Yesterday at the gym, I wanted to take a nice long run to counter the effects of the non-stop eating fest I engaged in. Slightly less than half way into the run, I was done in by side cramps and nasty acid reflux, so I switched to an elliptical machine. That’s when I saw something that really made me sick.
One of the TVs in the gym had on MTV, which was playing some show called Engaged & Underage. I missed the beginning of the program, but from what I could gather from the title and on-air shenanigans, it did seem to be about young men and women who insisted on getting married although they were practically children.
Fine, although depressing. What really got me was when a bride-to-be went over to her future mother-in-law’s in-house waxing business for some sort of bikini or Brazilian wax. (I tuned in when she arrived, and the closed captioning never made it specific which type of torture she was in for.) Her future sister-in-law was there to help as well. The girl lay down on the table, she put on some bikini bottoms (must have just been her bikini line?), and then covered her lower half with a towel. She cried and yelped in pain while her in-laws laughed and joked the whole time and called her a “good girl.” God, I wanted to puke. Incidentally, they also forgot to close the blinds, and her cootie was facing the window. The whole thing was creepy.
Monday, February 5, 2007
Sunday, February 4, 2007
90 Consolations (and 40 to Come)
So the Bear lost the Super Bowl. Sad, but not surprising given what an awful quarterback Rex Grossman is. I hope he is pelted with sausages upon his return to Chicago.
The good news is that Husband won the football pool. He put in $30, we walked out with $120, and someone owes us $40 more. This is especially perfect as I had $11 in my wallet and it is too damn cold to go to the bank.
And although the Colts may have won the Super Bowl, at the end of the day they still must return to Indianapolis whereas the Bears get to go back to a real city. Ha!
The good news is that Husband won the football pool. He put in $30, we walked out with $120, and someone owes us $40 more. This is especially perfect as I had $11 in my wallet and it is too damn cold to go to the bank.
And although the Colts may have won the Super Bowl, at the end of the day they still must return to Indianapolis whereas the Bears get to go back to a real city. Ha!
Go Us, Go Bears
Yesterday morning I went over to Sara’s, she put some foundation on me so that I did not look like a flesh easting zombie on camera, as well as some eye shadow, blush, lipstick and eyebrow smoother-downer, and it was very nice, but subtle. We then headed over to the Waldorf Astoria to meet Bruce Isacson, who has a bit part in the movie Outbreak, which I never saw, but he looked really familiar. It turns out that he does lots of commercials and only took the part in Outbreak because “Rene’s a good friend.” (Yes, that would be Rene Russo.)
Anyway, we interviewed for over an hour, and thanks to Sara’s skill with cosmetics, we both looked very cute on camera. We spoke eloquently and passionately about how abortion is legal but not accessible for low income women, and how wrong that is. I only rolled my eyes once, and was bitchy once. I was quite proud of myself.
I came home and went to the gym. When I began sweating and wiped me face, I noticed there was makeup all over the towel, which pissed me off because I hate when the towels at the gym are dirty. Then I realized that I was the disgusting slob responsible for the foundation smears on the white towel, as I forgot I had makeup on and did not wash my face before getting on the treadmill. Oooops.
At any rate, it was all washed off by the time I had a lovely evening with Dr. P and Future Sister-in-Law. First we went to a bar and met up with staff from The Panelist, who had gone to see a documentary about Ralph Nader, which I didn’t join them for because I went to have a late lunch with a friend in Harlem after I went to the gym. (It was delicious. If you are in NYC, you must eat at Amy Ruth’s, which is awesomely good soul food.) At the bar, I drank an amaretto sour, which I am not supposed to do because of my low carb diet, but I also should not have eaten a five grain waffle, candied yams, cheesy grits, macaroni and cheese, and fired okra at lunch, either, so what the fuck?
I am hot almost as often as I drink, which is to say almost never. Part of the reason I don’t drink is that I don’t like the taste of most alcohol. Part of the reason is that the only drinks I do like even the slightest bit are sweet and loaded with calories, and quite frankly, I’d rather eat pastries if I am going to consume so many calories. The other part of the reason is that alcohol sometimes gives me an indescribably weird sensation I call “hot butt,” in which my innards get really hot and feel funky. Last night, not only did I get hot butt, but I began sweating profusely. Within half an hour, I swear I sweat through my underwear. I was dying. Still, I managed to be friendly and socialize with people I didn’t know, so I am quite proud of myself for that. (I am really shy and quiet in these situations.)
