That's My Bix!

Drumroll please.

Last night….

Esteban DID THE DISHES!!!!!

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

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Today is Esteban and my anniversary. It seems almost moot because we’ve been together so long (11 years) that when people ask which anniversary it is and I say “Two years” and it’s a bit anti-climatic.

(Is it ‘anti-climatic’ or ‘anti-climaCtic’? I can never remember. I know that one has to do with being a non-climax and the other one has to do with being anti-weather. Don’t want to offend any meteorologists. I did horrible in Meteorology 101 in college, so maybe anti-weather would be approppo too)

Last night, Esteban’s parents gave us our anniversary present. A paper shredder. I’m trying not to look for the symbolism.

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Now that I’ve signed up for the “Gold Membership” to Diaryland, I can see that there are many readers of this here diary. 58 of you read this over the weekend. Wow. Just wow. I’m truly flattered. It made me giddy all weekend! Thank you!

One weird thing I learned from the statistics I now receive… it tells me what website linked to my diary. Nothing shocking here… a lot off my personal web page. However, there were a few odditities here and there. For instance… someone was searching Google.Com for the phrase “sushi ear infection” and got linked to my end of year entry for 2000. I don’t even want to know what that was about. Maybe they were looking for a correlation between eating sushi and getting ear infections? For the record, I got the ear infection in July and tried my first bite of sushi in October. Doubtful on any correlation.

Another reader came from Altavista.com when searching on the phrase “Cat Water Fountain”. Verdict on the cat water fountain device: thumbs up. However, the water does evaporate at a startling rate and it makes weird “chuffing” noises when it gets low on water. I’m terrified that it will burn out somehow, so I’m constanly dumping glasses of water into it. However, the cats no longer beg for drinks of water out of the sink anymore.

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I showed my sister this diary. She laughed when she read the part about how she tailgates “like a mofo”. Then she called me a “dork” because I had a diary. But she was smiling when she said it. This is my payback for calling her only “Loser” whenever I see her.

Now I’m frantically racking my brain to think if I said anything personal about her that she’d be mad about. Amy. You rock. That is all. Remember that if you read anything that ticks you off.

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It occurs to me that I haven’t really written about Amy in here much. Let’s see… here’s a story (no, Amy, not THAT one):

When Amy was 5 years old, she told all of her teachers at school that someone had broken into our home and MURDERED her little brother.

Folks… she didn’t HAVE a little brother. I don’t need to add that no one had broken into our home.

So, when my grandmother (yes, the Mafia Grandma) had gone to school to pick up Amy from kindergarten, a very distraught teacher approached her. “We’ve been waiting to hear news of the tragedy at Amy’s home!” Cause see, they’d been all perplexed wondering why the news of this grisly act had not yet made the papers or the local television news programs.

This is my sister, people. This is what I had to grow up with. And yet when it came down to my mother choosing which one of us to believe in cases of “whodunnit”, she always picked Angelic Amy over Wicked Weetabix.

Sheesh.

And people wonder why I’m so jaded.

Truly, sis, love you to death, but you can lie like the best of them… plus, you DO tailgate like a mofo.

Well, it’s been a boring day, thus another entry.

Last night was a Cough Opera from Esteban. Poor guy. He had enough Robetussin in his blood stream to make Keith Moon jealous but it still didn’t help. We were thinking of taking him to the emergency room, but at that moment, it was bar time on a Saturday night and he didn’t want to sit there all night.

So we went this morning to First Care. They took a chest x-ray and then made him do a breathing treatment! HA! Now the bastard knows what Asthma is like! HAHA!

Ok, that was nasty of me. But still.

Prognosis is good. He must take two pills once a day. He’s also been given some hella cough syrup. Like, don’t drive, operate heavy machinery, microwave ovens, remote controls, toilet seats, etc. Why don’t they just put a label on it that reads: “Caution: this will put you into a drool-inducing coma. Take dosage in bed because you won’t make it there if you take in the kitchen over the sink. Cancel all appointments for several days, your butt will be watching Jerry Springer in a codeine haze for the next 48 hours.”

If you’ve never had a breathing treatment, just let me say this. The taste is similiar to walking up to the backside of a horse, opening your yawp and letting the horse pooh into it. Of course, I’m not recommending that as it would have no breathing value. That’s what the taste is like. But it knocks the butt off the cat for opening up your lungs. Didn’t help Esteban though. He’s got a sinusy bronchitis. So glad we didn’t go camping. They don’t have little conveniences like emergency rooms up there.

Joel and Cheri went camping anyway. They say that they’re having a grand time.

