I'm Already Up By A Free Dinner.

I've been in Vegas since 3:30 and I'm already ahead. Dad bought dinner. Sweet!

I feel like I'm in school again. I'm typing on his computer and he's watching TV in the living room. It feels like 1998, except I'm not associated with anyone in the music business.

Ah, guys in bands or guys who were the fifth Beatle, I knew them well. I don't miss the long hair. I miss the free drinks.

Rock stars. You gotta go through that stage because it's just too much fun. If you haven't ever dated a dude in a band, do it once before you die or turn forty.

Trust me.

I'm Registered At Jimmy Choo And Target.

By this time next Tuesday, I will have been married to George Clooney for 89 hours. I'll call from Lake Como. Mwah!

I'm Taking My Purple Satin Slingbacks To Vegas, Baby!

I leave for Lost Wages tomorrow. Yeeeeeeeeee HAW!

I'm hangin' with Dad and Step-Linda and I got a date with destiny at the craps table. I bought purple satin bejeweled slingbacks because I love ridiculous shoes. They aren't ridiculously high like the ones I bought for the Paris wedding. (God, those shoes are fab. Mauve strappy ankle-wrap skyscraper stilettos. They are the definition of limo shoes.) They won't let you sit at the craps table and blackjack has too much counting involved. I always take a card when I shouldn't and the guy next to me gets mad because he thinks it was his. I call bullshit on that. I can take as many cards as I want and I don't owe the next player nothin'.

I can't wait to blog about my millions when I win them.

I Can't Stop Eating Pop Tarts.

Thanks a lot, WritingGal. You better come visit me in sugar rehab. I had four cups of coffee and two tarts on Friday and had heart palpitations. I had to eat some carrots just to come down off the high. I cut down to two cups and two tarts this morning and I've got the shakes. I'm sure this Coke I'm drinking will help.

I am trying to do laundry but I can't concentrate long enough to separate whites from darks and delicates from colors. Oh caffeine and sugar, you twin mistresses of all that is distracted and shaky, some day I hope to end your reign of terror, but not today. Matt the Miller Man has a box of chocolates on his coffee table and I am so going to eat all the good ones before he gets back from Corpus tonight.

Ooh, something shiny!

I'm Tired Of You, Tony Soprano.

Over the last three days, I watched the complete fifth season of The Sopranos, and might I say, so what?

I was really interested in all the characters but now I'm all feh. Adriana was the only one who seemed even a little bit human but boy was she stupid. It's hard to root for someone that dumb. And Tony. He is just awful. I thought he had some redeeming qualities, but no, he doesn't. He lost me when he deliberately provoked Janice when her anger management classes actually seemed to be working and then walked away smiling. Sociopath. No hope for him. Why bother watching the next season if they ever make it? I'm going to mentally wack Tony myself and be done with the whole thing. And what the hell is wrong with Dr. Melfi? I can't even start with her or we'll be here all night.

So to sum up, Sopranos Thanksgiving marathon, not so much.

I should have rented "GiGi" and "Brigadoon" instead. Note to self: Let's do musicals with happy frolicking at Christmas. It's not Steve McQueen, but I think I've had enough of the ironic holiday film festival for a while.

I need a hug and a cookie.

Mourning Is Hard.

A great big thank you to everyone who's called or posted to let me know you're thinking of me. You've all been really great. I cried so much Sunday and Monday I gave myself a migraine yesterday and took the day off. But I'm better now.

I wish Grandpa Tex would come visit me, but he must be pretty busy explaining himself for some stuff up in heaven. He said Uncle Hubert, Aunt Louise and Grandma had all come to visit him and he knew for sure it was Hubert because he sat on the end of the bed and he was heavy and wouldn't get off Grandpa's feet. So Tex had a welcoming committee when he kicked it. Good. We should all be so lucky.

I'm my usual anti-holiday family gathering self. We're only working a half day today so I'm off to Ikea maybe and then to get DVDs and books. I haven't been grocery shopping yet, so it may be a Marie Calender's frozen dinner for Thanksgiving. There's pretty much no such thing as a turkey for one. I'm off to Vegas next week for plenty of Dad and Step-Linda time.

