Wednesday, June 30, 2010

Thoughts of a wandering mind ...

while driving home from work I was remembering some of the slang from my youth. Slang is a unique form of communication because it differs from region to region, ethnicity to ethnicity, but wherever it was that you grew up, your slang was the coolest. And, as I was remembering and laughing to myself, I began to deduce how some of these words came into being ...

When I was in junior high it was very important to know and be seen with older high school kids because they were older, therefore cooler. I was lucky. I had an older cousin who was quite a cool cat and also drove a cool lowered Camaro. When I was still in junior high, he was already at THE RANCH (slang for my high school) ... allow me to 'splain. My cousin lived right next door so I was privy to "cool talk" and only because he was my cousin did I even remotely exist on the planet that is high school. I was given a pass, not that I was cool, but my cousin was cool, so that made me cool by association. My hometown had one high school. EVERYONE went there unless you went to Catholic school. El Rancho High School aka The Ranch ... El Rancho-Ranch ... see! Already you can make a connection ... Spanish-ish, located in a suburb of Los Angeles with a Spanish/Mexican influence - El Rancho (The Ranch) ... I also attended North Ranchito Elementary School (The Little Ranch) ... see ... how stupid huh. Anyway, when moving onto high school almost all of your friends signed your yearbook with this phrase "... and good luck at The Ranch" ... cause we were, of course, moving on to bigger and cooler places - high school - a place where every junior high kid you played against in sports would all be going to school. Just to give you all an indication of how big this school was, there were over a thousand kids in my graduating class. On graduation day I saw faces I'd never seen before ... really, I was looking at all these kids I'd never seen before thinking ... who they hell is that? But I digress ... back to the slang ... some of the words I remember were as follows:

JETTER: (Adj.) To describe one from the upper stratus of the high school feeding chain. Jetter, as in cool one, hipster, jet-setter, ergo, JETTER. Used in a sentence: "I hate her. She's such a jetter."

WALLY: (Adj.) To describe someone from the lower stratus of the high school feeding chain. Dork, weirdo, geek. This term evolved from the Wally character on the Ozzie & Harriet Show. Wally was Ricky Nelson's short and chubby best friend. Short + Chubby = Wally. Used in a sentence: "OMG! He's such a wally!"

Another phrase that got used TO DEATH was ...

"EH ... YOU THOUGHT!" - This was said ad nauseum in the following fashion:

"Oooh look! There's Jimi Hendrix!" and, when you obviously, and excitedly turned to look, your friend would slap you in the head and say ....


This was to make you feel like an idiot for even THINKING that Jimi Hendrix would be in Pico Rivera.

I had a friend in high school named Laura Ramirez. Laura, and her boyfriend Eddie, once got a ticket for riding a bike on the freeway. Laura had two little sisters (twins) and they would irritate the crap outta her and she was forever yelling at them ... "SHUT UP! YOU'RE GIVING ME A STOMACHE!!!"

You know those retorts that, if you say them to someone, they have absolutely no response? Here was a Laura classic: "Shut up ... your butt hurts." Use this whenever someone (a) insults you; (b) insults you or (c) insults you. What could someone possibly say to the "butt" retort? Nothing.


Insultor: "Bite me."

Retorter: "Your butt hurts."

See. How can you possibly top that? Use it in good health.

Sunday, June 27, 2010

The Dal Rae

My mother's favorite restaurant in all the world was the Dal Rae. The Dal Rae, in my hometown, is THEE place to see and be seen if you're a mover and shaker in Pico Rivera ... an otherwise gang infested suburb of L.A. I have to admit that they do have fabulous food and although they have become quite pricey over the years, you cannot get a better meal, or a better drink anywhere else.
The Dal Rae was how my mother gauged and measured the chic factor of all other restaurants ... in the world. My mom thought the Dal Rae was the most fabulous place on earth with the best piano bar and the best drinks. She knew Bill, the owner very well. She knew all the different piano players and singers who worked there from the 1960's on up to 2005, the year she passed away. She knew all the waiters and busboys and they all knew her. Our family went there for every birthday, anniversary, graduation, birth, death ... any major event in life, we spent at the Dal Rae.

One year for my sister's birthday I wanted to go somewhere different. This was unheard of. GO SOMEWHERE ELSE? WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU WANT TO GO SOMEWHERE ELSE? I knew I was tempting fate by "changing plans" on my mother who would inevitably be thrown into a major fit of anxiety but I held my ground. We're going somewhere DIFFERENT!

