These are a few of my favorite things...

Out of sheer boredom comes a comprehensive list of things I highly enjoy and loathe presently. Not to worry, it does not include raindrops on roses or whiskers on kittens. Or warm woolen mittens for that matter.

In television I love:

Fuse. If you don't have it, get it. Unless you're gay and you still watch all that crap on MTV. Those of you who know me, know how I feel about MTV. It can go to hell and die.

The 4400. I watched it religiously on Amanda's TV in Lubbock and I will continue to do so here in the Dizzle. Long live Tom Baldwin, Kyle Baldwin and Shawn. May they be seen in their underpants frequently (but not together, please) on the show.

In TV I hate:

MTV. We have already covered this.

Reality TV. Especially the talent competition ones (besides Top Chef, but that's over).

In music I love:

Pretty much anything where the band sings all whiny and screamy. I love it and I can't get enough. Is that genre called screamo (as opposed to emo)?

In music I hate:

Lil' John and all the beepy rap songs he keeps putting out. Since when did the beep on my mom's answering machine (circa 1989) become a musical instrument? Stop. You were cool when you hung out with Usher. Thanks for bringing crunk to light, now it's time for a nap.

The bands who keep trying to make videos that look like Stanley Kubrick films, or bands who make themselves up to look like Alexander de Large doppelgangers from A Clockwork Orange.

In cereal I love:

Lucky Charms. I had forgotten how delicious they are... magically delicious. My renewed love for the Charms is recent. I hadn't eaten them since I lived in the Zeta house and we had the generic kind that came in a bag. The real thing pretty much has a 50/50 cereal bits to marshmallow ratio. Really, it's a little more 'mallow than I like, but what the hey. I can't knock the marshmallow goodness. What I especially appreciate is how the cereal turns the milk a manufactured shade of grey. Grey = Magic.

In cereal I hate:

Anything that doesn't have "sugar" listed in the first two ingredients. And anything that claims it's good for my "heart".

Topics to discuss at work I love:

Passive-aggressive. I like to call Le Bistro "Passive-Aggressive Island". I think everyone is a little passive-aggressive. It's the modern way to avoid direct conflict with another (or yourself), but still make them think about what's wrong with them.

Shtarnsh, Eddie, and the new sweaty kid.

I don't think there is much I won't talk about at work...

People I'd love to party with:

Probably that sloth from the Dallas World Aquarium. I bet he's a wicked good time. I'd like to have a drinking contest with him.

People I'd hate to party with:

Charles Barkley and any magic Christians.

What I hate about Ruidoso:

The Texans driving around at 15 miles per hour, up the road to my house. This really makes me angry because I like to drive about 35 mph on the same road. It's fun! But when I get to see the looks on their faces, I see fear. It's my belief that they believe they are lost in Brady Canyon and cannot find their way out. Ever. Then I laugh.

What I love about Ruidoso:

The same thing. It gives me the opportunity to drive like a stock car driver and yell obscenities at people I'll never see again.

Stuntastic!

Another fabulous weekend in Dallas, kids. Good times, good Miller Lites, great heckling... about to be continued here. Friday night we traveled from Addison to the Greenville area. I'm not quite sure if we were in Upper or Lower Greenville because we drove around so much, which I could tell Ratheen really enjoyed. We ended up at a place called M Street, which apparently brings out everyone's inner gay with its house music, candles, and velvet booths. I wasn't such a big fan (primarily because of the bad music and warm beer), but I think Phil and Ratheen really got into it, which you can see by this picture:

I think it's great that you two are out there and proud. The way you two stare into each other's eyes is so touching. You probably can stop the mom jokes now... we all know what you're trying to cover. ;o) Here's a fairly heterosexual picture for any of you who are feeling uncomfortable (I don't know about that look on Jeff's face, though...):

I decided I should pose for a pic with Phil's blouse of the evening at the other bar we went to (not sure what it was called). It was pretty cool (and I am referring both to the bar and Phil's shirt). We hung out on the roof of said bar with an awesome view of Downtown. Here's a kick ass shot of Phil's striped shirt du jour:

What Ratheen is doing is anyone's guess. I'm fairly certain it has something to do with Phil's nipple, though.

I also got to hang out with Badger and Rooki- I mean Michael from NMSU. Badger had fun reminiscing about "college". I know this because if the Pee Wee's Playhouse word of the night was "college", everyone would have been incessantly screaming at Badger's stories. Or Jeff saying, "That's classic Badger!" Here's Badger getting animated about something at M Street. I was too busy trying to find some ecstasy to make the house music more bearable to know what he was talking about.

So I found out I have a feature on my Kodak Photo Software that allows you to make a photo look like a cartoon. Or more specifically, the famed A-Ha video from the 80s, "Take On Me". So I decided to make Jeff look like a member of the band. Watch out for those guys with tools chasing you...

Take on me. Take on me. Take me oooon! Take on me. I'll beeee goonnneee, in a day or twoooooooooo!!!

