Feast of the Virgin, Year VI

 

Yep, had to post this. No action again. Six years now. I truly do not think it is ever going to happen again. But you want to know something weird? I am OK with that. There is so much else to worry about (which I am not posting about because of my “Positive Posts Only!” goal) that finding someone desperate enough to want to do the dance with no pants with me is way down my list of things to do, tucked somewhere between “Research what type of uniform Walmart greeters wear because I am never going to be able to afford to retire” and “Start saving up to buy the Walmart greeters uniform.”

Of course this is about American Idol

I tried not to watch it, I really did. But there is something about this show... It is my Brokeback Mountain, I just cannot quit it. But I decided early on that I was not going to blog about it, despite a desperate need to write about something, because a quick perusal of previous posts would have resulted in way too many Google searches about it - had I used the contestants’ names! But no, previous posts are rife with nicknames! Apparently, I hated some poor girl with bad hair (Uni-Bang) and there was a terrible male singer who had a stutter (Stuttering Stanley) and – oh, how I am cringing at this -  there was a singer of mixed Chinese and Hispanic heritage who earned the unfortunate moniker of Kung Pao Taco (really, I am not racist, I swear).

Yeah, so, no posts, but I had to do a season-end wrap-up because, well, I don’t know how to quit it:

Luke Bryant – most useless judge EVER. On more than one occasion, when he was third to speak, he said there was nothing he could add because Lionel and Katie had said it all. One time, when he was first to go, he said he wasn’t going to comment because “no one wants to hear my voice after they’ve heard yours.” Gawd.

Even though previous seasons went on way too long, I didn’t really like this pared-down format. I think there could have been a happy medium.

And that results-the-same-night deal? Insulting to both the viewers and the contestants because they are basically admitting what everyone has known all along but chose to ignore - that this is a popularity contest and not a singing competition.

What the hell was the deal with Bobby Bones? Where did he come from and how useless was he? And what is the deal with that name? I feel as though he should be in a Saturday Night Live Halloween-themed sketch with Tom Hanks.

And the producers ought to be ashamed of themselves as far as Catie Turner is concerned. Yes, I am all for quirky chicks who do not fit into the societal norms of physical attraction (I wonder why). And haters don’t hate – you know I do not agree with what society considers physically attractive. But they only put her through (and you know 99% of who goes through is decided by the producers and not the judges) because of the publicity it would garner. No, my biggest peeve with this is the fact that she just wasn’t that good of a singer; had she been, then, yeah, I would be her biggest supporter. But she wasn’t and I think it cruel of the producers to do that to her, to give her hope because, to paraphrase The Shawshank Redemption, hope is a terrible thing, maybe even the worst of things. And had she won, would they have changed the name to Amish Idol?

Like if Adam Sanders/Ada Vox would have won would they have changed the name to Drag Queen Idol?  And what would have happened had they already decided to go with separate boy/girl teams like they have done in the past? Or maybe they did and he/she came along and they scrapped that idea.

And then there is Maddie. Oh, how I loved her from the start. So much so, that I would have been OK with her not winning, because that way she could record what she wants. And even though I did not like Carrie Underwood II Gabby Barrett (despite her being from the ‘burgh) I would have been OK with her winning. Caleb too.  But Maddie, I have not liked a contestant so much since Kelly Clarkson. I hope she has a career and doesn’t fade away like Uni-Bang (well, actually, she might be a huge star right now because I don’t remember her name!).

Year in Review – 2017 Edition

Easily the highlight of my year was my California trip. Newbies can check it out here. But the rest of 2017 was not without its moments:

I got to try on a Super Bowl ring (not one of the many thousands the Steelers have, unfortunately, but still):

 

Put 1,395 miles on my car. And I thought the 1,662 I put on last year was sad. This lower number is a direct result of the car troubles I had in the summer and have not been able to afford to fix. And yes, here are actual swear-on-Sammy’s-life pictures of my before and after mileage:

 

 

Lost 5.6 pounds. I really need to do something about my weight. I am going to give Meatless Mondays a try and have vowed to give up paying for red meat and pizza. Originally it was to give up eating those two things but I got a free birthday burger from some place that sends me emails and there’s going to be pizza at work next week, so being the natural lawyer I am (and a cheap ass) the loophole is that I am not going to PURCHASE red meat or pizza. This isn’t going to be that much of a hardship, my red meat consumption is maybe once a week and pizza once a month but baby steps.

