uh oh

PLUS...



Oh, and did I mention...


365 Days Project




I think I may have bit off more than I can chew.

Then again, I have a really big mouth.

See y'all tomorrow!

one more reason I'm glad I don't work in an office anymore

Chair Dancing.

It's nearly impossible for me to sit still when I'm listening to music. I'm bopping, swaying, tapping or clapping at least one body part on something nearby. It's a reflex. I can't control it unless I really concentrate hard, and at that point, I'm not really listening to the music anymore, so it stops on its own.

I'm sure this is alternately annoying and amusing to the people around me. On one hand, the incessant tapping/slapping/drumming might drive someone insane, and if I had an iPod when I worked in an office, I'm sure someone would already have beaned me for making their cubicle walls shake. On the other hand, imagine walking around a corner and seeing one of your co-workers rhythmically jerking and flailing in her desk chair, very obviously doing a white girl dancing thing, badly, with absolutely no idea that you're watching her. I bet you could assemble half your work group around to watch the show before she'd even notice.

Man, I am so glad I don't work in an office anymore.

I promised you pork

And I am a woman of my word. Here's a photo essay/restuarant review/bunch of pictures of pork. Follow the nice linky here:

i love pork

If you know a source for truly Fucking Awesome (or FA, as I shall refer to it from now on, or at least a while) barbecue, or any other ingestible product for that matter (I'm particularly fond of pig and beer, but any good eats and drinks are just fine by me), then please let me know. Or take me out to eat! Even better!

Aren't you glad I'm tired of talking about my *feelings*? Me, too.

3 Great Chicks for One Low Price! Plus 1 Bonus Gabby!

Tres Chicas

The Pour House

Raleigh, NC

November 24-25

They are filming a live DVD, y'all! Squeeeeee! Go check out their MySpace page and see if you like 'em. If you don't, you are dead to me, as you obviously have no soul.

Seriously, though, I know some of y'all aren't too fond of my 'twangy shit,' but they are just good. They transcend twang, and probably also the lower layers of the atmosphere. Plus, if you come, I might even buy each and every one of you a beer. (Hope you like PBR in a can!)

Ticket prices are TBD, but I can't imagine it would be more than $20, and you know you've spent $20 dollars worse places (ahem, Foxy Lady, anyone? I won't mention any names, since I am nothing if not discreet, but you know who you are.)

I rest my case. (And I promise, on the whole, the women at this gig will be much classier.)

P.S. For y'all rockstar types, Patty Hurst Shifter is playing at the Pour House on Friday. Go and have a PBR for me. Actually, maybe you should make that CPA instead. PBR can be dangerous when combined with rock. Don't ask me how I know, just trust me.

on the horns of a dilemma

Welcome back from vacation, the world said to me. You have miles to drive before you sleep, the bulk of those with a 4 year old and a medium to large dog, and you will have no internet access or beer with which to soothe your frazzled nerves when you get home.

Screw you, you dirty motherfucker, I said to the world. Or that's what I would have said, if I hadn't fallen immediately into bed and to sleep.

Vacation hangovers are always tough, but this one was the worst I've had in a while, maybe ever. We had such a lovely, lovely time, full of friends and food and gin and tonic...and the calming power of the ocean. If vacation was like floating peacefully in a warm hot tub (and there was some of that, too), then coming home was like being dipped in a vat of ice water. I felt all warm and fuzzy with a heaping touch of effervescence on vacation, and now, in comparison, I feel a bit tepid and hairy with a glaze of ennui.

But I digress. Poorly. Now we are home, and that is that. Grow up, sister.

Here is my dilemma- we are scheduled to go to DC this weekend for my cousin's birthday bash, at which there will be all kinds of people that I love and that make me feel warm and fuzzy and happy to be alive whenever I see them, which would be especially welcome after the start of this week. But DC is almost a 4 hr drive, with the old lady and kid and dog, all of whom are tired from last week. We shouldn't go, I know. But I desperately want to. I love seeing this side of my family, and I don't get the chance very often. I don't think any of them are coming o the Soiree, and it will likely be after the first of the year when we get to see them again.

It's like a lot of choices in life- I'm certain I know the right choice for everyone else, but in the end, I'm certain it's not the right thing for myself. And, most often, I'll defer to someone else's needs over my own. I'm not sure whether that's kindness or cop out. We're taught to be selfless, not selfish, and in many circumstances, that's completely the right choice, especially when you have kids. But where do you draw the line? How long and in what situations do you have to remain unhappy so that someone else is happy? You don't rock the boat, but then, one day, you feel like throwing yourself overboard and you don't care if you drown.

Gah- I thought I was done with bad cliches and flowery metaphors for today! My apologies.

What was I saying to myself earlier? Ah, yes- Grow up, sister. It's not that life isn't always fair, it's that it rarely is. But it's rarely unbearable, either.

I always feel guilty about wanting more, when I know I'm very lucky. And I'm not a poor, pitiful passive-aggressive type (um, anymore, anyway), either- I have no problem asking for what I need, at least the first few times, and may even be a lttle bossy and exasperating about it. And I usually have most everything I need. Maybe I am blowing this all out of proportion. Maybe I am overthinking. Maybe I need to shut up.

Maybe I need to go back on vacation.

Maybe I need to stop talking about my *feelings*. Because, honestly, I always end up sounding like a martyr or an asshole, and I am neither.

Maybe I am a tiny bit of an asshole, actually.

Maybe my next post will be on something lighthearted and winsome. Like pork.

Oh, yes. Pork.

I already feel better.

the spirit of beer

A friend had me listen to some of his music this past week on vacation, and part of his selection was electronica-type music. Normally, this is not the direction in which I swing (there is no twang in techno), so I was very pleasantly surprised that I was totally into it. Wow. And upon coming home, once the internet began to breathe again in our house, I promptly made myself a couple of Pandora stations based on a couple of those artists that I remembered. So, of course, those 2 stations have produced several more new band seeds for me, which shall beget more, and so forth, until the end times cometh and the earth is drowned in a burning lake of fire.

A lot of what has popped up on these stations so far happens to be great zone out music for the working hours, as I'm not usually paying that much attention since there's minimal lyrics, and the driving beat kicks my brain into overdrive for some reason. So this afternoon, I'm working, and a song starts up, and I'm paying it no mind, just typing along, until I hear, in this ethereal voice: 'The Spirit of Deer..."

WTF?

"The Spirit of Deer..."

Huh? Um, is this Native American techno?

"The Spirit of Beer..."

Oh, this is beginning to make more sense now.

"The Spirit of Deer..."

Wait, I though we already went through that...

At that point, I abandoned my work and popped over to Pandora to find out what in the hell I was hearing.

The Spirit of Fear.

Well, I think I like my options better.

No fear, just beer! Or deer! Take your pick.

Or, take both, like maybe a nice stout with some good homemade venison jerky...

Warning: non-sequitur ahead
Dude, there's some Neko Case on my Kathleen Edwards station. Sweet. Now maybe I won't have to drown myself in my water cup.
No, I'm not sure what that last line meant, either, but I'll leave it in there an we can pretend I was being profound.

This would be the part where I go and commune with the spirit of beer, except that I have to take my 4 year old to buy school supplies so he can finish his homework. Let me say that again.

So he can finish his HOMEWORK.

He's in Pre-K.

This is where is starts, people. Next thing you know, kids will be listening to language tapes in utero through Mommy's belly and doing long-division in first grade. Oh wait. That's already happened.

Sigh.