Where Am I Going, And Why Am I In This Handbasket?

Tuesday, November 29, 2005

Turkiness




Within 48 hours Chris' new Xbox shat & died. Naturally, it stopped our world. On Thanksgiving day he was on the phone to Xbox. On 2 phones. He's on hold with one service biatch and yelling at another. Hahahaha. For an hour & a half. I forgave him because he made Thanksgiving Dinner. All of it. Omigod it was deeelish. MMMM.



Mojo spent the holiday weekend running & hiding from me when I wanted some lovin'. SOMEHOW I still manage to find him. Then I put him in his fancy new kitty hotel for a little bit. I cuddled with his paw. He was happy. No, wait. I was happy. He wasn't.

Two of my college roomies have spread all the way out to West Virgina. And Chandler. That's fucking far.

I can't remember life before I was drinking legally. What did I DO? How did I survive???


These two, that's how.

The fuckin VR and singing into brushes with Ebony and Mystery Science Theater 3000 marathons and riding our bikes drunk through the Tempe hoods and Cholla & the ghetto apartment & Higher Ground and Kissyface & Wonderlungs and Lenny the hippie cat and crashing sad little weddings in Yuma and Mushroom Nights & giggling at the moon and the Depression Couch and after hours at The Works hahaha the fucking Works and routinely getting maced outta there and laughing at men on the couches at the MU and Juice & Lorenzo & Mike & Manzy and spring break in LA and doing lamaaz in the hallway and smoking smoking smoking and DAMN college was fun.

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Wednesday, November 23, 2005

Mojo the Mofo

I love my kitten. I really do.

However, the little fucker refuses to cuddle with me, when I'm the only one in the house that feeds him and cleans his shitbox. Chris traps him and treats him only marginally better than a prisoner at Abu Ghraib. And still Mojo runs to him for some lovin', always. He is totally submissive to him. Mojo is Daddy's Bitch. I get swatted at.

BITCHASS THINGS THE CAT DOES:

-hinders my cozy slumber by sleeping atop the pillow behind my head so that his tail flits up my nostrils periodically througout the night
-hinders my relaxation by climbing the shutters up to the ceiling and not being able to get down. Mews demonically until I stand on a chair and reach up to rescue him. Then he does it again.
-hinders my Getting of Some by burning his tail on the romantic candles not meant for him. The house proceeds to smell like bad perm for remainder of newly unromantic evening
-hinders ensuing auto-gratification by chewing through my lil vibrator wire, rendering it un-bzzzzzable. The Bullet no longer shoots. Sigh.
-hinders cleaning of litter box by suddenly deciding to poo while I am shoveling clumps
-hinders my commute by following me when I'm in a hurry and continuously swatting at my heels. Mostly when I'm closest to the top of the staircase.
-hinders gift-wrapping process by attacking ribbons
-hinders typing of my very important blathery tittle-tattles by walking atop keyboard
-hinders my sleep some more by attacking feet when attempting to shift positions. Every single time
-hinders cuddling by drawing blood when I try to pet him
-LOTS OF HINDERING IN GENERAL


MY fucking pillow, you little bastard


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Fundraising in the dark!

So I'm a good volunteering doobie hoot hoot. We worked for Planned Parenthood's annual Noche Latina, which supports preventative education and free healthcare for local latinas. Lovely! I'm a fan. Joya and I were in charge of raffle/auction donations, and our favorite local govt sponsor was Congressman Ed Pastor - a great event.

Seeing the protestors wasn't really a shock (although I don't recall them last year, must have been tipsy by then) - but since the event was on the edge of town where you still smell cow poopoo, I was a bit surprised they showed. Well, I went out to say Hullo, because naturally, I had to take some pictures. And provide some light-hearted mockery from the safety of the Private Property boundary line

Too bad they weren't standing on the corner. You know, where cars were actually passing by. And could see them. Then again, too bad they didn't have people to hold their signs.

Of my favorite slogans:
-Planned Parenthood s Dead Babies
-Ed Pastor - Are You Catholic?
-Planned Parenthood is Demonic
-Ed Pastor - Are You Helping to Kill Hispanic Babies?

We sighed in between giggles. Ugh. One of them even asked if we were SERVING DEAD BABIES FOR DINNER. If they wanted leftovers all the had to do was ASK, I replied. Tee hee. So witty.

Then one of them took a picture of me. Which was less amusing.

