I have a problem. I have spilled coffee on myself three out of five mornings this week. I do not know what is wrong with me. Was it the singing at the top of my voice along with Jamie Cullum? Could it be the music is not only a mindtrick wherein you may watch me forget about missing you, but the cause of the spillage? Negatory. I took Jamie out of the car entirely today and spillage occurred anyway. I can't rule out a backlash effect due to the absence of the Jamie, yet.
Could it be related to my alleged attendance of the Steve McQueen School of Driving? (Some guy once told me I went there. I had just run like three red lights. I don't do that anymore.) Am I spilling because of all the sips taken in midair when I'm jumping garbage cans? Wait, that's Evil Knieval. Steve McQueen is much cooler. I must be spilling when I'm trying to cross the border into Switzerland and jumping barbed wire.
My theories are not yet developed and right now I don't have time because I have to make a phone call and I can't multitask. You people figure it out. What is wrong with ReadBecca? I thank you in advance to restrict your snarky answers to the subject of ReadBecca's coffee-spilling. ReadBecca is well aware of her deficiences in other areas.
Friday, May 26, 2006
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
"Lyndon Johnson. Was he black?"
Oh, community college, you produced such interesting questions during lecture today.
I almost got in a fistfight about the pope today. Not Benny, JP II. Now kids, you know I'm a Questioning Catholic, like lots of good Catholic saints were. I attend mass sporadically, and I don't think the Church is infallible, and in some cases is even wrong (not that many, but a few; i.e., gay people may go to hell just like the rest of us, but not just for being gay). But that kid saying something nasty about JP II just pushed the wrong button in me. I had an outburst and our fearless leader had to simmer us down. I totally wanted to meet that guy at the flagpole at three o'clock.
You don't talk smack about the pope, you don't say Catholics worship statues, and you don't complain that mass is too long and you don't like all the kneeling. You can take the girl out of Catholic school, but you can't take Catholic school out of the girl.
Also, I had a conversation about South Texas today and I miss it more than I realized. I was very much in a Mac Davis, "Happiness is Lubbock, Texas, in my Rearview Mirror" mood when I got the hell out of Corpus, and now I'm a little worried that the end of that song will happen to me. I don't know if I want to be buried in a Jeep, per se, but dammit I may not have blood in my veins, it may be saltwater from the Laguna Madre. Eeew, seaweed, tar and jellyfish!
Mac Davis. You don't get enough of him. He warned me not to get hooked on him, he'd just use me, then set me free, oh but I didn't listen.
Skipped the movie yesterday in favor of napping and dinner with Matt the Miller Man. I mean, napping first and having dinner with Matt LATER. Don't want to start any unfounded rumors about myself; Matt and I are just good friends, and not in a People magazine quote kind of way. You never make better friends than the ones you keep from your childhood.
Also, you know those ladies at the bus stop with the umbrellas? I'm one of them. I hate being hot and I'm terrified of getting wrinkles so I walk around downtown Dallas with my lime green umbrella and I don't care who knows it.
In fact, it's NOT an umbrella, it's a parasol, and I love it so much, I even wore matching underpants the other day. Mock if you will, you sweaty, wrinkled bastards, but those bus stop ladies have shown me the way.
I saw a guy yesterday wearing goggles (like from chem lab) and red suspenders pushing an igloo cooler down the street. I would have given anything to know the back story on that one.
I almost got in a fistfight about the pope today. Not Benny, JP II. Now kids, you know I'm a Questioning Catholic, like lots of good Catholic saints were. I attend mass sporadically, and I don't think the Church is infallible, and in some cases is even wrong (not that many, but a few; i.e., gay people may go to hell just like the rest of us, but not just for being gay). But that kid saying something nasty about JP II just pushed the wrong button in me. I had an outburst and our fearless leader had to simmer us down. I totally wanted to meet that guy at the flagpole at three o'clock.
You don't talk smack about the pope, you don't say Catholics worship statues, and you don't complain that mass is too long and you don't like all the kneeling. You can take the girl out of Catholic school, but you can't take Catholic school out of the girl.
Also, I had a conversation about South Texas today and I miss it more than I realized. I was very much in a Mac Davis, "Happiness is Lubbock, Texas, in my Rearview Mirror" mood when I got the hell out of Corpus, and now I'm a little worried that the end of that song will happen to me. I don't know if I want to be buried in a Jeep, per se, but dammit I may not have blood in my veins, it may be saltwater from the Laguna Madre. Eeew, seaweed, tar and jellyfish!
Mac Davis. You don't get enough of him. He warned me not to get hooked on him, he'd just use me, then set me free, oh but I didn't listen.
Skipped the movie yesterday in favor of napping and dinner with Matt the Miller Man. I mean, napping first and having dinner with Matt LATER. Don't want to start any unfounded rumors about myself; Matt and I are just good friends, and not in a People magazine quote kind of way. You never make better friends than the ones you keep from your childhood.
