Beyond the Air

Getting into the holiday spirit

2010-11-29T20:49:00.002-07:00

In keeping with the holiday Rico pictures, I had to post this little Christmas miracle.

'tis the season!

Happy Halloween, From Little Rico

2010-10-29T16:26:00.000-06:00

Indulgent cute photos for Halloween. I've humiliated my little dog and currently saving up for his therapy.

Here, Rico.

2010-07-25T16:10:00.001-06:00

After nearly losing a finger last night to a crazy, pajama eating dog, I decided to run his little ass off today so he'd sleep for a week. I'm still trying to get Rico used to people, so I brought extra baby carrots for strangers to give to him as bribes.

I figured Sugarhouse park would be filled with people just ready to help feed my dog, but was surprised to run into a Hispanic birthday party of epic proportions.

Ever wonder what happens when you yell, "get here now, Rico!" when you're walking through a Hispanic birthday of epic proportions? Just hang out with me on a Sunday.

Here's Rico watching a potato sack race:

They still do potato sack races?

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Caesar Cheese

2010-07-19T13:15:00.000-06:00

Since starting my new job, I've learned that I have to leave the office to find lunch. I can't just walk down to the path and get a Beastro salad or even a frosty Diet Coke from the Coke machine. It's a little shell shocking.

Today I visited our fine friends at Quiznos Subs because they have chicken noodle soup and salads. Though they do have Pepsi products which is a bummer.

I ordered the Caesar salad, no dressing, tomatoes or onions. When the salad maker girl asked me if I would like cheese, I asked, "Um, what kind of cheese?"

Rather than replying with "shaved Parmesan" as is usual fare, she said, "Caesar cheese." Which to me sounds like something you'd contract from someone wearing a dirty toga.

Guess that's better than "Fromunda cheese."

Behold, Caesar cheese salad:

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Puppy class blues

2010-07-14T13:24:00.001-06:00

Tonight was Rico's first puppy class and he and I are both frustrated as shit. Not only was he labeled the problem pup within 30 seconds of walking through the door, but he and I both spent most of the class sequestered in a barrier.

In the corner.

I tried explaining to Rico that I got 4.0s in college, but he wasn't listening.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Scary

2010-07-10T08:28:00.000-06:00

I'm terrified of clowns. "Puppet People" a.k.a. scary-looking mascots and the folks who wear them make me uneasy. (With the exception of Jazz Bear, who I'm positive is real and not a human in a mascot costume.) But this was something extremely scary staring me down in the windshield.

And this is coming from someone who has hit a giant deer while driving a Ford Escort. This was almost scarier than having a couple of antlers aimed over your car hood. Because it was in broad daylight.

I shudder to think of the giant, sticky cotton candy this big baby would eat. Or the diaper. Think of the giant diaper, and the contents therein.

Yeah, but still...

2010-06-28T17:57:00.001-06:00

I just got done looking at an apartment because I think I'd maybe like to move to someplace new. I want a place that's light. I want a place that is maybe remodeled. I want a place that isn't drowning in wood paneling.

The guy showing the place told me that cats were allowed. I said, "I have a three-pound dog, he's very cat like." He replied, "No dogs, there's no yard." I said, "There's a whole school with a park across the street. I don't need a yard."

He says, "Well yeah, but dogs bark." I said, "Cats meow loudly." To which he replies, "Well yeah, but still."

Oh I see!! The old "Well yeah, but still" defense! Could you see that in a court of law?

"I didn't kill that guy officer."
"Yeah, you were standing by the body."
"I was just walking by and found him. That's why I called you."
"Well yeah, but still."

Makes sense to me!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

It's true...

2010-06-28T16:49:00.000-06:00

I've been MIA for a couple of months. Between starting a new job and getting a dog all within a few weeks, it's been a little crazy and stressful. But I've got lots of stories and I've been taking a bunch of pictures with a new camera lens I just got, so be prepared for more from "Beyond the Air," I feel nearly rejuvenated enough to begin writing again.

Until then, here's Little Rico Tubbs:

Horny Face Care

2010-04-28T22:24:00.002-06:00

With all of the recent news about volcanoes, I have learned that volcanic ash can be useful! On your face! Apparently the ash contains essential vitamins and minerals... and stays crunchy in milk! Okay, I added that last part, but apparently volcanic ash contains vitamins and minerals that will make your face clearer and look younger.

Maybe only in Japan though. This volcanic goo is only available in Japan. And when you visit the website (notice the new AP style has changed "Web site" to "website" so I'm going with it) it's all in Japanese. Thank goodness for Google translation! At first I thought something was lost in translation, but I guess that shooting this "creamy lather" on your face will make you clearer, younger...

...and horny!!

Salsa Brava Live at the Zephyr, November 1993

2010-04-11T17:54:00.002-06:00

I hit the mother lode of nostalgia boxes today after I had lunch with my mom. Twenty years of my dad's music on cassette tape; latin, jazz, fusion, experimental stuff. Today I found hundreds of cassettes, and all of the recordings contain my dad's saxophone playing in various bands from 1980 to 2001.

My plan is to digitize all of them so they will never fade away. Tonight I started with a recording of Salsa Brava taken live at the Zephyr Club in Salt Lake City in November of 1993. I always said it's hard to be sad when you're listening to great Latin music, that is, unless you're feeling extremely nostalgic.

You can hear one of my favorite merengues, Enamorar, by clicking the link here or the play button below.

Nice try, eh?

2010-03-23T22:16:00.000-06:00

Yeah, it was an ambitious try to do a 365-a-day photo blog. I think I made it to, what, a month? At least I'm consistently inconsistent. The ultimate juxtaposition.

I've been in a play, so my blog and social life have been in a bit of a holding pattern. I went out of town for work, I became really introspective, I drank some wine. But I'm back in town, the play's over, and now I'm just down to wine and introspection. Hence, more regular blog posts.

So, to bring you up to speed on a few things that have happened in my life over the past couple of months... I steered away from emotional vampires, I cooked a few great dinners without catching the kitchen on fire, and I've survived strangeness. The brakes in my vehicle went out on the way to work the other day, and I emerged unscathed. $500 later I was pissed, yet proud, that I took care of it all myself.

Beyond that, I'm trying to figure out exactly how to be happy. I don't think it's an exact science of "activity a + mindset b= happiness" but since math is hard I don't necessarily deal in exact sciences. So, I'll figure it out. I'll go out more. I'll not burn down the kitchen. I'll get through another vehicular snafu.

I will continue to drink wine. And I will write.

Yeah, I know

2010-01-31T22:35:00.000-07:00

I need to write more. The photo thing was never meant to replace the writing, rather offer a different perspective to fill in the gaps between inspired writing and shit.

I watched a documentary tonight that left me feeling inspired. The message was to do what you love, and to make more time each day for those things that you love. I love writing, and I don't do it nearly enough.

My new computer helps make it feel fresh again, so I hope to have some inspired writing here soon.

In the meantime, watch Lemonade and see if you get inspired too.

365 Photos- 29/365

2010-01-29T22:45:00.000-07:00

That big ball in the sky? That's the moon. It looked much better in person, and somehow it also looked better earlier this evening than it did later tonight. Still, it is beautiful.

It's bigger than anything else right now, and that's comforting. Things are in a state of unrest, there's flux, but somehow I can look at that big damn ball in the sky and know that there are things that are constant.

29/365

I'll take the good camera out this weekend.

365 Photos- 28/365

2010-01-28T21:34:00.000-07:00

Very long week at work, I know my photos have slacked. But I figure since I took a few Banksy pictures last week that makes up for the pictures I slacked on this week. It's like fuzzy logic.

I call this photo, "A few of my favorite things."

28/365

365 Photos- 22/365

2010-01-22T21:54:00.001-07:00

I made this on television today with Chef Bryan Woolley. Note the decorative edge, I made sure he taught me how to do that with a fork.

I also learned you shouldn't say, "pound the potato" when mashing a giant pot of them.

Who knew?

22/365

For the full recipe for Chef Bryan's "Pot Pie Puffs," click here.

365 Photos- 21/365

2010-01-21T22:14:00.000-07:00

Yeah, I missed a photo yesterday. I know. But not without good reason, I got a new computer and it's been time consuming setting everything up. Fear not! I've got a great photo for today!

One of my favorite artists right now is Banksy, an unknown British street painter who travels the world creating beautiful works on otherwise dingy, abandoned spaces. His pieces are much more than just a can of spray paint on buildings, they provide poignent social insight sprinkled with, sometimes, a sense of humor. I was first turned onto his artwork shortly after New Orleans sucked the water out of their city after Hurricane Katrina. Banksy's works showed up throughout the area, and I wanted to know more.

Apparently nobody knows this masked painter's identity, kind of like Batman with Krylon, but one thing's for sure, he's becoming a cultural phenomenon. Banksy has allegedly shown up in Utah to promote the secret showing of his new documentary during Sundance. The evidence? Banksy-esque works showing up in places from Summit to Salt Lake Counties.

21/365

This was on the corner of the building on 300 South where the Zephyr used to be in downtown Salt Lake. I was a little awestricken as I took the photos, for more you can check out my flickr page here.

And for even more, here's Banksy's official home page and a recent Tribune article about Banksy's emergence along the Wasatch Front.

365 Photos- 19/365

2010-01-19T23:40:00.000-07:00

I'm currently frustrated with technology. Therefore here's a good picture of me that I didn't take. Enjoy while I take the easy way out tonight.

19/365

365 Photos- 18/365

2010-01-18T23:21:00.002-07:00

Thanks to the fantastic Amy Allred (and her whole family, which this project took up their home and lives for several months) I have learned to make a quilt out of old radio station t-shirts from many of my past lives. Not only does this represent many sweet memories of former jobs, but it also keeps me mega-f***ing-über warm. (Yep, that's a technical term)

I am wondering if I enter the quilt into the fair, will I get struck by lightning? I'm not a domestic homemaker, I do not make fruit preserves and I think we went through several bottles of alcohol in order to tie this stupid quilt. Does that go against the spirit in which the Utah State Fair was intended?

If so, I don't want to be right.

18/365

This photo is crap, I know. But it was taken with the camera phone because all I want to do is crawl under said quilt and go to sleep. Still, it looks very cool and it's much nicer than a giant stack of memories sitting in a closet, unworn.

365 Photos- 17/365

2010-01-17T17:59:00.000-07:00

As my mom and I were leaving lunch today, I noticed across the parking lot another way of eating lunch. Though I didn't partake of the Mexican food myself, I did noticed that they also serve up the HCG Diet next door. This way, you can go and gorge yourself on refried beans and spicy meat and then go shoot up semi-experimental weight loss hormones to counteract the burrito bomb.

Why do so many gyms/diet establishments exist in strip malls next to ~~fat~~ fast food joints? One dance studio I frequent is sandwiched between a donut shop and a Maverik. My gym is next door to one of my favorite pubs. The pilates place where I take Zumba makes me walk past House of Bread. Though willpower is on my side, it's sometimes easier than other times.

Those other times being when I stuff a donut, beer and crusty bread loaf in my piehole.

17/365

365 Photos- 16/365

2010-01-16T19:58:00.000-07:00

I took a trip to Big Lots today to find some cheap, blank DVDs and was amazed that I found so much more the store had to offer! I found a case of Ultra Douches (douchi? What's the plural of douche?) stashed on a shelf next to a case of Performance Energy Powerbars and laughed out loud. Of course! If a person is going to crack into a case of Ultra Douches, of course they're going to need a bunch of energy to do that! I'm so glad to see that Big Lots is sensitive to what is likely to be a fairly extensive process.

Upon further inspection of Big Lots items, I found probably the cutest box of tampons I've ever seen. Dittie tampons are, "the first premium brand of tampons that give women superior quality, ultimate reliability, diva-worthy style and a whole lot of fun..." And they even make you feel like you're a better person with their "mood uplifting messages printed on each and every tampon."

16/365

Who's the crazy lady taking a picture of Big Lots tampons?

365 Photos- 15/365

2010-01-15T22:44:00.000-07:00

Friends don't let friends buy street corner blankets.

15/365

365 Photos- 13/365

2010-01-13T22:49:00.000-07:00

This is my friend Natalie. I haven't known her for very long but she's an amazing person with contagiously uplifting energy. We had a Keytarmy rehearsal tonight and it was her birthday. On Saturday she's leaving for two months in India so we all had cupcakes and wine.

13/365

365 Photos- 12/365

2010-01-12T23:15:00.000-07:00

I don't know what's worse...
This store torso's perky nipples, or my trying to pinch them through the window by using photographic magic.

12/365

No mannequins or nipples were harmed in the making of this blog post.

365 Photos- 11/365

2010-01-11T21:46:00.002-07:00

Continuing onto the wine theme from last night. My decanter, how I love it so. I know that must be strange to think so fondly of a decanter, but it's my Princess Decanter and it makes me smile. Every time I walk in and see that shiny pink diamond on top I feel sparkly and pretty. And when I drink the wine I feel like wearing my tiara.

And opera length gloves.

And bust out my scepter, on the jerks who live next door and won't turn down their damn bass.

Remember what happened to the last guy who didn't turn down his bass next door? But I digress. I love my Princess Decanter.

11/365

365 Photos- 10/365

2010-01-10T23:28:00.000-07:00

There's something to be said about a good glass of Bitch wine. However, it poses the question: Are you really what you eat?

10/365

I love that it's a good 2005 vintage.

365 Photos- 9/365

2010-01-09T17:00:00.000-07:00

Did somebody say "shredded beef?" I don't think so.

9/365

365 Photos- 8/365

2010-01-08T23:15:00.000-07:00

I had a rehearsal for an 80s band I'm dancing in and choreographing. One day soon, we'll perform. Until then, my knees are screaming in pain. Hello Kitty makes it all better.

And reminds me it's Friday.

8/365

365 Photos- 7/365

2010-01-07T22:53:00.005-07:00

I'm going to brag for a bit here: I lost five pounds over the holidays. I know what you're saying right now, but save it because it was no easy task giving up desserts, fattening foods and even drinking less alcohol than I would have liked. So in my plan to continue last year's healthy eating into the new decade, I've taken up bananas.

I never really liked bananas, it's a textural thing, to where any more than over half a banana hits the gag reflex. (Insert joke about gagging on a banana here.) But they are really good for me to eat during the first part of the day, and I've noticed the potassium helps out with keeping my post-workout muscle aches to a bearable level.

Now let's talk banana color, shall we? I only like yellow bananas that are ever so slightly green on the tips. If the bananas are too brown and spotty, I am immediately turned off as my spidey sense tells me the insides have turned to squish. I feel the slight green tip color lends itself to a firmer banana, a texture that is less likely a culprit in triggering the gag. (Fine, insert another joke here.)

Tonight, I saw an entire grocery store display of probably the most disgusting bananas I've ever seen. There were rows and rows of completely green, icky, unripe bananas; a shade of green so disgusting I've never seen it in reality. (Of course, I've never in my entire life changed a diaper of a baby who has consumed curry, so perhaps it does exist somewhere in reality. Or in India.)

