The exorcism of Emily Rose?

So I'm at the crazy coffee shop again. And I'm thinking that maybe this coffee shop is the new Catbirds because not since Catbirds have I seen such intriguing people. Today, however, was the weirdest.

Huddled in a corner was a fruit salad of people: one British guy, a bird looking older female, a man who looks like Omar Sharif, and 3 non-descript Lubbock-Americans. They were all having the strangest conversation, and at first, I thought I was witnessing a cult initiation. And it might be that the cult thing is right on, but the more I listened in, the more I am convinced there is something deeper.

They kept having this conversation about good spirits and bad spirits and light beams and refractory reincarnation, which I have googled and have only come up with this, a site which only furthers my hypothesis that what I witnessed was some type of stereotypical alien brainwashing technique a la 1967. Note the meteorite reference.

Anyway, so they have these conversations about good spirits and bad spirits. Of course, the bad spirits were all of the rest of us in the shop, and the good spirits dwelled inside the recruits, and it's not worth recanting the actual script of the convo as it is to convey the tone with which it was said. First of all, anyone who is an avid B sci fi movie fan knows that the bad alien generally has a British accent or at least an affected one. Plus, the other 3 cronies were repeating everything he said in this sing song tone.

And then, boy #1 brings out the holy laptop. And Bird Woman and Sharif start whispering in this undecipherable language. And I SWEAR the woman hisses like a snake as boy #2 mentions holy water. British Alien puts his hand out in a very calm Khanlike manner and silences Bird Woman with a look. It became very cold--in the coffee shop. British villain explains to the Lubbockites that holy water will not do in this instance. Talking, speaking soothing speech will suffice.

And then all of a sudden, louder than a damn movie theater, there is a beeping. And then a woman speaks via the internet. Boy #1 explains to her that he is here with Ka'el and friends and Ka'el (British chap) breaks in and says soothingly: "It is time. Put the boy on."

So then this freakin kid comes on Skype screaming bloody murder and probably vomiting pea soup, to boot. He/she (hard to tell with the screaming) does this for about 5 minutes straight, loud enough that the entire coffee shop is staring in the general direction of the freak corner. Then Ka'el says, "It is complete" (what is complete? The kid is still screaming), and they disconnect. Laptop closes. Talk commences about the farm and living opportunities on the compound (ok, I embellished that one), and then they all walk away.

Really? WTF was that? Dorksided.

The New Catbirds

First of all, my apologies to the horsefaced women I dissed in my previous post. It's not so much that I have a problem with your horse face (like your ass face--why, Prax, does it always lead back to a Christopher Guest quote?); it's that I have a problem with your cartoon chipmunk voices, your vapid brains, and the fact that you end every comment with an upward intonation. Translation=horsefaced. So forgive me my vodka ramblings. It's your personality and essence i loathe.

ugh. I have no Vault today, only coffee. Really, though, I don't need the Vault as much as I need Visine. This damned dryness is killing my eyes. I look strung out all the time.

Ok, so The New Catbirds (TNC). This place is not as cool as the original but cooler than Bizarro Catbirds for sure. It's on the college bar strip, but it's nestled somewhere in between, so it has a nice mix of students, grad students, profs, and locals. Really, I was having a great time all night celebrating D's bday there. The band was an odd mix of Funk and RunDMC with a little Michael Jackson thrown in for good measure. Oh, lol, and they played a strange remix of Play that funky music white boy (how much do I fucking hate that song) and Ice Ice Baby.

Clientele? There were bikers and hippies with hula hoops (the hippies not the bikers, though that would've been funny). Did I hula hoop? Oh hell yes. And there were Robert Smith lookalikes and a guy that looked like someone from Devo. And like I said, your typical mix of students.

Convos were fun. Had a Lebowski quote off with one guy. Talked about how this would be the last year we'd ever love the Cubbies again(yeah right) with another. Taked about how Lubbock doesn't get any better with another. And listened to a chipmunk talk about something incoherent for about an hour. Neither D nor I could make out what she said, but she was sweet, I suppose.

Only one fight broke out, so it's not quite Catbirds, and I was able to leave unscathed from the vodka within, unlike Catbirds (or really, was that MoMongs?). What I find also cool is that the bars in the place are actually handmade by a guy who teaches in my building at school. I just find myself examining it. So cool.

