Entries from March 2005 ↓

I love coffee. I love it strong and black. I enjoy thick espressos and deep, red wines. I was once a smoker, smoked a pack a day for three years. It’s no wonder my pearly whites aren’t so pearly or white anymore. Apparently I’m still in a target demographic that hasn’t settled on a toothpaste yet because everytime I run out I excitedly scour the aisle for a new miracle paste that will turn my gummy smile into a toothy, gleaming grin. This time I opted for Arm & Hammer’s Enamel Care with Liquid Calcium because I was wooed by it’s promise to "restore enamel luster". My enamel hasn’t felt lustrous in years so I scooped it up.

I threw away my other toothpaste early because I was pretty disappointed with it. I carefully slid the new tube from its crisp cardboard and placed it on the sink. It looked nice there. Upon first use I read the directions and did exactly as it said. I’m very much a direction follower. When it says "repeat if necessary" on the shampoo bottle well, I do.

When I opened the tube I noticed it had one of those fancy dual-chambered spouts. I had had a run-in with this kind of tube before, and while they look really nice with the cute little divider, they are not so good on execution. Still, I was confident. I positioned my brush and, bottom to top like a good girl, I squeezed. And only the blue side shot out.

Folks, I didn’t panic. It was too early to panic. It was the very first squeeze from a fresh dual-chambered tube of toothpaste. Please, have some faith. So I massaged the white paste in the tube in a manner conducive to both sides coming out equally and gave another squeeze. Same shit. The blue gel shot out like a snot rocket, while the thicker, white paste sat lazy in the tube. The key to restoring enamel luster, I imagine, is the dual action of both the paste and the gel whitening and repairing your teeth in tandem.

You’d think after a few days or more the toothpaste would come into its own and begin performing as intended. You would be wrong. Even still, after two weeks of using the boyfriend’s stuff, the crappy Arm & Hammer Enamel Care Natural Whitening toothpaste sits mocking me on the sink.

But today is the day of reckoning. I whipped out my camera so the world could see the shitty design that is the tube of Arm & Hammer Enamel Care Natural Whitening toothpaste. Click the photo below to watch a short video of the horror that is this unusable, disaster of a toothpaste.

Just thought everyone should know how much Arm & Hammer Enamel Care toothpaste sucks butt.

So, tonight I went to the Nashville blogger meet-up, also known as An Evening with Mr. Roboto, and it was fun. At first I thought I was going to throw up I was so nervous, what with the meeting strangers and all, and as soon as I arrived I did a television interview. WKRN interviewed me for a spot about the gathering, which aired later tonight at 10 p.m. I talked to the reporter for about (what seemed like) 20 minutes and he asked me some really great questions. He seemed to have done his research. Then they aired just one sentence of what I said.

They did, however, air my web address and did this nice scroll-y thing with the camera showing my site. Which is radical. I may be able to get a file of it for the blog soon for ya’ll to see. UPDATE: Thanks to Ryland and t3poh, I now have the interview video available for download! [And here is a .mp4 version in case .avi doesn’t work for ya.]

Okay, so I looked at the pictures I took at the blogger meet-up and they were all totally crappy. I opened them up in Photoshop and played with the contrast and color balance and let me tell you, it wasn’t good. It was too dark by the time I arrived not to use the flash which made everyone looked stunned and evil, what with the red eyes and all. The ones taken without a flash were far too dark to work, and so in the end I decided to post none of them. I managed to make Nashville’s attractive blogger population look pretty hideous. Double chins and shiny foreheads abounded.

It was great to meet everyone, even though I didn’t. I got there late, which was dumb, and so I didn’t get a chance to talk to Busy Mom or the Homeless Guy or Paul Chenowith or Blake. I did get a chance to talk with Tim Morgan and the Saucy Librarian, both of whom are just as hilarious in person. When a fire engine went tearing down Hillsboro Road in front of the bar Tim yelled, "Hey Channel 2, real news! That way!"