And then I noticed the sign over the hideous zombie banana display read, "Golden Ripe Bananas."

7/365

I hate grocery shopping.

365 Photos- 6/365

2010-01-06T18:57:00.002-07:00

Red Sox garden gnome is already gearing up for spring training...

6/365

365 Photos- 5/365

2010-01-05T23:42:00.000-07:00

Shameless self-promotion. I'll write more this week. Later.

5/365

365 Photos- 4/365

2010-01-04T17:52:00.000-07:00

My neighbors were very ambitious after this last snowstorm. While I did get a feeling of "stranger danger" when I stepped onto my porch and saw this out of the corner of my eye, it was alleviated when I noticed that Mr. Snowman was wearing a fedora.

And the bottom of him was sprayed pink. That was weird, so I just concentrated on his fedora-clad happy face.

4/365

365 Photos- 3/365

2010-01-03T16:13:00.001-07:00

I'm a fairly healthy eater, but in the past couple of weeks have fallen off the food wagon by trading in real meals for easier, stress-free food like Triscuits and Laughing Cow cheese. A bag of Red Vines and microwave popcorn is apparently not a good dinner. A whole bag of pistachios is apparently not lunch. Fine. I understand that, and went to the grocery store this afternoon armed with a plan for cooking this entire week, in search of items to help me win the battle against eating like total crap.

In everything I've read, you should always start with fresh ingredients to make the end dish taste even better. Today at the store I found something even better than fresh ingredients, I found fersh ingredients!

3/365

Imagine my surprise to find a fersh bunch of green onions! And two fersh bunches for just one dollar! Just what I needed to add to a fersh soup I'm planning on making. I am excited to start cooking with these fersh ingredients, and I'm hoping that by using those fersh items I will make something really fersh and pleasing to my tastebuds.

365 Photos- 2/365

2010-01-02T18:14:00.000-07:00

I had the pleasure of trying a new beer on New Year's Eve, Delerium Noel, and very much enjoyed it! For more of my thoughts on the actual beer, you can check out my beer blog over at The Brew Darling but if you don't feel like reading it then just bask in the glow of this happy bottle. Yep, that's a pink elephant wearing a Santa hat on the label. Holiday flavors! Pink elephant on the label! Beer containing 10.6% alcohol! What's not to like?

2/365

365 Photos- The Beginning 1/365

2010-01-01T16:17:00.000-07:00

I've always wanted start a photo a day project which I plan to add to this blog in addition to more regular written posts. It seemed daunting at first, but then I realized I want to take better pictures to force me into learning new things about my own creativity through photography. I don't expect all the pictures to be winners, but they'll at least get my brain thinking with shutter clicking.

So, here goes number one of 365. I'm soon beginning rehearsals for Eurydice at The Grand, opening in March 2010, so here's the woman I've already been curling up with as I start to learn more about the amazing script and playwright, Sarah Ruhl.

1/365

Ho ho ho?

2009-12-21T22:11:00.001-07:00

I don't want to rain on anybody's Christmas parade, but on the way to work this morning I had some fairly disturbing thoughts about Santa Claus. These thoughts were prompted by that good ol' holiday favorite, I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus.

First off, has anybody ever really thought about the concept of Santa? Santa's an intruder. Uninvited, he just enters people's homes and starts eating their food and drinking their nog. (Or milk. Or my latest favorite, Soy Nog.)

Secondly, Santa is a peeping Tom. He sees you when you're sleeping? He knows when you're awake? Does Santa see me in the shower too? How about bent over after a night of too much wine? Then he passes judgment on the actions he sees when he is actually the violating perv? If I dated, and then dumped Santa, I'd slap his ass with a restraining order faster than you can say, "On Blitzen."

Finally the song in question itself, I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus, Santa's magical charm perpetuates infidelity. Consider these lyrics:

Then, I saw Mommy tickle Santa Claus
Underneath his beard so snowy white;
Oh, what a laugh it would have been
If Daddy had only seen
Mommy kissing Santa Claus last night.

Really? Mommy tickled Santa under his beard when Daddy wasn't looking? Something tells me Daddy might not be too thrilled at Santa's actions and perhaps punch his nog-drunk ass underneath his beard so snowy white. Unless Daddy was banging the babysitter. Or Daddy was a derelict.

I don't want to cast a damper on the season, but I just had to share with you these thoughts at one of the most festive times of the year. Enjoy the days leading up to Christmas, there are only a couple of days left.

Won't you be my neighbor?

2009-12-15T14:20:00.001-07:00

I've lived in my current apartment for nearly four years. I first decided I liked this place when I saw that a major focal point of the inside was a 70s-tastic love nook with fireplace and built in vinyl seating. The bedroom is a loft. The walls are wood paneling. All this disco fabulous living, and it wasn't in such a bad part of town, so I moved in. But since moving in, strange things have been happening in the neighborhood, and now I'm wondering just where I'm living.

I affectionately refer to my neighbors across the parking lot as "Domestic Dispute." During one of their brilliant fights last summer, the guy living there nearly drove his Jeep Cherokee through their sliding glass door. He got out of the vehicle yelling four-letter words at his... girlfriend? Wife? Baby mama? And I had half a mind to jump in his running vehicle and drive it to the 7-11 just to be funny. I decided against making that incident interactive and instead settled back onto my porch to watch the show.

Why just last week "Domestic Dispute" put on another stellar display, culminating in her throwing a bar-b-que grill lid across the parking lot at his head. While I can't give her points for substance (typical four-letter words and basic defamation of his sexuality) I can give her style points. I keep waiting to wake up one morning to even more police officers casing their joint because one of them has killed the other.

Speaking of deaths around my neighborhood, I don't know if I ever mentioned the guy who died last fall in the back half of my duplex. They partied a little too much, and when I got home from the gym the next day the whole area was blocked off with yellow police tape. I thought I killed someone when I left the house with New Kids on the Block blasting on the stereo just to passive-aggressively "get back at them" for keeping me up the previous night. But it wasn't KNOTB that offed him, he apparently overdosed. In the other half of my duplex. Dead. There's something a bit unnerving about seeing a fully-zipped body bag being wheeled past your back door.

Almost as unnerving as that day is the sight of my new neighbor's decor I just noticed when I came home for lunch today. Maybe I'm a bit cranky because new back half of the duplex neighbor was having a good time with his bass knob last night, but I couldn't help but take this little photo of his fantastic new curtains that I'm fortunate enough to see each time I walk up to my own front door:

Asian bordello? No sir, that's the back half of where I live!

I shouldn't complain, at least I have somewhere to live. And it's warm. And it's covered in wood paneling. But who are these people that live around me?

Culinary Snafu

2009-12-14T13:26:00.000-07:00

I damn near chopped off my finger last night. I was cutting up a lemon for vodka lemon chicken and it all just sort of slipped and I took out a chunk of my left index finger. With a really big, really sharp knife (thanks, Henckels Knives!) To make matters worse, I started passing out from the shock and awe of it all, and as I went to sit down on the kitchen floor, smacked my head on the counter. Yep, I passed out because I'm a wuss and can't stand the sight of my own blood or the thought of my own pain. I can watch an evening of Freddy Kreugar's antics, but when it the bleeding is on my own person, I'm a five-year-old.

I'll live, it's no big deal, but today I was thinking something much more profound about the whole experience. About five seconds before I stabbed myself, I knew it was going to happen. I pictured the scenario and I even thought to myself, "I'm totally going to cut my finger open." Lo' and behold, what happened? I became a fainting kabob.

We are so quick to dismiss our instincts with a "duh, that's lame," rather than trusting that maybe there's some truth in how we feel. So many times I have believed that I was just being stupid, given into pragmatism and ended up hosed. This pragmatism applies to so much more in my life than just this one instance; I find that I'm dismissing my instincts when it comes to situations or even the people with whom I share my life and time. For example, I have found myself putting up with inordinate amounts of crap from the men I date and dismissing red flags for a "that's just me being stupid/impatient/harsh." In these instances, my heightened instincts get cast aside for my inability to give up or move on or let go, and then I ultimately end up bleeding.

What have I learned from last night's kitchen cutting? Next time, drink the vodka and leave the chicken to the grill. Oh, and trust in my hunches just a little bit more inside the kitchen and out.

My best vampires ever

2009-10-23T17:27:00.004-06:00

On Mental Floss today there was a blog post where Miss Cellania listed her favorite vampires and I was disappointed with her selections. While I agree with some of the choices (Count Chocula), I felt the majority were too obvious (Vlad Tepes III a.k.a. Vlad the Impaler, Nosferatu, Elvira). Though the author did acknowledge Blacula, I feel there are many vampires who are often overlooked and who deserve a list of their own.

I am here to provide the better list.

Because I'm a goth trapped in sheep's clothing.

Here they are in no particular order:

"David" in The Lost Boys: Keifer Sutherland's portrayal of the motorcycle/vampire gang leader is beautifully, wonderfully creepy. Forget modern-day vampires who glitter in the sun, David's meticulously coiffed platinum mullet glistens in the moonlight. Plus the death scene where he gets impaled with a pair of deer antlers is gross while awesome. I would gladly let Keifer bite my neck while 80s-tastic song Cry Little Sister played in the background.

"Mick St. John" in Moonlight: Not to be confused with the lame-ass 80s sitcom Moonlighting, This short-lived television series was one of the best things that happened to CBS last year. While it was canceled after one season, I quickly fell into lust with vampire private investigator Mick played by the gorgeous Alex O'Loughlin. He had that perfect combination of hypnotic sexy mystery that I crave in a vampire, and he looked fantastic in the episode where he did push-ups without his shirt. Now my Friday night CBS viewing is limited to Ghost Whisperer where, thankfully, Jennifer Love Hewitt does not do push-ups without her shirt.

Dracula in Animanicas Season 1, episode 29 Draculee, Dracula: When Yakko, Wakko and Dot travel to Transylvania instead of Pennsylvania, they meet Dracula whom they assume is Amish. Hilarity ensues. This is also one of a few episodes where they refer to Dracula as "Dadoo," which I called my own dad who was not a vampire. Nor Amish. Here's a sample of the dialogue that makes this episode brilliant:
Wakko: [talking about Dracula] That guy sure dresses funny.
Dot: This is Pennsylvania, Wakko. He's probably Amish.
Yakko: I'll handle him. I saw Witness twice.
In this episode, Dot also refers to herself as Princess Angelina Contessa Louisa Francescia Banana Fanna Fo Fesca the Third. Which I can rattle off the tip of my tongue from memory. If this is an indicator as to the types of shows I watched as a kid, is there any wonder why I'm a randomly quirky adult? Nope, didn't think so.

Bunnicula: This vampire bunny stars in many childrens' books as a family pet who sucks the juice out of vegetables. The other family pets don't know how to deal with Bunnicula and are afraid that he is evil. My favorite book in the series is The Celery Stalks at Midnight where the paranoid family pets believe that all the de-juiced veggies are actually Bunnicula's army of undead and find a giant white carrot who they think is the army's leader. Turns out the giant white carrot is just a carrot cake covered with cream cheese frosting. Now that's comedy gold. Childrens' books just aren't the same nowadays.
(For those keeping track, I love carrot cake with cream cheese frosting and my birthday is a month away.)

Mina Harker in The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen: This movie was a total cinematic suck-fest, but Peta Wilson's portrayal of Mina was casting genius. Okay, so maybe I just have girl-crush on Peta Wilson because she played Nikita in USA Network's La Femme Nikita series. Maybe I want to be Nikita. Maybe I think I would be an excellent super spy who kicks ass and looks fabulous while doing it. I also think that La Femme Nikita had probably one of the best uses of music throughout each episode, and the entire cast was stunning. A little part of me died when USA Network canceled Nikita; yes, in a twist of irony Nikita was canceled. (And that was probably the best obscure reference you'll read all day, kids. See, when bad operatives in the show were executed, they were referred to as "canceled." See? Irony? Nikita was canceled? Oh shut up.) Wait, did I digress? Oh yeah. The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen was a suck-fest, but Peta Wilson is an absolute goddess.

So I hope this gets you in the mood for your spooky Halloween celebrations coming up this week. I'm going to watch La Femme Nikita now.

Halloween art show photos...

2009-10-04T21:39:00.003-06:00

I've gotten a few requests to post my photos that are going to be in the Halloween art show sponsored by the Utah Artist Alliance this month from October 6th through the 31st. I didn't get a chance to photograph them after they were matted and framed, but they ended up looking really nice. Here they are in digital form prior to framing; the prints are 8 x 10 and framed to about 11 x 14 (if you think you might want to purchase any). Now, remember this is a Halloween-themed art show! Here they are:

These were taken March 2009 in the Pine Grove Cemetery in Massachusetts. Pine Grove was founded in 1776 as one of the first Revolutionary War cemeteries, and added to the National Register of Historic Places on March 12, 2008.

Salt Lake Halloween Art Exhibition!

2009-10-02T08:01:00.000-06:00

If you're out and about in Salt Lake for the month of October, head down to the Utah Arts Alliance Gallery on Main Street to check out this spooky art show! I have four photos that will be displayed for the first time I've ever had any shown. And if you're really lucky, you can purchase one of these photos to help me recoup the cost of framing them! Hey, at least the frames will be really nice, even if you don't like my photography... although it's not that bad.

Come support local art! Come support your good friend Holly!

Internationally Nifty

2009-09-29T23:32:00.001-06:00

I pretty much figured that the majority of my blog readers were in the United States (for the record, I'm fairly popular in California and New York... notsomuch in West Virginia and Wyoming) but I had no idea I had pretty regular followers in other countries.

Thank you to my international readers! Here are my thoughts to you, the United Colors of Benetton (okay, I just threw that in for flavor. "Flavour" if you're reading this in the United Kingdom) my readers after the United States at number one.

Germany- I like Kraftwerk. Ooh! I also watch The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, an outstanding German film, several times a year, not just at Halloween; though everyday is Halloween. Wait, that was Ministry, not Kraftwerk.

Canada- Thank you for giving us Ryan Reynolds, You Can't do that on Television and Glass Tiger. Tonight, however, I'm upset Toronto beat the Red Sox.

United Kingdom- You have flavour, as I mentioned above, and Monty Python. Ooh! And Eddie Izzard, even though he was born in Yemen.

India- I don't know if you're aware, but I'm obsessed with Bollywood films. In fact, I try to have Bollywood Sunday where I get noodles (because curry is texturally challenging for my palate) and watch something from the genre. If anybody in India can explain to me the "dancing in a towel" routine from Saawariya, I would really appreciate it.

Australia- Umm, kangaroos are neat! Oh, I also occasionally drink Fosters. Ooh! And I used to have a basketball crush on Luc Longley. And I will always love Strictly Ballroom. Boy, I know more about Australia than I thought.