So yeah, a good night despite the jaw clencher. And now it's time to bake and focus on paper writing.

Dear 2shirts

Not sad. Missing a friend base and a catbirds. ;)

And so so so so so so busy.

But thanks and miss you!

Random gurgles

I found a new Catbirds.

Lubbock doesn't have Vault.

My fridge is filled with cheap beer and no cheese pizza.

I bought spaghetti os today for 88 cents.

I am unbelievably toxic, and the cheap beer, pizza, and spaghetti os are not going to help.

I have to somehow muster the energy to run 13 miles tomorrow.

Frat boys annoy me more now than they did when I was in undergrad, and that is really saying something.

There are times this past week when I wondered WTF I am doing coming back to school full time.

Someone paid me $20 to smile. My smile is depreciating.

My bar arguments are getting better, though, with this newfound doctoral knowledge. I actually used the terms random sampling, population, and covariance in a debate with a frat boy on Friday about baseball. It was wasted on him, but I felt pretty proud.

I did not fall asleep in my shoes like Glinda does, but I did crash naked on the floor wrapped in a crocheted afghan. I woke up freezing with a neckache grasping onto a half drunk bottle of powerade. Gurgle.

So that was this week. I think I'm done with the self-destructive adjustment meltdown, so next week I should have happy posts to report. I mean, Lubbock is only temporary, and so what if I'm 10 years older than people in my cohort and 15 years older than the rest of the people on campus. So what if I'm surrounded by chain restaurants and dollar stores. So what if I can't even go to the football games because grad students have to pay full price. So what if I'm fucking broke with no income until October and maybe not even then bc I'm still not in the system. So what if I will spend Kimday and Turkeyday alone. So what.

Free stuff everywhere this next week. Wed is a new grad student recep with free hors d'oeuvres and wine. I'm taking a big purse. Thursday is free starbucks coffee seminar followed by star gazing at the planetarium. Friday I'll find something. It's all good.

And there are always marmots.

Down with LBB?

I guess I have to be.

So I moved to the thriving metropolis of Lubbock this weekend. I guess this post would work best if I put it into Eastwood format. So here goes.

The Good:
1. My house--it is bangin'!
2. My cats are happy. They have room to play.
3. The weather--it's cool and dry. [Today however had 62% humidity, so I reserve the right to withdraw this statement]
4. I have a backyard.
5. I have enough closet space to hang Paris Hilton's wardrobe.
6. I am 1.3 miles from campus and 2 miles from my building.
7. Running is awesome here. I can run at 10 am and not overheat, which is phenomenal since I hate getting up early.
8. There are more local channels, including 3 Jesus (well technically one is a Yahweh channel) channels, a weather channel, and the home shopping network. I also get 3 Spanish channels and a strange British channel which shows things like this late at night. Yeah, and I think that one deserves a you tube.
9. Prairie Dog Town
10. 7-11!
11. no traffic
12. everything is less than 15 min away
13. Local coffee house. Lots of granola people. Too many macs, tho.
14. My advisor. We click. She's brilliant. She's a presby PK. She's a runner training for a marathon. She's me, only she's already a doc.
15. My course load--uber challenging and interesting.

The Bad
1. Everyone in the town is 19 or 45 with no teeth.
2. Really young cohort. They are all fresh out of undergrad.
3. People lean out of the car and hoot, holler and even squeal like a pig when I walk to school. It's disturbing. I'm not sure if it's the redneck mating call or if they think I look like a pig. I guess if they yell, "Suey" I'll have my answer.
4. One of my assistantship supervisors. I'll leave it at that.
5. The local news. I don't normally watch the news, so this shouldn't be much of a problem. But it's like watching King of the Hill, which would be good if I weren't so damn disturbed that it's real. The weather people are all like Nancy Gribble. And the news people, well, I can't describe them.
6. The local weather. This gets it's own line item because it is brutal. Yesterday, I was all freaked out about a disastrous hail storm that was going to hit any minute. It interrupted the Olympics every minute for an HOUR with Severe Warning bulletins, urging us to take cover. And then I find out it's in freakin' New Mexico!
7. This is a good thing in Lubbock, but it doesn't bode well for me. Apparently, there was massive excitement in town because we broke records by receiving 2.5 inches of rain this month. We haven't done that since 1992.
8. The hard water. It actually stained my hair red. Apparently the iron is really bad here.
9. Dry, cracked skin anyone?
10. everything is slow. slow. slow. slow. And people are lacksidaisical (how do you spell that?) like Boobah. I tried to find a good Boobah video and came across this. It made me chuckle.