Also, you know those ladies at the bus stop with the umbrellas? I'm one of them. I hate being hot and I'm terrified of getting wrinkles so I walk around downtown Dallas with my lime green umbrella and I don't care who knows it.
In fact, it's NOT an umbrella, it's a parasol, and I love it so much, I even wore matching underpants the other day. Mock if you will, you sweaty, wrinkled bastards, but those bus stop ladies have shown me the way.
I saw a guy yesterday wearing goggles (like from chem lab) and red suspenders pushing an igloo cooler down the street. I would have given anything to know the back story on that one.
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Nuts To That! I'm Going To The Movies.
Unlike Blogda, I can't quote The Simpsons at will, but today's title is one of the few Homerisms I know, and I think about it every time I want to see a movie.
My freelance gig is on hiatus until Thursday since everyone who works there is in Canada. So I got a free afternoon. And what am I going to do with it? Study? You have got to be kidding me.
I'm having Hot Pockets for lunch then I'm off to see Da Vinci. Or Flight 93. I can't decide. Probably the Vinch. Flight 93 is an in the privacy of your own home film, like The Passion of the Christ, which I deliberately waited for on video because I didn't want to sit in the theater with other people's opinions. ReadBecca knows her limitations.
ReadBecca might finally assemble her Ikea book case after the movie. She doesn't know why she has taken to writing about herself in the third person. Maybe it's because she talks about DisRespecca, the evil twin who likes drinking and sailors, like that. So if ReadBecca, DisRespecca and the Omniscient Narrator who keeps track of them both and writes about it are separate entities, then who the hell am I? Can Just Rebecca exist in a vacuum? Jesus, I have got to drop psychology.
Note of regard to Whitney:
Nobody walks in LA.
My freelance gig is on hiatus until Thursday since everyone who works there is in Canada. So I got a free afternoon. And what am I going to do with it? Study? You have got to be kidding me.
I'm having Hot Pockets for lunch then I'm off to see Da Vinci. Or Flight 93. I can't decide. Probably the Vinch. Flight 93 is an in the privacy of your own home film, like The Passion of the Christ, which I deliberately waited for on video because I didn't want to sit in the theater with other people's opinions. ReadBecca knows her limitations.
ReadBecca might finally assemble her Ikea book case after the movie. She doesn't know why she has taken to writing about herself in the third person. Maybe it's because she talks about DisRespecca, the evil twin who likes drinking and sailors, like that. So if ReadBecca, DisRespecca and the Omniscient Narrator who keeps track of them both and writes about it are separate entities, then who the hell am I? Can Just Rebecca exist in a vacuum? Jesus, I have got to drop psychology.
Note of regard to Whitney:
Nobody walks in LA.
Monday, May 22, 2006
Everyone In Downtown Dallas Wants Me To Give Them A Dollar.
So I completed my first week of summer school and got an A on my first test. I am a genius. And no, they would not take a note from my shrink instead of actually re-taking Intro to Psych. I asked.
Also, ReadBecca will stick her hand anywhere for a quarter. I dropped a laundry quarter under the machine and you know when you still have to use quarters to do your damn laundry that a thing like that can push you right over the edge because then your ratio of washes to dries is all out of whack and nobody needs wet denim. So ReadBecca stuck her hand under there all Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom style to retrieve said quarter. You do not want to look under an apartment complex washing machine. I repeat for emphasis: you do not want to look under an apartment complex washing machine.
I got my quarter and have developed a serious Lady Macbeth condition.
I got a laundry room beef with this broad now. Everyone knows you can't expect to use all the machines at once on a weekend, but by gum in the middle of a weekday he who arrives first claims all. So there I was sorting away when this broad comes in and procedes to invade my turf. I decide to bite the bullet and give her half the machines if I have to. But she doesn't do that. She only needs one. And she picks the one in the middle. Which totally throws off my system.
Firstly, she can't wait 20 minutes? If she had left her stuff, I would have put it in for her. And B, who picks the one in the middle? It would be like going to the movies and not leaving a buffer seat.
Then, THEN, she goes and flops on a lounge chair and leaves her one measly load in my way when it's done. I had to wait 'til one of mine was finished while her stinkin' wet laundry sat there totally finished with the spin cycle. She was laying out the whole time and without sunscreen. She is so going to get leather-faced and all skin cancery.
Now that I think about it, this may have all happened on a Sunday. Still. That broad is going down next time I see her.
Also, Jamie Cullum was fun. He's small enough to carry around in my purse, but musically, I'd need at least a large duffle bag.
Alternative Jamie Joke, Dirty Version: He so short, I got a vibrator taller than him. Thank you! Goodnight!
Also, ReadBecca will stick her hand anywhere for a quarter. I dropped a laundry quarter under the machine and you know when you still have to use quarters to do your damn laundry that a thing like that can push you right over the edge because then your ratio of washes to dries is all out of whack and nobody needs wet denim. So ReadBecca stuck her hand under there all Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom style to retrieve said quarter. You do not want to look under an apartment complex washing machine. I repeat for emphasis: you do not want to look under an apartment complex washing machine.
