Monday, April 25, 2005

Captain Save-A-Ho

There is an underground superhero that most people don't know about. He is suave (or so he thinks), cool (like the other side of the pillow) and sweet. He loves the ladies and the ladies love him.

He is...

Captain Save-A-Ho.

I have only heard this expression twice in my life and both times were from two people who crack my shit up on a consistent basis. They know who they are.

Anyway, Captain Save-A-Ho likes the ladies. He likes to be with the ladies. He likes the ladies to adore him, cause, well, he saves the Ho's. And I mean the word 'Ho' in a good way. Like a generalism for women who like to be saved, anyway.

Captain Save-A-Ho's weakness is this: He thinks he's a player, but in all actuality, he's really not. The boy has about as much game as halftime at an NCAA tournament. He's obvious, obnoxious, and for crying out loud, let me introduce you to 24 Hour Fitness, cause the last time I checked, only pregnant women should have a gut like that. And while you are at it, let's do some manscaping. Let me introduce you to Mr. Tweezer and Miss Conditioner. And for all that is holy, would you mind washing out the old gel before inserting the new? You look like FogHorn Leghorn with that cock-a-doodle mohawk going on.

Alas, tho, Captain Save-A-Ho has redeeming qualities. He's nice, he's generous, and he will make the woman he is with at the time feel like she is the only woman in the world.

Well, at least until the next Ho walks by.

Look - up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane, it's........

Ah - you get it.

Thursday, April 21, 2005

Whatever Happened to Just Crazy?

**WARNING** Extremely snarky and/or controversial and/or offending post ahead. Proceed with caution.

Remember the days when we wouldn't have to put warnings on stuff? I am reminded of the time the lady that spilled hot McDonald's coffee on her lap sued them because there was no warning on the cup that it was hot. I shook my head and chalked it up to stupid. I mean really, who doesn't know that coffee is HOT? And lately, the prescription drug ads have this former auctioneer at the end rattling off the possible side effects of said drug. It goes something like this: Warning: extended use of medication may cause drowsiness, sleeplessness, constipation, diarrhea, low blood pressure, high blood pressure, anxiety, depression and death. Wha?

The latest round of crazy people have decided to sue the fast food companies for making them fat. Oh - right! Because every time I go to a fast food restaurant, they open my mouth forcefully and jam those fats and carbs and calories down my throat. Ummm...NO! I am fully aware of the consequences of the McGriddle Sandwich. I know that my ever-expanding ass is the result of too many Pepsi's and KFC mashed potato's and not enough exercising. I also know that I have no one to blame but myself for the actions I take that result in the consequences I get that are my life.

So this morning when the radio alarm went off, I rolled over and instead of hitting snooze, started listening to what the DJ's were talking about. They were talking about whether or not you as a listening audience would report someone that you saw shoplifting to the store manager. I am thinking "Hell ya, I would!" Well, this rocket-scientist slash brain surgeon calls in and says "What about kleptomaniacs? They can't help themselves. You would rat them out? Maybe you should just mind your own business and leave them alone." And the DJ, who I could tell was taken aback AND pissed off at the same time, says "Are you kidding me? Maybe if they get caught, they would get the help they need?" Rocket-scientist disagreed, repeating herself, "They can't help it."

To quote Chris Rock "Whatever happened to just crazy?"

So what she is saying is that Serial Sex Offenders can't help themselves, so we just let them go on about their business? Well, call Michael Jackson's attorney and tell him that Mikey is free! Let him go on doing what he's doing, cause he can't help himself! Boy won't the County of Los Angeles and mothers of boys EVERYWHERE be happy?

Why are we, as a society, so quick to throw a new drug at someone, rather than finding a cure for what ails them? I admit, I am one of those hesitant ones who do not believe that medication is the key. I have to be hurting pretty bad to take ANY medication. I was passing kidney stones one weekend and refused to take the Vicodin the doc gave me. Not only that, but I went to Rocky Point for the weekend, strainer and all.