But perhaps it is my mental health issues that I should work upon. I truly think I might be getting early onset dementia. Exhibit one:

Went to a concert (Billy Idol). What makes this even more noteworthy, it was at Mandalay Bay not three weeks after the shooting. Yep, still not over - and frankly don't know if I ever will be - all that ensued in my life after that massacre.

Got six pedicures.

Saw no movies in the theater. I think this is the first time in a while I have had a zero movie year. Driving issues, of course.

Spent $223.30 at the post office, $275.72 at Target and $187.94 at the dollar store.

And in a rarity, finally got a picture taken of me that I like and am willing to share:

 

 

 

Sammy's 6th Annual Holiday Message

 

Stupid Walgreens. They don't do the stupid frames for photos anymore. So I had to either rely on my (non-existent) Photoshop skills or bite the bullet and not be so cheap and use one of those online photo card services. But they do not provide a proof and I forgot to take one of the finished cards to work to scan it there, so instead you have the before and after version of Sammy's holiday greeting picture this year - above is the original pic and below is a pic of Sammy with the final product (slightly edited to protect the identity of the innocent (ha!)). Sorry, got a rotten cold, tripping balls on Mucinez, should wait 'til I am back at work tomorrow, but this post has to go out on December 17, because it always does. And I know some of you might be thinking big whup, it is a cat in a box, stop the presses, but no, Sammy rarely gets in boxes, rarely does anything other cats do, so this was indeed a moment meant to be captured for posterity.

 

 

 

 

Positively not negative

This is not a positive post, per se, despite my previous proclamation, but it is a post about not doing something negative, which is a positive thing, right?

 

Dr. Dave contacted me on a free (i.e., low quality) dating website when I lived in Denver. He was divorced (yeah, right), lived in southern California, and was going to be in town on business and liked fat chicks. In the two months or so before his visit, he was very eager - daily emails, lots of phone calls (most with happy endings), even a one-sided video chat (I did not have a very modern computer at the time). I knew there was no future in it, but after his visit he cut me off completely, which hurt, because of the amount of energy he had put into courting me (wasted, because he had me at "I like fat chicks"). I did a little catfishing (and this was before there was a word for it) but never revealed it was me - “Cheryl” just stopped replying to his emails until he lost interest (probably because he had met “Gina” who too eventually stopped contacting him!). Anyway…

 

Alan I met on Craig’s List (don’t bother with the lectures, I (rarely) go on there anymore) shortly after I moved to Las Vegas. He too lived in southern California (same town as Dr. Dave, actually!) and was married (at least he had the balls not to lie about that) and also liked fat chicks (only blonde ones though - he liked his brunettes thin).  We hung out a lot and it is he, in fact, who is responsible for my having sex in a Strip hotel for the very first time! But when the relationship, such as it was, started to go south, the catfishing was pretty intense. “Ashley”, a petite, brown-haired pharmaceutical sales rep, told him a week before they were due to meet that she had gotten back together with her ex-boyfriend. “Sarah” stood him up, at a restaurant he had previously taken me to. Her one-word reply to the email he sent afterwards, asking if he had gotten the time and place right, was “Yes.” And then she cancelled that email account. But “Emily” oh, I think he fell hard for her. Coincidentally, she had such similar tastes as he did (seriously, would that not be a red flag to you? A complete stranger just happens to like the same obscure genre of music you’re into? And who happens to be trying to cut meat out of her diet when you happen to be a vegetarian?). Anyway…

 