The Ugly
1. I don't get paid until Oct 1
2. The stupid ass snow pig of a bitch in the business office just felt overwhelmed this week from pounding root beer and fritos, and so she failed to process our scholarships. I had to put $3,000 on my credit card today or get dropped from classes. They swear they'll pay me back. Her exact words, matter of factly, "Well, I'm just overwhelmed and so it didn't get done this week, and it may not get done next week, and don't ask me about it neither." Her boss, present in this meeting, took her out in the hall and talked with her, and he came back in and swore we'd get our money.
3. The gas company guy. He came in and started probing me for info, as if I'd give it to him, and tried to freak me out. Seriously, we're talking creepazoid of the sexual assault type. [shiver] Then he came back, claiming that he forgot his tools! When he saw my male landlord, he ran away. Creepy.
4. No water for 2 days. Apparently, the water company here rips out the water meter bc there is a history of water meter theft on abandoned houses. So weird.
5. The smell from my sink. WTF is it? I can't kill it.


So that's it for my first 4 days in LBB. I'm sure there will be tales to tell. Yarns to spin. Fun to be had. Yessirree. Still no new Catbirds yet. I'll keep you posted.

I'm back, sort of

My router is all f'd up, so it takes longer than dial up to connect to any webpage, and when it does, it doesn't pull up anything hi-res. Needless to say, I haven't blogged since Feb 27. The only internet access I've had has been at work, and right now, I'm at a local pub using the wifi.

So what's happened in over a month? I don't remember, so it must've been good. Here are the highlights I recall in no particular order:

* SBT won't talk to me anymore. I'm a threat.
* 2shirts and I got a little tipsy over a bottle of really good wine at a local wine bar. We were grading papers at the time. A glassful of vino helps the grading go down...
* Finished up work at Crazytech. Whew!
* Met a bunch of rocket scientists at the local pub. Yes, literally, they are rocket scientists. Why did that night remind me of a night out with Glinda?
* # of hangovers: 4. Evidentally I have not taken up G's need to end consumerism.
* # of visits to Bizarro Catbirds: 0
* # of visits to Catbirds: 1; I did not get blitzed, but I did have one Caucasian and scared Nerfherder a bit. I think I've become a Maneater.
* # of men frightened: 4
* Spent an entire Friday at the art museum in the old hood. I miss the old hood.
* Made $300 at a fundraiser. Thanks, guys.
* Pretended to be a photographer at a wedding. 110 pics out of 300 something were good. Works for me. Hopefully it works for the artist formally known as Narc.
* Narc is now known as BJ, not for his ability or desire to give or receive BJs but because he is Bizarro Jerry. This requires an entire post to itself, but I'm not sure I'm up to it today.
* Met the New Narc or NuNarc as he will be dubbed on this blog. Unbelievable. Apparently he thinks I'm pretty but not hot enough to make him want to rip off my dress. Wow. What a ladies man.
* Favorite text message [from Glinda]: "I'm watching a Mariah Carey video with unicorns. WTF? Oh, and a midget spanked me." Apparently, she was not high.
* Hung out at same local pub with some guys who race professionally. I actually used the term Chilton manual in a conversation. Note to self: professional race boys don't like Chimay, only drink Bud products, and think older women are hot. Nice to know.
* Was approached to apply for a position as an Old Spice Girl. That's Old Spice the product, not an old Spice Girl. Still, it makes me giggle. I see myself next to Sporty with Old Spice written in Sharpie across my chest singing: "So tell me what you want, what you really, really want.."
* # of times I've declined a drink from someone with a beer tshirt on at ye local pub since I've started writing this post: 4.

That's about it, folks. I'd post about the Bizarro Jerry thing, but it's lost its humor, I fear.

*

Morning before xmas

Twas the morning before xmas
and all through my house
not a creature was stirring
except my cats and their mouse.

The stockings were packed
in their boxes this year
Because this xmas season
I'm up to my rear.

And Radford was snuggled
all down in his den
Meaning Dylan was king
of the complex again.

With eggnog in hand,
and no one to toast
I'd just settled down
for a little blog post.

When on my computer
there arose such a clatter
I clicked on my email
to see what was the matter.

