row ye on home, land yacht

There were a lot of people building arks today. But I, Imperial Majesty of All That Is, have my ever-regal land yacht ('95 Buick Le Sabre) to ford rivers (the James), valleys, raging oceans and tranquil, flooded streets. I have a plan if the downpours continue. Some of the plan involves saving humanity, but most of it involves floating in all my glory down the streets of Richmond.

Brilliant Plan Of Action:
(setting - Rain)

1) Backstroke to my parked land yacht (LY) and climb in through the hole that I will simultaneously burn into the hood with the cutting torch that I keep in my back pocket for occasions such as this.
2) Brush hair, re-apply lip gloss (A World Dominator must look good no matter what the crisis).

By this point, the LY is floating in the parking lot. I have attached flags to its four corners.

3) Get on my mega-phone and tell all of those people trying to swim to get out of my way, as I have business to do. I begin my journey with a regal wave out of the window.
4) I proceed to pick up my friends and favored advisors, as well as a few babies and stray animals along the way (good PR).
5) Pass around the bowl of chips and salsa to my three best girlfriends (who have secured a seat inside the LY). Check to make sure that my B-List friends are OK floating in the intertube attached to the back of the LY.
6) Float LY to town hall. Claim the city in the name of all that is Good and Just (aka, me). "Ride the wave" to Ultimate Power. (Haha, sorry, couldn't resist).

america's got talent?

Ok. There is only one reason that you should watch the new TV show "America's Got Talent." And that is because it is so ridiculously horrible that it's worth your time to cuddle up on the couch with a bag of popcorn and make fun of it the entire time.

Let's get right to the point. David Hasselhof. And yes, I don't care if I spelled his last name correctly or not. Why? Why does he exist? Why On God's Green Earth is he a judge?? What qualifies him for it? The incredible acting that was required of him in "Baywatch?" The sensational singing voice that he possesses? So sensational that his cd will be forever mocked by sensible Americans? Forget it if the Germans like him. There is no explaining that. Honestly, I think that I would be offended if I got up on that stage and Hasselhof told me that I had talent. I would cry. But just watching DH get "moved" by a performance or "jam" to a dance routine is worth its weight in gold. Although, I need to point out that you have to really pay attention to him because he's had so much plastic surgery that it's hard to determine his facial expressions.

Ok, next judge. Brandy, of "That Boy Is Mine" fame and "Moesha." Why, oh why Brandy are you coming out of hibernation? Oh . . . that's right, you have a cd coming out. Well, Brandy, let me give you some advice. Fire your manager because this is not a good career move on your part. Another downside/goodside is the fact that Regis Philbin is the host. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. *twitch* Anybody else weirded out by him nowadays? Maybe it's all of his plastic surgery (new nose?) or the fact that he seems to overschmooze champion schmoozers. Blech. And the last judge - an ornery male Brit. Surprise there.

Oh, I'm not done. The creators and producers of this show (*ahem Simon Powell*) must really think that there are no intelligent people in America. Seriously, are there any Americans on the creative side of this show??? Watching it, I thought that if I saw one more red, white, blue & star combination or color scheme I was going to be sick. Yes people, the stars and stripes are nice. On a flag. Hanging from a flag pole. But it really doesn't need to be shoved down my throat. I know that I'm American, thank you. Secondly, the show is some weird mix of The Price Is Right, Star Search and Family Feud. Regis Philbin calls people's names from the audience (excitement! who is going to be chosen!) and then those people come up on stage and do their shtick. And then if Brandy, Hasselhof and Ornery Brit don't like you, they can hit a buzzer and a big red X appears over the stage. Three X's and you are out, suckah.

If someone made watching this show into a drinking game, the nation would be perpetually drunk. I can see it now . . . "Take a drink whenever someone does something weird or you feel like you will never be clean again." I realize that the producers are going to put the best and the worst out on stage for the ratings, but man . . . you never realize the worse could really be so bad. An 80-year-old stripper. A saw player who looked like a vampire. 2 women, a man and a horse (yes, no one quite figured out what their talent was). A nose flute player. Ugh. I'm just going to stop there.

