The Spurious Plum

Arcade Fire

2007-05-28T18:23:00.001-05:00

This is one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen.

Well, This Is Only The Best Thing Ever

2006-09-27T22:40:00.000-05:00

Thank you Phil!

http://youtube.com/watch?v=tYnn51C3X_w

Ya'll Remember This?

2006-09-09T18:51:00.000-05:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tiyxD5td0Lo

Only my favorite episode of the Cosby Show EVER.

Ba-ba-ba-ba-baby....

One Down...

2006-07-30T02:12:00.000-05:00

Four to go.

Elevator Etiquette

2006-07-18T21:27:00.000-05:00

How long is the appropriate time to hold open an elevator? This seems like an odd reason to pick up the blogging baton again, but really. How far away from an elevator does someone have to be before it's socially acceptable to pretend you didn't see their frantic waving and let the doors swish shut? If one doesn't time it right and other people are on board, one risks being the social pariah of the elevator (i.e. the selfish girl who won't hold open the door). As for the person left behind (they don't say anything about elevators in those books do they) an ill-timed lack of elevator courtesy will garner you a hasty, nasty-ass look as the doors close. Not exactly the last thing you want to see before ascending several stories in a 6x9 deathtrap. Have I mentioned that I don't like elevators?

Before the 'your're a bitch' cry goes up let it be said - I'm not an animal. I'll hold an elevator door for a scampering person like anyone else. But if I've held the door open for 14 people and you're 150 feet away and YOU think we've made eye contact through the dank oblivion that is my local Barnes and Noble parking lot, and the elevator is doing that openy-shutty thing on my wrist that it does right before its alarm screeches and whisks one of my precious, elevator-procuring appendages away forever, why must I incur your wrath for not risking my sweet, sweet limbs? What's with the stinky look, ho-bag?

And more importantly, when the elevator doors open, should the people outside wait for you to exit the elevator before boarding? Or should they try to climb on with you before you are allowed to bail...a process that involves rude people giving you evil looks for being 'in the way' because you've failed to magically exit the elevator by osmosis as they pile on through the one door this blasted piece of machinery has.

What's going on here? All the elevator freaks in the house say, "ho".
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Random Fruit Fact: The Nectarine

"Ripen nectarines at home for 2 to 3 days at room temperature until they are slightly soft along the seam. Ripe fruit will have a sweet nectarine smell that is stronger when the fruit is at room temperature. "

Some of the people in the elevator smell stronger at room temperature too. Learn more about the nectar filled nectarine, here, or some things to do with nectarines from a freaky cook named Sam, here.

Memo To The Fashion Impaired Public – The Skort

2006-04-28T23:38:00.000-05:00

A Disclaimer To Those Who Haven’t Yet Boarded The Anti-Skort Bus:
Any excuses relating to the skort being a solution to chafing, discomfort or sweatiness are to be summarily dismissed. If these things bother you, then you should wear shorts. Without pleats, dammit!

So, skorts.

I shouldn’t even have to post about this. Really. Who comes up with this stuff? Was there ever a time these were a good idea? Who was the genius that while pondering her abraded thighs leapt up and bellowed 'Eureka'? I wanna know, because we’re going to that bitch’s house tonight with some torches and pitchforks for some hardcore Frankenstein mob shit.

WE ALL SHOULD KNOW BETTER. And yet I see people wearing these puppies on an almost daily basis. People from all walks of life. Young and old. Skinny minnies and gals with a little chunk in the trunk. People who have the rest of their shit together enough to know that combining two clothing items specifically designed to be different will end in tears. Let's call them Skorty-Fucks.

Skorty-Fucks can usually be grouped into one of the following four categories (because when I insult people, I like to create over-generalized lists):

'I'm Venus or Serena Williams'
This category is rather exclusive. They’re slim, pretty and have worked really hard to get Nike to PAY for their skorts, but tennis is not an excuse to suck. Exhibit A.

'I'm young and trendy and can get away with it'
No you can't. This category includes some of the most monstrous skort manifestations. Like pleated skorts. Gah. Subcategories include Preppy-Stuck-In-The-90's Skorty-Fuck and the I'm-A-Teenage-Dumbass Skorty-Fuck. See Exhibit B and Exhibit C.

'I'm old, and think they look sharp'
Let me first say, I'm not crackin' on the old folks. I'm 30 and I never even wear shorts. EVER. Why? Because I imagine the feelings of people outside of Planet Plum. Most folks don't have ‘see some big Dutch legs’ on their daily to-do list. Realizing my limitations, I'm accordingly comfortable covering up my legs. That being said, if you’re 70 and rocking spider veins that make arachnophobics run for therapy, skorts don't work for you. Yes, even if they are at the knee. Yes. YES. Exhibit D.

Babies
Jeebus. The things people do to children*. I know babies are small and fidgety, and wearing a skort instead of a skirt prevents pervy guys from spying hot Pampers action. But if a kid can't wear a skirty item without flipping it over her head like some Huggies exhibitionist, they're not ready for a skirty thing. I can’t believe Sally Struthers isn’t doing commercials to eradicate worldwide child skort wearing. Exhibit E - note the child's confusion.

The reasons skorts suck are innumerable. But hot damn, I love lists. Let’s keep it truckin’.

Bulges
Oh, the plethora thereof. Skorts invariably become scrunched up in unfavorable ways. Examples include:
-Front: The ‘Do you have a secret wang?’ bulge.
-Side: The 'On my off days I'm drunken, big-assed hula dancer’ bulge.
-Back: The ‘Am I really a dude who tucks his junk?’ bulge.
Anyone in favor of bulges? No! At least, not when clothing one's ass region.

Peek-a-boo, I can't see you
Skorty-Fucks can't see the shorts underneath the skirt, so the shorts become periodically wedged-up crotchways in a reeeeeeally unflattering way. Making inner thighs poke out. These folks remain sadly oblivious, due to that skirty flap thing in the front. Which brings me to…

That Flap
What the hell is that flap thing anyway? Like you’re some sort of fucked-up fashion kangaroo. That flap’s supposed to make things look skirty, and as the wearer ponders herself from the front, she thinks everything is safely cutie-pie'd away. But trust me, when your ass is sticking out of your SUV hatchback in the grocery store parking lot, I can see what's going on. I can see much, much more than I ever wanted to.

Look Away, Baby, Look Away
The biggest problem with the skort is really the same as many other global sartorial foibles, it's placed in an area you don't want people to look at. Don't tuck in and put pleats near your waist if you think your waist is chunky. Don't put tassels on your shoes unless you want to accent your old maniness. Don't wear giant, 6-inch tall flip-flops and then think we won't notice that you're a pygmy fashion idiot. Wearing skorts are like placing a big red arrow in an area that doesn’t need one. We don’t wanna see that shit. Dammit.

All of which boils down to two hard and fast rules for skorts.

#1-If you’re not a toddler, you shouldn’t be wearing skorts. If you want to stop, we’ll check you into Skorty-Fucks Anonymous. We still love you. Everyone makes mistakes. There’s hope.
However, if you're more than three years old, wearing skorts and refuse to stop, you should be trotted out into the nearest courtyard and shot. Summarily. No exceptions. We'll still love you, but it's for the good of humanity. Skorty-Fucks Anonymous is starting to sound pretty good, eh?

#2-If you're under three, and someone’s putting skorts on you, we need to call Child Protective Services. Also, if you’re under three and reading this blog, I’m very impressed. If Brittany Spears can get busted for bonking some baby head, the authorities should sure as hell get involved for skorts. For they're far more heinous.

Mateo’s note: I like the skort in theory, because it reminds me of the spork. And thinking about sporks makes Mateo happy, although it is associated with the crappy-ass grade school cafeteria… et cetera, et cetera. In other words, skort=good name, but bad product.

Too long. Time for fruit!

* Like sticking elastic headbands on girl babies with no hair (another post, for another time). No one is fooled into thinking the child has hair, just because there's something in it. You're ostensibly cutting off blood flow to a child’s brain for fashion is never good. Plus, the kid looks stupid and keeps pulling the damn thing off all day. I call bullshit.
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Random Fruit Fact: The Dwarf Sumac

"When soaked for 10 - 30 minutes in hot or cold water it makes a very refreshing lemonade-like drink (without any fizz of course)...There are some suggestions that the sap of this species can cause a skin rash in susceptible people, but this has not been substantiated."

See. That skirty rash is totally unproven. Learn more about the Dwarf Sumac, here.

Beep! Beep!

2006-04-12T01:12:00.000-05:00

One of the things I've been doing during my little hiatus is recuperating from a wee bit of an injury. Nothing too serious. During a December bike ride to work, a thoughtless driver cut me off and I ran into a freeway overpass.

Not 'onto' the freeway.

Not 'towards', 'next to' or 'in the general direction of' the freeway.

Smack. Like Wile E. Coyote on the rocks of his own ineptitude.

Hey. Let's take this Wile E. Coyote metaphor and run with it. For the sake of argument, let's say I'm the Coyote, and the Bitch-Who-Probably-Runs-
Over-Babies-On-Sundays-For-Kicks is the Road Runner. To play out our drama we'll need to follow Road Runner cartoon rules. These rules are from the LooneyToons website, so they're all official and shit.

Rule 1: Road Runner cannot harm the Coyote except by going "Beep! Beep!"In the process of hitting the freeway, I got a couple of avulsion fractures (wherein ligament pulls off little hunks of bone) and did weird things to a nerve in my ankle. If the bitch in the car had gone "Beep!Beep!" I might have moved, and subsequently avoided having my ankle manhandled by my nazi of a physical therapist (a man who should be arrested by the UN for crimes against humanity).

Rule 2: No outside force can harm the Coyote -- only his own ineptitude or the failure of Acme products.
Well, you really couldn't call it my "ineptitude". Could you? I called it ineptitude earlier? Well then, yes. I guess you could.

Rule 3: The Coyote could stop anytime -- IF he was not a fanatic.
After the bitch hit me, I rode the rest of the way to work, because I didn't want to be "a wuss". And because I'm an idiot.

Rule 4: No dialogue ever, except "Beep! Beep!"
Please see rule # 1. Bitch didn't play fair.

Rule 5: Road Runner must stay on the road - for no other reason than that he's a roadrunner.
I don't think my pursuer even saw what she did to me. But I am glad she didn't go that extra mile and go off roadin' and hit the freeway with me.

Rule 6: All action must be confined to the natural environment of the two characters -- the southwest American desert.
Los Angeles is the southwest. And the freeway is the natural environment of Los Angeles. Anyplace where you spend that much time is your natural environment.

Rule 7: All tools, weapons, or mechanical conveniences must be obtained from the Acme Corporation.
My bike's a Trek. But this incident wasn't the fault of my beautiful bike...So the metaphor isn't complete. You wanna start some shit?

Rule 8: Whenever possible, make gravity the Coyote's greatest enemy.
After rolling up a bit of a hill and smacking into the freeway overpass, I managed to remain briefly upright, and then teetered and fell down the hill into a pile of bike and embarrassment. With unparalleled grace, of course. Embarrassment is also what made me not call my doctor for 2 months. Which made her yell at me. Hooray.

Rule 9: The Coyote is always more humiliated than harmed by his failures.
After the accident, a lovely gentleman pulled over and asked if there was anything he could do to help. To which I replied, "Can I please just be alone? I'm just really embarrassed right now..." Because after hurting one's self, one should always try to foil other people's attempts to be kind. I'm an idiot.

Rule 10: The audience's sympathy must remain with the Coyote.
But it shouldn't, because I'm an IDIOT.
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Random Fruit Fact: The Saguaro

"In the summer, coyotes eat saguaro fruit. Their scat (waste droppings) often contains large numbers of saguaro seeds that pass through the animal undigested. Some of these seeds will sprout and grow."

I'm the Coyote, but I promise I didn't crap after the accident. Learn more about the Saguaro Fruit, but not a lot, here. Or learn a lot (but it's pretty hippie), here.

And Now, A Word From Mateo

2006-03-28T23:33:00.000-05:00

"You can't buy a snake a birthday cake and then act surprised when it bites you in the ass."

Crocking Your Pot - OR - Why Dinner Smells Like Heart Attack

2005-11-22T15:51:00.000-05:00

Is there a verb for crock pot cooking? Closest I can come up with is 'crocking one's pot', which sounds like a not-so-thinly-veiled drug reference. And I like my drug references thoroughly veiled, thank you.

Every so often, my sweet husband is possessed of a desire to cook up something tasty. And since I bleed every time I cut a goddamn onion, I encourage him to embrace that desire. Plus, when he cooks, I can sit on my ass, study pictures of dead cat parts, and try not to smell the laboratory preservative that has permanently sunk into my skin. Mmm, Anatomy. Quelle delicieux.

Husband likes to actually use the items from the Epic Pile O' Loot we received at our wedding, and tends to favor the crockpot. Crockpots cook things slowly, and the food's subsequent smell funks up our house for weeks after the cooking fun is done. The funk is twofold: the food brings the funk and then after eating the funky food, husband also brings the funk. These funk foods include, but are not limited to:

Sauerkraut
German potato salad
Mexican pickled onions and carrots
Uncle Bill's Five Alarm Chili

Now, our house doesn't smell like a rose garden (see dead cat statements above), but after the cooking/consumption of funk food it certainly doesn't smell good. I'd qualify it as 'really bad' for a day or two and then 'vaguely feety' for a week. I'm of the opinion my feet are smelly enough and don't need extra culinary support.

Our latest offender was German Potato Salad, which waged a bacon vs. vinegar war in my nostrils for a week post-cooking. I'm running out of nostril hair. I'm not sure whether I need nostril hair, but I'll be damned if anyone's going to take it away from me. Something must be done.

My latest idea is to have Mateo crock his pot outside, thus sparing me the pleasure of its stink (Especially since our new couch should be spared the slow, shameful fate of smelling like Uncle-Fred's-Smells-Like-An-Old-Man's-Ass-Recliner). However, I can only imagine the shitstorm our supremely bitchy condo neighbors will rain upon us if Mateo begins to cook al fresco.

Them: "Something smells feety. We can smell your feet outside! Outside!"
Me: "I guess this makes up for your dog shitting in the elevator*, doesn't it?"

*Ew. Actually happened.
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Random Fruit Fact: The Long Keeper Tomato

"Plants produce an abundance of long trusses of 4 to 6 ounce fruit that is light orange-red when ripe with medium-red interiors. Fruit ripens late in the season, but has a good flavor, and once picked, does last a very long time."

Speaking of late, sorry I haven't been around...Learn more about the Long Keeper Tomato (an a whole booty-load of other late tomatoes), here.

It's not easy, bein' Greene

2005-11-21T22:24:00.000-05:00

Recently, Husband attended a local conference and got a spiffy tour of local Greene & Greene homes as part of the bargain. There's a block near old town Pasadena that's chock full of these architectural wonders. I had to work on the original tour date, but in an show of why he's the best husband I've ever had, Mateo took me on his personal tour the very next day.
Aw.
And we took pictures! Of garages!
Seriously, though. Have you ever seen a garage look this good?

A random Greene and Greene patio.

At the Gamble House

Husband in the Garden of Eden.
I cropped the snake out of the picture.

Anyone know what these are? I mean, besides 'fantastic'?

Gamble House front door.

Mateo's a great tour giver (I'm ever-so-slightly biased). The whole experience was chock fulla planty Arts & Crafts architecture, which just mekes me feel quite peaceful. I really needed some peaceful. Thanks, husband!

Also.
Got a haircut. Kinda looks skunky, but...eh.
Please ignore the shifty eyes.

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Random Fruit Fact: The Trazel

"Very tasty...The seed makes an excellent dessert nut, tasting just like the cob and filbert."

Tune in next week and find out what the hell "the cob and filbert" taste like! Learn a little bit about the trazel (but not much), here.

Additionally

2005-11-12T12:11:00.000-05:00

MRTL and Susie: This one's for you!

Yo Mama Jingles Keys Funny

2005-11-12T08:54:00.000-05:00

Anyone else familiar with the embarrassed feeling you get when you describe a childhood event, something you never thought twice about, and people look at you like you’re batshit crazy? Usually coupled with responses like: “Oh my God, I’ve never heard anything like that” or “You poor child”? It’s not generally what you look for when you’re bringing up shit from your formative years.

Back in the day when I was an itty bitty plum, I was possessed of certain wandering tendencies. Mama Spurious would turn her back on me for ONE SECOND and I’d be in another time zone by the time she found me. The reason I have no siblings is in large part due to the fact that I was, in the words of my Mama Spurious, “a little twit on the move”.

Fortunately, Mama had a secret weapon. The bigass keychain.

It was a brass ring, big as a saucer, with a Virginia Slims ‘You’ve Come A Long Way, Baby’ keychain on it. Mama never smoked, and I‘ve never asked her where she got it. Some things should just remain a mystery. We’ve never even discussed the keychain, and she's probably forgotten all about it, knowing her sensible tendency to forget unimportant crap that makes me all emo.

Anyway, Mama would slip the keys around her wrist and they’d lightly ring against the keychain as she walked. Somehow her keys sounded utterly different than the keys of all the other Mama’s, and I always knew exactly where she was. Sometimes, when I was off hiding under the clothing racks at Gemco, she’d shake her arm to ring those keys and I’d come a-runnin’.

When I described the above incident to a co-worker (I must’ve been high to have discussed this with anyone outside my house), he freeeeeeeaked.

“Dude, did she shout ‘come here girl’, or what?
“Well, she didn’t mean it like that.”
“Ha! You were like her little dog-child.”
“Jesus, it’s not like she fed me Milkbones and shit.”
“Would you have cared? Hiding under stuff at Gemco makes me think you weren’t that picky.”
“No, I was more of a fish food eater actually…”
“WHAT??? This shit gets better and better!”
“Fuck.”

And then that feeling. Is there a name for that? The you’re-a-weirdass-and
-you’ve-just-given-me-damning-evidence-for-how-you-became-one feeling?
There SHOULD be a word for that, if there isn’t one.

And for the record, fish food is salty as fuck.
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Random Fruit Fact: The Pineapple Guava

“The thick, white, granular, watery flesh and the translucent central pulp enclosing the seeds are sweet or subacid, suggesting a combination of pineapple and guava or pineapple and strawberry, often with overtones of winter green or spearmint. There are usually 20 - 40, occasionally more, very small, oblong seeds hardly noticeable when the fruit is eaten.”

Spearmint? WTF?

Learn more about the pineapple guava, here.

A Speedy, Apple-Filled Post

2005-11-08T22:24:00.000-05:00

Ah, there's nothing like having 10 minutes to type...Hello all! Sorry for the hiatus!

So, last weekend my family took a trip to Oak Glen, a apple orchard/rural community/back-in-the-olden-days kinda place, with barns. Barns!

There's fresh apple cider, homemade donuts and tasty homemade pie with cinnamon sauce. Mmm, cinnamon sauce...

If you live in LA, you usually have to travel to get your nature on, so we took lots of pictures of planty things, too.

There are several family-run orchards in Oak Glen, but my family's been visiting Snow Line Orchards for 60 years. They have the oldest chestnut tree west of the Mississippi on the premises. I think it's the prettiest too.

While snapping all these pics, I took a super hot picture of Mateo with the sun behind his head looking all pissed and beatific at the same time. Sadly, his 'don't-show-the-blog-people-my-face' policy means I can't share him without some serious photo editing, so I'll have get back to you.

In other news, I was Satan for Halloween.

What were you?
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Random Fruit Fact: The Winter Banana Apple

This is absolutely, without question, my favorite apple EVER. I can hardly ever find it, since it's only available for about 7 seconds in October at Oak Glen. Sometimes the trees get pissed and decide not to give up any Winter Bananas at all...Fuckers.

" An heirloom apple, the Winter Banana originated in Cass County, Indiana in 1876. Its popularity is due to its large size, firm flesh, sweet aroma and excellent cooking quality. This fine dessert apple has a yellow skin with a natural waxy coating. The Winter Banana is modest, in light of all this praise, it blushes reddish-pink. Keeps well in cool temperatures. "

Learn more about the Winter Banana Apple, here.

I Am The Captain of the Queen's Navy...& I'm Hardly Ever Sick At Sea, Dammit.

2005-10-04T10:39:00.000-05:00

I'm plum tuckered out, people.

The past few weeks have passed in a blur of drinking, chemistry, drinking, weddings, drinking, birthdays and drinking. If you notice a common thread through the following sentence, it's because you're an alcoholic too. Embrace it. Come on over, I'll fix you a Singapore Sling.

Mateo and I have had more social obligations than you can shake the proverbial stick at. Obligations have recently included, but are not limited to:

-A beautiful wedding for our friends Suzy Q and Mr. Hornsbeeeeez. They're one of those couples you just know will be just fine for the rest of their lives. I got drunk.

-A night out on the town with Free-Like-A-Child-Mike for his birthday. I got drunk.

-A giant Mexican birthday party with piñatas, an inflatable bouncy-bounce thing for the kids, and a crapload of homemade food made by abuelitas. I drank there too.

-Had my 30th birthday. Got drunk then, also.

I'm not sure if it's the "I'm 30" part, or the "I'm drinking more in a month than I did in my last year of college" part (which is a lie anyway since I could drink every pirate in the Carribean under the table during my last year of college). But I'm just pooped.

Energy tips anyone? And no, I'm not taking 'trucker speed'.
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Random Fruit Fact: The Feijoa

"The flesh inside is cream-colored and encases a jelly-like center. The texture is gritty, close to that of a pear. The flesh tastes like a combination of several other fruits, usually described as pineapple, guava, and strawberry. Some people report a taste similar to that of a quince or lemon. "

Um. These people sound confused. So am I. Hand me another margarita, and learn more about the Feijoa, here.

A Hurricane Of Hot Mateo - AND - The Perils of Chemistry

2005-09-30T20:33:00.000-05:00

Got a super-duper tag by the mighty Annejelynn, whose seaweed paper I not-so-secretly covet. Yummmmmm. Seeeeeaweed.

The Rules
1. Go into your archive.
2. Find your 23rd post.
3. Find the fifth sentence (or closest to).
4. Post the text of the sentence in your blog along with these instructions.
5. Tag five other people to do the same.

Here goes:
Mateo (avec 4 beers) - "I think I wanna write a book called The Perfect Shitstorm..."

Nicely done, Annejelynn. Thank you!
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Chemistry: The Science of Sucking Ass

If someone offers you a free chemistry class (hey, someone might...), tell them to suck on your left ass cheek. Sure, you get to light things on fire and wear big honkin' goggles, but it's also, uh, HARD.

So in case some dirty chem pusher tries to step to you with free shit, here's some important rules to consider prior to accepting (remember, the first hit is always free, that's how they getcha addicted):

Rule #1 - Chemistry is math.