I got my quarter and have developed a serious Lady Macbeth condition.
I got a laundry room beef with this broad now. Everyone knows you can't expect to use all the machines at once on a weekend, but by gum in the middle of a weekday he who arrives first claims all. So there I was sorting away when this broad comes in and procedes to invade my turf. I decide to bite the bullet and give her half the machines if I have to. But she doesn't do that. She only needs one. And she picks the one in the middle. Which totally throws off my system.
Firstly, she can't wait 20 minutes? If she had left her stuff, I would have put it in for her. And B, who picks the one in the middle? It would be like going to the movies and not leaving a buffer seat.
Then, THEN, she goes and flops on a lounge chair and leaves her one measly load in my way when it's done. I had to wait 'til one of mine was finished while her stinkin' wet laundry sat there totally finished with the spin cycle. She was laying out the whole time and without sunscreen. She is so going to get leather-faced and all skin cancery.
Now that I think about it, this may have all happened on a Sunday. Still. That broad is going down next time I see her.
Also, Jamie Cullum was fun. He's small enough to carry around in my purse, but musically, I'd need at least a large duffle bag.
Alternative Jamie Joke, Dirty Version: He so short, I got a vibrator taller than him. Thank you! Goodnight!
Saturday, May 13, 2006
ReadBecca's New Job: A Day One Recap
So I got there about nine, toting my reading lamp and my tissues, and was in my new work outfit and feeling Friday fine.
My office roomie Mike is nice. He set up a Jamie Cullum radio station on Pandora just for me. We listened to it all day even though he hates it. See? Nice. Could be because of training from wife and kid.
Tony is my boss. Addicted to his BlackBerry. Wears a wallet chain. Shacked up with some woman. Tony gave me enough stuff to keep me busy all day, but not advertising agency busy. The amount of work I did in an eight-hour day would have been a couple hour's worth at the last place. It was niiiiiice.
Also, the boys didn't make me each lunch like a loser all by myself. We went to Double Dave's and I think I hallucinated that it was 1993. Freebird's World Burrito and Double Dave's. Instant time machines.
By 4:30, me and Mike were the only people left in the office. I didn't know what to do. I've never had a job where people actually, you know, went home at some point. I am so used to working assinine hours that I kinda felt like a cheater. By six, I was drinking beer with Stefanie at Idle Rich. It was awesome. Freelancing good.
And on the last of my frequent trips downtown for school crap, I drove by Gypsy Tea and nearly wrecked when I saw my music boyfriend Jamie Cullum is in town tomorrow. Even though it's a Sunday and the same time as Grey's Anatomy, I'm going. I'll tape the GA. I'll probably be the oldest broad in Deep Ellum. Jamie Cullum, mmm.
I came to the liberry today to do all my homework for this week in advance, but it smells like dirty baby in here and I can't take it. I'm going to Good Records to get my golden ticket, and be the uncoolest person in the room, and find someplace less malodorous to work.
Hey, should ReadBecca have ads like Writing Gal? I wonder how much dough she gets.
My office roomie Mike is nice. He set up a Jamie Cullum radio station on Pandora just for me. We listened to it all day even though he hates it. See? Nice. Could be because of training from wife and kid.
Tony is my boss. Addicted to his BlackBerry. Wears a wallet chain. Shacked up with some woman. Tony gave me enough stuff to keep me busy all day, but not advertising agency busy. The amount of work I did in an eight-hour day would have been a couple hour's worth at the last place. It was niiiiiice.
Also, the boys didn't make me each lunch like a loser all by myself. We went to Double Dave's and I think I hallucinated that it was 1993. Freebird's World Burrito and Double Dave's. Instant time machines.
By 4:30, me and Mike were the only people left in the office. I didn't know what to do. I've never had a job where people actually, you know, went home at some point. I am so used to working assinine hours that I kinda felt like a cheater. By six, I was drinking beer with Stefanie at Idle Rich. It was awesome. Freelancing good.
And on the last of my frequent trips downtown for school crap, I drove by Gypsy Tea and nearly wrecked when I saw my music boyfriend Jamie Cullum is in town tomorrow. Even though it's a Sunday and the same time as Grey's Anatomy, I'm going. I'll tape the GA. I'll probably be the oldest broad in Deep Ellum. Jamie Cullum, mmm.
I came to the liberry today to do all my homework for this week in advance, but it smells like dirty baby in here and I can't take it. I'm going to Good Records to get my golden ticket, and be the uncoolest person in the room, and find someplace less malodorous to work.
Hey, should ReadBecca have ads like Writing Gal? I wonder how much dough she gets.
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
ReadBecca Gets A Job.
