Exurbia

It's strange, what we can see through our little windows into other people's lives.

My neighbors across the back? They're too busy to actually live in their house. They must have gotten a good interest rate, because otherwise, apartment living would have made better sense.

Why do I think this? First off, they both work 40+ hour weeks. When they moved in, only the husband was working, which I learned from conversation #1 with the wife. Also, they have a son the same age as mine. But shortly after that, the wife was also working full time, which I learned from conversation #2. Which is the total number of conversations I've had with my closest neighbors.

They have a pool, but they never use it. They both work, so their son is in day care roughly 9 hours a day. They mow their own lawn, but it's about every 10 days to 2 weeks or more, so I'd guess it's an Issue for them. They rarely have both the regular garbage and the recycle garbage out for pickup at the same time. Strangely, it's usually just the recyclable.

Maybe they can't cook.

They are what the Jesus of Cheese and I would have been, had I not quit my job when my daughter was born. If I couldn't cook--except I can. Very well, thank you.

I can only imagine it. Well, all except the pool, which we don't have, though our yard begs for a pool. I would have kept working, put our daughter in day care, and she would have been essentially the same person, but...not. Probably jaded. She wouldn't be the kid who thus far this year in First grade, has had perfect daily behavior ratings thus far. I don't know if that's good or bad, but I think it's good. Or freaky. You choose.

I may or may not have kept my same job and if so, probably I would now be working for IBM and my commute would be shorter. WaFuckinHoo.

Mostly, I think, had I kept working, we wouldn't have had time to conceive my son. I've seen no evidence my neighbors have procreated once again. I see little evidence they are even home at the same time.

By the way, my son's a riot. If one happens to be his parent, that is. I'm not going to tell stories because they would bore you.

But I think he's really funny.

Anyway. So we really live in our house.

My neighbor's house probably looks great. Mine looks like shit.
Literally. There are stains on my carpet that...well, never mind. We're replacing that. Soon. As soon as we don't have to pay private preschool tuition. June. July. August, latest.

Right now I don't know whether to do the Superior Dance or hide behind my bottle of Shiner.

Well, the bottle of Shiner's right here, but so's my music. Guess I'll do both.

Go away. I'm in a bad mood.

I'm very mad at God today. My friend K-Bear (my daughter's brownie troop leader and room mom at school) had a miscarriage. It's just like what happened to me before I had my daughter, which is medically referred to as a "silent abortion," where the baby dies and you've got to have a D&C, so that you don't hemorrage later when your body finally rejects the baby.

This is my friend's second miscarriage in a year. And it really PISSES ME OFF that irresponsible, drug-addicted parents get to have perfectly healthy babies while my friend, who's a wonderful person and a great mom, gets her child and her heart torn away...

I'm really mad at God.

She should have tried to sell me double glazing while she was at it

One time I was at the doctor's office, waiting for my name to be called. There were several other people in the waiting room. I was listening very closely for my name, like waiting for the checkered flag at Talladega. The desk lady called something, then called it again, and I checked out the rest of the room to see if someone had fainted or something and couldn't answer; no one fit the bill. Then the desk lady called my last name in a really annoyed voice and I went on up. This is what followed:

Desk lady: I was calling your name!

Me: I didn't hear my name.

DL: I called it a bunch of times!

Me: Did you call my first name or last name?

DL: And you just sat there!

Me: What did you say? Were you calling my first name?

DL: (Glare and silence)

Me: How were you pronouncing it? Because I didn't hear anyone call my first name.

DL: (More intense glare and a wolfish glaring of teeth)

Me: Wait, you were calling something like "Jah-NEE-kah." My name is Janice. Is that what you were trying to say? How was I supposed to know that was supposed to be my name when you mispronounce it like that?

DL: I CALLED YOUR NAME!

Me: No, you called some other name and expected me to answer.

Nurse who could read and also negotiate well: Ms. BeerPup? If you'll just come back here please...

Then they gave me a shot of Imitrex for my migraine and told me I probably had salmonella. It wasn't the best of days.
The woman was out of a job three days later, unfortunately not due to rudeness or incompetency, but even so, some people get what they deserve.

Bitch.

Not Much to Tell

Somethinkorother asked in one of the comment sections about Nick booting me and SFChick from his site. I've been kind of expecting someone to ask about that eventually.

The truth is, y'all know as much about the reason as I do. I've e-mailed Nick about that to say "Oh. Okay," and other issues since then, basically about administrative stuff, but I didn't ask him to explain himself further. And of course, he's a loyal reader and commenter over here; y'all could take a lesson or two from him on that score.

Most alcoholics know and try and follow the AA mantra, even though they still drink. You know: accept the things I can't change, change the things I can, wisdom to hide the bodies of the people I had to kill because they pissed me off know the difference?