At the point where I thought I might drown myself in sweat, Future Sister-in-Law and Dr. P wanted to leave and get dinner anyway, so we took off. When we got outside, I returned to my normal state of freezing within minutes. (My sopping undies were most uncomfortable and did not help keep me warm in the frigid air as we walked two blocks to a restaurant.) We ate at the Cornelia Street Café, a French bistro in its 30th year. I ate many more things I should not have, including half of a chocolate bread pudding, which was so good that I think it was actually manna from heaven.
I am shocked that I did not gett horrendous gas last night and thus far have not exploded in one my shit geysers. Just to push my luck, later tonight, Husband, Dr. P, FSIL, Brother-in-Law, and I shall join a crowd of other jolly football fans and watch the Super Bowl at Sara’s on her flat screen HD TV. More food that I should not eat will be consumed in large quantities, but damn – GO BEARS!!!! The last time I watched the Bears in the Super Bowl I was the dork in the picture in the post below. I went to my friend Tracey’s house and we played Barbies while the game was on. (Did games started much earlier in the day back then, or is it just my faulty memory?) After the half-time, we didn’t bother watching the game much but concentrated on own game, making the one Ken doll rush all the Barbies until he reached the end zone with one of them. Ha!
Anyway, we interviewed for over an hour, and thanks to Sara’s skill with cosmetics, we both looked very cute on camera. We spoke eloquently and passionately about how abortion is legal but not accessible for low income women, and how wrong that is. I only rolled my eyes once, and was bitchy once. I was quite proud of myself.
I came home and went to the gym. When I began sweating and wiped me face, I noticed there was makeup all over the towel, which pissed me off because I hate when the towels at the gym are dirty. Then I realized that I was the disgusting slob responsible for the foundation smears on the white towel, as I forgot I had makeup on and did not wash my face before getting on the treadmill. Oooops.
At any rate, it was all washed off by the time I had a lovely evening with Dr. P and Future Sister-in-Law. First we went to a bar and met up with staff from The Panelist, who had gone to see a documentary about Ralph Nader, which I didn’t join them for because I went to have a late lunch with a friend in Harlem after I went to the gym. (It was delicious. If you are in NYC, you must eat at Amy Ruth’s, which is awesomely good soul food.) At the bar, I drank an amaretto sour, which I am not supposed to do because of my low carb diet, but I also should not have eaten a five grain waffle, candied yams, cheesy grits, macaroni and cheese, and fired okra at lunch, either, so what the fuck?
I am hot almost as often as I drink, which is to say almost never. Part of the reason I don’t drink is that I don’t like the taste of most alcohol. Part of the reason is that the only drinks I do like even the slightest bit are sweet and loaded with calories, and quite frankly, I’d rather eat pastries if I am going to consume so many calories. The other part of the reason is that alcohol sometimes gives me an indescribably weird sensation I call “hot butt,” in which my innards get really hot and feel funky. Last night, not only did I get hot butt, but I began sweating profusely. Within half an hour, I swear I sweat through my underwear. I was dying. Still, I managed to be friendly and socialize with people I didn’t know, so I am quite proud of myself for that. (I am really shy and quiet in these situations.)
At the point where I thought I might drown myself in sweat, Future Sister-in-Law and Dr. P wanted to leave and get dinner anyway, so we took off. When we got outside, I returned to my normal state of freezing within minutes. (My sopping undies were most uncomfortable and did not help keep me warm in the frigid air as we walked two blocks to a restaurant.) We ate at the Cornelia Street Café, a French bistro in its 30th year. I ate many more things I should not have, including half of a chocolate bread pudding, which was so good that I think it was actually manna from heaven.
I am shocked that I did not gett horrendous gas last night and thus far have not exploded in one my shit geysers. Just to push my luck, later tonight, Husband, Dr. P, FSIL, Brother-in-Law, and I shall join a crowd of other jolly football fans and watch the Super Bowl at Sara’s on her flat screen HD TV. More food that I should not eat will be consumed in large quantities, but damn – GO BEARS!!!! The last time I watched the Bears in the Super Bowl I was the dork in the picture in the post below. I went to my friend Tracey’s house and we played Barbies while the game was on. (Did games started much earlier in the day back then, or is it just my faulty memory?) After the half-time, we didn’t bother watching the game much but concentrated on own game, making the one Ken doll rush all the Barbies until he reached the end zone with one of them. Ha!