Mister Alex is part of the family that owns the Historic Ranch-cum-rodeo grounds-cum-festival venue that was to be our setting for tonight. Quite a lovely property. As I thanked him for helping us with the event, he informed me that the Catholic diocese had been threatening to move a Christmas Luminarias event they've held at the Ranch for over 35 years because his family wouldn't dump our fundraiser. Acquiescence would have been more profitable and trouble-free, so we were quite thrilled that they kept us. Something about not appreciating the church dictating such things, especially in a time when they could stand to hop off their high horsies and fix some stuff down on the ground where the rest of us are escaping recycled fondler priests.

ANYHOO. The VIP reception was about to begin. The bar was open, which is the most important facet of a successful fundraiser - generosity grows in direct proportion to drinks drunk.

And then we lost power. The lights went out. Hmmmm. Mister Alex was running around frantically in the dark, and soon he deduced that it wasn't a problem with the electric service. Say it with me: HMMMMM.

No matter. We were having a good time. Candles soon appeared around the bar (aforementioned importance of such a function evidenced here). The latin band was playing acoustically somewhere. More candles popped up everywhere! Yay!

Eventually the lights popped back on and people continued eating and drinking and dancing and winning prizes and it was a successful night. Woohoo.


The suddenly romantic bar
Raisin' moola by candlelight
Nice motto
SIDENOTE:

This article ran in the Arizona Republic a few weeks after our fundraiser (the last 2 paragraphs are fucking great):

"Casting first stone becomes a new tactic for diocese"
Dec. 15, 2005 12:00 AM
by EJ Montini

It may have been the first time that an official with the Phoenix Catholic Diocese implied that a long-time local non-profit organization was in the business of ethnic cleansing.

It happened Monday. A television reporter from Channel 12 was following up on a story from the previous day's Arizona Republic.

The article described how the diocese prevented a Mass in honor of Our Lady of Guadalupe from taking place at Corona Ranch, where such a service had been held every Dec. 12 for many years.

Rev. David Sanfilippo, the vicar general of the diocese, told the Republic that hosting a Mass at the Phoenix facility would be "highly inappropriate" because the venue had hosted an event sponsored by Planned Parenthood, an abortion provider.

The event that offended the diocese had been aimed at curtailing the state's skyrocketing rates for teen pregnancy and sexually transmitted diseases, particularly among young Latinos. Arizona ranks second in the nation for teen pregnancies, and Latina girls are said to account for more than half that number. Still, the diocese said that a Mass could not be performed.

On Monday, when asked by a television reporter about the church's position, Rev. Sanfilippo expanded on what he'd told The Republic. He said, "From its very beginning Planned Parenthood has sought to reduce the number, the population, within minority communities. And the Hispanic community is just their newest target."

Planned Parenthood's Melissa Schiffman told me, "That's just ridiculous."

One might expect a clergyman schooled in the Bible to understand the pitfalls of casting the first stone.

We're not talking about forced sterilizations, after all, but education. And we're not talking about a decades-old argument involving the politics of Margaret Sanger, founder of the organization that became Planned Parenthood, but about a local non-profit organization co-founded by Peggy Goldwater, wife of former Sen. Barry Goldwater. Would anyone seriously suggest that the Goldwaters were "targeting" an ethnic group for reduction?

I asked Rev. Sanfilippo about this via e-mail. He responded, "I am sure you are correct in assuming that there are those who support the work of Planned Parenthood who sincerely believe that their work is helpful in addressing the alarming statistics you mention. But the services offered by Planned Parenthood are not limited to HIV testing. Their solution to 'unwanted' pregnancies is often abortion."

As for the cancellation of the Mass, he wrote, "The Diocese of Phoenix does not have a policy regarding facilities that have been used by Planned Parenthood.

The issue is not so much the facility as it is who was sponsoring the event in honor of Our Lady of Guadalupe. Mr. Corona sponsored and was on the host committee for a fund-raising event for Planned Parenthood on Nov. 18 and has publicly indicated his support for their services. He also requested a private Mass at his ranch in honor of Our Lady of Guadalupe. Considering that Our Lady of Guadalupe is the patroness of the pro-life movement, it was decided not to accept his invitation."

Then again, Mass often is held in locations where sins have been committed and where sinners work. War zones and prisons, for example.

We might note that, according to news reports, priests who were accused of sexual misconduct at some point in their careers worked in nearly half of the parishes in the Phoenix diocese. I hope that doesn't mean that services will no longer be conducted in those 40-plus churches.

Posted by Marci Twitches :: 10:13 AM :: 2 Comments:

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Monday, November 21, 2005

I'm an Xbox Widow

So Chris is on his way to fucking Cottonwood to get hisself a new Xbox 360.

