A Very Brady Dream

I had the most bizarre dream last night. Clearly I am a Brady Bunch fan, so maybe it isn't so bizarre.

I dreamt that the actors in the Brady Bunch decided to do another reunion-type movie, like their Emmy-nominated A Very Brady Christmas or the Brady Girls Get Married. I, of course, was involved in the script-writing, so I went to L.A. to help cast the show. All the original stars were there (except Robert Reed, derh), and they all decided to sit in on the auditions for the other roles.

To get us in a very Brady mood, we all decided to watch EVERY episode of the Brady Bunch, plus all the variety shows and reunion movies. We were in this private theatre at the director's house, like at Hearst castle, sitting and enjoying the beauty of all things Brady.

I ended up sitting next to Mike Lookinland. Which is weird, because I had a crush on Barry Williams. And I shouldn't say had, since I kind of still do. Which is weird, I know. Ok, so Mike is Bobby, for those who don't know.

Yeah, apparently there was something in the Christmas movie that got us going, because I ended up making out with Mike. In front of everyone. In front of Florence Henderson! I made out with Bobby Brady. And while we were making out, I felt guilty because I was just using Mike to make Barry jealous.

And, for the record, I had nothing to drink before I went to bed.

Bright lights baby

Ok, so I'm going back to Vegas next week. And I'm ready. I've been checking out shows online to see what tacky Vegas entertainment I'm hitting. While, of course, I'm going to the Pearl Jam concert (the alleged reason for the trip) and going back to my home away from home, Elvis-a-Rama (the real reason for the trip), I've made a list of other things to do.

1. My hotel has a swim-up bar at their pool. Check. As an added bonus, there's also blackjack poolside with "specially designed waterproof tables equipped with heated drop boxes to dry paper money."

2. Back to the wax museum to take more inappropriate pictures with Elvis. Double-check.

3. Blue October is playing the fireworks show. Check.

4. A magic show. The magician's name is Dirk. So clearly he had to be a magician. Or a gay porn star. My friend whom I'm going to Vegas with said that the show promises to be re-Dirk-ulous. Get it? Made me snort. I'm easily amused.

5. Four words, my friends: Thunder. From. Down. Under. That's right. Suck on that.

I'll also be taking in an Elvis Tribute show, clearly. This time I have an ulterior motive. Remember how last time I went to Vegas, an Elvis Tribute Artist kissed me? No? Uh, maybe it only stands out in my mind. Yeah, well for my birthday Maryanne and Sarah got me a book of photography on ETAs. And my Vegas Artist was, that's right, the cover. So is it creepy if I take this book with me?

Probably.

Just six more days until Drunken Ace is back in Swingin' Vegas. Aah, vacations.

Don't mess with Texas

For Immediate Release June 13, 2006

STATEMENT BY THE PRESS SECRETARY Visit of Prime Minister Junichiro Koizumi of Japan to Memphis, Tennessee

The President and Mrs. Bush will accompany Prime Minister Junichiro Koizumi of Japan to Memphis, Tennessee on June 30, 2006, the day following the Prime Minister’s visit to the White House. The two leaders will visit Graceland Mansion, home of the Presley Family. The President and Mrs. Bush look forward to introducing the Prime Minister to the beauty and warm hospitality of the people of the Volunteer State.

AAACH!

W. is going to Graceland! I've never been there, and now I'm afraid it might forever be tainted by pure stupidity. The only thing worse is if he takes Trigger Cheney. Although I do enjoy that Graceland is such a national landmark that the president and the Prime Minister of Japan feel inclined to go there.

Damn. Don and Mike are going to have a field day with this. So for those of you who listen to the boys, please to be listening to their show after this state visit and fill me in. Don and Mike, just by-the-by, are not allowed to go to Graceland. But W. is. This is the world we live in, kids.

Meet you all the way

Ok, I understand that coffeehouses are social places and people do go there to talk, but I think there are a few rules.

1. If everyone else there is reading or working on their computers or studying or whatever, it probably isn't wise to talk extremely loudly and thump the table with your fists for emphasis.

2. If you do choose to talk loudly, try not to have discussions that revolve around extolling the merits of thongs.

3. If you do choose to discuss thongs, please don't tell everyone what color you are wearing. While I can't speak for everyone, I personally don't care.