The freelance thing is finally working out, which is exactly what ReadBecca wanted all along. ReadBecca knew she couldn't live on a minimum wage job and a full-time gig would interfere with school. ReadBecca has been biding her time while those around her did the freaking out. ReadBecca is cool under pressure, except that time she made Fiona and Stefanie go with her on the Match.com date. She was definitely freaking out then.
Now ReadBecca is obsessed with El Centro College and their tricky ways. ReadBecca was forced to take a placement test to get into the Algebra class she absolutely must complete this summer. However. Practice questions provided by advising office in no way resembled actual test. Those. Mother. Effing. Bastards.
Let's make that tests, plural. Because there were two math tests, only one of which she expected. One of which ReadBecca sailed through. The other of which ReadBecca scored a 19. 19. The average age of a Viet Nam soldier. Nnnnnnnineteen.
ReadBecca is outraged. And pissed off. Because the part she passed was THE ALGEBRA PART. The part she failed was whatever that math is that you have to do functions and sine and cosine. Is that trigonometry? ReadBecca has no idea. Because it wasn't on the practice test provided by the advising office. Practice questions covered stuff like decimals and solving for x. Not a graph of the slope of y in sight.
Imagine DisRespecca's dismay when she saw the + shaped graphing questions when she was expecting to turn decimals into percents. So even though she passed the algebra portion, they won't let her in. ReadBecca will never take trig, BTW. It isn't on the nursing school curriculum. She. Just. Needs. Algebra. For. God's. Sake.
They want to send her to remedial math (the "highest level of remedial math" to be exact, which just makes me King of the Dipshits), which is no good because ReadBecca already has a class scheduled for that time. ReadBecca can't try again until after next Thursday, because that's the end of the semester and you can only take a placement exam once a semester. ReadBecca is also considering the Advanced Placement exam, which is totally different from the Are You Stupid? Placement Exam, so she doesn't have to take the effing class at all.
The third option is to take remedial math, which will leave her a prereq short of the nursing school admissions requirements, which means she will have to wait an entire year to start nursing school. And that also means that ReadBecca must let the morons beat her. ReadBecca would rather die than be bested by someone she is smarter than.
So you can see how the level of rage is rising due to the incompetence of an office that gives incomplete, inaccurate information. ReadBecca hates hates hates people who can't think creatively, who can't think at least three moves ahead, who can't innovate, who make her jump through hoops for no good reason. ReadBecca also wants them to stop asking her when she's planning to take English Composition. Just writing that down made me pause because of the red haze blocking my view of the screen.
ReadBecca feels much better having ranted today. She's been pissed off since Monday. You know that kind of pissed off frustration that makes women cry at the office? ReadBecca hasn't felt that since she left the 9 to 5 world three months ago. It took a community college to break her.
Also, ReadBecca saw Collin Farrell in a magazine with some other girl. Son of a bitch. I stood by him for years and now that he's been to rehab, he gets all cozy with some redhead who never had to deal with his crap. Totally. Unfair.
And another thing, why can't ReadBecca find a Lemon Chill for sale anywhere?
Bonus Aside:
I saw an ice cream truck at a stoplight Monday. It had something called an Ice Tickle for sale. I had a boyfriend once who liked a good Ice Tickle every now and again.
Now ReadBecca is obsessed with El Centro College and their tricky ways. ReadBecca was forced to take a placement test to get into the Algebra class she absolutely must complete this summer. However. Practice questions provided by advising office in no way resembled actual test. Those. Mother. Effing. Bastards.
Let's make that tests, plural. Because there were two math tests, only one of which she expected. One of which ReadBecca sailed through. The other of which ReadBecca scored a 19. 19. The average age of a Viet Nam soldier. Nnnnnnnineteen.
ReadBecca is outraged. And pissed off. Because the part she passed was THE ALGEBRA PART. The part she failed was whatever that math is that you have to do functions and sine and cosine. Is that trigonometry? ReadBecca has no idea. Because it wasn't on the practice test provided by the advising office. Practice questions covered stuff like decimals and solving for x. Not a graph of the slope of y in sight.
Imagine DisRespecca's dismay when she saw the + shaped graphing questions when she was expecting to turn decimals into percents. So even though she passed the algebra portion, they won't let her in. ReadBecca will never take trig, BTW. It isn't on the nursing school curriculum. She. Just. Needs. Algebra. For. God's. Sake.
They want to send her to remedial math (the "highest level of remedial math" to be exact, which just makes me King of the Dipshits), which is no good because ReadBecca already has a class scheduled for that time. ReadBecca can't try again until after next Thursday, because that's the end of the semester and you can only take a placement exam once a semester. ReadBecca is also considering the Advanced Placement exam, which is totally different from the Are You Stupid? Placement Exam, so she doesn't have to take the effing class at all.
The third option is to take remedial math, which will leave her a prereq short of the nursing school admissions requirements, which means she will have to wait an entire year to start nursing school. And that also means that ReadBecca must let the morons beat her. ReadBecca would rather die than be bested by someone she is smarter than.