MicroFlaccid shall release the 360 from their mocking jeering grasp at midnight tonight. Into like 23 retail shops all over the state will be released 11 new Xboxes, and perhaps a whopping 5 dudes will actually go home with 2/3 of one. Chris has been plotting and devising a plan all weekend, the many ways he could get out of his shift tonight - getting in line at the 24-hour Walmart up north at 8pm, but not bothering with the gamestore down the street because the burbly stoner that worked there said Dude Good Luck, so over to the Walmart by the house at 5am, then hitting the Best Buy on Camelback at 8am. And then he resigned himself to the possibility that he might not actually get his hands on the ThreeSiddy, and allowing himself that moment's enlightenment, then indignance, at the social/ethical/philosophical implication of the marketing ploy that has turned all these men into slobbering clamoring monkeys. That he could safely predict some asshole stabbing another in a dark corner of the parking lot at Target. That he readily admitted he'd be wearing his own MamaSaidKnockYouOut face and woe was the poor slapdick that tried to jump him once he got his furry paws on his new ThreeSiddy.
Hahaha.

And then an ingenious plan arose. Chris is now on his way to fucking Cottonwood.

I can't get him to put a stinking screen on the bedroom window.

Ah well. At least it comes with a DVD player.


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Saturday, November 12, 2005

Joey's First Mosh Pit. Or: I'm a realllly great stepmom

Kelly has a teenage nephew who plays in a local band. They're getting a few gigs here and there, at Jugheads and whatnot. The other night was an all-ages show at The Real Bar in Tempe. The lightbulbs above our heads went off: we could have a night out and not neglect the kids to do so, thus ensuring our status as worthy parentals (and getting shnockered all the same)! So we were set. We packed the boys and headed for Tempe. Sweeeet.

Ready fer the show.






So there we are. The place was divided in half by yellow cop-tape and there were already a few dozen teens floating in their pen. Their parents were sitting on the other side. I felt limbo-landish. Which means I was at the bar ordering some cokes. And beers!

So the kid's band was pretty good. It was cool to see these16 year-olds workin' it - they played with a fervor, and they were having fun. They were comfortable, and that's a rare thing to see in teens. Or maybe it's a totally alien vision for me, as someone who never felt an un-awkward moment for every second she was a teen. And can barely feign it now. Actually, I don't. I'm no less fucking clumsy today than when my knees knocked into each other and my headgear kept my mouth half-open when I slept and left Pools O Drool all over my pillows and I had terrible posture and no boobies. My teeth just look prettier now.

So. Where was I? Ahem. Okay, these kids were fun to watch. Period. Their friends were in the front, smiling up. I was happy for them.

Meanwhile, the boys were lying low in the back, afraid to approach the stage. When Kelly's nephew (the lead singer, incidentally) goaded the crowd to move up and hop around, slowly our lil boys moved up. Naturally, there was a mosh pit forming as it happened. Just swell. The whole night I managed to maintain a coollaidback distance and resisted the urge to yank on their collars and bring them back towards me, resisted the urge to shove the bouncer into the kid who'd just thwacked into Nick, resisted the urge to squeal when Nick's head disappeared into the crowd. Drinking helped, though.


A mosh pit. Oh, yay.

Joey likes it.

I like him back here.


Sure enough, the boys got a kick out of the night. And we had some fun as well. Tee hee.



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Monday, November 07, 2005

Homework these days

So. I was cleaning out the laptop a while back and found some of Joey's homework. They were learning to write business letters.

April 2, 2005
Dear Manager,
Last time I went there, I found a fly in my burger. I am telling my friends about it. It’s probably one time but it was gross.

Please don’t do that again. Flies in burgers are gross.

That is why I don’t like you guys. That place was great, until I found a fly in my burger. That is why I’m not coming there again.

Sincerely,
Joey


Hahahahahaha.

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Wednesday, November 02, 2005

The Blue Hair Brigade and their Pom Poms

Dude.

So yesterday I was sent to Handle the Gov's people at the "Governor’s Arizona Treasures" event.

First lemme 'splain a little about the program: finally we have a Gov who understands that tourism actually plays a vital role for our state’s economic development. Okay, great. So her office and ours put together the Arizona Treasures program to highlight some of our state’s parks/attractions/natural wonders and what have you – especially underappreciated or unheard of highlights to bring more attention to these places, to give the community a sense of pride, motivate Arizonans to get out and “discover” their own state. Yadda yadda yadda. The Gov will actually make tours of these places and present a plaque, do the photo op, get some press - local VIPs are present and it’s a big hullabaloo for most of these folks. How lovely.

Well, my disdain for the west side is apparently well-founded, for while they try to give press to every region of the state, no one could come up with much of anything – but they designated the Peoria Sports Complex and the Fall League yesterday. Okay, sure.