And I invited Crazy Linda to come visit me in Dallas after Thanksgiving. I know. It's the grief talking. Anyway, she's a wreck and it beats going down to Houston where all the real drama happens. I'm so going to need all my friends around to be the buffer.

I'll post from Vegas and let you know what's happening. Dad says he's going to make me go camping. Ho. Lee. Craaaaaap.

Happy Turkey Day, my little crumpets!

For those of you who have my number, feel free to call and see how many glasses of wine I've had by noon tomorrow. Cheers!

Adios, Grandpa Tex.

Grandpa Tex died yesterday. He was 96.

I finally started laughing yesterday when I thought about what they would do with his glass eye. If I had my druthers, I'd keep it in a velvet box. Unfortunately, I don't think anyone else would think it was as funny as I do. So I guess I'll just let it go with him.

Grandpa Tex was an ornery, difficult, opinionated, loud, mean, controlling old man. He was also funny, kind, sensitive, observant, wise, silly, mischievous, generous and wonderful. The caricature of a loud-mouthed Texan, but genuine. He couldn't be anything but who he was.

No one was allowed to adjust the air conditioning in his house. Ever. There has never been another human being who ate more biscuits. At every meal, there were biscuits and jelly. He fried eggs in an inch of bacon grease in a cast iron skillet older than I am. He liked to crush up crackers or cornbread and put them in a tall glass of buttermilk.

I was lucky. He was nicer to the girls and the grandkids, and being a girl grandkid exempted me from his tirades. I also never brought home any ne'er-do-well husbands, got divorced, was unemployed, went to rehab, got arrested, had a fatherless child or dated (in view of the family) any persons of color, all things sure to set him off. It also helped that I vote Democrat. In a family full of Republicans, Grandpa and I manned the last outpost of democracy, although his brand of Southern Democrat was a far cry from the lefty liberal leanings of mine.

A couple years ago, Grandpa and I talked about living alone. After Grandma died, he was pretty much alone except for the housekeeper most of the time. It broke my heart when we both said how hard it was to cook for just one person. There I was, single in the big city in all my fabulousness, and the one person who understood how hard it is to be on my own was my 90-year-old grandfather. It still gets me to this day. That's why I asked, "Did Carrie Bradshaw have a grandpa?"

He told me I could come live with him anytime. It was a big compliment. Not everybody was invited to stay, and he kicked my thieving cousin out a few months ago.

Grandpa named every dog he ever had either Bitsy or Sam. Little dogs were Bitsy; big dogs were Sam. There must have been 15 Bitsy's and Sam's. The current Bitsy is going with my mom. I wish I could take her, but I'm never home. Bitsy is better off with company.

Grandpa Tex's idea of sex education was to nudge me with his elbow and ask, "You know what causes that, don't you?" whenever there was news of a new baby coming. He always asked if I had a boyfriend and I always said no. Then he'd tell me I better hurry up and get married since I'm getting on. Then he'd want me to remind him how old I was before he'd change his mind and tell me since I had a good job and my car was running good, I didn't need to worry about getting married.

Grandpa's criteria for success was a steady job and a good engine. Much like his own self. He was predictable in that you never knew if you were going to be on his good side or not, and his heart was the engine that kept him with us for nearly 97 years, through all manner of Texas cooking, hard drinking and fighting.

He was the last of a people that lived as simply as they could, when any day without rain was a good one, unless they needed it. He was bigger than life and love him as I do or hate him as I'm sure others did, you simply couldn't ignore Tex. He has been the center of five generations of my family. I wonder now what will keep us connected.

Louis Quaid Martin, or Grandpa Tex to me, I'm sure you're happy to be gone from here at last. You never were one for big productions, so I'll use the words you used to say goodbye whenever we talked:

Well, I'll see ya.

I Just Want Some Boots That Aren't Furry. Is That Too Much To Ask?

I blame Sienna Miller for this. Your fiance sleeps with one nanny and the whole world has to wear furry boots in solidarity. Stupid furry boots. I'm not doing it. You can't make me.