So, I made reservations at the Parkway Grill. A very glam restaurant in Pasadena. We arrived, my mom and dad, my sister and my husband and I. Before the drinks arrived I could already feel the energy being sucked from our table ... like a black hole ... my mother was completely out of sorts. She was in unfamiliar territory ... a menu she'd never seen before ... waiters she didn't know, people she'd never seen before and everything was .... different. I did my best to ignore her and not jump into care taking mode, while at the same time thinking to myself, WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING ... SHE'S GETTING ALL VERKLEMPT.

So, as we imbibed and talked and enjoyed the atmosphere, my mother was visibly uncomfortable. When the waiter arrived to take our orders my mom began to question him on the menu ...

Mom: You don't have any Teriyaki tidbits? (remember, she's thinking Dal Rae ... as though all fancy schmancy restaurants have the SAME MENU ...)

Waiter: Uh, no mam.

Mom: Umphf ... well, how about a Lobster Louie?

Waiter: Uh, no mam, I'm sorry.

In her frustration, and realizing she's holding everything up, she orders the soft shell crab. I know she has no idea what she has just ordered but I am not about to tell her because I'm freaking hungry and I was already losing patience.

As the evening progresses, the conversation flows ... and I see her ... fidgeting ... we all feel it, we all ignore it ... she's out of her element ... what kind of restaurant is this? No Teriyaki tidbits! WTF! ...

Dinner arrives. The waiter places my mother's dish in front of her and I swear ... she threw her hands up and lurched backward in fear ....

Waiter: Is there something wrong mam?

Mom: OMG! It's just sitting there ... looking at me ... like a spider!

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

When will it end ...

Hot flashes. They're the worst! I remember when I was in my 30's there was always that one lady in the office who had a little fan at her desk and I used to wonder ... WTF? It's freezing in here! I am now that lady.

You wake up one day and in the body of a baby whale. You can't see without reading glasses and you can't remember ANYTHING ... and you suddenly realize .... without a doubt .... that you have become ... MATURE.

This is a good thing and a bad thing. The good thing about becoming mature is that you no longer care what people think about you anymore. The bad thing about becoming mature is that people no longer think about you anymore.

Saturday, June 12, 2010

How to clean a toilet

I don't think there was a woman ever born, who likes cleaning the toilet. When I was unemployed I was able to clean my toilet and bathroom any time I needed to during the day because I was home. I HATE cleaning the bathroom. I told myself that when I started working the first thing I was going to do was hire someone to come in and clean. But I feel terrible about having someone else clean my toilet. I HATE CLEANING MY TOILET therefore, I cannot, in good conscience, even though I would pay for someone else to do it, pay someone else to do it. I am now working full-time and, once again, doing all my chores and housecleaning after work and on the weekend. This is no fun, but it must be done. This morning ... for the first time ... I saw the toilet ... OMG. I could go into great deal but I won't. And I believe me ... I could be disgustingly descriptive ... but I won't. SO, I went downstairs and found my husband and told him that he was going to clean the toilet for me. AND, I said, you're gonna do it the way I DO IT and when you're done you're gonna come out of that bathroom sweating and feeling exhausted so you'll know how much work it is to clean a bathroom. He smiles his little dimply smile and thinks I'm barking just to bark ...

FIRST! you take the Lysol wipes and you wipe down the entire toilet, sides, tank, rim, lid of bowl, top of seat, under seat, don't forget the bottom where all the urine collects in an oily stain because you don't aim straight, THEN, you dry it all off with a towel. THEN, you take the Comet and sprinkle it in the bowl, GENEROUSLY and let it sit for a while. THEN, you take the Windex and repeat all the steps above regarding toilet sides, tank, rim, et al. THEN, you take the brush and clean and scrape the bowl VERY, VERY GOOD. Then flush. THEN, you take the Lysol that cleans UNDER THE RIM and squeeze it under the the rim. Let it sit for a while ... please refrain from peeing for at least 20 minutes. THEN, take brush, scrub, scrub, scrub REALLY GOOD and flush. THEN, put Lysol in the sink with hot water. Take a small towel, soak and wring out, after sweeping bathroom floor get on hands and knees and wipe floor with Lysol soaked towel. Repeat until floor is sparkling clean. Then, Lysol wipe the cabinets, doors, inside of doors, door trim, ...

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

Saturday, June 5, 2010

A little more housewife crap ...