I look forward to the next event almost as much as I look forward to Mr. Roboto’s follow-up post coming this afternoon.

There is this movie called Citizen Ruth that was written and directed by the guy who wrote and directed Sideways, a film that has inspired countless snickers if I even mention the word merlot at my tables. Citizen Ruth, for those who have yet to see it, is a satire about abortion and the right to life in this country. It stars Laura Dern, a pregnant, paint-huffing drifter who finds herself in the center of a national battle on determining the fate of her baby. Each side keeps raising the stakes higher and higher while Ruth, the only one who decides what happens to her baby, is manipulated and lied to and ignored.

I don’t want to spoil the ending for people who want to see it–it’s good, I highly recommend it–but I am constantly reminded of it as I read and watch reports of what is happening to Terry Schiavo. I am reminded of it when I hear that Congress subpoenaed Terry Schiavo to testify . When I heard that Bush was flying into Washington from his vacation to sign a bill that applies not to cases like hers, but specifically to her only, I was also reminded of Citizen Ruth.

Netflicksters and bit torrenters, I guess what I am saying is, now is a good time to see Citizen Ruth. Enjoyed with a glass of pinot noir, naturally.

When I was in fifth and sixth grade I lived with my fucked up stepdad in this fucked up double-wide trailer on Petway Road. Not sure whose idea it was but we owned two goats, a momma goat and a baby goat. We had houses for them and hay and a salt lick, and even though they both met a tragic demise, they lived happy lives while our family lived a few feet away in constant terror and turmoil.

Sometimes I would sneak out to the goats’ houses for a reprise from the scariness of it all. And I would lick on the salt lick. Lick it right up.

So gross, right? Well, this blog post serves as more than just a confession. It’s also a disclosure to the boyfriend. I tried over and over to tell you this in person sweetie, but I just couldn’t, so I wrote about this here so you would know.

Baby, I gave you goat cooties.

Drinks I have loved in the order in which I loved them:

• age 18-vodka and orange juice, tall
• age 19-sea breeze
• age 19 1/2-cape cod, extra lime
• age 20-vodka tonics, extra lime
• age 21-vodka gimlets, straight up
• age 21 1/4-Petron tequila, chilled and straight up
• age 21 3/4-riesling
• age 23-merlot
• age 24-cabernet
• age 25-sake
• age 26-petit sirah
• age 27-sparkling whites and mimosas and cotes du rhones

I get to watch these movies (see below) for free and then write about them, for which they pay me money. That is so cool. I still can’t believe that movie reviewing is an actual job. 

• The Real Dirt on Farmer John
• Lbs.
• Robbing Peter
• Mardi Gras: Made in China
• Obstinato: Making Music for Two

I am home from work sick with the aches, snots and sneezes. My lymph nodes feel like softballs in my neck and owwww, my ears hurt. Starving but have no appetite, if that’s possible. Must focus all energy on breathing in and out successfully.

Oh my God, I am pregnant.

*At least right now the Smurfs are on.

Yesterday I didn’t have to go in until 6 pm, so I made a big, long list of all the stuff I’d accomplish during the day. I’d do the dishes and put away laundry and work on an article and edit the ad copy and go to the gym and meditate before work. Of course, I only crossed off three of those things: dishes, laundry and editing. I got dressed to go to the gym, got in the car and headed that way only to drive right past it and on to Bread & Company.

I was starving because I’d only had Naked’s Green Machine juice and hard-boiled egg whites. The closer I inched to the gym in traffic the hungrier I got. I couldn’t imagine running on the treadmill or lifting weights without eating something first. I’d never been to the Green Hills Bread & Company before but the parking lot was packed. I found a spot right up front that was encroached upon by two SUVs on either side. The one on the passenger side of my car was much further over her line, but I had no problem getting out on my side, so whatever. I parked there.