If it were up to me, NO ONE would be medicated so easily. Oh sure, I believe in imbalances in brain chemicals - but dammit, what is the CAUSE? Like I always say, the money is in the treatment, not the cure. I am also not talking about those who have grave illnesses, like cancer and leukemia. I am speaking about women and men who tell their doctor that they just aren't feeling good so the doc throws a med at them. When I don't feel good, I go on vacation! And damn if I don't feel like a champ when I get back. Depressed because your neighbor's lawn looks better than yours? Take this drug! Upset because the laundry isn't dry yet? Take this one! Oh - and if you really feel bad because you don't have the capacity to deal with life and would rather blame everyone around you - I'll give you two to take!

I have a good friend who's father sexually abused her and her sister. She does NOT use it as a crutch, she does NOT take medication for it. She built a bridge and GOT OVER IT. She is one of my heros.

Ever watch the Discovery Channel? Ever watch when they go deep into the Amazon and find a tribe that has been living, happily and drug free, for years and years? Ever wonder WHY?

Oh sure, we can blame pollutants, and preservatives, and radio waves, and, and, and...

But when is the time for us to take up the responsibility of our own actions? When?

Wednesday, April 20, 2005


va·ca·tion n.
1. A period of time devoted to pleasure, rest, or relaxation, especially one with pay granted to an employee.
2. A holiday.
3. A fixed period of holidays, especially one during which a school, court, or business suspends activities.

I need one of those, badly. I'm tired, I'm stressed, and nothing sounds better to me right now than laying on a beach somewhere (other than here) with a drink in my hand listening to the waves crash against the rocks.

The Hub needs a vacation also. So, we have decided, with a group of close friends, to head to Maui for a long weekend. Leave on a Friday, come back on a Wednesday morning.

I love Maui and I cannot wait. Here's to Mai Tai's and crashing waves. I can hear them already!

Friday, April 15, 2005

Supply and Demand

There is a conspiracy here in Southern California with homebuilders. You see, when you want to buy a newly constructed house, you can't just say, go in to the sales office, plunk down your good faith deposit, sign a few papers, and off you go. No, it's a dance here. A dance of the type that no one really wants to perform. I think secretly there is one person in charge sitting in his 2,000 square foot mahogany desk and slate tiled office laughing because of the 17 or so people that want to buy the five houses he is going to release for sale. I am getting ahead of myself though. For those non-SoCalians (Yes, it's a word!!), let me grant you your Bachelor's in Buying a House in SoCal, with a minor in Pre-Qualification and an emphasis on The Wait.

Here's a quick rundown of the process:

You visit countless, endless communities and finally find a house you are happy with. And when I say 'happy', I mean that is bigger than a breadbox and doesn't need at least $100,000 worth of remodeling. Hence the new construction we went after. And of course, even after we found said house, we still looked at about twelve more communities, just to be sure.

The next step to this mad dance is to get "Pre-Qualified". Now mind you, this is NOT the same as being pre-approved, it is simply a process by which they pull your credit, verify your income, make sure you don't have another mortgage out there somewhere (a trick they use to deter investors), and laugh hysterically at your application while imagining you selling your body parts on EBay to make this ridiculously high payment. Hey, who says bankers are stuffy?

Once you are Pre-Qual'ed, you go on a priority list. Which is basically a score card for who can get the most suckers reeled in for the week. I believe Vegas has a seedy betting room for the over/under on this one. And then you wait. And wait. And. Wait. See, the builder is trying to populate his Pre-Qual list, even though he knows damn well that he only plans on releasing maybe five or six houses, and the list is twenty or thirty deep.

We got Pre-Qual'ed about three weeks ago. And have. Been. Waiting. Can you tell my patience is running thin?

I have the sales office on speed dial. I call at least once a week. The Hub calls at least once a week. And sometimes, we call pretending we are strangers and just want to know if anything is getting released. Have I heard anything yet? Nope. Not a damn thing. Just that they "hope" that they will be released this weekend, and oh gosh, they thought they would release them last weekend. Yeah, that would have been nice.

So imagine this: people clawing and scratching to get a house. Clawing and scratching.

All for the privilege of a $3100 house payment. That of course, is with taxes, interest, HOA, and Mello-Roos.

