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Archive for February, 2002

|| February 18, 2002 || 2:29 am || Comments (0) ||

To the grocery store for fresh cilantro and lime (because everybody with a lick of sense knows that Mexican food ain’t shit without some fresh cilantro and lime or lemon) the other day. As I was checking out the clerk was asking me my driver’s license info and I rattled off number and birthdate. As soon as the birthdate departed my tongue I was smacked with the realization that this year I will be thirty-one. Thirty-one….already? Really???

While all around me my pals from high school were freaking the fuck out, thirty didn’t phase me. Left not one scratch on me. I laughed at everyone else’s silliness.

I don’t think I’m freaking out, and I don’t especially think I will, but T-h-i-r-t-y O-n-e. It’s ominous, because it means I am travelling ahead to forty. Holy Mother of God.

I left the store a tad dazed and disoriented..

Some thirty minutes later, Scout and I were digging through all the Valentine’s clearance crap at Wal-Mart, chucking printed tissue paper and spools of ribbon and cute little plastic containers shaped like Chinese carry-out boxes into our buggy with unhurried abandon. If we are nothing else, clearance mavens we are.

As I was examining adorkable little floaty candles that I could purchase for a whopping 10% of their pre-holiday value Scouty wandered four feet away and struck up a conversation with a school acquaintence. As I fondled a big heart-shaped cookie pan I happened to hear school acquaintence ask, “Is that your mom or your sister?”

Bite me, thirty-one, and get thee behind me oh Fear Of Aging! I have fooled the youth into thinking that I, semi-veteran of life and its glorious pursuits, am even yet one of them! In doing so, I have vowed to make a worn-in pair of Levi’s, my Cult shirt, Doc Martens, no makeup and hair pushed back into a sloppy bun my standard uniform.

|| February 18, 2002 || 1:56 am || Comments (0) ||


“Titty pinchers do not make friends, and titty twisters are the bastards of the universe.” ~Maxim Superior

“I know I’m co-dependent, but it makes me feel better.” ~Leslie the Great

“Noooo, I don’t view everything as a black-and-white issue, but I know that there’s a whole lot less gray out there than people make out.” ~Jett Superior

|| February 12, 2002 || 3:40 pm || Comments (0) ||

Just when I’m looking to dump all over the host for her unwillingness to show some basic courtesy and respect by returning a one-word reply to an e-mail I sent some time back, I see that she’s posted the lyrics to a song by one of my favorite artists, Kirsty MacColl, who was cruelly cut down in a horrific boating accident in a week before Xmas 2000. Trite shite like Dido has an echo of her vocal quality, but none of her sharp songwriting.

As nice as the lyrics are, it’s the melacholic melody and delivery that really sells the song. It may be out of print (all the good stuff is, it seems), but if you can find her album, “Kite”, then pick it up by all means to get a big guzzle of what made her so great.

While on the subject of cool bands, I caught The Bears a couple of Friday’s back for the first time in nearly 14 years(!!) and their new album, “Car Caught Fire“, is ASTOUNDING. Get on over to their web site and catch up on the Adrian Belew project that no one seems to know about. Even fans of his work with King Crimsom, Frank Zappa, David Bowie, Talking Heads, Laurie Anderson and his solo success don’t know he’s done THREE albums with this Ohio-rooted band. Phenomenal live performers and great musicians playing cool, quirky music (picture a Beatles-influenced Barenaked Ladies with a Ph.D.) for people who like good music and not the crap issuing from the radio. A MUST get!

Well…I still am pissed at Jett, but at least she’s shown a slight glimmer of taste in her music.

|| February 12, 2002 || 12:20 am || Comments (0) ||

And in case you were wondering, I didn’t win the Anti-Bloggie for ‘Biggest Potty Mouth’.

I did go and check out the weiner winner and found only one ‘fuck’, used in verb form.

Allow me to enunciate: Only. One. Fuck.

I been robbed, brothers and sisters, ROBBED, I tell you! Did you not VOTE? Beer and sausages are officially cut off until further notice, Potsie. And you too, Joanie. Tell Chachi.

Congrats to Eric for his dang “Most Likely To Be Seen On Cops” award. Word.

|| February 11, 2002 || 11:49 pm || Comments (0) ||

Yeah, trevor, but what if you end up in Kansas somewhere, spitshining everything within a 40-yard radius for 12 hours a day (well, not including the two that you are lining up being counted and running PT)??

Not that I think it’s a horrid idea, this latest one of yours….I’m just saying, is all.

And, by the way, you should have left the original post as a point of reference….

|| February 11, 2002 || 11:25 pm || Comments (0) ||

Existing as I have in a ‘world of boys’ makes the time between my daughter and myself all the more valuable and interesting. Tonight we gave one another pedicures. I was seated comfortably in the big wingback chair and she was perched, straight-backed, on the edge of the electric blue office chair stolen away from her computer desk. We were similarly-attired in tank top and shorts, one foot propped on the edge of one another’s seats, the other foot tucked under the crooked knee of the extended leg. A human bridge comes to mind. Scout and I both leaned forward, heads slightly bent to the task and tilted to the left, so that the extra hair from each of our side parts fell out and away from our faces.

To anyone else observing, it has to be odd…

Maxim says this is disconcerting sometimes, the moving tintype, the juxtaposition of the future Scout and the past Jett interacting. Sometimes I see the similarities, but oftentimes I don’t, because I believe that despite our obvious alikeness in mannerisms and physical apperance, she and I sport very different personalities.

Put simply, she is a better person than I could ever hope to be. For the record, I’m trying like hell not to screw that up.

As we were working amidst the heavy fumes of peppermint lotion and polish and polish remover, conversation flowed and ebbed in turns. We talked about what that snotty little turd Peyton (PEYTON…who the fuck names their kid that, anyway?) did to the new girl in school the other day and how Scout voiced her objections to everyone within earshot, to include the cafeteria workers and half the third-grade teaching staff. We talked about our desire for a big, open place where we could have any number of pets, to include horses and an Akita dog. We talked about how she wants to get her nursing degree and then even become a midwife so she can deliver (and I quote) ’sweet little new babies to excited mommies and daddies’. Betweentimes we fell into silences as comfortable as your favorite pillow after a grinding day.

At one point I felt her studying me, and after I finished gluing on a series of eensy rhinestones to her big toe, I glanced up from beneath my brows and asked, “What?”

“You have great bangs, mom,” she replied.

I thanked her while swinging the bangs from side-to-side around my chin and added, “You do, too….I guess we are just lucky, lucky girls!”

“Yeah, we are,” said Scout, “We have great bangs and pretty toes. We should be rrrrockstars.” She growled out the ‘r’ at the beginning of ‘rockstars’.

“Oh, Scouty, we ARE” With that, we both wrinkled our noses and flashed each other evil grins. You can’t script moments like that one, darlin’….

|| February 11, 2002 || 2:20 am || Comments (0) ||

If you feel compelled to apologize for your thoughts/opinions before, during or after stating them, then perhaps you should just sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up. Be open to the other guy’s opinion, but for Chrissakes, don’t soft-pedal your OWN for fear of your popularity margin decreasing.