That's My Bix!

Approppo of nothing, here is a list of things I don’t think I’ve written about here, but maybe I have. Anywho, here it is.

1.&AAk-I played flute in our high school marching band.

2.&AAk-I lettered in forensics, newspaper, band, Academic Decathlon, and drama.

3.&AAk-My IQ score is supposedly quite high.

4.&AAk-I suck at math.

5.&AAk-My ACT score was barely high enough to get into college.

6. I failed the first semester of High School Geometry and had to go to night school, where I was able to work at my own pace and completed the entire year’s worth in nine weeks.

7.&AAk-I graduated in the bottom 50% of my high school class.

8.&AAk-In college, I graduated Cum Laude with an honor’s distinction in English. I had a double major: the other was psychology.

9.&AAk-My past nicknames through the internet/Computer Bulletin Board Systems were Zeke, Lola Granola, and Woohoo.

10.&AAk-I first used the Internet in 1992. Life has never been the same.

11.&AAk-I smoked cigarettes for about three weeks when I was seventeen.

12.&AAk-I’ve seen the Steve Miller Band in concert seven times, once from the first row.

13.&AAk-I’ve seen the Monkees in concert twice, once from the second row.

14.&AAk-Other than a brief flirtation with marijuana when I was a senior in high school, I’ve never taken drugs.

15. I’ve met only a handful of famous non-Football related famous people: Joel Klug (from Survivor 1), Jane Pratt, James Marsters, Abby Hoffman, Lorrie Moore, and the guy who played Grandpa Munster.

16.&AAk-Some of my ancestors were on the Mayflower. Some were killed by Indians.

17.&AAk-I think that the most beautiful piece of music in the entire world is Requiem Mass by Wolfgang Mozart.

18.&AAk-I really dislike country music, except for ‘Friends in Low Places’ by Garth Brooks.

19.&AAk- When I was twelve, I wanted to become an archaeologist.

20.&AAk- When I was fifteen, I wanted to become an English professor.

21.&AAk- I was born in the year of the Boar on the Chinese calendar.

22.&AAk- I believe in ghosts.

23.&AAk- I believe in reincarnation.

24. When I was eight, I had a very real dream about being in a very scary place called a ‘concentration camp’, but it was referred to by another name (in Dutch, I believe). I can still remember the rows of bunkhouses which looked like chicken coops and thinking that to the people who were guarding us, we were no more than livestock, to be cooked in an oven when they had no use for us. I described this dream to my third grade teacher and she only gave me a strange look. I never knew that all this had ever really happened to people.

25.&AAk-I tend to be a female chauvinist but try to keep it decently in check.

26.&AAk-If I moved anywhere in the world, I would live in London.

27.&AAk-If I could live anywhere within the United States, I would live in the Florida Keys.

28.&AAk- If I wanted to move but stay in the Midwest, I’d move to Minneapolis.

29.&AAk-I have a really good volleyball serve.

30. I can leg press a lot of weight. On that Nautilus machine where you squeeze your legs together, I can do 170 pounds’ almost the entire weight stack. The men at the gym are afraid of me’. My thighs, actually.

31.&AAk-I like to sleep a lot.

32. My dream job would be to have some sort of industry out of my big home in the country, like maybe weaving expensive wool sweaters from the wool of my sheep, or possibly have a pottery studio in my big old barn.

33.&AAk-I can horseback ride both English and Western saddle.

34.&AAk-For years, I only wore white or black.

35.&AAk-The first adult book I ever read was Watership Down by Richard Adams. I read it when I was seven. I have reread probably twenty times.

36.&AAk-I always have a song stuck in my head (as of writing this, it’s ‘Only the Young’ by Journey).

37.&AAk-I am a magazine junkie.

38.&AAk-I have no less than four people in my near ancestry who made their living as a medium or a psychic

39.&AAk-I am the seventh female in a line of first-born females.

40. When my father was a teenager, he cheated on his girlfriend (my mother, incidentally) with another girl, who then got pregnant and gave the baby up for adoption.

41. I got my first ticket ever three weeks after receiving my driver’s license. My mother had let her license plate expire and I got the ticket for it.