But it's so bad that it's hilarious, so I guess the producers found one way to get people to watch. Anybody interested in watching it with me next week?

frank and teakettle, bff

Teakettle: FWOOSHthud. Fwooshie . . . f-w-o-o-s-h-i-e . . .
Frank: I just slammed my head on the desk, too. A lot nicer in theory than in reality . . .
Teakettle: fwoooshiebangbangbang
Frank: Hmmm. Shooting each other. That might work.
Teakettle: fwOOOshdoomdrip . . . drip
Frank: Yeah, it would be a lot more messy for me. But I hate this outfit anyway.
Teakettle: foreverfwooshie
Frank: You want to publish your memoirs first? About what? Your scandalous time on the stove burner?
Teakettle: FWOOSHdunes!
Frank: Oh, I didn't know you braved the Sahara . . .
Teakettle: Fwooshburnfwooshiefire
Frank: . . . without sunscreen . . .
Teakettle: fwooshieaaaaaaah
Frank: . . . and then was the one to discover the soothing properties of aloe plants . . .
Teakettle: FWOOSHyukyukyuk
Frank: Yeah, sounds reeeally funny. Yeah. Real page-turner.

the karma office

I seriously wonder if I ask for these things to happen to me. I mean, I have a feeling sometimes that an uber-bored desk clerk in the Karma Office has been assigned to watch every moment of my life so that I can be appropriately rewarded/punished for my deeds. Except, being the bitter desk clerk that he inevitably is, he wants to Stick It To The Man by way of maybe punishing me when I don't necessarily deserve it.

Case in point. Yes, I know that maybe I shouldn't have decided "just to windowshop" in Target . . . because windowshopping always leads to purchasing . . . but I had to buy cat food and there was a clearance sale and I swear, I NEEDED everything that I ended up buying. Seriously, I can rationalize it all. And my purchases helped humanity in the long run because it made me happy and correspondingly, everyone in my life happy. So was there really a reason to send three of the most gigantic and disgusting centipedes Ever To Exist after me in my apartment?

The first one I thought was just a random and brief moment with the seedy underbelly of nature. So, I killed it and moved on. The second one, I didn't find so cute. And the third one (discovered by the constant sound of Rue trying to chase it) thoroughly and utterly ruined any appetite for any food that I might conceivably desire in the future. Oh, I killed it . . . have no fear. But I also got to see the yellow pus of its innards squeeze out all over the napkin that I killed it with. I then flushed it down the toilet because By God I was going to make sure that multi-footed little monster was dead - but I was scarred for life.

Ok, so I figure by this point, I've evened out my score with the Office de Karma and showed that little bureaucratic bastard a thing or two. Well, maybe he was able to read my evil thoughts because when I woke up the following morning, I heard a gurgling noise coming from the toilet in my half bathroom. After adopting the surficial appearance of strength and serenity, I approach the toilet to discover that it is about to overflow with soap suds. Wha?? Excuse me??? Since when did my toilet turn into a washing machine???? I closed the lid on the toilet in a feeble attempt to keep the soap suds from creeping out onto the bathroom floor like those horrifying sitcom moments when some lovable yet idiotic character accidently pours too much detergent into the washing machine and the laundry room becomes the Land Of Slippery Suds. Aaaaaah! What did I do to deserve this??!

My sudsy toilet problem was fixed in the long run, but someone really needs to get that desk clerk a cup of coffee and a salary raise. Pronto.

beautiful doggies

Location: Stony Point Fashion Park
Ladies: The Shamana and Kelly
Doggies: Lil' Bit and Izzy

deck lights, wine and girl talk

Friday night was an enjoyable one at the casa de The Fabulous One. When you get together a group of eight women (two of whom are engaged) and a few bottles of wine . . . and then sit outside on a beautiful night . . . and a beautiful deck (with lights!) then there really is no way that the evening will be a bad one.