Rule #2 - When you light magnesium on fire it makes beautiful, white sparkly star-showers. Unfortunately it also makes the stupid bitch in the front row think her hair is on fire, and hysterical shrieking ensues. What a dumbass.

Rule #3 - If I had a pole, polyatomic ions could smoke it.

Rule #4 - Chemistry is math.

Rule #5 - This may seem obvious, but chemistry is taught by chemists. Sadistic bastards* that like playing with fire and acid. ACID. Jesus.

Rule #6 - Everyone in your chemistry class wants to be a doctor, and they're all hoity-toity about it. If you wanna be a nurse, your ticket to Ego Deflation City has been punched. Which is funny, because nurses ROCK.

Rule #7 - Rule #7 only applies if you're in real college. At community college, everyone in your class wants to be a professional fashion designer.

Rule #8 - Chemistry is MATH.

Rule #9 - All atoms wanna have 8 electrons in their outer shell. They'll do anything to get those extra electrons. Including handjobs.

Rule #10 - Burning sulphur smells like a well-used Kentucky outhouse.

Rule #11 - CHEMISTRY IS FUCKING MAAAAAATH.

Rule #12 - Ignore all these rules if you like math. If you like math, chemistry will give you multiple geekgasms.

* All chemists are sadistic bastards except for my friend K-Dawg. She's a trunk fulla sugar. That can kill you.
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Random Fruit Fact: The Sharon Fruit

"It is important to remember that the entire fruit is edible - soft or firm: It is always ready to be eaten!!"

Yes. The Sharon fruit is a hussy.
Yes. There really IS a fruit called "Sharon".
No. I don't know if she's able to have multiple geekgasms.
Learn more about the Sharon fruit, here.

How To Get Whatever You Want From Your Doctor's Office

2005-09-17T21:12:00.000-05:00

Have you ever gotten screwed by your doctor's office? Does it take weeks to get your prescriptions filled? Do you wait on hold for hours, only to hear someone chuckle something about your mom and hang up?

Congratulations. Today's your lucky day. I'm about to spill the proverbial beans on the basics of how to get your doc's office to actually DO THEIR JOB for you. That's right people, advice straight from the fruity, doctors-office-working, horses mouth.

First and Foremost
If you have a doctor whose office doesn't want to help you, get another doctor. Those "we're closed from 10AM-2PM for lunch" offices piss me off too. Goddamnit, nobody gets a four-hour fucking lunch.

Tips and tricks
Leaving ONE message is completely sufficient. The other 58 just piss me off.

You catch more flies with sugar than bitcherade. Be pleasant.

You are not the only patient in our practice. Be patient. If a 24-hour turn around for non-urgent matters is unacceptable for you, go be seen in the ER (which may actually take more than 24 hours) or go spend some time in a country without healthcare. See? 24 hours doesn't seem that bad. BE PATIENT, DAMMIT!

This is awful, but if you bring something tasty, we remember you better. If you're sick and in the hospital, put the tasties in your room, and you'll have people checking your status all day. Think about us like a bunch of 2 year olds. Cookies grab our attention.

Things to avoid
Don't yell at me. I'm rightfuckinghere on the other end of the phone reciever.

Don't yell at me (see above) if your insurance sucks and doesn't authorize something. I'd loooooove to let my doctor cut you. Trust me. I would. How about calling your HMO and telling them they're a bunch of pirates on the seas of healthcare. Wait. That's an insult to pirates.

Don't lie to me about ANYTHING. It comes back and bites YOU in the ass. If you lie about your insurance, you'll probably have to pay the difference on your bill. If you lie about your alcohol intake, don't blame me if you get DT'sand have a heart attack in the ICU when you get out of surgery. Lying is wrong. In the immortal words of Grandmaster Flash, "d-d-d-d-d-don't do it"!

Finally
If you are pleasant and just a little patient with a good doctor's office, you WILL get what you want. Most people who work in a medical practice, like me, want to help you. Especially if you have cookies.

P.S. Don't put poison or crystal meth in the cookies. We'll have you arrested once we get our stomachs pumped.
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Random Fruit Fact: The Jaboticaba

"Jaboticaba, pronounced in five syllables just as it is spelled, is a member of the Myrtaceae (Myrtle) family and is known botanically as Eugenia cauliflora. ("Cauliflora" means that it flowers and bears fruit on the trunk, mature branches and exposed roots.)"

A good picture of the Jaboticaba's cool fruiting habits can be found, here and here. Go Jaboticaba!

THINGS FOLKS ARE PROBABLY CURIOUS ABOUT:

2005-09-15T23:09:00.000-05:00

"Are you alive?"
Well, sort of. I've been working, going to school and marching in my own personal freak-out parade since I reached Los Angeles. I think that means I'm alive, but I haven't been able to sit still long enough to think about it much. Let me check my pulse...yep, I've got one. Woohoo! I'm alive!!!!

"So, how was the move?"
Crappy.12 days without Mateo suuuuucked. Plus, Mateo had to drive across the hottest part of the country in a truck without air conditioning, and we still have boxes stacked ass-cheek high. This is what happens when Spurious doesn't get home until 9:30PM every night.

"How's work?"
My full-time position at the hospital is usually supplemented by a part-time position. The folks in both positions quit, which meant that I had a job, but no help, until this week. The new person is awesome, and the work environment, while busy is wonderful, so I'm happy, if amazingly harried, all day. It's 180 degrees away from my old job, where I had time to do important things. Like blog...and pee.

"And school? What's that like?"
I have 10 units of chemistry and a full time job. Looking at the previous sentence, you'll note that I must've been smoking fat crack rocks when I signed up for school. I'm holding my own (there's too much damn math in chemistry), and hoping I don't have to drop out...this shit is hard!!!

"So how will this effect my blog reading, dammit?"
I haven't posted for a quadrillion years, so I'll be surprised if anyone's even still a-readin'. Things are hectic, so I'll still post, but not every day. Probably once or twice a week, until I get my crap together. But I'll still be a-lurkin' at your blog. Lurkin like a mutha.

Lurkin' is sexy.

Thank you all so much for your concern and sweet comments! Ya'll are the bestest!!!
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Random Fruit Fact: The Aronia

"Seemingly phased by nothing, this shrub will tolerate anything thrown at it: swampy ground, dry sandy soil, drought, salt, and pollution. It is probably pickiest about its light, tolerating partial shade but becoming more leggy and affected by mildew with in darker corners."

I wanna tolerate anything in my environment and be leggy! But not affected by mildew. That's icky.

Learn more about the aronia, here. If you wanna...do ya wanna?

Alright, Bitches. I'm Out.

2005-08-21T23:02:00.000-05:00

Photo by Tom Brickhouse http://www.tombrickhouse.com

We're packing up the fruit truck, and I'm flying out tomorrow.

Since the computer is buried beneath all this fruit, I won't be able to post until Sept 4-5, when Mateo arrives with our loot.

I'll miss you all, but I'll be back soon. I can't wait to catch up with everyone!

Keep the fruit faith!

Agenda - OR - Why I'm Losing My Mind

2005-08-19T12:27:00.000-05:00

Today
-Last day of work.
-Packing.

Tomorrow
-More packing, with drunken packing in the evening for extra flava.

Sunday
-Even more packing, preferrably in sweltering heat so I can have sexy-packing-glow.

Monday
-Drown in boxes, packity-pack-pack.
-Enter state of high freak out.

Tuesday
-Leave on a jetplane.

Wednesday
-Start new job.

Sweet Zombie Jeebus...

Moo, Meow, Max

2005-08-16T20:15:00.000-05:00

In addition to all of yesterday's detritus, my inability to put the kibbosh on anything means that upon our return to LA, we'll also be accumulating something called 'Max':

He's totally shameless.

Mama and Papa Spurious have 5 cats. When Mateo and I got married, Mateo jokingly demanded of Mama Spurious "What's the cat dowry?" and she took him at his word. That means we get 22 pounds of holstein-esque cat upon our return to the land of fake boobs. Moo.

Don't worry, I've had a great many cats, and I promise to take good care of him (I won't put him in a basement with that fish, for example), and give him lots of scratches behind the ears. Mateo and I have been wanting a pet for awhile, and though we really want a dog, having a one in LA isn't fair to the animal, so Max is a good solution. We also still have to discuss this with our landlord, who may be able to say no for me.
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Random Fruit Fact: The Goji Berry

"...grows like a bush with vines to a height of over 15 feet."

That's huge. Much like Max. Read more about the goji berry, here. Be careful, since it's a health food commodity, there's a lot of chinese wolfberry pretending to be goji out there.

The Spoils Of Obligation - OR - Where Did This Crap Come From?

2005-08-15T21:57:00.000-05:00

So, I have a hard time saying 'no' to people.

While this particular character attribute had the potential to make me popular in high school (it didn't, dammit), it makes keeping a clutter free Casa De Spurious difficult. I can't fathom why I voluntarily allowed many of these items to cross my threshhold. Examples:

The big ugly green puff chair. What color is it? Ah yes, the color of MOLD.

A enormous 'marry me, marry my stuff' painting. It only took a few years to warm up to it...

How the hell did Cat Stevens get in my house? Seriously.

The huge green painting that's nice, I suppose, but HUGE. Really. The original painting is, like, 4 inches square. My grandfather's reproduction is probably 4 1/2 feet tall. There are ponies that size, people.

The big green vase Granma Spurious gave to me that isn't a bong, even though EVERYONE asks if it is.

The swordfish picture. Nice shorts, ho-bag. Get out of my house.

There's a reason this fish is in my basement. Sweet Christ on a cracker.

Is there a Betty Ford Clinic for people who can't say no? I apparently suffer from some sort of I-don't-wanna-offend-you-even-though-I-still-cuss-like-a-sailor kinda thing. But I really need to work on gracefully turning folks down. Suggestions?

P.S. I'll still be cussing like a sailor, bitches. Don't try and fuck with that.
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Random Fruit Fact: Salal Berries

"produces lovely dark purple berries around this time of year which taste a little like gamy blueberries. Getting anyone to eat these berries is damn near impossible. "

Should've called me. I'll apparently take anything. Learn more about the salal berry, here.

Why The Velveteen Rabbit Can Kiss My Big White Butt

2005-08-12T19:16:00.000-05:00

Reading Laurenbove’s post about her blender brought to mind my own issues with throwing out useful things that have reached their untimely end.

Long ago, when I was just a little plum, we didn’t have any neighbors with kids. I was an only child and learned to keep myself entertained in ways that seem sad now, but were really fun at the time. I’d sing and read out loud to myself. I’d do silly dances in the mirror. I’d build pillow forts and tear them down. I'd climb the 4 story tree in the backyard, hang from a branch uspide down by my knees and wave to Mama Spurious on the 2nd floor, just to make her shriek. That sort of thing.

I even used play hide and go seek with myself. I remember Mama Spurious peeking into the linen closet and asking me what I was doing, curled up on top of the sheets with a picture book and a flashlight.

“I’m hiding.” I sniffed, like she should know.

“Are you hiding from me?” Mama Spurious asked.

“Uh, no. I’m hiding from ME.”

Oh. The fun child psychologists could have with that.

Shortly after that, I was plunked into pre-school and started visiting other kid’s houses on play-dates, presumably to get some age appropriate contact. But I never forgot what it was like to be by myself.

One afternoon, sometime after Halloween, I was eating my daily ration of post-holiday candy (5 pieces a day - of my choice) when Mama and Papa Spurious saw me tying the wrappers together in a little knot. Mama Spurious was curious, “What are you doing that for?”

“I’m tying them together, so the wrappers won’t get lonely in the dump.”

Jesus. I was a moron.

Which brings us back to the original topic. Reading Laurenbove’s post (in which she gets sweetly sentimental about a blender she can’t bear to part with), forces me to admit that I feel the same way about inanimate objects. Fortunately I’ve found a way to cope. Everytime something fizzles out, gets burnt beyond all recognition or just generally outlives its usefulness, I put it out in the front yard and take a picture of it. Then I can chuck it, since it's officially been immortalized. In this way, my own personal Gallery of Lost Souls was created. Behold:

The lonely timer that stopped working, which we used when I was a small plum at Mama and Papa Spurious' house.

The wedding present teapot that burned the shit out of me and its own handle, and which would never, EVER be clean.

I'd like to thank the Velveteen Rabbit for convincing me that EVERY-DAMN-THING has a soul. What is it with bunnies and fiction? I'm not even going to mention the crap that happened in my dorky little mind when I read Watership Down. Damn bunnies.
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Random Fruit Fact: The Cuachilote

"This highly ornamental tree is a conversation piece due to the interesting shape of its leaves and the greenish-cream flowers that grow directly from the stem or branch tips. The 12" long fruit resembles a greenish-yellow cucumber. The fibrous fruit is juicy with a sweet flavour similar to sugar cane."

Having your daughter hanging from the tree in the backyard is a conversation piece too... Learn more about the cuachilote, here.

An Expository Essay On Speech – OR – Writing Practice For College

2005-08-11T14:31:00.000-05:00

So, in addition to finding a place and getting my old job back at the neurosurgeon’s office (hooray!) I’ll also going back to junior college (joy) to complete prerequisites for an accelerated BSN degree so I can be a nurse practitioner or a nurse anesthetist.

Let me emphasize this.

I’ll be working full-time AND going to school. And I’m not taking Underwater Basket Weaving or Ass Hattery 101. My classes will be HARD. Hard enough for me to seriously doubt my ability to PASS, since all I have is a sorry-ass BA in English. Check it:

Biochemistry
Microbiology
Bioethics
Developmental Psychology
Organic Chemistry
Physiology
Anatomy
And the most heinous of all: Speech

Ya’ll need a little history lesson on this one. Back in my junior college days, my ENTIRE decision of which university to attend was based on whether I’d have to take a speech class. There’s nothing (at least nothing I can think of - and I can think of a LOT of scary things) that I wouldn’t do to avoid taking speech. If I could skip speech by taking a job professionally throwing puppies into a volcano, I’d say you’re looking at your next Head of Puppy Chucking Management.*

To procrastinate, I’ve signed up for Chemistry and Developmental Psych.

13 units of class + 40 hours of work = Spurious rides the white horse.

Maybe after Chemistry, I can make my own!**

*Please don’t be mad. There’s no way I can get out of this class, so there will be no puppy chucking. If someone makes the offer and it’s legit though, I’ll have to at least CONSIDER it.

**I’m not going to make coke, nor do I want any for myself. Please don’t send me any.
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Random Fruit Fact: The Brazilian Cherry

“...often made into jam, jelly, relish or pickles. Brazilians ferment the juice into vinegar or wine, and sometimes prepare a distilled liquor.”

Ah, booze! Hey, I used it to get through school the first time…Learn more about the brazilian cherry, here.

HalleFuckingLujah - OR - Casa De Spurious' New Digs

2005-08-10T10:47:00.000-05:00

SweetholymothermaymotherofGod, as of last night, 11:00pm EST, Mateo and I have secured an apartment. I can’t begin to express the relief this brings. Getting an apartment in Los Angeles is like entering the 7th circle of hell, but with more ass-kissing. LA landlords feel totally comfortable demanding credit checks, references, genetic testing, burnt offerings and your first born child. And they’ll gleefully charge you $40 for the privilege.

After searching non-stop for 3 days, we found a place on craigslist (Craig, I owe your ass) and went for a viewing. It was perfect. No, really. I actually wasn’t sure if I was cool enough to live there. It has a dishwasher (**angels singing**), all new everything and a marvelous bathroom. After 2 years of indentured hateration to my current bathroom, looking at the floor of a beautiful, jankiness-free restroom was enough to make me drop to my knees and weep.

I can ride a bike to work, there’s a Whole Foods nearby (cause Mateo and I are the Damn Dirty Hippy Twins) and a Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf down the street. Because Starbucks can smooch on my pooper.

Most important of all, it has a roof, and it’s in a neighborhood where I won’t get SHOT.

Praise be to the mighty apartment gods. Cause idolatry rules.
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Random Fruit Fact: The Artichoke

Almost 100% of artichokes distributed in the US come from California.

“The varieties of artichokes grown during the summer months love the marine layer of gray clouds that hang over the coastal areas, keeping back the bright sun and heat just over the hills. This climate allows the artichokes to plump up and round out before reaching maturity and harvest.”

Speaking of plumping up and rounding out, I’m glad there’s a gym in the basement of our new place, cause Mateo and I have some serious catching-up to do in the Mexican food department. Learn more about the artichoke’s round plumpness, here.

Listy Thingy From My Long Lost Sister SFG

2005-08-03T19:40:00.000-05:00

I love a good listy thing. Got this one from the mighty SFG who's the pinacle of New Orleans southern niceness- but with a lovely edge. Kind of like an amaretto sour, she's sweet, but packs a punch. So here goes. Thanks SFG!

10 years ago: August 1995 - Was going to junior college like a sucka. Worked at The Pond and at a car wash, yet still needed financial help from my parents. It was at this car wash that I learned 400 ways to insult someone's mom in Spanish. This has been a useful skill in the workplace.

5 years ago: August 2000 - Had the worst job in the universe at an entertainment internet start-up. I used to go into the bathroom and cry. Several times a day. I was fired after 3 months for not being bitchy enough. Seriously. Working there provided me with perspective though, since every other job I've had is better than that one. Wouldn't take much.

1 year ago:Was planning on moving out of Casa De Spurious to someplace else in the Pittsburgh. After realizing we'd just be moving again, back to LA, in a year, we determined that an extra move was too much of a pain in the ass. My ass bothers me enough, it doesn't need extra credit.

Yesterday: Got stinko on Belgian beer with our friends Super Teacher and Almighty Archivist at The Sharp Edge. If you like beer, this place is like Mecca. I lay out a Hoogarten bar towel and pray in their direction several times a day.

Today: Ate a tasty Thai food dinner w/ Mateo and a visiting medical student from DC. We're the Ethnic Food Posse. Getting ready for my trip to LA to go house hunting. Slum lords, here I come!

Tomorrow: Fly into LA in the early morning. Um, we'll unfortunately be there until the 10th, so I'll be taking a little break until then. Promise I'll be back soon. Try not to weep too effusively.

5 snacks I enjoy: Peanut butter on a spoon (otherwise known as 'the fast track to fat city'), a handful of dried cereal, almonds, diet coke (it IS a snack), and chocolate/minty Zone bars.

5 bands that I know the lyrics of MOST of their songs: Grant Lee Buffalo, Toad the Wet Sprocket, Morphine, Belle and Sebastian, Prince.

5 things I would do with $100,000,000: Pay off Mateo's student loans, buy a second car, buy a place to live, feed some homeless people and donate some serious money to the American Cancer Society.

5 locations I'd like to run away to: Japan, Australia, India, Oaxaca, New Zealand.

5 bad habits I have:Biting the nails (what's up, SFG?), procrastination, flakiness, nervous talkitiveness and not exercizing enough.

5 things I like doing: Reading, watching old movies with Mateo, drinking too much Belgian beer, visiting with old friends and blogging like a muthafucka. My move is cutting into the last one, and I don't like that one bit.

5 things I would never wear: Spandex, tucked-in shirts, stretch pants, anything with pleats and shorts. Nothing against shorts, I just look like a tool when I wear them.

5 TV shows I like: Family Guy, Nova, 106 and Park, Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends and Samurai Champloo.

5 movies I like: Spirited Away, March of the Penguins, The Jewel Thief, The Jerk and Cabin Boy(because its soooooo awful).

5 famous people I'd like to meet: George W. Bush (with a machete, please), Nelson Mandela, Barack Obama, BB King and Loretta Lynn.

5 biggest joys at the moment: Husband Mateo, the fact that we're moving home to our friends and family in LA, Java- the dog next door, quitting my job on 8/19 and having my old job back at a sweet neurosurgeon's office in LA.

5 favorite toys: Our toy bull that plays 'Malaga' and runs around the house, our lovely computer, Mr. Nikkon Coolpix, our blessed air conditioner and my overheating cell phone.

5 People to tag: Steal it if you want it!

I'll be back in a week or so. Stay cool, and keep drinking!
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Random Fruit Fact: The Thimbleberry

"The taste of the fruit is unique and most people either like or dislike them intensely--there seems to be no middle ground. "

It might be nice to be like the thimbleberry. There's a refreshing clarity about people like that. Learn more about the thimbleberry's 'take it or leave it' attitude, here.

Memo To The Fashion Impaired Public – The Pleated Menace

2005-08-01T19:35:00.000-05:00

I know I'm not the first person to discuss this, nor will I be the last.

I've seen a lot of people in the hot summer weather wearing voluminous pleated shorts and a tucked-in shirt. Please be advised that:

Pleated Shorts + Tucked-In Shirt = Your Ticket To Fashion Abomination City Has Been Punched.

***THIS IS A TEST OF THE TANGENT SYSTEM***
Really, anything pleated or tucked-in is bad news, but let's just leave it at this:

Pleats
Contrary to the lies regarding the vertical slimming effect of pleats, the bastards actually draw attention to areas most of us try to downplay. If you bought into the pleat myth, let me tell you, YOU GOT HOSED. Burn everything now and repeat after me: flat front. You'll thank me later.

Tucking-in
I'm smart enough to know when I'm beat. If you're tucking-in, you probably have a tuck-in history. I can't compete with history. But someday just TRY un-tucking. Note that you don't have a circle of sweat around your tummy when you unbutton your pants. Note that it doesn't matter if you're wearing a belt or not, since no one can see. Feel the breezes breezing under your shirt and revel in your sweet monkey freedom. It's like vacation everyday. You'll convert, I swear.
***THIS HAS BEEN A TEST OF THE TANGENT SYSTEM. HAD THIS BEEN A REAL TANGENT, THE ORIGINAL TOPIC WOULD BE LOST, AND WE'D BE FUCKED, WOULDN'T WE? THANK YOU***

So. Tucked in Pleated Shorts Syndrome (or The Pleated Menace).

Mateo and didn't see much of The Pleated Menace in California, FOR IT IS BLASPHEMY. You're cruising for a bruising with the Shorts Gods if you fuck with their natural order. Maybe some folks enjoy a good smiting, but that's what dominatrixes are for, not tucked-in shorts.

While I realize places with actual seasons aren't as condusive to year round short wearing as CA, and that a limited short wearing season leaves less time to ponder the pitfalls of The Pleated Menace, just for once listen to us Californians. We may not know how to elect a governor, but goddammit, we know how to wear shorts.

The pleated menace is a double threat. It combines two things which emphasize an area most people are trying to minimize. Making women look like they're sporting secret man junk, and men look like a strappy pickle barrel. I love ya'll no matter what, but I want to help. Since I ASSUME most people aren't going for these looks, I've created the 12-step program for to rid folks of The Pleated Menace. Truly changing oneself is hard, but worth the effort in the end.

Step 1: Admit your powerlessness over The Pleated Menace.
Shorts are casual. If you're trying to fancy them up by giving them pleats and tucking-in, you have a problem.

