Happy Thanksgiving, Little Jew!

Well, up the holidays sneak like something really sneaky. Who knew that tomorrow was Thanksgiving? Who let the busy holiday spending season get so close so suddenly? Who stole the cookie from the cookie jar? I don't know, but I can tell you who didn't do all that...ME!!!

As I was walking past the Egyptian Theatre downtown a couple days ago, I realized they were playing It's a Wonderful Life already, every morning at 9:45, admission is free with a can of food. Blaine ad I went and saw it today and cried and cried with happiness and sadness and laughter and comfort and joy. Then we drove the four blocks home (we had been running late getting to the film) and reveled for a moment in the glory of our old home, seemingly plucked straight from Bedford Falls itself. Then I went and got some stuff from home and drove to work.

When we first moved in I was obsessed with making ice, I'd check it three or four times a day until I saw it wasn't wet inside anymore and then dump it into the ice bucket and refill the tray. Yesterday I decided we had enough ice and didn't refill the tray. I've been trying to find ways to otherwise occupy my time. Making dinner, tea, bathing, dressing, undressing, knitting exciting underwear...Walking downtown, dancing around, reading, anything that doesn't require my turning on the TV.

I also work a good deal, and mmm, I'm working Thanksgiving 5 hours. Sam the boy and I are going to get some Jones Holiday soda and hope and pray that we don't have a high call volume. I hope that you are all eating solid turkey and gravy and mashed potatoes and butter and cranberry sauce and green bean casserole and fruitcake, instead of drinking the carbonated version I'll be fighting through tomorrow night.

Then I have a month to get my house gorgey for my Christmas/Housewarming get together, complete with mulled wine and wassail and spiked cider and flaming rum punch...Oh, the holidays.

Well, I have a movie to catch tomorrow morning, so I must needs go home and sleep.

Taking the Good with the Ass-Pounding (aka "the Bad")

It seems that as I have no credit, I can't get my own cell phone, seperate from my family's plan, without a $400 deposit!! And it's not like I just have $400 laying around that I can give to a wireless company to just hold for me. So I will be getting a lovely, pre-paid phone in January, when my contract is up with Verizon. I'm thinking Virgin Mobile. Yes, Virgin. Just like me. (Picture me smiling innocently, bowing my head to show just a hint of my little halo. I'm also thin and gorgeous and wearing a gauzy white dress with flowers and ribbons in my long, dark, wavy hair. Impressive, no?)

And, of course, the good news is that I have enough cash in my purse for a pita, chicken ceasar with hummus. Yum. And I am going to see Sideways tomorrow, if all works well, and yes, I feel too good to not make it work well.

The moral is this: I don't mind taking it up the ass if I find some cash in my purse later.

Good Dreams, Good Reality

Last night I had dream about everything good in the world. Money and silk and being thin and sex with cute boys.

Last week I signed a lease on an apartment with my good friend Blaine and I'm moving in on Thursday. It's right downtown and is a Victorian with so many windows and hardwood floors and a wet-bar in a bedroom.

See, good news all around.

It Never Ends

Random Question #4: If you were to get married right now, what song would you pick for the bride and groom's first dance?

If by some miracle "Mr Right Now" lost the Now and wanted to get married tomorrow, and I didn't wake up before the honeymoon (man, I love the wedding/passionate sex dream, but that's another post, innit?), I would probably want our song to be the first dance. And I don't mean Elton John. I mean the song that embodies our relationship.

For David and I it was "Lady in Red", which may be inappropriate for a white wedding, but then again, if I were marrying David, I'd probably wear red, so no biggie.

If K-La-La and I were getting married, the song would have to be "Live and Let Die" (duh-nuh-nuh, duh-nuh-nuh, duh-nuh-nuh; duh-nuh-nuh, duh-nuh-nuh Da Daaa). But we might just sing it instead of dancing to it, as neither of us can really dance. Not that I don't try, 'cause I do, and K-La-La may be a whiz kid on the floor, but I'll be damned if anyone but Kurt can get her out there.

If Kurt and I got married, (well, we don't have a song, and I wouldn't marry Kurt, but this is a hypothetical) I'd say we should dance to "Waiting For Tonight" because that karaoke song bound us together in drunkenness once. Oh, Glory Be.

I had a brief, yet fruitful relationship with a boy named Steve, and if things had gone (way) differently, he and I would have danced to "Anyone Else But You".

I guess those are all the real relationships I've had. I'm reminded of a song that began, "I've had no luck with love, or not enough to say..."

Givin' Him Sumthin' He Can Feel

We (Me) here at FroPuff Organization...Or I guess this little fat girl (gordita?) with big hair...I like to give my readership what they want, and since it seems 100% of the readers were faunching at the bit to see me answer the tough questions, Babwa Wawtews Style, I feel compelled to answer these doosies:

Random Question #1: If you could be any cartoon character, who would you be?