Probably my favorite part of Friday night was eating at some taco place on Greenville Ave. It was like being in Mexico... delicious. The salsa was super hot. So hot that Ratheen and Phil were whining about it, and Jeff had the guy put like seventeen times the normal amount on his last burrito. The eating contests you have with yourself, I will never understand, Jeff.

Anyways, Saturday Jeff and I headed Downtown and after we drove around in a circle for about an hour, we ate at Hoffbrau Steaks. I ate the greatest hamburger of all time, called the Roadhouse Burger. I think it would have made Dalton proud. It had Dr. Pepper barbeque sauce on it, which may sound weird, but it was very tasty. I also had fried pickles for the first time, which is pretty much like eating fried salt... delicious and crunchy fried salt, dipped in ranch dressing, that is.

After we ate we walked over to the Dallas World Aquarium to check out the wildlife. It was an aquarium, but so much more. There were bats, spiders, poisonous frogs, snakes, sharks, monkeys, a SLOTH and his human companion... here's a picture I took of a dog:

There were also people fish and some "actors" dressed up in Mayan costumes, playing with those sticks that sound like rain. I saw a little more Mayan man-leg than I had expected to that day, but it's all good.

Saturday night included drinking big, stoopid beers at Logan's with Phil, his friend Brandon, and eventually Larry. What you need to know is that the giant mugs at Logan's are never clean and Phil's shirt was black. I finally got to eat some P'Eatzza that night. It was everything I hoped it would be and more.

Sunday... damn... I was drunk again on Sunday. I started at Bread Winners in Uptown with a frozen mimosa, which was incredible. Jeff had some entree named after Dirk Nowitzki, which I thought was great. I'm probably going to become BFF with Dirk when I move to Dallas and we'll have sleepovers and play Trivial Pursuit and tell each other secrets and trade hair styling tips. ;o)

So what is important about Sunday is we had to get to Humperdink's in Addison like six hours before the game to get a good seat, and of course we started drinking right away. It's also very important to note I beat Ratheen and Jeff twice at NTN Trivia and won the entire game once. A few other people showed up, including Baer, who I mentioned in my previous Dallas blogs. This time I was a little more coherent and realized he reminds me of the Scottish Soccer Hooligans from Saturday Night Live... like you never know when he might go postal.

What else from Sunday... oh, Neil should probably know that if he tries to steal my sunglasses next time I see him, I will defeat him with a karate chop or a C-walking contest. On that note, here's a picture of Larry from Sunday night:

So anyways, it was a great time. I left very early Monday morning, watched the sun come up at Dallas Love Field, flew into El Paso and drove to Las Cruces so I could eat some Si Senor and tell Jeff about it. I must enjoy good Mexican food while I still can!

Dumb and Dumber.

stu·pid ( P ) Pronunciation Key (stpd, sty-) adj. stu·pid·er, stu·pid·est
1. Slow to learn or understand; obtuse.
2. Tending to make poor decisions or careless mistakes.
3. Marked by a lack of intelligence or care; foolish or careless: a stupid mistake.
-From dictionary.com.

It has come to my attention (or rather been pointed out to me by certain individuals) that my I.Q. (high Q, or haiku) has taken a turn for the mildly retarded side after graduating about three weeks ago. I used to build sentences with words like "generalizeable", "socialization", and "academia". Now I say things like "dude", "whatever", and "mud butt" (is mud butt one word?). It's kind of like that book, Flowers for Algernon, where the guy gets really smart and then turns dumb. Except for there are no mice in my story.

I can no longer complete simple tasks like spell "warrior" correctly, or just grab one piece of paper to cover a table at the restaurant. I'll get two pieces even though I only need one. I have forgotten how to count. Currently, I employ a calculator for simple mathematical equations, although I can quickly determine, based on the price of someone's meal and the tip they left, what approximate percentage they left me.

My reading consists of Harry Potter and Cosmopolitan, while my television viewing includes cartoons like The Simpsons, Family Guy, Futurama, and Spongebob Squarepants. I used to watch a lot of A&E, I think... I went to the new X-Men movie the other day and I liked it. I LIKED IT. Grad school Sarah would have never even gone to that movie.

Formerly in my possession was Nietzsche's Thus Spoke Zarathustra, but I have apparently misplaced it. I wanted to read it, but now I am afraid that the ideas in the book may cause my feeble mind to implode, so I should probably just start the Harry Potter series over again and continue my quasi-intellectual conversations with Jeff and Donica about where all of the Horcruxes are located, whether or not Snape is good or evil, and who R.A.B. really is.

Amanda wanted to get her sense of humor back. I think I'm still pretty funny. I just don't wanna be dumb anymore...

Emotional Overload

Today I endured a bombardment of emotion. So much that I ended up shedding a tear or three on two seperate occasions. For the most part I can keep my emotions in check, unless I'm made victim of a surprise attack, which has really only happened three-ish times in my life (all three in the past six months... yesss).

Hey, guys, I know what you're thinking... premenstrual syndrome, right? Not so much. For one thing, I think PMS is just a huge conspiracy theory/hoax/excuse, and another: I am a person who believes in changing your attitude as much as you can when you notice it turns sour for no apparent reason. I believe you can apply the line, "Get over it. Go out with someone else," from Wayne's World to a plethora of life's situations. And for another thing, it's just not even PMS time.

