No matter how early or late, happy or sad, or how full of caffeine or codeine I am, whenever I hear Queen’s “We Will Rock You,” I feel empowered in that Rage Against the Machine kind of way, and I wanna put on a pair of old Dr. Martens and run out into the street and riot for justice.
Is there a song that makes you feel that way?
I hold no license to be a restaurant critic nor have I received any specialized training on the subject. (that was my disclaimer…) HOWEVER, I have been to more than one restaurant, and I think that that alone gives me some sort of entitlement to make an assessment of good vs bad, even if it is just my opinion. SO here goes.
My girlfriends from work and I went to lunch Friday to a little mexican food place in Irving Tx called Juana Gallo Cocina Mexicana. I uh, ok. It was quite an experience.
The moment I stepped into the building, I felt like I was immediately transported to Mexico. The smell of cooked canine filled the air as the locals prepared vats of unidentifiable dishes — or “comidas” as they like to call it. My friend ordered a drink called rice water. It smelled a little off, but was rather tasty – with a hint of cinnamon. When I asked the cook what was in it, he said something about “orina de raton”. I don’t know what he meant, but we all had a sip of the yellow-ish nectar. After visiting the vast condiment bar, I returned to my table with pico de gallo, only to be greeted by a puppet salesman (I shit you not). We all smiled and said “WE DO NOT WANT TO BUY A PUPPET” – with increased volume – to compensate for the language barrier, of course. It was just like Mexico. We felt warm and fuzzy inside. When I got my food, it looked interesting. Like 2 big savory hot pockets. When I poured the pico de gallo on my lunch, I was surprised to see a rubberband swimming in the bowl with the cilantro. “This must be a Mexican good-luck thing.” I thought. I was disappointed to find out that it was not a Mexican good-luck thing. It was actually used to remove the cat’s gonads prior to putting them in my hot pocket – along with the unidentifiable bones. Needless to say, I filled up on corn tortillas and butter.
And now, my rating of this little Mexican gem, found right in our own Irving backyard:
It was crap and made me want to vomit. It could only have been worse if the puppet had gouged out my eyes and removed my tongue with pinking shears.
Just got a call from my pill’d up mom:
Me: Hello?
Mom: What.
Me: What do you mean “what”?
Mom: I don’t know.
Me: Hey, can you call me back on my desk phone?
Mom: What did I call?
Me: You called my cell phone.
Mom: Oh. Well….what’s your desk number? (Inevitably, she calls my co-worker, Rick, and he has to transfer her to me – and she greets me with “That nice man answered your phone again.!”)
Me: Nevermind. I’ll just call YOU back from my desk phone. What’s your home phone number so I can write it down?
Mom: 718
Me: and?
Mom: And what?
Me: 718-what…
Mom: 718-2862
Me: I don’t know your area code. What’s your area code?
Mom: Area code? 718
Me: No, mom. Your area code! It’s 956, isnt’ it?
Mom: No, it’s 972.
Me: Mom, that’s my area code.
Mom: How should I know? You should know your own area code.
Me: Nevermind. I’ll get it from my cellphone when I hang up. I’ll call you right back from my desk phone.
(called Mom back and had very few psycho-babble moments before ending the call)
5 minutes later, Mom called me on my desk phone number –
Me: This is Kimber.
Mom: Which one do you want?
Me: What are you talking about?
Mom: Area code?
Me: Mom, I already found your area code — that’s how I called you back earlier.
Mom: Zip code, then — 7…
Me: Mom! – It was the area code and I already found it. Remember I already called you back?
Mom: Oh. Ok. Well, call me back if you need anything else.
Note: I hope she’s on good meds. I wish she would give me some…
Watching late, LATE night TV with my nephew the other night, I stumbled across an infomercial for a slim & lift undergarment. Very off-putting. How hard is it REALLY to do 15 to 20 ab crunches, lay off the soda, & put the fork down sooner – every other day? Seriously! What a disappointment it would be to a guy who thinks he’s about to “behold” a firm, fit, toned naked body but instead, when she comes out of (insert whatever clothes changing location makes sense here) she has a small child’s worth of extra flesh around her middle & her rear that she had compressed & hidden inside a mega thick spandex girdle/bodyvice under her dress all evening. Friends, this is no better than that water bra that came out about ten years ago.