Well, readers, this is truly a difficult query. Who would I be? I've though about this for a long time, and I'm genuinely stumped. My first instinct is to say that funny-talkin' mom from Bobby's World, Doncha know? Because how great would it be to know you're pretty much the only good thing about the show you're in? But then again, how awful would it be to have come from the imagination of Howie Mandel? *Shudders*

I then thought I could say I wanted to be one of the Power Puff Girls, but I don't know their names, nor have I ever even watched their show. It just seemed like a good thing to say at the time, and I'll be damned if I let that be all I give you K-La-La, DAMNED!

I guess I find it hard to answer this question because I find the human cartoons more interesting than most. The baby from The Family Guy is unnaturally funny. Lisa Simpson, though jaundiced, is highly respectable. Peggy Hill is the nearly perfect woman, despite her sad political views. Yes, even I can show respect for a Bush-supporter, especially if the actress playing her is very much a democrat.

But I guess I would be lying if I didn't say that the cartoon character I'd most like to be is Sleeping Beauty. First of all, Duh, she is beautiful and she gets to sleep for a long time. She slept through a lot or the movie. Plus, her world is the best animated world ever. Prince Phillip is the best looking Prince in Disney history, unless you like that longhair, hippie Eric...And she sings a great song and she has a pretty dress and a lot of people who care about her, three of whom also happen to have wings and can make themselves very smalll. And Malificent is a wicked cool villain. And if you have to be plagued by a villain, why not a wicked cool one?

Random Question #2: If you could only keep one of your senses, which would it be?

Well, I think the only real viable option is touch. I would be an invalid any way you looked at it. I don't care about sight so much if I can't touch things that I see or smell them or taste them or hear them. That'd be like being underwater, but in a bad way.

Smell and taste would be equally useless if you didn't have any other senses. I mean, you smell dookie but you can't see where it is so you just walk in a direction that you think is away. But it's actually towards. And it's not just a dog turd, but a huge pile of composting cow shit and you trip and fall, but you don't really feel like you tripped and fell and you don't feel that you are now covered in sticky, slimy, mushy, green poo. You just smell it. And you have to know you are covered in feces, and not be able to do anything about it. But at least you don't have to see the look of disgust on people's faces as you wander around aimlessly trying to smell your way home, disoriented by the pervading smell of crap that you can't shake off.

I'm sure something similar would apply to taste...you can taste the honey, but not feel it dribble out of your mouth and down your chin. Or worse, someone decides to play a prank on you, knowing you can't see or hear or smell or feel...They walk up behind you, screaming that they're gonna pee in your mouth, and then they do, but you didn't hear them coming and you didn't see or hear them unzip their pants and you didn't feel them climb up onto your wheelchair. Sad.

I don't think this needs much more explanation. You didn't ask me why, dammit! I choose touch. Period.

Random Question #3: Do you want to shoot me in the face for asking silly questions?

Not atall. I love you.

Wuchoo Wanna Know

Now that my readership has multiplied exponentially, I was thinking of starting a question and answer page hwre I could answer any questions you have about me or my life or stuff in general. What do one you think (all of you seemed a little showy)? Or you could just ask me a question. That's be cool. I could answer it right on this page.

M*A*S*H is on. It's a great book and movie, if you care to know.

The Truth, and I'd Never Lie, Trust Me

When I answer the phone, I'm not thinking of ways to try and hinder your success. I willingly promise I am not trying to make your life harder, I will help you as much as I can without putting my job in jeopardy. I have called doctors at home and paged them overhead at country clubs. I will dial every number in any account before I tell you "tough luck," I swear.

People seem to think that I have a stash box that I carry around that has super-amazing fix-all numbers and a wand as a last resort. That if they say the magic words, I will open the box and solve all their problems.

IT ISN'T TRUE

I promise I'm not holding out on you. Like I said, I will do what I can, but if I say, "All I can do is email him a message," I don't mean, "I have his cell phone and home phone and the numbers for all his closest friends and family, and actually he's standing right here, but I don't want to get his attention because I like to make you suffer. On top of that, you're a bitch." If you then repeat your name and situation umpteen times to me, so that I have to say, "Like I said, all I can do is send him an email," so many times that I feel as if I should just be sampled and played back in a Fat Boy Slim 'song'...Well...The subtext will certainly be, "I wish I had all that stuff and that I wouldn't lose my job if I called you a bitch and I wish you were here so I could smash an egg in your face. Oh, and I wish I had some eggs."

I guess the whole point of this is: I'm pissed off, I like eggs, and there is no all-encompassing "Oh, well in that case..." phrase that will get you what you want from someone on the phone. Just deal with it, call during office hours, suck it up or suck it. On top of that, you're a bitch.

No Net at Home

Well, I've got "Dowloading Porn With Dave-O" stuck in my head and I have no internet at home, so I'm still here at work. Fun for me, but no so much fun for Bob, I assume. Plus, it's not really much fun for me either.

I thought about Kyle a lot today. Kyle is this guy I went to high school with, one of my good friends. I met him one day after school when he was walking to his locker after some orchestra practice or some-such nonsense. That day in my theater class I had done an improv with Taylor Bell...This is a much more drawn-out story than I had intended, but I'm still going to tell it.