Today I was strongly persuaded to finish a certain section of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince while I was at work. Yeah, a perk of working at Le Bistro is I can read sometimes, but reading this chapter while at work was not so much a good idea. Said chapter got me all misty-eyed, I text Amanda and she said she didn't know how I was controlling my behavior, I replied and said I'd had a lot of practice in the last five months.

Continuing with the chapter, it became even more depressing, and I was sitting next to Richard on the patio, nonchalantly turning away so he wouldn't notice me crying at work. I think (no, I know) the last and only time I cried there was when this broad told me I'd made her the worst cappucino of all time (even though I made it the same as all the others and have had no complaints), and Jeff just had to capitalize on the heckling opportunity. Of course he didn't think I'd start crying because that's very un-Sarah, but it happened.

So Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, more specifically the chapter titled "The Lightning Struck Tower", or chapter 27, or page 596, got me started.

Then I went to the new X-Men movie with Jeff and Caryn. *sigh* Dude, a movie about mutants totally got me all choked up. I don't want to spoil it for anyone who hasn't seen it, but there were two instances when I was seriously crying, and trying once again to conceal my asininity (yes, it's a real word because I said so and I have an advanced degree, which permits me to make up words on occasion). Stupid X-Men and their stupid sexy powers of love and destruction... GAWD!

So then (wait, actually this happened before the movie) Jeff and I went to the Coyote Cantina to have an after-work tottie (I had Coca-Cola) and see my mom, who was hanging out after having endured the wiles of my bitter grandmother in Roswell for four or five days. My mom pretty much immediately starts in on how the medical examiner who performed my brother's autopsy had to talk to my other brother, Josh, about what happened the night before Matt passed away. Josh was very upset, obviously, but managed to hide it from me yesterday and today while my mom was gone.

The mom, however, made it a point to tell me all about it, which in turn upset me. Josh didn't tell me about it because he knew it would upset me, I'm sure. The bar is not the place to discuss these matters, but whatever, it's sometimes the 90s. When we first got the results of the autopsy, my mom came to my bar when I was still working there and told me. Yeah, always a good idea... not. I changed the subject this evening as soon as I could by saying, "Hey guess what? Richard said 'style-life' instead of 'lifestyle' today." "Ha ha ha ha ha..."

You know, a couple of people have tried to talk to me about Matt when I've been drinking, they've been drinking, or both. It's really just not a cool idea, for future reference. I'll talk about it when I want to, but if I'm out, having a Miller Lite, chances are I came out to have fun and not talk about the devastating circumstances surrounding January 6.

The flipping point is that all the sad deaths in the books and movies I read and watch remind me of my brother sometimes. Especially now as we're approaching five months without his physical presence. A lot of people took it upon themselves to ask me what happened to him in the days and weeks afterwards, and I really took offense. First of all, who's business was it, and secondly, why the eff does it matter? What matters is he's gone. Now that we "know" what happened, I think most people probably asked because they just didn't know what to say, and could not fathom why a perfectly healthy 21-year-old would randomly die in his sleep. We don't know why, literally and figuratively. It's a medical anomaly. Pehaps a heart arrhythmia, they say. And by "they", I mean the medical examiners (plural).

Sorry if this ruined anyone's moment, but don't worry, the moment will come back to you. If you've gotten this far in this uber-long blog, take a few things away with you: Sarah is most definitely not a robot, she doesn't want to get philosophical when she drinks (unless it's about Anchorman or the cultural significance of Duck Tales), and she wants you to make sure she didn't spell warrior wrong. Don't you feel better already, great blog warrior reader?

Girls, girls, girls.

I am a girl. A female, chick, lady, woman, whatever. Sometimes I don't want to claim my species, though. We're hard to get along with, moody, conniving, panda jerks.

These thoughts have been coagulating in my mind in this manner:

1. My female counterparts known as my friends.
2. My friendship with my helpmate, Geoffrey.


So there are my friends who I love more than anything, and somehow manage to get along with all the time. I've had my small share of ex-BFFs, but we all know they were crazy-ass bitches. Anyways, why can't they get along? Why do they shut one person out, ignoring them, getting all butt-hurt about something stupid like a small difference of opinions? Am I only able to get along because I don't live in the same town as them? I don't think so... I never got into fights with anyone when I was living in the same house as them for two years. What's the effin' deal here? DRAMA.

Then there's my best male friend, Geoffrey (Jeffrey Wayne, if you will). We get in fights frequently. He's told me to go fuck myself more times than I can count, I've punched him in the kidneys so hard he's fallen to the ground, he's made me cry, I've called him at 4 a.m. when I thought I was going to die if I fell asleep... you get the idea. Anyways, I was thinking about our friendship and I wonder if that's how all guys are. Like they are total assholes to each other and then the next day it's all over with. I think if I talked to my girlfriends like I talk to him, they'd never speak to me again. With Jeff I can be like, "I hate those jeans. They look like they're from 1993. Why don't you just go ahead and tight roll them?" and instead of crying and being mad, he'd say something like, "As if you look any better. Did you even take a shower today? You stink like yesterday's trash. Let's go get me some new jeans."

