Limp studs

This week doesn’t seem to be my week. On Monday, when I was Pukey Ace (which I might still be), I couldn’t get my car out of my driveway because of the snow. So yesterday, I shelled out $479 to get studded tires put on.

And, tree-huggers or road-lovers, don’t complain about how those tires tear up the roads. They also save lives. Especially with how I drive. Which is all safe, and stuff. Maybe.

I need them for when I drive through the mountain passes in Montana. As fun as those high-elevation, windy roads are in the winter, they are also a bit dicey sans-studded tires.

So I got those tires on, and I was feeling great driving through the icy streets of Pullman yesterday. I was muttering under my breath about people driving slowly because of the new-found freedom my studded tires gave me in speeding along over the blackest ice.

This morning I was so excited to drive straight out of my driveway with no problems. I stopped at the store to buy a paper and some coffee on my way to work when I noticed a problem: one of my nice new tires seemed a bit low. And by low, I mean it was

GODDAMN FLAT!!!

My new tire!

So I had to drop my car off yet again at the tire place, where I might have yelled at a worker (because it was going to cause me to be late and it is just ridiculous to have a flat the day after buying BRAND NEW GODDAMN TIRES!!!). I’m assuming I will be getting a least a partial refund.

On the bright side, yesterday was Laura’s birthday so I had ice cream and éclairs. That does actually put me back in the positive column, week-wise.

Oreos and vomit in one post! Amazing!!

Ok, so it was pointed out to me in a comment on my previous post that I have double-dipped on titles. This is the second time I have used “Pukey Ace” just in November. I don’t think this was a slam on me* so much as a gentle reminder that I might have some larger problems. So . . .

Hi. I’m Ace. I’m a vomit-aholic.

(Hi Ace)

Maybe I am Pukey Ace a lot. I’m sensing a trend. Except the last one was from food poisoning (or Ace’s callous disregard for dietary standards when it comes to spicy foods) and this one includes the added bonuses of sore throat, fever, aches, and all those other symptoms from those horrible Nyquil commercials. Ah, Nyquil. That blessed angel of night.

Uh, sorry. Got side-tracked.

Ok, so maybe I do get Pukey fairly frequently. Maybe I’m bulimic and I just don’t know it. It would certainly explain my amazing propensity to polish off a whole bag of Oreos in one sitting, but it would leave me puzzled as to how my scale ain’t moving but at all.

For the record, I'm not bulimic. But I do like Oreos, and my half-birthday is this weekend. Just sayin'.

So, sorry for the already-used title. I blame my lack of creativity on my fever. And my fondness for invoking the spirit of St. Belle-vis. Which you don’t all get, but trust me, she deserves to be invoked. R.I.P., little Belle-vis. R.I.P.

*If it was a slam on me, I know where the poster is and I can inform said poster’s step-mother-in-law that she LOVES her interior decorating skills and would thoroughly enjoy it if said in-law could redecorate said poster’s house. Follow? Man, I could have been a lawyer!

Pukey Ace

And I'm sick. With the flu. And as blech-y as I feel, I'm more angry than anything because I got a

MOTHER-FUCKING FLU SHOT!!!

I sat through it. I had the needle pierce my delicate skin. I got the band aid. I was mocked for my fraidy-ness. But I did it so I wouldn't get sick.

And I'm sick.

So I'm not in the best of moods, and now I have to go teach again today (working off a few hours of sleep and nothing but tea in my system). Lord knows what sorts of things will come out of my mouth.

Ew. I just reread that, and I meant what kinds of things I'd say, but it came across as projectile vomiting.

And that's the image I shall leave you with.

Belated and bloated posting

So . . . full . . . Won't . . . eat . . . again . . .

Until I remember the piece of pumpkin pie in my fridge.

Ah, Thanksgiving. I learned how to cook a turkey, made place settings for everyone (that would rival any kindergarteners), and ate my own weight in holiday goodies. I give this Thanksgiving three stars.

And now the holiday season is off and running. My decorations are up, except for the sad fact that I have no tree this year. Since I'll be leaving town around December 19th and won't be back until after New Year's, I decided that a tree-less Christmas was okay. I'd have to take the tree down before I left, lest my cat decide to do that for me, and my dad will have his up.