When I was just starting school my mother was renting houses all around Boise, ID, my hometown. I never went to one school for a entire year until fifth grade; Cynthia Mann was the school, and I started going there halfway through fourth grade. I was in Jaci Guilford's class, and she was the kind of teacher who had access to inordinate amounts of clay and kiln time. I think she maybe had a kiln in her home, who knows? Anyway, we did lots of clay-centric art projects. Of course I don't still have any of those clumsy fourth-grade clay masterpieces, but I remember a few things from that time.

One: Rachelle Huerta, the bane of my existence, we had the same size breasts, ginormous for fourth grade, but she of course was svelte and wore a bra, making her the most popular girl in school, until we got a black chick, gasp. (Side note: Rachelle dropped off the social stratosphere once the rest of the girls started developing and the black chick now works at WalMart, ha) She hated me and my baby fat, which has yet to melt away as promised.

Two: Aaron King, who sat next to me and ate paper. One time he put one arm of his sweater up to his ear and hoisted the other arm above his head. He claimed he was collecting brain waves. I said, "What waves?" The girl on the other side of him said, "What brain?" This was a crucial step toward my becoming witty and fabulous...If only I had thought to say, "What brain?'; the thought haunts me still.

Three: Taylor Bell. The boy who was likewise pudgy, but already witty and fabulous and mostly popular, who hated me with the fire of a thousand suns. We had the same teacher every year until Jr Hi, when we each became friends, uniting in a common hatred of our choir teacher, as well as a deep and abiding passion for changing the words of chorale music to include references to Viagra. Upon a later perusal of his fourth and fifth grade yearbooks, we noticed that he had seen fit to draw two lines through my name, as opposed to the one line for everyone else he hated...

FF to sophomore year...

Taylor and I are on stage, improving that we are blind bank robbers, obviously an egregious improv failure, blast it all. But after class, I stayed behind to talk to Tom Willmorth (now mentor and good friend) about our affinity for each other, including a shortened version of what I just shared with you.

I left the drama office with a smile on my face and a song in my heart for Taylor, oh Taylor, you wonderful creature, you. Or that wonderful creature, that, as he doesn't read this. And I happened upon a spindly boy with some stringed instrument in a case (violin? viola?) and his friend, who is not important.

Their obvious musicality led me to stop them with an anecdote. In choir one year we were asked to form words from the musical alphabet (A,B,C,D,E,F,G, fin). Taylor thought it witty to form the word fece, apparently the singular of the well-known word feces.

This is the story that binds Kyle to me. We have been friends ever since. I love him. Kyle King, I love you. Unless you read this...then I only like you a lot in the way that means you're a good friend and I don't want to marry you or even see your penis.

Happy, Happy! Joy, Joy!!!

This week I received an email from my good pal Justin just checking up on me. It was short, but sweet, and it made me smile. And it inspired me to drop in on the livejournals of my friends Kristin and Carly and I dropped them little notes, read up on the happenings of their lives.

KLaLa (Kristin, KRKTheArtist) and I are both British Columbia according to Quizilla. Carly will be in Idaho for Christmas. My other friend Kyle will be back in Boise for Thanksgiving, and he wants to hang out with me (joy of all joys!). I might be moving out of my parents house by Thanksgiving, just as The Flying Pie Eight Ball predicted. I turned twenty ad a half. It's been a great week.

Oh, KLaLa, if you read this, email me. I have a little scheme I'd like to discuss with you.

VayKay

So, as all of you know, since "all of you" is just a way that I like to refer to myself (the only reader of this weblog) so that I can feel important and loved...Basically, as I know...

I am coming up on the month anniversary of my big VayKay...Basically I am the biggest blog procrastinator of all time. Except of course for Kevin of TJs Place, who is still watching the Olympics...

All that I really wanted to say was that I was psyched and amped beyond belief at the beauty of my trip to the jazz festival. I am a veteran of the festival and have been going for quite some time, almost entirely under the assumption that it would one day be as grand as it was this year.

I have always been a huge fan of the Blue Street Jazz Band, and this year I was fortunate enough to get to chill with three of the members for countless smoke-breaks. Brtilliant and surprisingly nice fellows who gave me nicknames like "Sam Smoker" and "Smoker Sam". Yeah, those are the only two, but they still make me giddy. And one of them said he looked forward to seeing me next year. Fabu.

The other wondrous thing about Sun Valley this year was that they didn't card me. Not even in the liquor store. It was like being...I wanted to write something deep and intelligent. Something like, "It was like being released from the chains of sobriety after twenty long years of anticipation and suffering." But in reality it was just more like being 21. Go on, Sun Valley, whet my appetite, get me all good and ready and send me back to the sad sad reality of liquor laws. You evil bitch.

Anyway, now that I've completed the story of my grand and illustrious trip, I can move on to bigger and better things, just wait...you'll never believe it. Either that or you'll never hear from me again. Or maybe you just won't hear from me in a long long time. Actually that's pretty likely...