42.&AAk-I had been driving that very car illegally for eight months prior, with the same expired license plate.

43.&AAk-Favorite flower: violet.

44.&AAk-My first car was a 1978 red Chevrolet Monza hatch back. I named it Ernie.

45. I have a scar on the inside of my right middle finger that is shaped like a ‘Y’. I received it when I was five years old and climbed over a barbed-wire fence. I got three stitches.

46. Because that happened when I was just learning my right from my left, I even now subconsciously turn my hand over to check for the scar when someone asks me if they should turn right or left.

47.&AAk-I wore braces for three years and two months.

48.&AAk-I have a permanent retainer glued on the backs of my bottom teeth. I use it when my tongue feels itchy.

49.&AAk-My hands can stretch ten keys on a piano, which is very large for a woman pianist, I’m told.

50.&AAk-I hate rutabagas, lima beans and Brussel sprouts.

Ok, I must preface this entry with the fact that I have had a mysterious free-range organically grown headache for the last three days. I attribute it to the fact that I must be having an estrogen fiesta in my body and it’s hormonal, but nearly everyone at work has the exact same headache. It might still be hormonal, though, since I work with mostly women and women tend to unconsciously synchronize their estrus when they hang around each other a lot. I think it might be an evolved form of self-defense so they have enough spunk to defend themselves when their coworkers are having raging bouts of PMS, but maybe not.

Anywhoo, Esteban’s parents, Ward and June, wanted to go out to dinner with us to celebrate Esteban’s birthday and give him his birthday presents, which were a gift certificate to Barnes & Noble and a pair of Reeboks. I think I’ve mentioned before how June is terrified that we will walk barefoot through the snow because we’re too ignorant to purchase shoes or something. Actually, I kind of like it because I get a nice new pair of New Balance athletic shoes every six months (birthday in June and for Christmas). In Esteban’s case, however, he ends up with a glut of shoes because he tends to wear his shoes to death AND his birthday is in October and then he gets another new pair at Christmas, so somehow this confuses the whole cycle of shoe wearage.

So I got to the ‘rental’s house and they can’t decide where to go, so I hop on the phone and start dialing places I want to go since no one can make up their damned mind and instead passive-aggressively veto any suggestion made. Dad suggests that we could go to the Hick House (fyi: not it’s real name!), which is twenty miles south of their house, out in B.F.E. I call them, because, hey, they have pretty good food and sometimes they have a big buffet up with all you can eat Prime Rib and fried perch and the like. And people wonder how Wisconsin became the overweight state?

The Hick House won’t take reservations and they say they have a ten to fifteen minute wait, which in restaurant talk means twenty to twenty-five minutes. ‘Can we get a number now?’ I ask. ‘We’re five minutes away right now.’ The hostess wavered and then said ‘Ok, your number is 40.’

This was a lie on my part. I figured that we were about seventeen minutes away in reality, but if I would have said ‘We’re seventeen minutes away’, the hostess would have countered with her original lie of a ‘ten to fifteen minute wait’ and then told us to get a number at the door. This was a pretty harmless lie, in actuality. If they really did only have a ten to fifteen minute way (and let me reiterate that these local traditional supperclubs are notorious for lying through their teeth about wait times because they design time for you to sit in the bar and get drunk on old-fashioneds, which is a local drink that apparently the rest of the country has no clue about, but contains a mixture of brandy, 7-up, something brown with sugar in it, and a cherry and it is a great thing) then they’d give our table to some drunken fool who’d been waiting for thirty minutes and when we got there, we’d have to get a new number anyway and be in the same circumstance as if I hadn’t lied. Ok, maybe the hostess would be a little mad because someone had seen through her diabolical scheme but I’m certain that she’d get over it. Esteban’s parents, however, were not so certain. They wanted to go in and peek at the hostess’ list FIRST, to see if Number 40 had been called and if it had already been called, then register under a false name, which is a lesser offense than lying about the drive time, I guess. I offered to let them tell the waitress that I was a habitual liar who hadn’t taken my medication.