I wasn't really feeling a glass of wine, so I went with more caffeine (not particularily smart - but heck, it was Friday night - a night to be wild and crazy). Hah. Anyway, we had great discussions on a multitude of topics including, but not limited to: Gynological Tales Of Terror, how best to make one's breasts look bigger in a strapless wedding gown, how to subtly let your significant other know that he either needs to trim his facial hair or shave it off completely, whether people were inherently good or evil, the many positive qualities of Greece and the men who live there, the sweetest things some guy or other said to us at this or that point, why the heck wedding dresses are all made in ridiculously large sizes (a conspiracy so that we'd have to pay more to have it altered), the evils of butt bows on dresses, entertaining stories about pre-marital counseling , how one of us had ended up dating a guy who turned out to be gay, and the philosophical existence of Fate. If you notice a wedding trend in our line of discussion, I repeat, two engaged women were a part of the conglomerate. :)

It was a very fun night. :) Three cheers to The Fabulous One for hosting such a lovely evening.

shower repertoire

We all know that the main purpose for the existence of showers is so that one can sing well, and with abandon. The acoustic capabilities of showers have continued to baffle scientists and acoustic specialists for decades. As I feel it is my duty to the world, and to the people who live above me, to not let the incredible acoustics in my shower to go to waste, when I'm in the shower - I sing. As the years have gone by, I have compiled a repertoire of songs. I may focus on one song in particular, or combine a few lines together from numerous songs. Either way, it is entertaining. Since I know that all my readers are just dying to get a glimpse of my repertoire, below, I have listed a few of my singing-in-the-shower favorites:

1. "So Are You To Me" - eastmountainsouth
2. "Blue Skies" (jazzy version, as performed by Eva Cassidy - I get to scat)
3. "Wade In The Water" (as performed by Eva Cassidy)
4. The entire "Songbird" album (as performed by Eva Cassidy)
5. "Killing Me Softly" - I know, I KNOW . . . it's just . . . you never know when you might be pushed onstage by your evil friends and forced to sing it in a karoake bar.
6. "Weep You No More" - a classic from the "Sense & Sensibility" movie starring Kate Winslet & Emma Thompson. Every now and then - I like to throw a little classical vocal work into the equation.
7. "If" (as performed by Jane Monheit - sung like I am in love).
8. "Blame It On My Youth" (as performed by Jane Monheit - sung with bitterness).
9. [Insert current Top 40 song that I can not get out of my head]
10. "Running" - eastmountainsouth


I am willing to take suggestions for further expanding my shower repertoire. Also, if you happen to be in my apartment at the same time that I am taking a shower, I may accept a few special requests on demand - assuming that I know your song selection, of course.

i hate you thursday

Thursday: Hi Kelly. I've decided to be the longest day EVER.
Kelly: Gee, thanks Thursday. I hate you.
Thursday: You know, I really care. I do. I care about as much as I care about what Dubyah said yesterday morning during his presidential address.
Kelly: I feel loved.
Thursday: Well, the love ain't coming from this direction.
Kelly: I hate you.
Thursday: You said that already.
Kelly: WHY?? WHY DO YOU DO THIS TO ME??
Thursday: Because I am evil. And I like to be the center of attention.
Kelly: Get a boob job. Then you'll be the center of attention.
Thursday: I'm not a person. I'm a Day. Just so you know.

poor little grocery boy

So, I think I scared a grocery boy last night. I'd honestly prefer to think that I just intimidated him with my wit and charm, but realistically . . . I think I scared him. I don't know how many of you have participated in, or are familiar with, the Ukrop's grocery store scene, but Ukrop's does this thing where they actually take your groceries to your car. It's a very nice customer service gesture, but I always feel bad that someone has to take my groceries to my car, so I always try to have a conversation with whomever is lucky enough to follow me to my parking spot, with groceries in tow.