So why can't all girls be the same way? Quit focusing on the stupid, petty things and get over it. Stop holding a grudge just to prove whatever your stupid point is. Have you ever thought YOU'RE not that easy to get along with, either? Maybe to someone you are the center of the universe, and chances are you think you're the center of the universe. But when you get fifteen chicks together who are all thinking the same thing, shit's bound to hit the proverbial fan.

I know I can never have the kind of relationship with my girlfriends that I do with Geoffrey. They don't want me telling them their jeans look stupid, and I don't want to hear that from them, either (I don't think). But I guess that's ok. Sometimes I like everything to be sugar-coated. BTW, those jeans at left are my favorite jeans. You really can't make fun of them because they're so f*cking cool.

THAT'S JUST STOOPID!

So continuing from the ROARANGE salsa... what I remember most distinctly was the unstoppable, unmatched heckling of how Jeff talks. For some reason either Phil or Ratheen brought up the fact that the colonel says "baby" kinda weird, especially when intoxicated. I suppose it becomes some sort of a growl that sounds a bit like "bey-be". This snowballed into Jeff's Greatest Hits such as "That's just STOOPID," and "We're at Logan's DRinking BIG, STOOPID beers." Here's Ratheen posing with one of said big, stoopid beers:

This may or may not have been around the time Ratheen talked to Evelyn while pretending to be Jeff. Evelyn had no clue that the person on the other end of the phone wasn't Sack saying, "THAT'S JUST STOOPID!!" Really we were all laughing so hard, tears were shed. I think maybe Jeff was crying for real, though. In my opinion, he wanted to turn the attention elsewhere, so he started making fun of Phil's "blouse", which was some sort of a pinkish hue. Here's a pic of Phil, his shirt, Liana, and Ratheen's hand in an obscene gesture:


Apparently is takes a real man to wear mauve... or so I'm told. I had to make fun of Phil for being a Comm Studies major at Texas Tech. We Mass Comm-ers constantly put down Comm Studies kids as "Mass Comm dropouts" because people who can't pass the Grammar, Spelling, and Punctuation exam go into Comm Studies... home of many an ignoranus, Olaniran, and Gay Josh Ray and his ill-fitting clothing. Phil, you should probably start lying about your schooling.

More heckling transpired when Phil tried to convince Ratheen that the two of them should double date with Liana and her cousin from Friday night. Where the dinner and dancing suggestion came from, I'm not sure, but making fun of Phil for wanting to double date turned into making fun of Jeff for how he said. "DINner and DANcing!" Oh, the things we find amusing never cease to amaze me.

Let's see... who else was made fun of? Oh yeah! The boys' friend, Greg! He has this hilarious laugh that is as indescribable as the bacon at The Original Pancake House. You have to hear it to believe it. BUT, I had enough impersonations from the guys that when Greg actually did start into hysterics, I almost peed because I was cracking up so bad. Here's Greg at Logan's with a big, stoopid Corona...

From Logan's we went to a house party somewhere. It was some dude's birthday party with an Asian theme, but really, I didn't see the theme besides a Chinese latern in the dining room that matched Phil's shirt. What really matters about this party is that we were pretty much asked to leave because Phil was impersonating Jeff and I guess some people found this "annoying" and "offensive". Namely the "roo toe" girl. I really don't want to explain the roo toe, but it has to do with camel toe so obnoxious that it looked like she had "a joey in there".

So from the party we arrived at a bar called The Londoner, I believe. I was totally pumped to have two shots bought for me by Jeff's friend Dana, whose boobs I felt Friday night for my breast augmentation research (it's serious stuff, y'all!).

Good times in the Big D! I'm going back soon! Warn the big, STOOPID Miller Lites...

This is incomplete because the Internet hates me.

Saturday morning I woke up with a mild hangover which was shortly remedied with a fantastic breakfast at The Original Pancake House. Thank God I ordered the eggs and bacon. I'll leave the description of said bacon up to Jeff in the comments section. I don't think I could do it justice. Now if we were talking about shoes or makeup... Anyways, the green chile and salsa there was probably the last thing I would ever eat besides lima beans and bugs, but whatever. The "Appetizing Meats" on the menu made up for their shortcomings where spicy condiments are concerned.

It was apparent early on in the day that we were not going to meet our 2 p.m. deadline to begin drinking at an inappropriate location (which was decided to be Olive Garden on Friday night), so we aimed for about 6-ish at Logan's (East). After breakfast I enjoyed some quality television at Jeff's, which included Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors. And warriers they were. I actually enjoyed the horror-turned-slapstick basis of the film. Probably the best part was the main character's hair (which I want mine to look like someday), and the fact that one of the female characters who burned herself
with cigarettes looked like the older brother from the Wonder Years:








Pretty crazy, huh? I think they are twins seperated at birth, but that would require an IMDB search I am not willing to do right now...