I feel honored. Now just release my damn house already.

Wednesday, April 13, 2005

Terrible Friend

I am a terrible friend. Even before I moved 350 miles away, I was bad at keeping in contact with friends. Really bad. Now that I am 350 miles away, it's gotten worse.

My friend, Rika, who has forayed from the world of higher education to the world of higher caffeine, has weird hours. She works at a coffee house for cripes sake, so she has to be up at like 2 in the morning. I remember when she and I used to go out party and not go to BED until 2 in the morning. And that was if there was no after-party. Now we're in our 30's, and responsible, and we go to bed at reasonable hours. However, her schedule and my schedule have clashed so much lately that she is going to bed while I am getting unchained from my desk.

We miss each other.

The nice thing about it though, and about pretty much all of my relationships with my friends, is that we all understand that we are ALL busy. Very busy. And if we don't talk for a week, a month, hell, a YEAR, we can pick up the phone and pick right back up where we started.

Pictures With Friends

*Whoa! Two posts in one day!*

OK - I was looking at my wedding pictures the other day (cause I do that. A Lot.) and realized that I don't have any updated pics of me and my girls! Agh! How can that be? Maybe because we're so darn busy. (See post above)

So here's a couple for you. Hope they don't mind! And for clarification, I am in white.

Me and the Girls

The reason I am so happy....

Monday, April 11, 2005

Taking Care of Business

Exhaustion. Fatigue. Frustration.

I love my job, but I can come home every night feeling one of those many emotions. There is so much on my plate, sometimes I feel - overwhelmed.

I came home tonight and finished off a bottle of
Two Buck Chuck by myself. See, the Hub is in Dallas, attending one of the many weeks of MIT2 training he has to attend. So besides the cell phone counseling, I have, well, a big empty bed.

Yesterday I had lunch with some friends. Then I went to a movie with one of those friends. She's a single mom and we are so alike, it's scary. I remember the point in my life when I was where she is at. The things I did, the attitude I had towards relationships, and life in general. I respect and admire her, because she IS where I WAS, not so long ago. I see her point of view and I can relate. And for that, I am grateful. She personifies a lot of the things that I see as admirable in a person, and for that, I love her.

And I have only known her for a short time.

She takes care of business. She handles her single motherhood with a responsible attitude. Yet, she still has a great time. She takes care of business.

I wish only the best for her. And she knows who she is.

Friday, April 01, 2005

Excuse Me, Ma'am?

As children, once we get a grasp on the whole time concept, we start looking forward to major milestones in our lives. Well, major in our minds at the time. When I was 12, I looked forward to being 13, cause it had the word "teen" in it. When I was 15, I looked forward to my "Sweet 16". And then, 17, because that's how old you had to be to drive in New Jersey, where I am from. And then the magical 21. And we all know why.

But after that, we spend a large amount of time trying to reverse the process. I can clearly recall loving the fact that I was 24, but not so much on the 25. The age just sounds weird to me. Then 28 rocked. I loved it! In fact, I was 28 for about two years! Not on purpose, but I loved saying it so much, that I would forget I was 29. Then I turned 30, and well, I loved that!!

I never really had an issue with my age. Those of you who know me know that I don't look my age anyway, so no stress right?

I was in the Taco Bell drive through yesterday picking up a healthy and nutritious meal for the Boy. When I handed the "kid" at the window my money, he asked if I wanted hot sauce. I said "No thanks." He, apparently didn't hear me and asked "Excuse me ma'am?"


I am NOT a ma'am. I am a Mrs. I will even answer to Miss. But Ma'am?

Oh good night, are the laugh lines getting deeper? Are my smile lines getting wider? Wait - is that *gasp* Crow's Feet??

And so the process begins. They say your body starts to really change in your 30's. The Hub is getting ready to turn 30 (yes, go ahead and crack about the cradle robbing), and he is starting to experience the same ached and pains that he laughed at me about three years ago.

Karma is a bitch, isn't she?

So with that I say, bring on the ma'am, bring on the laugh lines. If I have those, then I know my life is fulfilled.