Sigh of relief from everyone, I'm guessing, that the tree situation is A-OK.

And if you come to my house in the next three and a half weeks, be prepared to be greeted by non-stop Elvis Christmas songs. Because that's how I ring in the holiday season, much to my neighbor’s happiness. I hope.

Speaking of Christmas, I need to go shopping. And so do you all. My list will be up soon, but until then you can always go to elvis.com for ideas. I've decided to embrace the crazy, by the way. Life seems more fun that way. Happy post-Thanksgiving weekend!

My cornacopia overfloweth

Since I plan on spending all day tomorrow (a) gorging (b) drinking or (c) napping, I thought I'd take this opportunity to mark some of the things I'm thankful for.

First, I'm thankful for Elvis. Derh.

Second, I'm thankful that I have friends who can cook so I won't starve tomorrow.

Third, I'm thankful for netflix.

Fourth, I'm thankful for my week off.

Fifth, I'm thankful that I can now play my Elvis Christmas albums and not look too crazy.

Sixth, I'm thankful that I'm bored with this post, so I'm stopping.

Enjoy your dinner, and save some room for pumpkin cheesecake. Unless you are eating with me, in which case there is no cheesecake.

Like moths to a flame

I can't escape them. They always find me.

This morning I headed down to the coffee shop to do some work. I sat by myself in a back corner. I had work spread around me and was busily typing on my laptop. I was clearly working.

That's when this woman--who was fairly elderly--came and sat down at my table. And she just started talking. I felt badly for her, and assumed that she was a bit lonely. So I nodded along as she talked.

And talked.

And talked.

About her bunions (ew). About her cat. About the bad parking lot at Dissmores (and I'm totally down with her there). About plaid vs. paisley (swear to God).

After ten minutes, she looked over at me and said, "Shit, honey, you're not Melissa. Are you?"

After ascertaining that I am not, in fact, Melissa, she then gave me a lecture on talking to strangers. She actually said that she could have been a murderer, and I put myself in danger by talking to her. Of course, my talking consisted of grunts here and there as she droned on and on. I didn't even bother to explain to her that I was just being polite, nor did I point out the innate craziness that was her, considering she was the person who talked to me for ten minutes before figuring out I wasn't who she thought I was.

She concluded by sighing and muttering something about my generation. Because clearly I was in the wrong here. And now I hate Melissa, wherever she may be.

Oh, and happy birthday if it happens to be your birthday. And you are driving by yourself, anxiously anticipating your birthday lasagna and birthday cake. Enjoy.

Classy touches from Hollywood

Do we all remember the O.J. trial? Ah, the good times: the glove, Kato, the Bronco. Memories, memories. Well, Simpson, in yet another attempt to prove just how innocent he is in the brutal slaying of his wife and another man, decided he would write a book. And by write, I'm guessing I mean "write" since the man can barely sign an autograph while denying his involvement in the murder.

Anyways, the book was to be about how O.J. would have committed the murders, if he had done them. The title? If I Did It. The subtitle: Which I Totally Didn't, Because Remember How I Was All Acquitted and Stuff and Have Spent the Last Eleven Years Trying to Find the Real Killer In Between Rounds of Golf, Because I'm Innocent?

The book sounded like a good idea from day one. And not at all in bad taste. Apparently, though, there was a bit of an uproar and someone brought it to some marketing genius’s attention.

Rupert Murdoch, chairman of the company that owns the publishing house that gave this project the thumbs up, stated that "I and senior management agree with the American public that this was an ill-considered project."

No shit, Sherlock. Ill-considered, though? Really? See, when a pleasantly plump lady wears low-riders and a too-short shirt, that is ill-considered. When I stand in line behind Granny Grocery who has a couple for every goddamn thing in her cart, that's ill-considered. When you gossip in the department bathroom without first checking to see who all is around, that, my friends, is ill-considered.

Commissioning an "innocent" man to write a book on how he would have killed his wife so that he could have gotten away with it*, and still shown that bitch what's what, that might be more than ill-considered. Perhaps very ill-considered. Or even, and I hate to go out on a limb here, fucking retarded. Ass-hats.