Then we moved to Sun City. Since there’s absolutely nothing to do in Old Folk Land (for my dad was once in a restaurant at the ungodly hour of 9pm and they were vacuuming around him as he ate) – they rather desperately designated the Sun City Poms as an Arizona Treasure.

Do you know what that is? Since I’ve never been to a fucking parade, or been to Sun City unless it was for a funeral, I had no idea.

OLD LADY CHEERLEADERS. Really.

As in: Senior Women in short short sequined spangled ruffled puffy twirly skirts. WITH POM POMS. Dancing around. Rather, lifting their legs as high off the ground as possible without breaking a hip. At first I took photos because I was being cruel.

Then I saw a 73 year-old woman do the splits. Oh yeah. You heard me. Then they did a fucking headstand. And a pyramid. Impressive and frightening all in one breath. There was still that tentative moment when they arose from their squats where I wondered if they’d freeze in pain or fall over, but no. Not quite the sprightly steps of high-school peppies, but I was amazed nonetheless.

I was also ashamed that I haven’t been able to do the splits since I was like, 11 or something. That headstands give me headaches. And that I’d be likely be the cause of a clumpa broken bones if a pyramid were to rely on me (because let’s face it, I’d be at the fucking bottom).


So the Sun City Poms performed a couple of numbers, that 2-Unlimited “Get Ready For This” song (imagine a cloudy-sounding taped version of that early 90s techno song that you’ve heard at all the college competitions on TV – and the sound “booth” manned by an white-haired man wrinkling up his nose).

It was great shit.

Afterwards the Gov said a few words. Then Lois the Pom Leader thanked her and the audience (200 Blue Hairs present, man) and yapped for a while. Apparently they’ve been enjoying a rise in popularity – they perform at a couple of high-school pep rallies a month. They travel. They dance at the fucking Fiesta Bowl.



Sweet.

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Tuesday, November 01, 2005

Halloween - Apparently Kids Hate Us

So I was looking forward to this Halloween. I finally live in a neighborhood where I was practically guaranteed Kid Visits. A perk to having Steppies, right? I was excited. Because every place I’ve ever lived in, I’ve ended up sitting lonely on my couch, not one doorbell ringing, and chewing on candy I now had to eat all by myself because no fucking kids came by. It’s made me pretty sad.

So our condo faces a main residential drive, and we’re neighbored by a grade school, a Mormon and Catholic church (both reliable breeders), and a park. Primo Kid Geography. There’d be loads of kids coming by tonight fer sher. So Kelly & Paul came by and we forced their kids into costumes and they went trickertreating with Nick & Joey.

Then we moved our patio furniture out to the carport, lit orange candles, brought out 2 vats o candy. We listened to jazz on the boom box and we sat. With some cocktails. And some smoke.

We waited for the parade. We waited for a group of kids. We waited for a couple of twerps. We waited.

We became desperate. We’d holler out to kids walking on the other side of the street. If a kid passed our carport without stopping, Paul hooted at them to come back. They walked faster. The only ones that stopped were with parents. Hesitant ones that made me feel like a perve for being friendly. Just because I wanted to take pictures, they looked at me funny.

It was pathetic. We got fucking 20 kids (counting our 4).

Of the costumes:
-Nick was dressed as an old-school basketball player - fro & short shorts. We'd convinced him to go to school dressed up like that. Turns out he was one of only 2 kids in his whole high school that dressed up. Oopsies.
-Joey was King Arthur, in a really great costume designed & made by Chris. Joe kept telling everyone that gave him candy that his dad only spent $18 on the costume. He was pretty proud.
-Kelly's kid was coerced by me to wear my old goth-bride costume from last year (which I savagely insisted he wear off the shoulders). It was a neat reminder that I'm Actually An Adult. These are the only people that actually do what you tell them to do. So I took advantage.
-Billy Joe Armstrong. I figure Green Day has officially lost all their street cred when a 7 year-old dresses up like him for Halloween
-2 teens in a hodgepodge of military uniforms their dads possess. “Dad’s army jacket, dad’s border patrol pants, dad’s vest…”, sporting what I hope was a fake gun. I kinda wished my dad had been a cop so that maybe I’d have some Kevlar, just in case.
-A tiny little boy dressed as a fox or a dragon who could barely speak. I gave him a shitload of candy and took his picture.
-Future tramps dressed as a fairy and a princess and a pixie. They sucked. I didn’t take their picture. Gave them only a couple candies each. You know, because they were probably gonna practice purging later anyway.

So we were a little disappointed. I still figured it was better than, you know, Zero kids. Chris was secretly glad that he had 5 pounds of candy to himself.

Plus we had fun because we were drunk by then.

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It's still hot.

It's November 1st and it's 90 degrees out.
What bullshit.

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