That's My Bix!

am I went through the drive-thru at McDonald’s on Saturday morning. It was about 10:30 and I was in search of fries and a luscious bubbly addictive McDonald’s Diet Coke, Extra Large please without ice, since that leaves less room for the caffeine goodness.

I approach the drive-thru, which is surprisingly busy. No less than seven cars were in line waiting. I finally get to the squawk box and place my order ‘Medium fries and a big Diet Coke, no ice, please.’

A matronly voice replied, ‘You can’t get fries right now’ it’s our breakfast menu.’

I look down at my clock on the Monte’s stereo. It reads ’10:34′, and I remember that it is about nine minutes fast.

‘Um, what time does breakfast end?’ I ask.

‘In about six minutes.’ Mavis the McUnderpaid replied, as if the world should be well informed as to the exact minute that McDonald’s switches from the world of breakfast faire to the world of lunch and dinner dining.

‘Well, couldn’t I just order the fries now and then wait for six minutes?’ Or, as I was thinking, by the time I actually advance to the window, it will be well into the non-breakfast timeslot. I did not say this aloud, however. It is never a good idea to be sarcastic to people who might spit in your food.

There was some background noise of consternation. ‘Well, I suppose.’ She replied back crankily.

I watched the clock. I got to the window at 10:41 a.m. according to the clock on the stereo, which would have been 10:32 according to McDonald’s Greenwich Synchronized Standard clock in the drive-thru.

Mavis the McUnderpaid wouldn’t look at me. She handed my Diet Coke sans ice to a little peon who then passed it to me. I watched as a family walked out of the restaurant, passing in front of my car, happily munching on illicit French fries. Mavis gave me a scathing look and then said something to her McPeon. He bent down to the window and said, ‘Could you please pull up?’

Oh no. ‘Pulling up’ is the purgatory of the drive-thru. Mavis had passed judgment on my cheeky sense of logic and I had been found impudent and out of bounds. I was to be punished. I pulled up and slurped my Diet Coke. At least I had caffeine to abate my withdrawal symptoms.

Finally, McPeon came out with my fries. I drove off. They were cold. The time on my non-standard non-synchronized stereo clock was 10:51 a.m.

That will teach me to ever question Mavis the McDominatrix again. I should realize that she must certainly be working at McDonald’s for some reason and it can’t be the pay nor the stylish uniforms, therefore it can only be to install some fast food justice over those of us who choose to question the Arch Golden Rules’ or is it the Golden Arches Rule, I’m not certain.

I suppose I got off lucky. I could have been flogged with a Cat O’Nine Straw Wrappers, or maybe pelted with reconstituted minced onions. That will teach me to question the Great Lord Ronald ever again. That’s what the Hamburgler did and you never hear about him anymore. I think he sleeps with the McFishes.

What a fucked up weekend this is turning out to be.

Last night began strangely enough. Esteban is still involved with moving Joel and Cheri into their new home as well as moving our other friends into Joel & Cheri’s old home. Now apparently another friend, Phil, decided to purchase Joel & Cheri’s three-year-old refrigerator, since his own conveniently blew up on him. (A picture of Phil and Joel) Thus, Esteban became involved in that they needed our truck to move the thing. And would you be a dear and stop and get us an appliance dolly on your way over? Thanks buddy!

Whatever.

So we went and got their appliance dolly and brought it to their new house. Oh my god. Their new house is gorgeous. One of the nicest homes I’ve ever seen, which is saying a lot considering that there was plastic and dust everywhere and the entire upstairs has not been finished yet. In fact, as Cheri was showing me around, she was turning on every light because they just got hooked up this week. Life will be fun for them, living in this house while it is being finished, I’m certain. But it’s a damn nice house though.

Esteban and I just left them the truck, taking off for dinner in the Monte. I think they were a little disappointed that we were not going to also help them load the side by side refrigerator into the truck and bring it to Phil’s house, but honestly, Saturday and most of Sunday (and don’t forget twelve hours last Saturday) are completely devoted to helping move everyone’s shit to various locations. We needed to spend some time together and we were cranky from hunger, too.

