That baby's ready to tend bar.

Hmm. Con: I am married to someone who has seen neither The Usual Suspects nor The Untouchables. I asked, "Are there any other 'U' movies you need to tell me about?"

Pro: The very bestest husband in the whole world bought me a Garmin Nuvi for xmas. I want to lick it, marry it, have children with it. If you know me at all, you know I cannot find my way out of a mall parking lot. No, wait...you know I cannot find my way out of a public bathroom. I get turned around with such embarrassing ease that I am no longer embarrassed by my shame.

It not only guides me everywhere (and that bossy American chick is soon to be replaced by a saucy Australian or UK man) but I can tell it restaurants I want (or it will find some for me), nearby gas stations, entertainment, anything you could possibly want except perhaps where I might find an empty parking spot downtown on a Friday night the weekend before Christmas. But picky picky.

I think the pros have it, especially considering the cons simply mean I get to watch both of those movies again. And best of all, he has somehow made it this far with no one having spoiled The Usual Suspects for him. Weird.

I can't talk to that guy. I went to private school.

Wow, so we're getting ice for the second time this year already and it's not even Christmas! This is weird. We don't normally see winter til January.

I would prefer it if my husband were also home already, as even on my ride home (I brazenly went downtown after work to indulge in fettucine alfredo and Shiraz) the bridges were accumulating black ice. I-35S was fairly lucky, but I-35N seemed to have at least 3 severe accidents in the 10-minute time span that is my drive. What can I say, Texans love to drive on ice.

But now that I am home, I am snuggled up in my hot delicious spa with a big fat cup of Earl Grey and the first disc of season 4 of Cheers on my laptop. Even if I bombed the fuck out of my test and don't ever go to law school, by god, I will have that spa.

And this clip totally made my morning. I giggled on the way to work thinking back on it. Thanks, dad!

Yoko Ono...to see the apartment!

Well, that's over with. Omg, that was a very big pooch-screwing on my part. I almost sort of freaked out at one point it was so catastrophic. But then the first section after the break was so comically easy I wondered if there was something wrong with it. Sadly, one section does not five great sections make. At least one of two particular sections is experimental and won't count. I have a section in mind I'm totally praying doesn't make the cut.

The Cayuga White from Cornell is fucking spectacular, however. Goddamn.

And I am defusing by decorating my tree and putting up lights inside. As Triana knows, you just can't have too many Christmas lights and they really do make everything better.



Also watched Planes, Trains and Automobiles, which is still pretty damn perfect. And now? Jeffrey. Seriously, I have yet to encounter the grumpiness that Jeffrey cannot remedy. Ahhhh.

Good morning! Welcome to another day of higher education!

So I was making a fire last night out of one of my old high school yearbooks (which had nothing to do with not having newspaper and everything to do with wanting to burn those fuckers). I was getting a lot of joy from the tearing out of pages and whatnot when I, perhaps due to some obligatory masochistic impulse, still felt the need to read the signed back pages. And then I found an entry that totally floored and confused me.

Not that my friends weren't witty or funny, but those yearbook entries always tended to lack intriguing content. It was startling, like finding filet mignon in a strawberry ho ho. Except not gross.

And I had no idea who "Rog." (the signee) was. I was appalled I might not recall who this infinitely cool person was. The Al Pacino reference really caught me off guard, as I did have a friend who was obsessed, but her handwriting was atrocious, so I ruled her out.

Sweet Spank,

I already miss you and your toffee-sticky fingers and shapely knees. Even though we'll still share the same city, I'll no longer see that flash of your dazzling smile in the hallway. Life's a bitch! Well hey, if anyone ever tells you to "kiss my [squirrel]" like I did when we first met, you just do to them what you did to me; what a reaction. But don't take them on any parking lot trysts; repetition is death. And I'd be jealous. I'll never forget all the guys you scoped...and tackled...and if you ever find the right one again, THIS time find out his name in the morning.

Please never forget Big Al's words of wisom..."When in doubt...*" So just go out there, my little sugarpop, and start your own teddy bear factory and never look back. (And never sleep in leather.) Please try to get over your desire for callipygian young men--there just aren't enough to go around, you know, and I'm afraid you'll steal mine. Or at least the one destined to be mine. Or whatever. But anyway they're simply all merely tentiginons and thelyphthoric, so to hell with 'em. But hey, "I'm supposed to be doing promotion here." Blah. Yearbooks always make me sob and I'm only wearing my tweed briefs (nothing to wipe my nose on) so I'll sign off now. Good luck, sugar pop!