Forecast in Manitowish Waters last night showed a violent cell of thunderstorms. Who’s the Woman? Who. Is. The. Woman?

Apparently, we’re going to try to go camping in two weeks. Yikes.

Yikes I say.

Yesterday, Esteban and I went to the video store and rented and purchase some DVDs.

It was then that we realized that we did not actually own a DVD player.

This isn’t such an entirely weird thing to imagine… not remembering that you do not actually have a DVD player. All of our friends have them. We have just about every other electronic toy in the world (although no digital camera, note to self). So instead, we looked at each other and we a little perplexed.

“I guess we need to get a DVD player.” says Esteban.

I was in a fairly good mood because it was pouring rain outside and I was not, in fact, camping at that moment, huddling in some sodden tent, freezing cold, shitting in a pit toilet, suspending my bare ass above some germy, cryptosporidium sludge. So I say “Ok” and we hop in the Montester and off we go to Best Buy.

I find the DVD player that I like and we go in search of a blue-shirted wonder to fetch us one. “Uh… we’re out.” We wait for 15 minutes for him to see if they have one in the Appleton store, 30 minutes away. During this time, I plop myself in front of the 61 inch projection televisions. Yum. I don’t care if High D is coming… I want me some widescreen goodness.

Then he returns. Nope, they don’t have them at the Appleton store, but they’ll be getting a truck in tommorrow, so we should drive 20 minutes down there and check maybe tommorrow. “Do you know for sure that you will get this model in tommorrow?” A blank look on his face. “Um… let me check.” Another 15 minutes of drooling at the 61 inch wonder in front of me. I have decided at this point that I want the glare-reduction screen as it looks much better. Who would be foolish enough to request the glossy screen? It makes no sense.

Blue-Shirted Dolt returns. “Uhm…. I can’t tell you if they have one or not.” So we memorize the DVD players stats (Panasonic DVD-RV31 for $179.99 plus tax) and head to Circuit City.

For the record, I have never walked out of Circuit City happy. They always piss me off. Always. One time I walked in to tell someone that a vehicle in the parking lot had it’s lights on and they referred me to the service desk. To wait. And wait. Grr.

So we find the model, but they have it for $199.99. No problem, I think. I’m certain that they have price matching or whatever. I talk to a sales guy. He’s defensive. I explain that they have the model at Best Buy up the street for 179.99. “But I know they’re out,” he says. “Someone was in here before looking at this one. We can only match price if Best Buy has it in stock.”

At this point, Esteban’s dander is up. He argues. The guy gets his manager who basically repeats Circuit Shitty’s same stupid policy. They’ll turn away customers rather than match an advertised price if their competitor is out of it. But come back tommorrow when Best Buy gets their shipment in… then we’ll match the price. But why would we come back here instead of going to Best Buy? They didn’t know either.

So we drive to Sears. They have a Panasonic, but an older model for 199.99, without the MP3 player option that the other model had. Nope. Then we go to Home Electronics. Nope. I call Shopko and Kmart and MallWart. Nope nope nope.

I call American in Appleton. They have it for $199.99. We drive to Appleton and find the unit for $178.99. The weasel sales guy approaches us. “Can I help you with something?”

A testament to our relationship, Esteban and I both say in unison “We’ll take this one.”

Weasel boy is shocked. He’s never had such an easy sale. He starts questioning us on why we want it so badly, immediately thinking of marking up the price, no doubt.

So then we drove home and watched our very bad DVD’s that we rented (for the record: Pay it Forward, Duets and What Women Want).

And I love American in Appleton. I am very happy with our consumerism today.

Oh, and while we were at Best Buy, Esteban scored a new video card, so he’s doubly happy with our electronics extravaganza.

With one quick move, the Schucharts LEAP into the 1990’s.

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Today and yesterday, I have the curse. It’s unbelievable really. Men should, if they do not already, thank god that they don’t have to deal with this ever in their lives. Too many pairs of my underpants have been sacrificed to the Great Estrogen Goddess.

This morning I was dreaming about Russell Crowe and a cramp woke me up.

That’s a crime, people!

I’m just warning y’all right now… buy stock in Advil this week, ’cause that mofo’s going UP!

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Did I mention how much cold and miserable I NOT today? That’s due to the NO CAMPING thing.

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Thursday night we did the sing thing at Player’s with Joel and Cheri. I have to tell you, I rocked the house.

You know that you’re grooving when complete strangers come up to you with this look in their eyes, like they’re touching greatness, and say “Wow, you have such a good voice.”

Plus, I actually got “Encore”d by some guys. They loved me.