We hopped into Ward and June’s minivan, which they have purchased in the hope of gaining many many grandchildren with which to fill it, and then Ward proceeded to head north. North??? To a place which was south? But apparently, he wanted to get on the highway from the east side of town rather than go through town to hook up which was fifteen miles closer to our target. And then he proceeded to drive like an old man because June was sitting next to him, alternately monitoring the speed and admonishing us for not going to the library and checking out books rather than spending so much money purchasing them. At one point, Esteban wanted to stop his mother’s tirade, so he looked at me and said, ‘Did you blow ass?’ and I said ‘No, he who smelt it must have dealt it.’ But Esteban’s goal had been met because June was already saying, ‘You couldn’t have put that more delicately than that? You have to say ‘blow ass’?’

Parents. So predictable.

Thirty minutes later, we got there. By this time, June was positively hyper that I had lied about a five-minute drive time. I just went up to the hostess table and said ‘Number 40?’ and she said ‘Table 26′ Go! Go!’ which apparently meant that our number had been called five minutes ago.

We sat down. A waitress brought us drinks and menus. We ordered and then ate salad. All within five minutes of arriving. You just can’t beat lying to hostess’, folks. It doesn’t get any better than that. We all ordered fish, which is pretty much expected in this predominately Catholic area, but none of us are Catholic. Then we went back to Ward and June’s house. There we sat at their snack bar and talked.

June gave me a huge chocolate bar for Halloween and also had made my little brother Jonathon a bag full of candy. It was so big, she had to tape the bag shut, so I commented that because she taped the bag shut, I wouldn’t be able to steal the Vanilla Tootsie Rolls out of his bag. She then set out to dig the Vanilla Tootsie Rolls out of her Halloween Bowl, which was already set up and waiting for Wednesday. She’s so anal retentive that I imagine if she walks naked by something, small objects get sucked involuntarily into her rectum.

Then someone at the table farted. I immediately looked shocked at Esteban because he has no problem with letting go in front of his parents. He said ‘Hey, don’t look at me!! That wasn’t me!’ which is what he always says, whether he is the guilty party or not.

I looked at Ward, as if to say ‘Can you believe your son?’ but Ward had the guiltiest look on his face. He raised his eyebrows in apology and shrugged his shoulders and he looked just like a basset hound, all sad and sorrowful. All three of us broke out laughing while June, with her head stuck in her huge Halloween candy dish, kept saying ‘What? What?’

Then it seemed like a lot of time had passed and all was warm and peaceful. The next thing I heard was June screeching ‘Weetabix! You’re scaring me!’ and Esteban saying ‘Get up!’

I realized I was on the floor, having been on a barstool just a second ago. Actually, it had been more like five seconds ago and apparently I had been laughing so hard that I went from a laughing high to passed out. And I hit my head on Esteban’s barstool when I fell.

Luckily for me, Tootsie Rolls stick to your teeth, because I still had a hunk of Vanilla Tootsie Roll in my mouth. I got back up on the barstool and continued to laugh at Ward’s Guilty fart. June proceeded to elevate the event in her head, claiming that I had a seizure and started to twitch. Esteban countered with the fact that my body had jerked when I hit my head but that was it. Ward and I just kept cracking up over the fart.

I’m a fainter. I have been since I was eighteen. The first time I ever fainted, it was from lack of food and I fainted through a shower door. The next time, I had gotten ‘blood poisoning’ from a blister and was in the emergency room, getting a vein poked for intravenous antibiotics. Another time, I was giving blood and out I went’ although that was about four months after the first time, so I think my body freaked out with similar circumstances to the previous ‘blood poisoning’ incident. The last three times have been laughing high related’ generally laughing about farts or poop. I’m an anal-related fainter, I suppose.

It’s all very Victorian. I think June is planning to buy some Smelling Salts.

Them farts, though, they’re damn funny.

So that’s why my head hurt last night. Thanks, Roadie Pig for your thoughtful well-wishes in the guest book. It’s feeling much better now, after several Advil. I’m glad I was out when I actually hit it because that would have sucked. But actually, it was so funny; I don’t think I’d mind a go on that carnival ride again. It was fucking hilarious. I guess you had to be there.

