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      Category: craziness (Page 8 of 9)

      I AM NOT BEIGE.

      December 1, 2008 /

      God. When will the insanity about our “mayoral first couple” end?!

      The fearless stubborn duo appeared on Good Morning America today, and I shared some of Diane Sawyer’s incredulity at the situation. “Why not just stay home and stop causing a kerfuffle?” she basically asked.  EXACTLY! Oh no, just dig in your heels and sue the city. That’s great. Y’all are damned royalty the way you talk, and hey, I’m sorry but you are just a mayor and his wife. Elevating and comparing yourselves to PRESIDENTS and their respective First Ladies? Wow. I’m just astonished.

      The audacity to put herself in the same category as HIllary Clinton and Michelle Obama astounds me. I’d like to take the opportunity to point out that yes, Hillary did support her husband, and she did stand by her man, but did she sit outside his office door & stick to him like glue 24/7? I seem to recall seeing plenty of photos of Bill Clinton  quite handily doing his job without his wife by his side, managing everything for him.  Oh, and while we’re talking Hillary, did she ever call any of the White House staff “Bernie Mac”? This Ma’am-E or Mammy explanation is preposterous.

      KMBC: “Mayor Mark Funkhouser said his wife once said the word “mammy” to a black woman on his staff, but that she did it as a term of endearment.”

      Why, silly me – she meant it as a form of affection!  Yes, and daddy only beats you cuz you cry. WTF? Really? Now our tax dollars are paying for lawyers & most likely, settlement money with the employee who was so lovingly addressed. Meanwhile, crime’s up, the metal plates in the road still plague us, sewer problems abound & the city’s budget is effed up. Hey, concept #1 on that budget?! Drop the lawsuits.

      Honestly, these two have pissed me off from the get-go with Glo moving into City Hall and interviewing people and speaking as the mouthpiece for the mayor.  Now they seem to have an irrational determination to sacrifice everything for the sake of being able to “work” together, by golly.  Trumpeting her as this flashy, brassy LongIsland Italian in-your-face woman, how Kansas City just can’t handle her feisty spirit, how we’re just a reserved bunch of beige people (seriously, watch the interview – the original term was “beige”, she’s trying to switch it to “reserved”), and no matter what, HE NEEDS HER. Well, grow a pair, buddy. Wait, that’s right, we heard all about your nether regions in the Christmas letter last year.  There’s a big difference between crude and feisty, friends. I fly across both territories quite comfortably, and for the record, came from IOWA. It don’t get blander than that. Fuck that East Coast attitude, I officially challenge her to a Feisty Dance-Off.

      And no, her husband can’t bring a sheet of cardboard and break dance to warm up the crowd. To keep it fair, the Wo will keep his moves to himself as well. Because I can actually fight my own battles, do my job everyday, and operate independently from my husband. Who could put an approach move on the scene before Funk even knew what was goin’ down.

      Bizzitches only.

      God. Please let this insanity STOP. Part of me actually pities them, it’s like the old childhood story of the Emperor who had no clothes.  Yeah, and for the record, I ain’t beige. But my regular readers already knew that.

      Woohoo, Short Week!

      November 23, 2008 /

      JWo is not happy I cleaned the coffee pot. He seems to believe the patina of crud ‘haz a flavr’. Well, LOL and it’s too late baby, yeah it’s too late, I can practically see my reflection in the dang thing now. It was my weekend highlight, getting that vileness cleaned out. I’m attributing his gout to the buildup and he’ll thank me later.

      Still have the head cold. Not pleased. Just polished off some Theraflu and am verrrrry sleepy now.

      Knitting is going well, I’m almost finished with the gussets on the sock club socks, and I’m on the last set of repeats for my second Koolhaas hat, the first one came out too small & was gifted to an adorable 7-year old; this one’s going to be perfect & is for James. I’ll make myself one next. But first, I think, the Druid mittens. (ETA: Koolhaas is DONE! Woohoo! I finished it while getting a pedi. The ladies there all thought it was awesome.)

      Surely I am not the only person who rethinks their wardrobe choices before heading out to Target? I purposefully avoid wearing red when I go there. A long time ago, I was shopping & someone came up to ask me for help…. being a Target fanatic, I was able to help them, but I try to avoid the confusion if I can…anyway, the adventure wasn’t nearly as crowded or irritating as I anticipated.

      Just remembered I’m bringing the green bean casserole to dinner on Thursday, which means, hey! I need green beans! And cream of mushroom soup (the official soup of Iowa, btw, home of the Hot Dish), and some of those fantastic french-fried onion thingies. Thinking about causing a commotion and getting the cheese-flavored ones. I hear they haz a real gud flavr.