Saturday, February 3, 2007
December 1986 (Oh What a Party!)
Some time ago, Minnie posted a picture from back when she was an adolescent (it was classic!) and challenged others to do the same. It took me forever to get my ass in gear and remember while I was visiting my folks to look for a picture off me from The Really Awkward Years. Then when I did find one and brought it back to NYC with me, I discovered that our scanner didn’t work. So Husband ordered a new one in December (Canon CanoScan LiDE 25) which was cheap and basic and all I needed. It got here and sat in a box for a month before we got around to doing anything with it, but it is cool because it connects to the computer from a USB port and gets power from it, so there’s no separate power supply.
After all that, here I am in December 1986 at my roller skating birthday party, when we took a break for cake, ice cream, and juice:
Husband had a long laugh when he saw this, but what is interesting is that I think this dork is still very much alive in me today. The only difference is that now I am cool with her and embrace her dorkiness. That panda shirt rocks the house, does it not?
After all that, here I am in December 1986 at my roller skating birthday party, when we took a break for cake, ice cream, and juice:
Husband had a long laugh when he saw this, but what is interesting is that I think this dork is still very much alive in me today. The only difference is that now I am cool with her and embrace her dorkiness. That panda shirt rocks the house, does it not?
Friday, February 2, 2007
Harry Potter and the Magic of Cosmetics
Sara and I are being interviewed for a documentary on abortion tomorrow morning. It is being directed by someone who had a small role in the movie Outbreak, but I forgot who. Regardless, we are very excited.
As Sara arranged for the interview, she reminded me that we would be on film. I knew what that meant: I’d have to wear makeup. “You’ll need to wear makeup,” she said. Since I don’t want to give the forced childbirth movement any more fodder against us reproductive rights advocates by appearing to be a flesh eating zombie in a documentary, I readily agreed. My biggest problem is that I do not know how to put makeup on, so Sara is having me over early to help me. She is even letting me use her powder, as I own none and imagine that powder is the single most important product a person needs before being filmed for anything.
The point is, I thankfully will not look like Harry Potter, Anne Frank, nor a flesh eating zombie in my film debut thanks to the magic of makeup. Hopefully, I will have some good stories to share after our segment on life as baby-killing minions is complete.
As Sara arranged for the interview, she reminded me that we would be on film. I knew what that meant: I’d have to wear makeup. “You’ll need to wear makeup,” she said. Since I don’t want to give the forced childbirth movement any more fodder against us reproductive rights advocates by appearing to be a flesh eating zombie in a documentary, I readily agreed. My biggest problem is that I do not know how to put makeup on, so Sara is having me over early to help me. She is even letting me use her powder, as I own none and imagine that powder is the single most important product a person needs before being filmed for anything.
The point is, I thankfully will not look like Harry Potter, Anne Frank, nor a flesh eating zombie in my film debut thanks to the magic of makeup. Hopefully, I will have some good stories to share after our segment on life as baby-killing minions is complete.
I've Never Been Called a Heartthrob Before!
On Tuesday, a woman I quoted in a post from back in December left me a comment in which she said, “I could have said something about your resemblance to Harry Potter. OH, SNAP.”
This is why I love people who mistakenly think they are clever. Since I have neither round glasses nor a lightning bolt-shaped scar on my forehead, I must look like Daniel Radcliffe, who plays Harry Potter in the blockbuster films. Radcliffe is a seriously adorable guy with legions of tween girls whose hearts are aflutter for him. I have never been compared to a teen idol before, so I am pretty flattered. Usually people tell me I look like Anne Frank, which while I understand they mean it as a complement, is really fucking depressing.
This is why I love people who mistakenly think they are clever. Since I have neither round glasses nor a lightning bolt-shaped scar on my forehead, I must look like Daniel Radcliffe, who plays Harry Potter in the blockbuster films. Radcliffe is a seriously adorable guy with legions of tween girls whose hearts are aflutter for him. I have never been compared to a teen idol before, so I am pretty flattered. Usually people tell me I look like Anne Frank, which while I understand they mean it as a complement, is really fucking depressing.