Broke through the whole “fat girl” barrier once again. Love that. I had those frat boys drinking out of my palms.

But then I watched the drivel that was Duets and now must take a shower. I think it was trying to be Pulp Fiction but with karaoke. Nothing with Gwynneth Paltrow can be Pulp Fiction, people. Plus, she’s too god-damned skinny. Eat a fucking cheeseburger, you skinny bitch! Then think about how you threw away Brad Pitt and Ben Affleck.

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This morning, the Estrogen Goddess demanded most of a bag of Oreo cookies and 4 ounces of peanut butter fudge. I am her slave. I bow before my mistress. Do with me what you will, just don’t take away my Advil!

Today I am so tired that y’all can just wheel in the industrial sized gallon of Mountain Dew and hook it up, IV-style, to my right forearm. Man.

Esteban has contracted some sort of Smoker’s Pennance illness. Bronchitis-type thing. He had it three weeks ago but it mostly went away, so what does he do to celebrate. Smoke cigarettes again. If you duct-taped the amount of cigarettes that he smoked together, they would have the circumference of a Frisbee. The executives of Phillip-Morris have sent him a FDS Get-Well Bouquet.

He actually said to me “You should be happy to know that at least I’m not smoking.” Because you know, my day is made or not upon whether or not he smokes. I think he thinks I’m his mom. Maybe it’s because I pack his lunch for him and give him a cookie if he’s been a good boy.

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Yesterday, after my diary entry, I realized that there was no way in hell that everything was going to get done in preparation for camping. So I took a half-day of vacation and went grocery shopping, spent $140 worth of stuff (about 1/4 of the carpeting in the living room, in case you’re keeping track!). Then I came home, did a bunch of laundry, took out the garbage, picked up around the house, etc.

This morning, I checked the weather in Manitowish Waters for the weekend. In the mid-40’s and raining all weekend. Oh. Good. Lie on the ground and be cold and wet. That’s not a vacation… that’s Basic Training.

So I talk to Esteban, who’s condition has worsened over the night (which I am fully aware of, since I only got 4 hours of sleep last night, in between the coughs, rattles, and pukes). He said “Joel checked the weather and he said it was going to be 70 and sunny all weekend.” Um. Well. Joel’s wrong.

I call Joel. Ask him if he’s heard the weather. Joel, for the record, sounds even more sick than Esteban. They have the same cough, cold, death rattle. Have they been deep kissing or something that they share this illness? Do they have mono?

Joel tells me that it will be mid 70’s and sunny. I ask where he heard that. “Just now on the radio” Ok, but see, Joel, that’s for Green Bay, dude. We’re going 200 miles NORTH of here. So I said, “What the fuck, you delusional bastard?” No really, actually, I explain that www.weather.com is specific to the zip code and it says that it will be mid 40’s and raining. And miserable.

“oh” he says.

OH????? OHHHH???

I explain that I don’t think that this is the weather to be sick in, not to mention laying on the ground trying to sleep kind of weather.

He must check with the wife.

To his credit, “the wife” Cheri is very sensible. Would have just called her directly, but she is a high school teacher and is too busy pulling the needles from the arms of her students and stopping Bloods and the Crypts from their gang war over in the band room.

So maybe we won’t go camping. And life will be sweet. And I can play on my computer and work on my web page all weekend. And maybe even go golfing. Sweet.

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I found a nude girl on the internet who looks disturbingly like me. I won’t go into how I found this girl (ok. She’s on www.kinkycards.com. I was sending a joke card. It just occurred to me that what you are thinking is probably worse than the reality.) I started wondering if maybe perhaps I had gotten very drunk at one of those frat parties in college and possibly posed for those pictures. But then I realized several things: a) my hair was never that length and that color at the same time b) I have bigger hips that that girl, c) the girl doesn’t LOOK drunk and d) I was NEVER THAT drunk. In my life. Ok, well maybe I was drunk enough to do that when I was 19, but I still remember most of that night.

But still. Very strange.

Speaking of skin, I have a dermatologist appointment today. Must go and have my face checked.

I am Jack’s hairy pimple-ridden ass.

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On a strange sad note: Buffy died last night. Seriously. She’s dead, dude.

I’m in total denial. In my opinion, it was all shock value, because the plot point made no sense. She died to save her sister from having to die. But her “sister” is a mystical thing and needed to die to stop the ritual. Just any old person, not even a slayer, would be able to stop the ritual. Didn’t make sense. But sad just the same.

The thing that sold the moment was Spike, my luscious Spike, sobbing his bad boy eyes out. It was unreal. James Marsters should get a fucking Emmy. That man has acting chops. Wow. I’m still in denial.