Step 2: Believe a power greater than oneself (the Shorts Gods) can restore sanity.
If you can't see them, make some margarita's and try later.

Step 3: Make a decision to turn life over to the greater power.
(If you do it, you get to go shopping for better shorts when you sober up....Hot.)

Step 4: Make a searching and fearless moral (and wardrobe) inventory.
Find all the items that contribute to The Pleated Menace, and separate them from the rest of your clothing. For they have cooties.

Step 5: Admit to the higher power, to oneself and to other human beings the exact nature of wrongs. Be honest about what's been done, and hide nothing.
No hiding stuff in case you change your mind, you big cheater.

Step 6: Be entirely ready to have The Shorts Gods remove all defects of character.
Call the Goodwill and schedule a pick up at your house. Share margarita's with them.

Step 7: Humbly ask The Shorts Gods to remove shortcomings.
Actually give the stuff to the Goodwill. You can cry, and wave as the truck drives away, but get rid of it! If you don't, it'll call to you in the night and you may be tempted. Temptation sucks.

Step 8: Make a list of all persons harmed and be willing to make amends.
An easy place to start would be all the people you took pictures with while wearing the Pleated Menace.

Step 9: Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.
Offer to take another picture with these folks. Burn all original photos containing The Pleated Menace. Don't set anyone on fire.

Step 10: Continue to take personal inventory and admitted new wrongs.
If you find something after the Goodwill leaves (you sneaky bastard). Get rid of it. Keep drinking.

Step 11: Seek through prayer and meditation to unconsciousnscious/unconcious contact with the Shorts Gods, praying only for knowledge of their will.
After all that drinking, you may black out. But you're just getting closer to your goal, so don't sweat it. If you don't pass out, keep drinking and you will.

Step 12: Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these Steps, try to carry the message to folks trapped by The Pleated Menace and to practice these principles in all affairs.
Preach the gospel to others...please!
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No fruit today, this is too long already. This time the fruit's in the booze. Go forth and margaritafy thyselves. Big fatty margaritas to Michael at 2blowhards.com . Thanks for doubling my web traffic! (All you regulars get double shots).

I Don't Even Watch TV, But This Is Totally Hot

2005-07-31T08:15:00.000-05:00

As anyone seen the new David LaChapelle trailer for Lost?

Uh, Portisehead and running mascara? Yum.

A Special Post For Captain Sarcasm

2005-07-29T10:08:00.000-05:00

Last night my old friend, Captain Sarcasm, flew in for a visit and gave me a hard time for not having anything nice to say about Pittsburgh on my blog. Bucko, I've lived here for two long, looooong years, and this is all I've got:

THINGS I LIKE ABOUT PITTSBURGH

#1 - The Lego Guy in Shadyside. C'mon. He's a pirate! ARRRR!

#2 - The beer grotto in Regent Square. Beer and a grotto? HOT!

#3 - The giant orange fish at Nakama. Since Pennsylvania's a landlocked state, I won't be getting sushi there. T'aint natural.

#4 - The National Aviary, with their fatty, turkey-sized Victoria crowned pigeons. The National Aviary website notes that Victoria crowned pigeons are "by far the largest and perhaps the most magnificent of all pigeons". I wish all pigeons looked like that...they wouldn't get that flying rat rap so often.

#5 - Cecil the Teenage Raccoon. He's the ultimate forager. He's tolerated because, other than looking a sorta stoned, he's really cute. And if you're cute, you get foraging privileges at my house. Yes, this applies to Mateo, too.

#6 - Lots of bridges. The only city in the world with more bridges than Pittsburgh is St. Petersburg, Russia. Unlike St. Petersburg, you can sometimes wear shorts in Pittsburgh. For like a month. Maybe.

#7 - Our neighbor's dog, Java. Holy shit, I love this dog. I get back from work and she's in our neighbor's yard, shaking her furry little ass off. Doesn't she look like she's smiling? She likes rolling in my yard. Can you tell? Goddamn, I need a dog.

#8 - Ahh, the beauty of decay. Everything in Pittsburgh is sorta falling apart. But it usually looks at least interesting while it's doing it. I mean, come on, when has a rotting VW van ever looked so cool?

#9 - The very best thing about Pittsburgh is when really old friends come to visit. That's so cheesy, I'll even use sepia. Muchas smoochas, Captain Sarcasm! Thanks for the visit!

________________________________________
Random Fruit Fact: The Honeyberry

The honeyberry's from Russia, maybe it's been to St. Petersburg...

"The honeyberry is related to the honeysuckle. However, unlike the honeysuckle, this small tree produces edible blue berry-like fruit usually in early summer."

Learn more about the honeyberry, here.

In Which My Extra Boob Reduces Mateo To Some Feral State

2005-07-27T17:40:00.000-05:00

One of the most noticeable inconveniences of the 3rd boob (w/ accompanying incision accessory) is that my stitches have to stay in for a month. A month! Drs. Slice, Dice, and Scar Me For Life frown upon my lifting stuff, doing dishes or vacuuming. (Not that ever do this stuff, being a lazy little slug...squish-squish).

But in the very near future, not lifting things is going to be a problem. Cause I’m moving. How do you move without lifting things? Now let me be clear here in case I’ve mislead anyone, I’m NOT A LITTLE DELICATE FUCKING FLOWER. When shit goes down, I come correct. Once, when Mateo was out of town for a conference, I saw good deal on a couch and moved said couch, by myself. Just stick some stars on my panties and give me a freaky golden lasso, I’m Wonder Plum, bitches.

All unnecessary egotistical outbursts aside, this whole ‘try not to move your arm for the next month’ thing puts a cramp in my style. To ease the move, I decided to get rid of extraneous stuff by posting in Craigslist's 'free' section, and was subsequently deluged with freaks wanting my end tables. I literally got 50 emails in 12 hours. On the Pittsburgh Craigslist. I’m not sure how well acquainted you are with Craigslist's wonder and majesty, but the Pittsburgh list is usually pretty sorry, so the response blew me away. I got rocked so hard that the day I posted, someone ran off with the bedside table next to my sleeping husband (Mateo woke up, found no bedside table, and was understandably confused).

After Mateo woke up, I told him about the throngs clamoring for our non-spotty, non-pet-smell-imbued couch and other furniture items.

Mateo: “Pretty good response, huh? Maybe we should’ve charged for this stuff…”

Me: “Yeah, I didn’t think it could be like this. Someone called and wanted to know if they could pick up our huge ass computer desk tomorrow.”

Mateo: “Um, no way.”

Me: “But I already agreed to…”

Mateo: “ Uh-uh. We’re not moving for another month, and I’m not living like an animal.”

Me (laughing): Is this what they taught you growing up in Orange County? That living without a computer desk is ‘living like an animal’??

Mateo: “Well…yeah.”
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Random Fruit Fact: The Sunchoke

“Wrap sunchokes in a plastic bag, seal, and store in the refrigerator crisper. They will keep for up to two weeks. If you have a cool, dark storage place, such as a dry cellar, they can also be kept there.”

Unlike the sunchoke, the stitches in my chest will keep for a month. I don’t wanna live in the cellar though…Learn more about the sunchoke, here.

Busy Day - OR - Why I Now Have Three Tits

2005-07-25T19:52:00.000-05:00

Things I did today:

-Finished most of my evil training grant at work. I'm hoping if I recycle a copy, it'll wind up as someone's toilet paper in its second life. Does paper have karma?

-Ate a pepperoni bagel for lunch, even though it's bad for me. C'mon! All aboard the Carbs & Spicy Meat Express! Woo-woo!

-Had supersuspiciousmole surgery. My recent biopsy of a left boob mole came back "suspicious", prompting a call from my dermatologists office asking to “scoop the rest of that little guy out". Bullshit. By the time they finished, that 'little guy' was an ugly ass 4 inch incision on my chest, covered by 60 feet of bandage that's GLUED and TAPED into the shape of a third boob. I've been instructed to keep my boob trinity holy for 4 weeks. Boo. No worries though, my vanity hurts more than the boob.* Does Bali make bras for three boobed gauzy tape-mutants?

-Got my new glasses.

They look brown to you, but everything looks sky blue inside. Could have used these in the PA winter...

-Got pizza. Yes. Pepperoni two times in one day. I have three boobs. Any one with a boob triptych totally deserves a ticket to ride the Carbs & Spicy Meat Express. Woo-woo!

*Just how is my vain ass supposed to return to California with a third tit? It's not even a perky one!

Procrastination - OR - Why I Was Almost Distracted By Shiny Stuff On The Way To This Post

2005-07-22T18:47:00.000-05:00

Everyone procrastinates. Some of us are just way, waaaaaaay more talented at it than others. And while I’m not a professional procrastination machine (except when I’m at work, then I’m the Shaquille O’Neal of procrastination), I still like to think I’m pretty talented. For example, in preparing to write a post about procrastination, I had to stave off some ACTUAL procrastination just to get it done. Yep. I keep it real for you guys.

One of procrastination's joys is its ability to insidiously creep into strange areas of your life. For instance, if I see something interesting in a magazine, I'll fold the page so I can get back to it later. Do I ever get back to it? NO. I wind up investigating the folds when I’m ready to move and can’t bring myself to pack 3 boxes of magafuckingzines.

Which is why I’m currently surrounded by a metric assload of random publications, each with tiny folds marking pages containing...something. As an equal opportunity folder, I usually can’t even figure out why I folded the page in the first place. Meaning, I may have folded the page for any of the following reasons:

A.) I liked a cute silver jacket that I’ll be able to wear when I lose 900 pounds or revert to my original embryonic state.

B.) I couldn’t believe that Burberry made flowered bicycle shorts.

C.) I liked a CD review and wanted to hear it on Amazon before I ordered it from the library. (If I don’t check them out, they will suck ass and not sound anything like their description, and embarrass me in front of Mateo, whom I’m still desperately trying to trick into thinking I’m cool).

D.) I wanted to clip some smartypants article and send it to someone. Who? Beats me.

E.) I bought the magazine in the supermarket and decided I’d rather stare wistfully at the Crème de Mer bottle in the privacy of my own home, where I can weep and no one will see my mascara run.

In addition to being such an accomplished procrastination artiste, did I mention I have a bad memory as well? Cause I do. I’ll tell you about it later, I swear.
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Random Fruit Fact: The Silver Maple

If I can’t get a silver jacket, maybe I can get a silver tree…

“Fruits…hang in clusters from Silver Maple in spring. Each fruit is composed of a thick anchoring seed attached to an elongated, wide wing that may be straight or curved. In springs that do not have many frosts, heavy fruit litter may result from some trees.”

Screw that. Nobody likes a tree that litters. Learn more about the silver maple's filthy habits, here.

To Be Or Not To Be? Who The Hell Knows?

2005-07-21T14:47:00.000-05:00

Mateo and I are getting ready for our move back to LA and have 5.3 farfillion things to do. Since we're super on-the-ball, we've pretty much decided on NOTHING. Everything’s floating in the air right now, and it’s freaking me out.

Our landlord may/may not kick us out of our Pittsburgh lease early, meaning we’d either have to squat in our own apartment or leave early (which we’re sooooo not prepared for, because, as I've mentioned, we’ve done NOTHING).

We may/may not attach a tow hitch to the Spuriousmobile (4 cylinders of power, baby) to tow a trailer 2,500 miles to LA. Or we may/may not rent a truck (Mateo’s friend may/may not fly out to help us move).

When we get to LA, Mateo may/may not have a job, and my old boss may/may not rehire me. We may/may not have an apartment, and our friend has decided he may/may not be our roommate.

I may/may not be able to register for classes at the local community college in West LA, depending on what’s still available. And my parents have said I may/may not be able to use my old car when we arrive.

Some of these things are interconnected, but most aren’t. At this point we’re just trying to gather as many balloon strings as possible into one big bunch, and safely float home to LA.

I agreed to go eat Indian food tonight with a bunch of people, where I may/may not get stinko. However, given my current mood, I’ve decided WILL get stinko.

Just for the purposes of clarity.
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Random Fruit Fact: The High Bush Cranberry

High-bush cranberry, also known as moosewood viburnum is a shrub with numerous straggling to suberect branches from 0.5-2 meters high.

The high bush cranberry is straggling, and so am I. That’s it. Damn. I’m just no good at cranberries…earn more about the high bush cranberry, here.

Adventures Of Mrs. Spurious Honky & Mr. Kamikaze Crunchybug

2005-07-21T13:10:00.000-05:00

So I was putting on my PJ’s the other night, and I saw this bug. Like a junebug but bigger. A WWF junebug. The kind of bug you KNOW is going to make a messy, gross sounding crunch when you give it a good whack. You know, a Crunchybug.

After seeing him, I knew my PJ’s had to wait while I hunted Crunchybug (for all you corn-pervs, I still had undies and a t-shirt). I began stalking my prey with a flip flop immediately, knowing if I stopped looking for him, he’d somehow stuff himself up my nose at 3AM and cause me to gag and snort like a wild boar. My husband didn’t agree to ‘love and cherish’ a wild boar, so I thumped around with my flip flop, waiting for the telltale crunch. Crunchybug zoomed around the room, banging into the ceiling, but staying just out of reach.

Mateo, curious about all this hammering around, came in and found me and my reeeeeeeeeeeally-white legs hopping around in a t-shirt and undies, pursuing my crunchy intruder. I’m neon white, so I looked like an ass. He laughed a little and asked, “Um, what’re you doing?”

“There’s this big crunchy bug….”

“You going to squash it?”

I looked at him blankly, “Uh. YES.”

And as I turned my gaze away, Crunchybug vanished. Shit. We looked all over the room, behind pictures, on the ceiling, he was gone. This was no good. My nose doesn’t like visitors and now my prey was hiding.

And then Crunchybug dive bombed me.

SLAM into my leg.

SLAMSLAM into my knee.

BUZZSLAMBUZZBUZZSLAMSLAM into my foot.

Crunchybugs are usually buzzy and skittery, and anyone who says they enjoy touching bugs is a big liar. People like that should have a Crunchybug stuffed in their nostril, and then tell me if they still like bugs. Which is why when Crunchybug hit me, I freaked the hell out and ran around the room like a mental patient.

“AHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I’m too white!!! It thinks I’m a light!!! I’m too white!!! I’m too white!!!”

Mateo almost peed his pants laughing.

Fine, Mr. Husband. Next time I’ll just snort the bug, and you can embrace my neon-white, inner wild boar-dom at 3AM. Cause that’s sexy, mister.
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Random Fruit Fact: The Low Bush Cranberry

“not true cranberries, but members of the honey suckle family. They are widespread in Canada, and prefer moist, well- drained soils and are shade tolerant. They flower in late May to early June, and the fruit ripens in mid to late August. The fruit is bright red, rich in vitamin C and is sour and tastes like a cranberry. The bark, boiled in a tea, was used as a muscle relaxant. The plants can be propagated from cuttings.”

These flower in June, which is my tenuous tie to junebugs. It’s a stretch, but…eh. Learn more about the Low Bush Cranberry, here.

Sweet Corn In Da House

2005-07-18T20:22:00.000-05:00

Our super-nice friend, High Bibliographer Priestess, brought us a bunch of sweet Ohio corn. Hooray! Thank you HBP! She also brought an awesome present for Mateo's St. John James Day (for which we are also thankful), but this is about corn. Dammit.

So we started taking pictures of the corn, since you it's not every day you see sweet Ohio corn. Yes. The family Spurious needs very little encouragement to pic up the camera.
Behold!

Then we started taking pictures with the corn:

And I started getting into it:

And the next thing you know, I'm using them as nunchucks.

And making bad puns. Uni-CORN. HA!

No, none of the pictures were dirty. But thanks for asking.

And thanks again, High Bibliographer Priestess! For presents and corn!

Jungle Boogie!

2005-07-16T17:01:00.000-05:00

Or backyard looks like the goddamn Amazon rain forest. I’m not fucking around. Check it out:

Remember when it looked like this? CAUSE IT'S EXACTLY THE SAME SHOT.

It's like someone did a napalm-drop of MiracleGro over my house, and everything just exploded.

It's eating our back porch.

And guess what? All this frighteningly verdant stuff comes with wildlife. LOTS OF WILDLIFE. I’m fine with deer and groundhogs and raccoons and possums and squirrels. Mammals are great. I am one.

But bugs…ho, ho. No thanks.

I used to be the Spurious Family Bug Enforcer. Mateo’s not afraid of buggies, but he doesn't care, which is worse. He'll just let things scurry around and set up shop. I can't abide scurrying or shop-set-upping inside MY house, so I became The Bug Enforcer.

In Cali, I had the three-strikes rule, wherein any bug recieved three chances to go outside. I’d scoop them onto paper or into a cup, and carry them outside, spouting off "live-and-let-live" platitudes. Obviously, I wasn’t too hardcore about the platitude part, since after three strikes everything got squashed.

Then we moved to Pittsburgh and I found the centipede in my tub. Careful. This is ACTUAL SIZE (at least that's the size it seemed to me...)

Image courtesy of the Univ. of Nebraska Dept. of Entymology. Like the note on the picture SAYS.

Holy shit. What do you even do with that. Do you hit it with a shoe? One of Ronald McfuckingDonald's shoes? What's with all those legs? Does anything need that many legs? Jesus.

Anyway, I squished him. And holysweetmothermary he was purple inside. PURPLE!

Since the 'Centipede Incident' I'm a cold blooded killer. Completely ruthless. I have to be. I'm suddenly terrified of bugs, and given the the bounteous foliage outside our back porch, our home now harbors 50 times the normal insect head count.

Getting out of my bug filled abode in a month and a half. And counting like a mutha.
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Random Fruit Fact: The Zucchini

At least the centipede wasn't this big.

Yeesh.

Off To Get Hammered On A Work Night

2005-07-14T17:30:00.000-05:00

A co-worker is leaving, and we're off to the bar.

My boss will be paying for all bar expenses we incur.

Will I get wasted in front of my boss?

Damn skippy.

Egg Foo Blechhhh - OR - Thoughts On The Totally Janky Chinese Food Restaurant By My Job

2005-07-13T21:20:00.000-05:00

In case I haven’t made this clear in the past, I work at a giant hospital complex. The complex employs some 10,000 workers, most of whom swarm the local area at lunchtime, devouring any number of fanciful things from the myriad restaurants which sprout to cater to our ravenous needs. Immediately next to my workplace is a Chinese food restaurant, and though it’s closer than any of the other restaurants, NOBODY evereverever eats there.

They run specials and have a liquor license (a happy anomaly in Pennsylvania). They have a huge, cheap buffet and awesomely cheesy decorations. There’s always a place to sit, and the wait staff is nice. But not a single, sane soul ever crosses the evil threshold. This lack of customer support is due to one (or in my case, ALL) of the following:

1.) The restaurant has no windows. None.

Just one door that looks like a portal to a moldy dimension.

You feel like you’re eating in a really red, noodley mausoleum. If they had a few waitresses that looked like the Cryptkeeper, they'd edge into creepy and almost be cool, but as things stand it's just claustrophobic.

2.) Their food is amazingly bad. Though I'm pretty sure someone's going out of their way to make food this awful, I have no hard evidence to back it up.

3.) The outside of the building smells. There's no way I can adequately describe this buildings sheer, unmitigated funk. I could try a metaphor, but I honestly can't think of anything that indicates sufficient foulness. I have NEVER smelled anything like this building. It’s heinous. It’s monstrous, odious, horrendous and any other word which implies horrible funkiness that ends in ‘ous’.

How do restaurants like this stay in business? Do they own the property? I can’t imagine that enough first-time suckers drift through the doors to pay the rent. Is it appropriate for me to ask a buisiness owner to WASH his bulding (with soap, please), so that I can enjoy my lunch elsewhere? Is there a health department for the outside of buidings?

Right now, if I want to walk anyplace else to eat, I have to walk past the restaurant, effectively killing my desire for lunch, and my will to live.

Which sucks.
____________________________________
Random Fruit Fact: The Saturn Peach

"Developed from a variety of peach native to China but which did not have the hardiness to grow in New Jersey, doughnut peaches are flat, freestone peaches (which means the fruit does not cling to the pit)..."

I wish the building funk didn't cling... Learn more about the saturn peach, here.

Shhh.

2005-07-12T21:38:00.000-05:00

Today is Mateo's Birthday.

SHHHH! Don't say anything. Just wish him happy a Sts. John Jones Day or something. Anything other than birthday wishes. Shhh.

Happy birthday, my love. Shh.

A Story I Need To Get Out Of The Way - OR - Why I'm A Picky Eater

2005-07-11T15:59:00.000-05:00

OK. Everyone who’s heard the 'mayonnaise story', just stop reading. Thank you, come again!

For the rest of you, I hate mayonnaise. No, really. I’m almost allergic, because if I even think I’ve ingested any of that foul sputum, I gag and break out in hives. HIVES, PEOPLE!

There’s even a subsection of food I can’t eat because it LOOKS LIKE/SOMEHOW REMINDS me of mayonnaise. Behold! The I-Can’t-Eat-You-Because-You’re-Vaguely-Mayonnaise-y Food Group:

Cottage cheese
Sour cream
All creamy salad dressings (i.e. ranch, french, etc)
“Special sauces” on burgers
Cream cheese
Marshmallow fluff
Yogurt - Don’t even get me started on yogurt
Guacamole - My aunt put mayonnaise in hers, making all other guacamole suspect.
Chip dips (sour cream and onion, etc)
Hollandaise sauce
Alfredo sauce
Ricotta and other white gooey cheeses
Anything “aoli”- It’s a sneaky Italian word for mayonnaise

Most of these things (except yogurt and cottage cheese) are unhealthy anyway, so avoiding them is beneficial. And yes, I’m aware that mayonnaise is just an innocuous mixture of eggs, oil and flour, none of which I’m allergic to. But combined together, they somehow form an unholy, gooey union which causes me to claw at my own face and spontaneously burst into flames. I’m feeling nauseous just writing about mayonnaise, that’s how much I hate it.

Why? Why all the condiment-related fuss? I have my reasons.

Long ago, when I was just a tiny plum (about 7-8 years old), I went on my 1st sleepover. My best friend Little Pear was taking a trip to her Grandma’s house, and I was asked to tag along. Having never slept over at a non-family member’s house, I was beside myself when Mama Spurious said yes!

I was in the process of packing My Little Ponies for the trip (because I was a complete nerd), when Mama Spurious laid down the rules, “You be good, and listen to Little Pear’s parents. Don’t cause any trouble at Grandma Pear’s house. Promise?”

“Promise.” I was willing to promise ANYTHING to go on this trip.

“And promise there’ll be no picky eating either. You eat whatever they give to you, OK?”

“Promise!”

And off I went. To my culinary doom!

