How I Love a Catchphrase

Not since the invention of the giant Cheeto have I been so annoyed with the crap this country comes up with. You'll see why in a moment.

But first...

I love it when people begin conversations with "In this economy...". I want to apply it to everything.

"In this economy, my toenails should be blue."

"In this economy, I will have chili for dinner."

"In this economy, I'd still pay $10 to see Drag Me to Hell."

"In this economy, stirrup pants should not happen."

See how well that works?

So...in this economy - I find the existence of things like The World Cruise Ship highly offensive. Go to that site. Go to it. Do it. It's a cruise ship you can live on. You can pay a couple million for a studio - pre-furnished and decorated an various shades of beige that takes you to exotic places like Brazil, France, South Africa...and Portland?

(excuse the poorly structured camera phone pick from the other side of the bridge)

How is that travel? Honestly. You step off the boat for a day trip to some ruins on Capri and are back on board in time for all you can eat lobster and that struggling stand-up comedian who does Social Security gags. And somehow, you have to make it back to Phoenix for that dental cleaning next month. Better book a flight from Madrid.

That's their life. Weird.

The ship has since sailed. Here's to hoping their next port isn't Iran. Day trips to Tehran may not end well. The footage from there is breaking my heart. Not in the same way this stupid boat is. And the Cheetos...oh the Cheetos.

What Artichokes Say About People

Everything you need to know about someone can be determined based on their relationship with artichokes.

Loves them in all natural and processed forms of gloriousness:
Can speak to forest creatures. And fairies. Occasionally grants wishes

Likes the fresh hearts but doesn't dig teeth-scraping the leafy goodness:
Might sell your baby to gypsies for gambling monies

Only likes the hearts when marinated in a jar/can:
Indecisive with a propensity to commit armed robbery

Doesn't like them at all:
Serial killer

Is unfamiliar with them on the whole:
Survived a long smuggling-related imprisonment on a deserted island.

Feel free to print this guide out and keep it in your wallet. That way you can refer to it if you ever come up against someone you're not sure about. It may just save your life one day. Or something.

kara out.

You Can Wear It OR Scour Pots and Pans!

A little background: We were not shopping for a dress for me. We were shopping in the fancy prom/cocktail/wedding dress boutique for my friend who must attend several formalish events this year. But within the racks, I found this.

This is a red dress made up entirely of tiny cloth roses with a texture similar to Brillo pads. And a bubble hem. In other words, it's hilarious. Wearing that dress is like being a mosquito drawn to a zap lamp. I know it might kill me, but I need to get as close as possible to it anyway. However, I can't bring myself to buy it. Opinions on the matter are split right down the middle at the office. I need you, perfect stranger, to make my decisions for me.

****UPDATE****
I forgot to mention that there's a bow in the back. You see my dilemma.

I'd Hit That

Let me ask you something. Does this look like a face you want to hit?

Well it is...because that's what it's made for.

I think pinatas are the secret to preventing ulcers, going postal and downing entire bottles of asprin. I think this because I know it. This is not based on science, but let's face it...nothing good ever is.

I think that if we had pinatas in strategic locations around the country, there'd be less gang violence.

I think if we took pinatas to North Korea, we'd get turned away at the border because you can't go waltzing in to North Korea, not even with a pinata. But I still think we should try.

I think if pinatas were on every playground, there'd be no bullying. Only pinata bullying. And they like it.

I think pinatas are the key to unlocking the mystery of the universe AND the Da Vinci code. Unless it's filled with tootsie rolls. That's just disappointing.

I think pinatas are the first thing the pilgrims saw from the bow of the ships...and they knew they'd found the Promiseland. (Pin-a-ta means "awesome" in Iroquois. That's totally true.)

I think you see where I'm going.

This is what I would do to myself in a world without pinatas.

Don't let it happen, people.

A Place to Walk and an iPod

Whoever realized that Johnny Depp should always be in vests gets a gold star. And they should feel good about that, because the highest I ever got was green.

I've seen a lot of ugly couples lately and am wondering if it's to do with the economy. Everyone's making cutbacks, even on their standards. Is that mean? It might be. But every time I see an ugly couple, it isn't so much that I think "how sweet that they found each other" as it is "who looks at that mug across a room and thinks YES". These are the things I think about when I have some place to walk to and an iPod.

I would have blogged sooner, but I was in Atlanta sweating my balls off. My dreams of reaching shemaledom have officially sizzled away in the hot Southern sun. I'm fairly certain those were lyrics to a Neil Young song, but I'm afraid I can't prove it. Anyway, I went for work but I stayed for the meatballs and the company (shoutout to JG!). But also I stayed because I had to.

I think it's weird that there are people who live half their time on the East coast and half on the West. I don't understand how their bodies can handle it. There were times when I was sitting in 8:30 am meetings (5:30 am my time) and was working so hard at keeping my eyes open, I'm certain it appeared as though I was on peyote.

I actually don't know how one ingests peyote. But I bet it's awesome.

I'm going to use tomorrow to catch up on blogs so I can avoid buying grout. Goals.

You beetches better have some drama for me. If I end up preferring to spend my time on home improvement, we'll have to have words.

Kara out.

Now That's Entertainment

We live on a corner with a bus stop. Across from the bus stop is a mini mart. They sell jojos that you make you want to sire their children. Wait. Chicks don't sire. Whatever. The bus stop is right next to an incredibly beautiful Catholic church. There's a farmer's market every Sunday a couple blocks in one direction and a police station the same amount of blocks in the other. Directly across the street and one block over is both The Grilled Cheese Grill and a bar that sells Frito Chili Pie. Yes. This is my street.

With the warm weather, we've been keeping both the front and back doors open for cross ventilation (things you learn about from living in the South), not to mention every window that we can pry open. We wake up the the sweetest sounding birds in the morning, and at night drift off to the soothing sounds of people out on the corner...tearing each other new assholes.

I cannot believe the quantity of fights/spats/all out brawls that go on at the bus stop and/or mini mart. Sometimes it's a group of people, sometimes it's just two. Sometimes it's just one really drunk dude yelling shit at his 40 of Milwaulkie's Best. Occasionally there's been sirens. Once there's been bullets. But every single day, there's something. Right now, I'm witnessing what I think is a domestic dispute. The exact context of the discourse is hard to decipher, but I'm fairly certain the term "ho" is one side's descriptor of choice for his opponent. When I walk out there to climb on my scooter in the morning, I'll have to watch for shattered glass left over from the physical portion of the event. Oftentimes beer bottles are mistaken for snowballs, you see, and are lobbed at one another like tangible exclamation points.

None of it actually worries me. I lived in much more dangerous neighborhoods when in New Orleans and there obtained all manner of both evasive and observantesque skills. I'm just kind of entranced by it. I could go off here about how I've got a romanticized ideal of what it's like to be a witness in a big case where I help solve a crime and am the backbone of justice, etc. But the fact is, I'm fucking nosy. I basically feel that if you're airing your dirty underthings on a public sidewalk at the top of your voice, you're inviting an audience. And if I've got nothing better going, shooot, I'll stand in my doorway with a glass of wine and some popcorn.

Extra butter.



Now, if you'll excuse me...