What should I buy myself for Christmas? Also, what should I buy myself for the big birthday in February? I must commemorate it since it's a milestone. 35 is the new fabulous. That's my motto. I'm thinking ridiculously expensive handbag. Which reminds me, I haven't carried my Louis in quite some time. Must break it out again. Hmmm, Christmas. Possibly silk pajamas and a smoking jacket. All the better to swan around my tiny apartment in, spilling wine everywhere. Note to self: stock up on the champers.

Shopping is hard.

What's For Dinner?

What should I have? Pancakes or chili? Discuss.

Who Wants To Be My Beneficiary?

My company switched insurance plans. Who should I name as beneficiary since I'm single and don't have any cats? Nominate yourself or someone else. If I kick the bucket, buy the farm or take the big sleep, you'll be rich! Why should I leave you the cash in addition to my cherished memory? Discuss.

I Hab A Cold Ib By Dose.

I knew I was getting sick on Friday when I woke up with the telltale sore throat. I got ready Friday night by buying generic Claritin D and a new thermometer. I never had a fever, which was disappointing. I kind of like that fever feeling when you're not really awake and not really asleep and you're burning up and freezing all at the same time. You're miserable, but it feels so good when the fever breaks, it's worth it.

I had an out-of-body experience once when I had a fever when I was little. This was before we moved to Texas, so I was really little, like three or four. I remember I was supposed to be in bed taking a nap, but I went outside and I was balancing on this concrete wall and I scraped my knee. I knew I would be in trouble for being outside, so I couldn't go in to get my knee patched up.

So I went in the back yard and got on one of the swings and sat there feeling sorry for myself because I couldn't get sympathy for my scrape since I wasn't supposed to be out there in the first place. It suddenly felt like I was in a super-fast elevator and I was looking down on myself as a little kid sitting there crying, but the me that was watching wasn't a child.

I remember thinking and feeling like an adult for just a few seconds and understanding the poor kid's dilemma and then whoosh I was back in my body and I remember the physical sensation of it, like when you hit the brakes hard and unexpectedly and you lurch forward. Little kid me was a little freaked out and I jumped up off that swing and ran into the house.

Craaaazzzyyyyy.

Anyway, I sort of like having a fever was the point.

Jason, Do You Want To Go To The Margarita Ball A Week From Saturday?

I don't have time to call Stef and get your number right now, so I'm hoping you just read this sometime in the next couple days. You'll have to wear a suit. If you have a tux handy, that would be great, but who cares if you don't? It don't cost nuthin'. Let me know and we'll synchronize our watches or whatever.

PS. I'm not hitting on you.

I've Been Preoccupied, But That Doesn't Mean I Don't Love You.

Don't worry, I'm not cheating on you. I've just got a lot on my mind and my sore shoulders are making it hard to think about anything else. What are you doing Saturday night? Let's have a date night and put the focus back on us. What do you say, kitten? You know you're the only one for me.

There should be more Supertramp in all our lives. I need more pillows. I like cake. I need to stop obsessing. I don't have enough knives. What if someone spills? I don't have enough wine glasses. I am not buying doilies. I hate my job. I'm in a funk. This week has been hard. I'm tired. I need a massage and a facial. I fell down last Friday and my scrape still hurts. I want to go to the movies. I wish I had some cheese. I want lasagne. Soup is good food. I'm thirsty. mmm... LouAnn plate. I'm cranky. I need a nap. It's cool outside. I'm going to lunch early. I want to curl up in a ball and have quiet time. Everyone put your head on your desk. I don't like monkeys. I wish I had a dog. The batteries in my digital thermometer are dead so I can't get sick. If I were in the hospital, would people come see me? What if I kill a patient? What if I look bad in scrubs? What if there is no McDreamy? That was a good kiss he gave Izzy. I would have followed him out. I'm not cool. I can't believe they killed Shannon. Sayid's going to lose it. They should stop pressing the button. I'm not full-strength today. I've been de-DisRespeccified with some sort of alien brain ray. Stupid aliens. Tom Cruise is nuts. I don't find crazy people attractive. What's up with my beach vision? Let's have some more of that, please. It's almost lunch time. I want soup and garlic bread. Spaghetti would also be nice. I need a fountain coke. I like ice cream. I like tea. I'm a nice girl, most of the time. I must never tell any person who wants to date me about this blog. I'm not really crazy. I'm maybe a little eccentric sometimes. My eyes are getting heavy. I want to lay on the floor in corpse pose. I like lavender. I have to go google something.