Grandma Pear lived far away, and we were halfway to there when we stopped for lunch. Little Pear’s parents had packed a picnic and were laying everything out on a sunny blanket. It was summer, and it was HOT, but I didn’t complain because I’d promised not to. I was feeling very pleased with myself for being so good, and playing ponies with Little Pear, when her parents opened the trunk and pulled out a plastic bag. They reached inside this hot-from-the-trunk bag and gave me a really warm sandwich.

A really warm peanut butter and mayonnaise sandwich.

And I ate it. Oh, yes. I had to. I’d promised Mama Spurious that I’d be good.

An hour later at a rest stop, I threw up all over the place. I was sick in Little Pear’s car, sick at Grandma Pear’s house, it was gross. Little Pear got sick too, and I was somehow convinced (in the way children can be) that her illness was my fault as well. Thinking Little Pear wouldn’t invite me anywhere again, I cried inconsolably for the rest of the trip, self-absorbedly certain that I had ruined everything.

But it wasn’t me. It was the MAYONNAISE! Hot mayonnaise is bad!

I told Mama Spurious (who was annoyed that the mayonnaise slathered sandwiches weren’t in a cooler), and she decided that since Little Pear got sick too, it was probably food poisoning. Mayonnaise or anything that even looked like mayonnaise, never willingly passed my lips again.

But this story doesn’t end badly. Mayonnaise isn’t particularly healthy, so cutting it knocks off a few extra calories (even though I usually make them up elsewhere). And over time, things have gotten better. Tasty things that were previously inconceivable - like tofu, white frosting, whipped cream, and pudding, seem pretty tasty to me. I can even watch other people eat mayonnaise-y things in my presence, something that used to have me frantically scanning the room for a potted plant to barf into. But all this took me 20 YEARS.

I suppose there are worse things to hate. Fluffy bunnies, rainbows. But I don’t have to double check my sandwiches for those, dammit.
______________________________________________________________
Random Fruit Fact: The Asian Pear

My childhood best friend was neither asian, nor a pear. Sorry.

“HOW TO USE IN THE KITCHEN: Fresh eating, excellent for drying and pickling and in salads.”

But not with mayonnaise. Oh, God. I just grossed myself out. Learn more about the asian pear, here. Urp.

Sending Wishes For Peace To London

2005-07-07T08:35:00.000-05:00

Our thoughts and prayers are with her people.

Media Whorey-ness By Proxy.

2005-07-06T16:00:00.000-05:00

I love the Los Angeles Times. My father has called it ‘that leftist rag’ (actually the LA Weekly -which I also love, cause I'm a damn, dirty hippy) for as long as I can remember. And while the LA Times does have a liberal bias, well, it’s fucking Los Angeles. The Los Angeles that's in California. We’re in a blue state, dammit! Besides, it’s not like the paper arrives on your porch covered with henna tattoos and scented with patchouli oil every morning. This isn’t San Francisco, for chrissakes.

In addition to reporting on all the bad times, heartache and serious stuff happening in the world, they have articles on the subjects I don’t see in other places. Examples:

Why pot is bad for your puppy dog.

The engaging details of Lil’ Kim’s jail sentence.

The financial success of a movie filled with penguins. (Which I actually really want to see...)

An entire article about ceviche.

How to climb Mount Whitney and not die.

How to use acupuncture to get pregnant.

And, of course, articles on fruit. Speaking of which:
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Random Fruit Fact: The Mulberry

"Mulberries grow in clusters, but each berry in a cluster ripens at a different time. Every tree is harvested three or four times, with care taken at each pass not to disturb the berries that have yet to ripen."

Here we go round the mulberry bush….. Learn more about the mulberry (hot damn some of that stuff looks tasty), here.

Throw Me A Gucci Life Preserver, Dammit!

2005-07-05T16:37:00.000-05:00

Ever have those mornings where you try on the entire contents of your closet and nothing feels right? The mornings where you try outfits you've worn hundreds of times before, but this time make you feel like a hairy fashion yeti? The mornings where you know with absolute surety that if you don’t find something acceptable, you'll feel self-conscious all day?

Today was that day. Fashion Crisis Day.

Fuck.

After 15 minutes of softly cursing both the contents of my closet and my epic ass, I chose a black t-shirt, jeans and some converse. You know. What I’ll wear every day of my life if someone doesn’t forcibly block the front door of my house and bitch slap me with their D&G bag.

But then I remembered that dress code for choads officially goes into effect at work today. So I took off the black tee/jeans/converse combo and put on black pants, a blue v-neck shirt and pointy black shoes. It looked totally fine, but it made me feel like a huge dork who's unaware her own dorkiness. Dorky like my 6th grade self pegging my jeans on purpose. Fuck.

Recognizing the early symptoms of a Clothing Crisis, I informed Mateo. He's seen this madness before and got comfy, because he knows how long this will take. This will take EXACTLY AS LONG AS IT TAKES.

The following insanity ensued:

Outfit Contender #1: Pink v-neck top/tan pants/brown super-high heels.
Disqualifying Flaw: Shirt only looks right with hair down, and I’ve already sprayed it UP. It's not coming unstuck, dammit.

Outfit Contender #2: Purple shell/black sweater/black pants/painful shoes.
Disqualifying Flaw: Makes me look like some sort of gothic Barney.

Outfit Contender #3: Sky-blue sweater/black skirt/sassy black heels.
Disqualifying Flaw: Skirt requires shaving (not happening this morning) or nylons (not happening ANY morning).

Outfit Contender #4: Button-up coral shirt/black pants-AGAIN.
Disqualifying Flaw: Shirt looks stupid with pants, and The Man would want me to tuck it in. I ain't tucking in for NOBODY fool!

Mr. Clothing Crisis has visited me many times in my short, shallow life, which is why I shouldn’t have been surprised by what I did next.

I said 'fuck the man' and wore the black tee/jeans/converse combo anyway.

Yeah. No one saw that coming. Cause I fly by the seat of my self-absorbed pants that way.

Jesus.
_______________________________________
Random Fruit Fact: The Loquat

"It was introduced into Japan and became naturalized there in very early times. It has been cultivated in Japan for over 1,000 years."

Some of the clothes in my closet seem like they've been there for 1,000 years… Learn more about the loquat, here.

2005-07-04T22:15:00.000-05:00

Happy 4th of July!

I hope you're seeing lots of fireworks.

I hope you have a day off from work.

I hope you've got some booze and something tasty to eat.

I hope that we get our soldiers back home, where they belong.

I hope you're having fun being happy or crabby at our country, and that you appreciate our freedom to do whichever we choose.

I hope if you go see the fireworks that you don't wear a big stupid 'Cat in the Hat' style hat. The kind that blocks everyone's view and forces us to hate you. Like this one:

P.S. These hats are never appropriate at any time. Throw them out or give them to a local "Hatless Cats" center. The 4th of July is NOT a fucking rave.

Let's be thankful we've got a country that will let us eat, drink and dissent! Happy Independence Day!

State of the Spurious Address + Surprise! Chicago Is Better Than Pittsburgh

2005-06-30T21:10:00.000-05:00

First off, a heads up.

I've been cheating and posting lots of pictures, but this shit isn't a photo blog. Here's why I've been such a lame-ass:

A.) Lots of traveling. In the past month or so, Mateo and I have been to LA , DC, and Chicago. This has impinged upon time I'd generally use skulking around on your blogs and (gasp!) actually posting to my OWN blog. My upcoming schedule shouldn't be as crazy. I hope not. God, I hope not.

B.) Work has been a sandy little butthole. Two huge crappy projects have seriously cut into my regular work schedule (wherein I work for an hour, and loaf for another seven). Commenting, responding to your comments and generally being a nice bloggy person hasn't happened like it should. I'm a BITCH. This should stop as of tomorrow. This better stop as of tomorrow, or I'll start snapping people's bras at work.

C.) Our impending move. Sorry folks, this'll only get worse in coming months. Mateo and I are outta here on September 1st, at the very latest. WOOHOO! Now if I only didn't have to organize the move...

Rest assured, I love you all desperately and wish we could all mack-out without Mateo getting all jealous and wanting to tape it.

That said, onto the bloggy writey thingy.
********************************************************
So. Chicago!

Wow, was it hot. Hottest day in 10 years hot. Hot enough to set burps alight as they exit your mouth. Hot enough to turn pigeons into roasted squab, which was subsequently sold at 'Taste of Chicago' for exorbitant sums of money (I have no cojones, so I passed). Hot enough that Mateo and I decided to walk for FIVE MILES next to the lake because we were morons. Lots of sweat and whining was involved on my part. Lots of patience and achey feet in dress shoes were involved on the part of Mateo. Good times.

Though I wish Mateo had been able to get away from the conference more, we still had an awesome time. We went to the Art Institute and pulled a Ferris Beuller on the Seurat . I went to Wicker Park and Bucktown (that what that 'buck,buck,buck' business was all about) . I visited the Shedd Aquarium and shat my wannabe-marine-biologist pants. There were beluga whales, and sea otters, and a sea lion, and pacific white sided dolphins, and penguins, and...can I live there? I'll be good. I swear.

Oh, and the food! We saw our old friend Miss Maria and had some tasty chilequiles. We ate Columbian roasted chicken and Costa Rican plantains. The streets were filled with Mexican food, and I had a conversation in SPANISH with a street vendor. My Spanish sucked, but SPANISH. Hot damn, that felt good.

We got drunk with librarians (who are without fail the best drunks ever), went to awesome indy record stores, and rode the janky subway. It was completely unlike Pittsburgh, yet I felt more at home in Chicago than I ever have in the 'Burgh. Sigh.

Hopefully we can move back to LA and get our big city livin' started back up soon (not that NYC doesn't have its charms, Torrie) .
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Random Fruit Fact: The Almond

Is it a fruit? I'm not sure if it's even a fruit...

"After the petals drop and the trees have leafed out, the first signs of fuzzy gray-green "fruit" appear as the result of successful pollination. The fruit's hull continues to harden and mature, and in July, begins to split open."

I'll be. I guess it is. Learn more about the almonds nutty fruitiness, here.

There Are Many Nice Things About Chicago (buck,buck,buck!)

2005-06-29T18:49:00.000-05:00

SHINY TOURISTY THINGS

THINGS THAT MAKE MATEO DO A JESUS CHRIST POSE

BEAUTIFUL OLD THINGS

PRETTY UNDERWATER THINGS

SCARY UNDERWATER THINGS

ARCHITECTURALLY IMPORTANT THINGS

GET DRUNK THINGS

VISITING AN AWESOME OLD FRIEND THINGS

COOL, SPOUTY THINGS

UNKNOWN THINGS OF CONSIDERABLE RADNESS

HAPPY THINGS

MORE HAPPY THINGS

PATTERNED THINGS

THINGS THAT BLOOM

THINGS THAT HIDE MY CONSIDERABLE ASS

EXHAUSTING THINGS

Boy. I'm tired.

Chicago... zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...........

2005-06-28T08:42:00.000-05:00

Went to Chicago.
Pictures and info coming soon.
Got home very late, and had to go to crap-ass work very early.
Totally wiped out.
Pray for me.

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz................

Dental Retribution

2005-06-22T15:58:00.000-05:00

Remember when I posted the 100 things? You know, a few days ago? Remember how #100 on my list was “I can't shake the feeling that flossing is for suckers”? Well, the Floss Gods heard me talking trash, and gave me a fatty cosmic bitch slap for my trouble.

On Monday, immediately after I posted my list of 100 things, I heard a sound.

“Hey.” It was coming from the back of my mouth.

“God? Is that you?” The last time I spoke with Mr. Back Of My Mouth was after my wisdom teeth were extracted (it wasn’t a fulfilling conversation, just a lot of cussing and screaming. He was PISSED), so I was a little rusty.

“Hey.” Mr. BOMM tried again.

“Hey what? Did I scratch your tender gumminess on something? You know, sometimes ‘hey’ just doesn’t cut it, Buster. You’ll have to be a little more specific.”

“Um, hey.”

“Screw you, buddy.”

After successfully ignoring my own mouth, I went about my business until yesterday afternoon. Mr. BOMM decided to take his slimy campaign for my attention to the next level.

“Hey!!!!! ”

“What?!?! What do you want? Did I eat popcorn? Noooooooooo, I never eat popcorn, because if I do, your pink ass drives me nuts hiding corn hulls in my molars for weeks. If you’re annoyed, just tell me what the problem is. TELL ME!”

“Hey!!!!!”

“Ohgoddammit, fuck off.”

The real trouble started last night, as I was brushing my teeth. As I brushed in the general area of Mr. BOMM’s bottom left side, he made his true intentions known.

“HEY BITCH! CUT THAT SHIT OUT! OWOWOWOWOWOWOW!!!” Mr. Bomm was officially pissed.

“Finally, asshole. Now just stop screaming…”

“HEY! STOP BRUSHING ME OR I SWEAR, I’LL BLEED ALL OVER THIS CRAPPY BRUSH OF YOURS! OWOWOWOWOWOWOW!!!”

“Fine, just calm down and…”

“DID I STUTTER?!?!?!? DIDN’T YOUR MAMA TEACH YOU HOW TO LISTEN????? I SAID CUT THAT SHIT OUT! OWOWOWOWOW!!!”

“OK! OK! We’ll call the drop-in dental clinic first thing tomorrow, OK?”

“Hey.”

“Can it, smartass. Here’s some Advil. Now shut up.”

I’ll skip the part where Mr. BOMM used his plaque-y wiles to wake me at 4AM and ensure my continued wakefulness until the dental clinic opened. And I’ll spare you the, “It’s-not-popcorn-I-swear-I-didn’t-eat-any-what-do-you-mean-it’s-an-abcess" story. All you need to know is that if I had been a flossing queen, Mr. BOMM and I may never have been reacquainted. And I would've liked that just fine.

Just remember, if you decide to publicly mock the Floss Gods, EXPECT some sort of squishy retribution.
______________________________
Random Fruit Fact: The Raveena Eggplant

“Don't wait for this Eggplant to turn purple -- it stays green all season, with very tender skin and a delicious mild flavor. Harvest it as small as 3 inches for ultra-tender fruit”

I’m still not sure if eggplants are fruits or veggies. But at least they’re tender, and tender is sounding pretty good to Mr. BOMM and I, right now…Learn more about the raveena eggplant, here.

Memo to the Fashion Impaired Public - Rectangle Butt Jeans

2005-06-21T18:47:00.000-05:00

Unhappily, I've succumbed to a "fashion don’t"(meaning today's fashion cattiness is directed towards myself). But before you start throwing pointy rocks and screaming “HYPOCRITE!”, please be aware that I didn’t have a choice.

First, a little history: I wear jeans almost every day. Mateo routinely makes fun of me at the laundromat because 90% of our laundry is denim, and belongs to me. It’s worth getting teased, because having 7 pairs of jeans means I only have to do laundry once a week, which I lovelovelove. So when my favorite pair started getting holey, I knew had to fill the gap in my rotation, or face extra laundry. Given the choice, I bet you'd pick shopping too.

At the outset of my jean quest I started noticing a heinous trend. All the jeans were low rise. ALL. Well, all the ones I’d wear in public (since tapered legs, double pleats and bra-level waistlines don't do it for me). While I was disappointed in the overwhelmingly low-waisted selection, I figured if I searched long enough, I'd find jeans that wouldn't expose my pubes everytime I sneezed.

400 stores later and with my denim ethics in tatters, I purchased the ultimate sin…low rise jeans. The ones with 1 centimeter of zipper and that show off your undies. The ones that squeeze your butt into the shape of a rectangle. Oh, the shame.

**RECTANGLE BUTT TANGENT**
"Rectangle butt" is a term Mateo and I use to describe the strange shape a woman's ass takes in low-rise jeans (yes, we DO wile away the days staring at asses together). Low rise jeans were specifically created to make women with NO ass look like they have SOME ass. Butts get squeezed into an odd rectangular shape, and any extra chub gets pushed above the ‘waist’ of the jeans as overflow, creating an illusion of a butt . The downside is that if, like me, you’re already in possession of a big ass, these jeans are a booty magnifying glass.

Since Pittsburgh’s veritable cornucopia of greasy food ensures that there’s plenty of big ass to go around (again, myself included), the rectangle butt watching opportunities here are OUTSTANDING.
**END OF RECTANGLE BUTT TANGENT**

I’m not alone in my low-waisted pergatory, because every chick under 40 in Pittsburgh is wearingthem too (boy, do I wish I had pictures). Pittsburgh generally leaves you with two fashion choices, both of which suck:

- The path of big hair, stretch pants and control-top hose. Or all three.
- The path which leads directly into the more whore-y side of Christina Aguilera’s closet.

Where are the normal jeans? Sure, these are cute, but that ‘my ass is hanging out’ feeling won’t go away. If I stand still and don’t breathe, I’m golden. But if I move or (god forbid) sit down, there’s a sudden, illicit breeziness in places that are VERY MUCH UNUSED TO BEING BREEZED.

Suggestions? My only caveat is that I must try them on. I’m not an internet jean queen…
____________________________________
Random Fruit Fact: The Tamarillo

I love to read stuff like this:

“Nucleotide sequence of the tamarillo mosaic virus coat protein gene”

Get it? Tamarillo ‘genes’? Ah, nothing beats a pun…except some jeans that fucking fit. Read more about Tamarillo genetics (it’s boring, don’t go), here.

100 Things You Don't Have To Read

2005-06-20T19:14:00.000-05:00

1. I have a big butt.

2. I'm know most people think they have a ‘big butt’ too. Mine’s bigger.

3. Banana Republic salespeople mocked my butt, and I‘ll never shop there again.

4. My love for my husband is like a fiery thing in my chest.

5. I can't cook.

6. I’m not sure if I want to own a house, and feel weird for not wanting to.

7. When I’m nervous, I get chatty.

8. Upon exiting a nervousness-inducing situation, I berate myself for my chattiness.

9. I almost have perfect pitch. Almost. So does Papa Spurious. We've determined that most electrical appliances hum in E flat.

10. I was originally left handed, but my kindergarten teacher took it upon herself to ‘fix me’.

11. Because I loved my kindergarten teacher, I learned to write with my right hand, just to make her happy.

12. As a result of switching hands, my writing looks like donkey shit.

13. At anything other than writing, I’m ambidextrous.

14. I drink more diet coke than I should.

15. I hid my engagement to Mateo from my parents for 9 months.

16. When I told them about my engagement, they somehow already knew, and I felt like a total ass.

17. I have to sleep with a fan/AC on, or I feel like I’m suffocating. Even when it’s really cold.

18. I’ve never tried an illegal drug. Reality's hard enough.

19. I believe I've a right to wear flip-flops whenever and wherever I please.

20. I have a crappy memory. If I don't write stuff down, I forget it when I see something shiny.

21. I’m ridiculously close to my family. Nuclear, extended and adopted.

22. There were no other children in my neighborhood growing up. So until I went to school, my parents were my best friends. In some ways they still are.

23. My parents 'unofficially retired' this year and it's made me uncomfortably aware of their increasing age.

24. I’m terrified they’ll die and I’ll be an orphan.

25. I’m not good at calling people.

26. I pray after Mateo is asleep.

27. I’m fickle. I’ll be totally obsessed with something for 4 days, and then completely forget about it.

28. Because of the fickle-ness, shoe shopping is a dangerous game for me to play.

29. I know 600 ways to insult you in Spanish.

30. I like my eyebrows.

31. All my grandparents are gone, and when I think about them it makes me cry.

32. When I get really mad, I clam up.

33. I’m lucky to have a husband who will pry stuff out of me when I clam up.

34. I’m bad about hanging up my clothes. I drape them over our bedroom chair.

35. Without mascara, I look like I have 6 eyelashes. Total.

36. I’m a total crack whore for reading YOUR blogs and reading YOUR comments.

37. I hate the way coffee tastes, but I love the way it smells.

38. I wasn't afraid of bugs until we moved to Pennsylvania and I found a centipede in the tub.

39. When I’m in California, my father and I try to go out to breakfast every weekend.

40. I’m a ‘Daddy’s girl’.

41. When I laugh really, really hard, I tear up.

42. I’m a friendly drunk. I’ll talk to ANYONE.

43. I sing a mean version of ‘Kiss’ by Prince.

44. I also do a mean duet with Mateo of AC/DC’s ‘Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap’.

45. I wore a backstage pass bracelet from my favorite band’s concert for 2 years.

46. It wasn't gross. I washed it every day in the shower. With soap.

47. When best friend asked me to cut it off for her wedding, I laughed and told her to go to hell.

48. If I get mad, Mateo just laughs at me, and it makes me laugh, too.

49. I think parmesan cheese smells like puke.

50. I love it when my friend Mike’s mom calls me ‘mija’.

51. I love amaretto sours, Hoegaarden, and kamikaze shots.

52. At 29, I’ve just discovered the ‘right’ way to put my hair in a ponytail.

53. I hate wearing make-up.

54. I hate how I look in pictures without makeup.

55. When I was 4, I stuffed a seashell up my nose and had to go to the hospital.

56. I have no idea what I was thinking when I stuffed a seashell up my nose.

57. I love Mexican food, real Mexican food.

58. I don’t follow the Los Angeles Dodgers, or even know who’s currently on the team, but I consider myself a fan.

59. My first memory is holding Papa Spurious’ big index finger with my little hand, as we walked back from the park.

60. My second memory is stepping in dog poo.

61. I’ve never broken any bones.

62. I shattered a front tooth by shooting myself in the face with one of those ponytail holders with marbles. I was watching 'Herbie The Love Bug'.

63. I'm mushy sometimes, and it embarrasses me.

64. Before I came to Pittsburgh, I was the singer in a band called A Rough Trick Named Jim.

65. I feel incredibly stupid and egotistical saying this, but I can sing pretty well.

66. I want to start a new band when I get back to LA.

67. I’m afraid that because I’m almost 30, I’m be too old to be in a new band.

68. Paradoxically, if anyone almost 30 approached me and was afraid to start a new band, I’d tell them to quit being stupid and get started.

