Please standby....
While CrazyVirgo regains consciousness and gathers new inspiration for blogging, please enjoy the following YouTube vids and the Douchiest Voice Mail Message ever. Check back for CrazyVirgo2.0 shortly.
in Pictures
Eargasm
March is by far the best month of the year
March. NCAA. Brackets. Basketball. St. Patrick's Day. Beer.What's not to love about this month? Once every few years, when we are sublimely lucky, the first round of the NCAA tournament will fall on St. Patrick's Day and then, well take the day off because it might as well be a national holiday. But all in all, March could quite well be the perfect month. There is college basketball on every single day of the month, which means no boredom and no reason to pick up a book. This also means it's safe to spend time alone drinking beer at a bar with no fear of people thinking you have drinking issues because Hey, you're just catching a game during lunch whilst sitting at the bar having a beer by yourself. It's a-ok. Everyone understands your devotion, because they have it too. For whatever reason it's different to sit by yourself at a bar, drink beer and watch the news. And then St. Patrick's Day - the holiday American's have adopted as their excuse to get shitfaced on Guinness, insult the Irish by taking Irish car bomb shots and wear green. What's not to love there? And then mid-March comes around and it's NCAA tournament time. On the list of what white people love, this is somewhere very near the top. Yes, I join white people everywhere in loving little else more than speculating away 8 hours of my work day on filling out that piece of paper, picking Cinderella teams, and using words like "bracket busters" and "bubble teams." I love throwing $20 into the office pool and knowing for sure that this year I'm gonna take those basketball-novice-sucker-co-workers for a ride only to lose to that one fool that picks the winner by mascot and wins every last dollar. But whatever, how can I be angry when it's possibly to spend a full 12-hour day at a bar with fellow basketball lovers drinking and yelling at the TV? Cheering my heart out for the Horizon Conference champ that just barely made it into the tournament and crying into my beer with KU chokes....again. As a woman, all I have to do this month to gain a foothold in the equality race with men is throw out some college stats, a coaches name or two, complain that the 'Cuse was robbed again, and chug a PBR and I'm in. It's by far the easiest month for a basketball loving woman like myself to gain respect from men, which, again, is cause to celebrate. More beers!!
Anyway, if you can't find me this month, chances are I"m either at a bar drinking a beer and watching a game or on my couch, drinking a beer, watching a game. I wish the same to you.
Oh, and I'll just go ahead and say it, becuase it's March: KU is looking really solid. I think this might be their year. THere, now they can crap themselves and choke right around the Great 8 round.
There's nothing on TV
Last Sunday, Gentleman Lover and I put yet another enriching HBO series to bed. "The Wire" had its last episode after 5 wonderful years covering corruption and police work in Baltimore. We realized, while wallowing in our depression, that we can measure the longevity of our relationship by HBO series's. We've started and finished "Six Feet Under," "Rome," "Sex and the City," "The Sopranos." Sad? I dunno. What is sad, however, is that there's no new or promising series on the horizon for HBO. Usually when these series end, there's one on their tale. But HBO is currently navigating the world of psychotherapy which seems to interest....uh, NO ONE. And that show about the lives of different couples, that was really just a front for showing "normal" people having sex and old people giving blow jobs, doesn't seem to have gone anywhere.
So now, I have very little to look forward to on Sunday nights, which used to be the supreme night for TV. What's an HBO-loving woman to do? Read a book? Sigh. I'm so desperate for an HBO series that I've actually made a reminder to watch that miniseries called "John Adams." Yea.... desperation strikes and I'm going to watch a historical mini-series. Truly, I wouldn't watch any other channel, save Comedy Central, if HBO would just give me another great series. 500+ channels on Comcast, and I've got nothing to watch anymore.
This is pathetic.
The Jewelry Wars
Over the holiday season, if you watched even 5 minutes of television, like me you were probably bombarded by jewelry commercials.
"He went to Jerod"
"Every Kiss Begins with Kay"
Jerod. Kay. Jerod. Kay.
It didn't matter what channel I watched, ESPN, Comedy Central, ABC, NBC, CBS, SpikeTV. Jewelry doesn't discriminate, apparently. It got to a point where I didn't know who I hated more, Jerod or Kay. Basically, I wished pain and death to them both. Then I wondered, are the Jerod people declaring war on the Kay people? Are they two different tribes? Are these horrible slogans their battle cries?
And then I thought, Actually I could give a flying fuck. I hope they massacre each other and then I can watch TV in peace.
Meet the Throat Rippa
In an effort to explain where the heck I've been and why the heck I've been denying the interwebs my voice, I'd like to introduce you to the newest member of the CrazyVirgo Family:
His name will be kept secret, as mine as Gentleman Lovers are, to protect his cuteness. We'll just call him The Throat Rippa, because he does have a sordid past, and while he looks like the sweetest, most perfect dog ever, it's just his cover. He will most certainly rip a muthafuckas throat if they test him.