Poland- Gosh, where to begin with Poland? There's just so much to talk about... I'm very glad the Black Death that affected much of Europe in the 1300s didn't really reach you guys. Also thanks to the Ottoman Empire for giving us furniture for the many places to rest our feet.

Brazil- Thank you for being located in South America fairly near Argentina where famed (and smoking hot) polo player Nacho Figueras was born. Some call him "stud on a steed" some call him the "David Beckham of Polo," I simply call him "yummy."

Netherlands- You guys are progressive, are down with women's rights and windmills are cool. I also like marzipan, though generally only at holiday time.

Finally, France- Nouvelle Vague cinema (not to be confused with a band by the same name) is a guilty pleasure. I also thank you for providing us with Chanel and Maurice Chevalier. I suffered through three years of your language in high school, and only retained enough to know that Maurice Chevalier's last name means "horse." Used in a sentence en Français: Je voudrais monter le Nacho Figueras comme si il étaient mon cheval.

Is something lost in translation?

To everything: churn, churn, churn

2009-09-22T22:13:00.004-06:00

Exhibit A: Butter Cow 2009, by Holly

This might come as a surprise to many readers both inside and outside the Land of Zion, but I'm here to break the news that there is nowhere in the state where you can professionally churn butter. Or even amateurly churn butter. There will be no butter churning in Utah.

My Pioneer Spirit was a bit scarred to learn this news.

For the past couple of years I have attempted coercing my co-workers into joining me in churning butter because I have had a strange craving for freshly-churned cream. I'm not kidding. Maybe it was the fond fourth grade memory I had of the entire class, during a Utah Mountain Man Rendezvous learning unit, shaking up a butter jug and spreading the final result on a piece of homemade bread. This craving was further impacted by viewing the butter cow at the Utah State Fair last week. (Incidentally, this year's butter cow featured not one, but three culturally-inclined bovine, one of which was wearing a tutu skirt. See Exhibit A above.) On a side note, I learned that the butter was re-used each year which grossed me out a little, but then a bit happy that the butter cow lives on each year in a sort of dairy resurrection.

After returning from the fair I leaned out of my cubicle to a co-worker and whispered with a very drug dealer-like tone, "Hey... wanna go churn butter today?" Thinking that there must certainly be somewhere nearby that could provide me with my fix. "What?" she said quizzically. "Butter churning, finally, today," I repeated, because what's sadder than a burning desire for churning butter? (I mean, besides falling asleep on somebody's porch in a pathetic attempt to get them to talk to you.) Churning butter alone. So I set out to make a few phone calls to find exactly where we could churn.

But churning wasn't meant to be. Much to my chagrin the usual Utah places one might think to churn butter didn't offer the activity. Not the FARM, not any historical PLACEs, not even anywhere around Temple Square. Along the Wasatch Front, there was nary a churn in sight. In fact, the only similar activity I could locate was a taffy pull at the Lion House, and even then I would have to register for a birthday party. Which would be creepy and sad, as there would be no wine at that birthday party.

It was interesting that each place offered a suggestion as to who might just churn, and were surprised to hear that I'd already called around and learned there would be no afternoon churning. I'd created a churndemic of udder disbelief (yep, I did just throw down a bad cow pun) throughout Salt Lake County.

But it's not Pioneer Spirit to give up that easily! I figured that certainly there must be some other way to churn butter! When I learned that it likely wouldn't work for me to shake up a Ziploc baggie of heavy cream, I had to take matters into my own hand(cart). I would churn! If the Donner Party could create food in this valley, I certainly could too! I went to the store and got a little half-pint of heavy cream and set out on a journey to my kitchen to fulfill my now-frenzied obsession.

Into the food processor with the heavy cream and a bit of salt, and after about 10 minutes and blowing out the motor on the circa 1980s Oskar inherited from my mom, I had brought my creation to life! It was a little runny, but I had done it! And after I strained the spooge through a coffee filter, I was finally ready to taste the fruits of my long-awaited labor! I lovingly swirled the tip of my finger around the rim of Oskar's bowl and readied myself to savor the creamy goodness. It tasted exactly like...

...butter. After throwing away the rest of the butter-filled coffee filter, I thought, "um, okay."

So that's that. I guess to redeem this whole experience, I did take some other photos at the State Fair. Here, enjoy something more satisfying than food processor butter:

Swish! by Holly

Gene Simmons, by Holly

Objects in mirror are smaller than they appear, by Holly

Get in my pants...

2009-09-16T20:53:00.000-06:00

After realizing that I might never pay off my credit card, despite the fact the balance isn't really that high, I decided I would take the stack of designer jeans I no longer wear to various consignment stores. Maybe I watched Confessions of a Shopaholic one too many times but, yes, now you can get in my pants.

What did you think the title of this post meant? Dirty!

In case you decide to do this yourself, I would like to pass along a few helpful jeans reselling tips. First off, Plato's Closet is the last stop for the Miley Cyrus undead. The twelve-year-olds who act like "clothing buyers" wouldn't know a designer jean if it hit them in their little, flat asses. For an establishment that passes off a Shopko brand jacket as "designer" it was a slap in the face when they tried telling me that a pair of True Religion jeans wasn't "acceptable." They offered me $8 for a pair of Seven Jeans, and because I didn't want the trip to be a total waste, I actually took it. I figure the $8 pays for the gas wasted driving too far south in the valley.

Secondly, you have to sort of forgo any love and/or claim you might have toward your clothing. I took my jeans to a second consignment store where the girl DID blow a bit of sunshine up my ass by saying, "Wow, you lost weight! These jeans are way too big for you..." and I felt a twinge of sadness when she said she would accept them all and give me half of the selling price. I felt like I was giving her a little part of me, or maybe it was more like giving a pet to the pound, either way I momentarily wondered if I should just keep the jeans in the closet and hold onto the past.

Then I realized that part of the sadness was because I think my dad might've died on a pair of the jeans I was trying to sell. I didn't mention that for fear she might not agree to give me half. For the record, I know which U2 t-shirt I was wearing when that event occurred, but I can't remember which pair of jeans I had on.

Finally, know that you will never get back what you spend on clothing, or computers, or cars. You have to resign to the harsh reality that depreciation happens. If I had back all the dough I originally spent on the jeans I just gave up, I might just have a new computer, or car, or beachfront condo.

And if you really still want to get in my pants, you can pick up a pair at Fashion Addiction on 700 East. There are also some bags of mine there too. Sadly.

Psycho Barbie

2009-08-01T16:57:00.004-06:00

It might not come as a surprise that since I act like a pretty princess, I have been obsessed with Barbie for the better part of my life. Even as an adult I collected Barbie, and it wasn't until Mattel completely changed Barbie's face and body within the last few years that I dropped my membership in the Barbie Collector's Guild.

In the mid-80s, one of my favorite Barbie dolls was Western Stampin' Barbie. Not only did she come with a Barbie name stamp to autograph her fake glossy headshots, but she also had a button on her back that made her eyes blink when pushed. I don't know exactly what happened, but my brother was somehow involved in an incident that ended in breaking Western Stampin' Barbie's eyelids, rendering them unblinkable. He tried pulling out Western Stampin' Barbie's eyelids so that she would at least be able to see, but it gave her this freaky wide-eyed, "gonna' kill you in yer' sleep" kind of expression.

I freaked out and had nightmares about Western Stampin' Barbie getting in a horrifying accident and losing her eyes. Consequently, my mom thought she would try to make this expression less scary for me by whipping out a Sharpie and drawing several thick black eyelashes onto Barbie's face where the movable upper eyelids once sat. The effect was quite the opposite, leaving Western Stampin' Barbie with this homicidal face somewhere between Linda Blair and the creepy eyelash guy in A Clockwork Orange.

From that point on, we referred to Western Stampin' Barbie as Psycho Barbie and every night I made sure she was always buried in the bottom of the Barbie pile so she wouldn't come and hurt me while I slept.

Psycho Barbie was eventually mummified in surgical gauze and entombed in a homemade sarcophagus for a sixth grade project on Egypt. To this day, she lays rest in thirty pounds of gold plaster with Egyptians painted on the top. Nobody dares unwrap Psycho Barbie for fear of some kind of curse and/or zombie attack.

Flash forward to last night when I was getting ready to go out, slipped with the eyelash curler and ripped out over half of the outer eyelashes on my left eye. To make matters worse, I panicked and grabbed for a fake eyelash but the glue got in the open rip wound and left me feeling like I had a black eye. Not only does it still hurt today, but I look like a sideshow act and I'm hoping I won't have to wear fake eyelashes for the next two months.

I thought maybe the whole incident was karma coming back to taunt me for continually making fun of fake eyelashes worn during the daytime by a women with whom I sometimes come in contact. Then my brother left me a Facebook post that summed it all up better than anything else:

"Revenge of Psycho Barbie."

Tweet!

2009-07-13T20:31:00.003-06:00

I've been doing quite a bit of social media stuff for work lately, so to use Twitter I'm really trying to get my point across in 140 characters or less. After a particularly heinous Zumba class at Gold's Gym tonight, I thought of some thoughtfully crafted letters I'd like to tweet to various organizations. And if you tweeple are out there, you may follow me at @hbgolightly

Dear @Golds_Gym_Utah, why must your Zumba teachers suck? Cha cha is on the 3 and 4 count.

Dear @GeneralMillsAnn, I want to rub some tropical Chex Mix on my chest b/c I love it, but you need to start making it again.

Dear @supermodelquin, I don't believe Old Navy's $75 off $100 purchase exists. The secret coupon makes my eye twitch.

Dear @JTek33, There is no catcher as fabulous as you. Caress me like a Louisville Slugger.

Why do tweets ultimately end up sounding like haikus?

Early morning musings

2009-07-06T04:43:00.002-06:00

I was up all night because I have to work early this morning. Just one more special thing that makes my life mine. I know I haven't written in quite some time, so here are my thoughts for today. Read between the lines, lovelies, and you may discover why my blog has been lacking.

I don't know how I feel on the whole "let's be friends" thing when a relationship is looking like it needs hospice care. On one hand, I hate to lose someone for whom I cared. On the other hand, I think it's a lovely excuse for the chicken. I think the whole “let’s remain in a close friendship” thing in the final stages of a relationship may be pure idiocy.

Of course “being friends” sounds like a good idea to somebody who ends up acting like they cared very little about me in the first place! They continue to put in minimal effort, and yet they still get the pleasure of having me in their life, caring about them. It’s like a video game cheat code for dating: key in up-up-down-down-left-left-right-right-B-A-B-A-select-start and you’ve got 100 extra guys! (That was an obscure reference for you Contra fans out there)

Put it on your toast for a low-calorie spread: “I Can’t Believe It’s Not Dating” will leave you fulfilled without any work on your part! “Close friendship” is like liposuction for relationships. I guess I'm at the point where I really want a boyfriend/relationship on whom I can depend, not another pal, but why do I feel like that is wrong?

Wait for it...

2009-07-05T21:14:00.003-06:00

It's been a long few months and I have much to share, lambs. Trust me that every time my heart gets pounded into cheesecake crust I have new stories to tell.

And this time, it's no different.

New things.

2009-06-01T18:55:00.002-06:00

In order to try and inject some thrills in my otherwise apathetic attitude toward life right now, I've been trying new things! I've been cooking and trying recipes I've never known how to cook before, then succeeding in making the food without giving anybody Salmonella or dry sockets or Legionnaire's Disease. I have finally started crocheting an afghan so that I can quit stuffing food in my piehole when I'm just trying to watch television in the evenings.

I've been learning to drive a stick shift.

Yep, I've never had a manual transmission and since there are cars out there that I believe I would like to drive, I finally had to learn. My dad always said to me, "You don't need to learn how to drive a stick, just always get an automatic!" But I figured it was high time for me to learn just what to do with a clutch. First off, I learned that a clutch was more than a cute handbag to take out on a weekend drinking.

Saturday night, I was behind the wheel of a very nice sports car and was trusted enough to drive less than half a block to the local 7-11. Which was very bustling with people. People who got a really good laugh when it took me fifteen tries to pull out of the parking lot. My mantra? "REVERSE IS HARD!!!" And so I will eventually master the stick shift, as I mastered cooking and afghan.

Since then, I've had several strange dreams. In the first dream, I found a snake in my living room. It wasn't a large snake, but still. Then more recently I dreamed there was a skyride that ran through my place of employment and in a moment of mischief, I convinced my friends to break and enter in the middle of the night to ride the skyride. One person fell, and I was held responsible. I'm now concerned that all of these things put together are my dad's ways of telling me to give up learning the manual transmission.

In order to save face, I am going the rest of the night without driving and will run to the gym for my workout. If you see me on the street, please don't swerve to hit me.

I'm here!

2009-05-23T09:46:00.002-06:00

I've gotten a couple of emails lately from folks wondering if I'm going to continue this blog (thank you and special thanks to Kelly) and the quick answer is, "of course! For real!"

The long answer is that I have been really busy with work lately and it seems the last thing I want to do when I get home is look at a computer and write. I got to work, then to the gym, and then I'm mentally and physically drained. Also, it seems I don't really have anything to write about lately. There are so many blogs that seem to just add to the increasing web of crap out there, and I didn't want to contribute to the pile. Lately, writing has been sort of like going to the gym: once you get there it's fantastic, it's just finding some motivation to actually go.

The thought of getting a fat ass keeps me motivated to regularly work out. What's my motivation to write?

I know many of you who read this actually are writers and who do contribute something creative and salient to what's out there. I'd love to hear what you do for motivation. How do you find things to creatively write about?

Is this a slump? Am I wearing pants?

Additionally, my MacBook is falling apart as we speak. Last night, a jagged shred of plastic came off the case near where my right hand rests, resulting in cutting me 70 percent of the time. Is this a sign that my own laptop would rather slit my wrists than allow me to write crappy, unmotivated drivel? You know your writing has turned to shit when your own computer self-destructs, then plots a way to end your life to get away from your input.

I will say that since I got a DVR a couple of months ago, I've been able to more properly keep up on the horrible reality television that's cropped up lately. Daisy of Love? Hate it; can't get enough of it. And if you watch that show, last week did you feel shame as you shouted, "WHY DID YOU LEAVE, LONDON?! WHY?" I am impressed they left us with a cliffhanger.

So help me out here, how do I make time to sit down and put my brain toward writing once again?

Love...

2009-04-09T20:16:00.005-06:00

I don't know if I should be admitting this, but for quite some time now I've had a strange, obsessive love for alpacas. It's true, and it feels good to get it off my chest; "Hi, my name is Holly and I'm an alpacaholic."

For those of you who are alpacaliterate and don't know what I'm talking about, an alpaca is a South American herd animal bred for their lovely coats which is turned into fiber used for textiles. (Visit the Wikipedia entry here.) That's all well and good, but I love their little faces and the fact each one looks like they have bangs. Subsequently, I want to put glitter and makeup on alpacas the world over.