They should call this a LIEotard.
Just my opinion…
My pill’d up mom got a new cell phone yesterday. (OH gawd no…)
Between the hours of 2-630am I received 17 blank texts from her on which she was apparently practicing changing her auto-signature. It was “Nana” for the first few, then “Linda” on the next several, and then finally, just in case there was any confusion, she decided on “Nana- Linda.” (Yep. That’s a hyphen there.)
I haven’t responded. I don’t know anybody with a hyphen.
Update — 27-Jan-2011: I would be remiss if I didn’t mention that as of TODAY, Mom’s auto-signature reads: “<NANA LINDA MOM>”
My friend Dave posted something about there being a cheating gene and asked for people’s opinions. Ok, so, as I suspected when I first saw his posting, most of the subsequent opinions were from females, who, no surprise, used Dave’s invitation to shake a “shame on you” finger in the face of all males who ever dared stray or even thought about it.
I’m amazed sometimes at how obtuse we can be. I’m going to piss off some folks here, but I don’t care. Why is it that women are so susceptible to being caught in a double standard, self-righteous way of thinking? Men and women both cheat. I use the word “cheat” begrudgingly, because I feel, well, nevermind *why*. Some of you understand. It doesn’t mean that “cheaters” are *bad*. Women, how many of you have *knowingly* been a married man’s mistress? I’m not one to throw stones in a glass house kids. I’ve been on both sides of the glass. I’ve learned a lot, too.
When we’re the other woman, it’s ok, but when “our” man has found another woman then he AND she are the bad ones??? Makes no sense to me.
We tend to forget that humans are mammals. (Geez, look it up.) Mammals were not meant to have just one partner. Look at evolution in nature. Human mammals are the only ones trying work around the natural selection process, but failing miserably because we aren’t “wired for one”. Just my opinion.
Some of you will, no doubt, feel the need to bring up vows and promises of commitment. I say to you that given what we know about nature, ourselves, and the divorce rate, we can learn a thing or two from our unmarried ancestors. If you know you cannot remain faithful, then don’t make the commitment to anyone to do so.
Hey! So there is my take on that item of recent interest. Agree? Agree to disagree? Regardless, I remain committed to telling it like it is…
My mom just called my cell phone. Here is our conversation:
Me: Hello?
Mom: *silence*
Me: Hello?… Mom?
Mom: Who IS this?
Me: Your daughter. Who did you call?
Mom: What do you want?
Me: Nothing, you called me.
Mom: Well, I called your house phone and couldn’t tell who answered.
Me: Mom, I don’t HAVE a house phone.
Mom: Well, that’s the number that showed up.
Me: On WHAT?!
Mom: When I called. Then, when I called your HOUSE, all I heard was a bunch of kids playing around.
Me: I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.
Mom: *pause*… Well, have you talked to Kimmy?
Me: Mom, this IS Kimmy!
Mom: I thought this was Michele.
Me: Nope. It’s me.
Note: My sister Michele doesn’t have a “house” phone either.
Has anyone paid much attention to the back page of The Dallas Observer? Inevitably there is an ad smack-dab in the middle for a clothier called American Apparel. Seriously, who is buying that overpriced, over-marketed, so-called ORGANIC shit? I can get a purple t-shirt for 7 bucks at Old Navy and NOT have any discomfort from the cotton they use.
Don’t fall prey to this not-so-modern moda. They want your money and they market to sheep who have been blinded by pop culture phrases like “vintage clothing”. All they want is New Money for Old Rope. Does The Emporer’s New Clothes ring a bell? Pam Ewing might wear it, but that was 1985 and it was just a dream. NOT to be confused with “the American dream” – which is what Harry Parnass, advisor to American Apparel, stated that the brand is selling. {1}
Dream? – Nightmare. Consider this your wakeup!