But then I sort of forgot about it as I watched Angel. The karaoke guy wasn’t dead! His head had just been chopped off… no big. All ok. YAY!! The Angel crew came back from the alternate dimension ok! WOOHOO! And then in the last minutes, they walk back into Angel Central and there is Willow, looking forlorn. And Angel sees her and she doesn’t even say a fucking word. And he knows. He just says “It’s Buffy”. End credits.

Joss & Co didn’t even have to pay Allyson Hannigan SAG requirements for speaking roles. She probably only got union minimum.

So that started my misery all over again. Poor Buffy! Poor Spike. Buffy’s a selfish bitch. The only reason she stepped in for Dawn was because she couldn’t live with losing Dawn after losing her mother. It was selfish really. Buffy saves lives ever day. Just think… each vamp she dusts will probably save 100 lives in the future or more. She dusts hundreds of vamps. How many will Dawnie dust? How many lives will Dawnie save?

The thing is: I knew that I’d be hearing from my friend Susan today, even though she’s moved to Chicago and I never see her anymore. Whenever Susan is disturbed by something on Buffy, she emails me. Today, she called. That’s how harsh it was. She needed reassurance. We needed to mourn. In times of loss, people cling to those who share their grief. We consoled each other. It was a moment.

But then I got to thinking. Angel is “owed” a life when he tried to save Darla way back in the beginning season of “Angel”. He’s got one coming. He can use that to save Buffy. So she’s probably coming back.

That’s what I’m telling myself.

{sniff}

Yup. She’ll be back.

Today, the powers that be were trying their darnedness (is that a word? Or is it darnedest? Or is this just a word that my grandmother made up?) to prevent me from going to work.

First of all, the rain. Minutes before I left for work, the heavens opened up and torrents fell to the earth. We’re talking “hurry up and build an ark” kind of rain. Luckily for me, my car was in the garage, so I didn’t have to actually run through rain to get to the car. Off to work we go!

Even the rain of biblical proportions could not unadhere the dead bugs from my windshield. I tried to lube them up with the windshield washer fluid, but no go. It was like tires crushing corn flakes. Very gross. Hopefully they’ll have washed away after today’s rainfall.

So, I’m up on the Tillman Bridge (aka, the bridge of no return) and suddenly, the drawbridge begins to rise. I drove, I kid you not, half a mile with my jaw agap, trying to see the boat that was coming. I almost relaxed, thinking, ok, maybe it’s one of those masty sailboat thingys that just barely needs the bridge open? No go. The U.S.S. Calumet coal barge had stopped in the middle of the Fox, waiting for the bridge to open. Then I had to wait for it to traverse the opening. 20 minutes. No caffeine in the car. It was not a pretty picture.

Finally, the drawbridge closes. I continue my journey to work. At the end of the bridge is a posted school zone. 15 mph (rather than the normal 35) for about two blocks. I’m used to it. It’s no big. Anyway, I’m driving along my 17 mph through this area and an ASSHOLE in a rusted pick up actually lays on his horn at me. Because I’m not going fast enough, see. He’d rather I endanger the lives of the many low-income children of that area. And get a speeding ticket. Bastard. All this as I am passing a sign that clearly states “School Zone 15mph”. And he has the gaul to pass me and give me the “Idiot driver” look. I waved my hand at him. That will teach him.

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Green Bay Rules of Travel

This brings up an important fact. The good people of Green Bay, Wisconsin, do not, in fact, know how to drive. Well, some of us do. Mostly my friends and me. My sister, however, does not. She tailgates like a mo-fo. I’ve talked to her about it and she does not see anything wrong with this. It’s not her fault, people, she lives in Green Bay and is infected with the driving disease.

Rule #1: When merging, you are the most important vehicle on the highway. All other cars must yield to you. Feel free to ramp up to speed as slowly as you like. If your merge lane is going to disappear and the car in the real lane does not or cannot move over for you, feel free to slowly edge over until the car either speeds up or slows down to accomodate you. DO NOT ADJUST YOUR SPEED! You’re the guest on this highway, so they should be nice to you.

Rule #2: When making a turn, immediately place yourself in the lane that you need to be in. Even if you are making a right turn, go ahead and aim for the farthest lane possible. After all, it’s efficient, since 10 miles down the road, you’ll be making a left turn. It saves time and energy for all involved.

Rule #3: If a car is trying to change lanes to the lane you are driving in and clearly has their blinker on, SPEED UP to make sure that you don’t allow them to get in front of you. After all, they might get to where you’re going faster than you. Can’t have that. If they had followed Rule #2, they wouldn’t have been in that predicament in the first place.