So we went and got some dinner at a Grandma Gertie’s Cafe. It’s our normal breakfast place, but we went there for dinner because everything else was packed. Dinner at Grandma Gertie’s sucks, by the way. Really a lot of suck. Anything more than eggs and pancakes is apparently too much of a burden for Gert. Esteban was smart and got the same thing he normally orders for breakfast. I was stupid and got ‘Tips’, which in an alternate universe might have entailed tender sirloin tips with mushrooms, but in Gertie’s world, entails tough pieces of shoe leather drowning in onions. And creamed peas. Yikes. Why would anyone want to ruin perfectly good peas by creaming them? That is nursing home food’ it doesn’t belong in general society.

So we went back to Joel and Cheri’s old house, where they were supposed to be. No truck. Two and a half hours later and they are nowhere to be found. We drive to Phil’s house and there is the truck. Esteban pops out of the Monte and says, ‘Just go home, they must have left the truck here. I’ll be right behind you.’

I went home. And checked my email. And put on some comfy clothing. And waited. And played some Internet games. And waited. Finally the phone rings’ ‘They needed some help with the frig’ I’m leaving right now.’ By this time, it was 9 o’clock. We had been planning to go to a movie, but that was down the toilet. Esteban got home and we decided that instead we’d watch The X-Men DVD we recently purchased and sack out on the sofa.

I put the DVD in the player and then sat down to watch. Tilly was walking around on the sofa, hopping up next to me, hopping down, doing her normal schizy routine when she hopped down and started to walk across the room.

‘Look at how she’s walking.’ Esteban says.

I must interject this with a little history. Esteban is always watching the cats. He’s a little overprotective of them. If he hasn’t seen one in awhile, all household activity must stop until the missing feline has been brought into protective custody, because he’s worried that one might have gotten outside somehow or is trapped in a closet about to suffocate or has possibly hopped a bus and is on her way to Memphis in hopes of pursuing a country/western singing career.

Also, for whatever reason, if Tilly gets scared or what have you, she’ll pick up her back foot like she’s injured and shake it. When we got her, she was seven months old and her previous owners had only had her front paws declawed, for whatever reason. After she put three holes in our waterbed in three days and gave Chelsea a big scratch, we took her to the vet to have her hind feet declawed. I think she was a little too old for it and remembers how much that sucked. Thus, whenever she experiences trauma or gets frightened, she revisits that initial traumatic event, which physically manifests itself by picking up her back feet like they hurt.

Look at me’ psychoanalyzing the cat.

Anywhoo, she was kind of flicking her back foot. That was strange. No one had spooked her or anything. Then we watched as she tried to put some weight on it and she made a weird ‘Meow’ noise, then laid down to take her weight off of it. Esteban knelt down and tried to look at her paws, but she actually slapped his hand and hissed at him.

Then she got up and tried to walk away, but it was as if her legs couldn’t support her back end and she ended up kind of bottoming out half way across the room. I started to get upset ‘What’s wrong with her?’ And almost started to cry because it was so upsetting to see our big strong annoying barn cat unable to walk across the room.

We called the Emergency Vet, which is the only option at 10:30 at night. They told us to bring her right in.

The Emergency Vet is a very traumatic place. It’s in a strip mall, betwixt the Heavenly Ham and the independent news sellers, where I get my literary journals and Utne Reader. It’s stark and uncomfortable and, if this makes any sense, it reeks of pain, both animal and human. The last time we went there, they were very busy, so we had to wait with Chelsea yowling in the carrier. Also, we had been certain at the time that they were going to tell us that she was going to die and we would then have to put her down right then. Also, while we were there, we had to listen to the receptionist talk to a lady over the phone whose cat was dying right then. The receptionist was explaining that she should find a box to put the cat in and the cat might pass away on the trip over. It was very miserable indeed. Plus, it is about 800 degrees in that place and fur is being shed by every animal that walks in because they know that it’s a scary place.

I managed to compose myself by the time we got there. Tilly didn’t want anything to do with Esteban at that point, since he had been the one to put her in the cat carrier and she hissed and swatted at him again. When I put my fingers in between the bars, she nuzzled my hand with her face. It almost made me cry again because for whatever reason, Tilly has decided that I am her mom and she loves me without prejudice. It’s ironic since I pretty much ignore her and Esteban is the one who would just love to sit and hold her for hours and lavish loads of attention upon her.

Esteban did very well at the vets. Normally I’m the one who is the strong one and Esteban is the one who is distraught. Perhaps when he saw me about to cry, he jumped into the position of control.