Once inside and in line I noticed all the sandwiches had meat except for one, so I got a tuna salad sandwich on multi-grain. I asked the vacuous girl weighed down by her eyeliner if I could get it with no bacon. "Extra what?," she shouted at me from behind the counter. "No BACON," I overemphasized and she just titled her head at me and turned to make my sandwich. Luckily it came without bacon and no extra anything else.

Then I got in line to pay and was caught between some annoying, hipster kids. The pin-wearing ones in front of me wanted the greasy haired guys behind me to join them up front, but the greasy haired kids refused to cut line. "We’re not going to monkey jump," they said, but I noticed the other line was shorter so I moved to that one just so I wouldn’t have to hear them.

There were two middle aged women in the shorter line ahead of me. And it seriously took them seven minutes a piece to finish their transaction at the register. The first woman wanted a dozen cookies wrapped and bagged individually and she wanted to know if she could get fruit tea by the gallon. She paid for half of her purchase with cash, the other with a credit card. I stood holding my tuna salad sandwich, quivering from hunger and waited.

The next woman in line was worse. She kept adding things to her order. She added another danish or truffle FOUR TIMES after being given her final total. Her speech was as lazy. "Hmmmm, let me go ahead and have another croissant. Do you know if there are anymore almond croissants, those are my Billy’s favorite? Can you check?" I lifted my face to the ceiling and breathed deep, calming breaths. Once it was confirmed that no, there were no more almond croissants she paid. WITH A CHECK. And somebody must have taught her just yesterday because she had to start over for some reason. I was beginning to think this Stepford slut was high on something. She got her bags of food and put away her wallet and checkbook, fumbling all the while. She made a movement toward then tables and I thought I was just about to be able to purchase and eat my limp-looking sandwich when she stepped in front of me again to ask for an extra cup of ice. I’m not sure how I didn’t lose it.

Fifteen minutes later I was stuffing my face with tuna fish when I looked outside to see the slow-ass woman in line ahead of me who needed extra ice trying to wedge her fat ass and all her bags into the narrow space between our vehicles. It came as no surprise to me to discover she was the hag who’d taken up one and a half spaces in the limited lot out front. It gave me perhaps too much pleasure to munch my sandwich while watching her struggle to get in the oversized gas guzzler she’d haphazardly parked in my spot. I sat waiting, smiling, plastic  knife drawn, ready if she even thought about slamming her door into my car.

Luckily I didn’t have to cut a bitch up.

I swear to the porcelain throne that no one pukes as much as I do. No one, I said. I puke on planes and I puke if I ride in backseats of cars. Surprisingly, I have only puked once after drinking, but I have thrown up on every other intoxicant I have ever tried, except for one. Really. Doing the dishes often makes me dry heave a little.

So, it is no surprise that for no reason at all at 5:30 this morning I awoke to that sickening, familiar feeling and headed straight for the bathroom. I put my face to the cold tile floor and waited. And waited. I could feel the illness rising in my body. After 20 minutes or so I shoved a finger down my throat and got it all over with. After 20 more minutes of gargling, teeth brushing and sitting on the couch in recovery watching the sun come up I went back to bed.

Good thing I find these purple spots I get around my eyes after hurling sort of cute. Tiny, colored freckles. Plus I get to enjoy mint tea and toast, one of my favorite breakfasts, while feeling all hollow and slim. Sick, I know, but there is something kind of calming about being totally empty.

Oh, and listen, I’m not pregnant. The internet always wants me to be pregnant, so don’t even start with that shit, yo.

Not much to report at length so I’m going with the bulleted list of random shit that pops into my head for the next, oh say, 10 30 minutes or so.