We got this old man - 8 dog years = 56 human years - about a month ago from an animal "sanctuary" in SE Colorado. I use the word "sanctuary" loosely because TTR had a raging case of mange and nails that curled like FloJo. I'm sure the woman who ran the place had the best intentions in mind, saving the dogs from the gas chamber, but this place was no Motel 6. GL and I had been looking for the perfect dog for quite some time, and waddyaknow, we found him. The Throat Rippa has the greatest personality, instantly loved us, and was dying to escape his questionable life at the sanctuary. Basically, Gentleman Lover and I are The Drummonds and The Throat Rippa's life is DIfferen't Strokes. After a bath, a nail clip, a trip to the vet,a wad of cash, two weeks wearing a lampshade and taking antibiotics and Benadryll, he's finally a (semi)normal dog.
He'll hate me for this, but here's a pic of him in the lampshade:
To make a long story short and spare you the dirty details, The Throat Rippa was rippin' throats in Hutchison, Kansas, when the Po Po picked him up. Because he was determined to be nearly 8 years old, they figured no one would adopted him. Do they throw out old humans when they get too old?? I think not. Anyway, the TR was forced to live among common criminal dogs in a low-grade Kansas pound where he contracted mange - I'm guessing from either a one-nighter with a slutty poodle, or from gang bang with some pit bulls. He nearly gnawed off his paws, he was so itchy, so we had to keep this lampshade on him, much to his dismay.
Still, cutest dog on Earth.
I swear, I'm like a new mother with a camera. I have no less that 5 new pictures a day, A DAY people, of this adorable dog. The poor guy can barely take a #2 without me following him around with a camera. He doesn't have
much room to complain though. He's got it pretty good.
So far, we've learned that TTR's favorite hobby is sleeping, followed closely by eating. Much to our dismay, he's not really a fetcher. He has momentary spurts of energy where he'll chase a knotted rope, but really, he just likes sticking his nose under a pillow and getting in a few good, 6 or 7 hours of a nap. (see evidence to the right - on GL's lap & a vacation condo in Vail.)
Even though we didn't know TTR for the majority of his life, we can tell he was a good hunting beagle. On many a walk, GL and I have witnessed his hound skills. This Mofo will pick up a sent and let out a blood curdling howl to alert the hunter's - me or GL - that he's found.... a large tuft of grass. We have to assure the other dog guardians that he's not in any major pain, and that in fact, he's just exerting his reason for being. His howl is not your normal beagle howl, but rather, more like an old beagle with emphysema...very much a smoker's howl. He weezes from time to time, which sounds, as one onlooker so vividly put it, like he's hacking up a pine cone. Well, I didn't say he was normal, did I? It would be unlike GL and I to get a "normal" dog. And speaking of not normal, just like us, he has a very finicky palate. He won't eat just any old treat out of a bucket. He prefers carob chip and peanut butter dog bars or chicken and rice dog jerky, or crunchy vegetable and rice bites. Yes, our dog, though a previous vagrant, is no garbage hound.
So, devoted reader, this is what CV has been up to for the last month - mothering an old dog. I'm sure there will be much more to come TTR aka Cutest Beagle ever. Here's one for the road:
Oh what glorious morning
KU won the Orange Bowl in a surprising upset, proving it's not just a one-dimensional sports school. Obama won the Iowa Caucus, proving that America does want change! I'm walking on a cloud this morning. The air has never smelled so good. The sky has never been so blue. Hopefully this will only lead to finding a $100 bill on the sidewalk, a hamburger delivered to my desk at approximately 12 noon, and George Clooney gets lost on the street outside my house. Ahh.... dare to dream.
CrazyVirgo - A Year in Review
It's been a year, kids. Since last year at this time, I've moved to Boulder, got a sweet job, got married, got hit by a car, went to Belize, made my directorial debut on YouTube, visited Kansas City (2xs)/ Atlanta/ Telluride, saw a lot of movies, read a lot of books, and perfected a recipe for meatballs. Yep, a pretty good year. Sure, I didn't climb a mountain, run a marathon, save children, find a cure for the common cold, but it feels like it might have been an above average year for this underachiever. I think it was double-whammy of getting married and getting hit by a car that pushed me into the Good-superior year category. And just to lay your fears to rest, I got hit on my bike, nothing serious happened, and thanks to a certain doctor here in Boulder I have more than enough pills to live pain-free through 2008, and then check myself into rehab.
