The REAL auto crisis.

I have today off. I love days like this, not because I get to be a slob (which I do), but because I get shit DONE. I morph into this uber-productive, errand-running machine, timing myself to see how quickly I can dash about town getting things crossed off my list. And I was flying about town in my cloud of productivity this morning, when my schedule hit a glitch.

I've been avoiding cops for over a month as my car inspection was due in October. So I went to the Acura dealership today to get that knocked out because apparently Jiffy Lube is completely incompetent when it comes to such matters (having held onto my car for 45 minutes and charged me for an inspection only to tell me they couldn't do it because they couldn't find the connection they needed for the computer, and subsequently FAILED me.) While the Acura was able to inspect my car (I passed), as well as rotating the tires (something else Jiffy Lube wasn't capable of doing), I must offer a commentary on the promptness of their service.

If your performance is such that a respectable-looking business man loses all dignity and can achieve this type of slumber in the middle of a showroom, I submit that perhaps your service is too slow. Mercifully, I keep 96G-worth of entertainment on me at all times for just such occasions, so I spent my two hours waiting getting caught up on episodes of "Fringe". But good Christ. This man was snoring. More alarming than that was that none of the sales folks or other Acura employees seemed fazed by the fact that Yao Ming (the pic doesn't do him justice...this guy was huge) was slumped over on his briefcase like a coma patient.

It made me wonder what would happen if a client fell asleep on the phone while waiting on me.

"Hey Liz, I was wondering if I could get an updated copy of our projected 2009 scope?"
"Sure, let me get that for you. But, well, make yourself comfortable..."
(two hours later)
"Uh, Amy? Amy??? Hey. I have your scope."
"Jesus, I fell asleep!"
"Yeah, sorry about that. Anyway, that will be $146.82. Thanks."

While DC figures out what to do with the "Big 3" and their lack of innovation, I'd like to counter that the real crisis concerning automakers in this country is the most shitastic service imaginable.

I'm now off to put my patched, inflated, rotated and balanced rubber to the road and continue my errands.

Words almost escaped me. Almost.

I hate Christmas.

This sentiment shouldn't really be a surprise to anyone, particularly those familiar with my family dynamics. But it's true. When Christmas comes around, I am filled with anxiety and dread. I pretend it's not happening until I'm absolutely forced to acknowledge it, as was the case last year when I came home to find that my roommate had decorated our apartment. I certainly wouldn't decorate for Christmas, although it's fitting the only decorations I own are a tree and reindeer cut out of sheet metal that could easily be used as weapons.

You can imagine my surprise when, several days ago, I found myself caught up in the Christmas spirit. I actually WANTED to get people gifts. And not just "check-them-off-the-list" gifts, but gifts I thought people might enjoy. Getting caught up in my own frenzy, I was done with all my shopping by Dec. 1st. A record on multiple levels.

But all my new found excitement over this most blessed of holidays came to a halt today, with an something a lawyer friend forwarded me. Reading through the trail of e-mails preceding hers, I discovered it had originated with a secretary trying to drum up business for a friend, by sending a firm-wide e-mail explaining: "A friend of mine make these little guys which make cute Christmas gifts..."

Harmless enough, I thought, until I actually saw what she was peddling.

To my friends and family, be glad I got your gifts before I discovered "Pons" by Wendy. To Wendy, if your tampon angel is any indication, I think you might hate Christmas more than I do.

How not to do things.

There have been several different things I've been meaning to blog about lately, but it occurred to me they are all examples of spectacularly bad form, so I thought it might be nice to create a handy guide to help others avoid these situations. So without further ado...

How Not to be a Good Host

My Danish family was in town a few weeks ago. They were to arrive in Dallas on a Friday, be picked up by my mother and taken to her house which is about two hours from the airport. The husband needed to return to Dallas for a conference on Monday, so my mother offered via e-mail, "We can take him and get him after the conference if necessary, but the funeral home has to make runs to the Dallas area often and if Bjorn won't be totally grossed out, he might ride with one of the funeral home guys. I promise it won't be a hearse. Usually a Suburban." I'm not sure I've ever mentioned on here that my family runs the funeral home in my hometown, but they do. This fact is something which alone would provide enough material for a hundred blogs, but the point here is that offering to send company in from Europe on a two-hour trip with a dead body is just...well, bad form.

When the Danes finally arrived, I apologized profusely for this only to learn that Bjorn's father had made coffins when he was a child, the stacks of which had provided "a lovely badminton net" for him and his friends.

Apparently dysfunction knows no boundaries, international or otherwise.

