Monday, September 29, 2008

Happy Birthday, Mom!

Dear Mom,

Happy 64th birthday! Remember when you were little and that fortune teller told you that you were going to die when you're 69? That means that we still have five more fun filled years together. Please don't leave any earlier than that, because I'll be shocked and unprepared beyond belief. All my life I've been batting around the year 2013; like a clumsy kitten, it's sharp claw, and a ball of frizzy yarn.

I almost bursted in to tears at your birthday dinner last night when you told my cousin that you were having chest pain 5 times a day and that you had to take crazy chinese herbal medicines because the stuff your doctor prescribed you gave you headaches. I choked down big salty ones when you said that you may not be around for much longer. Your morbid joking breaks my heart and scares me to no end. I wish you wouldn't try to spare me from worrying by keeping this kind information from me {though, now I can see why you do what you do...I'm a total basketcase!}
Ever since you found out that you were born with a heart defect that left you a major artery short of most, I feel like we've been partying on borrowed time. You are such a strong woman, so much so that your doctor was amazed that anyone could live past childhood with such a condition. You managed to make it this far, with a full life, and two kids under your belt. You really are 8 million in one. The wishful thinking angioplasty unicorn that I've been galloping on all this time has just bucked me off. I naively thought you'd be cured by a little snake that climbed up your leg and into your heart. But alas, that only halted the chest pain temporarily.

Blurgh, I'm welling up just typing this. I cried myself to sleep last night because I couldn't bear the thought of a world without you, your love and support. It seems silly to be mourning the living, but I can't stand to see you age and deteriorate. I know it's natural and happens to EVERYONE. I can handle everyone, everyone but you.

Happy happy birthday. I love you. Here's to a handful more...

your daughter
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Saturday, September 27, 2008

Friday, September 26, 2008

"Where the banshees live and they do live well..."

The other day, I was headed downstairs to a lunch meeting. Exercising extreme "don't-eat-shit-like-last-time" caution, I teetered down the concrete steps in my high heels, balancing a tuna sandwich, a soda can, 2 packets of mustard, 1 packet of mayo, 3 napkins, a plastic knife, and a cup of ice atop my notebook.
Then suddenly, miraculously, out of the corner of my eye I spied a little something, literally. A teeny tiny Stonehenge in the bed of river rocks under the stairs! I was so excited that my cup of ice went flying everywhere. It was a wondrous discovery that completely brightened my day. I felt like I'd stumbled upon a Little People masterpiece. Sometimes life is full of pleasant surprises.
Then, for the rest of the day, I couldn't get this song out of my head!

Thursday, September 25, 2008

In memoriam: 90's Babe Edition

I'm feeling extremely nostalgic for 90's complex, smart, talented babes.
Liz Phair
Lisa Loeb
Courtney Love
{Live Through This years}
Shirley Manson
Fiona Apple

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

Ow, my toof!

Dear Cute Dentist,

I just got back from my fourth visit in one month with you. When I came in for my checkup, I thought that I'd done everything right. Flossed regularly, brushed 3 times daily, even gave myself the occasional scrape. You even complimented me on my 'perfect' teeth and told me that you could stare at them all day long. Then, in the next breath, you told me that I would need two of my old fillings replaced, as cavities had made their ways into my back molars, numbers 4 and 16  respectively. Disappointed in my rotting head, I obediently scheduled my appointment to return two weeks later.

When I came in to get my fillings, I was grilled by the hood-ratty Mexican (not being racist, she was just ghetto) asking me if I remembered whether I paid my copay from last time or not. I replied annoyed, "I don't know, isn't that your job?" She asked me to check if I could find my receipt. Ten minutes later, the painfully nice hygienist took me back and prepped me for the fillings. You waltzed in swabbed me, injected me, and told me to lie back.

