cool I’m ever going to be.

I went into a store and almost choked on the incense. I stared at all the people with facial piercings and tattoos, at the girls with their skirts pulled down and their fat stomachs hanging over the waistbands. I marveled at the Jesus bobble head dolls and Jane Eyre action figures. I walked across the street to the seedy news stand where I once--on a dare--bought the issue of Playgirl featuring Brad Pitt. I watched the panhandlers walking around asking for money and was accosted by a group of kids smoking clove cigarettes. Then I’d had enough. I washed the experience off my hands with the Purell, started up my Saturn, and drove back to the suburbs. I’m happy now, but I wasn’t 10 years ago. I guess giving up being cool was worth it.

Wednesday, September 14, 2005

Britney is an Immature Whore

I just read that Britney Spears gave birth to the Federfetus. I can't take credit for that name, but I sure do like it. I already feel so sorry for this child. She actually scheduled a C-section to avoid the pain of regular child birth. Who does that? She is obviously not mature enough to have a baby and her priorities are all screwed up. "In the October issue of Elle, Spears said she looked forward to motherhood, proclaiming, 'I'm gonna be a hot mom!'" Yeah, because that's what it's all about. Stupid bitch.

P.S. If anyone arrives here because they Googled Britney Spears+Immature Whore+Stupid Bitch, give me a shout out. I think we'd get along really well.


Yikes! I now know why someone invented the expression “too much information.” I always thought that asking an acquaintance how they are is a rhetorical question and the answer is “fine.” Just fine. Today I saw someone who I work with very rarely. I made the mistake of asking her how she was, and then I got to hear the gory details of her kidney infection. I learned that she’s spotting, her urine is dark, she has trouble inserting suppositories because her rectum is tilted, and that this infection is not from sex because she hasn’t had any in 13 years. I literally had to sit down after hearing all of this because I felt light headed. Jesus lady, I will probably have nightmares tonight from the visuals in my head. Lesson learned: politely say hello and keep on walking.

Tuesday, September 13, 2005

Because I Like to Rate Stuff

Steak and Shake’s Banana Split Sippable Sundae – Could this sound any better? It was a delicious blend of banana milkshake, strawberry sauce, hot fudge, nuts, and whipped cream. That you suck through a straw! Without having to eat any actual healthy bananas! I never use exclamation points! At first I was put off by the color as it was sucked up through the straw. I would compare it to Bertie Bott’s Jelly Bellies, maybe the earwax or booger color. It was delicious as long as I sipped with my eyes closed. I couldn’t finish it, and had real feelings of nausea towards the end, so I think it served its purpose. B+

Dry by Augusten Burroughs – What a cliché to say that “it made me laugh, it made me cry,” but it really did. I want to be this man’s friend, his “fag hag” if you will. He is an amazing writer and has had such an extraordinary life. I read that a movie adaptation is being made based on his book Running With Scissors. I enjoyed that book so much that I may boycott the movie because they will probably bastardize the story like they did with Prozac Nation, and then I really will have to stop reading altogether. A

Crisper’s Restaurant – Gross. It’s a place for salads and sandwiches and whatever. I have tried it twice and been thoroughly disgusted both times. The service is okay because they bring the food to your table and don’t accept tips. I just got a coupon in the mail for a free smoothie or frozen coffee drink. If I can find the energy, I will go one more time because anything they serve would have to be free at this point for me to consider consuming it. D-

Bath & Body Works Moonlight Path – I won this as a prize at a baby shower. The thought was very nice, but if I wanted to wear cheap men’s cologne, I would have bought my own Aqua Velva long ago. F

Monster In Law – I was pleasantly surprised by how much I liked this movie. It was very cute, though somewhat predictable. I normally avoid Wanda Sykes as often as possible, but she was perfect for her comedic one liners. Jennifer Garner is a dumb bitch for breaking up with Michael Vartan because he is very yummy. B

Monday, September 12, 2005

Another Delightful Shopping Experience at Publix

I went to Publix to pick up some weekend supplies including toilet paper, deli fried chicken, and Glade plug in refills.