So you can see how the level of rage is rising due to the incompetence of an office that gives incomplete, inaccurate information. ReadBecca hates hates hates people who can't think creatively, who can't think at least three moves ahead, who can't innovate, who make her jump through hoops for no good reason. ReadBecca also wants them to stop asking her when she's planning to take English Composition. Just writing that down made me pause because of the red haze blocking my view of the screen.
ReadBecca feels much better having ranted today. She's been pissed off since Monday. You know that kind of pissed off frustration that makes women cry at the office? ReadBecca hasn't felt that since she left the 9 to 5 world three months ago. It took a community college to break her.
Also, ReadBecca saw Collin Farrell in a magazine with some other girl. Son of a bitch. I stood by him for years and now that he's been to rehab, he gets all cozy with some redhead who never had to deal with his crap. Totally. Unfair.
And another thing, why can't ReadBecca find a Lemon Chill for sale anywhere?
Bonus Aside:
I saw an ice cream truck at a stoplight Monday. It had something called an Ice Tickle for sale. I had a boyfriend once who liked a good Ice Tickle every now and again.
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
Road Trip With ReadBecca
Number of Cars in Roadside Porn Store Parking Lot at 10:45 am: 5
First Song to Require a Repeat (x3): Gavin Degraw "I Don't Wanna Be"; Also theme from One Tree Hill
Desire for First Cold Beer: 11:15 am
God-Awful Radio Station Names: 1 (90.5 "The Cat" complete with meow and hissing)
Desire for Second Cold Beer: 12:25 pm
Shania Twain Songs ReadBecca Is Ashamed To Have Sung Along With: 1
Rest Stop Headed South: Huntsville
Rest Stop Headed North: Buffalo
Instances of Regretting Not Bringing Crystal Gayle CD: 2
Inadvertent Nostalgic Smiles at Bryan Exit: 1
Number of Items Sold in Truck Stop Ladies' Room Instead of Condoms: 5
Weirdest Thing for Sale in Truck Stop: Briefcases
Number of Loops Around Truck Stop Hot Dog Station Before Taking a Pass: 5
Favorite Road Trip Breakfast: McDonald's
Revenge Fantasies Entertained: 1
Best Time to See How Pretty Texas Can Be: Early May
Speed at Which ReadBecca Achieves Homeostasis: 80 mph
Cars That Annoyed ReadBecca: all of them
Number of Times Resigned to Left Arm Sunburn: 3
Cigarette Cravings Ignored: 1 really freakin' tremendous one
Items In Truck Stop That Reminded ReadBecca of Dad: 1 (Grandma's Soft Baked Oatmeal Raisin Cookies)
Desire for Third Cold Beer: 2:09 pm
Exit At Which Gulf Coast Sky Became Recognizable: 32
Wedding Guests Present With Whom ReadBecca Once Slept in a Closet: 1 (totally platonic)
Unintentionally Ironic Racist Comments Made by Wedding Guest: 1 (guest complained about "Mexicans" in Corpus, however, guest's daughter lives in San Miguel and is pregnant with Mexican husband's child)
Unintentionally Ironic Racist Bumper Stickers For Sale: 1 ("I'd Rather Be Free" with eagle-shaped Confederate flag)
Pink Wedding Dresses: 1 (Sounds nuts to some, but couldn't have been prettier on a redheaded, freckled bride)
Coconut Shrimps on a Stick Consumed: 5
Regrets ReadBecca Didn't Have Time to Go to the Beach: 1
Tangos Danced With Another Chick: 1 (T-A-N-G-O)
Duran Duran Songs Suitable for Pole Dancing: 1 (Skin Trade, duh.)
Number of Times Duran Duran Song Suitable for Pole Dancing Repeated: 4
Fantasy Wedding Band: Jamie Cullum and Friends
Fantasy Wedding Caterer: Jamie Oliver
Fantasy Wedding After Party: U2 concert, best seats in the house
Fantasy Wedding Unique Amenity: chilled sunscreen
Roadside Statues Observed: 2, Sam Houston and Farm to Market Road Buddha.
Advantage: FM Buddha
Level of Surprise a Hollywood Disaster Movie Has Not Been Made About Galveston: High
Decisions Made Based On Hotel Proximity to Whataburger: 1
Number of Times Waffle House Waitress Called ReadBecca Sweetie: 1
One-word Description Of Waffle House Staff: jocular
Point At Which ReadBecca Was Able to Stop Thinking Like A Visa Commercial: undetermined. Make. It. Stop.
Notes Made Headed South: All of them
Notes Made Heades North: Nil. The return trip is always a let down.