Fake eyelashes, pink blush, rhinestones, I want to dress up each and every alpaca like they were a ballroom dancer. Forgive me if you feel this is cruel, I want to do this out of love.

One day I hope to travel to Peru and see alpacas in their natural surroundings, which I picture might be something like this:
(Scene opens in a village marketplace resembling something between a Moroccan bazaar and a sidewalk sale at Fashion Place Mall. There are brightly colored dresses hanging on either side of the street, and lovely alpacas are mingling throughout the booths, politely saying hello to each other as they bat their eyelashes and shop for new clothes. And handbags. And shoes.)

Holly: (Wide-eyed and full of wonder, is taking in the sight when a lovely brown alpaca walks up to her.) Well hello there, Mr. Paca.

Alpaca: (Bows his head.) Please, call me Al.

Holly: Al, you are lovely. Might we go back to my hotel where I can plug in my curling iron and give the front part of your hair the "Farrah flip" made so popular in the 70s television show "Charlie's Angels?"

Al: Of course! (nuzzles the size of Holly's cheek with his fuzzy, little face) But don't forget the fake eyelashes and makeover!

Holly: I love you, Al.

Al: I love you too, Holly.

(And so it goes. The two walk through the marketplace, hand in hoof, into the sunset.)

Beautiful, isn't it?

Many people know about my love for alpacas. And glitter. And glittering alpacas. So this showed up on the dry erase board at work today:

I'm really glad that my co-workers support me so that one day I might hope to join AOBA and raise alpacas for fun and profit.

Sidetracked...

2009-04-06T18:29:00.001-06:00

I'm trying to put together some new choreography for my dance class tonight. I'm rejuvenated after my vacation, I have a new Red Sox hat to wear and all I'm doing is thinking about new dance steps...

...and the New Kids.

I'm so easily distracted.

Baggage...

2009-04-02T08:20:00.007-06:00

This photo is after the Denver snow last week started letting up.

People have been asking for details surrounding my recent flight to the East Coast. There were serious delays getting out of Denver last week, ranging from canceled flights to de-icing fluid leaking through the plane door onto passengers sitting inside. Those are just the quick details of the trip out. I feel the worst part was when I got to my destination, sans luggage. Sans luggage for a couple of days.

After calling United's baggage claim department, as I was instructed, I felt I was getting no where with this cause. But the fifth and, perhaps, most memorable conversation surrounding my missing bag went something like this (not for the faint of heart):

After a few brief minutes of dealing with the automated system, I finally alternated hitting the “0” for “Operator,” also known as “give me a real person or I will start cutting myself,” and slamming the phone into my forehead. When I landed a real conversation, and explained my situation, they said to me, “Did you file a claim?” Exasperated at having to answer this again, I said, “Yes, I filed a claim! I filed a claim at 4 this morning when I no longer feared for my life as your cracker jack flight dropped it’s ass end out of the sky!” My patience was through. I had now been without luggage for two days.

I wanted a change of clothes.

I wanted my toothbrush.

I wanted my flatiron.

Surprisingly empowered, I threw out a “You know what? I’m done with you. I’m so over you I can’t even put it into words. Who is your supervisor? I want to speak to your supervisor, I want some answers and I want my bag. Now. I want my bag now, so you get your supervisor and put them on the phone so I can tell them how highly unacceptable you and your airline and your baggage handling really is. Get your supervisor, get your supervisor right now.”

Somehow, I thought this would make a difference. I was placed on hold for nearly 20 minutes.

“Hello?” the voice said with an undistinguishable accent. “This is TonTang, I am the supervisor.”

“Who?!” I shouted at him in a voice somewhere between my own and my grandmother’s. (The live one, not the dead one. Though if I had channeled the voice of my dead grandmother to my conversation with TonTang the supervisor, I might’ve gotten somewhere.) “What did you say your name was?”

“TonTang, Miss.”

Trying to go to my happy place, “TonTang? Like, as in, TonTang?”

“Yes, Miss. TonTang.”

“Fine. Whatever. Whatever, TonTang,” I said like a crazy lady. “I am done with your people telling me to file a claim and wait for my bag. I know my bag is sitting in Logan International Airport at the Northwest counter, but because two of my Northwest airplanes yesterday were constructed out of tuna cans, I had to switch planes and come in on United.”

TonTang thought he had an in, “Yes, this is United Miss, you should call Northwest then, Miss.”

“But my final destination was with United, Tonto, not Northwest. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.” I was ready to throw myself into traffic.

“Oh,” TonTang said disappointed that he couldn’t get rid of me that easily. “Okay. Well just be patient and your bag will come.”

It’s a little tough to be patient when you’re sitting in the same clothes for several days and sensing that TonTang the supervisor didn’t really give three shits about my predicament said, “Here’s the deal Tito, I want you to walk right now from the United baggage claim and get my bag from Northwest. And when you have the bag in your sweaty hand, I want you to carry it back to the phone and rub the receiver against it so I can hear that it didn’t drop out of the airplane somewhere over Iowa.”

“Hold please, Miss,” and TonTang quickly placed me on hold.

I had an epiphany while listening to United’s bad take on Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue hold music; I shouldn’t be this upset. I shouldn’t be so mad that I was without my stuff. I certainly wasn’t stranded, it’s not like I was staying in a Guatemalan hut. I was 30 minutes outside of Boston and there was a T.J. Maxx across the street. Still, it was the principle of the whole thing. It’s not like flying is inexpensive, especially when the airline tacks on a bag charge to lose your belongings. I would’ve had more fun staying home and lighting the $15 on fire. I was lost in my thoughts of the unfairness of it all, like I was the only person in the universe who had ever had their bag lost and had to deal with TonTang the supervisor.

Fifteen minutes later, TonTang materialized. “Yes Miss, your bag came in this morning and should be delivered sometime today.”

“Seriously Tutu?!” it was like a Christmas Eve thrill. “You seriously have my bag and are going to get it to the courier?”

I sensed TonTang’s hesitance. “Um, no, Miss. I just looked it up on the computer. I didn’t see your bag.”

“WHAT?” I was going to reach through the phone and rip loose TonTang’s larynx. “I told you to go get my bag. I know where it is. You just have to go and get it and tell me that you’ve seen it. Please, TinTin, I can’t handle this anymore.” Pleading took over, “Please, you have to just walk your little legs down there and get the bag.”

“I can’t do that, Miss,” he said as I realized TonTang was hiding something. “I told you the scan said the bag came in this morning, but I can’t see the bag.”

I figured it all out. “The jig is up; where are you Toto? Where are you sitting right now? Where on this planet are you physically, geographically holding the telephone and talking to me right now?”

With a gulp and a sheepish confession, TonTang the supervisor admitted why he couldn’t see my bag. TonTang the supervisor divulged the information that confirmed my shady suspicions about the United baggage claim customer service department. “New Delhi, Miss.” And now TonTang the supervisor would pay dearly.

“So you lied to me, TipTop? You said you were walking down to get my bag and you just put me on hold and laughed and told all of your evil minions that you had a stupid crazy lady on the phone? Because I highly doubt you could’ve walked to Boston from India in just 15 minutes. You’re telling me that you’re a liar and that you will stop at nothing to pacify me like I was some idiot on the phone. United Airlines employs liars! Liar!” I might’ve been getting a bit dramatic.

“Yes Miss,” he said, “But be patient and your bag will come.” Still trying to stick as closely as possible to his “I am trying to sound like I’m located in the United States” script. I was exhausted, I was frustrated, I was still wearing the same underwear I had on when I left Mountain Time Zone.

...to be continued... In the meantime, you're welcome to check out some of the photos I took the other day here.

Police...

2009-03-25T23:30:00.006-06:00

I'm officially on vacation and ready to leave tomorrow morning. After a lengthy phone encounter with the "helpful" folks from Travelocity, I am leaving two hours earlier than originally planned. I realize I should go to bed, but instead I'm watching REINDEER POLICE!!! That's right!

Reindeer police and wine is on the agenda tonight when I should be getting my beauty sleep for a grueling 15 hours of travel complete with two stopovers throughout this great United States. In the North of Norway, thousands of reindeer still roam about freely. The Reindeer Police patrol reindeer and Norwegian bearded ladies. The reindeer belong to herders who work in extreme conditions like their ancestors. To solve conflicts among these herders, a special police on snow mobiles patrols the great north.

If you are pre-comatose and can't sleep tonight, perhaps Reindeer Police can help you.

In case you don't want to sit through all 51 minutes of Reindeer Police, here is my brilliant, wine-induced commentary on two minutes of said video:

Whining...

2009-03-24T16:54:00.007-06:00

Or, in this case, "wine-ing," as in a post about wine, but that doesn't look very good on the title. It makes it look like I spelled it incorrectly and I pride myself on grammar and spelling.

It's a very sad day today as I realized I've developed an allergy to wine, specifically Virgin Vines Shiraz. For the last few months, I've consumed a fair amount of this wine because I found it on sale at the wine store. Subsequently, for the last few months, I've broken out in unexplainable hives.

After a particularly nasty bout with hives a couple of months ago, I went to a dermatologist thoroughly convinced (after consulting Web M.D. and self-diagnosing) that I needed treatment for scabies. I made them give me scabies medication, not because I believe I am a dirty scabies girl, but because there simply wasn't any other explanation. Web M.D. said I had scabies, I had scabies! I figured that maybe my feather bed I bought last winter was the culprit and that wayward scabies had hijacked their way into my bedroom. (Think recent "deadly spider found in Whole Foods bananas" story.) Incidentally, the scabies medication didn't help or do anything, but it was still nice to know that I was scabies-free. My next thought was perhaps scurvy, but I eat oranges. And I'm not a pirate.

At work today, I had an out-of-the-blue "a ha!" moment when I figured out that my current few hives began Friday night after I drank a couple of glasses of Virgin Vines Shiraz. I didn't down the whole bottle, as I'm known to occasionally do, which is why I have just a few hives. I thought maybe I got caught in some freak pre-summer, zero-humidity megamosquito attack while enjoying some time outside, but now I think it was the shiraz. Then I came home and found this about wine allergies, "The symptoms of a sulfite sensitivity reaction vary from mild to life-threatening. The most common symptoms are mild and involve a skin rash accompanied by redness, hives, itching, flushing, tingling and swelling." Yep, that's me.

Damn you, dirty shiraz. Why must you taunt me so? So, now what do I do? Further test this allergy theory by drinking my last bottle of Virgin Vines "just to make sure" I'm really allergic? Pawn it off on someone who isn't destined to never again drink shiraz? Get tested again for scabies?

Damn you, sulfites. Damn you, Richard Branson.

Mactanna...

2009-03-22T16:04:00.004-06:00

Just when I thought I'd seen it all, I ran into some Hannah Montana Mac n' Cheese, or what I like to call "Hannah Mactanna," today.

Now you too can eat Miley for dinner; with 100% real cheese! (Not surprising) And the only price you'll have to pay to eat Miss Cyrus' box is $.70 and 280 calories per serving. What a bargain!

I just wonder why the directions are written in an accent straight from the backwoods of Arkansas? From the box of Hannah Mactanna: "Kids In The Kitchen. Whatcha Need: A Little Help from Yer Mom Or Dad and?6 Cups Water, 1/2 Tbsp Unsalted Butter, 3 Tbsp Skim Milk. How to Do It: 1. Bring 6 Cups of Water to A Boil. Stir In The Macaroni. Boil For 6-8 Minutes Or Until Tender. 2. Once Cooked, Drain Water from Pan In A Strainer, Then Put Macaroni Back In Pan. 3. Now Add Your: 1/2 Tbsp Unsalted Butter, 3 Tbsp Skim Milk, Contents of Cheese Packet. Stir It Up Well. Enjoy! Yup! You've Done It! Time to Eat Yer Macaroni and Cheese!"

Yup! Time to eat yer macaroni and cheese!

Gym...

2009-03-19T18:36:00.002-06:00

I have been working out like a crazy lady lately, but couldn't continue at the gym last Saturday when I looked around after my dance class and saw this:

I call this photo "Banana Hammock."

Advice

2009-03-19T17:47:00.005-06:00

I stumbled across a Web site the other day, thatsnotcool.com, that teaches young folks about the pressures that technology can put on dating, i.e. texting, sending racy photos, etc. Now, I stress this site is for young folks, but maybe more adults should look at these videos too. I will now do my civic duty by presenting to you a video called "Text Monster."

While there is much talk lately on how the recession is contributing to better love lives and relationships (who wants to be poor and alone?), I believe that technology is making it more difficult to actually date in order to find the one you with whom you want to be poor and alone.

I propose that people need to practice "retro dating," you know, where the guy calls you up, asks you out and you talk rather than text.

First rule of "retro dating?" I believe that going out rather than hanging out is the best way to get to know someone. Dating is not sitting in your pajamas, sans makeup, in your cluttery, little apartment. This is hanging out, and in the beginning stages of dating, hanging out is not sexy. Going out need not be expensive either, hell, I'd be happy with a Sizzler salad bar or an evening ride on an ATV followed up by even a decent cocktail or glass of wine. The point is, you get to know someone by doing stuff, not schlepping around. There are plenty of nights to schlep when the two of you are in the throws of a recession-sparked poverty party; hanging out should not happen until you have gone out at least a few times.

Secondly, I think a new focus on creating a Mix Tape (Mix CD) would facilitate this idea of retro dating. While it might be expensive to bring your new date flowers and spend cash on a dinner, why not throw together a few of your favorite tracks to reveal a bit of yourself to your new sweetie? Granted, this could be a deal breaker when you find your new blonde, blue-eyed Adonis has a thing for a quaint combo of Cher and Young Jeezy, but there's a chance you might just get some new music out of it.

I once went out with a guy who on our first (lunch) date brought me a CD he burned of Grant Green. Knowing I was a fan of jazz music, I thought this was extremely thoughtful and I ended up discovering a new side of jazz guitar. I still have this CD, and though I'm haunted by his handwriting, I love the music. While that may sound extremely pretentious and snarky, I had encounter with a different guy and Martini Ranch. Amazing how a concept band fronted by a pre-Wierd Science Bill Paxton can still make me swoon. Still.

My point is, what have you got to lose? If your date's music really sucks, who couldn't use a new silver coaster? And if your tastes in music aren't compatible, isn't it better to find that out sooner rather than later?

Now, I don't profess to know all the particulars of dating, but I do know that I've had enough frustrating encounters with the opposite sex to offer these few helpful tips. For some reason lately, I feel the need to help humanity and what better way to give back to the planet by helping them find the sweetie I can't seem to find myself? Those who cannot do, teach, and at this point in my life I feel I have a Ph. D. in serial monogamy.

Ham...

2009-03-16T22:39:00.003-06:00

I am severely disturbed by the new Boost Mobile commercial which features two talking pigs dining on ham. I don't know, maybe it's not even new, but I've never seen it before. In fact, I don't even know what the pigs were saying about Boost Mobile phones because I was totally freaked out by the fact they were chowing two giant plates of ham while saying they're "Just enjoying the flavors of a fallen friend."