Okay. First we had to deal with Atlanta Housewife Kim Zolciak torment America with her "mega hit" Tardy for the Party ... and now ... da da da daaaaaaaah ... The Countess, Luann DeLesseps, premieres her hot new disco tune ... "Money Can't Buy You Class" (... ah ... it can't buy you a fuckin' voice either) JEEZ! These people are unbelievably delusional. Remember the childhood fairytale "The Emperor's New Clothes" ... The whole village was afraid to offend the King by telling him that he was naked cause he was, after all, THE KING. Countess ... I say this only with love in my heart, but Darling ... YOU'RE NAKED.

America should take heed and look at this fairytale with a message. You see, celebrities and the like represent the KING. We, the people, are the hopeless working peons that look up to the KING (we do this by watching his reality show). The celebrities and wannabe celebrities catch the Countess debuting her new song at a fancy schmancy New York nightclub and see, with their own eyes and hear with their own ears, that the broad can't sing. AND YET, everyone fawns and gushes over her and tells her how wonderful she is AND SHE SOAKS IT ALL IN AND LOVES ALL THE ACCOLADES AND ATTENTION ... because she is, after all, THE KING ... or in this case, the Countess. Ah fuck, I give up.

Thursday, June 3, 2010

Housewife updates ...

I know I haven't written much about those wacky housewives over on Bravo lately, but the last two episodes of both New Jersey and New York have not disappointed and taken a turn straight back to crazy-town. Holy guacamole Batman!
Danielle Staub (aka The Joker ... for her uncanny resemblance to the man with the same name) ... has proven, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that she is a certifiable nut job. The fact that she is articulate and well spoken is what is so dangerous about her. If you didn't know her from the New Jersey Housewives and met her in the street, you might think she was normal. NOT. (By the by Danielle ... you might wanna rethink the way you paint your eyebrows).

A few episodes ago, she actually consulted with a priest ... because she's a devout Catholic you know ... about how the rest of the ladies dug up her past and were spreading it around town. Even the priest could see she was a nut job. He kept asking her "why do you care what these woman are saying about you?"

Last week's episode, Danielle decided to attend a benefit for a little girl stricken with cancer. The benefit took place at the Brownstone, the Manzo family business (Dina and Caroline Manzo ... who she hates beyond distraction but also worships at the same time) ... she showed up in a Bentley with her popular new BFF, Kim G, and then met up with the rest of her posse .... an entourage of Hells Angels and ex-cons .... expecting to be treated like the Queen of England. The Brownstone, unaware that she was bringing a battalion of goombahs, did not have a table to seat all of them, which they immediately remedied but, I guess it wasn't fast enough for Miss Danielle so she and her crew left the event in a huff, while her bodyguard/friend shouted over and over again ... FUCK THE MANZOS!! That Danielle ... class all the way. (Mhmmmm ... I think a meeting with Clockstopper might benefit Miss Danielle) ... Her irrational hatred for the Manzo family is so pathetic that, anyone who is anyone, can see that she is secretly hopeful that one day she will be accepted into their inner circle. I can't wait until next week!!
Moving onto New York City, all the ladies were invited on a fabulous cruise for Ramona's bachelorette trip before she and Mario renew their vows. The Countess and Jill didn't attend because they're better than everybody else and they also warned Kelly not to go but, because Kelly is non compos mentis (cwazy) ... she decided to go anyway. Well, all hell broke loose when Kelly had a psychotic breakdown. I've been telling you all how she is cuckoo for cocoa puffs and you were all finally able to see it for yourselves. That she is a mother and responsible for molding the lives of her two daughters is beyond unsettling. She kept going from being fine one minute, to apologizing for her nutty behavior, then back to quasi-normal and then back to crazy and accusing everyone of gossiping. Then, she called Bethenny a ho-bag. LOL! UNBELIEVABLE. At one point during all the hoopla the ladies realized that they were dealing with a real loon and seriously realized that Kelly really has some serious issues. Kelly left the trip before it was over because she was freaking out and had to get outta there. THEN, on their one and only day to relax with normalcy, Jill (who cannot sleep at night unless she knows what the fuck is going on anywhere where she is not), decides to fly on down to the Caribbean and surprise Ramona and the rest of the ladies ... WTF!!! I'll say it again ... WTF!!! I don't know what possessed her other than the fact that she HAD to know what was going on without her ... even though she refused to go on the trip to begin with when Ramona practically begged her. Awkward doesn't begin to describe how everyone felt. Jill ended up leaving with Bobby ... in their private Lear jet ... while she cried in Bobby's arms about how mean everyone was to her. AY YI YI. Folks ... it just gets better and better ALL THE TIME.

Will watch the NY housewives tonight and report next seek ... if it's good ... then I'll have lots to dish about next week!

That's all folks!

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

June 2, 2010

Saw four beavers driving to and from work today. That's four beavers too many.