4. If you aren't wearing thongs or anything else under your shorts, I also don't care. Keep it to yourself.

In other news, does anyone else love it that the oldies station in Pocatello plays Toto's "Rosanna"? Er, just me then?

Depends for dogs

So today I went back to the coffeehouse to read and saw a woman put a diaper on her basset hound.

A diaper. On a dog.

P.S. It had a little hole for the tail. And my sigh of disgust and disbelief echoed throughout Pocatello.

Love Boat forever

Damn, it is hot in Pocatello. And it's not even July. But the days are nice and I'm getting stuff done.

So yesterday I had to go shopping for a swim suit. And there's nothing more fun than that. Apparently it was national Buy a Swim Suit Day, because everyone in Pocatello was doing the same. FYI, ladies of Poky, there is a weight limit on bikinis. Ew.

Did everyone see that Aaron Spelling died? Will television be able to bounce back? This is the man who gave us Dynasty, Beverly Hills 90210, The Boy in the Plastic Bubble, etc. Sad.

Ok, off to study. Or for a swim. Decisions, decisions.

Candycanes in June

Can't type . . . In too much . . . pain.

But I'll suck it up. Because pain is its own reward. Or something.

So since today was such a beautiful day, I decided to once again study outside. For two hours. Sans sunblock.

My legs are glowing red right now. And the sunburn hurts like a dirty, dirty whore.

Here's the best part: Only the front of my legs are burnt, and my arms as well. The backs are still Day-Glo white. It's a good look.

I'm a smarty.

Oh, and is it odd that June 21 is my favorite date of the year? Not day, mind you, since clearly that is my birthday, but date. So enjoy the longest day of the year, while pitying me for the most painful night of the year. The sheets hurt my legs.

God, I'm a pansy.

Humpy the Dog

Pocatello recap, thus far:

After getting in yesterday, and unloading A LOT of stuff, I went to go see my brother, my sister-in-law, and the two nephews. One of which drooled all over me, so clearly I need to visit more often since apparently he can't remember the rules. No drooling on Aunt Ace. Derh.

Heather and I then went through a bag of clothing that my step-mother gave to her. I'm going to have to post pictures, because I don't think people will believe these clothes. One of them is a sequined top. Bright silver. It's sexy. I'm going to see if Heather will loan it to me for my next Vegas trip. Hot, hot, hot!

Today, in an attempt to get the dog to lose weight, we went for an early morning walk. My little dog made a new friend, as some other person was out walking his dog. My dog greeted his in the only fashion she knows. That's right, she humped him. That's fun to explain to someone at 6:15 in the morning. Pocatello clearly brings out the wildness in my dog.

I then went to the ISU library and studied for many a'hour. Or until I got hungry for lunch, at which point I went to find my dad to see what kind of food he had to feed Ace. I had a Philly. In case you were wondering.

I then went to Mocha Madness to do some more studying. Quick question for you Pocatello kids: is this really Pocatello's only coffee shop? I'm not complaining, because I like it there, but seriously? One? Anyways, I took the dog there and we sat in the sunshine. One of us studied, the other looked pitiful and begged for food whenever anyone else dared to come outside. Be careful before you guess which was which.

I then came back to my dad's to continue studying, while sitting in his backyard on his chair swing. And sipping lemonade. So far this studying stuff isn't bad.

I rounded out my day by playing tennis, and then watching (wait for it) Viva Las Vegas. All in all, not a bad day.

Tomorrow shall be a mixture of studying and going to the driving range.

Here's the story . . .

. . . of a man not named Brady, who was busy with a mouthy daughter of his own.

So today is Father's Day, and I just wanted to use this as an opportunity to celebrate the wonder that is my dad. A man who put up with me for 18 years, and who still wants to call me and talk to me and have me come and visit, deserves a high award indeed.

I'm sure many people say this, but I do believe I have the greatest dad. He makes me laugh, guaranteed, every time I talk to him. He tells fascinating stories of his own unruly youth (admittedly, I've heard all of his stories, as he tends to repeat himself). He helps anyone he meets, and I don't think I've ever witnessed him be purposefully mean to anyone.

While he does not have access to this website--for obvious reasons--I will still take advantage of this to confer upon him the highest honor I can: my dad is better than Mike Brady. And he doesn't have the perm. Happy Father's Day, dad.

So long, Pullman!

My dog's test results came back, and she is fine and dandy so now I can tell this story without feeling badly.