      Evidence of the Crazy….

      November 17, 2008 /

      Because you needed more, right?

      I had Friday off, for a long-awaited spa day. I had originally scheduled my appointment for a month earlier, but the spa had a water main break in their building, and despite their best efforts, weren’t able to re-open in time for me to make my appointment. Boo! But, on the flip side, they gave me a 25% discount on all my services, so Yay! I had squirreled away a few SpaFinder certificates as well, so it was a fairly inexpensive day.

      But I’m never good with ‘just lying there’. I get antsy. I’m a multi-tasker, and I start to fidget. And my brain starts to wander and get a little nutso on me. I was having a hand & foot treatment, and part of the process is that they put a mask on your hands & feet, and then wrap them in plastic bags & tuck them under blankets and leave you that way for 10-15 minutes.

      Immediately, I start to think about how I now must resemble a corpse at a crime scene. Bagged and tagged, with evidence-preserving baggies on my hands and feet, except, of course, I’ve read and watched enough procedurals to know that it really should be brown paper bags for preserving evidence properly. Details, details. I start getting antsy and flail a bit with my plastic-covered extremities. Then, my brain thinks, “What if an armed gunman burst into the spa? Where would I hide?”

      Immediately, I think, at the end of the table, furthest point from the door. But crouched down, I’d feel vulnerable, not well-hidden.  I’m not sure if there’s an opening to go under the table, or if it’s closed off. There’s a closet over there, that would be good, but of course the table would be mussed up and it could be very apparent that someone was/is inside here. Well, I’d have to count on the element of surprise, because the last thing an armed gunman might expect is a pissed off, un-relaxed fat lady emerging from the closet like a wounded rhino, with plastic bags on her hands and feet, which actually would be handy for a suffocation. Self-defense, of course.

      Finally, the technician returned and I could stop my crime scene imaginations. And for the record, I was very relaxed after the day was done – I just don’t relax on command as well as I’d like.  And my mind sure does wander……

      1,2,3,4,5….

      October 30, 2008 /

      annnnd 6.

      I will admit, I had planned to get Mimi Murano’s official MO Safety Inspection earlier than today. It’s just been a bit… chaotic.  So after my morning of meetings, I took off about 2, and headed out to get the inspection, with plans to continue on to get new plates at the DMV, as well as exchange the faulty DVR remote at the cable store.

      Stop #1. I am greeted by a hefty man who looks like he’s walked out of a small-town movie set, shot by Clint Eastwood. When I ask if they can fit an inspection in today, he sorrowfully shakes his head, adjusts his glasses, and prepares to write me in for tomorrow. Sorry, buddy. I’ve got a limited window here, so I’m going to try someplace else.

      Stop #2. I am greeted by a burly man who looks like he could be cast as one of numerous State Troopers in a straight-to-DVD Dukes of Hazzard movie. I repeat my inquiry. He shakes his head. Tells me they’re scheduling inspections after Tuesday of next week. Obviously, that’s a bit too late for me. I am starting to worry a little bit about my afternoon’s plans.

      Stop #3. I spy an inspection sign on a muffler and brake place, and veer into their parking lot, thinking they might be a little less busy. The waiting area is spartan, and I apparently startled a customer out a deep stupor. I am greeted by a skinny man who looks like he was an extra in Deliverance. It wasn’t so much his disheveled appearance – greasy, unkempt hair seemingly trying to escape its own destiny and owner by spiraling outward in various directions – nor was it the various-sized nodules studding his neck and face, but it was his eyes, vacant and staring, while he intoned they had no time, and astutely observed that this was the end of the month. I exited quickly.

      Stop #4. Actually, it was a drive-by. I started noticing that all these places have their phone numbers on their signs, and as I passed another hole-in-the-wall, I shouted out the phone number to myself. No luck, they, too, were busy.

      Stop #5. I pull into the parking lot, and immediately find myself in a sticky cluster fuck of cars, as suddenly three vehicles are trying to exit. I park. And call the number on the side of their building. No again. Their inspector hurt himself and is out for a week.

      I am starting to get a little panicky at this point.