We got her out of the carrier and she hissed and swatted some more. I can’t stand to watch the cats having their temperature taken. That to me is the worst. My whole body tenses up along with theirs and I’ll bet you could, to misquote Ferris Bueller, stick a lump of coal in my butt cheeks and it would be turned into a diamond.

Then she walked around the exam room and guess what. She was walking fine. No limp. No trouble supporting her gordo ass. Nothing. Essentially we paid $69 for the vet to get hissed at and lecture us for allowing our cat to become obese (which we have done because we must keep the food dish full at all times since Chelsea is 19-years-old and drops weight at the slightest provocation).

We brought her home at 12:15 a.m. this morning. We let her out of her cage and she shook her back foot again and then plunged her head into the food bowl. You see, when she gets upset, she must eat and eat and eat. We go through that every time she goes to the groomer too. She’s an emotional eater, I guess. Maybe we’ve got more than just a fat ass in common.

Then she was back to normal. Apparently, it was hypochondria. Or acting up for attention. Or maybe she lay on her back foot so long that when she got down, her foot had fallen asleep. The world may never know.

We were pretty wired at that point, so we finished watching the movie and went to bed. We knew it was going to suck getting up early to go help the moving.

But we didn’t know one thing.

Our chainsaw wielding, sexually frustrated neighbor had decided to cut down the tree in his backyard (which, incidentally, is seven feet off of our bedroom window’ I hate being the house on the corner of the block!). Not only had he decided to cut it down, but that today would be a fine tree-cutting, chain sawing day. And 7:15 Fucking A.M. on a Saturday Fucking Morning was the time to begin his task. With a friend. Who had a conversation with Sexually Frustrated neighbor at the same level one would speak if one were at a Marilyn Manson concert wearing earplugs, speaking with a friend who was twenty feet away and a member of the Society for Deaf American Lumberjack Cross-Dressers.

They finished cutting down the tree at 10:00 A.M.

I have had exactly four hours of sleep.

Esteban decided that he didn’t want me to help move, for whatever reason, so I took the out rather willingly. I don’t think I can put on a happy shiny face today, so it’s probably best that I stay away from people and spend time with my cat who is channeling Keyser Soze. Or maybe it’s Verbal Kint. I don’t know. That movie confused the hell out of me.

Instead I went to Target, where they’ve got what must be a promotion going on: bring in a screaming kid and receive a free bottle of Windex. A package of Pledge Grab-Its to the shopper who can follow around the buxom lady with the circles under her eyes.

Ok, I didn’t like leaving that last depressing entry on my page and it’s slow as hell here at work today, therefore, another rare double-entry day.

Wow. That sounds like a very clinical porn term. ‘Double-entry’

Does anyone know what book that is from, because I think he made that up. I’ve read several Janowitz books and never encountered the Triple Entry girl. I think it was his segue to see if I liked weird sex.

No comment on that. I don’t want more stalkers.

Maybe I do, though. I bet if I had a stalker, s/he would maybe mow our lawn or help pick up the garbage left by the high school kids. I’d bring him or her hot cocoa on those cold nights when they sit outside my bedroom window, hoping to glimpse a little of the Weetabix bare bodkin.

I stole this from UncleBob’s page. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. So I wasn’t a huge copy cat, I added two more categories to the end.

Silent Film: Mr. Hulot’s HolidayOk, this isn’t really silent, but I did a lot of reading because it’s mostly in French, and I seem to remember it as a silent film for whatever reason. This was the only film I watched in my college film class that I enjoyed. Or remembered.

Old-School Musical: White Christmas This is my utter favorite musical. Maybe because when it’s on, Esteban makes me unlimited steaming cups of Tom & Jerry’s (which is a hot rum egg noggy type holiday drink, in case you didn’t know) and hopes to get me drunk so we’ll have wild passionate Bing Crosby/Rosemary Clooney sex. What really happens is I walk around singing about ‘Counting my blessings instead of sheep’ and break into big scale dance numbers. But I love this movie. It’s awesome. If you’ve never seen it, you simply must. It’s all about how when times get tough, you get all of your artsy friends together and put on a show! You’ve gotta love that.

Shiny New Musical: The Commitments When times look bleak, you put on a show. See. It’s a whole theme. Plus, Colm Meany, in an unusual casting turn as ‘Funny Grumpy Irish Guy’. As opposed to his other roles as ‘Mean Irish Guy’ in ‘Far and Away’, or ‘Horny Irish Guy’ in ‘The Englishman Who Couldn’t Keep His Pants On In The Presence Of Hollywood Hookers’.