SUV's Used As Pace Cars So ReadBecca Would Not Get a Ticket In Dallas Outskirts' Speed Traps: 2
Newly Wed Couples Knee-deep in Marital Bliss: 1
Number of People A Good Time Was Had By: All
Every wedding ReadBecca has been to has been different. This one was a Winery Wedding. I've had the Central Park Wedding, Paris Wedding, Rooftop Wedding, Garden Wedding, Tacky Beer Hall Wedding, Aquarium Wedding, Totally Dry Baptist Wedding and Classic Catholic Wedding. I missed the Montana Wedding for the Brother Wedding. I've even had a Fake Wedding. I've been a rice bag girl, a guest, a bridesmaid and the minister. Never been a bride or had a Beach Wedding.
Maybe I'll save that one for myself.
First Song to Require a Repeat (x3): Gavin Degraw "I Don't Wanna Be"; Also theme from One Tree Hill
Desire for First Cold Beer: 11:15 am
God-Awful Radio Station Names: 1 (90.5 "The Cat" complete with meow and hissing)
Desire for Second Cold Beer: 12:25 pm
Shania Twain Songs ReadBecca Is Ashamed To Have Sung Along With: 1
Rest Stop Headed South: Huntsville
Rest Stop Headed North: Buffalo
Instances of Regretting Not Bringing Crystal Gayle CD: 2
Inadvertent Nostalgic Smiles at Bryan Exit: 1
Number of Items Sold in Truck Stop Ladies' Room Instead of Condoms: 5
Weirdest Thing for Sale in Truck Stop: Briefcases
Number of Loops Around Truck Stop Hot Dog Station Before Taking a Pass: 5
Favorite Road Trip Breakfast: McDonald's
Revenge Fantasies Entertained: 1
Best Time to See How Pretty Texas Can Be: Early May
Speed at Which ReadBecca Achieves Homeostasis: 80 mph
Cars That Annoyed ReadBecca: all of them
Number of Times Resigned to Left Arm Sunburn: 3
Cigarette Cravings Ignored: 1 really freakin' tremendous one
Items In Truck Stop That Reminded ReadBecca of Dad: 1 (Grandma's Soft Baked Oatmeal Raisin Cookies)
Desire for Third Cold Beer: 2:09 pm
Exit At Which Gulf Coast Sky Became Recognizable: 32
Wedding Guests Present With Whom ReadBecca Once Slept in a Closet: 1 (totally platonic)
Unintentionally Ironic Racist Comments Made by Wedding Guest: 1 (guest complained about "Mexicans" in Corpus, however, guest's daughter lives in San Miguel and is pregnant with Mexican husband's child)
Unintentionally Ironic Racist Bumper Stickers For Sale: 1 ("I'd Rather Be Free" with eagle-shaped Confederate flag)
Pink Wedding Dresses: 1 (Sounds nuts to some, but couldn't have been prettier on a redheaded, freckled bride)
Coconut Shrimps on a Stick Consumed: 5
Regrets ReadBecca Didn't Have Time to Go to the Beach: 1
Tangos Danced With Another Chick: 1 (T-A-N-G-O)
Duran Duran Songs Suitable for Pole Dancing: 1 (Skin Trade, duh.)
Number of Times Duran Duran Song Suitable for Pole Dancing Repeated: 4
Fantasy Wedding Band: Jamie Cullum and Friends
Fantasy Wedding Caterer: Jamie Oliver
Fantasy Wedding After Party: U2 concert, best seats in the house
Fantasy Wedding Unique Amenity: chilled sunscreen
Roadside Statues Observed: 2, Sam Houston and Farm to Market Road Buddha.
Advantage: FM Buddha
Level of Surprise a Hollywood Disaster Movie Has Not Been Made About Galveston: High
Decisions Made Based On Hotel Proximity to Whataburger: 1
Number of Times Waffle House Waitress Called ReadBecca Sweetie: 1
One-word Description Of Waffle House Staff: jocular
Point At Which ReadBecca Was Able to Stop Thinking Like A Visa Commercial: undetermined. Make. It. Stop.
Notes Made Headed South: All of them
Notes Made Heades North: Nil. The return trip is always a let down.
SUV's Used As Pace Cars So ReadBecca Would Not Get a Ticket In Dallas Outskirts' Speed Traps: 2
Newly Wed Couples Knee-deep in Marital Bliss: 1
Number of People A Good Time Was Had By: All
Every wedding ReadBecca has been to has been different. This one was a Winery Wedding. I've had the Central Park Wedding, Paris Wedding, Rooftop Wedding, Garden Wedding, Tacky Beer Hall Wedding, Aquarium Wedding, Totally Dry Baptist Wedding and Classic Catholic Wedding. I missed the Montana Wedding for the Brother Wedding. I've even had a Fake Wedding. I've been a rice bag girl, a guest, a bridesmaid and the minister. Never been a bride or had a Beach Wedding.
Maybe I'll save that one for myself.
Thursday, May 04, 2006
Monica, Do Not Read This Post. It Will Only Freak You Out.
The lovely Kimbo is getting married on Saturday. I'm driving down. I suddenly remembered that every sticker on my vehicle is expired: Oil change, registration and inspection. I consider all that crap man territory, like lawn care and roofing.