Today, in a rash of strange behavior that benefits our credit rating, I decided to try to pay Esteban’s credit card over the phone, where it would get there on time and not be hampered by anthrax, small pox, or premenstrual syndrome.

Big mistake.

I went to their web page to get the phone number and called them. It was 8:30 in the morning.

Their automated phone menu immediately asked for the account number.

They say that in all successful stories, and some not so successful ones as well, there is one point, one crucial point where a mistake has been made by the protagonist and everything from that point forward is inevitable. For instance, in Clerks, the mistake is made early: Dante wasn’t supposed to work that day and he agreed to. Sometimes the mistake happens before the story even starts: for instance, it could be argued that Jay Gatsby should have forgotten Daisy Buchanan when he found that she was married, years before he ever met Nick Carraway, but then we’d have never gotten that fabulous ending paragraph about the green light and the orgiastic future which year by year recedes before us. To quote Fitzgerald even more, when the mistake has been made we become ‘boats against the current, ever borne ceaselessly into the past.’

In the work of pretentious fiction that is my life, I think that my tragic mistake today is that I did not have Esteban’s account number. Thus, I immediately got sent to a purgatory queue for all callers who don’t have their account number. There, I was subjected to Muzak which can only be described as ‘The Song with Four Notes’.

Doo Duh Dee Dum Dee Doo Dum

‘We’re sorry. Your call is important to us. Calls will be answered in the order in which they are received.’

Doo Duh Dee Dum Dee Doo Dum

‘We’re sorry. Your call is important to us. Calls will be answered in the order in which they are received.’

Doo Duh Dee Dum Dee Doo Dum

‘We’re sorry. Your call is important to us. Calls will be answered in the order in which they are received.’

Doo Duh Dee Dum Dee Doo Dum

‘We’re sorry. Your call is important to us, but we’re answering the calls of people who know their account number first.’

Doo Duh Dee Dum Dee Doo Dum

‘We’re sorry. You should really have been prepared to call us and been ready to give us your account number. Think about that long and hard while you wait. Maybe next time, you’ll be a better customer.’

Doo Duh Dee Dum Dee Doo Dum

‘We could really give a shit that you’re waiting this long. Eventually, a very bored and underpaid employee will take your call when their hand cramps from playing Windows Solitaire’

Doo Duh Dee Dum Dee Doo Dum

That music is what evil sounds like.

Finally, a sluggish voice answers, ‘Hello, my name is Val, may I have your account number please?’

‘I don’t have it’. It’s my husband’s account.’

‘(sigh)Do you have his social security number?’

‘No, I’m sorry, I don’t.’

‘Phone number?’

I gave her my phone number. She screwed it up three times, making me repeat it.

‘Name on the account?’

‘Esteban.’

‘Hold pleas&AO8AvwC9AO8AvwC9-

Then more music. Luckily for me, this Muzak had more notes, or I would have quite possibly stabbed a pair of scissors into my ear to make it stop.

And more music.

Finally, a new voice. ‘Hello, this is Whitney, account please?’

‘I don’t have it.’

‘Social Security number?’

‘Sorry, I don’t have that either.’

(sigh) ‘Phone number.’

I gave it to her twice as she screwed it up too. Then I asked, ‘May I ask you something? Why did the first person, Val, bother to ask me all of these questions? I mean, it’s exactly the same questions!’

‘Um, I don’t know. Name on the account.’

‘Esteban. I mean, it’s not very customer focused, you know? I’m not trying to be a mean customer or anything, it’s just a suggestion that maybe you should not ask questions that obviously weren’t for any purpose.’

‘Um, yeah, you’re name isn’t on this account. I can’t give you any account info or nothing.’

‘I can make a payment on his account.’ I said, daring her to argue with me.

‘Um, well, yeah, but I can’t tell you what the balance is or the minimum payment or nothing.’

‘How about $75? Can you tell me if $75 is enough?’ I asked, knowing that the balance was roughly $150 but getting pissed off.

‘Um, yeah, that will be fine.’

At that point, I should have started scream/singing the four note song at her.

---

I have Tupperw@re lady hair today. There’s nothing more I can say after that.