Rule #4: When passing on the highway, speed up to pass a vehicle, then get in front of them and slow down again…. to below the speed that the passed vehicle is traveling. You’re traveling the right speed after all, and it is up to you to make sure that all cars follow this standard.

Rule #5: When driving straight and approaching a stop light, feel free to stop in the far right lane. This will prevent right-hand turners from turning and make them wait until the light turns green. If you have to wait, why shouldn’t they?

Rule #6: If a road looks wide enough for two lanes but does not have an idiot strip down the middle designating two lanes, then go ahead and straddle that midpoint. The roadmakers wanted to have a generously sized single lane for your driving pleasure. Feel free to take as much space as necessary for your peace of mind.

Rule #7: If it is a beautiful day, feel free to linger as long as you’d like after the light turns green. Drivers are too stressed and they should take advantage of any little breaks in their day to stop and enjoy God’s world. We don’t see many nice days in Wisconsin, so if it means that the cars in the back miss their light, so be it!

Rule #8: Turn without looking for approaching cars. If there are any cars coming, they’ll stop for you. We’re a friendly town!

Rule #9: Head-checks were invented by chiropractors trying to drum up business. They are not neccessary, so don’t bother straining your neck.

Rule #10: The left lane on the highway is for your use. Drive your entire trip on it, don’t worry about it! As long as you are within spitting distance of 55 mph (even in a 65 mph zone), you’re fine. No one should need to pass because no one should be going faster than you! However, 35 mph and lower do belong in the right lane. Let’s not go overboard!

Rule #11: Only use your turn signal in extreme cases or if a cop is around. Seriously. You might wear it out.

Rule #12: The world is your ashtray. If you are driving, regardless of speed, feel free to throw cigarettes or butts out the window. Hey, don’t worry about the driver behind you with the open window. That cherry should be out before it hits them in the face. Shouldn’t be driving that close anyway! As for the mess, that’s what the prisoner road crews are for every spring.

Rule #13: At night, drive with your BRIGHTS ON! Don’t worry about dimming them for on-coming traffic or when you are behind another car. You’re just helping them see better too.

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Yesterday was a Grrl Golf day. Carissa, Penny and myself all headed out to Woodside Country Club for a fun day of putting and driving. Aside from a club car guy who was not on the stick and did not quench our thirsts until HOLE 5(!), it was a lovely day. I golfed like shyte, though, but that was not the point. Carissa got a Par on that same hole 5 (had to have been the addition of booze, right Cari?) and Penny got 1 above par on a different hole.

I broke out my new hot pink Lady Fliers and promptly lost 6 of the 15 new balls, plus one used white ball. Yes, people, 6 lost balls. This coming from the girl who played 4 rounds of golf last year with the same ball. It’s really my own fault. The front 9 at Woodside is a ball-devouring void. I actually lost one ball in flat grass. I still don’t know how I accomplished that one. Nearly half my new balls, people. Gone to the Golf Goddess. I’m going to stick with used balls from now on. It doesn’t hurt so much when I lose them. I also lost my favorite Titleist white ball. 🙁 Had some good drives though. Plus got to play with my zoom lens. When the webpage is back up, I will be adding a Girl Golf page or something.

We looked cute. It’s all that matters, really.

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I love Golf days. I’m always so relaxed afterwards. I drove around really fast playing my blues CD and singing along. I’m not sure if I’m relaxed because of the exercise, the wine coolers, or what. Normally, Sundays are very stressful but golf days never are.

Love that. It’s a good thing.

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Last night, when I signed on to MIRC, someone stole my nickname. I know! Shocking! I was so pissed! So now, instead of the cute perky LOLAGRANOLA, I am saddled with LOLA^GRANOLA, which, in my opinion, is not as cute and perky. I hate symbols. It’s just a loser excuse of a name. Plus, it’s hard to type. It’s all shift key then stretch for the 6 key. Suckage. I’m trying to log back on and hopefully, they will not complete the registration for my nick and I’ll snag it back. It’s worth a shot? A girl can dream.

Ok, not like I’ve had it for very long, but still… it was my identity. {sniff}

If I ever see the wench who stole it, I’m going to slap her. Seriously.

I don’t normally resort to violence, especially with strangers, but that felt pretty invasive.

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Overheard in the Ponderosa restroom yesterday, spoken by a little girl to her mother.

Little Girl: (hushed awed voice) One time, I touched a poop.

Mother: My, what an exciting day that must have been!

TEEHEE!