Twenty-some odd (very odd) minutes of blackberrying/working from the dentist chair later, you and your minion came back and started drilling. You drilled big holes into my head and told me you were going to "let my jaws rest" a bit. Then you disappeared! You freaking left me hanging there for like, what seemed like an eternity, but probably more along the lines of another 35 minutes or something. At one point, I got out of the chair to search for you. I wandered into the manager's office and found a dachshund staring back at me. I mean, I lovelovelove dogs and all, but couldn't help but think it was a) unsanitary and b) unsanitary? I bumped into the office manager and he assured me that you didn't forget about me and that you'd be right in.

Ten additional minutes later, you came back to me and apologized with your big brown puppy dog eyes and explained about an emergency walk in, blah blah. I tried to be mad at you, but couldn't really be mad at you. By this time the fucking novacaine was wearing off, and I began to feel ever jab and grind. I told you and you gave me some more bitter topical. I just beared through the rest of it. You seemed a little frazzled and tiny beads of sweat emerged from your flawless maple-syrupy skin. While you were polishing you clumsily knocked around in my mouth as if you were stirring creamer into your morning coffee.

At this point, my stomach began to growl and demand food. The sun was setting and I just wanted to get home. You blazed me and patched me up, over two and a half hours later. I said thanks and got the hell outta dodge. On the way home, I started noticing another pain in a completely unrelated, healthy tooth! I figured it would probably go away and ignored it for a while. The pain and numbness in my drilled teeth subsided, but the pain in my formerly good tooth began to ache all the way up to my brain.

Back at the homestead, I began to religiously stick a white, but beginning to yellow, little plastic dental mirror purchased decades ago from a drugstore into my mouth and study every nook and cranny. I spotted a dark line crossing toof #5 (pulsating tooth in question), one that was not mirrored by it's neighbor #12 across the way. "It looks like a stain," R said peering into my mouth. It's NOT a stain and it was NOT there before. I was sure of it. Bitch had broke my tooth! It made me (continues to make me) very cantankerous and I called back on Monday to schedule yet another appointment to show them their handiwork. They asked me if I could come in on Friday and I replied, aww fuck naww! I'm in so much pain! I decided to be the emergency walk in of the day.

X-rays, prodding, liquid nitrogen drenched q-tips... "Oh nope, I don't see anything. did YOU eat any walnuts or anything hard?" you inquired. "No, it started hurting right after the filling, and you knocked into it a few times with the polisher," I said accusingly. You told me to come back in 10 days if it still hurt and that I might need a crown. Blurgh. I'd never had anything more serious than a filling before, a crown, or possibly a root canal because of your carelessness, really pissed me off.

Like before, I left work early and came back in today because the pain had not subsided and I was popping ibuprofen like a fiend just to be able to think straight and be productive. You asked me if the pain had gotten better and I said no. You told me that it would be a filling instead of a crown, that you'd just file the crack away and fill'er up. I didn't protest and was thankful that you could do this today because it's superfuckingbusy season at work, and I didn't want to come back a fucking fifth time. More drilling, more filling. In between suctions, I asked, "So it definitely was a crack and I wasn't imagining it right?" "Oh, that's silly of course it was a crack, you couldn't imagine pain like that." Funny, since you totally tried to talk me out of thinking I had anything wrong me last time! "So, It's not that severe to warrant a crown?" I muffled. "No, sometimes cracks just know... walnuts, or whatever..."

WALNUTS?!?!?! Who the fuck chomps on walnuts in the shell?!? What the fuck do I look like a motherfucking squirrel??? I laid there, enraged. I could feel my blood pressure rising. I knew I had to say something or else I'd regret it. "With all due respect," [read: none] "I'm positive that it was a direct result of my last filling and I haven't eaten any walnuts." "Oh, no, I teeth are really resilient, even if it didn't hurt before, the crack was probably already there." Ensue massive eye rolling and me getting ready to rumble.

First, I'm not even that MAD that you caused me two weeks of shooting brain pain, I just want some empathy. I know you can't flat out take responsibility for fear of being sued an all, but come the fuck on, don't try to blame me and my imaginary nut diet!