Someone had sent me
themselves in disguise
as an elf of dear Santa
with big bulging eyes.

Chuckling a little
I turned to my blog
Scrolling through the year's post
to see what I've logged.

When what to my wondering eyes should appear
But a gamut of stories--not so bad of a year!

In January, for instance,
I headed to Philly
with Praxis and Y arms
climbing steps willy nilly.

And the rest of the year
in the cranky hall of fame
I'll shorten and simply
list them by name:

Damn Catbirds, OUT CP, and what's with Texas shabbats?
Dreams of aliens, hippos, McSteamy, and marmots.
Goodbye G, Hello running, Chinese and the burbs
Kimday, Lubbock, Fence Rider, and Bizarro Catbirds

Not as wild as last year
but who's keeping track?
At least I have finally
come to terms with my "rack."

Don Eduardo remains happy
He's had a great run (no pun intended)
but for 2008
I'm accepting my buns

And this poem could go on
but I'm into brevity
Happy xmas to all
or at least "wine up" like me!

To Darth, the Catbirds apologist

He cuts off his Samson hair, and suddenly he thinks he's Perry Mason. Darth gave his great rebuttal: "Bizarro Catbirds is no Bizarro Catbirds." How's that for circular reasoning? Still, I will humor him and explain why Bizarro Catbirds remains so named.


Darth retort #1: The people don't compare. Yes, they do. Bizarro Catbirds is Bizarro because it is the suburban (opposite but equal)version of catbirds. Catbirds has urban skank. BC has suburban skank.

Darth retort #2: The atmosphere doesn't compare. Catbirds plays 1940's jazz. Bizarro Catbirds had a cover band playing Loverboy, Journey, and Toto! First of all, Catbirds plays a CD collection of 1940s and '50s jazz, and the dj doesn't even know who Ella Fitzgerald is. That proves my point. Catbirds tries to be a cool jazz bar but misses the beat, so to speak, and BC tries to be a live music venue and plays shitty '80s covers. Both sad.

Darth retort #3: The girls at Catbirds have tattoos all over. The majority of girls at Bizarro Catbirds have a tribal thingy on their lower back. And I've never seen so many fake breasts in my life! See my response to #1--that and I've never seen so many poser Emo people at Catbirds in my life.

Cranky concession #1--Yes, I am a psycho magnet

Above all, though, it's my damn blog, and I can give BC what ever pseudonym I want.

Smooches, Dark Lord.

bizarro catbirds defined

So Darth came down...

hold on--wait a minute--I just have to say that Glinda is a freak with her obsession with amputeeism.

Ok, so Darth came down to the burbs and visited Bizarro Catbirds. His comment was that it was "NO Bizarro Catbirds." Here's the thing: Darth loves Catbirds, so of course, nothing can compare. I don't. It's skanky, fights break out, freaky people reside there, and I just get snockered for no reason at Catbirds. Why? I'm not sure. The drinks are watered down. Perhaps it's because G and I usually went to Mo Mongs for cocktails before Catbirds and stumbled across the street already drunk. I dunno.

Bizarro, by definition, is the doppelganger of something. Bizarro Catbirds, then, is the perfect doppelganger of Catbirds for these reasons:

1. It is huge, but no one circulates. They just huddle together in whatever room they choose. Catbirds is a one room place where everyone huddles together.
2. The drinks are typically watered down. See above. An exception to this is when the bartender that likes you is there and gives you divine drinks.
3. It's skanky. Suburban skanky.
4. Catbirds clientele is representative of the misfits of the area. So is Bizarro Catbirds.
5. No matter what day or what time of the day, some fight will break out. Or some nutjob will talk to me, giving me much fuel for my blog. The best posts come out of Catbirds or Bizarro Catbirds.
6. The worst, unexplained hangovers of my life are from both places.
7. Both places have unbelievable bartenders who have a tendency to give me potent drinks for free--many, many potent drinks [ah, now I see the snockered connection]
8. Both places also have a tendency to produce a gem now and then, someone with whom I can have a genuine conversation. This is rarely the case.
9. Despite the new nonsmoking rule in Houston, I come out of both places smelling like a chimney. It takes 4 hair washings to get the soot out of my hair.
10. It's the place I hate and dread going (every morning after starts with "I'm never going there again), but for some unknown reason, I keep ending up there.