The pigs also appear to be dirty.

So many questions this commercial makes me ponder: Why are the pigs dirty? Are we to assume these dirty pigs are not Jewish? What's more, why does this cell phone company believe that dirty cannibal pigs will make us want to buy cell phones? Am I reading too much into this commercial? Am I wearing pants?

Bliss...

2009-03-13T13:36:00.000-06:00

I finally treated myself to something nice.

Got the vapors...

2009-03-04T22:19:00.004-07:00

Just before bed tonight, I watched Mythbusters and saw something so strange, so awesome, I laughed out loud on my couch:

The Tennessee Fainting Goat.

While I once visited Tennessee and saw creatures I'd never seen in Utah (fireflies) I did not see one of these crazy goats. According to Wikipedia, "A fainting goat is a breed of domestic goat whose muscles freeze for roughly 10 seconds when the goat is startled. Though painless, this generally results in the animal collapsing on its side." Apparently this is caused by a genetic condition, with a hilariously funny outcome. Here, have a look:

I pass out when I'm happy, tired, scared; I wonder if I have a little fainting goat in me. If this is the case, I ask kindly that you don't refer to me as "stiff-legged goat."

Reuniiited...

2009-03-03T21:49:00.004-07:00

...and it feels sooo good.

I came home the other day for lunch and found the maintenance crew outside and was able to tell them the green shovel they likely "found" against my front door was mine. I was very polite, but firm, telling them since this was the second stolen shovel this year, I would like it back if they have it.

'Lo and behold, I came home from work and there was my shovel.

I might sleep with it tonight. I love you, shovel.

Shovel envy

2009-02-26T19:28:00.006-07:00

I still don't get how to do kind of outdoor maintenance activities. I live in an apartment so I don't have to water, grow or mow a lawn. Someone else takes care of all those pesky leaves that are too chickenshit to hold onto a tree branch through the winter. I don't do windows. But whenever it snows, I am responsible for either shoveling my walkway and back stairs, or trudge through the elements through the spring thaw. Which is actually in August here since my place faces in completely the wrong direction.

Earlier this winter, my mom was nice enough to get me my own shovel and ice melt jug so I could make sure my Dooney bag and I didn't fall down the outside stairs in an icy display of pain. After the first few snows, I decided that the little bit of shoveling wasn't really so bad... after a few beers... and when you slip and take a digger into a snowbank, the alcohol numbs the pain. Ah yes, beer shoveling. But I digress.

Two snowstorms after I first used the shovel, my new red shovel, the shovel came up missing along with a third of a jug of windshield washer fluid and less than half a tub of ice melt. I know it was stolen by some unruly neighbors who had just moved, and I hope they mistake the ice melt for course salt and use it to rim a margarita glass.

Eventually, my mom took pity on me and, since I refuse to ever go into a Home Depot, bought me a new shovel. A pretty green shovel. A new shovel so heavy-duty it was sure to withstand even the wettest, bloppy snow. I used this shovel for a few more snows, and then this week welcomed a little spring. When I got home from work on Tuesday, I noticed there were maintenance people who had been seemingly cleaning up my yard area, pruning the trees and raking up leaves.

And using my shovel. I know this because the shovel had moved slightly from right next to my door to a few feet away.

Yesterday, I got home from work and noticed there was more raking and general yard clean-up, and the shovel was leaning against my door after having clearly been used.

Today I got home, and my shovel was gone. Gone was my shovel. I picture some plumber-crack-clad maintenance person soiling themselves with maniacal laughter as they slowly caress my shovel while driving away in their dirty truck. I am devastated. I loved that shovel. It was a good shovel, and I refuse to go to Home Depot to get another.

Did the yard clean-up guys abscond with the shovel, or are there darker forces in play? For instance, I just watched The Strangers the other night and I'm wondering if maybe the shovel was one of the creepy movie killers. I already haven't slept without a light on since watching that movie, now do I wonder if the shovel is going to show up in the middle of the night, wielding a knife to secure my untimely demise. I picture the scene something like this:

*Knock, knock*

Holly: Hello? Who's there? *Looks out the door near the window and sees the outline of a snow shovel silhouetted by the porch light*

Shovel: Is Tamara there?

Holly: *Clicks the deadbolt* I already told you, there's nobody here with that name. Please go away.

Shovel: Oh, sorry. *Shovel shuffles off down the sidewalk*

*Holly proceeds to shrug off the incident and drink a beer (big surprise), but the camera pans over and we see the blurred image of a scary shovel wearing a bag-like mask over its handle, inside the house.*

*Fast-forward to a highly suspenseful series of events where Holly hides from the mask-wearing shovel, defends herself from the mask-wearing shovel and eventually gets tied up and ultimately stabbed by the shovel*

Holly: *Tied up and bloody, waiting to get killed* Why shovel? Why are you doing this to me?

Shovel: *Without feeling, still wearing the scary mask-bag over its handle* Because you were home.

*Shovel stabs Holly and the movie ends*

(Apologies to those who have not seen The Strangers, I might've spoiled the whole movie for you.)

One day I'll live in a place where shovels can roam free, where they can sit beside a door and not get taken against their will, where I don't have to go to a Home Depot.

Until then, I'd like to find the shovel-stealing jerks and hit them upside the head.

Bad Karma?

2009-02-23T17:45:00.004-07:00

A few years ago when I was on the radio and consistently reading stories about Britney Spears and Madonna jumping on the Kabbalah train, I decided to look into the mysterious belief. While I've never been religious, I was at a point in my brain where I wondered if maybe I should have some kind of spiritual structure in my life. After reading, I ordered a packet of red Kabbalah strings, which one ties around their wrist to ward off the "evil eye."

According to their Web site, the "evil eye" is "a very powerful negative force. It refers to the unfriendly stare and unkind glances we sometimes get from people around us. Envious eyes and looks of ill will affect us, stopping us from realizing our full potential in every area of our life." Okay, so that didn't sound good. I wanted to reach my full potential, I didn't want evil forces in my life, more importantly, I've kind of always had chicken not sit well with me and figured maybe a spastic colon was the embodiment of the "evil eye." What could it hurt to tie a little piece of special string around my wrist? And it was very trendy, too.

That was four years ago, and since then the Kabbalah Center in Los Angeles won't leave me the hell alone. Every couple of months, they give me a call and pitch me on spending more money with their organization. Every time they call, I politely listen and then tell them I'm just not interested in learning more and ask that they remove me from their calling list.

This afternoon, they called for what I hope is the last time. I didn't even listen to their speech. I said, "I've asked you repeatedly, for years now, to quit calling me and I am not interested in your organization," and then I hung up. Just like that.

Now I have to wonder if telling the Kabbalah Center to bite me is bad karma? What's worse is that I ate chicken for lunch and have to teach a dance class tonight. We'll see what happens.

Womanizer?

2009-02-20T23:08:00.002-07:00

I couldn't go to sleep early like I wanted tonight, so I made a grilled cheese sandwich and drank some red wine. In the haze, this song came to me:

Any song featuring the accordian and beer bottle percussion is okay by me.

Blurry Sanders

2009-02-19T20:03:00.004-07:00

I am not a fan of fast food, in fact, I seldom eat it. This week has been an exception since I got two Happy Meals trying to find a Hello Kitty watch. But I could go for weeks without it. This is big for me, the girl who used to, in high school, go with her friends to KFC for "the vat" for lunch. "The vat" was an extra-large order of french fries. That's it. For lunch. I agree with Mike Meyers in So I Married an Axe Murderer that the Colonial puts in his food an "addictive chemical that makes you crave it fortnightly" with his "wee beady eyes."

Since then, I don't eat "the vat" or anything like that because I'm trying to wear a Princess Leia slave costume for Halloween this year. I especially don't eat at KFC since I had really low blood sugar one day and ingested a packet of fake butter to keep from passing out. Instead I barfed.

Anyhow, I thought it was really interesting that Google Street View has started blurring any faces in their photos-- including the Colonial. The Colonial has made me see blurry, but that's because my head was hanging over the toilet.

Not a Drag...

2009-02-17T20:08:00.004-07:00

Hi. My name is Holly and I'm a reality television-aholic. I never realized I had it this bad. Until tonight. Tonight I have to fully disclose this addiction.

At first, it started out with an occasional episode of Survivor, maybe a little Fear Factor here and there in the early 2000s, but as reality shows became more popular, I found myself watching more. Soon, I learned I needed more reality television, campier reality television, the more awful reality TV the better, to get my fix. In my life, I have sat through entire seasons of bad reality shows like Top Design, Shear Genius and even The Pick-Up Artist.

I have seen entire marathons of MTV's My Super Sweet 16, three seasons of Rock of Love, every dance show out there: So You Think You Can Dance, Dancing with the Stars, Randy Jackson Presents: America's Best Dance Crew. You name the reality show, and I've watched at least one episode. I watch back-to-back episodes of America's Next Top Model, Project Runway, Tori and Dean. On occasion, I watch lesser-known reality shows like MTV's True Life or Two-a-Days or A&E's Vegas Showgirls: Nearly Famous, sometimes even Bravo's Work Out will satiate my craving. Occasionally, I will watch a show on television, while watching another online-- only occasionally though.

I have watched Britney Spears' Chaotic. I have watched Cathouse. That said, I do have standards. I will not sit through anything with Scott Baio, Dr. Drew, any married Bradys or combinations thereof.

I believe my love for reality television started way before the reality trend of the early 2000s. It's possible my obsession began in the 80s with Battle of the Network Stars. I used to watch those stars in their glittery leotards while they flew through the air with the greatest of ease, and I would sometimes pretend I was a competitor. Sometimes I still dream of glittery leotards and wish I was an American Gladiator, but that's more disclosure than I would like to admit right now. I can't pinpoint the precise time when I first started consuming reality TV, but I know I can't stop. I know I've seen it all. That is, I thought I had seen it all until tonight.

Tonight I saw something that boggled my mind. It rocked my reality television world. I will never be the same. Tonight, I watched my first episode of RuPaul's Drag Race.

RuPaul's Drag Race, where I heard RuPaul say that the winner will be the next drag superstar and be, "hotter than Tyra wearing a fat suit in July." Yes, RuPaul tells the would-be stars to "work it, girl." And I want to "work it" as well. If RuPaul's Drag Race is wrong, I don't want to be right.

The basic premise of the show is that the girls complete challenges, then are judged by RuPaul in a final lip synch show where they "lip synch for their life," and in the end, one queen is eliminated. It's your basic reality show formula, but in this show, the loser is told to "Sashay away."

So my reality television obsession continues, and one day the desire might be quelled. Until then, I will stick with RuPaul. Yes, I will "Shantay and stay."

Keywords...

2009-02-16T13:48:00.003-07:00

I'm always interested in how people find my little blog here on the internets. While it's possible I've threatened with physical harm some people into loyal readers, others stumble upon my blog and soon become ensnared in my World Wide Web.

Here are some keywords you can use to find me in case you forget my URL:

Apparently I write about nipples, a lot, and people search nipples, a lot. I also write about not just normal nipples, but flapjack nipples. I believe I referred to Mariah Carey once as having "flapjack nipples" and now it's a great way to find my blog! I also like a good slipple (nipple falling out, on someone else, not myself) and it seems there are internet searchers who agree.

And why does "Kevin Rose" not show up in my keywords since my 2009 goal was to get a date with him, all starting out by mentioning him as often as fitting?

Long fingernail lady

2009-02-13T08:24:00.003-07:00

I got an email from a very reliable source who worked decades ago at a place where this lady shopped. She writes, "Her fingernails weren't quite that long when she came thru my checkstand, but I remember her telling me that she was unable to do housework and that was a good incentive for her to keep the ratty looking things. Also, it was apparently a turn-on for her husband. Gross, gross, gross! I guess she has to start over now. Hopefully she will clean her house first."

It seems all good things must come to an end. Apparently the world record holder for the world's longest fingernails lives in Utah, and a car accident caused her to lose her prized possessions. During the recent crash, she was ejected from the vehicle and broke a nail. She was very lucky she wasn't more seriously injured. Still, it is tough to buckle your seatbelt when you're trying to rock 28 feet of ghetto fingers. (Click here for the Salt Lake Tribune article on this accident)

At least now she can pick her nose!

Oh Grate! (a pun, not misspelling of the word "great." you'll get it if you read on.)

2009-02-11T17:35:00.006-07:00

A few weeks ago, I went into this new store called Shoe Carnival figuring it sounded fun (Carnival!) and full of shoes (Shoe!); it's fun, and full of shoes, it's SHOE CARNIVAL!

Notsomuch. It scared me. It scared me quite a lot. I couldn't get three feet into the store before a "helpful" salesperson obnoxiously yelled to me, "HI! WELCOME TO SHOE CARNIVAL! WHAT CAN I HELP YOU FIND?"

Taken aback, I sort of said I didn't know, but if I did, I'd be sure to have them help me.

Rounding a set of shelves, I ran into another salesperson. "HI! WELCOME TO SHOE CARNIVAL! WHAT CAN I HELP YOU FIND?" I replied, "Yeah, still doing okay. I'll let you know though if I'm not..."

Frightened, I went to the boot section and tried on a few pairs. The prices were decent, and though the quality of shoe was mostly crap, I was pretty impressed by the cute styles. And if you're going to waste money on poorly-constructed, trendy footwear, it might as well be cheap, poorly-constructed, trendy footwear.

Now, remember this place was called Shoe Carnival? Every five minutes, an employee would get over the loud speaker, "WEEEEEEEEEELCOME TO SHOE CARNIVAL! THIS IS A REMINDER YOU HAVE JUST FIIIIIIIIVE MINUTES TO GET YOUR BUY ONE PAIR GET ONE PAIR HALF-OFF DEEEEEEEEAL. BUT FIRST! LET'S SPIN THE DEAL WHEEL!" Deal wheel?

"HI! ARE YOU STILL FINDING EVERYTHING AT SHOE CARNIVAL?!?" came up behind me, scaring me like the voice belonged to those two freaky twins in The Shining.

"AAAAAAAAAAHHHH! YES! I'M JUST LOOKING!!!" Shoe Carnival was loud. Shoe Carnival was scary. Shoe Carnival was a giant clown, ready to hold my hands behind my back and bite my throat with its long, pointy teeth.

Hurrying toward the discount racks in the back of the store, I found two pairs of totally uncomfortable, fairly cute, completely cheap shoes for $6 each. Several more loudspeaker announcements and $12 plus tax later, I left Shoe Carnival, screaming into the night.

Why do I talk about this? I got one of the shoes stuck in a grate outside my apartment tonight. I don't know how, but the heel got so tightly wedged down into the grate that I couldn't pull it out. I literally had to unbuckle the shoe off my foot and leave it while I took all the stuff I was carrying inside.