So ya finish up after humming along with Live and 3 Doors Down over the muzak and walk me to the hoodratceptionist. I'm ready to make a big stink if you were going to make me pay my deductible. I've already paid for FOUR copays, two of which were unnecessary. You told me that you were just going to say it was an "adjustment to the existing filling" and that it'd just be $10. I'll take that as an admission of guilt. Also, I feel gypped for not getting a crown.

It's 8:30 and I can feel my lip and nose again. What hurts more than my head is that no one believed me when I said it was cracked (except for maybe my mom), and that I was blamed for something that I didn't do. It's more about accountability and principle. Okay. This extremely long and boring post ends my pity party, but I had to get it off my chest. I'm switching dentists. It's over between you and me, Cute Dentist.

Fuck off,

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

Corporal Punishment

much to my chagrin, my osteo-cronies of
golden pink bubbly precription drippy days of yore 
have been buried, smothered by layers 
upon layers of honeycomb shaped lipids 
i'm trying desperately to dig them out again 
but it's a lot like scooping away sand 
with cramped cupped hands 
while more and more sand just falls in 
destroying any attempts at making a mark 
if i hate feeling myself
does that mean i hate myself? 
does that mean i hate my feelings? 
obviously to some extent 
since it was my feline-esque epicuriosity
that led to to where i am now 
what a vicious, yet delicious cycle 
i feel my flesh hugging me tautly and my chest gets tight
escape seem futile and far out of reach
it's far more existential pie
than i'm able to cram down my throat
it's haunts me when i'm trying to stuff all of me 
in my clothes looking more sausage than sartorial
each selfish bulge instinctively gravitates 
for even the slightest possibility of an elastic
reddish pink torture markings
embossed skin buttons
and broken blood vessels
leave behind a trail of mocking reminders 
of emotional and physical trauma
i just can't seem to get away from me 

affected/afflicted/delusionally yours,

Saturday, September 20, 2008

Red Hot Robot

Red Hot Robot is this super fucking cute toy store downtown. The owner is real nice and genuine. You can tell it's not rhetorical when he asks, "Hi, How are you?" I stopped in today to look for a large pink gloomy bear plush. Unfortunately, they're out of stock until x-mas. Ya hear that, Santa? However, they did have this hilarious Miso Hungry poster. I think I may need to go back and rescue it. This would look so adorable framed in a kitchen. For now I'll keep dreaming about the GB. I even made a polywhore in it's honor.

Friday, September 19, 2008

Wormwood daydreams...

I went to my favorite sandwich shop today and saw some batshitcrazyass, uh shit. This obese transient looking man plops down on a picnic bench and proceeds to dump his overpriced drink from the holier-than-thou hipster coffee bar next door into his 7-11 Big Gulp cup. Then, he pulls out two popsicles from...I don't know where... and begins to push them off the stick and into his plastic cauldron. After this, he dumps 3-4 sugar packets into his drink and stirs the grotesque mixture with his hot pink straw. I'm inside the sandwich shop, mouth agape, staring in disbelief. I reach for my camera and try to covertly take a photo. It doesn't turn out and I'm too afraid that if I were to be spotted, I'd be systematically dismembered and buried in popsicle homeboy's basement. So alas, my shitty depiction will have to suffice.

{click to enlarge}

Thursday, September 18, 2008

Wednesday, September 17, 2008


{x-posted to tiger butter}

Saturday, September 13, 2008

Tag! You're it!

I was Clawed!

1. Where were you 10 years ago?
Cuddling in bed with R. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

2. Whats on your to-do list today?
*sleep in
*find a gas station jacket for R {ended up finding a phillip lim dress for myself instead, oops}
*do the nasty
*pick up shoes from the cobbler
*make some soap
*go to the museum
*make some stationery
*finish writing essays
*write 2 letters
*grocery shopping
*bbq @ the in-laws

3. What if you were a Billionaire?
*move to NYC
*pay off loved ones debts
*buy them houses
*travel the world
*go to space
*set up a foundation

4. Name 5 places that you have lived?
*Phoenix, AZ
*Tempe, AZ
*Mesa, AZ
*Marlborough, MA
*Sandy, UT
(one sad list.)

5. What are 3 bad habits that you have?
*poor follow through
*compulsive hair twirling/touching
*saying, "s/he looks like so-and-so..."