I hate Catbirds and Bizarro Catbirds. And Praxis will experience it this weekend.

mmm like catbirds but not

Yeah, ok, I've hit some sort of time warp.

Previously, in the life of Cranky, I was as frugal as they come. No, I take that back. My dad is more frugal. He would make tomato soup out of hot water and ketchup, but anyway, I was frugal jr. In college, I knew all the happy hours in town with buffets. And back then, I never had to pay for a drink, so it was free food and drink for me. I'd "borrow" tp from dorms for my apt and would sell back my books the 2nd day for beer money (well some of them like physics and nutrition). I taught my roommate the art of thrift store shopping and came from a family who never bought anything if it wasn't on sale. I once found an awesome sale at walgreens for tomato soup and bought a bunch for 30 cents apiece. I ate tomato soup for like a year, splitting them between two meals until the next happy hour buffet. Ah, those were the days.

So then post college I got all philanthropic once i started making money (as much as you can make working non profit) and started helping out friends (letting them mooch off me for free), and lately, with an 11 year old car and unbelievable rent and gas prices, I've suddenly flipped back into frugality. Maybe it was the trip into the suburbs that did it (no more great restaurants and cafes). Maybe it's the fact that I've got to buy a new car soon. Maybe it's the pending 33 hanging over my head. Maybe it's some dysthymic phase, the post marathon training blues. Sigh. I don't know.

So today, I decided to forgo the chicken soup and went to Bizarro Catbirds for a drink solely because I knew they had a free happy hour buffet. I had a dollar well drink and potato chips with beans, salsa, guacamole, and some other ingredient that escapes me now. [shudder]. But it was free. And, ladies and gentlemen, I drank the next two drinks for free. Still got it!

The highlights? Well, I spoke Italian for the majority of the night to some man from Torino. Then I spoke a little Chinese and German. And then I talked to a triathlete and his brother, the orthopedic surgeon who moonlights as a gyno (wtf?). He seems to think my orthoped is a quack. I think so, too, and so whatever he tells me tomorrow, I'm running. My foot doesn't even hurt anymore. I haven't run, but if it hurts running I will walk. I am soooo doing this marathon.

Hopefully, getting back into the marathon groove will bring me back to normal Cranky. Seriously, I don't even like happy hour food (unless I am watching the Cubs, and the bar tonight was not playing Ch 9. Sigh).

I'm in a funk.

Bizarro Catbirds

I was supposed to run in the pool tonight, but I'm getting a little tired of that. Seriously, this injury (if that's what it is) is the worst thing that could happen to my training. I wasn't all that motivated to run once I got past the 18 mile mark. In fact, as soon as I did my first 18 mile training run, I slacked off for about a week. Then i started up again until my next 18 miler, and that was it.

So now that i actually have a reason (other than beer and oreos) to sit on my ass, I am really not so motivated for this thing. It is boring, not to mention embarrassing, to run in place in the pool, and all I keep thinking is that there is no way I will ever finish 26 miles, since the 26 miles I will be running will be on pavement and not in the water. I had better get good news on Friday, or I will kick some ass, hurt foot or not. I have to start real training again.

That said, I went to the suburban bar tonight with 2shirts, ate chex mix for dinner, and drank Chimay and some other yeasty beverages. I was talking to 2shirts about an article that I read in the foot doc's office. You know, it's like the anus was once the last hold out--the only place left that we weren't forced to pluck, scrutinize, and compare to others. Seriously, not to echo the comment on the website, but is there any place left on our bodies that is just ours? I digress.

Point being, I was telling this to 2shirts, who had already heard about the process and who claims that it is because as we age, our asshole turns from a zesty pink to a haggard brown (how do people know this crap [no pun intended]?). Right in the middle of the story, I look at the direction that 2shirts is motioning and see an eavesdropping bartender who then pretends to pick staples out of the wall instead of admitting his desire for anal bleaching.

Then I meet up with 4 construction people who pat me on the back for being able to "dish it out" as well as they. Somehow, anal bleaching comes up again (2shirts), and we discuss it some more. Unbelievable.

Then out of nowhere, I suddenly become a freakin' psychic. Seriously, I guessed every one of their ages spot on. I missed one guy's by 5 days (his birthday is on the 7th). Otherwise, dead on. They even all checked their wallets. I guessed the sports they played in college, too, but that wasn't so hard. The golf guy was a little taken aback, but I can always spot a golfer. They have a particular neck. Don't ask me what it is about the neck. They just have it. very weird. then we watched The Contender, and I went home.