Thursday, February 1, 2007
If Only Things Were Different
You know, when you get to be my age (I turned 66 on Tuesday), you start to look back at your life and wonder how things might have been different if you had made other choices. In my case, I have to tell you that my life has turned out rather well. I have been married to my high school sweetheart since 1964, and I have not only risen to high political office, I have also made a boatload of money along the way.
As I said, I have led a successful life… but there ARE a few things that I would change if I could: First, I would have done better in my studies at Yale… I was flunking out and almost lost one of my five draft deferments. That was scary, especially with a war heating up!
As much of a war supporter as I have been throughout my political career, as well as in my private career… it's just that… well… I just had other priorities in the 60's, so I didn't bother to serve… yeah, getting married before I even finished college was well-timed… they weren't drafting married guys then, so it was cool.
So, there I was, in college, married, and safe from the draft… at least, until the laws changed and married men were eligible again. Shit! What now? Well, we decided to start a family, right there and then. They were taking married guys… but not married guys with kids! Well, that worked out well enough, and kept me out of uniform until 1967, when I turned 26 and was no longer eligible for the draft. Whew!
As I said… perhaps I should have done some things differently, I mean, now, military service is popular… especially with all of thoseuseless great working class people. Maybe if I had served, people would quit calling me a "Chickenhawk" Maybe if I had served, people would be less likely to think that I am eager to send their sons and daughters to risk the safety of their asses while I never did anything even remotely risky (except for getting arrested for drunk driving… twice, years ago) . Too late for that now, though, especially since the Iraq insurgency is in its last throes.
Well, I guess I can't dwell on things for too long. What's done is done, they always say.
Geez, I am getting old. I am starting to get maudlin over the fact that my days of power are on the wane. In not too long, I'll have to leave this great house on Massachusetts Avenue, and return to the private sector.
Maybe it's time to do just that. Maybe then, nobody will get all bent out of shape just because I like to drink while hunting. You'd think I shot somebody in the face or something… oh.
Gunfighter lives in Washington, D.C.'s northern Virginia suburbs with his wife and 8 year old daughter. He is a veteran of 8 years of enlisted service in the Marines, and makes a living teaching Feds how to fight with guns. He is active in his church and community, and loves dogs, especially Greyhounds. He blogs (ad nauseum) about the things he sees, and what he thinks about them at The View From Here
You can find more info about the Blog Exchange and how to participate, as well as the January participants and entries, by clicking here. Suzanne is at Gunfighter's place today, so please visit by clicking here!
As I said, I have led a successful life… but there ARE a few things that I would change if I could: First, I would have done better in my studies at Yale… I was flunking out and almost lost one of my five draft deferments. That was scary, especially with a war heating up!
As much of a war supporter as I have been throughout my political career, as well as in my private career… it's just that… well… I just had other priorities in the 60's, so I didn't bother to serve… yeah, getting married before I even finished college was well-timed… they weren't drafting married guys then, so it was cool.
So, there I was, in college, married, and safe from the draft… at least, until the laws changed and married men were eligible again. Shit! What now? Well, we decided to start a family, right there and then. They were taking married guys… but not married guys with kids! Well, that worked out well enough, and kept me out of uniform until 1967, when I turned 26 and was no longer eligible for the draft. Whew!
As I said… perhaps I should have done some things differently, I mean, now, military service is popular… especially with all of those
Well, I guess I can't dwell on things for too long. What's done is done, they always say.
Geez, I am getting old. I am starting to get maudlin over the fact that my days of power are on the wane. In not too long, I'll have to leave this great house on Massachusetts Avenue, and return to the private sector.
Maybe it's time to do just that. Maybe then, nobody will get all bent out of shape just because I like to drink while hunting. You'd think I shot somebody in the face or something… oh.
Gunfighter lives in Washington, D.C.'s northern Virginia suburbs with his wife and 8 year old daughter. He is a veteran of 8 years of enlisted service in the Marines, and makes a living teaching Feds how to fight with guns. He is active in his church and community, and loves dogs, especially Greyhounds. He blogs (ad nauseum) about the things he sees, and what he thinks about them at The View From Here
You can find more info about the Blog Exchange and how to participate, as well as the January participants and entries, by clicking here. Suzanne is at Gunfighter's place today, so please visit by clicking here!
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