Well, we made it to Logan's sometime in the early evening and proceeded to drink big, stupid Miller Lites with Ratheen and Phil, got some sammiches, and stared with disgust at their excuse for salsa. It was a color I believe described by Jeff as "Rorange" (maybe there should be an apostrophe after the first "r"?).

I'll write more about Saturday later. Last night I pretty much had it finished and the Internet crapped out on me, so I'm a little frustrated...

Big Red, Baby Corn, and BOOYAKASHA: Friday in Dallas

So since Jaime cannot live without my blogs about my voyage to Dallas, here is Friday:

-Sleeping while Col. McAdoo went to a job interview... yesssss. I was still on a night schedule, but thank goodness I quit that job... read more on my MySpace blog!
-Lunch at Bennigans, which included a discussion about the different "positions" for The Game in Waiting... The Goat, The Batwing... we couldn't remember any others. Our waitress also had amnesia apparently (and kick ass cornrows).
-A trip to the Galleria and failure to find a proper outfit for the Colonial, and for some reason Jeff thought there might be a J. Crew at the ghetto mall (like the ones in TAFKAS) where a hip hop radio station's headquarters are.
-Continual quotes from Ali G... "WHY HE BE WEARIN' THA?"

-Taking a cab to Happy Hour. Jeff was planning ahead.
-Happy Hour and binge drinking at Chaucers, which included saki bombs and more Miller Lite. I also got to meet a bunch of the Colonel's friends, who were all fantastic individuals in my opinion. I really enjoyed everyone making fun of Ratheen for ordering chicken fried rice while drinking... and somehow there were raisins on the plate, which subsequently ended up on the sofa Jeff and I were seated at. I forgot my camera that night, but here's a pic of some shrimp and bacon fried rice for your viewing pleasure (don't worry, we'll chat more about bacon later)... -There was also Liana's cousin who has some crazy boyfriend who called her like 14 times in about three minutes. He was threatening to get his "black friends" to kick people's asses (I guess if they tried to hit on his shorty, which Phil proceeded to accomplish quite well). We'll discuss their impending double date of dinner and dancing with Ratheen and Liana in the next installment.

-I was continually heckled for not drinking enough, but I think I was just trying to hold back some of my surliness so as not to embarrass Jeff too much... hahaha, like that's even possible! I chugged more Miller Lite than any person should unless they want to end up with an impending case of psoriasis of the liver. I'm on my way...
-I'm about 47% certain that after the Mavericks' game Friday night we went to a bar called Duke's, which apparently Ratheen pronounces as "Deeyukes". So we're at Dukes, getting more shitty, which is always a good idea. I talked to Liana for a while, talked to Ratheen for a while, and met some guy named "Bear" who I was not supposed to make eye contact with because he is allegedly crazy. He seemed ok to me until he started trying to recruit me into his gang of biker ninjas who have spider monkey companions. That's not true... or is it? I wouldn't look directly into this monkey's eyes, either...

-There was some guy in a tux who was telling chicks he had been left at the alter so he could have a better chance at the punanny...

Anyways, I think that just about covers Friday night. It was just as fun as watching Ali G at the Colonel's Thursday night. I totally dig hanging out with that kid in Dallas, even though he doesn't want me to. :o)

Big Red, Baby Corn, and BOOYAKASHA: Thursday in Dallas

So if you didn't get the memo, I traveled to the great city of Dallas this last weekend to visit Colonel Jeff McAdoo. I think the best way to tell you about it is just in some sort of chronological order, so here goes...

Actually, I think I should start with Thursday morning when I had to appear in court to bear witness to my Jeep being broken into. It was really scary for some reason. Probably because the dudes who did it were "dogging" me and my entourage. However, the highlight of being at court for three hours in the morning after being at work until almost 3 a.m. was being questioned by the (in)famous Gary Mitchell. If you don't know who Gary Mitchell is, you obviously don't watch enough CourtTV, or you don't live anywhere near the Hondo Valley, OR you don't belong to the Sam Donaldson fan club. Here's a pic of Gary with that crazy hippie lady who maybe killed some guy's wife in TAFKAS in the 90s:

Anyways, I was pretty scared that Gary et al. were going to keep me too long in court and I wasn't going to make it to El Paso in time to catch my flight. BUT, I found out of you drive about 80-90 mph from Ruidoso to El Paso, you can make it in like two hours. Thinking about all of the interesting names towns in New Mexico made the trip go by faster... High Rolls, Truth or Consequences, Alamorosa... I could go on all day. I also was reminded what a crap hole Orogrande is. They have mine tours.

So, here are the highlights of Thursday evening:

-Being picked up at the airport in the Turbo Suede, which somehow earned Jeff secret agent parking... crazy.
-Dinner at BJ's which included being the only people seated in an enclosed section with a group of about 25 women apparently there for a bachelorette party. The giant inflatable penis and the condoms on the bride-to-be's veil gave them away.
-Guessing the origin of the guy at the beer store (I say he's Armenian, I don't think Jeff really knows).
-Watching the entire second season of Da Ali G Show while drinking Miller Lite and becoming the new #1 fan.

RESPEK!

For some reason there was like a discount condom store in the same shopping center as the beer store. I wish I could remember what it was called, but it was pretty inappropriate... "Connies for less, mate?"