      Stop #6. I pull into another little garage’s lot, and see a woman swiffering the floor to the waiting room. Having made eye contact, I think it will be a little odd for me to call from 5 feet away. I walk in, she gestures towards the back, and a man comes around to ask me what I need. I repeat my request for an inspection.  He tells me to come back tomorrow. I think my shoulders slumped a good four inches.  I started to succumb to what seemed to be the inevitable, and asked what time they opened. 8 a.m. How long will it take? The guy asks what kind of car I have. I start to flail. I’m feeling defeated, and frustrated, because I have a 2006 Murano that has just over 17,000 miles on it, for pete’s sake, and I can’t believe I even have to HAVE an inspection, and I’m saying all of this while flapping my arms like a flightless bird, spiraling on his freshly-swiffered floor. He pauses, and says, “Come here. Write down your name and address. I do it right now.”

      At one point, while I waited, I’m pretty sure I uttered an audible, fervent blessing upon this man.  This wasn’t the most comprehensive inspection, I’d wager, but frankly, my car doesn’t warrant a fine-tooth comb. It’s still under warranty!!  The bill was $12? I gave him $20, with heartfelt thanks. And he blessed me, at that point! It was a win-win, in my book.

      So, finally, I have new plates (that are grammatically incorrect, but yours truly & a Sharpie are gonna fix that), a new remote, and I dropped off a lemon-berry slush for my husband, who’s having parent-teacher conferences all day today. I’ve got to get my halloween costume pulled together tonight, and I must say, I’m ready for the weekend!  I’ll get some pics of the costume up tomorrow, and hopefully (fingers crossed!) get back to slightly more regular blogging! I’ve missed it – and while the blogs I write in my head are undeniably awesome, they’re also super-easy to forget.

      It’s Actually Possible to Go on a BBQ Bender….

      October 5, 2008 /

      ….because right now, I feel hungover. A meat, smoke, rub, sauce hangover.

      It is an unbelievable weekend, and this year, we took our learnings from last year, and had our act together. Apart from one small hiccup, which could have been disastrous – the weekend was an unmitigated success. We saw some folks we’d met last year, and made new friends this year. It’s really a lot of fun, and has been the Christmas gift that keeps on giving!

      The hiccup was at the very start of the judging, when we arrived at 11:05 for the Invitational Meats judging. One woman working the entry to the judges’ tables barked at us, “You’re LATE!” I was all, “Surely she is speaking to someone else!” Because our paperwork said we were to check in between 11 & 11:30. So we got our aprons & pins, and stood in line. They called out if there were any husbands & wives together (we raised our hands), and I got accelerated to the front of the line. Again, nothing alarming or unusual; we’re not allowed to sit together. I get seated, greet my tablemates, and get out my book for signing. Then I see James come in with his group of 6, and I found out shortly thereafter that his table was the last table in the door.

      Whoa. There was some screw-up with turn-in times and they seated the judges way earlier than announced. He would have been crushed if he’d missed the cut-off. (And mad at me, who was all, “WE DON’T NEED TO ARRIVE SO FLIPPIN’ EARLY”) As it was, we met numerous people who arrived after us who were turned away and were PISSED. So, I know two things – next year, we’ll be crazy early, and two, the KCBS folks are prolly gonna get some angry letters.

      We judged chicken, ribs, pork shoulder & brisket. Wisely, we’d brought insulated coolers, ice, baggies and a wet washcloth in a separate baggie. (Which drew envious admiration both days…. a little trick we learned last year.)  The chicken in general was outstanding; most of the meat was above average or better. Then we judged sides, and our table got three different potato dishes that were basically inedible. The first was beautifully presented, but sweet potatoes are more of a gamble in the ‘tater category, and if you overspice them and whip them to the consistency of baby food – eesh. The second was underdone. As in, raw. Ah, no. The third, another sweet potato, was sauced with pure cayenne pepper that left my mouth on fire for quite some time afterward. My seat mates and I were all in agreement, at least.

      The big drama comes with desserts, and after the bad sides, we were getting a little pessimistic, joking that we were gonna end up with pudding, tapioca, jello and vanilla ice cream.   And as we watched massive dessert after dessert come in, I think a little part of us inside hoped beyond hope that we, too, would get an elaborate three-tiered cheesecake, or a large torte. Our table captain didn’t even get in line until, well, she was last. (grumble, grumble.) So what did we get? Banana pudding. Strange slivers of fruit tart. Flavorless vanilla ice cream mixed with unripe peaches. And six measly grilled peach quarters.  James, on the other hand, got large-scale productions (including one that had a solid chocolate cow from Annedores as GARNISH. FOR EACH PERSON.) My hope is that next year will be a different story, but I was definitely disappointed.

