Anniversary Celebration Mini Road Trip, Part One  

traveling to Teaneck, NJ...** 

(**my apologies to my sister, Weez for not stopping by... it was a quick trip and we didn't want to bother you guys)

Okay, so by now you all are aware of my undying devotion and obsession with my fantasy husband, Rhett Miller. Well, what you don't know is Geo has a deep connection to Francis Dunnery. I wouldn't call it a man-crush, but Francis is the only performer Geo will leave the house to see--no questions asked. Swear to God.

We don't get to see Francis that often because he quit playing clubs (except the Tin Angel in Philly) and only does house concerts now. Seriously. He'll come to your house and play in your living room. How cool is that? We've been to two and they are AWESOME!! 

Anywho... I've been trying for months to find someone to drive to Teaneck, NJ with me to see Rhett at a little place called Mexicali Blues. Geo didn't want to tag along since the gig was Thursday night, and I couldn't find anyone to bite. To say I was disappointed is an understatement. 

Aaaaah, but the Universe is a beautiful, mysterious thing, my friends, and sometimes things are just meant to be. As the fates would have it, I discovered Francis Dunnery was performing in a coffee house in Phoenixville, PA--a mere 90 minutes west of Teaneck... Get this.. the night AFTER Rhett's gig!! Sweet!!! 

Once Francis was in the mix, Geo was on board. So we packed up Rita (yes, we're the geeks who name their cars...get over it) and headed East. It could not have been a better travel day, all blue sky, sunshine and satellite radio. We pulled into Hackensack with a couple of hours to chill (more on the hotel in a later post). We've never been to Hackensack, but from what our journey to the club revealed, apparently there are no left turns permitted there. Perhaps some crazy-assed, anti-left Catholic by-law? Who knows. 

Anywho, we got to the club and parked right in front. No lie. Right in front of the freaking door! Double Sweet! The Mexicali is a fairly large, wide open, high ceiling club with a stage in front, bar in the back and tables and chairs in the middle and along the side. As is the case with these venues, the food is stinky. Really. I don't know why they can't get decent cooks. I mean, come on. Just pay someone's Granny to make like, six things that are edible. That's all you need. At least the margaritas were pretty kicking. 

So we're sitting next to this couple who are joined by two LARGE men. Okay, like extra, extra large dudes. I have no problem with a person's size. People are what they are. What I do have a problem with is this fat cat would not SHUT THE F*CK UP while the opener, Mia Riddle was playing!! Geo has a great line for these situations... "don't you just hate it when the band is so loud you have to shout over them?" I was all set to leap over the table and shove 16 enchiladas down his gullet to shut him up if he talked during Rhett's performance. Fortunately for him, after three songs I couldn't contain myself any longer and ran in front of the stage to dance and sing with other fevered females.  

Mr. Miller must have been tired, because my fantasy Honey had a few uncharacteristic struggles during the show. Okay, more than a few. He mucked up the lyrics on several songs, stopping during "Roller Skate Skinny" to ask if he had sang the third verse (he hadn't, but the crowd helped him out), throwing down that silver capo thingie that changes the key only to have to fish for it and put it back on, dropping his lone pick a handful of times prompting a quiet "f*****ck blurt... You know how it is--one thing happens then it all sort of snowballs into Shitsville. Poor thing. At one point he looked like he just needed a big ole hug and a reassuring "That's okay, Baby. We loves ya no matter what." 

And yet, in spite of all the difficulties, he blasted through 24 songs, including two new ones and shared a handful of stories the best of which was about his garage apartment "swinging dick" roommate who was schtupping two babes at once while only a thin sheet of canvas tarp separated Rhett from the action. His new song "Another Girlfriend" is his tale of the tail--if you know what I mean. 

We stuck around afterwards to chat with him. He's a huge Dallas Cowboys fan, so naturally we brought him a Steelers Super Bowl Champions shirt to jag him. When he saw the shirt, he told me I sucked. 

Ha Ha Ha Ha!! 

But then I gave him a bootlegged CD of a great old solo show of his from 2002, so hopefully that made up for the shirt. :P

And then we drove West for what turned out to be the coolest day EVAH... (to be continued)

A Tale Of Two 24 Year Olds

or why Lamarr Woodley is my new favorite...

Oh Man! There is so much to tell about this past week. Where to begin... let's start with Wednesday, shall we?

Okay, so you remember the horrible experience I had with a certain athlete on Monday. Well, what a difference two days make. Wednesday Lamarr Woodley was to be our guest on our dog and pony show. Now I had no idea who this guy was let alone what he would be like. Would he lean towards the dark side ala Senor Dickhead, or the bright side ala Hines Ward. We all were curious who would walk through the door.

Honestly, it didn't start off well.

