Archive for July, 2009

Jesus should’ve been so lucky

Wednesday, July 29th, 2009

And by Jesus, I mean Jesus…like the Hispanic name.

And speaking of which, I have a vivid memory which comes to me once in a while of being ten or eleven years old and in Manhattan with my dad, my brother, and my dad’s girlfriend at the time, (and maybe her awful son. If so, I’ve blocked him out of my memory. Poor kid. He really was a train wreck, and at this age I feel empathetic. However, when we were all the same age, my brother and I just thought he was an insufferable jerk. [He was.])

So anyway, we’re in Manhattan and in some kind of establishment selling kitschy gifts and there was a big display of New York license plate keychains, and I thought MAYBE I could find one with ‘Vanessa’ on it.

Sufficed to say, in the early 80′s – the emergent time for Vanessa Williams and Vanessa Huxtable – there was no Vanessa ANYTHING. I spent my whole early childhood being asked, “Were you named after Vanessa Redgrave?”  and even though I had absolutely no idea who that was, I would always say, “Yes.”

So anyway, I was frustrated at (yet again) not finding a single Vanessa trinket and ran across a keychain that said ‘Jesus’ and I remember being outrageously annoyed that they would make a Jesus (not knowing, again about ‘Jesus’ as in the Spanish version, so I mean Jesuschristo) keychain and not a Vanessa.

I mean the LORD gets a keychain, but I don’t!?!?!

(and is it any wonder I now write a self-indulgent and self-important blog? Not so much.)

But I digress…

I’m worn out on book writing (and yet bearing down on my 8/7 finish date. Yay me!), and received the following from a good friend. We spent all day together Sunday, so she is well-aware of my recent…um…adventure.

Which makes this all the funnier.

Water or Wine

To my friends who enjoy a glass of wine.. and those who don’t.

As Ben Franklin said:

In wine there is wisdom,
in beer there is freedom,
in water there is bacteria.

In a number of carefully controlled trials,
scientists have demonstrated that if we drink 1 liter of water each day, at the end of the year we would have absorbed more than 1 kilo of Escherichia coli,

(E. coli) – bacteria  found in feces.

In other words, we are consuming
1 kilo of poop.

However, we do NOT run that risk when
drinking wine & beer (or tequila, rum, scotch, vodka, whisky or other liquor), because alcohol has to go through a purification
process of distilling, filtering and/or fermenting.


Water = Poop,        Wine = Health .

Therefore, it’s better to drink wine and talk stupid,
than to drink water and be full of sh*t


And pass the tequila…

(and enjoy the random font-size craziness, because – as usual – I have absolutely no idea why that happens or how to fix it.)

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Estoy cansada

Tuesday, July 28th, 2009

which means I’m tired and worn out…in Spanish…because I think I’m still a little tired from the after-effects of my Mexican ‘vacation.’

Breezing through everything you eat in 3 hours end-to-end may sound awesome, but it takes its toll. And it racks  up the toilet paper bills like you wouldn’t believe.

I’m also less than two weeks from finishing my second book, and I’m pushing extremely hard to the finish line – ten to twelve pages a day. Some days it’s really fun and just flows like buttah. Take last Friday, for instance: I wrote 16 pages without really thinking about it.

But today? Hitting my ten-page quota bordered on impossible…and took me most of the day.

On the upside, it’s (hopefully) worth it. I feel really good about this effort, and am going to turn around and edit it immediately in order to get queries out to agents just as fast. Who knows? If I’m feeling super lazy, I may just post some excerpts here.

I can relate. My dog is worse than Hitler sometimes, too.

I can relate. My dog is worse than Hitler sometimes, too.

Finally, to top off my trifecta of exhaustion, there’s been serious heat lightening here at night. My dog, it turns out, has a lightening phobia or lightening rage or some other undiagnosed mental disorder that led to him going outside and howling and shrieking at it through all hours of the night. I kept having to get up and go drag him back in by the collar (until I finally wised up and locked his dog door)

Anyway, tomorrow is a new day.

In the meantime, I am vegetating in front of the TV watching Hell’s Kitchen. There’s a woman named Tennille who’s probably in her early to mid-30′s. Now I don’t care if you want to pay tribute to the Skyrockets in flight that brought you your little bundle of joy: that’s just cruel. Wonder if she’s got a brother named The Captain?

Have you seen the G.I. Joe ads? Boy, that movie looks AWFUL.


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Five signs you might be living above your means

Sunday, July 26th, 2009

So I saw an article on Yahoo with this headline and followed it, hoping for some kind of awesome insight. Sadly, it was super boring and predictable. Mortgage is some gargantuan chunk of your income? Can’t pay your credit card bills? Duh.

It occurred to me that some of you may be living beyond your means and not even know it (and besides, since when does a 600 or less credit score mean you’re living beyond your means? It could just mean you’re a deadbeat or a total f-ck up or think repaying student loans is for chumps).

Regardless, I thought I’d offer some REAL tips to clue you in that maybe it’s time to cut back a little on the champagne wishes and caviar dreams.