69. I’m immature and laughing, because this is number SIXTY-NINE.

70. I like getting tipsy with my husband.

71. I don’t usually get hangovers.

72. I need 8 hours of sleep, or at 4PM the next day I turn into a cranky bitch.

73. I’m kind of handy. I can install things, fix the VCR, and sand sticky doors.

74. When I drink tea, I like it with milk and shitloads of honey.

75. Though I work in a doctor’s office, I hate visiting a doctor for my own health.

76. When my pupils are dilated, they stay that way for 48 hours.

77. I worked in a art gallery when I got out of college, even though it meant I had to eat ramen.

78. I introduced my two best friends to each other, and they got married.

79. Church hymns make me cry. Especially ‘In the Sweet By and By’.

80. I’m apparently pretty damn weepy.

81. I call my Mom 2-3 times a week.

82. If you tell me I HAVE to do something, I'll resist. Based on principle. Yep, even if you're right.

83. My mother’s undergraduate studies were in botany, and as a result, I know the names for lots of plants.

84. I hatehatehate Reese Witherspoon, and I have no idea why.

85. I also hate that flutterflutter noise that vertical blinds make.

86. I like 2 dollar words. Like obstreperous and impecunious.

87. I have enough hair for 6 people growing out of my head.

88. Every morning, all that hair winds up on our bathroom floor, but somehow I’m not bald.

89. I believe in God, but not in church. My family got screwed by religious institutions, and I don’t trust them yet.

90. People meet me and say that I don’t “seem” like I’m from LA.

91. I’m not sure if this is an insult or a compliment.

92. I’ve only had 2 serious boyfriends. I liked them both, but married the perfect one for me.

93. I can almost juggle.

94. I’ll trust and love anyone until they give me a good reason not to.

95. Once you’ve given me a good reason not to trust you, we’re done for good.

96. I don’t suffer fools gladly.

97. I don’t get really angry often (3 times in the past 10 years maybe). But when I do, I’m capable of anything. ANYTHING.

98. When I was small, Mama Spurious tricked me into wearing my seatbelt by screaming "seatbelt race!" whenever we got into the car. We'd rush to put them on, and congratulate each other, since most of the time she called it a draw. I still think of that every single time I put on a seatbelt.

99. I love all types of music. Everything. Yes, even rap and country. Except Linkin Park and Good Charlotte. I fucking hate those guys.

100. I can't shake the feeling that flossing is for suckers. Don't be mad. I don't mean you.

Where Are You From

2005-06-17T14:03:00.000-05:00

Thank you Susie, for finding this.

I am from tiny, stork-shaped sewing scissors, from Diet Coke and Goldfish crackers.

I am from Grandma’s kitchen, warm, yellow with sunshine, and filled with special cinnamon sugar toast smells "made special with love" just for me.

I am from the hydrangeas in a bed of rusty nails, and the African violets my Mama kept happily steamed in our shower, next to the shampoo.

I am from driving to Oak Glen/Snowline for fresh pressed cider every autumn and big Dutch feet. From cousin Fish and from my grandpas: Marc Jack and William Theodore. Grandpa’s who loved me and my family with such strength and joy that my throat catches just typing their names.

I am from an impenetrable labyrinth of inside jokes and cast-off animal hoarding.

From “Up the wild wazoo” and “I’ve got a bone to pick with you”.

I am from loving God and hating church. From a family whose ‘church’ took their entire material lives away with a smile, and asked for more, more, more.

I'm from Long Beach, CA, and a muddled Dutch genetic makeup, from homemade ‘Green Death’ and ‘Nectar of the Gods’.

From the night Papa Spurious took us to a Dodger game when we were dateless for the junior high school dance. Uncomplainingly hanging out with seven 13 year-old girls as we sang songs, danced in the aisles and ate a metric ton of stadium food (which he paid for). When I asked him about it years later he said it was totally worth it just to see our seven smiles. From great-uncle Fred and great-aunt Myrtle’s Burger King commercial escapades. From the thousand painful surgeries my sweetest un-complaining cousin has had to endure.

I am from 6 feet of classical music records in the den and from a garage filled with family detritus, ancient photos and cat hair covered furniture that, if damaged, would completely shatter my mother’s heart.

SPD: Draw It Your DAMN Self - or - Fried Like a Georgia Chicken

2005-06-16T21:25:00.000-05:00

Did I mention that I got horribly, disfiguringly, vanity-scarringly sunburned in Washington, DC? I'm ususally relatively vigilant about sunscreen since I burst into flames when hit with direct sunlight, and I haven't had a 'cook eggs on my skin' sunburn for years and years. But this time, I forgot.

And somewhere around the 3:00 on Sunday, as Mateo and I walked through the gardens next to Congress, my dearest love turned to me and said the words any pasty-faced honkey bitch fears:

"Wow, honey. Looks like you got some color."

Fuck. In a flash I foresaw what will now be next month of my life. Filled with the requisite cooked-crustacean redness, itchiness and peeling that accompany's any of my jaunts in the sun which exceed 15 nanoseconds.

What I didn't know, was that my purse (my ass even carrying a purse was weird, but that's a separate post) had pulled my stupid v-neck shirt off-center. Meaning I now have a crimson, v-shaped, asymmetrical bib of future skin cancer stretched across my chest.

Nose, forehead and cheeks got a red too, but not AS red. Red enough for idiots to say, 'WOW, did you get burnt?' No, idiot. I've always looked like someone threw a wet Ferrari on my chest. So here's my self drawn SPD entry:

The red parts are the cooked ones.

P.S. And look. I'm thinking about fruit, just for you folks.
________________________________________________
Random Fruit Fact: The Red Naval Orange

"attractive due to its near crimson flesh..."

See? Crimson flesh = attractive. Sure. Oh, my aching ego... Learn more about the ned naval orange, here.

IT Dude Story - Part Deux

2005-06-15T15:55:00.000-05:00

So I need a cable internet connection in the conference room at work. There’s a little socket already installed that’s pretty and numbered for my convenience, just not active. When I call IT Dude to activate the completely free internet service (I prefer calling him, because IT Dude is scary and wants to smooch all the women in my office), he tells me I have to fill out a 566 page form and offer my first born on an altar made of donkey eyes. And he tells me my department must PAY for the privilege of doing so.

Well, none of that shit’s happening.

This seems complely ridiculous (and I'm coming down off my diet coke caffeine high, so I'm a little peevish), so I ask if I can turn it on, you know, MYSELF.

“Ma’am, here’s how to turn on your service.” He sounds like he thinks I’m an idiot.

“You mean, how to turn on the FREE service.” I interrupt.

“Uh, yeah. You’ll have to fill out an RFS form (the aforementioned 566 page monstrosity) and give us your department account number…”

“But everything’s already installed in the wall, and the service is freeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.”

“We need a technician to open the electrical closet on your floor and turn it on, Ma’am.”

I fucking hate it when people call me "Ma’am". Really. Would you call a 5 year old girl “Ma’am”? Because that’s what I sound like on the phone. Actually I sound like a helium-huffing squirrel when I talk on the phone, but let’s not split hairs.

“You want me to PAY you to flip a switch? You want me to PAY for your FINGER?” I continued, feeling all indignant.

“Ma’am…” He sounded exasperated.

“I have a finger! In fact, I have 8! Plus opposable thumbs! I’m an evolutionary marvel!”

“Ma’am the expense shouldn’t be too excessive, if you’d just fill out…”

“No. I’m not going to spend 6 weeks filling out your big-ass request form for you to flip a blasted switch. Switch flipping is not the sole domain of IT Dudes! People have been flipping switches since at least 1950. It’s my right as an American citizen to flip that switch!”

“Uh, Ma’am…”

“Stop calling me "Ma’am"! Do you think I’m INCAPABLE of flipping the switch? Is that it? I’m just a girl called “Ma’am” who can’t flip switches all alone, and you want to help my poor, switch-flipping-impaired ass? Do you think we’re gonna cuddle afterwards? Because buddy, that’s not what I’m about!”

“Ma’am, do you want the service or not?”

“Um, yeah.”

“Cause it’s going to cost, like, $2.00.”

“Oh. Do I still have to fill out the form?”

“Just check one box on the last page.”

“And that’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“OK. Thanks! Sorry, I'm a little jumpy today.”

“Reeeeally?”

“Shut up, IT Dude.”
___________________________________________________
Random Fruit Fact: The Jujube Fruit

I’m fully serious, there’s a real jujube fruit.

“A magic fruit for emotion controlling and more.”

Guess what I’m picking up on the way home. Learn more about the jujube’s calming nature, here.

Memo To The Fashion Impaired Public - Old Running Dudes

2005-06-14T13:45:00.000-05:00

If you insist on running shirtless in the middle of my lunch hour, with super-short running shorts, a fanny pack and your 55 year-old sweaty belly flapping in the 90 degree humidity, I will feel completely justified in making snide comments to my husband about your hysterical display of copious ass-crack hair.

Thank you.

D-Cizzle

2005-06-13T22:13:00.000-05:00

Hooray! We had fun in DC. Thanks for your suggestions. We did a ton of stuff, and I'm not sure how to describe it all. In that spirit, I've decided to rip off Overheard in New York and go collage on your ass:

@ Toulouse Lautrec Exhibition in the National Gallery
Fake Chi-Chi Art Hag: “Make sure you see the prostitutes, they’re darling.”

@ Native American Museum
Touristy Lady: "I thought we’d find turquoise jewelry that was affordable, but it’s not. It’s not. "

@ The Entrance to the Vietnam War Memorial
4 Year Old Child: “Please Daddy, no more walk!”
Middle American Male, Style #106: “Well, do you have enough money for a cab?”

Over The Phone
Papa Spurious: “You should go to Colonial Williamsburg. It’s educational. Educational's good, right?”

@ Adams Morgan
20 People in Pirate Hats Throwing Water Ballons: “One, two, three!!!! All Right!”

@ The Arlington IHOP
Blue Haired Lady Armpit Hair: “Every day I open up that door, and it smells like a damn dungeon...”

@ DC Capitol Pride Festival
Vendor: “Cum towels! C’mon, guys... Everyone needs a cum towel.”

@ Arlington Chipotle
Cashier to Spurious: “Ma’am. Ma'am. There’s something on your butt. ON YOUR BUTT.”

@ The Smithsonian Castle
Security Guard: “People think I wear a bulletproof vest everyday, but I don’t. That’s just not me.”

@ The Hirshhorn Gallery
Cleaning Lady: “It’s so hot! I think it may even be hotter than yesterday!”
Spurious: “Nothing could be hotter than yesterday.”
Cleaning Lady: “ Ha! You may be right! Can your take your feet off my couch?”

@ DC Dyke Parade in Dupont Circle.
Teenage Drunk Girl: “I don’t care. It’s hot, and there’s lesbians everyplace. Just what the hell am I supposed to think?”

@ The Metro After We Threw Out Our Tickets
Large Woman Conductor W/ Chest Hair: “What are you two doing?”
Mateo and Plum: “We’re from out of town...”
Large Woman Conductor W/ Chest Hair: “Well, I can see that.”

Missed you guys!
P.S. I'm going to Chicago in 2 weeks...any more suggestions?
________________________________
Random Fruit Fact: The Ornamental Crabapple

I was a total crabapple this weekend, but Mateo focused on the ornamental part...

"the most beautiful, adaptable, and versatile group of ornamental trees known to horticulture."

Thank you, International Ornamental Crabapple Society for that truly unbiased viewpoint. Learn more about the ornamental crabapple's legion of doom, here.

Stuff Portrait Friday - More+Less=Just Right

2005-06-10T17:26:00.000-05:00

Want more: Horchata

Specifically, horchata from a 'Bang' machine. I looked and looked, but couldn't find a picture of one, and I want a glass of that crap so badly I'm gonna cry. Holy shitless Jesus it's good. This is a picture of me drinking a cool glass with Papa Spurious on my last visit home.

Want less: Clouds

It rains all the damn time in Pittsburgh. When it's not rainy, it's snowy/sleety/icy/generally cloudy. An unadulterated sunny day, even in the summertime, is a rarity. Yellow teeth suck too, but thats my own damn fault for not buying some of those scary bleachy things. The 16 gallons of Diet Coke that cross my lips every hour probably don't help much either.

Want to stay just as it is: Carniceria Nueva Vallarta

I love you man.... don't ever change.

**********************************************************

As an aside, Mateo and I are going to Washington, DC for the weekend to watch a limited release of Howls Moving Castle .

Yeah. We ARE total nerds.

DC suggestions anyone?
_______________________________________________________
Random Fruit Fact: The Cornelian Cherry

"In late summer or early fall, the large red fruits are an enticing sight. They are also delicious, reminiscent of tart cherries."

I was going to connect cherries to George Washington, and George Washington to Washington, DC, but FUCK it's hot today and I can't be bothered. So just read all about the cornelian cherry, here. I'm off to drink something with an ice cube in it.

Self Portrait Day - Where You Blog At? + Thug Huggin'

2005-06-09T19:05:00.000-05:00

Some of you are having a hard time. I wishwishwish I had a magic wand that would make it better! Ya'll need a hug.

If you're interested in the blogspace part, behold! The Mateo and Spurious Computer ExtravaDanza* ! Witness our tencencies towards messy desks, snakey cords and weird ass pictures!

But the hugs are the most important part.

*All extravaganza's in Casa de Spurious are now referred to as 'extravadanzas' , bcause of Tony Danza's dirty, talk-show-having ass. Sorry.
______________________________________
Random Fruit Fact: The Sorbus

"The fruit of the Sorbus is only edible after being "bletted", in other words, after falling to ground and fermenting.The flesh then has a custard-like consistency and people describe it alternately as tasting like both vanilla and chocolate pudding."

Learn more about the sorbus, here. Or you could just take the hug. It's easier (and unfermented).

Weird Peony Story

2005-06-08T20:01:00.000-05:00

As an explaination to Susie and Airea, I'd like to tell the crazy peony story.

My first winter in Pittsburgh was marked by wicked homesickness. It was getting cold and I missed my family. Mateo and I were totally broke, but I took our last 40 dollars to an old, rambly nursery to buy a peony. Peony's don’t grow in CA and Mama Spurious adores them. I figured it could remind me of my family, and warmer times to come.

Unfortunately, I had this revelation at the very end of fall, when things get monochromatically brown in Pennsylvania. So as I entered the nursery, I was disappointed to find that almost everything had died back. Everything was Hershey bar brown. Brown like the 'Rockford Files'. Like Better Homes and Gardens for Morticia Adams.

I wanted to ask questions (I wanted a peony but I didn't even know what one looked like) , but no one seemed to be around. I bent to scratch couple of ankle-rubbing kittens when I heard a noise behind me, and turned to find a tiny, tiny person. An elderly woman, bent almost double by arthritis and covered in what looked like 12 coats, stared at me with evident crabbiness.

“What you want?” A thick eastern european accent got in the way of her question.

“Uh, I was just looking around and, uh…” When I'm nervous I get real articulate.

“You look for plant?”

“Yes, my mom really likes peonies, and, uh...”

“Peony.” she said, nodding her head, and stalked off.

I stood there confused.

“You come!” she shouted over her shoulder without turning around.

I followed her up the path, kitties swirling around my ankles, and she eventually stopped in front of a series of pots containing dead sticks and crumbly leaves. Their stalks were bent and weathered.

“Peonies.” She said, simply.

“These?” I pointed at the potted twigs.

She looked at me like I was a moron.

“Are they supposed to look...um. They look…dead.”

“Winter!” She was annoyed. “They grow in spring.”

“I’ve never grown a…how I do to make it grow?”

“You put in ground. You leave alone.”

“OK. Is there any thing else I need to know? I don’t have to use fertilizer? Or dig to a certain…”

“WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU?!?!?!” She completely freaked out on me. “YOUR MAMA NO TEACH YOU HOW TO LISTEN? YOU PUT IN GROUND. YOU LEAVE ALONE.”

“Ok.” I said in the smallest voice possible.

Her face pushed up into a smile. She walked away, and I grabbed the first pot I saw. I didn’t see the color of the peony, whether it was double or single, alive or dead. She had freaked me into buying a brown plant. I bought my dead peony for $9. I put in ground, and left alone.

And it blooms!

Dork In An Elevator

2005-06-07T15:34:00.000-05:00

It’s funny. Sometimes you have those non-blog-writin’ days. You wrack your brains for something interesting or anecdotal to post, and you come up dry. Then, if you’re like me, after about 10 minutes of blog-guilt, something shiny comes along and distracts you, and you forget all about it.

When Mateo called me for lunch today, I had passed the blog-guilt stage. All I had on my mind was a good dose of lunch-with-husband and a couple of bagels for my tummy.

As I entered the elevator, I checked my cell phone, and moved to push the button. Funny. The first floor button was already lit. Great. I can indulge my truly lazy, I-can’t-even-be-bothered-to-push-an-elevator-button tendencies!

My back was achy, so as the elevator descended, I did my signature spine stretchy/un-kinking move. The one where I flop my arms around, shrug my shoulders, twist my hips in circles and shake my butt all at once.

You know, the one that makes me look like a first prize winner at a psychiatric ward’s interpretive dance contest.

As the elevator slowed to a stop, one of my shoulder shrugs jiggled my head to the right, and something caught my eye.

An unknown man from my building with a truly huge smile on his face was in the back of the elevator trying sooooo hard not to laugh at me. He had seen the entire spine stretchy/un-kinky dance! I had looked at my phone when I entered the elevator and totally missed him! He was the one that pushed the button so my lazy ass didn’t have to!

“Um…” he said, searching for something that wouldn't make him bust out cackling.

“Oh, wow,” I said blankly. “I’m an ass.”

And then we both just cracked up. Blog post prayers officially answered.
___________________________________________________
Random Fruit Fact: The Aronia

“Aronia juice has been increasingly used in the food industry to supply a natural red color in products with poor color stability.”

Maybe it’s like the natural red color I was displaying in the elevator today after being completely embarrassed.... Lordy. Learn more about the Aronia, here.

Happy Day!

2005-06-06T19:09:00.000-05:00

The peony is blooming!

The sun has come out!

And happy news! Mateo’s got a letter back from an interviewer saying he did great at his interview and is a promising candidate for hire.

Mateo's #1! Mateo's #1!

Mateo, you're a total pimp. Congratulations, Baby!

Marco! Lame-Ass Polo!

2005-06-05T21:18:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, Mateo and I embarked on a shopping excursion to the Monroeville Mall, in search of work-worthy polo shirts. Since my husband and I are both violently iron-o-phobic, and wearing an NWA t-shirt that says ‘Fuck The Police’ isn’t generally within the dress code limits of most libraries, so Mateo rocks a polo most of the time. Unfortunately, polo shirt shopping is a huge ordeal this year, because Mateo doesn’t fit into any of this years prevailing fashion categories:

OLD GOLFING DUDE POLO’S
Typical shirts in this category are either vaguely transparent (gotta show off wrinkly old man nips), or have scary, wavy, ‘artistic’ patterns on them. Mateo is neither golfing, nor expecting his shirt to be a catalyst for self expression. So this category’s out.

KANYE WEST/B-BOY POLO’S
Wherein a ‘medium’ shirt hangs somewhere around Mateo’s ankles. Meant to be worn with HUGE pants, which safely enable the wearer to parachute out of light aircraft. These shirts need to be so long for purposes of modesty, as giant pants are quite heavy and subsequently expose the ENTIRETY of one’s underwear. Mateo doesn’t ‘do’ really baggy pants, so scratch this one off too.

CLUBBY-CLUBBY METROSEXUAL/RYAN SEACREST POLO’S
With “Modern Fit”!!!!! "Modern Fit" seems to mean "two sizes too small", i.e. hugging every inch of one's manly physique. Not really ‘professional’, per se… These typically come with ruffled fronts, or ruching, or patterns of something stupid - like bagels and cream cheese. Unless you’re Ryan Seacrest, or for some horrific reason want to be LIKE Ryan Seacrest, these shirts aren’t for you. I like these shirts because they allow me to see the outline of Mateo’s sassy self. But Mateo thinks wearing an oddly-patterned Xlarge when you’re really a medium is prettyWACK-ASS, so these are out too.

FRAT BOY ON HIS WAY TO SPRING BREAK IN LAMEASS-VILLE POLO’S
Colors span the complete spectrum of rainbow sherbert/easter egg colors, including an odd preponderance of PINK. Pink has historically shown itself to be a poor color choice for men's clothing, but currently seems to be quite popular. Remember back in the 80s when the pink/Miami Vice shit happened the first time? Dudes who wore pink polo’s accessorized with loafers sans socks, and were all somehow named CHAD. It was a bad scene, and everyone burned the photographic evidence and tried to pretend it never happened. But somehow this year it's OK again. Mateo thinks not. 20 years of pink shirt mocking trumps 1 year of cool-Kanye-West-ing, thank you.

Which leaves us in a quandary. Mateo wants to look professional, but not old, too trendy, pink, or huge. Dear God! Where do we shop?!?!?!?
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Random Fruit Fact: The Goumi

“Pleasantly acid when ripe, they are usually made into pies, preserves etc. Quite fiddly and difficult to pick without breaking the young shoots.”

Nobody likes a fiddly young goumi…Learn more about this fiddly fruit, here.

P.S. Goumi flowers are total hermaphrodites. Scandalous!

Insane In The Membrane - Part II

2005-06-03T18:56:00.000-05:00

Like an ass, I’m reading several books at the same time. Not at the EXACT same time, Mateo wouldn’t have married me if I had 8 pairs of eyes, but regardless, there's books all over my house. In the bedroom, in the living room, in the dining room…etc.

In addition to the books, Mateo and I have a ridiculous number of magazine subscriptions, which means silly-girl magazines, news-y publications, and science periodicals tossed all over our fire-trap of a living room.

Funny thing is, not so long ago, I couldn’t bring myself to even read the paper. Somewhere in my 2nd year of college (GO BRUINS!!!!), the ‘reading-is-vital’ section of my brain shouted “Fuck you, Pendeja!”, and bailed. There wasn't time to read what I wanted during school (again, fucking Farie Queen’s fault), and when I finally had time after I graduated, My Brain balked at his former duties.

“You’ve been reading everything in sight since you were 4 years old," whined My Brain. "I’m fucking tired now, so kiss my ass. I'm out.” Oh, shit. He was serious.

“What the fuck?” I spluttered, “You’re cutting me off? What am I supposed to do? There’s words everywhere. How am I going to read restaurant menus? What about the billboards on LA’s mean streets? How can I determine the nutritional information on the outside of the pickle jar if you won’t help me?”

“Tough titties. I’m checking out for awhile. Why don’t you go get drunk or something?”

And get drunk I did. While I'm pretty sure I wasn’t an true alcoholic (I never hid booze, lied about drinking or drank by myself...hey, maybe I’m a GROUP alcoholic), I was drunk alot until I got married. I still like being drunk, but about 3 years ago My Brain showed up on the doorstep again...

“Baby, I’m so sorry,” tears rolled down my Brain’s arachnoid membrane, “You’ve gotta take me back…”

“I ain’t got to do a DAMN thing, Brain! There’s nothing but grenadine and cocktail straws in the space you once occupied.” I was pissed so I pulled out the big guns, “And your friend Liver is DEAD. DEAD I TELL YOU!”

“It doesn’t matter,” cried my Brain. “Please baby, we’ve gotta work this out. There’s a scary president in charge of the US, there’s a war on, and you’re gonna be 30...”

“Asshole.”

“I just think it’s time you settle down and actually pay attention to the world around you.”

“Fine, but if you leave again, I’m donating your ass to science.”