Ok, so she had to have her little bandage on for a few days so she didn't mess with her stitches or sutures or whatever it is that the vet did. I came home the other day and my dog clearly didn't agree with the orange color of the bandage, and decided that the time had come to take her healing into her own paws.

She ripped the bandage off and by the time I came home, she was working on her incision. Luckily she didn't get too far, but of course the vet was closed so I could do nothing for the night but I figured I shouldn't leave her alone or she'd just open up all of her stitches.

My joke about the head cone the other day might have turned out to be true. One of my friends called and left me a snide voice mail about fashioning my own from construction paper. Which clearly I would have sitting around the house since I'm so craft-y.

I ultimately decided that she wasn't going to get a cone, because she would probably just kill herself with that on. And her stitches seem to be fine, and the dog in general seems to be fine. And her diet starts today, since I had to carry her all that evening since she couldn't walk on her hurt foot. Perhaps the vet was right on her "weight problem."

Meanwhile, I'm busy packing up and cleaning up my house. I'm out of here for five weeks, heading off to the good old Gate City. My days will consist of studying at the ISU library and joining in on all the fun nightlife Pocatello has to offer. Suggestions?

Alright, I now have to go find all of my library books and overdue video rentals. Let the countdown to Pocatello begin!! Ow!

Lowering the bar

I have to buy a new cell phone. Apparently if you drop your cell too often, the phone stops working. It’s a pretty bad design flaw in my opinion. But, regardless, I’ll still be heading off this afternoon to price a new one.

I need a new provider, too, since Cingular, in my opinion, is the cell service provider of the devil. I’m leaning towards Verizon, even though their commercials suck. They have made, “Can you hear me now?” the second-most annoying phrase in American culture. While it narrowly edged out the Joey-inspired, “How you doin’?” it was beat by “Wazz uuuuuup!!”

Hmmm, I thought I had a point when I started typing, but maybe not. Just another symptom of my Alzheimer’s. I lost an entire outfit this morning that I had laid out for the day on the chair in my bedroom. Somewhere between when I went to bed last night and when I woke up this morning, I moved it. I could have sworn it was there. I could have sworn I put it there.

Maybe I don’t so much have Alzheimer’s as I’m a sleepwalker. I doubt this, since I’m the heaviest sleeper you’ll ever meet. One of my friends says that I hibernate when I go to bed. Apparently I can sleep through poker games, loud movies, garbage disposals, car alarms, people shaking me, etc. You’d think I grew up in downtown L.A and just learned to sleep through a lot of noise. Although Pocatello has often been compared to the city of angels. I’d match my Pocatello street smarts against any L.A. gang member’s any day.

And I’d get my ass kicked.

Speaking of asses getting kicked, this is just an FYI to all my friends: please don’t send me anymore gay forwards. I’m so tired of opening my email to find “inspirational” stories, or health warnings that were allegedly sent by a doctor, or cutesy pictures of your kids. Have you met me? What would make you think I would want to see these things? Unless it’s naked pictures of Elvis, don’t bother.

The only person who is excluded from the cutesy pictures is Heather, and that’s because my nephews are cute and since they are blood, it is acceptable. Also, the more cutesy pictures I have of these boys, the more blackmail I’ll have on them when they are teenagers.

God, I’m a good aunt.

Limpy the Dog

Aach. So my dog is back from her surgery, but I won't know anything until Friday. Try not to take the last part of that sentence out of context. Anyways, she has to wear a thick bandage and wrap on her little paw until next week. I'm pretty sure I'm changing vets, because she took longer detailing to me why she chose the color she did for the wrap (orange, to make the dog's black fur seem "even more striking!") than she did explaining the possible results.

But the wrap isn't to get wet, at all. So God decided to make it pour rain just for the fun of it. I had to wrap my dog's paw in a sandwich bag and secure it with a rubber band, before she could go outside and take care of business this morning. Sigh. My only regret is that the vet opted out on the head cone for my dog, because I think the comedic value of that could have been the saving grace.

So the other night I apparently had NOTHING to do because I devoted an hour and a half of my life to watching what is arguably the worst movie ever: Satisfaction, with Justine Bateman and a young Julia Roberts. Justine and some of her friends have a band and they are just on the verge of making it big, thanks to the help of a music producer/bar owner played by none other than Liam Neeson. Clearly Spielberg watched this movie and found his Oskar Schindler.

By the way, Justine is the lead singer of this band and her instrument of choice: cowbell.

