Don't You Wish You Were A Cow Too?

For Christopher "Cakes" Melas, who I will miss terribly this Christmas.

They Call Me George

I am a one woman running episode of Seinfeld, and in it, I unfortunately play the role of George Costanza.

Here are the highlights of my day so far:

1. As I left my house to go visit Mimi at work, I glanced at my neighbor's house. Friday is trash day. They were tossing out a perfectly good office chair that was made out of cherry wood and a light tan leather. I am totally redoing my house right now so...I hoisted that motherfucker into the back of my truck and drove off. That, my friends, is what I like to call recycling. Suck on that Jack Johnson! It only occurred to me three hours later, after talking to Snivets on the phone, that the chair might be the carrier of disease. It might've been used in porno flicks. I might be the new owner of an Orgasm Chair. Or maybe our neighbors have a meth lab in their house and they spilled some toxic chemical on it that might make my nails fall off.

The solution to this problem: Lysol and a handi vac. Done and done.

According to Snivets, I could use a cleanser specifically designed to kill the AIDS virus and my chair would still have AIDS. Thanks, Bro.

2. Upon visiting my cousin at work, I set off three security alarms when exiting the store and failed to wait for the pat down. They probably think she was handing me items to steal, which neither of us would do in a million years (I realize that I just devoted the previous paragraph to an account of swiping my neighbor's office chair. That is totally different. Once that chair is on the street, it is fair game). I don't have time for 2 things in life: playing grab ass and horse shit. Pretty sure she might be getting fired sometime soon though.

3. There's this gas station called Fabulous Freddy's here in Vegas. They hire kids to pump your gas for you. I hate this service. I like pumping my own gas. It suits me just fine. I also think you have to tip them, which really irritates me because gas prices are through the roof right now. Why the shit would I pay someone to do something that I can do on my own?

Another annoying factor is that they bolt after you the moment you get out of your car, like crazy pan handlers.

"Would you like me to pump your gas for you?" Well, let me think about that, I am already out of my car, holding my credit card, and standing next to the gas pump. Yes, I think you should go ahead and pump it for me. Then, we can stand here in awkward silence while you wonder how much I will tip you and I do a mental inventory of how many quarters I have in my car.

"No thank you."

100% of the time, they will say, "Ok, well have a Fabulous day!" They're supposed to say that, only it comes across as totally sarcastic and passive aggressive. Why not just say "Have a Fabulous Day motherfucker. I hope you burn in hell!"

I literally RUN out of my car, swipe my card and start pumping gas in under 15 seconds because of Fabulous Freddy's. All to avoid the "Have a Fabulous day!"

Out Of Every Movie Ever Written

Why do I relate to crazy Clementine the most?

I just love her!

To Borrowed Socks

In the spirit of "keeping it real," as this blog is more for me than for you, Dearest Rubbers of the Oat, I must be true to what is in my heart today.

Call it a blog cleanse.

I woke up this morning, like every other, feeling like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day.

Went downstairs, sat the chitlins down at the breakfast table, and started making our usual Friday Chocolate Chip Smiley Pancakes.

While in the middle of pouring the batter, an image flashed through my mind. I had been organizing family pictures the previous night and ran across one of my beloved Abuelita drinking a coke. (I won't post it here today because that is mine, all mine.) For some reason, I had forgotten a slight detail about her; it was a look she got when she swallowed the fizzy bubbles. It made her look so alive...so very alive.

It was that gleam in her eyes, a quick synaptic flash through the brain, accompanied with a side of agony, that started the thoughts I usually no longer indulge.

Something told me that I needed to go with it this morning, while my unsuspecting children smacked their syrupy lips and sang happy love songs to me.

The image was of her funeral. I wore my favorite shoes in an attempt to make myself feel better. It started to pour rain. Virginia rain can be so oppressive, but this somehow seemed suiting. God, if there is one, was crying for our loss. My heels dug into the wet dirt. This was it, the moment I had been dreading since she got sick. Since we got her death sentence. The mud started to seep into my shoes, getting between my toes.

The priest did his da da da thing and we bowed our heads out of complete surrender.

No one wanted to leave her there, in that cold, rainy place, covered in the same mud that still stain my shoes today.

Anyways, back to the healing moment: the moment my brain had locked out and never allowed me to fully understand.

We went back to her house and I laid in her bed, trying to feel her presence. I wanted her to put her arms around me, laugh in my ear, cup my face the way she had done so many times before.

My aunt came in and saw my shoes hanging over the side of the bed.

"Carlita! You'll catch your death!"

She started taking my shoes off. All the girls, my dear cousins, her little loved ones now long grown up, sat there helplessly with wet shoes.

"All of you! Take your shoes off! You'll get sick!" and she reached into Abuelita's drawer. She pulled out socks, the fuzzy, soft, warm ones that she loved.

I didn't want her socks. I refused to put them on. In my head, I felt like we should ask her, out of respect, even though I knew my Abuelita would never deny me anything. The blinding pain didn't allow me to put together that she was gone. I would never again ask her for socks, a cup of hot chocolate or advice.