6. What kind of snack do I like?
Too broad of a question, better yet, what kind of snack DON'T I like?

7. Who will you tag next?
1sourapple, kdub, Ellen, cakecrumb, Jess, layersofmeaning, Chels, Joe

Thursday, September 11, 2008

Tiger Buttah

Hey y'all! A collection of uber awesome buds (old & new) and yours truly are partying over at Tiger Butter. Stop by and say 'ello or better yet, join us! Send an email to id[at]gracieo[dot]com and I'll add you to the tiger's den.

Wednesday, September 10, 2008

Lehman Bros before hoes

[Me from car to R @ home]
Me: Hey, did you sell your Lehman Brothers stock yet?
R: No.
Me: Oh, well they're restructuring right now and...
R: I know, Richard and I both bought at the same time...


Me: Oh fuck. I think this conversation means we're officially old. Gotta run.

Palin: wrong woman, wrong message

{Caribou Barbie Photo via Design Crisis}

By Gloria Steinem

September 4, 2008

Here's the good news: Women have become so politically powerful that even the anti-feminist right wing -- the folks with a headlock on the Republican Party -- are trying to appease the gender gap with a first-ever female vice president. We owe this to women -- and to many men too -- who have picketed, gone on hunger strikes or confronted violence at the polls so women can vote. We owe it to Shirley Chisholm, who first took the "white-male-only" sign off the White House, and to Hillary Rodham Clinton, who hung in there through ridicule and misogyny to win 18 million votes.

But here is even better news: It won't work. This isn't the first time a boss has picked an unqualified woman just because she agrees with him and opposes everything most other women want and need. Feminism has never been about getting a job for one woman. It's about making life more fair for women everywhere. It's not about a piece of the existing pie; there are too many of us for that. It's about baking a new pie.

Selecting Sarah Palin, who was touted all summer by Rush Limbaugh, is no way to attract most women, including die-hard Clinton supporters. Palin shares nothing but a chromosome with Clinton. Her down-home, divisive and deceptive speech did nothing to cosmeticize a Republican convention that has more than twice as many male delegates as female, a presidential candidate who is owned and operated by the right wing and a platform that opposes pretty much everything Clinton's candidacy stood for -- and that Barack Obama's still does. To vote in protest for McCain/Palin would be like saying, "Somebody stole my shoes, so I'll amputate my legs."

This is not to beat up on Palin. I defend her right to be wrong, even on issues that matter most to me. I regret that people say she can't do the job because she has children in need of care, especially if they wouldn't say the same about a father. I get no pleasure from imagining her in the spotlight on national and foreign policy issues about which she has zero background, with one month to learn to compete with Sen. Joe Biden's 37 years' experience.

Palin has been honest about what she doesn't know. When asked last month about the vice presidency, she said, "I still can't answer that question until someone answers for me: What is it exactly that the VP does every day?" When asked about Iraq, she said, "I haven't really focused much on the war in Iraq."

She was elected governor largely because the incumbent was unpopular, and she's won over Alaskans mostly by using unprecedented oil wealth to give a $1,200 rebate to every resident. Now she is being praised by McCain's campaign as a tax cutter, despite the fact that Alaska has no state income or sales tax. Perhaps McCain has opposed affirmative action for so long that he doesn't know it's about inviting more people to meet standards, not lowering them. Or perhaps McCain is following the Bush administration habit, as in the Justice Department, of putting a job candidate's views on "God, guns and gays" ahead of competence. The difference is that McCain is filling a job one 72-year-old heartbeat away from the presidency.