      Today’s Open competition included sausage, which I was dreading. I don’t normally enjoy this category, on the heels of last year’s submissions (two were so spicy I thought my head might explode, and all of them made me burp unpleasantly.) Sorry for the overshare, but there it is. Again, the chicken was fantastic, we had one awful, almost inedible rib, I almost got a hand cramp trying to pull one piece of brisket (lawzy was it tough), and then…. along came the sausage. And the one entry I gave a “9” to for appearance? Was without a doubt the best sausage I have ever tasted in my life. It was the only thing I gave all 9’s to, and I am still rather blown away by how good it was. We swung by Culver’s for a palate-cooling cone, I put away our extra baggies of meat, and we promptly fell asleep.

      The other crazy thing that parallels over-imbibing alcohol is how much water you ultimately consume. During judging, and then once you get home. I feel like I’ve been on some Atkins-cleansing diet for three days. The only thing that sounded remotely appealing tonight was some fruit, and I expect tomorrow will be a meatless day.

      And, much like being drunk, I could only do one thing when we hit the radio to hear the Chiefs-Panthers score: laugh hysterically. (34-0. Oy.)

      One Indication of the Stress In My Life…

      October 1, 2008 /

      …is when I don’t blog. There’s been a healthy handful of work stress (some of which would have made LOVELY fodder, but then, we do like to pay our mortgage, unlike, apparently, eighty-million people).  And frankly, as stupid and trite as it sounds, I will never be able to read a memorial (such as Paul Newman’s) that says the person died at home surrounded by family and friends without thinking of my father. I believe there will be a time when it simply makes me melancholy, and it will feel like it is more of an arm’s-length away from me? But in this time of my life, it still has all the unpleasant qualities of being squished by a sweaty, garlick-breathed man on the bus.

      Except it also makes me weepy. And, I cannot wait for the election to be over, because everything to do with that enrages me. I believe I alarmed quite a few drivers on Wornall this morning, while I listened to John McCain avoid the question as I screamed “FUCKING ANSWER THE QUESTION” and all my windows were down. It’s quite a pendulum to swing on, lemme tell you. All that we’re really missing are some mice in the house to make me feel like I’ve finally lost my shit. (You know, because you catch sight of them out of the corner of your eye?) And then I’d have to kill them and I don’t enjoy that one bit. But who knows? Perhaps election-year mice are therapeutic?!

      This weekend is the American Royal, and we will be judging…. everything. Invitational meat, open meats, side dishes and desserts. Lawzy. Thank god we learned from last year, and are bringing a cooler. I hope I get to bring home a 14-gallon brandy snifter of pudding. I seem to have seen a photo of something like that once, and obviously, it stuck with me. (Though I think we can all agree such a snifter would be useful for after-work beverages, too.)

      I’ve also got some finished knitting items to get pictures of – Gigi, and the Sweet Tarts Montego Bay scarf has been blocked, plus some socks.  I also have a small baby sweater on the needles for a co-worker of James’; and tonight, I finished sewing in a zipper on his jeans. Which might explain why someone found my blog when they searched for “what’s the difference between sewing and knitting.”

      I’ve stayed up too late as it is; got an early meeting & lots to do again tomorrow. Catch ya on the flip side, peeps! And congrats to Meesha for winning Pitch’s Best Blog!

      Apricot Tart with a Mascarpone Cheesecake filling Glazed with a Raspberry Sauce.

      September 29, 2008 /

      That’s totally what I would make for my “Make-My-Head-Explode-With-Rage” pie, in the spirit of the utterly charming movie, “Waitress“. I don’t even know if it exists, but after the day I’ve had, I was about to lose my shit all over the Costco parking lot. And then? I decided to think about pies. And what I would make, if I were going to theme my day. It really does diffuse some of the stress! And makes ya hungry, to boot.

      Fortunately, I’d picked up a nice big bag of shrimp, and the Wo turned it into delicious scampi. We had that with some salad & a baked potato, all of which he fixed.   After we exchanged twenty minutes of sharp political banter, in which we both just decided to scream at each other the worst things about each other’s party we could.  All on the heels of declaring our unconditional love for one another, so, no worries, we couldn’t be happier. Well, we could be a little less maddened by each other’s beliefs. But it doesn’t touch our love, thankfully! Two minutes of balls-out yelling is cathartic: I’m a tax-loving liberal who wants to hand all the money to no-good deadbeats who’ve done nothing to deserve it; he’s a fascist capitalist who rewards businesses who don’t need more money with more tax breaks and leaves everyone who’s not rich out in the cold. Oh, and yeah, I’m a baby-killer.  But so is he. Now that’s a fuckin’ pie.