Anyways, that was Thursday and it was outstandsing! I could have forgotten something, though...

Magister Artium!

The Magister Artium, Magister in Artibus or Master of Arts degree is an academic degree of medieval origin, which has later acquired different characteristics in different educational systems. -Wikipedia

Not quite sure where the whole "medievel origin" thing came from, but now I have joined the ranks of those with a Master of Arts degree. Mine just happens to be from the wonderful world known as Texas Tech University, and more specifically, the College of Mass Communications.

I seriously got that Double T logo from a Web site called meatscience.org. Not kidding.

Grad school was quite the experience, I suppose. I think mostly I will remember how you can get away with turning in basically the same paper in every class if you play your cards right. Mostly. Then there was the "College Debauchery" Part Two. I didn't party like I did in undergrad, but Amanda and I had our share of drunken shenanigans (several at school-sponsored functions with free alcohol). We also had our share of sober ones... but I don't remember them. ;o)

I have to say that I'm glad to be finished. Now I just need a job in TAFKAS... and I don't want another job as a basement troll, either.

This kinda made me laugh...

So Amanda's quiz obsession that I apparently sparked made me take this one I saw on Alli's MySpace...

Sarah -- [noun]: A steamy, steamy shower. 'How will you be defined in the sexual dictionary?' at QuizUniverse.com

Neeeiiiillll! NOOOOO!!

The discovery of Reason 261 to Get the Eff Out of Ruidoso ASAP occured tonight.

It was a fairly normal night. My mom hung out for a little while and ate some chips and salsa with me, I served a ton o' beer and gin and tonics (and Guinness to Jeffrey). I didn't get too pissed off at anyone, although I was slightly irritated at this Native dude who tried to give me this homemade-looking Oklahoma Tribal identification card in exchange for pool balls. I said, "Um, do you have like a driver's license?" As if I hadn't already asked for it... Anyways, he hands me this identification card that has "NOT A DRIVER'S LICENSE" printed all over it. I inquired to Jeffrey what this may be about and he explained that the dude had probably gotten a DUI.

So it was around the time that the Native was returning the pool balls (like 1:45 a.m.) that Wes the Bouncer (or "cooler" as they call them at Coyote) comes downstairs and asks if anyone in my bar owns a black Jeep. Now when I think of Jeep, I'm thinking Wrangler. My Jeep is a Grand Cherokee... Laredo. Don't ask me what the Laredo means because I have no clue.

I spoke up and said I have a black Jeep, which was parked across the street from the bar's main entrance. Keep in mind I started parking there instead of the lower parking lot because my mom and brother were afraid my brother's ex-girlfriend would try and eff it up because she's crazy. This parking lot is in plain view from the top floor of the bar, so we thought it would be safer. Um, how 'bout NO.

Wes informed me that the Jeep had been broken into and they had the guys who did it in custody. I kinda laughed because I had the U-joints replaced like last week and had taken everything out of there, not to mention I have spent the last two days vacuuming and Armorall-ing the interior. My guess is these guys saw how amazingly shiny and clean the inside of the Jeep was and wanted a closer look, because there was NOTHING to steal. Or so I thought.

I checked out my stereo and the "frame" thing that was around the faceplate was g-o-n-e. That's all I noticed was missing. They didn't even take the dollar I had in the console, or the change I had in a little thing by the gear shift. I talked to the cops, blah, blah, blah, and went back to work so I could close up and finish this larseny deal. So as I'm cleaning, I realize that my sweet CD holder (which Amanda gave to me after a gentleman caller left it at her place) was missing, along with two of my three Neil Diamond "box set" CDs, and more importantly, CDs burned for me by my brother. Picture this, though, every single one of those CDs was burned. Why would they even want them??

So I'm telling the cops about this and the dudes who did it are still in the backs of the cop Jeeps. Well, one of them starts messing with me, making faces and talking to me, even though I couldn't hear him. I tried to ignore it from the corner of my eye, but I looked over and he was pointing from his eye to me and back again. I haven't been scared for a long time, but I think I am now. These dudes are going to get some effing gangbangers to come mess with me.

I have to wonder why they even wanted my stereo. It's a Pioneer from like three years ago... not so cool. And seriously, who steals car radios anymore? Not to mention like ten burned CDs, including one titled "Skinny White Boys Sing to You" and Neil Diamond? I didn't think Mexican gangsters liked Neil, but what do I know? They might do drive-bys to "Love on the Rocks", "Brother Love's Traveling Salvation Show", or maybe even "Crunchy Granola Suite". I know Neil inspires me to do things. But it's more like sing along and be happy... if anyone wants to buy me this CD because they feel pity for the fool who is going to be chased down by *thug life* and whatnot, I won't mind.

I tell you what, though, I do not think Neil would be very happy if he heard about this. I might have to message him on MySpace (heck yes, he's my friend) and tell him what happened.