How Not to be a Good Guest

A friend of mine - and CHAMPION hostess, I might add - moved to Seattle about a year ago. She didn't know anyone there when she moved, so she's spent the past year trying to reach out to folks in an attempt to get a group of friends pulled together which is how she ended up inviting several of her co-workers over to her place after a company party for some wine the other night. Apparently at some point in the evening (and after they'd mowed through four bottles of her nicest wine), one of her co-workers decided to pull out his balls and put them on her coffee table.

That's it. He just set them there and then he proceeded to laugh his ass off while my friend stared on in horror.

I'm sorry, but what. the. hell. I swear to God, if one of the jackasses I worked with came to my place and put his balls on my coffee table, I'd take a picture and then send out a company-wide e-mail that says, "Why you shouldn't invite Mike over. Ever."

How Not to be a Respectful Boyfriend

While we're on the subject of jackass behavior, I would like to dedicate a portion of this blog to my best friend's now ex-boyfriend. This guy, let's call him Stan, dated my best friend for a year and a half. Then he dumped her. This was shitty enough because they work together and it was extremely uncomfortable for for both of them. But after they'd been "apart" for nine months, he came back and said he wanted to get back together, this time for good. He put the full-court press on her and her friends (who had been none too pleased with him after round one) and won us all over. After dating four months and talking about rings, he'd asked her if he could move in, only to dump her AGAIN two days later and right before Thanksgiving. (Oh, the irony.)

I went up to hang out with her this past weekend; understandably, she was nothing short of a mess. We have been friends since we were eight and until this past weekend, I had never seen her cry which completely broke my heart. And because no bad deed goes unpunished, while she was at a party Friday night, I hopped on her computer to check Facebook and after discovering her retard of an ex still had all his login info as the default, took matters into my own hands:

What you can't really tell from the picture, is that I also updated his profile pic to the ass of a fat chick with "Deliciously Evil" written across the back of her shorts. Genius, if I do say so myself.

How Not to Make a Joyful Noise

For those who feel my cyber-activities Friday night were out of line, please note that karma caught up with me the very next evening, and as they say it's a total bitch. That night, we celebrated my grandmother's 89th birthday, and after dinner I invited my family over to my place to play Wii. My mother is a huge fan of Wii Sports but when she saw the drum set in my living room, she decided to give Rock Band a shot, recruiting my sister and her fiancee in the process. And so you don't have to imagine what the von Trapps would sound like drunk with a two-year old banging a pot beside them, allow me to present the musical stylings of the Taylor Family Singers:

Eliminate the drama in YOUR life!

One of my most irritating qualities is my refusal to zip through commercial breaks. Obviously, this admitted character flaw is somewhat understandable given my profession, but if you just zip through commercials, you run the risk of missing gems like this:



My gut instinct wants to file this under "Badvertising", but I can't. This thing is the advertising equivalent of deep fried bacon - terrible, yet awesome. From the arguably racist caller IDs ("Baby's Momma"?) to what might be the greatest line of copy ever written ("This ain't T. You been DRAMATELLED, playa!") this spot is greatness from beginning to end. Not only that, but it actually makes you consider buying the product. We all know when our calls are being screened, and here's the solution. And this commercial, with its Sister Cleo-esque production quality, illustrates this "almost illegal" solution beautifully. Granted, actually utilizing this product would make you look both desperate and psychotic, but if there was a commercial to compel me to put those fears aside, this is it. If nothing else, I want a Dramatel just to screw with my friends and then shout, "You been DRAMATELLED, playa!"

Completely Adorable? Meet Bat-Shit Nuts.

Okay, just to prove that 1. I haven't forgotten this blog completely, and 2. I don't have a lump of coal for a heart, I bring you the following (which Blogger regrettably won't let me embed):

http://www.ustream.tv/videoplayerpopup/channel/317016

I'm not sure how this could get any more adorable. Maybe if pink butterflies were fluttering around them, or if the puppies were sleeping on a bed of marshmallows? Maybe adding a couple of baby bunnies in there would make this cuter? And maybe that would be a bad idea for the bunnies...

Regardless, that's the cutest damn thing I've seen in ages. But just so you don't think I've gone all fuzzy on you, here's a little jolt to the ol' system:

This is a picture of my mother. (Sorta puts things into perspective, doesn't it.) Obviously it's a picture of her at Halloween, not that this picture portrays her as any less crazy than she actually is. I asked her what the hell she was supposed to be. Her e-mailed response: "Kermit the Frog! Or with sunglasses...the UniBomber."

And here I was, stupidly thinking she was a homeless person with multiple organ failure who'd just received her next meal from a passerby trying to unload some of their kid's candy to save their own ever-expanding ass.