So that's it. Suburban nightlife includes talk of anal bleaching and psychic sideshows. I came home and ate spaghetti o's and watched Laverne and Shirley clips on you tube, thanks to a blog I read.

God I miss the city. I have become so lame!

you know...

people should just kiss my ass.

I need Catbirds.

Broken Vows

When I graduated from college, I worked for this shit ass institution with the most crooked SOBs running the place. I was only there for 6 months, and I don't even put it on my resume because it's not worth it. Plus, it was the first of 5 places I've worked for that have gotten into some financial scandal, but I digress. I did make some friends there but soon found out that they were just as crooked as everyone else.

Anyway, I vowed after that job that I would never be friends with anyone at a company again, and aside from friends at HCC (I lucked out with those), I've kept that promise until now. I realized, as I was becoming friends with someone, that it was a bad move, but I allowed myself to do so anyway. Stupid move.

So starting tomorrow, no more friends. No more nothing. Though it makes life much happier at work in the short term to be friends with people, it makes life hell in the long term, and I renew my vow--no more friends. No happy hours. No commiserating. No lunches. No dinners. No movies. No late night talks. No IMs. Nothing. Do you know why? It's because you can't trust anyone--not a damn soul because everyone in this fucking world is out for themselves, the ambitious little pricks.

Hopefully, I'm nipping this in the bud before I get fucked over again.

And sadly, I'm on a self-imposed ban on spending money because I'm trying to save money for a new car. So no Catbirds for me.

firkin catbirds

So I was talking to Praxis about flights to Abq when I realized that I needed to go run, so run I did, and when I finished, i headed to the local pub for some vodka concoction and a caesar salad, which i haven't had in a year.

Speaking of a year, it is the one year anniversary of the million dollar smile, so drinking was warranted.

I spend the time at the pub texting 3 people at one time--2shirts to get him to come out, glinda whom i fight with about whether Aslan could top Stryder, and Praxis about 80s songs and random movies. 2 vodka concoctions later, I get a hankering for catbirds and call up Darth, who, coincidentally, is already at catbirds. We take our usual weirdass picture via picture phone and send it to Glinda, and then let her know how much we miss her.

Catbirds is its usual self, and i have 2 more vodka concoctions (actually, just vodka on the rocks this time) and try to convince hank that the splotches he sees on the windows are really sperm. I also help some poor woman get over her innane crush on Jeff Goldblum, telling her that he is a podperson and she's better off without him, and then, helping someone else distinguish Endora, the bitchy mother-in-law on Bewitched, from Endor, the planet of the teddy bear warriors on Star Wars.

The music was Billie, and that made me happy, but catbirds was the same truXtop on the way to hell.

As I'm leaving, the woman with the crush on Goldblum gets a phone call from her southern baptist camp loving daughter who is in band camp for the first time. I can't help myself...this one time at band camp....and ask her what she plays. Yes, my friends, it was the flute. lol.

Days off

Today is a day off for me. It's my Memorial Day, since my normal day off is Monday. The good thing is that it is a much nicer day than it was on Monday, but I'm bored. Really, I should be getting my Tech apps in the mail today, but instead I'm writing this post and then will head out to do some shopping. Tonight will be a tiny 20 min run followed by getting my ass packed for a weekend of Texas style camping. At some point tonight, you should all send me texts to make sure that I get my ass in gear and get those apps done. For some reason, I'm finding it easier to find the umph to run than to write my life's mission statement on family studies. Perhaps it is because I have no real mission statement. I dunno.

So tomorrow is my 1 year anniversary at my current job, wahoo. there will be much rejoicing, and then I'm headed somewhere for tubing and camping and then it's off to nola. And yes, I will be doing my 5 miles remotely at the ass crack of dawn on Saturday, I promise. This running thing is actually good for me because my first thought, after a 'stimulating' discussion with the cp [the c now standing for chicken or confused], was to head out to Catbirds and wish Glinda, Darth, or Praxis were here. But the thought of running tonight on a 6 pack of Vault and the Catbirds' sting sounded too unbearable.