Speaking of douchebags from Hollywood, a big shout-out to the racist Michael Richards, aka Kramer. Yelling racial epithets at hecklers during a stand-up routine is a great way to move your career forward, so well done. Perhaps calling two African-American men the n-word and announcing that fifty years ago he would have had them upside down with a fucking fork up their asses, and then telling them that that's what they get for interrupting "the white man," was a poor idea.

Some might even call it ill-considered.

*Of course, that makes it sound as though he didn't already get away with it.

The truthiness of sexiness

So I was reading through Stacy's site and thoroughly enjoying her countdown of People's Sexiest Men* when I remembered that I had yet to post the week's best news/bad news. You can't blame me, really, since I'm on vacation** and shouldn't be held accountable for remembering anything.

The best news: Stephen Colbert was named as one of People's sexiest people.

The bad news: He didn't win for THE sexiest.

Goddamn it, George Clooney. We all know you are sexy. And you've won before. Greedy, greedy, greedy. Therefore, his second victory doesn't count, and the title then goes to a newcomer to the field of sexiness. Colbert clearly won and, nation, I called it!

You can't doubt his sexiness if you have ever seen the man dance. Or make out with Paul Dinello. Or go down on a banana.

In other celebrity*** news, Cruise married his girl-toy this weekend. He only knocked her up a year and a half ago and now they're all legal and stuff. And they say romance is dead. Bets on divorce date? I'm going November 2007. Or until whatever drugs he's on and sharing with her wear off.

Ok, back to vacationing.

*Why must we as a society turn men into sexual objects, robbing them of their humanity? Ah, yes, 1988 JFK Jr. That is why. Is it wrong to have a crush on someone who has passed away? Oh, wait, I just caught sight of my Elvis shrine.
**Vacation in Pullman, the Palm Springs of Washington.
***And by celebrity, I mean "celebrity."

Royale with Cheese

So I saw the new Bond movie last night. My review is this: eh. It was okay. Too much on the love story, and too cheesy in this regard. And where was Q? So, if you must see it, see it as a matinee.

FYI: if you buy me a mug that says something like "Only my cat understands me," consider the friendship over. Just to let you know. Also, consider your ass-kicking imminent.

I'm on Thanksgiving break. Yet I've been working all day. What seems wrong in this situation? I'm aiming to work hard today, tomorrow, and Tuesday. After that, I choose to goof off and eat for the rest of break. Speaking of eating, I'm to be cooking something for Thanksgiving. Suggestions?

Alright, I'm going to get back to work. Which involves thinking bad thoughts about students who never learned to write.

Rumor has it

It has been such an odd week. My computer sucks like a dirty whore and I spent most of yesterday dealing with that, instead of working or going to coffee like I would have wanted to.

But it's fixed. Ish.

And some other stuff has been going on. Not exactly the best of times for some people (not me). Hey, when did men get to be the most Chatty of all the Cathys? Men are gossip whores, is all that I know. And as fond of gossip as I am, at least the ladies know when to stop talking.

Men seem to have trouble toeing that line and passing on things that need to be kept quiet. Ass-hats. And you know who you are. Jesus Christ, how hard is it to keep your goddamn mouth shut about things that aren't your business?

And that is my stereotype for the day. Let's see how many people I just offended. But my rant rings true. In my humble opinion.

Uh, so Thanksgiving is next week. I'm not the biggest fan of this "holiday" because it does not involve presents. For me. Which is something you can change if you want. Start a new tradition, is what I say. Charity starts at home. And by home, I mean my home. I need an Ipod folks.

Ok, I've got work to do. Real work. And real coffee to go drink.

Don't be cruel

There are a few things I look forward to with unmitigated glee: my birthday, pumpkin cheesecake, my birthday, Christmas vacation, my birthday, the unveiling of a naked version of Colbert Report (so what? don't judge), and, of course, my once-a-semester lecture on the glory that is Elvis.

Of course, for the administration, I have to call this lecture "The 1950s." But my subtitle is "Elvis kicks ass by the truckload." My friend's subtitle it, "Ace's Crazy on Display." But whatever.