I was reaching for a gallon of milk when I smelled them. Long before I saw them. It’s the time of year when Publix sells cinnamon brooms and pinecones. Oh my God do these stink. It is overwhelming to the point where I have to walk around the produce department holding my breath with my face all scrunched up. It brings back bad memories of burning my lips on cinnamon toothpicks as a kid, and having a Goldschlager hangover. Publix is going to force me to shop at the 7-11 for groceries until January 1st.

When I was checking out I had to show the cashier my drivers license. She said “You have the same birthday as my boyfriend.” I said “Really? The same year and everything?” She said “Oh no, he was born in ’86.” Ouch.


Saturday, September 10, 2005

Quarterly Report on How Much Saturn Sucks

On Wednesday I discovered that I couldn't unlock my car with the remote, and that it wouldn't start once I got in. It is pretty fucking sad when you call your car dealership and all you have to say to the service manager is "Hi Laurie, this is Cory" and she knows exactly who you are and your car's history. I then called the stupid ass roadside assistance people and they said that someone would be out to tow it to the dealership. This all sounded so familiar. I asked if he could check my battery too, and she said it's either/or, but not both. Fine. I agreed to a tow. The man who came to tow the car said that he was there to jump the battery. I tried to tell him that I only wanted it towed, but he would not look at nor listen to me. I am apparently a dumb broad who is not worthy of his attention. In lieu of going completely crazy on his ass, I had to communicate with him via Joe. I had no problem getting my questions answered then The chauvinist fuck refused to tow my car since he got it started. We made it to the dealership without me breaking down at any red lights, or punching any of my car's windows out. I got a call on Thursday afternoon that they couldn't find anything wrong with the car or battery. Yeah, ok. That battery is three months old, but whatever. That sounds about right. Instead of turning to alcohol or prescription pain killers, I self medicated with a new ipod immediately after this ordeal. I am skipping my birthday next year. Maybe then there will be no hurricanes or car problems. I will always maintain my right to buy myself a birthday present though.

Friday, September 09, 2005

I've Been Through the Desert on a Horse With No Name

It felt good to be out of the rain. But not really. We had a good time in Las Vegas. I learned quite a bit from my experience, the main thing being that I will never live there.

The Good:

My hair looks fantastic with no humidity, cotton candy and homemade donuts on the Treasure Island dessert buffet, free drinks – even at the penny slots, and watching Joe politely suffer through Monster In Law.

The Bad:

Dry heat is just as fucking hot as wet heat, jet lag, I suck at gambling, so much dust, traffic, jet lag, it took 11 hours to get there, I’m used to a land where people can’t smoke inside any establishment, and jet lag.

The Ugly:

Americans as tourists, teenage girls with boob jobs driving convertible Mercedes and BMW’s, publicly admitting that I would have paid real money to see Air Supply if I had known it was an option beforehand, and I cheated on my cats with someone named Squeaky.

The Absurd:

Joe’s grandma had to go to the hospital for leg pain the first night we were there. They did a lot of tests and whatnot, but before they did an MRI they asked if she had any metal or shrapnel in her, and also asked if she had an IUD. Um, she’s 88. I would hope not.

Thursday, September 08, 2005

Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon

This is a list of odd occurences in my life that make me realize it's a small world after all:

1988 – While traveling with my family in Virginia, I ran into my friend Tina from home in a Burger King.

1992 – I moved to Tallahassee, FL. Two friends from home had just moved into my apartment complex. In the same building. I was not close enough to either to know that they too were moving to Tallahassee. At this time I also worked at Food Lion for a couple of months.

1994 – I saw a Food Lion co-worker at my stepsister’s wedding in Ft. Lauderdale, FL. He had gone to high school with her husband.

1995 – A second Food Lion co-worker and I happened to both be working at Gayfer’s department store in Jacksonville, FL.

1999 – I was at a work conference in Ft. Lauderdale. I was eating lunch in the hotel restaurant and my stepsister was there. She worked 30 miles away and had no idea I was coming to Ft. Lauderdale.