And there's more. Not only were these guys thugs, they were apparently driving a mini van. Woulda been more thuggish if it was a contravan, but hey, this is The Dizz, not TAFKAS. I looked at my CDs in the van and what else did I see in it? A baby seat and baby wipes. This breaks my heart a little bit. Poor kid is probably doomed to live the gansta life.

Oh, and I also don't know where the CD case is. I don't know if the cops have it or if they just didn't take it out of said mini van. If I don't get it back, I'm gonna be PISSED.

So Reason 261 is: Gangsters want to kill you and you should probably leave.

Sorry if this rant is confusing and lacking in GSP skills. It's nearly 5 a.m. and I'm a little stressed out. :o(

P.S. - Thanks to Dustin and Wes who are not only highly protective of me, but ready to kick these guys' asses if they ever come near me or the Cantina ever again. I guess I need to put both of them on speed dial...

COYNOVA

I don't even know what to say about this picture. COYNOVA. Bad Attitude. This was the night of Ashley's "Martini Madness 2005". And the night Bad Attitude said to me, "Do you think your friends would get pissed if we were to go somewhere alone later?" ...or something very similar (gag).

This was a night when the guests at our table changed like three times, but we remained intact (and by "we" I mean me, Amanda, and Ashley). I recall hanging out with professors, fellow students, spouses of professors, local television personalities... I'll refer to them as "The FC" and "Steve" (or Brick and Champ). Also "Face for Radio" and his undying love for Ash...

You should read my blog because I am... a genius.

Your IQ Is 115

Your Logical Intelligence is Below Average Your Verbal Intelligence is Exceptional Your Mathematical Intelligence is Exceptional Your General Knowledge is Genius

Quick and Dirty IQ Test

Ok, so apparently I have no logical skillz, but whatev. I gets by. Somebody who is logical should probably take this quiz and tell me which questions are the logic ones... because they all seemed math-, language-, or history-related.

Musical Commentary of Sorts

Something has really been bothering me lately as I do my Internet surfing with the TV on in the background. I really don't watch it, but my mom usually has it on Fuse, a competitor of MTV that I think started in Canada. This initially made me hate Fuse (the Canadian factor), but my hate for MTV is far more serious than my feelings towards canucks.

Anyways, what has been bothering me is this band who unwisely chose to call themselves Death Cab for Cutie. Every time I see this video, I want to hurl. It's pretty much a Peter Gabriel's "Sledgehammer" meets Smashing Pumpkin's "Tonight, Tonight" video (although the song isn't as good as either of those) with a lead singer showcasing his made-for-radio mug in every frame. Besides the fact that the video makes me feel like I might seize, I am angry that this guy thinks he's cool and good-looking enough to brand the video with his stupid face...

I feel like he's advertising his fugliness and this offends me. Don't get me wrong, there are so many fugly rocks stars who aren't douche bags and are actually effing awesome... Iggy Pop, Alice Cooper, Kid Rock (fugly, not awesome), Joey Ramone, The Strokes (sans Fabrizio Moretti), KISS... you get the idea. These guys are fugly, but they have that rock star appeal that makes them "attractive" and cool. Joey Ramone didn't force his face on you; he grew his hair long in a timeless rockin' mess of locks that pretty much always covered his face.

But this guy from DCFC just kills me. He needs to take a hint from Jack White of the famed White Stripes and The Raconteurs and get some greasy hair in his face, opt for the wide shot, and stand in the shadows of the background of band stills. How 'bout Serj Tankian of System of a Down? He plays on his fugliness like a Frank Zappa clone on acid... scare the kids! Do something, just don't pretend that you're pretty when you're not.

My next comment has to do with a hip-hop "band" called Dem Franchize Boyz. The first thing that upsets me is the ebonically-inspired name of the so-called band. All I can say is, "Why?" and "Did you ever learn to read?" I don't need to discuss rap stars' fugliness, because it is a non-issue. I mean 50 Cent can't close his mouth, The Game needs a new eye, and Jermaine Dupri might as well be Gary Coleman's twin. It doesn't matter. There are three good looking rap stars: LL Cool J, Tupac, and Pharrell. One of them is allegedly deceased and the other two are not nearly as popular as Notorious B.I.G. and his lazy eye were.

So "Dem" "Franchize" "Boyz" have a hit song titled "Lean Wit It, Rock Wit It". I saw the video for the first time today and was surprised to see "Dem Boyz" promoting a new "dance" that is strikingly similar to Elaine's dance on Seinfeld. So next time you're "up in da club" you can thrust your body from one side to another without fear of rejection or ridicule from your peers; Dem Franchize Boyz said it's ok.

So here are the lessons I want you to take away from this blog:

Death Cab for Cutie sucks, it's ok to be fugly (but not if you're going to get all fugly in my face), and it is always acceptable and appropriate to dance like a fool to rap music. Did I forget anything?

Check it out.

A Weekend in TAFKAS...

Text messaging is the DEVIL.

So I wanted to see how much my next Sprint bill was going to be now that I am gay for text messaging like I was a little over a year ago. I never used to go over 50 messages, including the ones sent to me, so it was never worth me spending the $5 or whatever it is for unlimited text messaging. Well, now it is.