And thus, My Brain and I were re-united and we've been reading the backs of pickle jars with relative ease ever since.
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Random Pickle Fact: The Pickle

You know you love pickles. Don't try to front.

"Cucumber pickle factories usually ferment cucumbers in large outdoor vats of salt brine. Surprisingly, these vats have no cover, and are wide open to falling bird droppings, insects, and other airborne objects."

OK. Maybe I need to scale the pickle love back a little bit. Learn lots more about pickles, here.

IT Duuuuude, You Scare Me Like The Real Thiiing, And Since You Are The Real Thing, You Scare Me Mooooooore...

2005-06-02T19:31:00.000-05:00

We have the shittiest computers in the civilized world at my job. Hell, 3rd-world countries have computers better then I do. We're sporting the technological equivalent of a cardboard box and a stick. Apparently when the hospital says they're "committed to data protection and patient privacy”, they mean serving up Grade ‘A’ techno bullshit to their workers.

To match our crummy computers, we have a crummy IT guy. He’s bad at his job, he’s self-righteous about EVERY thing, and he has several disturbing nervous tics. He’s also just nasty. You know, one of those dudes who don’t bathe or wash any clothes until his funk flows behind him in a nauseating wake. The kind of fella that’s balding but still grows his greasy, dandruff-encrusted hair halfway down his back.

All this, and he’s a chatty little fucker, too.

Usually if I don’t make any noise or sudden movements, he’ll leave me alone. A useful skill, considering that today I was informed about our janky IT Dudes plans for total chick domination by a co-worker. Apparently, our talentless computer hack has decided to chat up ALL the women in my building (married/divorced/single- anything without a scrotum, really) in the hopes that one day he'll get some boo-tay and marry one of us.

After I finished my requisite bout of dry-heaves, I started wondering about the nature of our digital-slimeball. Maybe he just doesn't know that he's gross. Perhaps he's just a disgusting ship floating in a sea of ignorance. A sea of stinky ignorance. So for educational purposes (and to distract myself from the horrifying thought of my delicate ass being in his clutches), I’ve made a helpful list for nasty IT Dudes.

For all you IT boys looking for boo-tay at work, here’s some ideas to improve your chances with the ladeeez.

The Basics:

Hair
If you’re balding and have long hair, CUT THAT FUCKING SHIT OFF! Overcompensation in one follicular area does NOT make up for your losses in another. If you don’t know which style suits you, just shave it ALL off. And then, for the love of Christ, maintain it. Nobody wants to see little tufts of hair twirled into mini-palm trees sticking out all over your head.

Bathing
Bathe, dammit. Use soap. Use it thoroughly in all your cracks and crevices. USE IT EVERY DAY.

Clothing
Wash your clothing. I’m not going to harp on stylistic points. Just make sure it’s clean, smells good and doesn’t have holes or stains. Also, you’re not Neo from The Matrix, so ease up off the giant trench.

Facial Hair
My own personal jury’s still out on facial hair, but if you decide to partake, MAINTAIN that shit! You wanna have a goatee, have a goatee, and cut that shit DAILY. Don’t let it get Rumplestiltskin scraggly for a month, and expect me to swoon.

Extras
Trim things that need to be trimmed. Nails, nose/ear/eyebrow hair, etc. If you’ve got chest/back hair spilling out of the top of your shirt, you may want to consider dealing with that a little. Pits and pubes are your own business. You want junk that looks like you stapled a tumbleweed to your ballsack? Fine with me, just don’t make me look at it, I’ll go blind. Important: Don’t trim ANYTHING at work.

Extra Credit:

-No stalking.
-I mean it, no stalking. That shit’s only cool in John Hughes movies when it’s reciprocated.
-No discussion of your 3000 tape anal porn collection.
-No pets in your pockets (reptiles, rodents, imaginary friends etc.)

Anything I missed?
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Random Fruit Fact: Don’t Feel Like It Today. Sorry. All that talk about crusty dandruff bugged me out.

As for Self Portrait Day's transportation theme, I've got this:

That's right, bitches. I've got your snack right freakin' here.

The Waaaaaaaiting Is The Hardest Part

2005-06-01T10:32:00.000-05:00

I hate waiting. Someone once told me the average amount of time spent waiting in the a human life, and though I don’t remember the exact figure, I remember being APPALLED.

Mateo and I are currently on Librarian Job Watch 2005. Though I’m completely confident Mateo can get a library job in California, it would be nice to know where that job will be. Unfortunately, since he’s applying for reference librarian jobs in the public sector, most of his potential job offers must come from various city governments.

City government = Bureaucracy. And because the crappy bureaucratic powers-that-be take a long time to get of their asses and do ANY DAMN THING, Mateo and I have to twiddle our thumbs. And wait.

We’ve got 15 reeeeeallly slow irons in the application fire, all of which come with their own plodding peculiarities:

-2 weeks for interview testing results.
-15 days to get approval for more interviews.
-1 month until the end of a hiring freeze.
-10 days to mail us an official application AFTER we send them a SASE.

Grab a map of the US and check out California. It’s that big thing next to Mexico on the west coast. No, not Texas. Further to your left. Wow, it’s kinda LARGE, no? The Spurious household can’t search for a place to live, sign up for nursing school or make moving arrangements until someone recognizes Mateo’s superior reference skills and gives him the job he so rightly deserves.

Hence the waiting. And I hate waiting.
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Random Fruit Fact: The Quince

“Quince has golden skin and looks like a combination of apple and pear. When ripe, it smells like perfume. But the flavor is tart, and it is always cooked before eating. Quince is very popular in jams and jellies. If you want to try one, you may have to wait. They are only available from October through December.”

Dammit, I even have to wait to try a quince?!?!? I HATE WAITING. Learn more about the quince’s pokey ass, here.

Calling On Your Considerable Vocational Expertise

2005-05-31T14:44:00.000-05:00

Now that Mateo's done with his masters degree, it's time for Spurious to go back to school. Hooray! An excuse to pick up a Hello Kitty pencilbox with 600 springloaded-compartments! Um, sorry.

I’m thinking of becoming an RN (a registered nurse), but I'm not sure how to begin. Where does one start? I’m pretty sure you can’t just march into a hospital and scream, "LET ME MINISTER TO YOUR AFFLICTIONS!!!", you have to go to school…but where?

I’ve been working in hospitals, at least in an administrative capacity, since the earth’s crust was cooling and dinosaurs roamed the earth. How the hell I wound up working in the magical world of medicine with a BA in English Lit is puzzling in itself. One day I was minding my business, disinterestedly discussing The Farie Queen (I fucking hated The Farie Queen), and the next day I was reviewing neurosurgery instructions with a patient and writing a grant. WTF?

The patients have always been the best part (and the most frustrating part) of all these jobs. Being with them while they travel down the road of their illness, regardless of the outcome, has always the most satisfying part to me. I loved being able to make things better for them if I could. It always rankled me that I couldn't be there with the patient directly, but by becoming a nurse, I finally can.

Cause I sure as hell ain't going to medical school for the next 9 years.

So do any of you know how nurses become nurses? Or do they spring forth from the forehead of Zeus, like I’ve always imagined? Email me at

Spuriousplum at gmail dot com

or comment below and help a sister out. Cause I can’t wait to minister me some afflictions.
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Random Fruit Fact: The Persimmon

"The ripe fruits are two to three inches in diameter, nearly always seedless, and pasty."

So if you like pastiness (hey, it takes all kinds), get your persimmon on. Learn more about the persimmon, here.

2005-05-30T11:41:00.000-05:00

Let us remember those who have fallen, and those who are falling still.

* Image courtesy of the Eyes Wide Open Exhibit

Wage Peace.

All Up In My Biz-naaaaasssss

2005-05-29T20:54:00.000-05:00

It seems my uterus is in high demand these days. Whenever I see friend or family, strangers on the street or freaks at the circus, I'm asked the same question:

"So, are you and Mateo thinking about kids?"

It seems like an innocuous enough question the first, oh, TEN MILLION TIMES you hear it. After that, a little irritation sets in.

Don't get me wrong. I love me some babies. I'd even like to have one or two someday. But with Mateo fresh out of school, and me possibly going BACK to school for the next 5 years, we thought we could wait awhile.

People discuss my ovaries in the same tone of voice that they discuss the weather. "Sunny with partial clouding? And babies? Hot damn!" They act as if it's their socially obligatory RIGHT to know whether I plan on reproducing. When I mention the waiting until I'm done with school, I'm clucked at.

"You're going to be thirty, you need to think about your health!"
"Don't you want your parents to know their grandchildren?"
"It's never going to get any easier, you should just start now!"
"Everything OKAAAAY? There's specialists for that sort of thing, you know."
"You're ripe! Mate already!!!"

When did it become OK to inquire about someone's reproductive health? Hell, in most places you can't even nurse a baby in public, but folks can discuss my potential for conception, fertilization and the state of my reproductive organs with the greatest of social ease.

Since on many occasions the texplanationaination doesn't work (and apparently neither does saying "None of your DAMN business"), Mateo and I have the second line of defense:

Say that we believe in planned abortion.
Run screaming from the room.
Ambiguously mention Mateo's 'industrial accident' and start to cry.

When I mention that this makes me uncomfortable, I get:

"You're making a big deal out of nothing!"
"These folks just want the best for you."
"People just need something to talk about."

So just a heads up for the blog-universe: I'm fine. Reproductive system is fine. When Mateo and I create another person, we'll be sure to tell you all.

Smooches.
____________________________________
Random Fruit Fact: The Tayberry

"Fruit of the tayberry are borne on short, strong laterals on prickly canes 6 to 7 feet long."

Go ahead. Ask me when I'm having a baby, and watch me hit you with my 6-foot, prickly tayberry cane. Learn more about the vicious tayberry, here.

Belated Stuff Friday

2005-05-29T19:44:00.000-05:00

We left out camera cord in Cali, so these pics will have to do in a pinch

Religion = Good
This is Fred the Tree.

He's my own personal version of church. Until I can find a regular church I like enough to attend every week, Fred's providing serious inspiration. Great views, nice pine-y smell, the thrill of sort of hanging off a cliff. Fred definitely helps me see outside myself and appreciate the world. Which is kind of what religion is supposed to do. Right?

Inside of Fridge = Bad
This is our first batch of carne asada and salsa in Pittsburgh, and I apparently turned into a complete manic freak. Lucky Mateo was there to document my fat-armed version of Vanna White...

Punching Mapquest in the Nizzies

2005-05-27T08:38:00.000-05:00

I swear to God, if Mapquest was a person I’d punch him in the fucking nuts.

When Mateo decided to stay in LA for his interview, his subsequent flight changes were going to cost us $400.00. Boo. Luckily, we found a one-way flight from LA to Washington-Dulles for $100.00. Yay. We figured we’d still save some money if he flew into Dulles (3 1/2 hours away from Pittsburgh), and I’d pick him up. I’d never been to Washington DC before, so like a fool, I consulted Mr. Mapquest before my journey.

Which is how I wound up in the back hills of Ol’ Virginny, swearing to GOD that I could hear the banjos from Deliverance.

This isn’t the first time Mr. Mapquest has led me down the primrose path. As you type in your requests, a sensor determines whether you WANT or NEED to get someplace. If you NEED to be someplace, Mapquest takes extra care to get you as far away from that place as possible.

On this occasion, I NEEDed to get Mateo. This was NECESSARY. He can’t live at the airport for more than a few days, no matter what Tom Hanks did in that Terminal movie (did anyone actually watch that?).

I won’t bore you with the details of why Mapquest was wrong and deserves to have its kneecaps shot off, suffice it to say, everything eventually worked out (I called Papa Spurious for new directions from Clusterfuckberg to the airport), and Mateo was safely retrieved.

As I grumbled to Mateo about Mapquest’s shoddy treatment, he suggested, “We should totally get a Mapquest shirt made, and have someone wear it while you kick their ass.”

Ah, husband. I’ve missed you so.
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Random Fruit Fact: The Snozzberry

For Echrai, who believes that lilly pillies should taste like these.

Willy Wonka: “…The snozzberries taste like snozberries…”
Veruca Salt: “Snozzberries??? Who ever heard of a snozzberry???”

Get a snozzberry shirt, here.

My Anniversary

2005-05-25T15:11:00.000-05:00

Today’s my anniversary. I can’t post pictures of my lovely man (he’s bashful), but I can write about him. Three years ago today, Mateo and I got married in front of everyone we’ve ever loved.

It sounds silly, but it really was the happiest day of my life. I got to marry the perfect man for me, and have a wonderful party with all my family and friends. Embarrassing speeches were given by uncles, lots of tasty food was served, and happy toasts were made.

Mateo can’t be with me today, as he’s interviewing in California, trying to make a better life for the two of us and to allow us to be home with our friends and family once again.

Mateo, your Mom always tells me how blessed we were to find one another, and my Mama always tells me we’re lucky.

I think it’s both. Lucky and blessed. Happy anniversary, mí amor. I still love you.

Amanda

Hungover Grover

2005-05-24T12:12:00.000-05:00

Back in Pittsburgh. Hooray...(see, that's sarcasm). Nothing caught on fire or exploded in my suitcase, so I consider the trip a success. Thanks for all the helpful packing tips, I plan on preaching the Ziploc gospel from the mountaintops!

The wedding Mateo and I attended in LA was awesomeawesomeawesome. Saw tons of people and the bride could not have been more beautiful. CONGRATS CATHY, WE'RE SO HAPPY AND PROUD OF YOU!

Mateo will be back on Thursday with the camera (he stayed behind for another interview), so I'll post some pictures then. It's probably good that the camera's out of town, since I feel, and probably look, like holy hell. That's right. I've got a travel hangover.

The perils of jetlag are well documented, but has anyone out there ever had a travel hangover? Not the kind that happens when you drink 15 mini bottles of Jim Beam on the plane and try to kiss the 65 year old stewardess, that's a regular hangover. The kind where you're just completely wiped out after a big trip?

When Mateo and I visit LA, our asses get chewed up and spit out. We usually wake up for breakfast with my parents at 6:30AM, since Mama & Papa Spurious are retired and subsequently wake up at the crack of a chicken's ass. During the course of the day, we visit friends, family and attend social events-like weddings. In the evening, we go out and act like morons with our friends until around 3AM. And then we get up at 6:30AM to begin the cycle anew.

Do that for 5-6 days and your body gets PISSED.

By the time the plane touched down last night, I felt like I'd been worked over by experts. Experts with headache bats and tummy-twisting vice grips.

I'm looking forward to some leek soup, and a nice night of sleep. But I miss Mateo...
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Random Fruit Fact: The Lilly Pilly

Yes. There really IS a fruit called the lilly pilly. Say it out loud, it's totally fun. Well, I may just think it's fun because of the travel hangover...

"The lilly pilly is about the size of a small marble, but fruit size does vary from one species to another. Although lilly pilly fruit is edible, it is not very tasty. However, it is delicious made into a chutney"

I kind of feel ripped off. Any fruit with a name that silly should taste like raspberry candy or something similarly goofy.

Learn more about the lilly pilly, and get a good recipe for lilly pilly jelly, here.

Ready, Get Set...PACK!

2005-05-18T21:38:00.000-05:00

Sorry for the non-blogging, I'm a total bastard. If you like excuses, Mateo and I are scurrying around getting ready for a trip to LA tomorrow, and we're trying to settle up the house and get everything packed.

I'm not an organized person, so I freak when packing for any journey lasting longer than the 8 hours I spend at work. Knowing what's absolutely necessary is not my strong suit, and as a result, I wind up taking the entire contents of our house. Just in case.

My latest packing strategy involves elaborate lists which contain every blessed item in the suitcase, so I can dramatically cross off each one as I pack. Sure, it sounds organized, any strategy with a list sounds organized, but I guarantee I'll be taking all sorts of useless items. Meaning I’ll wind up in LA with a hedgehog, a package of water balloons, 19 pairs of flip flops, and no pants.

On this trip my packing freakery level is up a notch, since Mateo's got two (!!!) interviews for librarian positions back in LA. We'd really like to get the HELL out of Pittsburgh in an expiditious fashion, so we're trying doubly hard to remember all his job stuff. Stuff like hand-typed applications and copies of diplomas/transcripts that prove he's an actual, factual librarian*. Stuff like ties and jackets and fancy shiny shoes. Hand lotion is not permitted to explode on these items.

We're also attending a wedding this trip (Congrats, C-Dawg!), which means fancy outfits and cute high heels. It means presents, greeting cards and driving directions. It means my sassy dress in a plastic bag so it doesn’t get trashed when my eye shadow breaks and covers the contents of our suitcase with a fine lavender dust.

After packing these items, we’ve got to get down on our damn knees to pray to the pagan shampoo volcano gods that my Bumble and Bumble doesn’t erupt all over Mateo’s freshly bond-paper printed resumes.

I think I’m freaking out.

*How the hell did they hire librarians before there were master's degrees? "We'll need a list of your favorite books, a copy of your birth certificate and a stool sample, thanks!".
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Random Fruit Fact: The Thimbleberry

“Thimbleberry derives its name from the shape of its fruit. The species name parviflorus means “small-flowered,” a curious choice for this shrub, whose flowers are among the largest in the genus. The fruits are important seasonal food for numerous birds and mammals, including bears, and are a welcome, if not inspired, trailside snack.”

Hmm. Thimbles… Maybe I should take a sewing kit too…or an entire seamstress. Do they let you take people in your carry-on? Learn more about the thimbleberry, here.

It's A Dead Man's Potty, Who Could Ask For More?

2005-05-14T20:56:00.000-05:00

I'm a regular reader of Dad Gone Mad (you should totally be one too). In one of his recent posts he discussed the ever-so-delicate topic of evacuating ones bowels in a 7-11 bathroom. A tribulation I've (fortunately) never had to go through.

Unlike lots of other poor folks, the Spurious digestive system purrs like a kitten. People in the Family Spurious are all business about that kinda stuff. Because of this, I never really understood jokes about people reading on the can until college, when I had roommates who took FORTY-FIVE minutes to lay it down. All kinds of hitherto unthought of questions suddenly sprung up. Like how can you get comfy enough to read with your pants around your knees? And if you're only going to be in there 45 seconds, why even BRING a book?

Being thus blessed, I've only encountered two bathroom issues,

A.) The inability of the female populace to urinate without floating above the seat and flooding it.
and

B.) My amazing propensity for getting locked in men's rooms when I reeeeeeally have to pee.

My career of men's room infiltration and subsequent detention began in Jr. High, on a family vacation to San Francisco for 4th of July. I really, reeeeeeally had to pee and Papa Spurious stopped at a Taco Bell. The bathrooms wound up being the kind that eat quarters like a gumball machine, so after procuring a quarter from Papa Spurious (this indicates how bad I had to go. If Papa S. was willing to give me MONEY to pee, I must've really begged), I ran up to the women's room, almost dancing with I-need-to-pee fervor.

To my horror, the money part of the lock was taped over with masking tape on which some ass had written 'Out Of Service." I danced back to the car under the light of booming fireworks and asked my parents what to do. Mama Spurious suggested, " Just use the men's room..."

I wiggled with pee and disbelief. "Really?"

"Go ahead," said Mama S. conspiratorially, "No one'll see."

Squirming my way over to the men's room, I threw in my quarter, flung open the reinforced steel door and dashed inside. It smelled like burritos in the men's room. ALOT. Up for debate was whether the burrito smell came from burritos, or from someplace more nefarious. I didn't care. It was clean, and I had a lovely, relieving time.

After I washed up, I pushed on the steel door, feeling happy and ready to see some fireworks. Nothing happened. I turned the handle and pulled, just in case I was being a dork by pushing on a pull-type door. Nothing. Wiggled the handle, hoping the lock would catch. Nada. Shit.

I spent the next 20 minutes pounding on the steel door as fireworks boomed outside. I tried kicking, thumping and shouting at the top of my lungs for help, and got zilch. Just when I'd begun to think I'd be held captive for the rest of my days, the door suddenly opened. A very surprised looking man stood there, with fireworks exploding behind his head in the evening sky. I've never been so happy to see someone I didn't know in my entire life. He was my toilet savior.

Before he could get out more than,"Uhhhhh..." I dashed past him into the parking lot, embarrassed as hell, and hopped into the Spuriousmobile. "Finally!" shouted Papa S.

"I got locked in the men's room! I've been trying to get out for the last 20 minutes!"

Ah," said Mama S., " That's what took so long. We though you fell in."

"Why didn't you guys come check on me? Didn't you hear me? I was making deals with Greek gods offering up my firstborn child in a desperate plea for freedom! Why didn't you help?"

"Must've been the fireworks," said Papa pulling out of the parking lot, "We never heard a thing."

Because I was 13 and completely self-absorbed, it wasn't until weeks after the Taco Bell incident that I realized my savior had probably been trapped in the bathroom too, after I left. He's probably still there.

Since the fateful day when I lost my locked-in-a-men's-bathroom virginity, I've become a total trapped-in-a-men's-bathroom slut. I've gotten locked into more men's rooms than I can count. In Banana Republic. At the library. On a date at a fancy restaurant. On the 2nd floor of my high school, the list is endless.

It's not like I'm seeking out men's rooms on purpose either, I only use them when the women's room is 'Out of Service". Which is usually because some chick peed all over the seat.
___________________________________________________
Random Fruit Fact: The Olallieberry

"Physically the Olallieberry looks like a classic blackberry. Genetically, however, the Olallieberry is approximately two-thirds blackberry and one-third European Red Raspberry. Eaten fresh, Olallieberries are excellent, however most are made into preserves and wine. "

Don't drink too much or you'll have to pee, and you never know where that'll take you. Learn more about the Olallieberry, here.

Never Was Good At Fighting Peer Pressure

2005-05-13T19:45:00.000-05:00

I'm pink
Originally uploaded by Spuriousplum.

Since all the hip kids are doing it (and because all these pics would take too long to load), I've jumped on the Flickr bandwagon.

Come check out pics from a trip Mateo and I took to Hartwood Acres, PA last weekend.

Or not, cause there's no fruit.

Off to drink beer. Have an awesome Friday night!

This'll Embarrass Me More Than It'll Embarrass You

2005-05-12T21:42:00.000-05:00

In a week, Mateo and I will be taking trip home to L.A. to attend a wedding, and I got myself a sassy dress. Ahoy, thar be my dress!

* Addendum: not me wearing the dress. I'm much whiter.*

I'll also be wearing big, dangly earrings and a flower in my hair. I'll also be wearing a sweater, so my arm fat won't softly flap in the California breeze.

But I have a problem. I'm stacked, but not stacked enough to fill out the tube toppy thing. The fact that my prudy ass is wearing anything I can call a 'tube toppy thing' is a miracle, but that's a separate post. To fix the tube toppy thing, I headed on down Lord Duncan Dry Cleaners (1st place winners of the 'Most Inventive Dry Cleaning Moniker' contest) for alterations.