Sometimes, I am more successful with the conversation starting than other times . . . last night, I definitely was struggling. Those of you who know me know that I have a tendency to bring up some of the most random topics in the world. Occasionally, certain people find that quality endearing (i.e. other random people), but the majority of seemingly normal people either look at me like I'm weird (which I am) or just pointedly ignore me in the hopes that maybe I'll just stop talking. That's what happened yesterday.


I had gone to Ukrops to stock up on essentials and I was already looking a bit scary - had to wear my glasses because my contacts were killing me. But, I like to think that I balanced out the whole glasses thing with the short dress and high heels that I was wearing. Anyway. The kid who was lucky enough to be chosen to take my groceries out was, I'd say, probably in high school. Seemed like a nice enough guy. And so begins the awkward conversation:


Me: Hello, how are you? *smile*
Grocery Boy (GB): . . . alright . . . *sullen look*

(Grocery Boy proceeds to push the cart with my groceries in it with one hand and the other cart that I was shopping with back into the line of other carts with the other hand).

Me: That was very impressive.
GB: . . .

*if there were crickets, they would be chirping*

Me: Um . . . hot outside, isn't it?
GB: Yeah.

*puts groceries in car*

GB: Have a good night. (<--- monotone)

disturbing

I saw something on the drive home from The Fabulous One's house yesterday that I found very disturbing. I'm surprised that I never noticed it before, as it's located in the sketchtacular shopping center down the road from my apartment complex (a complex that hosts the "48 Hours store" and a "comic book store" whose windows are covered - ooo and a place where you can get a weave). Are you ready for this? It's a Chinese restaurant that sells fried chicken.

Why??! Gross. A Chinese place that sells fried chicken. Does anybody else find that disturbing? Its existence raises some very important questions. For example, why does it have so much excess chicken that it needs to deep fry the remainder and create a whole new non-Chinese menu item? Why can't the owners order just enough chicken to complete their "authentic" Chinese dishes? Is is really chicken? Why do they advertise themselves as a Chinese restaurant but also include a byline that screams, "Hey, btw, we have fried chicken, too, if you're craving the greasy stuff" ? Did they decide that they could make more money by catering to the stereotypical food choices of the nearby demographic? Who the hell sees a a Chinese restaurant and says, "Thank God. I was craving some fried chicken." There's a similar place that exists in Carytown, except it sells every cuisine under the sun - Chinese, fried chicken, seafood, cheeseburgers, probably freakin' baklava, too. Is it because the chefs are mediocre cooks in every genre of food and were like "Eh, what the hell, let's make it all?"

I'm sorry, I just find the whole thing as disturbing as the existence of all-you-can-eat seafood buffets.

Blech.

too much fame . . . not good

I just realized that I've been writing a lot about Rue recently. I should probably try to write about other things . . . spoiled kitty.

war games

I am currently writing you from enemy territory. I don't know how much longer I'm going to make it . . . I can't move without putting my life at risk . . .

Rue is playing war games with my bedroom furniture. My bed: The Enemy. My bedroom curtains: The Enemy. The cords hanging from my curtain: The Enemy. The carpet, the underside of my sheets, the computer keyboard, the laundry hamper, ME: The Enemy. Seriously, Rue rockin' a vendetta of some sort. And in truth, I'm scared that she's going to win this battle. Poor, innocent bedroom furniture . . . all you did was sit there, being all bedroom-furniture-like and then this orange tabby with Illusions Of Grandeur starts attacking you - Cadet Rue, that careless heroine.