Your comedy partner,
XXX
XX Rog.

*In Scent of a Woman, Al Pacino advises his cat, "When in doubt, fuck."

But anyway, there you have it. I was stunned. And I'm sure it's because I was stressed and tired and thinking in high school mind-frame, but of course I still know the very witty person who wrote this.

My sister Alex! We did have an overlapping year together in high school, but I have no doubt this was written at home in a full-on tonuge-in-cheek-fuck-this-yearbook-shit gesture. It stood out from the tripe then and it really does now.

The handwriting was obviously familiar, and of course "squirrel" totally seals the deal. Ok, that and the Pacino line. But whew! It just confused me to read something that made me laugh hysterically in my own yearbook, it was so gloriously out of place.

(And hey, Alex, just for you, this is post #666, wewt!)

Scared? Hell, no. I'm looking FORWARD to it. My only regret, Carol, is that the plan isn't more violent.

Yes, I'm pretty sure the hot bartender just saw me snap my fingers at my computer (a gay finger-snap, in case you need clarification) while he was collecting my pizza remnants.

For the record, one glass of wine is really more than enough, I don't care if your therapist's appointment is that night.

That's my mom's most favorite piece!

Ok, wtf. I'm at Uno's and normally they are so on the ball. But apparently if you come in before 5 it's just to drown your sorrows in beer and wine? Cause I have a glass of wine and NO ONE has checked on me in 20 minutes. I'm all, hey, I've got a doctor's appointment to get to, y'all wanna feed me maybe?

And I didn't even read this whole article that Emily sent me cause I heard it on the news this morning and it's fucking depressing. Just MORE INCENTIVE to get the fuck out.

Speaking of which, I went to check out my LSAT test center cause I have no sense of direction and I'm the sort of person who needs to stake out the room beforehand. (Yes, I pass it nearly every day on my way to booze it up, but bite me.) Apparently as soon as you enter the building it's anal-patrol time security-wise, so no worries about not being able to find the room. But they were all, "Hey, were you the one whose husband called about being taken to see the room?" In retrospect I should have been ALL INTO THAT. "Maybe, or no, but can I see the room?" I know I could have, but who cares really. I am amused that someone is that...um...troubled?...that her husband has to call about getting her "in" to see "the room." Word, woman.

Dude, it's like they're afraid of me here. ASK ME IF I WANT PIZZA, BITCHES. I TRIPLE DOG DARE YOU.

Anyhoo. GUESS WHAT! GUESS who I'm gonna go see! No, you'll never guess. It's too awesome. Totally. Well, Alex and I (and my hubby) are going to go see (assuming the ticketmaster site doesn't screw up or hate us, you never know)...oh yes, wait for it...goodness me, ROBIN FUCKING WILLIAMS, ohmygodyes. It's like the time I was dirt-ass poor in Austin and then Paul Simon came to town. It's not "Can I afford it?" it's "What can I sell besides my body? Unless I have to and then that might actually be an option?" Anyone who wants in on that action should say so by Saturday, baby.

I smell ice cream.

For the record, my eyes are broken and can't even READ anymore. Fuck this noise.

I bit myself shaving.

It's Wednesday and I can feel the crazy oozing out a little here and there. My big test is Saturday. Did you know they fingerprint you for this test? You can bring your #2 pencils, a juice box and snack (but don't even LOOK AT IT unless it's during the ONE 15-minute break), and your prayers and that's it. Oh, and your test ticket and government-issued ID.

I had to register with LSAC's site (well, I didn't HAVE TO, but the law schools PREFER IT) which was $117. And the LSAT test itself is, I forget, maybe $120? It's just like Leo says, man, they fuck you at the drive-thru.

I have 5-7 schools in mind for applying, which should come in around $350-500.

So I thought I'd drink a little.

Just kidding. But I will be doing quite a bit Saturday night. I figure after my test (it's probably going to run around 5-6 hours?) on Saturday I'll hit the Flying Saucer around 2pm (the test is right across from the Water Gardens, so I'm five minutes from FOOD and more importantly, BEER) for a VERY unhealthy lunch (say it with me now: CHEESE FRIES) and then I'll head home to defuse with some xmas decorating, if there's any left (we're getting the tree tonight). And I am then making my way up to my roof to drink my Cayuga White--the wine made with grapes grown at Cornell. There may or may not be a cigar involved. I would almost smoke something else if a girl was hip enough to have such connections, but oh well.