I can't change Nick's mind, nor would I want to. Therefore, why would I ask for a complete explanation? I don't want to know. However, posting over here means I can ignore the primarily male sensibilities of Nick's readers. (Yes, guys, I could have gotten EVEN MORE mega-mommy than I used ta could. And I will. Be warned; I'm entering pre-menopause, and it won't be pretty.)

In the end: It was Nick's site, it's his choice, and it really is better this way.

(But y'alll can blame it on nekkid pictures of Ewan McGregor if you want to.)

Les Chateaux de la Loire Montrichard

Originally posted Tuesday, 12/14/2004, message on a postcard I received in 1991:

"My friend:

The revolution is worsening.

Robespierre is whacking off heads like he was shopping for melons in the farmers' market. The tennis courts are all booked up for constitution signings and the Restaurant Bastille couldn't whip up a decent croissant if the revolution depended on it.

Besides, the Mrs. is out de-robing monks and demanding the return of Napoleon. He's been dead five years now.

Next thing you know, they'll take away my wine. I can't live without my wine.

I hope all is well with you and...what's his name? Ah yes...Thor.

I hope the revolution end soon. You know how naked priests upset me.

Oh, look at that. An angry band of women are discombobulating the Bastille maitre d'.

God save the people. The aristocracy is swine. Vive la France.
Yours,
Patrick"

Martinsville NASCAR recap

Jimmie: Well, I liked the bottom. I stayed on the bottom. It was totally fair for me to stay on the bottom.

Jeffy: I tried to fuck him. I bumped his ass a bunch of times, but he wouldn't let me in. I hired an asshole who won't let me...oh, never mind.

Denny: I'm tramuatized.

Junebug: Y'all REALLY want me to comment on that shit???

Smoke: Where's my moneky?

*For those of you who are totally confused, it's a NASCAR thing. If you really want me to explain, I'd need charts and graphs and an easel. And beer.

Blue Laws II: Electric Boogaloo

As opposed to Minnesota liquor law, Texas is just as puritanical but much more confusing.

Alcohol sales are determined by both county and city ordinance. This determines whether or not you are legally allowed to quench your thirst at any given spot on the map.

Here's what Wikipedia has to say about it:

Of Texas' 254 counties, 44 are completely dry and 169 are partially dry or "moist". The patchwork of laws can be confusing, even to residents. In some counties, only 4% beer is legal. In others, beverages that are 14% or less alcohol are legal. In some "dry" areas, a customer can get a mixed drink by paying to join a "private club," and in some "wet" areas a customer needs a club membership to get liquor-by-the-drink, reports the Fort Worth Star-Telegram.

The newspaper demonstrates how variable the alcohol laws can be, even within small geographic areas. "Move from Fort Worth to Arlington and you’ll be surprised that you can buy beer but not wine at the grocery store. Move to Grand Prairie and you can’t even find beer there, but you can buy alcoholic drinks at restaurants in both towns. Then move to Burleson, which has alcohol sales in the Tarrant County portion of the city but not in the Johnson County side of town."
This meant that in grad school, we had to leave the city of Denton to buy our tequila, Southern Comfort, vodka, and some cinnamon liquer called Hot Damn! that my roommate Elly quite enjoyed one evening in the Fall of 1994.

It also meant that when we moved to Frisco, which is mostly in Colin County--the county was wet, the city was dry, so I'd have to cross highway 121 (which was Plano, which was moist) to buy beer. Since my daughter was a baby, this required that I shop somewhere that I could bring her into without feeling like a horrible mom. So I shopped at the grocery store in Plano and bought beer while I was there.

At the time there were lobbyists camped in the parking lot, looking for people buying beer. They'd ask if the person was a Frisco resident, if they were a registered voter, and if so, they asked them to sign a petition to make beer and wine sales legal in Frisco, to be voted on in the next election.

I quickly changed my voter registration to Frisco. It was easy because the lobbyists gave me a voter registration card. Pre-stamped.

The law changed in 2002. One month later, the grocery store I used to shop at in Plano closed for business. Shortly after that, the crime rate went up in Frisco, but the tax money from beer and wine more than offset it.

And now I don't have to cross Highway 121 to buy beer, which is a huge relief because the route of Highway 121 forms the sigil odegra in the language of the Black Priesthood of Ancient Mu, and means "Hail the Great Beast, Devourer of Worlds." The thousands of motorists who daily fume their way around its serpentine lengths have the same effect as water on a prayer wheel, grinding out an endless fog of low-grade evil to pollute the metaphysical atmosphere for scores of miles around. It has taken years to achieve, and has involved three computer hacks, two break-ins, one minor bribery and, on one wet night when all else failed, two hours in a squelchy field shifting the marker pegs a few but occultly incridibly significant meters.

So we've got that to combat the puritans with, which is nice.