I used to be really good at that changing the oil every three months thing, but now those dudes are using some sort of fadeaway ink on the reminder stickers they put in the window so now I know they used Penzoil, but God only knows when that was.
I also found my registration form in one of my purses, unopened. It's only four days expired. That's the least of my worries. I know for sure my car has never been inspected. When do you have to get new tires? I have no idea. I probably need those too.
I hate standing in line at government agencies and beaurocracies in general. That may be why I ignore these things until I get a ticket. Then you just stand in line some more, but at least I didn't have to stand in line for like a year.
My friend Monica will have a heart attack when she reads this. She is the opposite of everything I said today. The thing is, I don't really care about any of this stuff. I seriously don't think it matters in the big picture, which is the one in which I'm happy. I can just see Mon's face. I told you not to read it!
PS. Mon, I have an interview tomorrow and they are totally cool with summer school. The salary is decent. It's also a healthcare media outfit, so isn't that a coincidence? It's all going to be ok, I promise. I have to go get my oil changed now.
I used to be really good at that changing the oil every three months thing, but now those dudes are using some sort of fadeaway ink on the reminder stickers they put in the window so now I know they used Penzoil, but God only knows when that was.
I also found my registration form in one of my purses, unopened. It's only four days expired. That's the least of my worries. I know for sure my car has never been inspected. When do you have to get new tires? I have no idea. I probably need those too.
I hate standing in line at government agencies and beaurocracies in general. That may be why I ignore these things until I get a ticket. Then you just stand in line some more, but at least I didn't have to stand in line for like a year.
My friend Monica will have a heart attack when she reads this. She is the opposite of everything I said today. The thing is, I don't really care about any of this stuff. I seriously don't think it matters in the big picture, which is the one in which I'm happy. I can just see Mon's face. I told you not to read it!
PS. Mon, I have an interview tomorrow and they are totally cool with summer school. The salary is decent. It's also a healthcare media outfit, so isn't that a coincidence? It's all going to be ok, I promise. I have to go get my oil changed now.
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
Creepiest. Dream. Ever.
Last night I dreamed I was John Leguizamo's hooker.
Only I didn't know he thought I was hooker until he tried to pay me. I didn't take the money, but I thought about it. I didn't take it because I thought he might be a cop. Dream DisRespecca has street cred. I think he's going to get killed off ER. Which is fine. They've had too many totally messed up doctor story lines.
First Doug has to bring in that girl whose name he didn't know who died because she had epilepsy and was doing coke in Doug's bathroom and her sister came to claim the body and didn't know Doug was the lowlife guy she spent her last night with and he felt guilty. And then Carter gets stabbed and abuses prescription drugs. And Luka nails a patient's mom in the supply closet and then has to tell her her kid has cancer. And now we have JLeg who does drugs on the weekends when he isn't on call and gets shot by the psycho husband of the psycho woman who followed him from Jersey and who is now stalking him and apparently JLeg doesn't know the number for 911.
No more crazy doctors.
I forgot that time when Dr. Green stopped the elevator and pretended to shock that guy but only held the paddles up in the air and just watched him die. Like I said, no more crazy doctors. Let's get a nice one who gives out lollipops.
Tuesday's Bonus Aside:
I got a copy of my transcript from my wayward then reformed college days. Man, I had shitty grades the first time around. Why my parents didn't make me come home after I got a 1.6 GPA, I will never know. I do remember when my dad put my grades on the fridge when I got my first 4.0 though. He's a good dad. I would never have made it out alive at all if he hadn't put his own life on hold to take care of me. He still has a button I gave him a billion years ago that says "Ask not what your Dad can do for you, but what you can do for your Dad." It's on his fridge in Vegas.
DisRespecca is the biggest Daddy's girl that ever lived. I think I'll give him a call.
Only I didn't know he thought I was hooker until he tried to pay me. I didn't take the money, but I thought about it. I didn't take it because I thought he might be a cop. Dream DisRespecca has street cred. I think he's going to get killed off ER. Which is fine. They've had too many totally messed up doctor story lines.
First Doug has to bring in that girl whose name he didn't know who died because she had epilepsy and was doing coke in Doug's bathroom and her sister came to claim the body and didn't know Doug was the lowlife guy she spent her last night with and he felt guilty. And then Carter gets stabbed and abuses prescription drugs. And Luka nails a patient's mom in the supply closet and then has to tell her her kid has cancer. And now we have JLeg who does drugs on the weekends when he isn't on call and gets shot by the psycho husband of the psycho woman who followed him from Jersey and who is now stalking him and apparently JLeg doesn't know the number for 911.
No more crazy doctors.
I forgot that time when Dr. Green stopped the elevator and pretended to shock that guy but only held the paddles up in the air and just watched him die. Like I said, no more crazy doctors. Let's get a nice one who gives out lollipops.