My next Sprint bill is going to be almost twice as much as it usually is. *sigh* Text messaging, why do I love thee so? I'll tell you why: Text messaging is far less intrusive than a phone call and you never have awkward silences, or a feeling that you have to "catch up" with someone when you just wanted to ask a simple question. If you don't have something to say, you have that option. If you're not quite sure what you want to say, you have time to conger up a proper reply.

On my phone, the text message alert is far less obnoxious than the ringer for the phone, which is a great feature when you have friends in other time zones who like to text you at 5 a.m. MST.

Anyways, I refuse to stop texting. I think when I'm in TAFKAS on Friday I'm going to drop in a Sprint store so I can get treated like shit and have unlimited texting added to my plan. All I need now is one of those sweet phones with a keyboard...

Disturbing comments, Easter eggs

So as usual, I can't sleep and had been thinking yesterday about blogging about some weird things that have been said to me.

This past week, I had a middle-aged couple (like my parent's age) come into Coyote Cantina, order two Stoli martinis, up, with a twist (douches). The the woman says, "Do you know my son, Corey?" I said no, I didn't think so, and she says, "Well, he talks about you all the time. But mostly in his sleep."

Como what? Did I miss a joke somewhere in there? And further, what mother listens to what her son is saying in his sleep? I shook it off, but then while analyzing her comments later, I realized how completely bizarre they were. Then I started thinking, "Who the eff is named Corey besides Haim and Feldman of the famed 80s?" So I have to deduce that either Corey Haim or Corey Feldman are dreaming about me.

A while back, I was asked by the local waitress/bartender stalker, who's name starts with an "N", but I can't remember it for the life of me... Anyways, asked me to bear his children. He also asked me to go "hiking" with him, and by "hiking", I assumed he really meant take me into the forest and dismember me. He also asked another bartender if she would dress up in a cop outfit for him...

Tonight I was told that I should get an agent in Albuquerque and enter into the world of motion pictures. Apparently Albuquerque (a.k.a. The Artist Formerly Known As Steve) is the movie star mecca of the world. So if you're interested in anything to do with the entertainment industry, you need to pack your bags immediately (if not sooner) and move to TAFKAS.

I also have to say I had a BLAST decorating Easter eggs for Sunday with Jeffrey and Donica tonight... How would you like to find an egg with a "sketch" of Judas on it that says, "What would Judas do?" on it, or one with a clever face resembling Mr. Macky from South Park with the phrase, "Drugs are bad, m-kay?" on the reverse side. I don't know which one was my favorite: "Jesus got crunk at Le Bistro," or Donica's gem with a depiction of Jesus on one side that said "Before" and a picture of a ghost on the other side that said "After". The Resurrection rules. Seriously.

It's 3 a.m. Do you know where your bartender is?

Have you ever had a Budweiser-soaked Indian lunge at you, slurring some sort of angry, unintelligible language? If not, you have never liv- I mean bartended in Ruidoso, New Mexico. Tonight was my night to experince this phenomenon.

Tonight was also the night for my boss to be my bouncer, since my normal bouncer was at his wedding reception... on a Tuesday. Fast forward seven hours into the night, I'm out of Sapphire gin, ice, a plethora of other crap, and the bossman is nowhere to be found. "Why," you may ask, "was he not downstairs making sure all was well in the drunken idiot world?" I'll tell you why... he was drunk. I love this bar. It was SO much fun to be on the drunken side of the bar, and even though it's not always fun to be on the bartending side, it almost always gets interesting.

Anyways, I won't bad-mouth the bossman because he really didn't do anything wrong (besides leave me downstairs with a bunch of douchebags*). He also encouraged ME to drink on the job... SUCH a good idea when you tend bar. It really helps with the whole dealing-with-drunk-assholes-who-you-would-never-talk-to-otherwise aspect of the job. So I had a little bit of a dirty martini I made (and made very well, thank you) and was good to go until the drunk Mescalero lunged at me and his 5'4'', 250-pound ladyfriend (and that's a kind physical estimation) had to stop him from assaulting me. Good times.

*I partially blame myself for people thinking I can handle myself against armies of drunk (and often coked-up) patrons... I am sort of a B.

Which one is evil?

So you all know my Help Mate, Jeffrey Wayne Curtis. He's pictured here in a classic Buddy Jesus pose...

We've been buddies/co-workers for some time now and when I left the Dizzle for the LBC back in 2004, Amanda introduced me to a little bar called the Pourhouse right by my old apartment complex and the TTU campus. They have the coldest Miller Lite I think I have ever had the pleasure of drinking and the bitchinest chips and queso of all time. They also have a Jeffrey Wayne Curtis lookalike, pictured below with me (drunk), in a mock Buddy Jesus pose...

This is obviously Jeff's twin, seperated at birth. What I need to know is who's the evil twin? Both have the glasses, which can throw off your evil meter, and both seem to have the ability to grow aggressive facial hair. I don't know the Pourhouse twin's name, but Jeff has three first names, AND his middle name is Wayne, which means he can choose a career as an assassin or serial killer. Hey, at least he's got a choice.

And so do you. Which twin is evil? Let me know on the comments.