• I’m working twelve days in a row. That’s almost half a month. I’m currently on Day 7. I’m getting sorta winded. Today I got to work at 10 a.m. and by thirty minutes aftern noon I was pissed that I was getting another table. That’s a sign of wear and tear, right there. I spent a fourth of what I made on the fish special, because dammit, I’m worth it. I had chili-dusted grilled salmon with an asiago cheese and green chile potato cake and grilled vegetables with a melon and papaya salsa made with cilantro, red onions and honey. Not bad for seven bucks.
• Still haven’t heard from these guys. Nine days until all winnners are notified. It’s been difficult to stay confident.
• The art and live music show at the Family Wash was fantastic. MissE’s stuff was really impressive. I especially liked her batiks. The Suns of Norway were really good, too. I’d never heard them before, but the artist and I have similar taste in music, so I wasn’t surprised. Pretty, melodic, low-key. Annette from Venus Hum sang on one song and, man. I’ve seen her perform a bunch and am no longer starstruck when I see her around, but I forget how powerful her voice is. It’s beautiful. I got drunk on sparkling wine in can. They’re called Sophia Minis and I’m charmed silly by them. It tastes kinda metallic, but SO CUTE IT COMES WITH A STRAW. In a little pink can! Then I took a photo of the Nashville skyline on the bridge coming back from East Nashville. This is the Music City through a canned champagne haze. [More photos from the art/music show, taken by the boyfriend.]
• The cat I got when I was 13 or 14 died. She was hit by a car about a week ago. After a day she died. It was one of the saddest, most horrible two days of my life. It was harder for my sister, who kept Abby as an adult.
• You should hear the morbid shit this girl C. and I talk about at work. She had this table that had a four or five month old baby at it. The baby’s mother was completely and loudly engrossed with her child. And thought everyone else should be, too. She actually said to one of her tablemates, "Look at my sweet baby, isn’t she pretty?" The baby started to grunt and whine and her mother said, "Just listen to that voice." Oh yes, your pink-covered, gargling infant is teeth-crushingly cute and obviously ready for American Idol. C. was all, "I’m not going to even acknowledge that they have a baby. Or, better yet I’ll say, ‘We have a closet you can keep that in. Your baby, I mean.’ Or, ‘May I offer your baby a plastic bag?’" C. always takes it too far, which is why I adore her. That and she sometimes brings her flask to work. But seriously, that kid is going to have major mommy issues. My bet is she grows up to be a stripper.
• Another example of why I like C.: Madonna’s song "Holiday" was on while we were prepping stuff for Sunday brunch when C. started singing over the lyrics, "May I have some Hollandaise? Hollandaise to celebrate. Hollandaise! It would be so nice!"
• I read about this DVD called The Trainer’s Edge: Killer Butt in a fitness magazine at the gym. They claimed it was hands down the best workout video to reshape the ass, hips and thighs. My problem area needs all the reshaping it can get so I bought a used copy and ten days later my DVD arrived. I popped it in one afternoon before work and OHMYGOD. That was three days ago and my walk is still all fucked up. The workout consists of rep after rep of tried and true ass-whittling methods: squats, squats, lunges and more squats. The DVD is surprisingly varied, though, which tricked me into completing most of the exercises. When I went to sleep that night I would cry out when I’d turn over. I dreaded waking up because I could feel my muscles repairing themselves and tightening. My legs muscles felt like huge, hot, hard ropes. I’m going to attempt to do it again in two or three days. This is a video I’m going to have to work my way up to. But, holy christ, if I do this thing three times a week I might actually put on a pair of shorts or a skirt come spring time. Highly recommended if you have a high threshold for pain and have a really fat ass. Otherwise it’s just not worth it.
• My boss at [the place where I work] has asked me to write the copy for an ad he’ll be running in a local socialite magazine. He wants assertive and funny. And for me to be creative. And for whatever reason I’m scared to death. He’s liked what I’ve shown him but thinks I’m holding back and being too tame. Must work on that tonight. It’s just work, work, work, work, work, work, work.
• I’m making things for you. Well, some of you. But I’m going slowly. Forgive my snail’s pace.
• I want to pimp Alison’s online jewlery storre, i like beads. For no reason other than that I like her stuff and wish I could afford to buy some right now. But can’t, and thought you might.
• My car insurance rates just went down!