I went shopping during lunch, trying to stave off the ‘Oh my god It’s December 18th and I haven’t done a single stitch of Christmas Shopping’ thing. I haven’t really gotten into the Christmas shopping mood yet. I walked into the store and immediately saw about fourteen things I wanted for myself. I found a few things that would make appropriate gifts for people but then I didn’t want to take the time to actually go through the check out line and such.

I actually found a 320 thread count white king-size duvet that I fell in love with and a stark white 350 thread count fitted sheet, but I searched and searched for some white king-size pillowcases and couldn’t find them, so I gave up, disgusted. If I’m going to blow $100 on a duvet and fitted sheet, I need the fancy schmancy pillowcases too.

I think part of me actually didn’t want to buy it because I didn’t want to go and change the duvet again after just changing it two days ago. But I suppose I really shouldn’t gripe. I need the exercise. Also, as much as I love the look of all white on my bed, Esteban usually ends up getting a nosebleed or something and permanently staining the sheets. But then, I should probably stop punching him in my sleep.

I’m just kidding. It’s self-defense.

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Mo took me to task yesterday for making fun of all the cute boys that she likes.

‘What did Johnny Depp ever do to you? He’s HOT!’

‘He can’t grow a mustache.’

‘Well, he didn’t deserve your little letter. And Carson Daly? I like him.’

‘He’s a tool.’

‘He’s still hot!’

I then informed Mo that I am flattered that she actually thinks that Mr. Depp and Mr. Daly read Dumber Than A Box Of Rocks but I hardly doubt it. Besides, it’s not like I wouldn’t tell Carson Daly he’s a tool to his face. And I don’t think it would be a shocker for him.

Anyway, in response to Mo’s accusation that I only write nasty letters to hot men, here’s a nice one.

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Dear Steve from Blue’s Clues,

My sister Mo thinks you’re a hottie. She’s wondering if you’d like to go to the movies with her or something.

Cirlce one if you think she’s cute:

YES NO

Please return this note with your answer.

Thank you,

Weetabix

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I’m having a weird lull in my life. Nothing’s happening. The ass splinter took away all my spunk, I think. More later if something interesting happens.

It really bothers me that I cannot find actual Doc Marten sanctioned Doc Marten shoelaces for my winter shoes. Two years ago, one of the laces broke and I limped through winter tying this tiny little lace. Last winter, the second one gave up the ghost but again, I put it off, since I didn’t want to just put ugly shoe laces in them. My Docs are one of my favorite London purchases’ definitely the most utilitarian. Sure, they actually made my suitcase tip over no less than 23 times in Gatwick Airport, but this will be the fifth winter wearing them and they still look purty. They also kick ass on ice and slush. Plus, how many shoe laces actually last for three and four years respectively?

My Docs are, in some ways, proof that I am still a punk rock girl dammit, despite my affinity for cross-stitch and Martha Stewart.

So if anyone knows where I can get replacement 4-hold Doc Marten shoelaces, send me a note.

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Apparently the advent of cold weather is a harbinger of my anal-retentive streak.

I’ve alphabetized my links on the side panel. How sad is that? It was pissing me off. If I accidentally dropped anyone, my apologies and send me an email and I will remedy it.

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Dear Johnny Depp,

I hate to tell you this, but you know how you tried desparately to avoid being typecase as ‘Hot Young Studly Guy’? I think you’ve now been typecast as ‘English Investigator Guy Whom NoOne Believes’. While I’m certain that Skeet Ulrich is quite happy in your decision, maybe you should rethink that strategy, huh?

Oh, and you can’t grow a mustache, so just stop.

Yours truly,
Weetabix

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Dear Shaggy and Scooby,

Why the hell do you two always team up together and let Fred take Daphne and Velma by themselves? How is splitting Guy with Two Girls, leaving Guy with Dog a fair shake? I mean, you’re just asking to run into trouble there. Or is Fred actually being sexist in considering two women as much help as Scoobie? Also, maybe you should not go scouting for snacks in those old rundown houses. Not only do you often run into scary monsters and the like, that food can’t be too fresh. I’m just saying.

Weetabix