1. Your revolving credit card balance is in the high-six or low-seven digits.

The key word here is REVOLVING. It’s one thing if you’re racking up the big bills every month and able to pay them in full, and it’s another thing if not.

(By the way, if you’re of the former group, could you shoot me an e-mail or buy me a beer or several hundred beers or whatever seems reasonable?)

2. You have a gold plated swimming pool with a custom mosaic of your face on the bottom…and you’re paying that off with your job as night manager of a Taco Bell.

Enough said.

I know I keep picking on him, but it's meant affectionately. Really. Probably.

I know I keep picking on him, but it's meant affectionately. Really. Probably.

3. You’ve turned your face into a sphinx, have a $50,000 a month pill habit, your own amusement park in your yard, and at least three doctors on permanent staff, one of whom puts you to ‘sleep’ with anesthesia.

Doesn’t sound so bad?
Did I mention you haven’t really had a hit album since like 1988?

4. You just chartered a private jet to Mustique for a week and got home to find your gas, cable, and electricity have been shut off.

Not judging. Just saying you might want to make sure you can cover the basics before you start sharing Mai Tais and tanning oil with David Bowie and Mick Jagger.

5. You’re on a first-name basis with your local repo-man.

Once again, enough said.

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Julie and Julia and Vanessa

Thursday, July 23rd, 2009

So I vaguely recall seeing the book ‘Julie and Julia’ when it came out and registering the plot (woman cooks way through Julia Child cookbook), but not being particularly compelled to read it. (I love to cook, but I have very little interest in watching other people cook – a la Food TV – or, even worse, reading about it. I LOVE cookbooks, mind you. To me, a perfect rainy day is to sit down with six or seven cookbooks I’ve never seen in my life and read them cover to cover, but that’s because I’m analyzing the recipes and looking for winners. I have no desire to hear about someone else’s experiences doing the same thing. [If that makes sense.])

Anywho, now it’s apparently a movie, and the trailers feature the woman playing Julie running into a friend of hers whose blog has been optioned into a series by Showtime (does this HAPPEN!?!? Really!? Blogs get turned into premium channel shows? Is that where ‘Hung’ came from, because that show is awful.) and then Julie goes home all huffy and says, “I can write a blog. I have thoughts.”

I hear you Julie.

I DO write a blog. I ALSO have thoughts. And I would also like a book deal and a movie deal and even a TV show on Showtime!!!! (although if I get to be picky about it,  I would prefer HBO as I associate Showtime with creepy soft porn.)


The issue, it seems, is that I don’t have a gimmick.


Me, about five seconds ago (and still a bit haggard having just survived an assassination attempt by a Mexican swimming pool) showing you a portion of my vast cookbook collection.

Me, about five seconds ago (and still a bit haggard having just survived an assassination attempt by a Mexican swimming pool) showing you a portion of my vast cookbook collection.

What I do have is about 150 cookbooks, so I figure somewhere in here is the cookbook that will rocket me to fame and fortune.

So let’s see…

Vanessa and Alice? (as in b. Toklas. It’s actually kind of a worthless cookbook in the old style of ‘here’s a giant paragraph and you sort out the ingredients and quantities’ which I bought solely for the “Haschich Fudge (which anyone could whip up on a rainy day)” recipe on page 259. Sadly, I’m not willing to grow my own cannibus sativa (“a common weed, often unrecognised, everywhere in Europe, Asia, and parts of Africa”).

She also suggests that in the Americas, we are throwing caution to the wind and growing cannibus indica in window boxes. First off, those must be some honkin’ big window boxes. Second, I imagine those Americans same are in jail somewhere right now.


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It’s always something

Monday, July 20th, 2009

Or is that just me?

Regardless, today’s ‘something’ is a little dance with death. I don’t know where the heck this came from, but sometime late this morning, my digestive tract decided it would be happier outside my body and attempted to flee through any and all available orifices.

Happily, I was able to bring in a hostage negotiator and keep my internal organs on the scene and inside my skeleton, but just barely.

If that weren’t enough, I threw in a fever and some insanely ouchy body aches (from the hours of 2pm to 5pm, I literally relived the growing pains of my youth) and, of course, the occasional blindingly painful round of cramping. The weirdest thing with the body aches is that they are highlighting the mild soreness of every muscle used during my workout yesterday…which as near as I can tell, is all of them except the big toe of my right foot. At the moment, my left foot is actively hurting.

It’s been a rough freaking day.

I glimsped the face of The Grim Reaper, and he looked a lot like Hugh Hefner.

I recently read this thing about the Christian Scientists and how they don’t believe in illness (it’s just an error in thinking), and I’m down with that. At least today.

Acknowledging that it may sound crazy, I am visualizing myself well…while keeping off the two pounds I no doubt lost today. When I lose weight the hard way, the only possible justification is to have it be permanent.

Now to try to drag the final three pages of my ten-page quota out of my aching arms and fingers and woozy brain, because I am one hard-core dedicated lady and that’s how I roll.

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