Half barefoot.

In the snow.

I finally got the shoe out of the grate, but not before taking a picture. Good thing the burgundy patent-leather Mary Jane was cheap, because I'm certainly not going back to freaky Shoe Carnival to replace it.

Loose furniture

2009-02-11T13:13:00.005-07:00

We saw this sign outside a furniture store at lunch today, and I'm left wondering exactly what is Hooker Furniture:

Does this furniture turn tricks? Have slip covers which are too short for daylight hours? Does it have clear, lucite legs that light up when pressure is applied?

It is 40% off, however, making it cheap Hooker furniture.

Owned!

2009-02-10T22:10:00.003-07:00

Tonight I made my final car payment. Ever. While it's taken many many years to pay it off, it's finally done. And since I paid for a major overhaul on it a couple of months ago, I'm hoping to get a few more years with it-- without a car payment.

I celebrated tonight by going to the gym and then grabbing a bottle of wine for a celebratory glass of vino when I got home. While driving home, the SLCPD decided to run a red light and nearly take out my newly-paid-for vehicle. Now, I understand the benefit of a classic "approach without lights and sirens" call, but should they be approaching without lights and sirens to the detriment of everyone else on the road?

Much less those who thirty seconds earlier just threw their last vehicle payment into the post office?

And because I saw him speed for at least 15 blocks northbound on 900 east after, I figure that I was just lucky to get out without major damage.

Best of...

2009-02-09T17:19:00.003-07:00

I think I'm pretty damn funny. I hope you do too. Many current readers might not realize that I started this blog in February 2005 as a supplement to stuff I talked about on the Morning Zoo on 97.1 ZHT. So as a four-year anniversary to "Beyond the Air: Radio Free Holly," I present to you my favorite thoughts, quotes and chunks found throughout the years.

From June 23, 2005:
"Yes, nothing says 'Happy Birthday' quite like a bunch of burning tampons!! This is a quick-fix that would make MacGyver proud. Now, if only they could build a bomb out of Tampax and hand lotion!!"

From August 1, 2005:
"I wore some cute, cotton Aberbcrombie pants last summer to a remote, and it was hot, and any sweat looks like a little bit of pee. In fact, I believe our remote tech accused me of peeing but I am grown up enough, as is Fergie, to know when to use the bathroom."

From February 10, 2006:
"During the Viennese Waltz performance, the dress got twisted, my nipple popped out and got caught over the left side of the dress, and my partner twirled me around for all to see."

From August 31, 2006:
"You can't see it very well, but it's true, there is a place called 'Jo Jo's Munch House' on State Street in Salt Lake City."

From September 12, 2006:
"Jeff from the O2 Oxygen Spa in Salt Lake came in tonight and juiced us up. I chose 'Serenity,' a combination of lavendar and I believe eucalyptus. I feel mellow. I also would like a pizza, a bag of Doritos and maybe a Slim Jim..."

From September 26, 2006:
"I would rather stick a hot letter opener into my nasal cavity than ever run for public office, which is good since my job is technically a conflict of interest."

From November 11 2006:
"True to form of being the most graceful klutz I know, I lit my hand on fire and proceeded to drop the flaming stuff onto my favorite Hello Kitty blanket. Remember in the 70s how acrylic bedding was a fire hazard? Apparently it’s still a fire hazard in the year 2006. In a flash, I threw open the patio door and tossed Burning Kitty outside and like a drunk idiot jumped on it—all while wearing slippers."

From February 13, 2007:
"Don’t marry a guy that has Satan Worshippers as friends. They will just inevitably want you to birth the new Anti-Christ."

From March 15, 2007:
"Whenever a designer is booted off the show, head judge dsigner Jonathan Adler tells them, 'See you later, decorator!' And with a little wave and wiggle of his fingers, the contestant is bid adieu."

From July 31, 2007:
"Today, Michelangelo Antonioni went to the big sound stage in the sky. He was an amazing director who made 'Blow Up,' one of my favorite films. I was first turned onto this movie by someone for whom I will have an eternal soft-spot, so I'm wondering if I love the movie because it reminds me of him, or if it's really a brilliant film."

From September 5, 2007:
"If you are dating someone and that someone happens to die, do not keep their old bras out on your shed workbench. It will make the person you might later date question your affection for them, and that will be the start of a slow spiral down the proverbial relationship toilet."

From September 30, 2007:
"Instead of throwing away the whole mess, plate and all, I decided to try and break apart the upper part of the chip-wad and eat it. After a couple of bites, I realized that not only does fat-free "cheese" turn into titanium when put on chips and microwaved, but it also tastes like shit."

From October 29, 2007:
"I thought, 'Is this my test? Now am I supposed to dig a key out of a guy's colon to get out of here?' To no avail, I had to sit there and endure the stinging sensation while I watched a small Asian woman with a razor blade scrape foot-heel skin off an 80-year-old lady. It was sensory overload."

From November 11, 2007:
"I saw some guy's junk. Right there, three ab benches away from me. Some random guy's junk, just out there for the world to gaze upon. It was bad enough that his shorts were shorter than something out of Studio 54 circa 1978, but as he was doing his ab crunches, his legs were bent and splayed open like a sweaty crab."

From December 9, 2007:

From January 10, 2008:
"Midway through brushing my teeth I noticed that the buckwheat husk was filling my apartment with a delightful organic and slightly lawn-ish scent. By the time I finished brushing my teeth, I thought, 'Wow, the buckwheat husk. It smells like burn... shit!' I ran downstairs and saw that the buckwheat husk had ignited in the microwave and though the filler itself 'WILL NOT BURN!' the material covering the outside most certainly 'WILL FREAKING BECOME TINDER!'"

From January 31, 2008:
You've got to read it in its entirety to do it justice.

From February 15, 2008:
"On the morning of Valentine's Day I left him a 12-pack of Miller High Life for a gift because I had no idea what to get him. That night, he punched me in his sleep because he thought I was either 1) a stranger 2) an intruder or 3) the Vietcong. I was too tired to drive home so I slept in the guest room. On Valentine's Day. Alone."

From April 6, 2008 (Live Blogging Rock of Love finale):
"7:05- I felt bad for Daisy until a shot of her walking revealed her thong underwear sticking out of her jeans."

From April 10, 2008:
"Having thrown up at the gym several times in my life (there was this one time when I thought that drinking a 32-ounce chai before running on the treadmill was a good idea. There was also that one fake bacon incident...), I didn't think anything of it, until I passed out at the grocery store."

From June 6, 2008:
"There I stood, marinading in 'Regular,' mad that not only did I stink, but seeing all that gas pooling on the pavement was like flushing a wad of twenties down the toilet."

From July 23, 2008:
"Last night, I had a dream that the guy I'm dating buried me in a hole with a large Starbuck's latte and a Hickory Farms Yard O'Beef like you would get at a mall kiosk during the holidays."

Crap! Got to run and go to dance now, stay posted for more of my favorite quotes.

Commercially Smitten...

2009-02-04T22:19:00.004-07:00

Remember about a year ago when I professed my undying love for the New Gorton's Fisherman? In fact, looking back, my New Gorton's Fisherman crush was exactly a year ago this month. While his yellow slicker-clad hotness will always hold a special place in my television viewing heart, I have a new commercial crush for this year.

The Free Credit Report dot Com guy.

You know the guy I'm talking about: In one commercial he's dressed as a pirate, in another he's driving his friends around in his P.O.S. car and in the latest installment, he's wearing tights at a Renaissance fair. He has a curly mop top, and despite his slightly jacked-up grill, the Free Credit Report dot Com guy is extremely appealing.

But who is the guy behind the Free Credit Report dot Com guy? After some research, it turns out the Free Credit Report dot Com guy's real name is Eric Violette, a French-Canadian import who, despite being a musician, neither plays his guitar nor sings in any of these commercials. After learning who he really is, I feel hurt and dismayed and I now question the credibility of freecreditreport.com.

Maybe I don't trust my relationship thus far with the Free Credit Report dot Com guy. How can I know that he's telling me the truth, that he really cares about my credit? What about my needs? I've got to end it with the Free Credit Report dot Com guy before my heart breaks even more, I love him and I wish the best for him, but I just can't see myself with someone who proclaims to be such a (literally) Renaissance man while fake strumming in a puffy pirate shirt. For what it may be worth, i will always care about him immensely and i want nothing but the best for him.

Well, now that I'm not in that relationship anymore, anybody know what Kevin Rose is up to?

I give in...

2009-02-03T22:37:00.003-07:00

I've been tagged by 30% of the world's population to do the "Facebook 25 things you don't know about me," so here it goes:

25 Things You Likely Don't Know About Me...

1.) Despite the fact that most people think of me as the “crazy redhead,” I am naturally blonde. I started dying my hair bright red my sophomore year of high school and didn’t stop until last year.

2.) I am scared someone is going to break into my house in the middle of the night and kill me in my sleep.

3.) I hate my food to touch.

4.) Staying on the food theme, I hate tomatoes and spicy meat. I hate them together and I hate them separately.

5.) With that thought, I hate Mexican food.

6.) I’ve never eaten a Big Mac or a Whopper.

7.) I miss my daddy more than anything else in the world, every day, and it never goes away.

8.) Despite my cynicism about relationships, I believe there is someone out there for me.

9.) I love the ocean and somehow always feel whole when I’m on the beach. The best cappuccino I ever had was on the beach in San Diego.

10.) Vampires are sexy, always have been, and from 1994 to 1996, I truly believed I was one.

11.) I don’t like it when my worlds collide.

12.) People always joke that I’m a drama queen; when I’m eerily calm about a situation, it’s very serious.

13.) I will only eat a hotdog at a baseball game. I love baseball. I love baseball players. I love the Red Sox. (Was that four things rolled into one?)

14.) My mother drives me crazy, but I love her more than she’ll ever know, or more than I’ll ever actually say to her.

15.) I know all the lines to Monty Python and the Holy Grail, Real Genius and MST3K: The Movie.

16.) I started dance classes before I was three, have never quit and will never, ever stop.

17.) I hate it when I’m not “the best.” Whatever that means...

18.) I used to be really good at math, until about ninth grade when my brain somehow switched to “artsy.”

19.) I really love my friends and probably don’t tell them that enough or show enough gratitude.

20.) There are some people I still wish would’ve worked out. There are other bullets I'm sure glad I dodged.

21.) I don’t do potluck. Multiple peoples’ concoctions sitting out on a table at a holiday gathering make me gag.

22.) I love music by Enigma, however, can’t listen to the chanting alone at night because it freaks me out too much.

23.) I call slick brown dogs “poop dogs.” (Think: Santa’s Little Helper)

24.) I’m too sentimental and to cover it up I make jokes. I very much miss those I knew in the past.

25.) I still feel like I’m a little kid... but with technology, a bank account and bottles of wine.

A few things...

2009-02-01T22:13:00.002-07:00

Just a few weekend reflections for tonight before I actually get to sleep before 10:30...

1.) Watching the Super Bowl becomes infinitely better when slugging back a couple of beer floats. This was achieved by combining a nice oatmeal stout microbrew with a few scoops of Breyer's French Vanilla ice cream.

2.) After a weekend of "feel-good" chick flicks like Mamma Mia! and Under the Tuscan Sun, one should not proceed with watching p.s. I love you. However, after watching these three films I now want to save up for a vacation to either Ireland, Italy or the island of Santorini.

3.) There is such a thing as "too much" America's Next Top Model.

4.) Few things in life are more frightening than reading an article like this: Mother gives birth to two sets of twins-- while on the pill.

Comedy Gold...

2009-01-29T13:10:00.006-07:00

Since I work in media, I can truly appreciate a good article and a good headline writer. The Salt Lake Tribune hit comedy gold with this today, and I had to re-post. You can either read it below, or follow the link here.

You can also Digg the story here and while you're at it, put in a good word for me with Kevin Rose.

Restroom requiem: 'It was a good toilet' gunned down in line of 'doody'
Centerville hamburger joint offers commode consolation

By Kathy Stephenson
The Salt Lake Tribune

What should you do when your toilet dies in the line of "doody"? Have a funeral, of course.

On Friday at 10 a.m., the Carl's Jr. restaurant in Centerville will have a "moment of silence" for the potty that was destroyed last week when a patron's handgun fell out of the holster and fired as he was hitching up his pants.

The bullet shattered the toilet and sent sharp shards into the man's arm. The 26-year-old, who had a concealed-weapons permit, was treated at the scene for minor injuries.

But the "john" was destroyed, and the national hamburger chain is feeling the loss. "By all accounts, it was a good toilet; reliable and well liked by customers and crew members alike," wrote Brad Haley, executive vice president
blasted commode
The late, well-liked and oft-visited deceased. (Tribune file photo)
of Carl's Jr. marketing, in a tongue-in-cheek note posted on the company's Facebook page.

"It seems only fitting to have a formal service to let everyone say goodbye to such a critical member of our team that was in very close contact with the public each and every day," Haley eulogized. "Our thoughts go out to the surviving men's room urinal and porcelain sink. We only hope that the new toilet can fill the void left by its predecessor, but so far it hasn't made much of a splash."

The outpouring from the community has been overwhelming, said Carl's Jr. manager Christian Martinez. "We have received e-mails and cards from all over the country expressing condolences for our loss," he said. "People will have the chance to say
goodbye in their own way at the memorial service."

Employees at the restaurant, 385 N. 800 West, will hand out bottles of Kaboom® Bowl Blaster toilet cleaner to the first 50 funeral attendees, he said, as "it was the toilet's favorite."

Asian Priority

2009-01-28T18:43:00.004-07:00

I had to run an errand for work today and ended up driving past a place I saw yesterday which confused me quite a lot. In Salt Lake City, there exists a new Chinese restaurant called "Asian Priority." I wondered why the restaurant was called this, and as we celebrate the new Year of the Ox this week, I am concerned that I am the ignorant one. Maybe the restaurant name was lost in translation.

I have never made $4.95 Chinese Breakfast "a priority." For that matter, I have never made getting Chinese food "a priority." Except for on Christmas night when I was drunk and nothing else sounded good and it was snowing outside. That is the only time I've made it "a priority." One time, I had a "pressing situation" after eating Chinese food, but the "priority" didn't involve food going into my body.

When I Googled "Asian Priority," I found that debt markets "should be the 'Asian priority,'" (Bloomberg News) not "Tasty Delights of Three." I clicked on the link, and read a little about the future state of exportation, but my eyes glazed over and I had to check out Hello Kitty Hell instead. (Hey, Hello Kitty is Asian!) I also found various sites for "naked Asian priority," "sex Asian priority" and "massage school Asian priority," but I did not click these links.

Don't believe me?
I sacrificed my life taking this. I also apparently sacrifice my life not being able to properly see out of the driver's side window. Winter window-washing is clearly not "my priority."

Explain this to me!