Updates

Some quick stories from my life:

First, I was showing my class some clips from Western movies so we could talk about the mythology of the West. So I had to set up the movies, and get the VHS tapes all cued up. The batteries for both my DVD player and my VCR are dead and I felt too lazy to run to the store. So I stood in front of my TV for about three hours, fast forwarding, pausing, rewinding, etc., instead of making the five minute run to the store. Because I’m clever.

Second, my little dog is having surgery today. It might be bad news, so I’m not in the best of moods. Either way, my vet informed me that she (my dog, not the vet) has to lose ten pounds. So I can’t even comfort her with snacks and treats when she gets home later this afternoon. Of course, she’ll be all drugged up so I probably wouldn’t want to give her Beggin’ Strips anyways. She will most likely be earning her nickname, Pukey, tonight.

Speaking of dogs, yesterday I had to go to a friend’s house to borrow some Westerns. They have two dogs, and I’m not quite sure what I was thinking when I didn’t change out of my skirt before heading over there. One of the dogs, well, let’s just say, got fresh with me and I wish I had been wearing pants.

Third, a little story about the bravery that is Ace. Last night, I was reading in bed and I had my dog up there with me, since I felt badly that she was going under the knife today. While reading, I hear some rustling noises next to the bed. Assuming it was my cat, I hollered at her to stop playing under the bed. The noises continued, and then I heard my cat knock something over upstairs and I was pretty sure the rustling noises coming from next to my bed weren’t her.

I had an empty department store bag next to my bed, since I was going to be cleaning out my closet. I looked at it, and the bag moved. At this point, picture me standing on my bed, clutching my ten-pounds-overweight dog in my arms, and trying not to pee my pants. Except I wasn’t wearing pants, because it was hot last night, so I was just wearing my pajama top.

At this point, I start calling for the cat to please come downstairs, since I’m not sure if it was a mouse or a snake. I found a snake in my yard last year, so this seemed like a distinct possibility to me. P.S. I am PETRIFIED of snakes. The cat, of course, had already heard me yelling at her, so she (in typical cat fashion) refused to come downstairs. I had to leap (yes, LEAP) off of my bed to run upstairs to get her. I then threw her at the bag, shouting that she needed to kill whatever was there.

She proceeded to play with whatever it was (which was, in my mind, getting bigger and more poisonous by the second) for about five minutes. Deciding she was going to do jack in this situation, I talked myself into picking up the bag and taking whatever creature was in it outside. The bag was still moving at this point. After ten minutes of talking myself up, I was finally able to do it and I flew up the stairs, muttering under my breath, “Please don’t let it be a snake, please don’t let it kill me, please don’t let it be mouse babies, please don’t let it jump out of the bag at me.”

But I realized when I got upstairs that I couldn’t go outside in just my pajama top, so I had to hold the still-moving bag in one hand, while pulling some jeans on with the other. And I didn’t want to go bare-footed, in case it was a snake and it crawled over my foot, so I grabbed the only pair of shoes by the door. Which happened to have 2 ½ inch heels.

So I’m outside in my pajama top, jeans, and high heels, preparing to empty the bag and run like hell should it be a snake. I was seriously in a cold sweat. My brave animals, by the way, were sitting in the doorway, watching disinterestedly. I opened the bag, dumped it upside down, and out came a . . .

. . . big bug. A June bug, I think.

I swear to God, I looked over and my cat was smirking at me. I wasted about twenty-five minutes of my life being COMPLETELY freaked out by a bug in a bag.

I then called my dad to congratulate him on raising such a courageous daughter. Even my dad laughed at me.

End of story.

I know who killed Laura Palmer

So I had to go buy a present for a surprise birthday party tonight. I've heard rumors that this party might be Star Trek themed. Now, I enjoyed Trekkies as much as the next person, but I am petrified the thought that people are going to be dressed as Spock or that guy with the weird face, or speak that Trekki language.

But it's still a party. I do love birthdays.

So, back to the buying of the present. In an attempt to make me more amenable to buying a sci-fi gift, I decided that I should check out some shoes first to put me in a better mood. While looking over some sandals, in the ladies section, I noticed two guys there. I thought that perhaps they were shopping for their girlfriends until I saw one of them sniffing the shoes. Ew. Did I witness some fetish behavior? In the shoe department? Ew, ew, ew.