Tuesday's Bonus Aside:
I got a copy of my transcript from my wayward then reformed college days. Man, I had shitty grades the first time around. Why my parents didn't make me come home after I got a 1.6 GPA, I will never know. I do remember when my dad put my grades on the fridge when I got my first 4.0 though. He's a good dad. I would never have made it out alive at all if he hadn't put his own life on hold to take care of me. He still has a button I gave him a billion years ago that says "Ask not what your Dad can do for you, but what you can do for your Dad." It's on his fridge in Vegas.
DisRespecca is the biggest Daddy's girl that ever lived. I think I'll give him a call.
Monday, May 01, 2006
I Have Got To Stop Talking To Strangers.
So last week we had a girls happy hour and it was delightful. Excellent HH, ladies, I had fun! In fact, I had so much fun, I kept going. I decided to capitalize on my some French word I can't figure out how to spell that pretty much means good will so I stopped by Vickery Park.
I met these two dudes Ryan and Sergio who invited me to watch a movie. They're neighbors. So I went. I know. I can't believe I went either. Seriously. I know better than that. But I was curious and I have insomnia and I'm tired of being up late all by myself and I had no designs on either of them.
There are too many people out there who, while not evil sociopaths bent on my torturous death, just have too many issues of their own creation. And I like to sit next to them at bars and ask questions.
We never watched the movie. We pretty much just watched Ryan check his messages 48 times before he decided he wanted to hit on a waitress at The Corner Bar. I thought it was a bad idea, but I caved and agreed to chaperone the outing.
I should have gone with my gut. I ended up paying the tab for all three of us, which was not my intention at all. When the check came, suddenly Ryan and Sergio were not making eye contact. Whatever. I frown sternly upon them.
Ryan is nuts. He is involved in a toxic relationship and I think ol' Sergio may be a bit co-dependent. Ryan has called me twice. Once at 5:45 in the morning and once at 1 am. You must stop this random calling, sir. Nothing good can come of the middle of the night phone call. Note to self: Stop giving insane people your number, for God's sake.
My tendency to want to see what happens next has not resulted in my death or imprisonment in Hannibal Lecter's basement, but it also hasn't brought me a state of zen enlightenment either. That's why I say I have got to stop talking to strangers. The entertainment value of such shenanigans has rapidly waned in the light of day.
I blame it on my crushing case of insomnia. I will do pretty much anything to distract my brain so I can get some sleep. Except talk to more strangers. Present company excluded. Thank your lucky stars I can't blog away in the middle of the night. Like the late night phone call, nothing good can come of blogging after midnight.
Bonus Aside:
East Dallas' Best Named Business: Chupacabra's
We used to tease one of the bus boys at Wings N More at the end of the night. When he had to take out the trash, we told him the chupacabra was hiding behind the dumpster. Poor kid was terrified. One of these days, I'm going to get a snow cone at Chupacabra's and maybe buy a saint's candle to keep the evil eye at bay.
I met these two dudes Ryan and Sergio who invited me to watch a movie. They're neighbors. So I went. I know. I can't believe I went either. Seriously. I know better than that. But I was curious and I have insomnia and I'm tired of being up late all by myself and I had no designs on either of them.
There are too many people out there who, while not evil sociopaths bent on my torturous death, just have too many issues of their own creation. And I like to sit next to them at bars and ask questions.
We never watched the movie. We pretty much just watched Ryan check his messages 48 times before he decided he wanted to hit on a waitress at The Corner Bar. I thought it was a bad idea, but I caved and agreed to chaperone the outing.
I should have gone with my gut. I ended up paying the tab for all three of us, which was not my intention at all. When the check came, suddenly Ryan and Sergio were not making eye contact. Whatever. I frown sternly upon them.
Ryan is nuts. He is involved in a toxic relationship and I think ol' Sergio may be a bit co-dependent. Ryan has called me twice. Once at 5:45 in the morning and once at 1 am. You must stop this random calling, sir. Nothing good can come of the middle of the night phone call. Note to self: Stop giving insane people your number, for God's sake.
My tendency to want to see what happens next has not resulted in my death or imprisonment in Hannibal Lecter's basement, but it also hasn't brought me a state of zen enlightenment either. That's why I say I have got to stop talking to strangers. The entertainment value of such shenanigans has rapidly waned in the light of day.
I blame it on my crushing case of insomnia. I will do pretty much anything to distract my brain so I can get some sleep. Except talk to more strangers. Present company excluded. Thank your lucky stars I can't blog away in the middle of the night. Like the late night phone call, nothing good can come of blogging after midnight.
Bonus Aside:
East Dallas' Best Named Business: Chupacabra's
We used to tease one of the bus boys at Wings N More at the end of the night. When he had to take out the trash, we told him the chupacabra was hiding behind the dumpster. Poor kid was terrified. One of these days, I'm going to get a snow cone at Chupacabra's and maybe buy a saint's candle to keep the evil eye at bay.
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