I read somewhere that if you have just two fairly substantial pieces of information about someone it is possible in this day and age to find them. Surprisingly, they had both given me their real first names (well, first Alan went by David. That one really upset Emily because she told him growing up she had had a huge crush on David Cassidy. He sounded positively distraught in his subsequent email when he told her his real name was Alan (told you she got to him)). Dr. Dave, I knew his medical specialty and town and the initial of his last name (can’t remember how I knew that or why I did not know his full last name). A few clicks and – whoomp, there it is! – his full name and place of work. Alan, it was a little harder, but a perusal of a certain East Coast university’s student newspaper’s website, which just happened to list alums who served on the paper, only two of whom happened to be named Alan (ruled out the first one when I saw his Facebook page), resulted in me tracking down his full name and company address. Anyway…

 

So over the past few years they’ve gotten holiday cards with no return address on the envelope and a note, handwritten but not signed. The cards have had postmarks of Florida and southern California (not their home towns, however), thanks to friends who live there and who don’t mind enabling me and my shenanigans, and Las Vegas. Not Colorado, however, because I think that might be a big clue as to the sender’s identity. I am OK with Las Vegas because Dr. Dave was before I moved here and Alan had several conquests here. Part of me thinks they know it is me, but then I remember Alan was clueless when Emily mentioned she was a fan of some singer he happened to like too). Anyway…

So, in my quest to not add to the negativity that is in the world, I have decided to not send them cards this year. Baby steps, right? Or whatever I need to tell myself?!!!

#VegasStrong? Yep - but I am not

 

This one hurt. On so many levels. I guess mainly because of location. MapQuest tells me it is 2.6 miles away; closer as the crow flies, I am sure. Sundays I usually go to bed about 10:15 pm; that particular night, four weeks ago today, owing to an ennui that had been with me all weekend, I was in bed by 9. I wonder if I would have heard the shots; possibly, particularly if the wind was in the right direction. I definitely would have heard the sirens. I lived in Colorado when Columbine happened and that was hard; and 9/11, well, I do not think anyone was unscathed by that one. But this one has marked me in ways that will last a long time. A 25-year friendship has probably ended because of it (although, to be fair, it was on its last legs anyway, this was just the final straw). And this blog is going to be effected too (more on those issues later).

 

No, I was not hurt and neither was anyone I know, but Vegas being such a small town and this being such a massive event, there were a few indirect connections – a co-worker’s friend was shot in the foot; a staff member in the chest. But this one hurt me on an emotional level because you really find out who your friends are at a time like this. On both my American and English Facebook pages I checked in safe, so some knew I was not harmed. But there are still some people out there with whom I am not connected with on Facebook and who know I live in Las Vegas who have not reached out. Yes, the odds of me being out are astronomical and of me being at a country music concert are even higher, but still.

 

Then there is A. We’ve been friends since fifth grade. We communicate just via email these days but in the last year or so I have noticed a cooling-off in our friendship, solely on her end. I even asked a few months ago if there was anything going on; she said there wasn’t, but even so I thought we still cared for each other’s wellbeing. So when I had not heard from her after about a week, a time which coincided with my being in the anger stage of my grief, I sent a rather terse email reminding her that I lived in Las Vegas. She replied, reminding me that her partner is dying. OK, so here is the deal: she NEVER told me about that. Of course it explains the cooling off and of course it explains why she never reached out. I replied immediately telling her she had never shared with me such news and offering her my sympathy, but I never heard back (doubt she even opened that email). But I am sharing this here in the hopes she reads this blog and just to get it out of my system how unfair she is being – if I had known she was going through such a devastating time I never would have shared my anger with her. I’ll send her a holiday card with a note in it and I hope she’ll open it but I do fear it may be the end of us.

 

But at work it is worse. Apparently at 6:30 am a coworker texted our boss telling him we were all safe and accounted for. Weird thing is, I didn't know anything had happened until 7.30 am. Huh. Then when I did get in to work I had to sit there and listen to all the “Oh, I reached out to so-and-so on Facebook” and “So-and-so texted me” and “I called so-and-so.” Not a single one of them reached out to me. Fuck them.