Hopefully you have paid a lot of attention and consequently NO money to this company.
Just my opinion. Take it or Leave It.
{1}CNBC’s Made in China American Apparel in China Jul. 21 2008
Awhile back, my friend Dave had a funny facebook status in which he mentioned a woodchuck. It reminded me of “My Encounter With The Opossum” — “my” because it was personal, “the” because it wasn’t just any opossum. It happened one summer morning in North Texas. I left my apartment and was making my way through a maze of shrubs towards my parking garage — not paying much attention to my surroundings, as this had been my daily routine for a year. As I rounded a corner, I looked up just in time to see an animal emerge from the under the shrubbery. Only, it didn’t just “emerge” and then be on its way. Like a gatekeeper, it boldly stepped directly in my path and stopped, blocking my way through. I froze, not because I thought I should or because I was scared – but because all of my brain’s known resources were working on processing the image it received. I didn’t know what it was. Its skin was a jaundiced pink tone, and what little fur it had was wirey and white. Its eyes were tiny, but I could see that they, too, were pink. It was when it hissed at me and showed me its sharp little teeth that I thought “hairless cat”, but that didn’t resolve due to it having weird claw-type feet and a long pointy snout. It was also at that moment that I didn’t care what it was. Fight or flight kicked in, and I flew in the opposite direction.
It was several days later, at a cook-out, that I learned it was an albino opossum. Apparently I wasn’t the only resident that it had bullied that week. Legend has it, that it moved in under the shrubs and had babies, but I can neither confirm nor deny that statement. I never walked that way to my garage again.
I really look forward to Dave’s story of his encounter with a rabid raccoon.
Mother Nature is a bitch.
Go ahead and plan to subscribe to this blog when you are finished reading. If you don’t like this post, I guarantee you will like at least 4 of the others. How do I know this? I’m good that way.
In the following days, months, years (yes, plural, “years” — December 21, 2012 is one day before my birthday and I’ll be damned if the world is gonna end until I have had my fill of it.) — I will make you laugh, piss you off, and challenge you to think (for yourselves).
“Think? About WHAT?” you say. About things that you never thought about before because you never had the chance to think about them and formulate your own opinions about them.
Why? Because, a long time ago, someone took advantage of your young age and/or of your lack of knowledge. Someone disrespected your humanity; underestimated your ability; ignored your right; and hid from you your responsibility to immediately reject what is presented as “so” until there is sufficient evidence to support it as “so”. (This rule applies to everything. It even applies to Him… No, Santa Claus ain’t real folks.)
You know where this is going. Is there a tooth fairy? No, but I was told there was one. Same with Santa and ye olde bunny of easter. I believed what I was told. Why, I even had “proof” — Santa left me the coolest toys; the easter bunny left candy, eggs, yellow marshmallow peeps, and pink shredded plastic grass — every year, same time, same place. Tooth Fairy? Money – paper money, folks, under my pillow. Believed in him til I found the matchbox of tiny teeth in my daddy ‘s top drawer. Believed in “god” at some point, too. Not anymore. Heck, the money I found under my pillow was more evidence of a tooth fairy than anyone has ever shown me of a god. BTW, I didn’t just decide to be an atheist. I was a youth pastor for almost ten years. The more scriptural research I did, the clearer the realization became that I was the one telling fables to the young and impressionable. My “coming out” as an atheist, wasn’t easy. It cost me many dear relationships, but I have no regrets — save for the damage that I did with my blind story telling during those ten years.
So, yeah, I am an atheist, and contrary to popular belief — we do not eat babies. We are real people who think for ourselves. I am not here to disprove anyone’s claim that there is a god. I am only saying that there isn’t sufficient evidence for me to believe in a god or gods. (Just as there isn’t sufficient evidence for either of us to believe in the tooth fairy or the loch ness monster.) See? We already have something in common.
There are unanswered questions. Accept that. Do NOT accept MADE UP answers to those questions.
Just because it’s been put in your mouth doesn’t mean you have to swallow it.
Not for Sheep and Not for Cheap 