A nice, smiley lady ushered me from the front counter into an alterations room, chirping, "You just put your dress on, and I'll be right back."

I didn't wear the "special undies" (strapless bra, etc) that I'll be wearing at the event, so when I zipped up I had major granny bra sticking out of my dress. I was a little embarrassed, but figured, "It's just me and Miss Smiley McChirp-Chirp here. I bet she's got granny-bras too."

As I'm talking to myself (like a loon), some 65 year old DUDE strolls into the fitting room and shouts, "OK!!!!!!!!!, I measure you!!!!!!!!!!" He's screaming, and more importantly, he's a GUY.

Prudy Spurious Brain says:
Um, WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU, DUDE? I was talking to a lady, and the lady said, "I'll be right back." I'm pretty sure she didn't just cut off her boobs and have a sudden attack of male pattern baldness in the last five minutes, so you're NOT HER. EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!

Spurious Mouth says:
"Um, hi."

Shouting Alterations Guy catches sight of my granny bra and quickly looks away, blushing. He looks around the room for a while, trying to find something to focus on that's not weird for both of us, and settles on my super pink, flip-flop clad feet, shouting, "Raise arms!!!!!!!!!!!!"

During the next 10 minutes, Shouting Alterations Guy doesn't look at anything but my feet. He pins something into place, turns me towards the mirror and stares at my toes, "Look in mirror!!!!!!!!! Looks good!?!?!?!?" And it did. I don't know how he did it, but he managed to alter my dress without directly looking at me, or the dress. Ever.

He finished and shouted, "Please change!!!!!!!!!!" and both of us bolted like a horses at the racetrack. I popped into my clothes and ran out to the register, in a high state of prudy freak out, puffing,"When can I pick it up?"

"Tuesday is fine."

"Who was that guy, anyway?"

She gives me a quizzical look. "Um..."

"The guy who measured me?"

"Um."

"Nevermind."

Maybe it was Lord Duncan...
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Random Fruit Fact: The Mulberry

"The mulberry (Morus spp.), a deciduous fairly fast-growing tree, can become large and very spreading. It produces clusters of small berry-like fruit in the axils of the leaves. The fruit is first green, then pink, finally becoming crimson or purple-red. Mulberries can be eaten fresh, stewed, or made into jams. The leaves are well known as the food for silkworms."

Anyone else have silkworms in elementary school? Learn more about the mulberry, here.

All My Leek Bitches, Say HO!

2005-05-11T20:50:00.000-05:00

Anyone like leeks?

I love all the fruit of the world equally, but I play favorites with veggies, and this is mine. Kinda like a mild onion, kinda like...well, just tasty. Anyway, courtesy of Mateo, #1 spouse, tonight was homemade leek soup night. And people, you get the receta (that's recipe in spanish):

Sopa de Porro y Arroz
(Leek and Rice Soup)

Ingredients
1 Tbsp olive oil
2 large leeks white and pale green parts only washed and thinly cut crosswise
(about 2 cups)
2 med garlic cloves, finely chopped
1 medium carrot, peeled and diced into ¼ inch slices
½ tsp cumin
1/8 tsp crushed red pepper
½ tsp salt or to taste
4 cups chicken broth
¼ cup long grain white rice
2 Tbsps chopped cilantro/flat leaf parsley
1 Tbsp water

Equipment
1 pointy knife for serious veggie chopping
1 big pot for soup stirring

Heat oil in your big pot over medium-low heat. Add Mr. Leek, and his friend Mr. Garlic, and 1 tablespoon of water. Cook them up, ignoring their piteous screams, stirring frequently until floppy and tender, 6-8 minutes. Add remaining ingredients to your big pot and bring to a boil. Cover and reduce heat to simmer, until veggies and rice are tender, about 15 minutes. Adjust seasoning if you're a salt freak (like me).

Chow the fuck down.

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Random Veg Fact: The Leek

"With a more delicate and sweeter flavor than onions, leeks add a subtle touch to recipes without overpowering the other flavors that are present. Although leeks are available throughout the year they are in season from the fall through the early part of spring when they are at their best."

So it's not a fruit. In the immortal words of your mother, "quit crying, or I'll give you something to cry about." Learn more about the majesty of Mr. Leek, here.

Yum!

What Would I Be - Courtesy of the Queen of the Big Top

2005-05-11T20:46:00.000-05:00

Circus Kelli, Queen of the Big Top, tagged me with this fun listy thing. Thanks CK, IT'S ON!

I’m supposed to choose 5 things from this here list and complete a subsequent “If I could be . . .” thought. Then I tag three other folks to keep it truckin’. I've highlighted my answers, because it makes me feel important, and egotism's sexy, no? Here goes:

If I could be a scientist
If I could be a farmer
If I could be a musician
If I could be a doctor
If I could be a painter

If I could be a gardener, my yard would look like a nuclear test site, since I have the blackest thumb in this great nation. If I could be a GOOD gardener, I’d grow hydrangeas and peonies, fruits and veggies, all manner of pretty/tastiness. But then I’d be Greenie, and there’s only one Greenie. I guess I’ll just embrace my unique badness with plants and keep the black ol' thumb.

If I could be an architect
If I could be a linguist
If I could be a psychologist

If I could be an athlete, I'd probably have a smaller ass.

If I could be a lawyer
If I could be a professor
If I could be a world famous blogger
If I could be a justice on any one court in the world
If I could be married to any current famous political figure

If I could be a missionary, I'd develop a better position. Oh, and I'd foster world peace, end hunger and all that jazz. But without any of that "you have to accept my religion before we'll help you, you heathens" stuff.

If I could be a writer
If I could be an innkeeper
If I could be a chef

If I could be a llama-rider, I'd lead llama riding tours in unexpected locations. "Now if you lean forward in the saddle, you'll see the Eiffel tower on your left. We'll be breaking for lunch now, and if you'll all open your tassled saddlebags, you'll find champagne and a baguette. Meet back here in 20, and we'll start our trek through the Louvre. Now may also be a good time to take your llama on a potty break."

If I could be an astronaut
If I could be a librarian

If I could be a bonnie pirate, wait…I AM a bonnie pirate. Arrrr!

So Caroline, Echrai and SFG ya'll are oficially tag-a-lagged, but no need to feel all obligated. Have fun if you wanna, and if you don’t wanna...make sure you’re inventive when you're cursing my name.

Arr!

And Now A Word From Mateo - Harold Y Kumar

2005-05-10T21:25:00.000-05:00

Our friend Tyler’s a fan of stupid comedies (his term), and is also a current new Jersey resident. So when Harold and Kumar Go to Whitecastle came out, he was positively giddy. He loved the movie and recommended it highly.

Many months later, the movie was released on DVD and I reserved it through my local library’s Online Public Access Catalog (librarian plug). I was 140th on the waiting list, but that didn’t discourage me, or prompt me use the local Blockbuster, since getting movies from the library is:

A. Free, and
B. A pleasant surprise. Often, you forget what you ordered and it’s like finding buried library treasure.

I watched the movie with my lovely, legally bound spouse Spurious(ah, holy matrimony) and called Tyler to discuss:

“So, I finally watched Harold and Kumar.” says I.

“Watcha think?” Says he.

“It did the great state of Jersey justice, though I didn’t recognize much from the times I’ve visited. I recognized those damn toll buckets that take exactly 35 cents, though.”

“It’s funny,” says Tyler, “when Harold visits the hospital after being attacked by the crazy puppet raccoon in the City of Princeton, they take him to Westmoreland Hospital. He should’ve gone to Princeton Hospital. Also, they go all the way to Cherry Hill to find a Whitecastle when there are about a hundred Whitecastles that are closer.”

“Yeah, that must seem unrealistic to a native. What I found unrealistic was our protaganists getting a cheetah high on chronic, and riding it at full cheetah speed. You’d think that the weight of two full-grown, stoned adults would slow a kitty down somewhat...But I've really no clue what a stoned cheetah is capable of.”

"Of course."

Another case in which great cinema inspires boffo discussion.

Hooray! Taco Time!

2005-05-09T11:46:00.000-05:00

As I’ve previously mentioned, Pittsburgh is almost completely devoid of Mexican food.

Mateo and I softly weep at night, knowing that we possess the intestinal fortitude to handle tasty things like menudo and salsa, but that our tummies are going to waste because of Pittsburgh’s quashing of all tasty/spicy food.

Each time a new ‘Mexican’ restaurant opens, Mateo and I are beside ourselves with joy:

Me: “The paper says they’re authentic!”
Mateo: “Yum! Let’s go right now!”
Me: “I’m gonna get chilaquiles!”
Matt: “Hooray!”*

And each time, we find guacamole squeezed from tubes, chips and salsa that aren’t free (!), sucky canned refried beans, chipotle sauce that tastes suspiciously like KC Masterpiece, and tortillas made in another state. We turn into total snobs and act grumpy for the rest of the day:

Me: “I can’t believe they said they were authentic.”
Mateo: “Authentically crappy, maybe.”
Me: “I’m not feeling so good, maybe I shouldn’t have eaten the 6 pounds of fake jack cheese on that sorry-ass enchilada”
Me: “Buncha posers.”

We swear we’ll never fall for it again, that we’ll be completely dispassionate, but our desperation gets the best of us. 2 months later, we’re at it again:

Mateo: “Dude, I saw a sign for a Mexican food place! It had an Aztec temple on it!”
Me: “Yay! Let’s go right now!”

Repeat this whole process about 20 times, and you’ve encapsulated the ups and downs of the entirety of our Pittsburgh Mexican food experience.

Which is why we were delighted, but trepiditious when Mateo saw a sign reading ‘Taqueria De Mi Mexico’ five blocks from our house.

Mateo: “Hey, that sign’s in spanish!”
Me: “Mexican food?”
Mateo: “For REAL Mexican food?
Me: “That we can walk to from our house?”
Mateo: “Madre de Dios!” **

We went inside and saw a sea of brown people eating tasty things and speaking spanish. A dam broke inside me and I almost collapsed with relief. It was a REAL taqueria. With tortas, al pastor, and lengua (which I can't bring myself to eat, but which I use to verify the credentials of potential ‘authentic Mexican' restaurants).

I had chorizo and eggs, with yummy black beans and homemade tortillas. Mateo had the biggest torta I’ve ever seen on fresh baked bread. We had guava jarritos and a big old concha for dessert. We were burping up tasty flavors for hours, and it was delicious.

So of course it shows up 3 months before we leave town.

*Yeah, it's paraphrased, but I'm trying to capture the joy and pain, OK, people?
** Mateo's never said 'Madre De Dios' in his life.
_________________________________________
Random Fruit Fact: The Guava

Jarritos guava soda’s good, but actual, factual guavas are even better.

“Upon ripening, the guava becomes soft and juicy. It may be eaten fresh, made into a juice or nectar contain fruit pulp, or made into preserves, jam, jelly, or paste. The guava is an excellent source of C vitamin.”

And vitamin C’s good, because scurvy sucks serious ass. Learn more about the guava, here.

Another Fashion Bitch Slap

2005-05-07T22:50:00.000-05:00

Stretch pants are bad. No, really.

Some believe that the good name of strech pants has been befouled by the fashion choices of voluptuous women, but don't fall for it. Don't blame the curvy ladies, they take enough shit. Uh-uh, I'm an equal opportunity stretch pant hater.

Stretch pants aren't just horrible for 'certain body types’, they're actively bad on EVERYONE. I'll repeat that for the benefit of the unfortunate stretch pant viewing public:

STRETCH PANTS ARE BAD ON EVERYONE.

If Juliette Freaking Lewis can't pull this shit off,

what kind of chance do normal human beings have?

Now before someone jumps up and protests, let me be clear. Unlike the fruit boots issue, I'm unwilling to make concessions on this one. I'm holding the line. Stretch pants are ALL bad.

They're an abomination with fringes, in patterns, in denim, or in pleather. Icky every day, and in every way. Solid colors suck too.

I've heard the excuses.

'I'm just going to the market for 5 minutes.'
'I'm using them as pyjamas.'
'I'm pregnant, and nothing else fits.'
'I take a yoga class and they allow freedom of muuuuuuuuuuuvment.'

Horsepucky. They'll always wind up bunched around your knees, and stuffed so far up into the reproductive netherworld of your croch that you'll think you're giving birth to the antichrist. Demon cameltoe (aided and abetted by his friend Mr. Spandex, of course) is here to crash your stretch pant party, squeezing things into public view that just shouldn't be seen.

Oh, and just as a heads up, when your pants are INSIDE YOU and you reach for that box of Special K in the supermarket, I can see your uterus.

To review, here are the people who can't wear stretch pants:
No one can wear them. Not curvy people, or petite people, or babies (baby's cute, not the pants), or dudes, or pregnant ladies, or baseball players, or punk rockers, or even on famous people (see poor Juliette). Nobody, dammit!

Here are just a few of the places it's NOT OK to wear stretch pants:
Not OK in yoga class, or for running, or at the market, or even at the ren-faire. It’s NEVER OK.

Not convinced? Take a picture of yourself. Now look at that picture and remember how hot you though you looked in your bicycle pants with suspenders in th eearly 90's.

I'll get the scissors.
_________________________________
Random Fruit Fact: Strech Fruit Leather

"Stretch Island Fruit Leather™ is simply dried fruit in a bar.A convenient, portable fruit, in your pocket…without the squish! "

See? Bet they make pants too. It ain't natural.Learn more about fruit leather (gah!), here.

Belated Self Portrait Day - How To Annoy Me

2005-05-06T19:14:00.000-05:00

Not really self portrait-y, but wanna know how to annoy me?

Don't Let Me Take

Your Freaking Picture

OK. I promise actually stop posting pics and start writing nice blog posts soon. It's been a hairy week.
___________________________________________________
Random Fruit Fact: The Wax Jambu

Eating things containing the word 'wax' is usually a bad deal, but this sounds intriguing:

"The ripe, pink fruits are small (about 3/4 - 1" / 2- 2.5cm) long, sweet and can be eaten fresh or cooked, for sauces, jams and jellies. Green fruits are eaten raw with salt."

Maybe they're like freaky little limes. Next time you're in Southeast Asia, try a wax jambu some with tequila, and find out if it's any good (in the interest of unofficial fruit research, of course). Learn more about the wax jambu, here.

¡Happy Cinco De Mayo! - or - ¡Get Your Fucking Piñata On!

2005-05-05T19:21:00.000-05:00

¡Yay, Cinco De Mayo!

Attached, please find pictures of Mateo and I celebrating the holiday traditionally at our local Target. You know. With piñatas!

While we running around Target like a pair of ass clowns, we noticed something strange, or at least I did. I now firmly belive that there's a huge Target fruit conspiracy afoot.

Fruit is fucking EVERYWHERE in Target. It’s here:

There:

Everywhere:

I found the following fruity objects on Target's site (careful, some of this shit's ugly): bowls, platters , stuff for Strawberry Shortkake's dining room table, clocks, ugly-ass screens, lights (both stringy and otherwise), fruity little kid cars, baby toys, bags, even fruity shower radios. This all took exactly 6 seconds to find, so I'm guessing the Target folks are sitting on enough fruity booty to sink a produce-filled ship.

Is someone from Target reading my crap-ass blog? Am I on the FBI's top ten fruit criminals list? Or is Isaac Mizrahi finally grasping the awesome power of a well-tailored fruit?

Just what in the fruity hell is going on?
____________________________________
Random Fruit Fact: The Carambola

"There are some specimens of the tree in special collections in the Caribbean islands, Central America, tropical South America, and also in West Tropical Africa and Zanzibar. Several trees have been growing since 1935 at the Rehovoth Research Station in Israel. In many areas, it is grown more as an ornamental than for it's fruits. "

'Central America' means México, bitches! Learn more about the carambola, here.

¡Viva México!

Taggers Ate My Baby

2005-05-03T21:05:00.000-05:00

I have a meme-y, tag-y thing, courtesy of Suburban Misfit's dirty ass (don't take that literally, I have it on good authority, her ass is spotless).

Can't bring myself to forward it along, but Mateo and I went nutty for about 15 minutes coming up with lovely poems. Here's the highlights.

Turd in a punch bowl,
Hey, what's in the grog?
Turd in a punch bowl,
That's one mighty log.

Turd in a punch bowl,
You ruined my life,
Turd in a punch bowl,
You banged my wife.

Turd in a punch bowl,
Glass poo repository,
Turd in a punch bowl,
Watch out for my suppository.

Turd in a punch bowl,
From my Quisinart,
Turd in a punch bowl,
Goes well with cheese and art.

Turd in a punch bowl,
I want it all,
Turd in a punch bowl,
I slap my balls.

And finally, one for Susie:

Turd in a punch bowl,
I've got a hunch.
Turd in a punch bowl,
Motherfucker stole my lunch.

Ask, And Ye Shall Receive

2005-05-03T20:19:00.000-05:00

Here you go:

What? It's totally me.
__________________________
Random Fruit Fact: Juicy Juicy Mangos

Cause, well...uh...yeah. Those are totally mine.

"Mango fruits are luscious, aromatic, and slightly acid."

Except for the last part about the acid, this is totally true...You can learn more about the mangos that DON'T belong to me, here, but be advised, there's some non-mango-related popups. Make sure your non-mango-related popup blocker is on.

Heeeeeeeeeey, Girrrrl!

2005-05-02T15:59:00.000-05:00

So I got this cute little Jones New York blouse that makes me feel like Maggie Gyllenhaal’s fatter, more stylistically challenged sister. Which sounds bad, but is actually totally a good thing. I couldn’t find a picture of my new blouse online, but it’s made out of rayon and is all vintage and flippy looking. Yummy. I decide to wear it to work, with super high heels, jeans and a sweater. Feeling seriously quirky/cute, thank you so much.

As I walk down the alleyway to lunch, a HUGE truck pulls up and blocks my path. A typical look-at-what-I-got-to-overcompensate-for-my-small-penis truck. As I walk around it (since it’s hogging up the whole alleyway), a truly fat, slimy dude leans out of the truck window and shouts, “Heeeeeey, girl!”

I look around to see if he’s being nasty to someone else, cause it couldn’t be me. I never think it’s me. People can honk, wave, shout, flip me off or get shot right in front of me, but I'll never see them, cause I never think it has anything to do with me. I'm self centered that way. It’s a gift.

Mr. Trucknastiness continues, “You’re looking guuuuuud……what’s your name?”

And since I’m Spurious, the Queen Of The Snappy Comeback I say, “Uh…”

“Girl, are you married? Cuz if yur not…”

“Hell yes, I am! Bye!”

Whereupon I begin hustling/walking really fast down the alley in high heels. In case you’re unaware, hustling in high heels looks stupid. Yet as I run, Mr. Trucknastiness yells after me, “Yeah, girl! Yeah!!!”

Yuck.

As I hustle my way into Baja Fresh for my lunch (tortilla soup with chicken, 6 limes and a big ass root beer), I approach the mirrored salsa bar and finally catch a glimpse of myself.

My boobs are bouncing around like a jailyard tetherball.

As I walk, the lethal combination of my flippy rayon shirt and ludicrously high heels make my rack look like two furiously shaking water balloons, taped to my chest.

Lemme know if you need a picture.

Self Portrait Day - Dishy Duds

2005-04-28T17:21:00.000-05:00

Can't decide which is better.

This one:

Or this one.

Votes please.

I'm A Jerk + Google Divadom + Galapagos Islands

2005-04-28T15:59:00.000-05:00

I'm a jerk. Yesterday, almost immediately after posting mean things about my sweetly befuddled boss, he gave me a big bunch of flowers. When he accidentally broke a few stems trying to arrange(!) the flowers, he put the stragglers into a super tiny beaker. Do flowers in a beaker count as a scary gift? No, I'm a jerk. Sorry, Mr. Bossman.

Not that you'll ever see this, mind you.

On an unrelated topic, it's good to know that when you search Google for "can nopales cause hallucinations" I'm the first thing you see. I'm ranked 115th for "slim jim packaging history", but with a little hard work, I think we can break 100, right? Right?

And finally, a story. As we settled in for a Galapogos Island nature special last night, Mateo arbitrarily shouted, "This better be good! I wanna see some big fucking turtles!" Making both of us burst into the insane kind of laughter that accompanies finding extreme humor in something that makes no sense.

The kind where you actually cry a little bit and start swiping at the corners of your eyes.

The kind where you let out a big, snorty noise and race to the bathroom, 99% sure you've accidentally shot out a boog on yourself, or onto the arm of your true love.
__________________________________________
Random Fruit Fact: The Abiu

You guys are gonna crap your pants.

"Has creamy sweet, succulent flesh which tastes like Creme Caramel. A real taste treat when eaten slightly chilled."

Fruit that tastes like Creme Caramel!?!?!?!? Later folks, I'm going Aibu shopping! While I'm out, read more about the Aibu, here.

Who’s your Bitch? Me!

2005-04-27T15:54:00.000-05:00

Happy Secretary/Administrative Assistant/Lackey Day!

In case no one at your lame-ass job gave you props today, I herby acknowlede your tepid efforts at work! Congratulations on not throwing things, cussing people out or acting like a goon any more than absolutely necessary. I know, it’s hard for me too.

I currently work for a nice doctor in a medical research facility. My boss is very sweet, but is nuttier than a pecan orchard. Today was spent secretly hoping I don't get anything for ‘Secretary’s Day’ (or whatever the latest PC terminology is) because I’m terrified of what he'll give me. Dead mice? Autoclaved research instruments? A set of 6 shiny beakers?

The Regretful Gift Train has stopped at my station several times over the years, and now I can’t decide which is worse; not being acknowledged for the crappy work I do, or having my crappy work rewarded with a crappy gift.

All you bosses out there, I can say from experience that assistants don’t want a dead wreath with staples in it, nor do they want someone else’s used earrings (so nasty). Pick something nice, for God's sake. And if you can’t come correct, don’t come at all. Treat me right and I’ll always be your bitch.

At least until I can find someone who pays better than you.

Ya’ll have gotten some bad gifts too. Fess up.
______________________________________________
Random Fruit Fact: The Lychee

Lychee ice cream is goooooooood. Glory be!

“The lychee is a rare tropical tree that bears a brilliant red-skinned fruit with extraordinarily sweet, fragrant, juicy, translucent flesh. The lychee originated in the low elevations of Southern China in the provinces of Kwangtung and Fukien, where there are still villages in today with lychee trees that are over 1000 years old!”

Yummy, yum, yum. Learn more about the supertasty lychee fruit here, from people who are WAY too into Asian shit.

Rockin' The Doily

2005-04-26T17:59:00.000-05:00

Since Squirl brough up old memories of prom, here's me in my doily covered dress:

Note the delicate, petrified hair tendrils locked into place with ozone destroying spray.

Note the delicate, petrified hair tendrils on my date locked into place with ozone destroying spray.