Back, to the Future

2009-01-27T19:11:00.003-07:00

I think I came up with the title because my boss and I both, unbeknownst to each other, used the term, "What, should I just jump in my Delorean and go back in time and change that?" within, literally, 15 minutes today. Then tonight, I went back in time.

Tonight, I auditioned for a play, the first audition I've done in two years. I have sort of felt like Austin Powers when he lost his mojo (what, two movie references in two paragraphs?) but for some reason felt like I've been... re-mojonating? Still, it was tough. I've gone through a lot since I was last on stage, and I'm not sure how that fits into my life now. I went back to a place that used to be my entire life, and tonight it felt a little bit foreign. I was like the Ghost of Christmas Past wondering how I can go back when I've tried so hard to move forward?

Whatever. I also ripped a towel in half today and that was a little bit disturbing too. I was drying off my itchy back, with much force when I realized just how itchy it was. I was pulling, tugging, delighting in the itch relief I was getting from the towel, my savior. When... RIIIIIIP! TWO towels. One in each hand.

Either my back was really itchy or I am okay with cheap-ass towels. I thought the towel was Ralph Lauren. Now I apparently have two Ralph Lauren washcloths.

Reminisce...

2009-01-23T00:06:00.006-07:00

It was four months ago yesterday when I last saw him, and tonight I can't shake it. Some days, it's easy to go on. Other days, it's impalpable. I could go crazy, but then I stop and ask, "What would Aretha do?"

I never loved a man (the way I loved you)
By: Aretha Franklin

You're a no good heart breaker
You're a liar and you're a cheat
And I don't know why
I let you do these things to me
My friends keep telling me
That you ain't no good
But oh, but they don't know
That I'd leave you if I could

I guess I'm uptight
And I'm stuck like glue
'Cause I ain't never
I ain't never, I ain't never, no, no (loved a man)
(The way that I, I love you)

Some time ago I thought
You had run out of fools
But I was so wrong
You got one that you'll never lose
The way you treat me is a shame
How could you hurt me so bad
Baby, you know that I'm the best thing
That you ever had

Kiss me once again
Don'cha never, never say that we're through
Cause I ain't never
Never, Never, no, no (loved a man)
(The way that I, I love you)

I can't sleep at night
And I can't eat a bite
I guess I'll never be free
Since you got, your hooks, in me

Whoa, oh, oh
Yeah! Yeah!
I ain't never loved a man
I ain't never loved a man, baby
Ain't never had a man that hurt me so bad

No
Well this is what I'm gonna do about it...

Gearing up

2009-01-21T20:06:00.005-07:00

It's that time of year when I come off the Christmas/New Year's depression, into the inversion/cold weather melancholy, spiraling toward the Valentine's Day batshitcrazy. Maybe it's because I've spent day two sick on the couch watching a Bravo reality show marathon (yesterday was the Real Housewives of the OC, today was Top Chef), but I'm not feeling extremely optimistic.

I have learned that next year I will not get a flu shot if I'm just going to get sick anyway. But I digress...

Next month, we'll give in to yet another commercialized holiday by purchasing stuff meant for professing our love. I'm talking Valentine's Day, one of the lamest days of the year. I would prefer to tell loved ones that I feel strongly for them regardless of the time of year. Simply, just because it's Valentine's Day, doesn't mean that's the only time of year we should tell people we love them.

Still, what better way to say it than with a Conversation Heart? From this brief history of Conversation Hearts on candyfavorites.com, these candies started off as peppermint lozenges wrapped in printed foil and then eventually came to be the heart-shaped staple that we know and love. I feel the candy hearts are a little behind the times, so I have come up with some of my own Conversation Hearts for this century, courtesy of the ACME Heart Maker:

First off, here's a simple turn of phrase for the person who tells you they love you and then bails:

Next, this heart is for the gift that keeps on giving:

This heart is to show appreciation for the well-developed, by whichever means they become so impressive:

Finally, I couldn't resist making this heart for an SNL "Sean Connery" to give to "Alex Trebek":

This heart generator provided me with hours of fun as I tried out different combinations of phrases. Though you're only allotted two lines of four letters each, you can still come up with clever sayings. For instance, you could say that someone with a three-letter first name S-U-X. Or, you could put aside all the Valentine's Day cynicism and profess your affection for Kevin Rose:

A Pox on my House

2009-01-20T22:44:00.006-07:00

Literally, there is a pox on my house. I woke up sick this morning and after a stint at the doctor, it's possible I have chicken pox. As an adult. Maybe I'm like Benjamin Button and I'm reverting back to kindergarten, which means I will have to take a stop at highschooltown, and my dating life will complete the proverbial swirl down the can.

While passing the time today, in between naps and inauguration, I ran across this post of fancy toys courtesy of the folks over at Neatorama. While I do love the paranormal and supernatural, I most certainly have a warm spot in my heart for the cryptids out there in the universe. Chupacabra, yeti and Pope Lick Monster, to be precise. I am further fascinated by the Sci-Fi Channel's show Sci-Fi Investigates. In a past life as a radio co-host, I was fortunate to interview Loren Coleman, the country's foremost cryptozoologist, who once spoke about local cryptids around the Bear Lake area in Northern Utah.

Giant. Beavers. "Beavers as big as Volkswagons," I remember Coleman telling us, thrilled to enlighten the masses. And so I find myself passing up the previously mentioned cryptid toys because they do not include the giant beaver. However, I do know of some folks who might just pass as a Yeti from time to time.

Nice beaver:

From a post at Cryptomundo referencing our big, bucktoothed buddies.

Illustration...

2009-01-20T19:14:00.004-07:00

Because I'm sick and don't feel like typing:

Out with the old...

2009-01-15T21:57:00.007-07:00

Without turning this blog into yet another political rag, W's final address tonight got me thinking about our country and the optimism I am starting to feel with the prospect of a new leader of the free world. I also got thinking about the Bush administration finally vacating the White House, and wondering if the prospect of their soon to become "ex-girlfriend" status is leaving the Bushies a little bitter. Sure, we've already seen the current administration's little jab by not letting the new first family move into the Blair House two weeks early, but will it go beyond that?

Come to find out, most vacating administrations leave their former offices and living spaces completely trashed. Allegedly Clinton's administration all but stuffed chicken bouillon cubes into the incoming President's shower head, turning to high school pranks by cutting phone lines, gluing drawers shut and rendering door locks unusable. Hell, forget the chicken bouillon cubes, it sounds like they did everything but leave a hearty upper-decker.

And now, apparently Bush's folks have done the same thing. Vacating their offices, it seems they have already done some damage. Why do people have to trash their former living spaces? Isn't it good enough just to leave? Why stop to short-sheet the bed or fill a blocked-off doorframe with packing peanuts?

Maybe I'm relating to this since my former neighbors finally vacated the other half of my duplex just a few weeks ago, and they left the place such mess I am shocked I don't have a hazmat incident over on my side. I got home today and was able to see a bit of the work the maintenance guys have ahead of them, and the guys who lived there completely trashed the place. It is going to cost so much money to gut it that firebombing might be a better option. Maybe I'm still just a little bitter that one of them died inside the apartment leaving me to deal with any creepy residual paranormal activity that might prevail.

So, my plea for tonight is this: do a good deed in 2009 and leave wherever you go in the same, if not better, state in which you found it.

That goes for you too, Lame Duck.

p.s. Many of you might be scratching your heads right now, asking yourselves, "Chicken bouillon cubes?" Yes. It's one of my favorite pranks to pull on someone. You squash the cubes into the shower head and then screw it back on. When the unsuspecting showerer gets in and turns on the water, they are bathed in chicken soup.

I believe beef cubes work too, but aren't as effective.

p.s.s. Many of you might be scratching your heads right now, asking yourselves, "Upper-decker?" I'll let you research that one on your own, but probably not while you're at work. From what I've read, it could be considered extremely offensive to upper-deck one's dead grandmother's casket.

Sort of Dickensian

2009-01-14T22:53:00.010-07:00

After being haunted today by ghosts of relationships past, two hauntings within six hours by people I still care about, I decided to head to the gym tonight for a good, old-fashioned treadmill-fest.

What actually transpired was that I ended up for beers at the bar next to the gym.

In my workout clothes.

And as I allowed myself a two Guinness maximum, while pondering life, the universe and everything, I marveled that I could at least see the gym from the bar where I was sitting. Swilling the heavenly, dark beer like it was going out of style.

I also marveled that when watching ESPN without sound, commercials take on a very different meaning. The "Axe Sensitive" shave cream commercial, to be specific. In this commercial, sporty-clothing-clad women are spraying each other with foam. Is there anything more blatantly sexual than sporty-clothing-clad women spraying each other with foam? And how does this relate to the common chore of men shaving? The women giggle, the women spray their foam, and then the commercial ends. I dare say that men I know would not stop to shave if they were faced with an arena of sporty-clothing-clad women shooting foam.

I turned my attention to a silent ending of the Rachel Maddow Show, and then the beginning of Hardball, where Chris Matthews was reviewing the making of Barak Obama's 500-pound inauguration Chicago cheesecake. Between the spraying foam, creamy cheesecake and sizable Guinness head, I continued to be confused by the days' events, and had to get out of my sportsbra.

I don't think I'll wear a sportsbra to the bar ever again.

Happy Inbox

2009-01-13T19:39:00.015-07:00

Things like this in my inbox make me happy for carried-over vacation time:

"This has grown tiresome..."

2009-01-13T17:30:00.007-07:00

I loved Mike Meyers on SNL whenever he would play Dieter the host of Sprockets, an East German television show. I loved that they used a sped-up version of Kraftwerk's "Electric Cafe" as the theme song. I loved that John Malkovich was a regular "guest" on the show. I loved that they asked us to "touch their monkey." Mostly, I loved that whenever they were going to end the show, Dieter would announce, "This has grown tiresome. Now is the time on Sprockets when we dance!" and black-clad beatnickesque dancers would fill the screen and Vogue. To Kraftwerk.

Admittedly, I've always had an active imagination: Sometimes on the way to work I pretend that I am in a play called "Work" where I am just one of a cast of colorful characters. Sometimes I get all dressed up, even when going to the grocery store, because I'm convinced that a scout from MTV will walk up to me in the Doritos aisle and insist I move to New York to be a VJ. (which is even more imaginative since MTV doesn't even play videos during waking hours anymore.) And sometimes when things in my life grow tiresome, I am on East German television and dancing and somehow it seems to make it all better.

But there are some things that grow so tiresome that dancing around in a black turtleneck and leggings simply won't make it better. I will now share for you the list of the top five things that have grown tiresome for me:

5.) I have grown tiresome of concerts with one guy and a guitar on the stage. I'm a little over John Mayer and is giant orange-on-a-toothpick cranium. I'm tired of Jason Mraz who I do not feel is "The Remedy" for anything. And even though Crosby Loggins (Kenny Loggins' son) is so very very cute (though not as cute as Kevin Rose), he sounds like the rest of them. I've even seen a few lately live, Matt Nathanson, Marc Broussard, and each one of them is as cookie cutter as the last. It makes me long even longlier for Devotchka later this month.

4.) I have grown tiresome of police officers in Utah who get convicted of sexual assault. In the last little while it seems this has been in the news quite a bit, including the Ogden officer who was previously a "hero" in helping out during the Trolley Square Mall shooting spree a couple of years ago. Then just today, a Murray Utah police officer was put on the other side of the cell when he was allegedly similarly stupid. I grow tiresome of this because I just want them to "Protect and Serve" and not "Protect, Serve and then when you're feeling safe, grope your titties."

3.) I have grown tiresome of shows on MTV. I didn't watch The Hills last season. I hate The City this season. I have no interest in Bromance in any season. Daddy's Girls is right out.

2.) Coming up with five things that have truly grown tiresome... Guess I'm gong to stop now. Guess things really aren't that irritating after all.

Kevin Rose, I will never grow tired of watching Diggnation.

Love Bus Lowlights

2009-01-11T19:07:00.005-07:00

Just when the Rock of Love franchise couldn't get worse, the producers at VH1 decide that putting a bunch of slammy, drunk bitches on a tour bus is a good idea. And God love 'em for it! Last week, we learned that there are some things too much even for Bret Michaels (I won't say where one of the lovely ladies stuck a shot glass) and this week, I'm giddy as the stripapalooza heads to Indiana.

For the first challenge, the hos write wedding vows for a fake walk down the aisle with Bret, and then present him with a gift. I didn't find it at all surprising that none of the girls chose a white wedding dress. What I did find surprising was that the gift that Bret seemed to appreciate most was a freshly-removed vaginal piercing.

The group proceeds to drink heavily and play a friendly game of "Who is smarter than a rock star?" which is a little like the blind leading the blind. Very few questions get answered.

The three girls who won the wedding challenge go on a hayride and lunch with Bret. Two wear extremely short skirts, which can not be comfortable when sitting on bouncy hay. The date was pretty uneventful, however impressive that none of them seemed to itch.

Finally, the rest of the episode sucked, and at this point nobody is worthy of my support-- yet. Next week one of the girls allegedly gets their implant popped.

Here are some key lines from this week's episode of Rock of Love Bus:
"I'm from Utah and there are Polygamists and Mormons and guys who marry, like, 10 girls... so bring it on, I'm used to this."

"If ever a tear falls from your perfect face, I will kiss it away..."

"I wrote these vows like if we were already in love..."

"I promise to cook you the best, rockin' food... and not ever wear panties."

"Getting a plaster mold of someone's torso is a little creepy."

"My mom loves me, and my family loves me and I WANNA' GO HOME!" (sob, sob, sob)

Plastic for Plastic

2009-01-08T19:47:00.005-07:00

What to get for the expressionless this Valentine's Day:

Just so that Kevin Rose knows, I naturally look younger than I am, so I don't need botox like some women feel they do. One day, it might all catch up and surpass me so that it looks like my nasal labial folds belong on a basset hound. Until then, I'm hot. I also get bonus points for using "nasal labial folds" in context and not giggling.

I'm Baaaack!

2009-01-07T22:53:00.007-07:00

In the immortal words of little Carol Ann in Poltergeist, "I'm back!" Okay, I paraphrased that. She says, "They're back!" but that would imply that I have more than one of me, split personalities if you will. Peanut gallery, insert your jokes now.

I had a rough holiday season, I became a bit anti-social, but in the end, I decided to show some love to my blog. For a little while there, I had no desire to write on this since there are so many people out there who think they're funny and amazing writers, who actually end up contributing very little to the blogosphere. I am going to regularly write on here because I figure it might just motivate me to finally finish my book I've been trying to finish for years now. Maybe one day I'll finish it. Maybe one day I'll publish it. Maybe one day I'll print it out on toilet paper, have a party and invite guests to rub the sheets on their "no-no zones."

And I have another goal in 2009:
Get Kevin Rose from Digg to go for drinks with me.