Then Sunday? My ass is going to (assuming I'm not incredibly fragile from the previous day) hit the theater ALL DAY LONG, BABY. The Spirit Award nominations have me itching to see Rachel Getting Married. (I have a secret crush on Anne Hathaway but don't really seek her out since she tends to be in CRAP.) Gonna follow that up with The Changeling and Australia, in whatever order suits the times. They're all at Grapevine Mills, so anyone (Alex?) wanting to is more than welcome to join!



Kinda want to save this one for last because I'm a little precious that way.

I want you to take away the hope because that's the thing that's killing me.

So there is this girl at work who is new and she actually reads. It's weird, I know, but work with me here. And she reminded me that Denis Leary's new book is out and she thinks it's hysterical. So let's take a moment here.

A) There is a girl at work who reads.
B) She likes Denis Leary.
C) The name of the book is Why We Suck.



So this girl is okay by me. And she's from Seattle, so that seems to be a good thing if you ask me. I was looking at schools in that neck of the woods (Washington and Oregon) but all the write-ups were trying, as kindly as possible, to say, "Well, it's a good school and all...look, it's good for getting jobs in the area." Like, "He's nice, but I would only take him to the Chinese take-out place near my house after sex." Like that.

Anyhoo. So I made a request at the library (they had it!!) and I'm #3 in line. I hope I get it before Christmas, it seems appropriate.

Especially after trying to get home Sunday. I was trying to merge onto the highway in Denton to get to Fort Worth and it was wall-to-wall traffic at the merge. So this douchebag mothercuntstain would NOT let me in. I honked at him and he was ON THE PHONE but he managed to honk back. So no big, whatev, fuck you, I'll just cruise along slowly here on the shoulder and get in behind you. Beautifully, so choice, so in-the-holiday-spirit, the shit-stain of a loser behind him? Yeah, he wouldn't let me in either. I was half a second away from getting out of my car and gesturing wildly to everyone around me. So I was reconciled to driving on the shoulder for a good little while til they managed to pass.

Gotta love it.

This is why I need to read a very not-so-subtle Denis Leary book this time of year. To keep me from pulling out my mutherfuckin' shotgun.

Oh! And I saw Milk this weekend. It's at one theatre here (the arthouse I used to work in, naturally), but I'm over it, I can attend. It was really fucking good. My sister and I had only mild disagreements about its approach. First of all, it's a Gus Van Sant film. And I was SO GODDAMN PROUD to find that he is still capable of making yes, a LINEAR AND COHERENT film. Someone get the man a goddamn cookie.

It is, full stop, all about the acting here.



Everyone is FABOO, especially Sean Penn, and I am really not the huge Sean Penn fan. He is just SO SERIOUS. This role was so different from ANYTHING I'd ever seen him do, and honestly? He was ADORABLE. If he brought me to that line of thinking in the introductory scene alone, we can just say he's gifted, okay?

And Josh Brolin? Seriously. I simply cannot recall the last time I saw someone with so many fingers in so many pies. Go him. As long as he is keeping my woman, Diane Lane, happy and rolling in dough, I will totally support him.

Alex and I discussed how linear and by-the-numbers it is. It is a fairly standard bio-pic. I really enjoyed the cinematography but she felt it only added to the distance felt by the audience. That whole moment-captured-in-amber feel. And I agree with her, but I like that sometimes. While I don't normally go for standard and formulaic, I also really don't trust Van Sant to know a happy medium. He only does extremes, from what I can tell.



And considering the topic (most certainly in light of the timing--I will join everyone and their dog in saying I really, really wish this had come out before the vote on Prop 8), I am totally happy not to be swayed by its simplicity. I found the performances more than enough. Every once in a while, I am really quite easy to please.

And I say that Milk was easily one of the best of the year (not that I've seen much), due entirely and exclusively to performances and the topic. That is pretty hard to do--I honestly didn't think the screenplay or the director did anything terribly noteworthy. And I could be talking out of my ass, but for what it's worth, I say go see it: it's a good fuckin' time. Totally cute, entertaining and to no one's surprise, quite sad and depressing.