So let's be clear: The culprit is John McCain. He may have chosen Palin out of change-envy, or a belief that women can't tell the difference between form and content, but the main motive was to please right-wing ideologues; the same ones who nixed anyone who is now or ever has been a supporter of reproductive freedom. If that were not the case, McCain could have chosen a woman who knows what a vice president does and who has thought about Iraq; someone like Texas Sen. Kay Bailey Hutchison or Sen. Olympia Snowe of Maine. McCain could have taken a baby step away from right-wing patriarchs who determine his actions, right down to opposing the Violence Against Women Act.

Palin's value to those patriarchs is clear: She opposes just about every issue that women support by a majority or plurality. She believes that creationism should be taught in public schools but disbelieves global warming; she opposes gun control but supports government control of women's wombs; she opposes stem cell research but approves "abstinence-only" programs, which increase unwanted births, sexually transmitted diseases and abortions; she tried to use taxpayers' millions for a state program to shoot wolves from the air but didn't spend enough money to fix a state school system with the lowest high-school graduation rate in the nation; she runs with a candidate who opposes the Fair Pay Act but supports $500 million in subsidies for a natural gas pipeline across Alaska; she supports drilling in the Arctic National Wildlif e Reserve, though even McCain has opted for the lesser evil of offshore drilling. She is Phyllis Schlafly, only younger.

I don't doubt her sincerity. As a lifetime member of the National Rifle Assn., she doesn't just support killing animals from helicopters, she does it herself. She doesn't just talk about increasing the use of fossil fuels but puts a coal-burning power plant in her own small town. She doesn't just echo McCain's pledge to criminalize abortion by overturning Roe vs. Wade, she says that if one of her daughters were impregnated by rape or incest, she should bear the child. She not only opposes reproductive freedom as a human right but implies that it dictates abortion, without saying that it also protects the right to have a child.

So far, the major new McCain supporter that Palin has attracted is James Dobson of Focus on the Family. Of course, for Dobson, "women are merely waiting for their husbands to assume leadership," so he may be voting for Palin's husband.

Being a hope-a-holic, however, I can see two long-term bipartisan gains from this contest.

Republicans may learn they can't appeal to right-wing patriarchs and most women at the same time. A loss in November could cause the centrist majority of Republicans to take back their party, which was the first to support the Equal Rights Amendment and should be the last to want to invite government into the wombs of women.

And American women, who suffer more because of having two full-time jo bs than from any other single injustice, finally have support on a national stage from male leaders who know that women can't be equal outside the home until men are equal in it. Barack Obama and Joe Biden are campaigning on their belief that men should be, can be and want to be at home for their children.

This could be huge.

[Gloria Steinem is an author, feminist organizer and co-founder of the Women's Media Center. She supported Hillary Clinton and is now supporting Barack Obama.]

Tuesday, September 09, 2008

I'm a jerk, the Jerk.

{click to enlarge}
Joe and Steve used to be roommates and in a band together.
Their bromance is over, as evidenced by this post break up, "Can I git my shit back" comment.

Monday, September 08, 2008

Geekoid Biotech Humor

You wit da Scripps or da Bloods? thang, I'm still gonna pop a cap in yo' assay!

Guest Blobber: R - My carbon footprint is way bigger than yours, Puffy.

I admit that I hate the guy only on the basis that he is wealthy beyond my imaginable reach. I find that he has no discernible talent as the only "songs" I know of his are reworkings of previous hits by Led Zeppelin or the Police. Thus, I am clearly jealous that my attempts to make a name for myself in music have fallen flat while this guy is known for wearing a suit. However, it came to my attention in a recent video blog he complained that due to rising oil prices he can no longer afford to fly privately.

Guess what, "Puffy", I am now better than you - in at least one thing.

I agree that flying commercial does suck - and I will rejoice very time I walk up the stairs into the private jet I fly in that my carbon footprint is much, much larger this his.

Sunday, September 07, 2008

Dreaming of fall...

{my first polywhore}

Saturday, September 06, 2008

Gracie never met a bike that she didn't want to ride...

I want/need cool weather to come. I want/need to ride my bike to the lake during my lunch hour. I want/need to pedal aimlessly with the breeze slapping my face. I want/need the wind to massacre my bangs and make them stand at attention. I want/need bicycle therapy.