Melodrama: The Godfather I want to be a Corleone. Only with my family, one of them would have shot me already.

Foreign Film: Life Is Beautiful Because it is.

Hitchcock Movie: Rear Window It has Jimmy Stewart in it. He doesn’t get his friends together and put on a show, though, which is a bit disappointing.

Movie About Yuppies: You’ve Got Mail Meg Ryan. Tom Hanks. Book Stores. ‘We have loved being a part of your life’. sniff You’re a nazi if you don’t think Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks belong together. When Harry Met Sally would be perfect if they ditched Billy Crystal and put in Tom Hanks. Castaway wouldn’t have been a bomb if Meg Ryan had been his blonde to go home to. We couldn’t buy the fact that Tom would be better off leaving the island. Come on, people, Wilson the volleyball had more warmth than Helen Hunt.

Documentary: The Most Haunted Place In America I’m a sucker for anything about ghosts or scary shit.

Disney Movie: The Little Mermaid Duh. I’d have a Chubby Ariel if I could find one.

Animated non-Disney Movie: Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer I like the Island of Misfit Toys, although they never explained what was wrong with the Dolly there. It always remains a mystery to me.

Science Fiction/Fantasy Movie: Star Wars Han Solo: the original master with a blaster. Plus, I can never watch that kookie scene in the bar too many times. I also like to try to spot Cliff Clavin on the Death Star.

Romantic Comedy: The Princess Bride Anyone want a peanut?

Bat-Shit Insane Movie: Pulp Fiction Not that insane. Not that Bat Shit. But twisted and perverse. I liked it. Plus, Uma Thurman looks like a human with black hair. When she’s got blonde hair, she looks like some kind of fetal albino calf woman with big old cow eyes. Plus, I’d totally order a $5 shake and Esteban would freak out about it. Then I’d tell him he was a square.

’80s Movie: The Goonies Chester Copperpot. The times got tough, so they all got together and went searching for gold. If it had Corey Haim in it, I would have used this for the ‘Coreys’ category and then I would have had Grease 2 as my favorite 80’s movie, because for a long time, I had a big crush on Lewis DiMucci and I wanted to do it for my country, the red white and the blue.

Pretentious Film Student Movie: Clerks It’s an independent movie. And I like it. It talks about blow jobs a lot.

Dumb, Dumb Movie: Anything with Adam Sandler Except The Wedding Singer which was very funny.

Teen Movie: Bring It On Oh yeah. Plus, the times got tough, so they all got together and put on a cheerleading routine.

Movie with The Coreys: The Lost Boys It’s the only one I’ve ever seen, actually. No, wait, was Corey Haim in ‘License to Drive’? Doesn’t matter, that movie sucked. The Lost Boys was great for several reasons. Kiefer Sutherland. Kiefer Sutherland. Kiefer Sutherland. Oh, and it has vampires. And Kiefer Sutherland.

Horror Movie: Fright Night Christopher Sarandon. Looking sexy. Yum.

Depressing-as-all-Hell Movie: The English Patient I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. Esteban actually thought that someone in our family had died.

Best use of On Screen Lists: Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.

Worst Choice of Double Feature: Schindler’s List and Reservoir Dogs This was a big mistake. We were clueless. We figured that after watching Schindler’s List, we’d need something to laugh at, so we planned for the second video that night. Big big mistake. By the time we were finished watching Schindler’s List, we were so sensitized and horrified by violence that the cartoon violence of Reservoir Dogs sickened us and made me very upset. It took several days of watching ‘Bugs Bunny and Road Runner Show’ to desensitize us to violence again. Of course, this could be a big hint as to what is wrong with our society.

Today, my sister Mo told me that I was a bad Aunt and Godmother. These were detailed to me when I went to lunch with her and some of our friends today.

Here are my sins:

*I do not call her home and specifically ask her if she needs a babysitter.

*When she informed me this afternoon that she needs a babysitter tomorrow night (yes, a whopping 24 hours in advance!), I told her that we have made plans.

*My husband is tall.

*I purchased a Disney video for Abby and it made her cry.

*I did not offer to pay for her lunch.

*I purchased a Scoobie video for Abby and it scared her.