With the good, there was also the bad. Granted, there was no drunk driving incident. I didn't get knocked up. Nobody got a picture of my choocha while I was exiting a car. I didn't get mauled by any zoo animals. I wasn't paid billions of dollars to get married and sire a turkey baster injected child. I didn't appear on a reality TV show. But, there were a few blips on the radar, and with that I give you:
3. Drinking too many martini's at GL holiday party forcing GL to be my caretaker while I vomited on my arm and went completely limp in the cab on the way home, and appear the next day at my office as a walking molotov cocktail.
All in all, I think I did pretty well. Me and 2007 got along like two kids in a sandbox, throwing sand into each other's eyes, then hugging it out afterward.
Happy New Year!!
iPhone, my savior.
Last night, I lost my wallet. This is an event that has happened to me more than I'd like to admit. I was at the grocery store, attempting to pay for $7 worth of soup when I realized my small credit-card sized wallet wasn't in pocket. Shit. I searched my car frantically. Nothing. I drove, in the snowy night, back to the store I had just been to and checked the dressing room. Not there. I retraced the block and a half from my car to the store, scowering the snowy sidewalk, even getting down on my belly to check under the car that was in the spot I had previously parked in. No luck.Tears. Screams and thrusting fists into the air. Why god Why? Damnit! I drove home cursing my own carelessness. Why? Why? Do I have bad Karma? I got home and sat down to call my bank and credit cards to report my asinine behavior. No sooner than I got off the phone with my bank and American Express, then my doorbell rang. Hmm... Who could that be? It's 9 p.m. and I don't really know anyone in my neighborhood. Standing outside my front door, in the cold, snowy night were two men. It went down like this:
ME: Can I help you?
GUY 1: We found your wallet.
ME: (inaudible) WHAT?!?!?! Where?
GUY 2: In our parking space. We tried to find your phone number, but you're unlisted or something.
ME: So How did you find me?
GUY 1: Well, we were having dinner downtown, and your drivers license was in your wallet. So, I looked up your address on my iPhone on Google maps, and here we are.
GUY 2: We're just two guys from Illinois. We don't even know our way around, but we found ya.
ME: Wow! Thank you so much. I just cancelled all my cards, but thank you.
GUY 1: Yeah, we figured you might have been freaking out.
ME: Well, thanks again.
uncomfortable silence. Guys still standing at the front door. Looking at me. What do they want?
ME: Ok, well happy holidays.
And Scene.
Really. If someone had put a black backdrop behind these two guys, it could have been an iPhone commercial.I really do wish I could have given them a twenty or something. But, I had no cash, and just disabled my debit cards, so, sorry guys. They were my dad's age. Did they really need the dough? What about just a good, old fashioned thank you? What about the incredible karma they will have for the next few days? I hope they're ok with that.
There's a lesson to be learned by my asinine behavior. BUY AN IPHONE! I intend to. Lucky for me, my employers just gave me a gift certificate for one - but that's another story.
God I hate jeans with stuff sewn into the ass pockets
On the list of things i hate, and it's a really short list because I believe life is too short to hate, are designer jeans with their label embroidered all over the back pockets. I expect this from women, I guess. But what gets me even more than a woman with her back pockets full of someone's brand, over-designed, is when a man does it.
Observe:
What the hell is going on with our asses? They've become walking billboards. Remember when the only thing going on back there was a triangle, maybe a wavy line denoting Lee jeans? Now, I can't pretend I don't own a pair of Seven Jeans (ok, two). Because I do. I bought them in 2001 when no one knew about them. Yes, I'm that girl that bought them WHEN. And, I'll admit it. They make your ass look great, no matter how flat and square it is, which happens to be my problem. BUT, I demoted them to the bottom of my closet denim pile when the price equaled the same as a barrel of oil and the ass pocket design became entirely too flagrant.
I'm sticking with Levi's and continuing snarls at those that are silently screaming "Look how pretty my ass pockets are! LOOK. AT. THEM. In case you didn't notice my ass, I had it designed special for you."
Christmas in my head
Now that it's officially December, I'll start getting into the holiday spirit. If you know anything about me, you know that there's nothing more I hate than jumping the gun on the holidays. Nothing makes me boil over with fury and public displays of anger more than Macy's/Walgreen's/Costco/Safeway/7-11 displaying their holiday decorations when there's still Halloween on the shelves. I HATE - and that's a strong word - that Santa and a Jack-o-lantern are sitting next to each other on a shelf, both dying to be taken home in your trunk. That Happy Thanksgiving is sprayed on store front windows in fake snow, therefore not alienating the current holiday, but pushing the next holiday's decorations.
Setttle.
In anycase, now that I've managed that anger, and now avoid those situation, and with the calender turned to December, I'm able to fully enjoy the Holiday's with gusto and joy. And with that thought I'd like to share with you how Christmas plays out. In my head.
Recent Comments