      Absolutely, Without a Doubt, the Funniest Visual of the Day.

      September 12, 2008 /

      Driving up I-29, in this horrid rain that won’t leave us, we pass a low-riding, beat-up-ass Caddy. First thing I notice? Windows are down.
      Then I see the enormous crack across the windshield.
      None of this is extraordinary.
      However.
      The driver?
      Cigarette dangling from his lip, right hand on the wheel. Torso in awkward position. You’ll see why in a moment.

      Left hand? Out the window, wrapped around, holding A SQUEEGEE as he frantically cleared the window.

      Oh if only I’d had a camera.

      Wiper: FAIL.

      Can You Hear the Drums, Fernando?

      August 28, 2008 /

      I’ve had what we like to call “A Day.”
      Holy ABBA, Batman, bust out the shot glasses, swing on over to the liquor cabinet and keep ’em comin’.

      I ping-ponged between a breakfast meeting to a client meeting, then off to the Studio to finalize the classes I’d be teaching, plus a lunchtime private lesson I’d scheduled. After waiting 15 minutes, I thought, hrm, maybe I should check my email, and sure enough, the student had canceled. (I found out tonight she had a very, very good reason. Poor thing.)

      I high-tailed it back to the office, where I plowed through emails & a remnant handful of Doritos, and took off for another client/vendor meeting. All the while keeping my eyes peeled for a mailbox, which, have you noticed, no longer exist? Maybe they do, in small clusters or at drive-through post offices, none of which are near me, so I finally gave up on my way back to the office & just stopped at the Plaza branch. Again. No box out front. Must be the internet’s fault. Or terrorists. In fact, I’ve had such a long, machine-gun sorta day, I think it’s both. I should start a website. Wait. That might be …. confusing. Anyway, I went back to the office and stumbled into my iTunes, settling on some old-school Phil Collins to soothe my spirit. Now I’m thinking great, that was Christian Bale’s music choice in American Psycho. It’s been top of mind because I listened to the first part of this “This American Life” podcast when I was in New York last week. Just listen to Starlee Kine’s segment if you don’t have the time for the whole thing. It’s priceless. And will renew your teenage love of Phil Collins if you happen to be around 40 years old.

      Oh, and through all of this, it was eleventy-billion degrees with the humidity.

      But I’m home, the house is clean, we got Thai food for dinner, and it’s starting to rain. I’m going to knit and hang with the D-O-GGs and be so grateful that tomorrow is Friday, I have a half day (hopefully) and it’s a three-day weekend. Sleep. Crafting. Friends. It will be good.

      If I had to do the same again
      I would, my friend, Fernando. Or do you go by Sussudio?

      Oh, I forgot a c-word (which is odd to type, seeing how it’s everyone’s favorite euphemism for uh, that “c-word”) that’s pretty crucial to my list…. Competitive.

      Crazy Cat Lady UPDATE!

      August 25, 2008 /

      It seems only fitting that with my deep abiding love of COPS, that I now live across the street from a never-ending episode, COPS: SOUTH SIDE KC! But you need to say it, “KayCEEE!” take it up at the end.
      So.
      The Crazy Cat Lady disappeared last week. The po-lice were out and about, and they even knocked on our door, but we hadn’t seen her in a few days. Usually there’s an ambulance there mmmm, once a week, and if not an ambulance, then a cop car. There have been “disturbances”. And now her daughter (whoa, I had no idea CCL had a child) was looking for her mom, and was quite concerned.
      It seemed to have settled down a couple days later – car in the drive, lights on, etc. I figured we were back to the usual.
      NOT TONIGHT!
      As I drove down the street, I espied not one, but TWO police cars, and as I got closer, I saw CCL stomping across a neighbor’s yard, and the po-po had a DUDE in HANDCUFFS. I did what any concerned citizen would do: parked in the driveway and called James.
      “James! Crazy Cat Lady has a dude getting arrested! They have him in handcuffs and everything!”
      James came to the door, phone to his ear, and looked down the street. He observed, ‘Yeah, they’re frisking him right now.”
      “YES. And I’ve never seen him before. He looks quite nefarious.”

      I’m never going to be a narrator for COPS. Sigh. However, I do hope to learn more about the “incident”, whether CCL lurches over here herself (and yes, I am that nosy, I’ll even take that doorbell) or if I have to deduce it from my favorite website, CrimeReports.com, where I have set up my account to email me weekly all nefarious activity in a 3/4 mile radius of our home. Because I can.

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