In other news, Prax and I have a new character for a comic book--FenceRider, the superhero who can't come to a decision about anything. I picture him as the fool on the hill, pondering the 24 steps it would take to actually do something [and the risks involved in each step] instead of jumping off of his fucking fence and doing it. His power? He's a mastermind at making you believe that he's made a decision and an expert debater. Prax, I hope to see a preliminary sketch of the character by June 5. ;)

Clarification

In the last post I mentioned getting "sufficiently fucked by the bartender and German man," and as I reread it after some sleep and mass quantities of water and Vitamin C, I have to clarify that I meant the term in the sense of being on the sloshed end of tipsy.

Why the need for clarification? It's because, though I'm the greater evil according to Glinda, I DO have standards, even at Catbirds (just not so much with alcohol at Catbirds...eugh).

catbirds is evil

Mother fucker. I should never ever go to Mo Mong's because I end up at fucking Catbirds. What the hell?

So tonight, it took me 3 martinis at Mo Mong's (damnit that they have the best damn spring rolls) before I convinced myself to go there. And then I ended up there, and subjected myself to psychological finger testing from Yve and the fact that she thinks my nappy hair needs extensions, and then I ended up talking in German to some man that works for Exxon and damnit, I actually knew more German than I thought I did (but beer helps).

So there's not much to report from Catbirds except that Darth was offshore, and Derrick and Nerfherder were not there, so there was a new clientele to meet. Despite that, I got sufficiently fucked by the bartender and the German man, so I am way too Scheiße to think right now, and tomorrow the BYB (that's asshole fucking boss to you) is getting his stupid misogynistic head on a chopping block, and that's a good thing.... I think I'm not making anymore sense now, and Catbirds sucks. I'm never going back!!!!!

Groggle

Ok, it's 9, and I'm finally feeling a little awake and less toxic after a nap. Catbirds certainly is the gateway to somewhere. I don't know if it's hell, but I'd say it is definitely a truckstop on the way.

I dig the bartenders. Nerfherder, despite his scruffiness, is always good for a laugh, and Derrick is a mean mixologist. The owner is incredibly nice, and she's thinking of opening a Catbirds sequel somewhere in NOLA, which might be the site of the next Kimday.

I'm also warming up to the surroundings. It's like Bizarro Cheers, a dollar store knockoff of the place where everybody knows your name. The "sperm etched windows" was actually one window with little blue sperm painted on it, and it was kind of cute, and apparently Catbirds was just a quirky gay bar in a previous life, not a peep show, which makes me feel better bc that window was really high.

The thing about Catbirds is that it's like the guy you meet with beer goggles on. He's shabby and obnoxious at first, and the more you drink, the more you think, "Hmmm he's not soooo bad," and while he never quite becomes Prince Charming, he does become Prince Good Enough For Right Now, and you give him your number. The next day, however, you recall his shabbiness and definitely his obnoxious behavior when he leaves you a voicemail, and you vow never to go back to beer goggles state again (until that next Jack and Ginger). Yep, that's Catbirds.

Darth was in hyperdrunk last night, as were most of the aliens in Mos Eisley (the majority of which were journalists). Fraggle Rock was hitting on a nice girl from Austin, and Darth's friend, Freddy, was assuring me that Bambi and Thumper were happily snuggling up under my awning ass while watching their mother die at the hand of man. That was the compliment of the century, for sure. And really, if one more person "accidentally" tripped and fell face first into my boobs...come on!

Really, an uneventful night (or maybe I'm trying to forget).

Have I NO friends?

Where are the people in my life who are supposed to say, "No, Cranky, don't go to Catbirds?" Glurrrg.

Need Vault. Vault is the new precious.

To Catbirds or not to Catbirds

that is the question.

I received an IM from G today saying that Darth wants me to come to Catbirds. Here's the dilemma: I want to go out tonight--tired of GS cookies, wine, and sappy movies; however, as noted in previous posts, Catbirds is the Devilport of 2007, and I have to work 2m.

I am itching to see those sperm etched windows, though.

This dilemma is compounded by the fact that I'm craving Mo Mong, and you know that an evening started at Mo Mong never ends without the temptation of Catbirds. The thing is, though, I don't like the place. Why am I tempted to go? Does it satisfy something in my white trash subconscious?

Ah well, I'll be back later with my decision, but speaking of decisions, Saturday is D-day for me. Making huge decisions about chunks of my life--love, education, moving, career...

Why Saturday? It's because big decisions are best made over green beer, and definitely not green beer at Catbirds. Harp, maybe.