 

So, yes, this blog: It might not seem this way but I do not like that so many posts are whiney and negative, but sometimes that is all I have to write about. But that stops now. I am no longer going to post something just so I have something to post. As I watched the cell phone footage of that psycho spew evil and hatred from 32 floors up, I decided I can no longer add to the negativity in this world. I think I will continue the recurring posts like Sammy's annual holiday message, and the Year in Review, and the Feast of the Virgin, if needed (!), but otherwise, unless it is positive or fun or funny or light, I am not putting it out there.

 

So in light of that, let me end on the only positive thing that came out of this massacre: how fucking awesome the people of Las Vegas are. I have never been more proud of a place I have lived. The lines to give blood, the money raised, the supplies donated. #VegasStrong? You bet.

Repeat after me: You have a job… You are not in prison…

Warning: the whine-o-meter is trending high in this post

 

I can’t tell you how much I have in fact repeated those two sentences lately.

 

For even though my once almost perfect job has turned into a shit show these last couple months (new boss), it is OK because… I have a job. A dear friend of mine cannot say that right now. She too was let go from the same place I worked at before my 18 months of unemployment hell (she’ll fare better, she is attractive).

 

And another dear friend is in prison. This one is the standard kind, with bars and cells and lights out and visiting hours and three hots and a cot, not the kind I have built for myself with my crippling lack of self–esteem (but you try having self-esteem when you have more chins than the Chinese phone book and an ass the size of Texas).

 

So what if I work with a bunch of back-stabbers, at least I have a job. 

 

So what if I only ever go to work or the grocery store, at least I am not in prison.

 

So what if my car needs $2,000 worth of work done on it, including the AC and so I have a house fan on my passenger seat plugged into the cigarette lighter using a special adapter I had to buy from Amazon using a gift card a friend gave me for my birthday which I really wanted to use on something pretty for me or (more likely) Sammy? So what if my rent is probably going to go up astronomically and I am going to have to move, taking Sammy away from his (beloved or hated) pigeons? So what if my new boss wants to abolish 60% of my job (the bit I like 100%)? So what if I sometimes have to work evenings and weekends (cutting into valuable drinking time)?  

 

 

 

 

Just California

 

I love the ocean and I love movies, so it should come as no surprise that for as long as I can remember I have always wanted to go to Los Angeles. Well, thanks to a rare stroke of luck, I got to do exactly that just recently!

 

There was a free raffle at work for Southwest Airlines tickets. Once I checked that they flew to Denver and Santa Ana (only places I want to go to, except London), I entered. And I won. Weird thing is, I knew I'd win. Don't know why, didn't hear voices like I did when I predicted the winner of the ninth season of American Idol (Lee DeWyze), didn't have a dream about it like I did for that horse I bet on; I just knew. And, no, I do not want any of you Yanks telling me that it was the result of positive thinking - I think positively all the time about being five-foot-eight, weighing 110 pounds and being married to Anderson Cooper and none of those things EVER come true.

Financially it would have made more sense to go to Denver but timing was not on my side as several people I wanted to visit there were also out of town the same weekend. So California it was. My dearest friend L. lives in Orange County, so I flew into Santa Ana. It was a whirlwind weekend - we took in some Laguna spots (there are a lot of places in the area with Laguna in their name); drank cocktails; checked out beachside and hillside homes and wondered how in the hell people can afford to live there; ate yummy fish (why does fish taste better by the seaside? It can't just be a vicinity issue); pissed off some Germans when we got the last ocean view table at a bar; walked on the beach; and drove to Los Angeles and spent some time there.

Tinseltown. La La Land. City of Angels. The Big Orange.

To say visiting Hollywood was a dream come true is no exaggeration. Longtime readers know I am not a fan of bucket lists but even I have to admit, visiting Hollywood would be very near the top if I kept one.