At 8:55...no Lamarr. In fact, he didn't show up until 20 minutes into the show. Oh boy... But here's the goofy thing--his Entourage was at the station at 8:30am. What's up with that? Isn't the whole idea behind an "entourage" is they are stuck to the side of the talent like an unsightly skin tag? So why the Hell would they saunter over to the studio WITHOUT the man of the hour? I don't get it.

Anywho...

I'm happy to report he could not have been any nicer, sweeter or cooler! He playfully rolled along with whatever we threw at him. From taste-testing hot 'n spicy hoagies at 9:30am, to playing with the puppies in the adopt-a-pet segment--naming them Lamarr and Miss Woodley, to taking the heat from Brenda, our host for being late... He genuinely had a good time.

The real fun started after the show. During his on-air interview, he shared the story of fellow player Casey Hampton giving him crap on the sidelines for not having any "sacs" all year. Of course our host thought he said he had no "SEX" all year--mind you Brenda knows nothing about football. She looked at me (I knew exactly what she was thinking) and bust out laughing, puzzling our guest. Afterwards when she told him what she heard him say, he was comically and sincerely aghast--jaw dropping to the table. It was hilarious. He proceeded to give her shit and tease her about her dirty mind. Very fun. Then without pretense he hung around to sign whatever folks brought and graciously posed for photo after photo.

But, hands down, the thing that endeared him to our collective hearts was this...

Being mannerly, he politely tucked his mouth into his jacket to quiet his hoagie-fueled, trailing belch. But what he didn't realize was he actually belched right into his microphone. 

Ha Ha Ha!! I'm not kidding! It was the BEST! Seriously. 

So now we have a recording of his brilliant burp followed by our uncontrollable laughter in the audio archives. Wednesday was the first time in a loooooong time I could proclaim, "I LOVE my job" and sincerely mean it. 

And THAT is why Lamarr Woodley is my new favorite player! Thank you, dude! Drop by any time.

My Brush With Greatness? 

or like Kate Nash would sing... why you being a dickhead for?  

Okay, so today we had a Super Bowl Playa on our little dog and pony show. He was scheduled to be interviewed in the first segment, then participate in the next three segments which were as follows--a display of a buttload of Steelers merchandise, a weather segment and a cooking segment. It's local TV, Dude... it's all drivel.

Let me say up front... I was never fond of this creep. I honestly think he's a criminal, but he was going to be our guest, so I had to play along. 

So Beets and I go into the green room beforehand to chat and ask for a photo op. This cat is all hunched down in the chair wearing his brash, big-ass bro hooded coat giving off his best ghetto tude. You know the one, the "I'm too cool for this joint and if you don't stop buggin' me I'll pop a cap in yo ass" vibe. We say hello and politely ask if we could take a photo. Get this... he says NO! and gives us the big brush off, look-away. 

Excuse me? WTF? What. A. DICK! (and I ain't talking about what's parked in his over sized pantaloons)

I go marching into the newsroom where I'm greeted by the director who proclaims "I think we might have problems with our 'guest'." Uh..Yeah. No shit Sherlock. Turns out he did the major stick-up-his-butt to our producer AND started to weasel out of his on-screen commitment. You're not making friends here, Bubba.

Did I mention he was a DICK? I think I did. 

Now granted Mr. Fame-and-Notoriety-Has-Made-Me-Think-I'm-All-That is only in his early 20s and he's been on the go for over three weeks and he hasn't been home or seen his multitudes of illegit progeny and he's tired and.. and.. and.. Waa Waa Waa   

MAN UP! 

This is what fame costs, Cleatus. You wanted this. And none of those excuses gives you the right to be a ... well, Dickhead. It's "losers" like us common folk who put you on the map, Junior. A lesson you would be wise to learn. But I'm not bitter or anything.

Anywho, so we all brace ourselves for the on-air gangsta tude and the inevitable brush off when, lo and behold, he becomes marginally more engaging as soon as the camera light goes on. Oh, NOW we're Mr. Approachable. Is this how we play? 

When the segment ends, I go into my little trained monkey act (that's part of the gig when you're a floor manager--always having to entertain and make nice-nice) and as pleasantly as possible ask if he'd like to join us for the next segment. 

Him: I'm here now. I might as well stick around.

Me: Don't do us any favors, Ass Face.  :0   Did I say that out loud?! 

That segment goes okay--surprise! Jethro's warming up and on board for the weather bit including adopt a pet. And by "pet" I mean a ginormous pit bull with interlocking jaws of death which tugs at his inner Michael Vick. Now he's all kissing on the pooch, being warm and fuzzy. Go figure. A killer dog brings out the soft underbelly of Mr. Jerk Wad.