Since I'm teaching two different sections of U.S. history this semester, I had the chance to praise Elvis for two different classes. Unfortunately, I had to go to a conference in Spokane on the first lecture date, so one of my friend's delivered her version of a 1950s lecture, and let's just say that glorifying Elvis was not top on her priority list.

I consoled myself on the loss of this lecture, knowing I still had one more chance. I showed up for work today a bit excited and headed off to class. I had my video clips ready, to show just how sexy the man was. I highlight his dancing and how scandalous it was, so I need video clips.

And the goddamn technology in my classroom didn't work. Even with five students working on it. No video clips. No swooning from Professor Ace. No happy students.

Just me. Getting more and more angry. And now my anger has turned to sadness.

Bitter, bitter sadness.

But then I started thinking that if this was the worst thing that happened to me this week, then really I had a pretty good life. My plan for the rest of the day is to show a movie to my other class, read some fiction, watch some "M*A*S*H" and "Queer as Folk," and put away some laundry. Not a bad thing I got going, so maybe I should get over the whole classroom debacle.

Or write a letter to the stupid IT, and then cancel Wednesday's lecture on Vietnam to watch "Viva Las Vegas" and show off my Elvis memorabilia (which I have a bit of).

Isn't shocking that someone hired me?

Pukey Ace

Ah, three-day weekends. Ah, three-day weekends where I get to leave town. Ah, three-day weekends where I come back into town and get violently ill.

Maybe I had an allergic reaction to Pullman? Or maybe Ace plus spicy foods equals bad idea/a bout with pseudo-bulimia. I'm so glad I scrubbed my bathroom floor and toilet Thursday, considering I spent much of last night admiring them. Up close.

I'm assuming you all wanted to hear that story, right?

Anyways, I feel less-than-spectacular right now, so I'm occupying my time by grading (see, even at my lowest, my students come first-ish), watching fan-videos of Stephen Colbert and Jon Stewart on youtube (God bless youtube, the modern chicken-noodle soup), and sending out long, rambling emails to some people. Uh, sorry in advance to those people.

In bright news, I had a terrific weekend.* Until about 10 hours ago. Oh, and go see Borat. Funny, funny. And may I suggest that during the hotel scene, you might want to go refill your twenty-pound bag o' popcorn and avoid actually watching . . . uh . . . some tainted acting. Well, I guess that depends on your gag reflex.**

Ok, that's about it. I'm going to go brush my teeth. Again. And try to get the taste of Pepto out of my mouth. Again.

*Terrific? Am I Winnie-the-Pooh? Or five?

**Ladies.

Little 'Cilla needs a home

Thank God the elections are over. It is official, because Stephen Colbert called it. As fun as all of those campaign commercials were--and they were only in the best competitive spirits and not at all unnecessarily nasty--we're done for a few years.

And by few years, I mean any second now since people are already looking to the 2008 election. Some people have already thrown their hats in the ring.* To me, this is like stores decorating for Christmas the second Halloween is over. When really they should all be focused on my birthday. And shouldn't we all be focused on that?

Speaking of my birthday, as some of you know--thanks to the beauty of voice-mail and the persistency that is Ace--I have found what I want for my half-birthday/Christmas. A long-haired Chihuahua. That's right, this girly-dog. I want it. And they are expensive, so please to be donating to the Ace Dog Fund.**



Seriously, I saw one at the hair-stylist the other day and now I want one. Now I know what arguments you are all going to use in your lame-assed excuse to not give me money, that I'm not the best dog owner, that I travel too much and am gone for too long in the day, that I will only want the dog for the first week and then I'll grow tired of it (whom I've name 'Cilla, by the way) and try to pawn her off on one of you, that all the other dogs will mock it for being so dumb-looking, that my cat will smother it with her fat-skirt***, blah, blah, blah.

And you are all wrong. And by wrong, I mean 100% correct. Yet, I still want one. So, I think you should all chip in, and you can call it a celebration over the election results.**** The Democrats won, and Ace got a puppy. And everyone is happy. Hop to.

*Whew, how Idaho am I that I just used that phrase?

**Tax-deductible, I'm sure, if you make the checks out to me.

***She does have one. It is not as attractive as you may think.

****See ya, Rumsfeld

Count those ballots

Guess what today is? In addition to being the day after elections (did you vote, or were you a pathetic loser who is content with how things are running?), it is also MORE THAN A WEEK AFTER HALLOWEEN. Take your goddamn decorations down.