AAAAHHHH! Geeeeez! I thought scary war game Rue had left the room for a brief minute (hence my hurried entry), but I got this weird "someone is behind me feeling" and There She Was - sitting right behind me, licking her paw in seeming innocence . . . plotting her next attack. I could tell by the look on her face. Seriously - she's got the stealth thing down. She could totally rule the world. Or at least fight all of my enemies in order to clear the way for my total world domination. Ok . . . now her butt is in my face. Why. Rue. Really. Why. (on all counts).

robert frost speaks

I was listening to NPR at work yesterday and they had Bill Collins on, a former U.S. Poet Laureate. He had the audio of Robert Frost reading his very famous poem, "The Road Not Taken." Now, I've heard and read this poem a million times - pretty much everyone has heard and read this poem a million times - so much I think, that people don't truly engage with it anymore. When I heard Frost reading his own poetry though, it really added a whole new dimension to the poem that I have grown up with.

Not every poet can read his or her poetry well out loud. The inflection, volume and flow of the voice can enhance the line or draw out a layer of meaning that had been entirely unrealized. Someone reading poetry has to pay close attention to breaks in the line, to the emphasis of one word over the other . Robert Frost's voice was not entirely what I had expected - kind of like the physical appearance of radio djs is often one that you don't expect . When we read poetry, and actually, when we read anything to ourselves, most of us hear the words in our own voice. His voice was wisened, worldy . . . almost like a man who has seen too much , but at the same time, wished he could have seen more. It reminded me of some kind of grizzled man living off in a shack by himself . . . a la Thoreau (who actually, didn't stay in a shack by himself the whole time that he wrote Walden, but that's a discussion for another time). It was truly fascinating to hear Robert Frost speak and I found it even more poignant because he is no longer with us.

fwooosh!

Teakettle: fwapforeFWOOSH!

Frank: OUCH! The green is THAT WAY *points at driving range*
Teakettle: fwooshienogreenswoosh.
Frank: Well if you weren't aiming for the green... then what were you aiming for??
Teakettle: tickleticklefwooshhehehehe.

Frank: ME?? Why were you aiming at me?

Teakettle: fwooshdorkfwoosh.

Frank: These pants are not dorky! *looks down at plaid golf pants*

Teakettle: fwooshhonkhonk.

Frank: HEY! I do not look like a walking set of bagpipes!!

Teakettle: Fwooshfire?

Frank: No you can't set my pants on fire!

Teakettle: fwoosh?

Frank: Because it will burn me.

Teakettle: swooshmcdreamyfwooshie!

Frank: No he works in Seattle...

Teakettle: Fwooshwooshwooshbangbangbang

Frank: ???

Teakettle: FWOOOOOSHGAHSWOOSHWEEEEEEE!

Frank: .......................................

Teakettle: FWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAOOSHFIRE!!!!

Frank: *backs away slowly*

Teakettle: Fwoosh?

Frank: Oh, um, I was ahhhh, just going to check on my begonias...

Teakettle: FWOOSHLIARRAAAAAAA!

Frank: *Deer in headlights look* Why are you so crazy? Did someone spike you with coffee again?

Teakettle: FWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESH!!!

Frank: So that would be a yes *runs from room*

pump house park

A gorgeous photo shot by my amazing photographer friend, TW. This is a small park near the river, where an old pump house from the early 20th century stands.

ok, weirdness

Well, my week is starting off to a weird start with crazy dreams and Rue antics.


Ok, now I don' remember the dream that I had last night in its entirety, but it featured me and a friend of mine from church - we'll call him Harvard Lawyer. In this dream, Harvard Lawyer and I decided that we were going to go to Wintergreen . . . by foot. So we set off on this massive hike of hundreds and hundreds of miles and after say, Mile 8, I'm about ready to collapse. Then (and I don't know who's brilliant idea this was) we decided to steal money along the way. OH and I forgot, my brother ended up joining us for the whole stealing of the money part. I know that we stopped a lot of different places and rationalized our crime spree in a variety of different ways, but I do remember that we stopped at VCU (a university in Richmond - I don't know how it got on the trail to Wintergreen). In the attempt to capture the money that was rightfully ours, my brother and Harvard Lawyer got caught by a bunch of nurses. Bro and Harvard Lawyer then pretended that they were Catholic and as punishment for stealing, the nurses made them convert to Protestant Christianity. I didn't get caught, though. Because I am amazing. Once they finally escaped, we decided to give all of the money that we'd stolen to charity.