Obama/Huxtable '08

Since the moment McCain announced Sarah Palin as his running mate, I wanted to write a blog about it. I knew more than your average "Lower-48" American about Mrs. Palin, but I still wanted to do a little research before putting pen to paper, so to speak. While researching, I also debated writing anything at all because politics isn't the most entertaining topic, and there have been quite a few blog-worthy things going on of late: my sister's wedding planning, my travels through the remnants of Hurrican Gustav to Bentonville, AR, my subsequent introduction to the Wal-Mart corporate cheer, my discovery of the Intervention episode featuring an anorexic who inhales up to ten cans of computer duster a day, my horror at some of the items offered in the Sky Mall catalog...

But no. I have decided Mrs. Palin needs to be addressed. First, while I sincerely doubt anyone who has read this blog questions my political affiliations, it should be said that I...ahem...tend to lean toward the Democratic side of things. With that said, I'm also a female. Some might argue I'm a strong female. As such, I appreciate the drive and moxie Mrs. Palin brings to the table.

And that's pretty much where the appreciation ends.

With each passing day, I keep expecting Palin fever to end. I definitely understood the initial excitment. She was the dark horse. She's a GILF. She's a supermom. She's "folksy". But since then, people have had enough time to see where she stands on the issues, learn more about her, and frankly come to their senses.

While The Beverly Hillbillies were great entertainment, I don't think anyone would have considered Elly May Clampett a viable candidate for Vice President. And that's exactly what we have here, right down to her success resting on black gold. I can't imagine that any female supporting Hillary would vote for the Republican ticket based on the VP candidate being a fellow "Vagina American" (as Samantha Bee so brilliantly put it). However, I absolutely believe there are a lot of blue collar American men who are currently thinking with the wrong head, and that scares the shit out of me, particularly since she's been so shielded from any form of direct media scrutiny.

But luckily, McCain's team can't keep her in a bubble and away from the media forever, though after the grilling she received last week from Charlie Gibson, I have to imagine they wish they could. The woman is so clueless, so chock-full of soundbites, so in over her head, the interview would have been painful to watch had it not filled me with glee to watch the Palin mysitque come crashing down. It also confirmed my long-standing desire to have Charlie Gibson adopt me.

GIBSON: "Did you ever travel outside the country prior to your trip to Kuwait and Germany last year?"

PALIN: "Canada, Mexico, and then, yes, that trip, that was the trip of a lifetime to visit our troops in Kuwait and stop and visit our injured soldiers in Germany. That was the trip of a lifetime and it changed my life."

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Sarah Palin, head of the Department of Redundancy Department. Oh, and Sarah - everyone knows that Canada and Mexico don't count.

GIBSON: What insight into Russian actions, particularly in the last couple of weeks, does the proximity of the state give you?

PALIN: They're our next door neighbors and you can actually see Russia from land here in Alaska, from an island in Alaska.

Wheeeeeeeee!!!

GIBSON: What insight does that give you into what they're doing in Georgia?

(Which, for the record, you can't see from any island in Alaska.)

PALIN: Well, I'm giving you that perspective of how small our world is and how important it is that we work with our allies to keep good relation with all of these countries, especially Russia.

So that's why you're supporting Georgia? To keep good relations with all countries, especially Russia? Well, then I hate to tell you but the Russians probably won't appreciate your Georgian support on a matter that arguably doesn't affect our country in any way. Just sayin'.

This next exchange would have really cracked me up, were I not so terrified someone [this close] to the presidency is this retarded.

GIBSON: Do you agree with the Bush doctrine?

PALIN: In what respect, Charlie?

GIBSON: The Bush -- well, what do you -- what do you interpret it to be?

PALIN: His world view.

GIBSON: No, the Bush doctrine, enunciated September 2002, before the Iraq war.

You could tell Charlie wanted to finish that last statement up with a giant sigh and, "DUMBASS," but as a professional journalist, he kept his reserve and his complete and total annoyance with her was only marginally, and by that I mean completely, obvious.

PALIN: I believe that what President Bush has attempted to do is rid this world of Islamic extremism, terrorists who are hell bent on destroying our nation. There have been blunders along the way, though. There have been mistakes made. And with new leadership, and that's the beauty of American elections, of course, and democracy, is with new leadership comes opportunity to do things better.

Wheeeeeeee!!!

GIBSON: The Bush doctrine, as I understand it, is that we have the right of anticipatory self-defense, that we have the right to a preemptive strike against any other country that we think is going to attack us. Do you agree with that?

PALIN: I agree that a president's job, when they swear in their oath to uphold our Constitution, their top priority is to defend the United States of America.

I know that John McCain will do that and I, as his vice president, families we are blessed with that vote of the American people and are elected to serve and are sworn in on January 20, that will be our top priority is to defend the American people.

GIBSON: Do we have a right to anticipatory self-defense? Do we have a right to make a preemptive strike again another country if we feel that country might strike us?

PALIN: Charlie, if there is legitimate and enough intelligence that tells us that a strike is imminent against American people, we have every right to defend our country. In fact, the president has the obligation, the duty to defend.