Now, while I might be guilty of putting my Christmas decorations up a bit early (is July too early? No, I put them up the day after Thanksgiving), I would NEVER leave them up too long after Christmas. The day after New Year's and those babies come down like a cheap whore.

I really hate it when people leave their decorations up through January, February, or the entire year. If you are too goddamn lazy to take them down, don't put up your stupid inflatable Santa Claus. We all hate it anyways.

But Halloween decorations up in November seems even worse to me. Is there anything more depressing than seeing a dying jack-o-lantern sitting on a porch? Besides finding out that Britney Spears and Mr. Britney Spears are headed for divorce court (like that segue? I'm working on it), or course.

Did not see that one coming. They seemed like the perfect couple, if by perfect I mean that they both have the IQ of a child of four, who is on crack. It just makes me question all of Hollywood's couples, really. If Britney and Bad-Rapper can't make it, who can? Watch out Tom Hanks* and Rita Wilson: you could be next.

Oh, and I found what I want for my Christmas/half-birthday/me-being-me present. A long-haired Chihuahua. Now, before you get all judge-y and remind me that my animals tend to be a bit creepy and that I'm not a good pet owner . . . uh, okay. Maybe no dog for me.

*I still can't stand Tom Hanks, but I do like that his marriage has outdistanced most Hollywood couples. Not that being married more than 1 year takes that much work to beat them out.

The price is wrong, bitch!

While there were no jokes about pudding pops, Saturday night's Bill Cosby Extravaganza did feature a Fat Albert moment. And that, my friends, made it all worth it.

Actually, what made it all worth it was the 18 year-old sitting in front of me. Before I sound dirty and creepy (or, really, dirtier and creepier), let's put this into perspective. This girl decided to fix her hair before Cosby began (because, even though it was dark, looking your best is always important). She lacked a mirror, so she used her camera phone.

That's right. Her camera phone. She turned the viewfinder on herself. As annoying and vain as this was (and hysterical), I have to give her credit for being innovative.

Speaking of innovations (and really bad segues), did you all see that Bob Barker is retiring? The man who got his jollies by sexually harassing* the women on his show (the Barker Beauties) and "hiding" $100 bills in his pockets for "lucky" contestants, is leaving The Price Is Right. Who will remind us to spay and neuter our pets? Who will be condescending when someone fails at Plinko? Who will demonstrate his amazing athletic prowess by sinking a putt in Hole in One? Who will giggle like it is his first time hearing the yodeling song during Cliff Hangers?

And who watched a little too much Price Is Right as a child?

So, people, let's all come on down and observe a moment of silence, please, for this depressing turn of events.

And then go back to the true intellectual game show of America.

Wheel! Of! Fortune!

*Allegedly.

I'll take the treat, thanks

The temperature has dropped dramatically in Pullman over the last few days. Low teens equals a cold Ace.

It also equals justification for staying inside, watching TV, and drinking hot chocolate.

Speaking of chocolate, can I just say how much I hate the Disney-ification of Halloween? Parents never allow their kids to dress up as anything scary anymore, and trick-or-treating seems to be something in the past at this point. Now kids go to churches or parking lots (I swear to God, and it is called "Trunk or Treating," I am not making this up) for candy.

I was pretty sure there would be no trick-or-treaters at my house, so I didn't buy any candy. I really got a craving for fun sized Milky Ways (and who came up with that misleading title, fun sized my ass!) around 8, and I semi-regretted my decision not to buy candy.

But then I had a vision of myself in the middle of the night, bent over from stomach cramps after eating my own weight in candy, with chocolate ringing my lips. And I was ok with my decision to not buy candy.

That did not stop me, however, from raiding the candy bowl by the register at the coffee shop multiple times. I had no shame, and even took candy when I wasn't even buying more coffee. I'm sure they love me there.

Alright, I now have to go lecture on World War I. The Great War, as some might call it. Those probably aren't the people who suffered from trench-foot. Go google that image after gorging on fun sized Snickers. Yum.

Happy November!