Yeah, weird.



And then this morning, I was sitting in my recliner, drinking my coffee and watching the news like I do every work day morning, and all of a sudden, Rue starts running and pouncing around the living room like she's chasing something. I thought she was just being psychotic like she normally is . . . but then I realized that she actually WAS chasing something. And although it looked like a fly . . . it wasn't. It was a freakin' wasp. A WASP. So I freak out and am yelling at Rue to leave it alone because all I can picture is her smacking the heck out of it and getting stung in the process and I was also taking notice of the wasp's increasingly agitated state as it was being chased and swatted at by crazy Rue and I just had a feeling that it would take its anger out on me, as well. So, I yell "NO RUE!" and she stops for a millisecond to stare questioningly at me before she attacks it again. So, I bolt to the kitchen, grab a massive wad of paper towels and kill the wasp myself before disaster strikes.


Wasps. Rampant dream crime sprees. I hope this isn't an indication of what the rest of my week is going to be like.

the greek festival

I have found heaven on earth. And it is in the form of baklava.

Today, The Cyclist and I experienced one of the many festivals that Richmond has to offer - The Greek Festival. The festival was just a few blocks over from our church, so right after the service, we walked on over. Picture this: tons of white tents, Greek flags flying all over the place, the smell of amazing Greek cuisine, wine flowing like water, little children in traditional Greek dress running around, a stage with Greek performers and musicians . . . it was awesome.

It was also ridiculously hot and the lines were ridiculously long. I had prepared well for this adventure, in my little black dress because I figured why wear a color that reflects heat when you can wear one that absorbs heat? (The Shamana - btw, The Cyclist says "kudos" on the dress selection). But seriously, the food was good enough that I would have gotten back at the end of the line just to have some more. I refrained from getting some wine to keep me company in line due to my heat headache, but there were people walking around drinking from whole bottles of wine . . . now talk about a party!

Once The Cyclist and I got our food from some very nice Greek women, we sat down under one of the tents, at a table across from an old married couple - the husband of which was a graduate of the same school as The Cyclist. Naturally, as does everyone in THE ENTIRE WORLD, they assumed that The Cyclist and I were married. They were a sweet old couple, married 50 years (how great is that?). Anyway, the old guy at one point asked me if I worked outside of the home. I looked at The Cyclist, laughed, and told him that yes, I do in fact work outside of the home. The Cyclist and I didn't feel like crushing this couple's impression that we were married. But it was pretty funny.

After lunch and my first experience with baklava (incredible), The Cyclist and I checked out the section where they were selling jewelry and art. There were gorgeous gold cross necklaces, shawls and bangles. There was this mannequin with skimpy belly-dancing type clothing on it, with lots of gold bangles . . . I told The Cyclist that he should get that mannequin for his future home. Hehe.

Anyway, it was good time. I have decided that I'm going to go to Greece for my honeymoon now. Or Greece & Italy. Or Greece & Italy & Ireland.

The conversation on the way back from the festival:

Me: Thank you for being gracious enough to let me work outside of the home.
TC: Well, you know, I am taking a risk here . . . the guys at work give me a hard time.
Me: . . .
TC: Hello?
Me: Oh, sorry. I was, you know, thinking about the stuff women are supposed to think about - grocery lists, what I'm going to make you for dinner . . .
TC: . . . the excitement of polishing my shoes . . .
Me: . . . exactly . . .
TC: . . . because, you know, I've had a hard day at work.
Me: Exactly. You deserve a woman waiting for you in the kitchen.

Yay Greek Festival!