This whole exchange went on for quite awhile and absolutely killed me. It reminded me of that episode of The Cosby Show where Vanessa tells her parents she's at a slumber party and she and her friends drive to Baltimore to see "The Wretched" instead. When they eventually get busted for lying, Cliff tries to stay calm even though he's clearly pissed and annoyed, while Vanessa stammers and tries to explain herself. I kept wishing Clair Huxtable would burst into the interview, lose her shit and say all the things you know Charlie was thinking.

"Here you think you because you've been cramming for a week that you know ALLLLLL about international politics and the Bush Doctrine, when your entire career, you've just been havin' BIG FUN in Alaska. Weren't you, Sarah? Having BIG FUN in Alaska. Ridin' snowmobiles, eatin' moose burgers, shootin' guns and killin' caribou. You don't have the slightest idea what you're talking about, do you?"

"But, Clair," Sarah would stammer.

"SHUT UP! Don't you DARE open your mouth when I'm asking you a question! RUDY, GO TO BED!"

Maybe she should wear pearls with her tape?

A few days ago, I spent the night at my aunt's house and she and I ended up talking late into the night. My uncle had fallen asleep in his chair, and as we sat there drinking wine and chatting, I suddenly interrupted her.

"I'm sorry, but how do you sleep with that???" I asked, nodding to my uncle whose snoring was causing the windows to vibrate.

And with her response, I got one of those weird glimpses into married life that, as a single person, leaves you completely befuddled.

"Oh, I tape his lips shut," she explained, and took a sip of wine.

...

"Wait, you do what?" I asked, with a horrified look on my face.

"Well," she explained as though this was all perfectly normal, "you know, he sleeps with a CPAP machine, but even with that mask on, he's just soooooo LOUD." She began to imitate my uncle by putting her lips together, then blowing air through her mouth which created this horrible sputtering noise. "So after a couple of nights of that, I decided if I taped his lips shut, he wouldn't be able to make that awful sound."

"Clearly, that was the next step," I deadpanned.

Unfazed, she continued. "Bless his heart, when we first got married, he made this styrofoam box that only his engineering mind could have, because he wanted a sound-proof...well, a sound-proof box, I guess...so he wouldn't disturb me. It was so cute," she remembered with obvious fondness, "Here he'd taken one of those gas station coolers and made this box, and he called me from the bedroom one day, and I walked in and he was lying in the bed with all this styrofoam around his head. It really was so precious. Of course it was also so funny, I had to take a picture of it. Speaking of which, I wonder what happened to that picture..." she trailed off.

While I briefly considered my uncle lying in bed with his head shoved in a styrofoam cooler, I was still confused. "Sorry, can we go back to the fact you tape his lips shut at night?" I asked, clearly perplexed.

"You know, the lady at the CPAP store the other day also thought that was strange, though I assured her I fold the ends under so he can rip it off more easily. I used to not do that and he had a terrible time getting it off in the morning..."

"Hang on, how did all of this even come up with the lady at the CPAP store?" I inquired.

"Well, I'd looked at his machine and saw it had this filter on it, and thought to myself, 'I bet that needs to be changed.' And sure enough, when I pulled it out, it disintegrated..."

Usually not a good sign.

"...So I went to the CPAP store, and told her I needed a new filter, that this one had disintegrated. Then she asked me how long it had been since we'd changed it, and I told her we'd never changed it. She gave me this puzzled look, and then asked how long we'd had the machine. When I told her we'd had it twenty years..."

Oh god.

"...then she seemed really troubled, because I guess you're supposed to change it every three months."

Oh GOD.

"So after she'd gotten my new filter for me, we were discussing what a great machine it is, and I told her that while I do think it's a good machine, it still doesn't keep him from snoring and that's why I have to tape his lips together. When I told her this, she looked at me like I was a murderer or something and said, 'M'am, if the electricity ever went out, he would die!' I mean, she really seemed upset about this! And I just laughed and said, 'Well, I guess we're lucky that hasn't happened!'"

My poor uncle.

A few days later, I was at dinner with them, when my uncle held up his wristwatch. "Dear, do you like my repair job?" Sure enough, around the clasp of his wristwatch was suspicious-looking tape.

"That's the stuff, isn't it," I asked.

"Oh, ha, yes! It is!" my aunt replied, and started laughing. I told my uncle I'd heard about his sleeping conditions and was concerned.

"You know, I'm not the only one who snores," he said with a groan, "But your aunt refuses to acknowledge that she could possibly make any noise at all while she's sleeping, but I assure you she does. And I've suggested perhaps she try sleeping with her lips taped shut, or at the very least with a CPAP mask on, but she won't do it."

With this, she gave him a knowing look, patted his arm and said, "Well, dear, that's just not very ladylike," and they went back to eating their meals.