2000 – I was living with a roommate named Pam who grew up in Kansas. I had just started a new job and my coworker Michel had also grown up in Kansas. In the same town. They went to the same high school. Michel’s picture was in Pam’s yearbook which was in my living room.

2002 – I was working at Starbucks and a guy named Brian was transferred to my store. He and I had been friends in high school 11 years before, in a town 60 miles away.

Wednesday, September 07, 2005

The Story of My 31st Birthday

Last year we celebrated my birthday on Labor Day since we both had the day off from work. Did I mention that this was the same weekend that we were experiencing our third or fourth hurricane of the season? I can’t even remember the name because last August and September are a blur of power outages, hysteria, and Jim Cantore's face. Since I have a hard time delaying gratification, I thought it was very necessary to go out to eat that night. It may have had something to do with being a prisoner in my own home during the previous few days, or that all of the sitting around in the dark was dulling my senses and impairing my judgment.

We drove downtown and stopped at each of my favorite restaurants, only to find that they were all closed due to the weather. Whatever. I worked at The Chart House for almost 5 years and we never once closed due to the weather. At the 8th or 9th restaurant, I had to get out of the car to see if they were open. We parked in front of a hotel, under an awning of sorts. At the precise moment that I opened the door, a gust of wind came in off the river blowing the car door open so far that I could not physically close it. My football player sized husband had to use all of his weight to get the door closed. We were both soaking wet, and I think I may have cried a little. Forget the fact that people’s homes were being washed away; it was my birthday and I was not going to settle for going home to eat a Spam sandwich out of our hurricane bunker.

Guess where we ended up eating? The Fucking Chart House. The place that is open come rain or shine. The place that most consider to be a fine dining establishment, but the place that I still can’t stand the smell of. I got to see some old friends and was finally able to relax after my second shot of bourbon. It turned out to be a lovely evening. The menu had even been updated so I didn’t have to order something I had eaten and/or served approximately 2536 times before.

I am very fortunate because Joe is kind and generous and would do anything for me. I know he enjoyed buying me a nice gift and taking me out for a fancy dinner. I don’t think he was anticipating that my birthday would also cost him an additional $1000.00 to fix his car door though.

Friday, September 02, 2005

Hey Teacher, Leave Those Kids Alone

My friend Beverly started teaching school for the first time a couple of weeks ago. Since then I have been leaving her voicemails singing “Hot for Teacher” by Van Halen and “Brick in the Wall” by Pink Floyd, etc. Beverly didn’t grow up listening to this type of music, so for each musical voicemail that I leave for her, she leaves me one saying “I just got this really weird message from you.” You would have gotten it, right?

I was just reading a blog and a picture was posted of a woman and a baby, and the baby’s name was “Alchemy.” Alchemy is my favorite computer game of all time and no one loves it more than I. I still wouldn’t even name a pet goldfish that. Why do people do this to their children? Do they want them to grow up to be a drug addled prostitute or serial killer because he/she didn’t get a fair start in life? Yesterday a man applied for a job at my company and his name was Bryan Bryan. He went by his middle name, but still. Do people think that’s funny?

I’m going to take a break for a few days. I don’t feel like joking or bitching about my minor inconveniences while I can’t watch the news without crying. We are going to Las Vegas this weekend, so I will try to remember every absurd and funny detail. Peace out. (That was for you Bridge).

Thursday, September 01, 2005

It is a Sad Day in the Sourpuss Household

This morning I discovered that the Organic Jungle has gone out of business. This was a natural food restaurant which was run by a nice Indian family. Contrary to popular belief, I do try to eat healthy sometimes, and I try to cancel out some of the Starbucks and Burger King with fresh squeezed juices and vitamins and such. The Organic Jungle served salads with mesclun greens and made the best miso dressing I’ve ever had. Something got lost in translation because on the menu these salads were said to be made with “masculine” greens. Does this mean I have to start eating feminine salads now? Those are totally boring and I'll bet they’re made with iceberg lettuce and low fat honey mustard dressing.