 

I can't believe I finally made it there. Being such a movie buff, I have long been a fan of Hollywood and all that it entails. And I was such a clichéd, cheesy tourist - I bought some Oscar statue souvenirs, took pictures of the Hollywood sign, sought out certain stars' stars on the Walk of Fame (didn't get to see Frank Sinatra's star because it was a bit of a hike but that was no biggie because I was once in the same room as him (well, hockey arena)). And at Grauman's Chinese Theater (where the concrete stuff is) I even got a little teary. We drove past Rodeo Drive, but I couldn't bring myself to check out any of the shops there because I have panic attacks when I see the prices in the OUTLET stores of high-end retailers, so I think seeing Rodeo Drive prices might have sent me over the edge.

I also had an idea that could make someone a millionaire: I was looking for a group souvenir to take back to my co-workers, sort of like those chocolate-covered macadamia nuts EVERYONE brings back from Hawaii. I couldn't find anything. Someone should come up with Oscar statue-shaped lollipops or gummies or gold foil-wrapped chocolates, something like that, because I know I can't be the only person who wanted to show off back at the office. Obviously, you'd have to tweak the design a little so you don't run into copyright issues, but still...

I didn't do everything I'd have liked; the weather was not cooperative so I did not get to see a beach sunset; I never saw anyone famous  - not that I know of anyway - some places were so crowded there could have been an A-lister slumming it; and I wasn't discovered - seriously, how did that not happen? I have the fat-chick-with-an-English-accent market cornered.

And I did realize that my dream of one day living in California might never come true because the drivers are maniacs. My three previous trips there - San Fran (30th birthday), somewhere in the Silicon Valley, and Anaheim (both business trips) did not involve much traveling by car and so this was the first time I was exposed to how effing crazy Cali drivers are. So, yes, only way I could ever live there is if I could afford to be chauffeur-driven everywhere.

And for those of you keeping stats - yes, this was the first time I have left the state of Nevada since moving here 10 years ago (and no, the two minutes I spent on the Arizona side of the Hoover Dam does not count). And this was the first time I'd flown in over 10 years - a fact I shared with everyone I came into contact with at the airport, from the Lyft driver to the cocktail server to the flight attendant who brought me a seat belt extender (surprised I didn't have to buy a second seat actually, size of dat ass).

 

 

 

 

 

Balcony Blues

I do not watch Anderson Cooper 360°. I have no idea what channel it is on or what time it is broadcast. I had to look up its correct title too, that is how removed I am from it. Huge surprise, right? Because of how deeply in love with him I am. (And, no, he is not gay - he just hasn't met the right fat English chick yet.) But I cannot watch his show because it is too painful. If I can't be with him, I don't want to watch him - I avoid the emotional trauma.

 

Every morning, I sprinkle birdseed on my balcony, attracting lots of pigeons and other birds. (And I think word has gotten around because when I open the blinds in the morning, there they are, waiting for breakie.) Sammy, of course, is glued to the scenes that follow. He sits there, sometimes chattering, sometimes crouched in a pouncing position and occasionally he even launches himself at the window, which scares the crap out of me, it is so fast and so sudden and makes such a loud noise, windows rattling and birds scattering.

 

I am probably going to have to move in December (bear with me, these disparate subjects will come together shortly). Obviously, my financial situation and fear of driving means that cost and location are my top priorities but after that a view for Sammy is the most important thing. But should it be? What I mean is, is watching those birds frustrating to him? Does it depress him that he can't get through the glass and be outside chasing them?

 

It has been proven that animals experience emotions similar to humans, but do they know they can avoid emotional pain like humans can? If I move to a place that does not have prime bird-watching space will he be depressed because the daily avian feeding frenzy is no more or will he be happier because that which caused him emotional trauma has been removed and as an animal he is incapable of avoiding it himself? In other words, are those pigeons his Anderson Cooper?

 

 

Are you Anderson Cooper, pigeon?

 

Feast of the Virgin, Year V