In my defense, I purchased a non-scary Scoobie-Doo video for Abby, one that was specifically made for younger children and had nice monsters in it, not scary “I would have gotten away with it if it weren’t for you damn kids” type villians. I watched it along with Abby and she did not get scared nor cry. No glowing swamp monsters. No ghosts that turn out to be a projection. It even had Scrappy Doo in it. Mo told me that Abby loved that video.

No, someone else had actually purchased the Scoobie Doo video that was a scary Scoobie video. But I was blamed for it. And when the mistake was uncovered, she did not apologize for her wrongful accusation. She just moved on to the next of my transgressions.

Apparently, this all makes me a very bad aunt and godmother. Apparently, I should be previewing every spontaneous gift I purchase for the child, I should drop my life whenever Mo decides that she needs a babysitter, and I should have married Ronald McDonald, at least until Abby is taller.

In retrospect, MY aunt starves her children and used to drive away in her car, making me walk behind it for several miles. She made me do exercise before she would allow me to eat. She constantly called me horrible nicknames and told me that carraway seeds were minnows. MY Godmother wouldn’t know me if she walked by me on the street. I don’t think I’ve even seen my Godmother nor my Godfather since I was a wee little child.

I buy the child Disney movies.

I’m going to hell, apparently.

The thing that makes me feel a little better was that her friend jumped to my defense, stating “Was she supposed to preview every movie before she gives it to her?”. The other one wisely stayed silent, giving me understanding smiles and rolling his eyes at Mo.

Maybe now you can see why my sister’s pseudonym was derrived from “MoFo”.

Yesterday, an office coworker declared her love to me.

I think it was because I looked so totally cute yesterday, with my little houndstooth blazer with its little leather accents. I was way cute. I said so myself, in fact. That’s when she told me that she loved me.

I’m only partially cute today, wearing my ‘Yellow Hornet’ outfit of black pants and bright yellow fleece pullover. My hair doesn’t quite look like man hair today, but it’s thinking masculine thoughts and wanting to read Playboy. Just for the articles, though.

Yesterday morning, my sister Mo invited Esteban and myself over to her house for dinner. She made hot beef and was very excited about sharing her culinary delight with us.

‘Sure, we’ll come!’ I said.

‘Great, can you stop at the store and buy some buns? We don’t have any.’

I’m trying not to think that she invited us over to fill out her menu.

While we were there eating dinner (Esteban drinking out of a Blue’s Clues plastic cup), my niece Abby visited the bathroom and then lingered there.

‘Did you wipe your butt?’ Mo shouted to her.

‘I don’t want to!’ Abby shouted back.

I, of course, went into hysterics. It doesn’t really translate in type as to how funny that was, but, trust me, it was very funny.

Wouldn’t the world be a different place if we didn’t have to wipe our butts? I’m certain that bathrooms would not be the production that they currently are. There would be rampant public excretions also. The whole concept of butt wipe-age has in some ways, defined our society. The feeling of poop being bad comes from the fact that you need to wipe your butt. By no means am I suggesting that butts should go unwiped, but I’m just saying ‘Imagine a world where you didn’t NEED to wipe your butt.’ You know, like if poop came out in little Nyquil caplets or something.

Fish don’t wipe their butts.

Cats don’t wipe their butts, but sometimes they should.

But then, I suppose that poop wouldn’t be nearly as funny as it is today. Some fool would find a way to recycle it. Michaels would show how to use it for decorative flower arrangements or something.

I later told Abby ‘I don’t want to wipe my butt sometimes either.’ She gave me a conspiratorial look and made a funny face at me. I made the funny face back at her. She looked satisfied and went on to steal a pickle from the cupboard. It is possible that the funny face was a secret sign and I have now joined the Anti-Butt Wipers society. I’m not entirely certain.

I hope someone will tell me if I ever get too weird for Diaryland.

Esteban gave me a new toy to play with at work.

He’s got a NetBox at work and one of the features is a web-monitoring device, complete with camera.

I, of course, sent out the URL to all my friends. ‘Watch Esteban at Work!’ the subject line said.

Yesterday afternoon, Esteban had a crowd of women watching him around my monitor. I called him and told him to do something funny. He waved. Everyone laughed. People are strange sometimes. He’s become quite the celebrity around my office. Reality TV at its finest.

Reality PC?

But I guess our sexcapades at his office are at an end.