Next stop, the kitchen and some crappy, tasteless, low-fat gruel prepared by one of our nicer guests. Along the way from Studio A to Studio B, Gomer starts acting like a human. Too late, Butt Munch. I dump his sorry ass on the other floor manager--he's her problem now. So long, sucker. Don't darken my door again.

This is why I'm hesitant to meet famous people I really admire and enjoy. None of us really liked this goober to begin with, but just imagine how disappointed we'd all have been if we HAD admired him. I tell ya, some people's kids... 

It makes me really appreciate people like "The Ghost Whisperer's" David Conrad who stops by often, is completely down to earth and even takes jump pictures with us. Now HE'S cool!

Friday Photo #15 

or viva la bar crawl!  

Two years ago we had a four-stop, farewell bar crawl for our weather chanteuse, Becca, who decided to chuck the whole television biz to be a stay-at-home Mom. This shot was taken at our last stop, Bar 11. It's a great, totally dive bar where they throw handfuls of plastic toy tchotchkes in your drink, including candy necklaces. It's loud, it's brash and it absolutely has to be THE last stop of the night. You just can't appreciate this place unless you are well lubed. It's where everyone cuts loose before staggering to the diner for huevos and java. 

I love this photo. It's one of my absolute favorites because it successfully captures a moment--you know what I mean? It's completely spontaneous and unguarded and sums up the blast we all had that night. (and yes, I realize there are too many "ands" in that sentence)

With all the crap happening at work these days, good thing it's almost time for the Third Annual Becca Farewell Bar Crawl. We need it. 

In Which I "Borrow" a Topic  From Isabel 

hey, don't judge me. I'm giving her credit so get off my ass already... 

Okay, so last night I read one of my favorite bloggers, HolaIsabel. She's pregnant and went on about how "they"- the mysterious experts- tell you pregnant women have better sex lives (which she denies) and are prone to more (as in number) sexually charged dreams (which she confirms). Having never been preggers meself, I cannot speak to the truth of either of these two claims. 

But what is apparently universally true, whether one is with child or not, is how these vivid sex dreams never seem to get to the "Happy Ending" (if you know what I mean. yeah. you do. I can tell by the way you're chewing that ice cube...) before waking. 

What's up with that?

I've had some pretty fabuloso, semi-carnal unconscious trysts with mystery, somewhat faceless guys and one truly spectacular make-out session with TV's Kyle Chandler from his Early Edition days. It was on a couch, and he was all soft and manly, shirtless and a GREAT kisser!! Oh la la. But again...I woke up right when the BVDs were coming off. So. Not. Fair!

Why is it you always seem to stir when the gutchies start to come off. And no matter how hard you try, you can never, EVER go back to sleep to pick up where you left off in your subconscious booty call. Never happens. NEVER. Double Not Fair. Isabel attributes it to being loyal to her husband even in slumber. I think it's just the cosmos dicking with us... figuratively, and kinda literally, too... you know, because the cosmos is a mean drunk and sort of pricky.

In all the 26 years I've known Geo, I think I dreamt of him maybe... three times. And even WE didn't do the nasty in dreamland. I don't get it? (that's what she said--okay that was a freebie) You'd think since it's your hubby your subconscious would do you that solid and let it all play out, but nooooo. 

However, if I ever had a sex dream about the King-of-all-my-things Rhett Miller, I think my ovaries would spontaneously kick out three eggs and I'd wake up pregnant in dire need of a cigarette. Yowza! THAT would be seriously hawt!!   Look at him... he's thinking how hot that would be, too. Yeah... He wants me.  :D

Who's Naming This Stuff? 

seriously... what the?!? 

Okay, so I love signage. Especially unintentionally inappropriate signage. I was in the Giant Eagle (an uber food mart prevalent here in town) waiting in the pharmacy line refilling my Valtrex (KIDDING!!) when I saw this...

I have no idea what this is even for, but who names a product...any product Sac Magique? How great would it have been to be in THAT brainstorming session, huh? And does the French make it more legit somehow?

Shelf placement is very important in retail. I think ye olde Sac Magique would go nicely next to this...

Ha Ha Ha... Sorry. This brings the 12-year-old boy in me great joy. I think le Sac Magique cast a spell on my defenseless phone photo's coloring. tsk tsk... Le Naughty, Naughty.  

In Which I Yield The Floor To Share A Friend's Tale 

Okay, so my friend and coworker, Kahones wrote a note on his Facebook page last week that had me absolutely crying from laughter. So naturally I asked him if I could bogart it for this here blog thingie, because really it is just too funny not to share. Seriously. Thankfully, he agreed. Enjoy!

Just Desserts... You Make The Call

Let me preface this little ditty with... I love kids. Love them. There's nothing as sweet and pure. Let me also say, there's no ONE way to parent. Everyone does it differently, but when personal spaces are invaded, either physically, by deafening screams or unidentified flying, slimy objects, something's just not working. 