That message arrived to me this morning. I realized that if she still exists, somewhere in the unknown, floating around in the Bulk, she was still trying to give to us, still trying to care for us in her own way.

Socks at the very least.

Socks.

It felt good to let that out.

Also, I wanted to post a suitable song, a song that, incidentally, is one of my favorites by My Little Pony called I Don't Know. The search for the song was long and fruitless. Imeem gave me a 30 second version. No one else has heard of the band. I kept getting links for some very shady shady practices involving the real My Little Pony. I have the download available so if anyone is interested, comment me at the bottom of this post and I will email you a legit version of the song.

So here is what I could muster, some shitty, lame-o homemade music video taped on a phone cam. Please don't watch it. I don't want it to ruin a perfectly good song.

Peace.

LIFE TILT!!!!!!!!!

Life Tilt.

Countdown commence in

5

4

3

2

We have clearance for blast off.

LIIIIIIIIIIIFFFFFFEEEEEEEE TILLLLLLLLLLLLTTTTTTTTTTTTTT!

I would shove a golf club up his ass!

Double Tuesday

This is my second post today...but I just saw this vintage Tori video that made me want to cry. I remember listening to this song on replay in high school. I have an understanding of this that only time could unveil...so in a way, it is new to me once more.

During the performance, she looks like she is fighting back tears. Makes me want to go hug my dad really, really tight. If only he wasn't 2500 miles away.

Nonetheless, this is lovely, just lovely.

Jive Turkey. Ain't No Jive. Ain't No Turkey.

Thanksgiving has come and gone. Where did the time go?
Just back from Los Angeles. Did I ever mention that I have in-laws in We Ho?

We had a wonderful feast and consumed multiple alcoholic beverages (you know, to take the edge off).

We stared at the Hollywood sign.

We shared stories.
I confessed secret feelings of a deep, unwavering love for my pre-Recession cleaning lady. I loved the perfume of Fabuloso that clung to the air when she walked by. I made a humping motion to fully illustrate the love I felt when my toilets sparkled. Did I go too far? Fuck it.

For the first time in 15 years, I was myself around them. Unabashed, unafraid, and yet still somewhat apologetic. Now, at least if they don't like me, they can not like me for the real person I am and not some false representation. So much of this has been my fault. So much.
New leaf.
Turned.
So, excellent Thanksgiving day, excellent dinner, and excellent company was had.

On another note, A Diddy and I went to Bizarre and had the WORLD'S BEST DINNER.
I can't begin to express...the sensual and almost drug-like feeling wonderful food has on me.
This man, Jose Andres, is a fucking GENIUS.

Let's do a mathematical equation on this...

+ = Multiple Orgasms

(Jose Andres) (Carl Sagan)

I'm done holding your hand on these matters.

Jose Andres is from Spain but lives in DC (woot, woot). He has a restaurant that is almost exactly like Bizarre in DC called Minibar.

Now, I am not a fan of molecular gastronomy, but I can safely say I am a convert. Praise the Lord.

I wanted to scream, sing, make out and laugh all at the same time. Where we stoned?

Excuse me, Waiter, there is some delicious THC sprinkled in our tomato salad.

Think about it, with gastronomy you can get away with it.

We had jicama wrapped guacamole...deconstructed. First flavor, sweet. Second flavor, tangy. Third flavor, buttery. Finally, deconstructed corn tortilla? What?

How about some corn with a cream sauce, large grains of kosher salt and bitter, bitter grapefruit? Yep, deconstructed corn chowder motherfuckers!

They liquified mozzarella...and I drank it, like I was drinking from the fountain of youth.

Caipirinhas anyone? Ever had the real thing in a gelee? I was about to start rubbing it all over my body.

We were about to walk out of the restaurant to go get it on, when we bumped into an old Vegas friend. He coerced us, with blunt force, to have another cocktail. In the spirit of keeping the party rolling, and overlooking the obvious cock block, we set out to have the best gin and tonic I have ever had.

This is it:

(Blame Blackberry for the shitty image. I tried....and I was a bit drunk/stoned? to focus)

It has juniper berries in it. It has jasmine blossoms. I was told the most romantic story by our friend. He told us that on a trip to Spain with the chef, they sat at his hacienda during sunset after a long, grueling day. The chef offered our friend a cocktail and then set out to collect berries and blossoms for this wonderful, aromatic gin and tonic that we now held in our hands.

In summation, it was worth the cock block.

The next day, we visited our dear friends in Silver Lake, California. Ever been to Silver Lake? Even though I hate Los Angeles, this place is cool. It is a total artist town full of the most amazing people, schools and buildings.

Our friends fit right in there. Even their furniture looked better in its new environment, free of the Las Vegas pineapple and palm tree decor guidelines.

Furniture aside, they just started this little service and it is amazing. If you live in the LA area, check them out.

www.asiansoulkitchen.com

When I walked away from their house, I felt that strange chimichanga feeling in my stomach. Was I sad? Was I elated?

I guess I realized that it was the end of an era and the beginning of another for both couples. Although we will always be friends, our paths are no longer crossing. Glad their Hockney posters and vintage chairs found a better place to reside. Glad they are happy. And that we'll say we knew them when...