In other news, my little dog has some growth thing on her toe. We're going to the vet Monday. I'll give the dog this: she is very brave. My old dog would start yelping as soon as we pulled up to the vet's office, and the worst he ever had to deal with was getting a shot. Oh, and having his temperature taken *that way*. But my little dog won't cry out no matter what, which is why it took me a bit to notice her latest health issue.

And really quick, I watched Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me the other night. David Lynch is messed up. Go watch it anyways. It's one of those movies that you'll love so bad. It's a prequel to the TV show, but it was made a few years after Twin Peaks was off. So, so, bad.

Alright, I've got to go and mentally prepare for this get-together tonight. And I swear to God, if I'm the only person not in costume, I will be leaving. After eating some cake. And drinking. And getting some cake to go.

Skating my way to fun

Well, the birthday celebrations are over-ish, so I suppose I should move on to a new topic. First, though, I must thank all who came to Friday night’s festivities, drank the Cosmos, ate the yummy food, and held back all their snide comments as I opened my presents (the majority of which were Elvis-themed. Odd, huh?). This might be one of my favorite birthday celebrations yet.

Although my favorite birthday celebration wasn’t mine, it was my sister’s. For her 11th birthday party, my parents decided to go all out. Not only did she get a slumber party, but we all also got to go to the local roller skating rink. That’s right. Roller. Skating. This was back when Deleta Skating Rink still had the guy dressed as a clown who would come out and skate with you. He was the ref during the “Shoot the Duck” contest. Which I kicked ass at.

Anyways, Deleta also has fun events over the course of the evening, such as limbo, disco skate, “couples” skate, and, of course, the Hokey-Pokey. At my sister’s party, which consisted of over 10 young girls, plus my brother, and my parents, we all gathered in the center of the rink for the Hokey-Pokey.

We’re all having a good time, when it quickly became obvious to all concerned that my father should never have been issued his skates. At some point, probably after we put our left legs in, took our left legs out, put them back in and shook them all about, and then did the Hokey-Pokey, my dad took out about 5 girls. He wasn’t so good with the turning himself around part.

I don’t think he was ever allowed back in the rink. But it was hysterical to a six year-old Ace. And I was so envious of that party, because I never got a Deleta skating party. My dad, for some reason, seemed less-than eager to book Deleta again. Weird.

Birthdays are great fun. And I still have some leftover cake that was sent home with me. And dinner is figured out.

Makin' a wish

I've already consumed my own weight in sugar and chocolate, and my birthday isn't even 12 hours old. Damn, I love June 2. The celebrations will continue throughout the day, but let's give a big shout-out to the kids who took me to breakfast, sat through the waitresses singing "Happy Birthday!" to me, and sneakily paid for my food (Maryanne). And thanks to Dwayne and Vicki for leaving a chocolate donut on my desk this morning. Every morning, and not just national holidays, should begin with treats in my office. In my opinion.

Oh, in case you haven't figured it out or somehow didn't get the memo, today (and I say this in my most humble voice) happens to be my birthday. In the words of Turk, "Say it!"

And for the record, I enjoy all birthdays and not just mine. So it's not just me being selfish. I'll celebrate everyone's birthday. Although, let's face it, I do love mine in that extra-special way.

Okay, now I have to go play "Oregon Trail" with my class. I love teaching.

Celebrate good times . . .

. . . come on!

Crazy how it snuck up, but today is my birthday’s eve. The celebrations will commence this evening, even if that means I’m by myself. I received my first birthday card yesterday from my grandparents, which was very exciting. It had a kitty-cat on the front. I love that I will always be 8 to my grandparents, even though my grandmother gave me a lecture last weekend on the benefits of cold cream and how I’m “not getting any younger.” This was followed up with her gentle reminder that by the time she was my age, she had four children.

But the kitten-themed card was amusing.

In case you do not believe in the traditional birthday eve celebration, let me just give you a run-down of other things you could be celebrating:

A) Today is Marilyn Monroe’s birthday. If she was still alive, she would be 80. Ew.

B) Anna-Nicole Smith confirmed pregnancy rumors, and that, to me, signifies the need to celebrate. A knocked up Anna-Nicole spells party to me.

C) Two more weeks until summer school is over.

D) Five weeks until my next Vegas trip.

E) Who are we kidding with this list? We should all be celebrating that holy day of June 2. Hop to kids, T minus twelve hours and forty-five minutes.

Shameless.