 I finish my morning broadcast and pop into my favorite coffee shop for a piping hot java and crisp breakfast sandwich. It's 8:30 so it's busy. I pull open the door and hold it for a Mom, hand-in-hand with her little man (4-years-old I'm guessing). He's not really walking. He's kind of beebopping. You know that bounce, bounce, over striding, ants-in-his-pants walk. Of course, because we are an immediate and connected society, she's on her cell phone. As she passes my smiling face, I hear her in a snide and snotty tone: "oh I CAN'T STAND to do anything with that family. That child is an absolute monster. A total brat!" 

Remember these words folks.

Somehow I end up in front of Mom and Cameron (I'm guessing. She called him: Cammy). I'm digesting the comment I heard as she passed through the door. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Cammy still hand-in-hand, standing quietly, patiently. I think to myself: "Self, isn't that a picture. What a well-behaved boy". That thought was quickly erased... no, BEATEN out of my brain.

Cammy starts complaining. Mom tells him to be patient. Everyone else has to wait. Cammy starts doing the dead-weight-nearly-pulling-Mom-over-starting-to-scream lean. Heads are starting to turn. Mom relents and releases Cammy's hand. 

Mistake. 

Then the kid lets one rip. I mean, not a cute, little tot toot... I mean a 70-year-old Grandpa, asleep on the couch, clear a room boom. I bit my lip, cuz it was ffuuuunnnnyyy. Mom says "what do you say?" I was thinking... "uh, want to check my pants?"

Cammy's a wanderer. He marched over to the taster bagel stand, reaches up, grabs a bagel bit, smells it, then does his best center-field-to-home throw. he launches it over the people waiting in line, over the counter and into the food prep area. "Cammy! Stop that. Get over here", Mom snarls. 

Yeah, right. 

Cammy starts darting--I'm talking a dead sprint--from the front of the store to the back. It's reckless abandonment. He farts. Not so cute Cammy doesn't care who he runs into. Mom's barking at him to slow down. To stop. Too late. Cammy's at the age where his big melon is at the height of an average man's crotch. On a dead sprint, Cammy slams into some poor chap. Yep, Cammy's head hits him right in the ... well, "creamer". Guy spills his coffee. Mom let's out a big sigh, goes over, apologizes and scoops up a coffee soaked kid. The screaming begins. The entire shop is staring. Mom's jaw is clearly tight with tension. I'm starting to chuckle. The kid farts. 

By this point I've paid for my coffee and sandwich. Sipping my rich, black cup of joe, I wait for my sandwich order to come up. I know I'm in store for something good again, cuz Cammy is screaming--shrilling at the top of his lungs all the while doing the dead man lean. Mom again, let's go. 

Did I mention this is a mistake? 

The terror takes off again. Farts. Mom's trying to pay for her freu-freu-candy-coffee-in-a-cup. All is quiet. Not good, because Mom has NO IDEA where Cammy is. He's not in sight. He's in the back of the store. Suddenly out of nowhere... Suuuuper Caaaammmmyyyyy!!!!

I'm not sure what Mom is doing, but I assumed she would have cashed out and bailed out. Not before this. What is it about kids and spinning in circles at warp speed, I'll never know. Cammy is whipping around in circles faster than the Tea Cups at some crappy County Fair. He comes out of his spin--not on purpose--but that "Whoa, Whoa, Whoa" arms flailing kind of way. He darts forward headed for the counter. He slams, forehead first, into the side of the counter and drops like a stone. As Cammy slams on his back, he simultaneously farts AND burps. Suddenly I feel this really warm feeling in my sinuses. No, it's not a sneeze. Coffee damned near sailed out of my nose. I look around and everyone, EVERYONE, has that suppress-a-laugh smirk on their faces.

Mom runs over to Cammy. Not a scream... Not a cry... Not a whimper... Mom picks him up and that's when I notice a 2 1/2 inch, well defined, red indentation on Cammy's forehead. No blood. He'll feel that in the morning. Mom implores, "Are you ok?" FAAAARRRTTTTTTT.

Hey, great my order is ready!! I grab my sandwich and turn to see Cammy and Mom walking 

out, hand-in-hand. Cammy's now pulling on the seat of his pants. Wonder why? I guarantee it's going to be a smelly ride home. An employee picks up Cammy's tossle cap and hands it to Mom. Now we all understand why it wouldn't stay on his head... the horns kept pushing it off.

Thinking back to the phone call I overheard at the beginning of this story, I laugh to myself. As parents... our kid is  never the brat. It's always the other kid. 

tee hee

Thanks for the huge laugh, Kahones. My only question is...what the HELL is that woman feeding that kid?!?