Tonight, while sitting in a focus group with some fantastic women associated with UtahMama, (and no, my recent blog disappearance is not hint that I suddenly became a mama. I was there representing my work, if you must know) I professed my crush on Kevin Rose and was encouraged to pursue that. I figure it makes me teeter on the ledge of stalker, but if you can't be a stalker on the Web, where can you be a stalker? Seriously?

So no, every post won't be on my unrequited lust for Kevin Rose, but I will certainly track my progress. If any progress is made.

And I might occasionally even be marginally funny. Oh, and I'll post more pictures. For Kevin.

For the first random picture of the year, this is a screenshot of someone who lives near me:

Considering somebody died a couple of months ago in the other side of my duplex, I'm slightly concerned I might have a late-night brain seeking visitor. So sit back, relax and enjoy my regularly updated new outlook on blogging. It's bursting with fruit flavor.

Will he come back?

2008-11-25T19:08:00.004-07:00

"Will he come back?" was the subject line of this interesting email I got today.

Some people get junk email about increasing the size of their manhood. Some people get junk email encouraging them to do their holiday shopping with various online retailers. I get junk email from astrologers seeking to help me with my love life.

When I first saw this in my inbox, I thought, "How did they know? Of course they know! They're astrologers!" but then I thought that since it did come into my inbox in the form of "potential junk email" I quickly threw out the fact this came from the stars to my computer. Also, if they really hope to help me with my love life, this astrology special certainly needs more than the three free promotional minutes, and in this time of a tough economy, I just don't know that I can take the change on the additional $1.99 per minute afterward.

Additionally, if I'm the one who has to determine if this email is junk or not, are there really any psychic powers swirling around in the universe? Just how many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop? Am I wearing pants? So many questions.

Skinny Fat Girl Snacks

2008-11-03T18:10:00.003-07:00

I'm the queen of the 100-calorie packs. I stash them everywhere, in my purse, in my desk at work. I figure even if I slam three 100-calorie packs into my pie hole, then that's at least only 300 calories. And I feel like I've eaten a lot.

Now, through sheer brilliance, Hostess is releasing Twinkies in 100-calorie packs. From the AP, "Hostess Twinkies are becoming the latest product remade and repackaged into 100-calorie snack packs, a product some analysts say could do well given that more people are packing their own lunches in the slumping economy." It makes me think there might be a baby Jesus.

So, I'm wondering now, if you were to deep-fry a 100-calorie pack of Twinkies, would that be better for you?
And for the record, the top five 100-calorie packs in my life are 1) Hostess carrot cake 2) Grasshopper cookies 3) Strawberry n' Yogurt Chex Mix 4) Hostess carrot cake and probably 5) Hostess carrot cake.

For more Twinkie news, check out the current article at cnn.com. And no, this isn't my finest post but I'm busy this week.

Three cheers for color-sponsored diseases!

2008-10-13T21:41:00.002-06:00

I don’t want to sound insensitive and all, especially since I haven’t graced my blog with my presence in over a month, but I am a little over all of the Think Pink for Breast Cancer stuff that’s become the latest trend. I know that might come as a shock to those who have been to my apartment and have seen the overabundance of pink stuff I have collected over the years, but that was before everything was pink. Finding pink stuff used to be a challenge and when something was found in a nifty pink, it was like finding a rosy little treasure.

I’m not here to bash on cancer awareness, believe me, especially not this month. However, after watching yet another pink boob cancer merchandise report on E! News tonight, I felt it was time to get out of my funk and do one of the things I do well, offer unbiased opinions on random topics using razor-sharp humor topped with colored, melancholy sprinkles.

Ah bloggy blog, how I’ve missed you so. I shall never lead you astray again.

So! Pink stuff for cancer awareness! I’m thrilled that the proceeds from these items go toward research and such, but why should we single out merely the breasts? Why not make a line of white kitsch for bone cancer research? How about a line of brown stuff for colon cancer awareness? Now, I realize that the phrase “line of brown stuff for colon cancer awareness” might be a bit crass for my classier readers (my sister-in-law), but I cracked myself up while writing it, especially on a subject that is so scary and claims the lives of good people every year. Cancer will claim an estimated 565,650 deaths in 2008, to be exact, and though that number is falling, it doesn’t bring back those who lost the battle.

Colon cancer awareness month should be in October, when the leaves are changing color and everything is brown and autumnesque anyway. Why not procure UPS as a sponsor? What can brown do for you? Make you aware of your colon, that’s what. Hell, throw in a UPS guy, a few Chocodiles and an early Zune and you’ve got the makings for a fantastic colon cancer awareness celebration. In fact, why not set up mobile colon screenings in the back of a UPS truck, then end the session with a Chocodile and a kiss (Hershey’s, of course), encouraging a probe for all. I can tell my marketing mind is racing now.

According to a February 2008 article in Science Daily, colorectal cancer incidence rates decreased from 1998 through 2004 in both males and in females, so I guess if you were diagnosed after 2004, you’re pretty much hosed. Bet you would have gotten checked out if you had your limited edition Ugg-sponsored colon cancer awareness boots! You wouldn’t be so hosed then, now would you?

I jest because this is all serious stuff, and my point is that we should be aware of all of it, regardless of pink, brown or polka-dot sponsored toaster ovens. We should continue raising awareness until there is a cure for any kind of cancer, because until that happens, we will continue to be affected— whether it happens to us or those we love. Take care of yourselves, get checked by a doctor, work out, eat as best as you can... I hear your pooper will thank you for it.

And, for the record, I will continue to buy pink stuff, regardless of what it signifies. Once girly, always girly.

Wait for it...

2008-09-22T19:17:00.003-06:00

Soon, lambs, soon. It's coming. The new redesign and new thrilling adventures of my blog. I realize it's been on hiatus, but since this week marks the beginning of many new television shows, thus marks the beginning of new bloggish-type things.

"Breaking Dawn"

2008-08-04T09:44:00.003-06:00

Yep, I jumped on the bandwagon this weekend and bought the last book in Stephenie Meyers' Twilight series. I went with some friends for the midnight release of Breaking Dawn this past Friday, and after learning I needed to pre-order said book in order to get a decent place in line, ended up leaving and buying it on Saturday morning anyway.

The sight for a Friday night at Barnes and Noble was outstanding: 3,000 screaming teenage girls all clad in prom attire just hoping for the touch of the book in their clammy little hands. If not for the half-bottle of wine I drank prior to the adventure, I don't know that I would have been able to handle it.

I'm about midway through the book right now, and as near as I can tell, it's just okay. I'm more into the vampire thing than the werewolf thing, and there's quite a bit of the werewolf thing going on to this point. That's all I'm going to say until I finish the whole book, as well as give everyone else a chance to finish the book. I don't want to spoil anyone's fun.

You can't really tell from this photo, but here's part of the outdoor gathering just before they let out the indoor crowd about 11:55 pm:

Chilling.

And here's an article from the Associated Press this morning:
(AP) NEW YORK — Harry Potter is still king, but the final book of Stephenie Meyer's "Twilight" series did manage a million-selling debut.

"Breaking Dawn," the fourth of Meyer's sensational teen vampire series, sold 1.3 million copies in the first 24 hours after its midnight, Aug. 2 release. Publisher Little, Brown Books for Young Readers announced Monday that it has gone back for 500,000 more copies, making the total print run 3.7 million.

The numbers for "Breaking Dawn" are comparable to the openings of a pair of famous memoirs: former President Clinton's "My Life" and Sen. Hillary Rodham Clinton's "Living History." But they don't approach the unveiling of "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows." The seventh and final volume of J.K. Rowling's fantasy series sold 8.3 million copies in its first 24 hours in the United States alone.

Role Reversal...

2008-07-31T19:53:00.004-06:00

I seem to always have interesting experiences when I'm at the gym. After logging four miles in 20 minutes on the elliptical trainer this evening (feeling aggro during the day apparently equals a giant sweat-fest for a workout at night), I noticed this guy getting on a machine next to me who had a crazy little rat tail just like Keith's on Project Runway. I didn't think much of it other than, "hmmm, that guy has a crazy little rat tail just like Keith's on Project Runway.... and a shoulder tattoo just like Keith's... and glasses... waaaait a minute..."

I ran as Keith ran, and as I finished up my workout, I contemplated shouting, "I HATED YOUR DRESS LAST NIGHT!" You know the one that Michael Kors said looked like it was made of toilet paper caught in a windstorm? But there's nothing worse than being recognized when you're a giant sweaty mess, unless of course, you're a giant sweaty mess yourself. When to my surprise a guy walked up to Keith and, from what I could gather, started professing that he was a huge fan.

I chuckled a bit as I left the elliptical to finish with a run on the treadmill, but for what it's worth, even though Keith's hanky dress was a miss he does have pretty nice ass.

Strange...

2008-07-31T15:16:00.002-06:00

Here is one of the best newspaper headlines I've read in a long time:
Teen needs 300 stitches after knife and battle-ax attack

Where exactly does one get a functioning Medieval battle-ax, and once they get one, what would compel them to hit someone with one? The article finally draws the conclusion that the detectives ended up catching the culprit because his car's Insane Clown Posse bumper sticker matched the Insane Clown Posse necklace found at the scene of the crime. Does listening to ICP really lead to violent craziness? And just who is the police detective that honed such fine Nancy Drew skills to put two and two "Juggalo" clues together?

These are all questions I have this afternoon.

A sternly worded letter...

2008-07-30T16:03:00.004-06:00

Update 08/05/08:
The exceptionally nice general manager of the Cheesecake Factory called me last night to discuss my letter. Not only do I appreciate him taking the time out to address what I wrote, I also appreciate his sincerity. While this experience wasn't the greatest, I do like how he took the letter seriously and has committed to working with his staff of these issues. Who says the pen isn't mightier than the sword?

I seem to be writing a lot of these lately. Last one was earlier this month to Einstein Bagels who all but wiped their butt with my turkey sandwich that took 30 minutes to make. Needless to say, if anyone ever needs a sternly worded letter written, please submit your request for my writing in writing.

Dear Cheesecake Factory,
We were extremely excited to try this location, as everyone in our work department had only been to the Las Vegas Cheesecake Factory location. We left work with the anticipation of a great dining experience for a working lunch meeting, yet all five of us were horrified at what ensued. Upon arrival, we had no problem accepting the 35 minute wait for a table, however after being seated and promptly ordering (we had plenty of wait time to decide on what we wanted to eat), we were surprisingly forced to endure another 40 minute wait for our appetizer. It was only when we reminded our server that we had ordered edamame (not a tough dish to prepare and/or serve) as an appetizer she finally brought that out. We never received our salads we ordered with our lunch entrees, though we did get the side servings of dressing that sat out on the table for nearly an hour, and instead got our lunches (term used loosely because of the shoddy quality of the food and cold temperatures). Finally, we were served the salads as dessert, though couldn’t eat the dressings because of the congealed skin that had formed in nearly two hours since we first got it. Then, imagine our disappointment when we noticed that parties much larger than ours were finished with their lunches and vacating their tables as the bussers were hurredly resetting those places for new, unwitting diners. Because we were already three hours into this lunch, we didn't feel we had two more hours to spend on bringing up our dissatisfaction with our server and therefore went to the manager to help us out. We were told, "You should have said something sooner" and were promptly dismissed, again punished for simply trying to enjoy a nice lunch. For a place with a monumental reputation such as Cheesecake Factory, I should think I wouldn't have to even let you know we had these issues. I understand the position the recipient of this complaint letter is in, as I am the person at my company who answers customer complaints, but I could not sit idly by and allow this experience, kind of service and product slide past you. I speak for our entire group when I say we will never spend money at the Cheesecake Factory again in this lifetime and I will be sure to let anyone else know this opinion if they are considering patronizing your establishment. It is shameful to experience this kind of lunch with a restaurant with name recognition like the Cheesecake Factory, and quite honestly the hours spent at this Utah location should have been spent driving the 400 miles south to your restaurant in Las Vegas.

Thank you for your time,
Holly

Saw It!

2008-07-28T09:15:00.003-06:00

I've seen quite a few live shows in my day, but this was by far the best stand-up ever! I have loved Eddie for years now, and finally got a chance to see him at the Palms in Vegas this past Friday. He was even more brilliant than in Dress to Kill, if at all possible, and his show went for over two hours. I had killer seats in the third row, so I could watch his dreamy blue eyes up-close for the entire time.

Deeper Meaning?

2008-07-23T09:10:00.004-06:00

Last night, I had a dream that the guy I'm dating buried me in a hole with a large Starbuck's latte and a Hickory Farms Yard O'Beef like you would get at a mall kiosk during the holidays.

Disturbed even this morning, I'm mad at him for doing this.

In order to find some kind of deeper meaning in this interesting dream, I consulted an online dream dictionary. This will surely help me sort things out! If it's on the internets, it's accurate, right?

Here are some of the main themes of last night's dream and their meanings from an onine dream dictionary:
Coffee- Stimulation. Sometimes over-excitement. A need to slow down.
Hole- Escape. Search. Denial. Looking for an answer or hidden from it.
Cow (since it was the closest thing I could find to Hickory Farms holiday Yard O' Beef from a mall kiosk)- Docile and productive. Great prosperity in all ventures but watch out your own affairs carefully. Cows promise abundant fulfillment of hopes and desires.

I don't know how accurate this online dream dictionary really is. According to this analysis, I am trying to escape from the over-stimulation of a Yard O' Beef that will bring me all my wildest dreams and desires. I find it disheartening that I don't eat meat, yet this dream shows I will be eternally stuck in a hole with the Yard O' Beef. Is this a metaphor for men in general or perhaps a gentle reminder to start my Christmas shopping to avoid holiday stress?

Maybe I just need a better dream dictionary?

First "Sweating to the Oldies..."

2008-07-18T12:36:00.005-06:00

Now it's Cardioke! I saw an infomercial for this while I was working out the other night and I nearly peed my stretchy pants. I get the whole concept that it's a great workout to sing and dance together, and we all know the rigors that high-energy singer/dancers like Madonna or Justin Timberlake go through to be able to do what they do on stage. But they get paid to sing. Part of their job is to sing and dance... together. We are disappointed if they are not smoking hot. They're not old lady neighbor, Betty, trying to belt out the lyrics to "Unwritten." The last time I heard a rendition of "Unwritten" that horrifying, I had lapsed into a vodka-induced coma while watching episodes of The Hills.

I had no idea that Billy Blanks (a.k.a. "Mr. Tai-Bo") had a son, and I wonder if Cardioke really is the "latest craze" or if he's trying to capitalize on all those family fitness dollars.

In case you'd like to start doing the Cardioke, here is the very same stretchy pants-wetting promo I saw with my very own eyes:

In other news, Gev left So You Think You Can Dance last night, which I wholeheartedly believe is one of the most undeserved exits in the show's four season history. His solo was amazing, he was the best all-around performer on the show, and I will miss seeing his cute face every Wednesday night. On the upshot, he'll be back to Utah and at dance rehearsals soon, I'm sure. Also, I'll have my Wednesday night freed up for Project Runway.