Yesterday, I Chose A Mantra.

Shrink #2 proposed I use a mantra when I'm all stressed out, which sounds great to me. I believe in all that yoga-breathing, visualizing your bliss stuff. I just forget to do it when I'm trying to kill people at the office with my brainwaves. I know it would be easier just to make a shiv out of a Sharpie, but somehow I think I'd get caught.

The mantra that came to me?

Apple pie.

You'd think it would be something like "My bliss is in the now." Nope. I'm "Apple pie."

Apple pie. Apple pie. Apple pie. Apple pie. Apple pie. Serenity NOW! APPLE PIE!

What's your mantra? Discuss.

My Neck Hurts And I Blame Sarge.

Ow. Ow. Ow.

Stress causes migraines. Migraines make me want to poke a hole in my skull so my brains leak out.

I had a fun migraine on Friday, and I'm still hungover from it. I know exactly what caused it. Sarge. He made me mad on Thursday, so bam, Friday headache. It doesn't take a rocket scientist.

Smiling while you really want to strangle someone is hazardous to your health. It gives you migraines.

On a more positive note, the tanker truck driver this morning at the gas station gave me the eye. Twice. I love you too, Tanker Truck Driver. I love you too.

Can You Hear Me From Under This Bus?

Hey guess what. I don't know everything. Sarge says. Has he MET me?

He also says I have to arrange a group lunch next week for our new editor and I have to decide who rides with whom. See, no one wants to ride with Sarge and he knows that. Sarge throws me under the bus by making sure the cheese doesn't stand alone, so I'm throwing Only Boy Editor Left under the bus in turn. He rides with Sarge. FNG always gets screwed. The rest of us are riding in the fun car and talking about the people in the Sarge car.

Please. No more Halloween candy. Is it too much to ask for some green beans? Mmmm...vegetables.

The Best Part Of Waking Up Has Nothing To Do With Folger's

To go with my delightful magic caffeine dispenser, I purchased a cow creamer.

You've been to the small-town diner that serves you cream in a ceramic cow, haven't you? Now I own one. I have a cow creamer! I can't wait to make pancakes and have the cow on the table. Except I don't have a table. No room. I have a bar. With stuff all over it.

I'll take the cow to IHOP on Sunday.

I Love You, Phillips Senseo Coffee Maker.

I have been looking at those new-fangled coffee makers that use coffee pods ever since I saw one in action at Thea's office that time we tried to get U2 tickets. I checked them all out at Target and picked the one that took the least amout of hands to operate, only I had a mental block about paying $70 for a coffee maker. I couldn't do it. I own Oscar de la Renta pants, but I couldn't spring for that damn coffee maker.

The combined forces of Sarge and a sale at Target finally got me my delightful new kitchen gadget. $50 was the magic number. I have enjoyed three mornings of coffee brewed at home for a bargain price and still made it into the office without drawing the wrath of Sarge, who just now threw me under the bus as I was typing.

Lunch hour delayed.

The Fact That I Can't Fix That Lowercase S Is Also Freaking Me Out.

My subconscious Mind Is Freaking Me Out.

So I went to the chiropractor today to get a massage and to get cracked. Susan the awesome masseuse worked on my neck and back and I've got a stubborn knot that won't relax so to get me to concentrate on something other than willing myself to relax, she asked me, "What makes you happy?"

And this is the image that popped into my mind:

Me on the front porch of a beach house watching my seven-year-old son playing at the edge of the water. I was laughing and I looked good for 45. Then I thought I better throw a father into the vision. So, poof, there he was sitting next to me in an Adirondack chair, holding my hand. He was tall, dark and handsome, although I didn't see his face. Just an impression of his profile.

Whoa.

There were no Manolos; I wasn't half in the bag; I wasn't smoking and the dude was definitely an American.

W. T. F?