Note my clench lipped smile.

Note the stabbing of my scary fake nails (which terrified my friend James for weeks afterwards) into my date's palm.

Note the fact that I hate my date.

Boy, did I ever hate my date.
_______________________________________________
Random Fruit Fact: Muscadine Grapes

Muscadine grapes have killer tendrils. Not unlike my hair for prom.

"Look for tendrils that have wrapped around the cordons and arms. These tendrils become extremely tough and wiry. Unless they are removed, the tendrils will girdle and kill shoots or cordons"

Yeah. Tough, wiry, killer tendrils. The grape people must've been around when I tried to wash out all that Aquanet. Learn more about the muscadine grape, here.

Memo To Winter's Dirty, Snowy Ass

2005-04-25T19:59:00.000-05:00

Dear Winter,

I woke up Sunday and found that your sneaky ass dropped some snow while I slept:

I know it's not a big, wintry fuckfest. I should be delighted you deigned to spare me the misery of another morning scraping ice off my car, but it's SPRING. See that green shit next to the snow? Look, I magnified it for you:

IT'S GREEN, BITCH!

Guess what? That means you have a restraining order to stay off my property for another 9 months. Take a vacation. Go bother the folks in Australia. Just leave my Californian ass ALONE!

Mateo and I were cavorting in the spring rain ONLY HOURS before you tried this 'usurping spring' thing.

So what's your damn problem, Winter? Need to get laid? What, you wanna start some shit?
_________________________________________________
Random Fruit Fact: The Rhubarb

How the hell is rhubarb even a fruit? This warrants further investigation.

"Rhubarb is often regarded as a slightly old-fashioned plant and can live for many years giving living proof of how tough it is. WARNING:- Rhubarb leaves are poisonous and should NEVER be eaten."

Lean more about what not to do with the rhubarb, here.

Better Homes And Gardens Has Nothing On My Ass

2005-04-25T08:25:00.000-05:00

So I redecorated a little. I know, I'll miss the argyle too.

You can find out where I pilfered everything in the FAQs section to your right. I may be a thief, but I’m a thief who gives props.

Still trying to figure out why the page doesn’t look right in other browsers, so let me know if it looks funny to you and I’ll try to fix it…when I get smarter.

Suggestions, comments or questions? Comment below or email me here.

Just Because It's Free, Doesn't Mean You Get To Act Like An Ass

2005-04-22T15:19:00.000-05:00

This afternoon I worked a pizza party fundraiser for our annual Boy Scout food drive at work. Nobody really wanted to head up the party, but we got suckered into it. We’re trying to get as much food/money as possible in the next 2 weeks, all of which will be donated to local charities. Except the gay ones. The Boy Scouts can be a trifle homophobic.

Hey, Boy Scouts. QUIT THAT!

Our Administration agreed to use their slush fund for a social event with pizza, soda, and salad as an incentive to increase donations. We baited people with free pizza for $5 or 5 cans of food, figuring we’d get about 75 people for chow.

Everything looked cool when we set up for lunch and ordered the pizzas, but I immediately saw trouble. We had ordered 200 pieces of pizza, but some greedy bitches were walking out with 8-9 slices at a time. They’d cheerfully chirp, “I’ll be back for more!” and walk off with 4 vertical feet of pizza, 16 sodas stuffed in their pockets and a vat of salad balanced on their head.

Of course, we ran out of food and had to order more, which is when things went south. While we were waiting, the natives got restless.

Now before I continue, I need to clarify a thing or two. I completely understand the sweet, siren song of free pizza (well, sorta free). Pizza is one of my not-so-secret weaknesses, and I turn into a murderous, cheese-gobbling monkey whenever I come across it. And if it’s free…bitches, stand back. I’ll eat you too.

Which is why I understood the group grumpiness at first. These folks held up their end of the bargain by bringing food or money and they wanted some pizza, dammit! But I’d never done this before, and had no idea that my entire building would take 10 pieces of pizza EACH. The food team offered to call folks when more food arrived, in case they needed to get back to work. We offered to give them their money/food back. We tried everything we could to make them happy.

But after awhile, things just got nasty:

“I think this was poorly planned. You did a crap job!”

“We wanted to take our food upstairs and play poker for lunch. You RUINED our lunch!”

“Why don’t you do this RIGHT next time? I have more important things to do than wait around while YOU make mistakes.”

“I hope they give this job to someone else next year, you guys totally suck at it.”

In what universe are these comments appropriate? Being crazed with hunger does NOT entitle you to carte blanche asshole status. So this goes out to all of the insensitive shitheads who made me and my food drive team feel like donkey-shit.

COME DOWN HERE AND DO THIS SHIT YOURSELF NEXT TIME, YOU FATASS, POKER-PLAYING, UBERCRITICAL DICKWEEDS!
___________________________________________
Random Fruit Fact: Sea Buckthorn

There's a giant healthfood cult based around sea buckthorn oil, but I'll skip that. I'm all about the fruit, people.

"reaches 2–4 m in height in natural habitats and bears yellow or orange-red berries, referred to as “Siberian pineapple” in Russia, because of its taste and juiciness"

'Siberian pineapple'. There's two words I never thought I'd see together. Learn more about the Super Sea Buckthorn, here.

The Eagle Has Flown + From The Mouths Of Firemen

2005-04-21T10:58:00.000-05:00

Old Friend has packed his bags and flown home, and things are slowly returning to normal. Although Mateo and I are once again free to do impromptu underwear dances around the house, we’ll still miss him something fierce. We’d like him to stay longer, but

A.) This ain’t his house.
B.) I can’t keep up a DEFCON 5 cleaning level for more than a 8 days, and
C.) He’s got to go back to saving people’s lives and making all the bitches scream, because he’s a fireman.

Old Friend has been a fireman (or almost a fireman) for the entire time I’ve known him. Strangely, Mateo and I know lots of firefighters. Fathers, grandfathers, friends and neighbors have all been wearing yellow hats and eating lots of ice cream for Lord knows how long. For those of you unaware of such things, hanging out with a bunch of fire-obsessed dudes in 24 hour work shifts creates a tiny, fire-obsessed civilization. There’s a whole culture of fireman specific food, odd discussion, obsessive compulsive behavior and best of all, fireman slang.

When we hang out with Old Friend we get a fireman slang update, the fruits of which we subsequently incorporate into our daily lives. This means random, non-fireman people in my life are now aware of the following words and phrases*:

Like a Monkey Fucking a Football - To do a task awkwardly. "The team looks like shit! It's like a monkey fucking a football out there!" There's actually a website for this.

Side ass - The girlfriend your wife doesn't know about. Oftentimes, the girlfriend who doesn't know about your wife, either. "Don't write my wife's name on the board, my side ass is coming for a visit."

Clusterfuck (or Clusterama for the kids)–A situation in which everything has gone wrong. Like SNAFU, but funner to say. "This traffic jam is a total clusterfuck!"

MDK (Mama Don't Know) Account - An account in which you keep extra money for things you don't want your wife to know about. Like strippers. Or a divorce. Or your side ass.
"Every time he had a fight with his wife, he put $300 in his MDK account. At the end of it all he had $25,000!”

Don't know about you, but saying this shit just makes me feel classy.

*Please bear in mind that the following terms are not solely confined to the firefighting profession. Nor is Old Friend in possession of side ass OR an MDK account. He’s a good boy.
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Random Fruit Fact: The Bael Fruit

“Indonesians beat the pulp of the ripe fruit with palm sugar and eat the mixture at breakfast. The sweetened pulp is a source of sherbet in the subcontinent. Jam, pickle, marmalade, syrup, jelly, squash and toffee are some of the products of this versatile fruit. Young bael leaves are a salad green in Thailand.”

And for all you intestinally troubled folks, the bael fruit is also believed to be the best cure for constipation, EVER. Better shoot an email to Queen Dooce.

Learn more about the bael fruit, here.

Taggy/Listy/Meme-y Stuff.

2005-04-19T14:10:00.000-05:00

In the immortal words of Holy Schmidt - "T if for true, F is for false you fucktard!"

(T) I've Never Crashed A Friend's Car ( But boy, have I crashed my own.)
(F) I've Never Been To Japan
(F) I've Never Been In A Taxi
(F) I've Never Been In Love
(F) I've Never Had Sex In Public (um....)
(F) I've Never Been Dumped
(T) I've Never Done Cocaine (White lines....vision dreams of passion...D-d-d-d-don't do it!)
(F) I've Never Shoplifted
(F) I've Never Been Fired
(T) I've Never Been In A Fist Fight (Man, do I want to though!)
(T) I've Never Had Group Intercourse ( Yep, I'm Prudence McPrudepants)
(F) I've Never Snuck Out Of My Parent's House
(F) I've Never Been Tied Up (Some of these need clarification...I mean, Tied-up busy? Tied-up kidnapped? Tied-up for sexy stuff?)
(T) I've Never Regretted Having Sex With Someone (one of the few...)
(T) I've Never Been Arrested
(F) I've Never Made Out With A Stranger (only once!)
(F) I've Never Stolen Something From My Job ( I haven't bought a pen in 15 years.)
(T) I've Never Celebrated New Years In Time Square
(F) I've Never Gone On A Blind Date (that's a WHOLE separate post to be addressed later this week.)
(F) I've Never Lied To A Friend ("Does this make me look fat?" "NO, but I'm not sure about the color....")
(F) I've Never Had A Crush On A Teacher
(T) I've Never Celebrated Mardi-Gras In New Orleans (Does a honeymoon in New Orleans count?)
(F) I’ve Never Been To Europe
(F) I've Never Kissed A Member Of The Opposite Sex
(F) I've Never Kissed A Member Of The Same Sex (Don't think I'm cool, I was like 6.)
(F) I've Never Skipped School
(F) I've Never Slept With A Co-Worker ( I married him.)
(T) I've Never Cut Myself On Purpose (Ow.)
(F) I've Never Had Sex At The Office (See the "I married him" comment above)
(F) I've Never Been Married
(T) I've Never Been Divorced
(T) I've Never Had Sex With More Than One Person Within The Same Week
(T) I've Never Posed Nude
(F) I've Never Gotten Someone Drunk Just To Have Sex With Them (husband)
(T) I've Never Killed Anyone
(T) I've Never Received Scars From My Sex Partner
(F) I've Never Been Drunk (HA!AHAHAHAHHAHAHHA!)
(T) I've Never Smoked Pot (again, one of the few)
(T) I've Never Thrown Up In A Bar (I do my throwing up at home.)
(T) I've Never Taken Ecstasy
(T) I've Never Purposely Set A Part Of Myself On Fire (Self immolation rules!)
(T) I've Never Eaten Sushi (No. Poor fishies. Now pass the chicken.)
(F) I've Never Been Snowboarding (I'm not great, but my butt stays dry)
(F) I've Never Had Sex At A Friend's House While They Were Throwing A Party
(T) I've Never Had Sex While A Friend Was In The Room
(F) I've Never Had Sex In A Dressing Room (GO, Millers Outpost!)
(F) I've Never Flashed Anyone
(F) I've Never Met Anyone From Online (Well, I've met all of you in a way. Just not in person. Wanna come over for margarita's?)

Philadelphia - or - My Hungover Man Posse Rolls Three Deep

2005-04-18T20:59:00.000-05:00

Old Friend is still visiting Mateo and I, and over the weekend we took him to Philly for wish fulfillment. Old Friend's ultimate dream was to eat ACTUAL Philly cheesesteaks at Pat's and Geno's, the two places most famous for cooking up great ones. The dream was fulfilled, but since Old Friend's been a vegetarian for more than a year, eating 2 cheesesteaks in 20 minutes rocked his poor ass. He prevailed, but not without difficulty.

We all wound up staying at a Holiday Inn in the boondocks of New Jersey and hooking up with a friend of ours. The hotel bar was the only game in town, and I was restless, so I wandered around in the New Jersey night, taking strange pictures of myself:

unfinished gas stations:

and pretty streetlight filled trees:

The next day we ate GOOD Mexican food (spicy chilaquiles, drooooool) and saw a sight or two. We wound up at the Museum of Art (at the stairs from 'Rocky') and took some nice pictures there too:

All of this sounds easy but with three hungover boys (Mateo, Old Friend, and Jersey Friend) there was much confusion, indecision and intense discussion of boobs.

Had a blast.
-------------------------------
Fruit is on hiatus until DEFCON 5 Houseguest Alert has been cleared. Stay tuned.

Fine, The Plum Can Stay + The Eagle Has Landed!

2005-04-14T09:50:00.000-05:00

OK. The plum can stay.

But expect some good old-fashioned redecorating soon. I didn't make the template for the current design (my design skills SUCK!), but I'm in the process of making/stealing/hunting for things I can cobble together into something new. Keep your eyes peeled. Ouch.

DEFCON 5 Old Friend has arrived! The house is as clean as it's ever going to get (GODDAMN I hate that bathtub!), and our guest is resting comfortably on our fluffy-puffy air mattress. I just hope he doesn't have scary, cleaning-product-fume-induced dreams...

Tonight will be the first night in two weeks that I don't have to clean something....

It's Hoegaarden time!
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Random Fruit Fact: The Serviceberry

Next time I have a DEFCON 5 houseguest, I'll find out if there's a cleaning serviceberry.

"The fruits are heavily eaten by thrushes, many other songbirds, rodents, small mammals and bear. Grouse, turkey, squirrels, chipmunks, beaver and foxes will eat twigs, buds and fruits at various times of the year. "

Perhaps I should rethink the serviceberries cleaning the Spurious homestead. That's a lot of critters.

"Hey! None of you fuckers can come in the house! You'll get twigs and shit all over the place! We're at DEFCON 5, people!"

Learn more about the serviceberry and why some people think it's a saskatoon (it's not), here.

Redecorating, Tra-La-La

2005-04-13T13:16:00.000-05:00

Thinking of redesigning the blog...

Suggestions? Comments? Do I have to keep the plum?

Dress Codes Are For Choads

2005-04-12T10:42:00.000-05:00

My employer just put forward a new ‘Image and Appearance Policy’ (i.e. dress code) to present a more professional image to the public. If we don’t comply, we get FIRED.

WHAT?!?!?

One of the reasons I chose this magnificent job, was my company’s ambivalence towards what we wear. I’ve been rocking Converse, jeans and a t-shirt pretty much every day since I started, only getting gussied up for special visitors. In the summer, I wear flip flops every day so my ugly feet can get a flip-flop tan, a phenomena my friend Molly calls ‘sexy’. Trust me, my feet need all the sexiness they can get.

This whole thing is especially bothersome, considering I have pretty much ZERO contact with the public, which is who we’re allegedly dressing up for. The dress code rules fall into three general categories:

Rules That Benefit
“stretch/stirrup pants, halter tops, tube tops, midriff baring tops are not permitted”
This is a public service. Eradicating these clothing items from a staff whose age averages around 50 will benefit EVERYONE. Have you seen stirrup pants on a 50 year old ass? I have. Yesterday.

“Hair colors must be of natural shades. Extremes in hair color are not permitted.”
So we’ll be firing the backstabbing old bitch in the main office for her fake red hair? Because seriously, it’s the color of a Coke can. Being a backstabbing bitch should be in the dress code, but I'll settle for hair.

Rules That Are Weird
“Beards and mustaches must be symmetrical”
You know this is listed because some fool had an asymmetrical beard. What does that even look like? Now I’m curious…

“Appropriate undergarments must always be worn. Use of clothing normally worn as undergarments cannot be worn as outerwear. Undergarments should not be visible through clothing.”
Hee. Again, you know this makes the list because someone seriously thought they were hot shit in a pointy Madonna bra. Will we have underwear police, to make sure we’re compliant? No bra snapping, please.

“Current religious affiliations may require individuals to wear a form of head cover as part of its practices. We may seek proof that the employee belongs to said religious organization”
This is just sad. ‘We’re going to need to see your yarmulke license, sir.’ Is this even legal?

Rules That Are Very, VERY Bad
"Women must wear pantyhose at all times."
Kiss the fattest part of my ass. You can fire me. I’m NEVER wearing these things.

"No jeans or capri pants will be permitted"
Just try to take my jeans fuckwad. I’ll pull some serious ninja shit on you.

"Sneakers, sandals and open toed shoes are not permitted"
Any of you cock jockeys think you’re stealing my Converse or my flip-flops, you’ve got another thing coming.
---------------------------
Funny thing is, the HR people didn’t have this 4-page piece of donkey poo checked out by a lawyer before disseminating it, and there’s some pretty sexist stuff in there. Like, "women are encouraged to wear skirts and dresses", and "when wearing a sleeveless blouse or shell, women must cover up before coming into public contact. Males may optionally cover up when wearing sleeveless shirts."

I’m so fighting city hall on this one. It'd be hilarious to tell my next employer that I was fired for 'pantyhose compliance issues'.
_________________________________________
Random Fruit Fact (in honor of Laurenbove): The Pluot

Pluots are another one of those manmade fruits, being a registered trademark of Zaiger Genetics. I don’t generally approve of genetically modified stuff, but the pluot is part plum, and I can't stay mad at family.

“Pluots are complex hybrid fruits that are part plum and part apricot in heritage. These fruits were originally invented in the late 20th century by Floyd Zaiger and are now grown in parts of Washington and California. Pluots have a majority of plum parentage and therefore, have smooth skin like plums…Pluots and apriums are known for their sweetness and flavor; the sugar content of these fruits is much higher than that of a plum or apricot alone.”

Yummy. Learn more about the Pluot, here.

Fruit Boots...Now, With Tassels!

2005-04-11T22:28:00.000-05:00

I don't claim to be a fashion maven, since I figure wearing converse, jeans and a black t-shirt every damn day disqualifies me for fashion superstardom. But I saw something which disturbed me deeply this morning.

A 20-25 year old male, wearing TASSELED LOAFERS. This kind:

*Image courtesy of zappos.com*

These shoes are wrong. I've been told that they're purchased under the auspices of comfort, and I respect comfort, yes indeed. Comfort is the reason why I refuse to wear pantyhose at work, and subsequently blind my coworkers with fishbelly-white legs. But last time I checked my comfort instruction book, tassels were not required. Tassels are for strippers, curtains and nothing else.

For some reason, Papa Spurious has always referred to tasseled loafers as ‘fruit boots’ (ah…fruit history), asserting that the cut and tassel-iness of this footwear looks "fruity". Now before you jump on my Papa's case, remember he's old. He also owns and WEARS several pairs of 'fruit boots', purchased by Mama Spurious, so he's obviously not too hardcore about it.

But Papa Spurious is an old dude. Old dudes are permitted by the fashion police to wear clothing normally unacceptable the sphere of a 20-25 year old.

If you are a 20 year old male, you know better than to wear fruit boots. Scary thing was, you could tell by this kid's strut that he thought he looked good. He couldn't have bought them for himself because, God...who would? But regardless of where they were acquired, he should never have left the house. When you see fruit boots in your closet, you can take one of two paths, like a 'Choose Your Own Adventure' story:

Should You Choose to Keep Them
Hand over your membership card to the Church of Cool Manhood, because tassels result in instant excommunication. You won't be hanging out with hot chicks unless you're stuffing money in their g-strings. (See? Strippers=tassels)

Should You Choose To Not Keep Them:
Remember, they must be completely destroyed, so as not to alter the fashion life of future generations. Set them on fire, or see if you can stuff them in a document shredder. Then get your ass to Kenneth Cole or some shit.
____________________________________________________
Random Fruit Fact: The Saskatoon

“Saskatoons were a favorite of interior native peoples. The Secwepemc name for saskatoon translates as "real berry." Bears seem to agree, black bears often frequent areas where there are lots of saskatoons. The fruit is sweet and if you chew the seeds you may notice an almond-cherry flavor.”

Learn more about saskatoons, here.

You can also learn about Dr. Jocelyn Ozga at University of Alberta, and her tireless efforts to bring saskatoons to your local grocery store (since they spoil in 6 seconds when left to their own devices), here.

2005-04-07T17:16:00.000-05:00

Slim Jim is apparently branching out into the lucrative processed meat market. (Amanda:"Hooray!") On a recent trip to 7-Eleven, I saw a line of 'Pickled Sausage' products capped with the SlimJim logo. Several flavors were available, but two especially caught my attention-

The Big Mama Sausage
The packaging for this sausage had a cartoon inset of some 1950's blonde hooch, decked out in a boring blue uniform and a triangular hat. Not very exciting.

The Tijuana Mama Sausage
This sausage had a stereotypical, 1950's 'Mexican', alabaster maiden with black tresses. Wearing a peasant blouse and a truly gigantic sombrero, she tilts her head with a certain cocky flair that says "exotic yet inviting!" The package also claims that the TJ Mama is "300% hotter!" Hotter than what? The SlimJim folks don't say, but I assume they're comparing the TJ Mama to the ordinary Big Mama.

Here's what I wonder. Which scientific process allows the SlimJim people to determine a heat percentage? You've got to figure they're liberally rounding up, since a heat increase of exactly 300% seems pretty unlikely. I'm pretty sure there's some connection to the 300% increase and local branding assumptions.Follow me here...

In the Northeast, Tijuana=Mexican & Mexican=Hot. In this case, 300% hotter. So the mathematical formula might look something like this:

Mexicans(M)+Sausage(S)=Increase in American Sausage Heat Level of 300%(3A)

M+S=3A

I was an Literature major though, so this equation might be all honked up.

Ah, L' Amour - PSA

2005-04-06T14:32:00.000-05:00

People often approach me with relationship questions.

20 people just freaked, thinking their secrets are about to be disclosed on the internet, but you know I'd never do that. Remember listening to your Dad's Chicago tapes and wondering how some old fuckers could sing about your feelings? After a while, you realized that this shit just happens to a lot of people. Unfortunately.

I make a piss-poor dating oracle (though burnt offerings are accepted if they smell nice, like bacon), since I sucked at dating when I was single and happily abandoned the practice as soon as possible. But you all deserve to be happy. So here's a basic blanket statement:

If someone is hitting you, yelling at you, raping you, making you hurt yourself or feel bad, supplying you with nasty drugs, or doing any of the preceding to your children, GO. No one should have to put up with that crap.

This doesn't cover everyone's problems, and I'm sorry. Other than that, I'll listen and not pass judgement if you need to talk it out, but you'll need to make the final decision. The saddest thing in the world for me is watching one of my friends get hurt. I'm sorry things are hard, but please remember that you DO have the right to be happy!

Alright. Enough cheese. Time for fruit!
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RANDOM FRUIT FACT: The Dewberry

"The berry itself looks very like a blackberry, but you rarely find them with as many drupelets (the individual berries) as you get on blackberries. The main difference in the berry is that it's somewhat powdery in appearance, having the same mustiness as you get on a grape or a plum."

Hey buddy, who you calling musty? Learn more about this dudes dewberries, here.