A Room of One's Own

Oh, how I hate lists.

I just felt very inadequate.

I am having this little boredom issue. Just bored right off my ass. So, I decided that maybe if I made myself something to do, I would feel better. After some good long deliberation, I decided to seek out the list of the 100 Greatest Novels of All Time. I was going to read every single damn last one of them and I don;t care how long it was going to take me! I woud be bored no longer and I could brag shamelessly. I would brag shamelessly, too, mind you. I do stuff like that all the time.

I set out to find the list, thinking I was going to be already quite ahead of the game. See, I have a degree in English and taught high school for 4 years. I got my little highlighter out and got ready to just start crossing off all those books I had read off the list. Um, yeah. Not so much. I read the #2 book - The Great Gatsby. Good for me. I also had #13 - 1984. I didn't have another on the list until #41 - Lord of the Flies. At this point, I am feeling like I should get my college money back because I got seriously screwed. #55 - On the Road. Check. #64 - Cather in the Rye. Check.

Then it happened. I saw that #77 was Finnegan's Wake by James Joyce. What the fuck? Seriously? If you've ever seen this book you know that it is not written in English. It's written in raging crazy drunk Irishmanese, and I ain't fluent in that! I tried reading it as though I was the Swedish Chef from the Muppet Show. Perhaps that would help it make sense. Really, phonetically, I thought it was going to work. Nope. I read an article that states that no one knows exactly what this book is about as no one has been able to clearly "translate" it. Yes. I see. Being in coherent, apparently, makes you a leterary genius.

I just threw the lsit in the trash. I'm still looking for a hobby.

Today, for you, almost free.

I’m a haggler. I am certain, in most situations in which I am purchasing something, that I can get it cheaper. I think that in college, they should offer a class in haggling. It could be a companion to Basic Finance or something along that line.

I’m not sure if this qualifies me for being called cheap. But yesterday, I haggled the pool company and my pool will now cost me $1500 less than the original price. So really, I don’t give shit what you call me. I once read that price negotiation can happen almost anywhere if you have tact enough to pull it off. The jury is still out on whether I have tact in general, so I haven’t attempted this.

My main experience in haggling is a direct result of many trips across the border. I’m pretty damn good at it. I once haggled a guy in Nogales from $98 for a metal Javalina down to $27. I love that damn Javalina, useless as he may be. I have learned, also, that humor can help haggling. In Tijuana, a guy had a ring I HAD to have. After a bit a while we hit an impasse. I decided that we could flip a coin, he called heads or tails and whoever won got their price. I did this all in Spanish. And I won. I then confused the man when I went dancing down the street singing “We Are the Champions.”

I’m thinking I could offer up my services to you. Really. I’ll even negotiate my price.

Take THAT dumb boys!

I have a theory. I have many of them. This is just the first one I’m sharing. There will be more. My theory is that all girls are born with the innate knowledge of how important the hair toss is. Really. Drive by a junior high. There are girls tossing their hair to and fro like a swarm of bees had just landed there. The cutest thing is that many of them seem completely oblivious to the fact that they’re doing it. It’s as if their brain has not actually sent a message to the hand. The hand is working completely on its on accord.

To substantiate my theory, I take you back to my kindergarten bus days. Even as a tomboy, I was innately aware of the significance of this gesture, if you will. I rode the bus with two boys I knew, one of which lived across the street. They picked on me. I picked on them. It was a friendly feud (until I stole Ryan’s Hans Solo action figure but that is a story for another day.) I had long hair and dreams of telling them off on the bus and then turning around so fast that my hair HIT them, both, in the face. Precocious child? Me? Noooooo.

My dreams were crushed when my mother took me to the hair salon and had them cut my hair into a “pixie” hair cut. I was mortified. But, it was not because my mother made me look like this:

No. And I had every right to be pissed at the haircut in general. What really killed me was the thought that I would never, ever be able to slap boys in the face with my hair as an expression of my power. And at age 5, I was totally aware of the power that my hair could yield. I continue to be impressed by women who are adults who can pull of the hair toss without looking like an idiot. My sister was the master of the hair toss and could even do the hair toss-giggle combo flawlessly. Oh it was a thing of beauty. For extra flair, she could do the hair toss-giggle combo with the arm touch. Really, it would render men speechless. I beg you, next time you are just watching people, look for it. You’ll see it. It’s certainly become a staple of the North American mating ritual.

The Incognito Mom Package

Yesterday. I had to take a group of five Vice Presidents of a large national home builder company on a tour of where I work. This is fun for me. I get to play grown up. Immediately after being informed of my mission though, I panic.

Let's take about my car. I drive a Chevy trailblazer. Fits 7. Good enough. It is used as child transport. I have an 18 month old. Imagine, if you dare, what my car may look like. Now, I keep it devoid of crap but really, my kid is good at sippy cup flinging. The side door is NOT pretty. So I go to the "Auto Spa." I'm in Scottsdale here, people, even our cars go to the spa. I pull up to the guy. He asks what my car would like done. Not kidding. Like the car has a fuckin' option? I ask him if there is anything he can do to make it look like my kid has never stepped foot in it. "Oh," he says. "You want the Incongito Mom Package. We do that." Praise Jesus. This man is my new best friend. Off my car goes.

I am sitting at the "Auto Spa Relaxation Center." Scottsdale. I am now people wathing the other folks treating their car to a "treatment." There was some very fine people watching. I saw:

* 4 short men in overly big trucks.
* 2 women in shoes that a stripper would not even wear. Mind you, this was paired with business attire.
* 1 woman who was wearing a dog as an accessory.

My favorite was the guy who went inside and came back out only to find someone else had parked too close to his car. I am not kidding, the guy stood there and stared at him car for 5 minutes pondering the situation. I thought maybe he was trying to use the force to move it. If he was, Yoda would be pissed at his efforts.

$60 later my car looks great. Unfortunatley, I had all this done the day OF the tour. The floors were still damp. I can tell you that my car had enough humidity in it for the rest of the day, it could have been considered a traveling weather station. And it rained...

Dun Dun Dun Duuuuuuuun

I love football. I love football more than most girly girls should. Last night was the first Monday Night Football game of preseason. I must admit, my heart went quite pitter pat at the sound of the Monday Night Football theme song. I have even changed my ring tone on my phone to this little ditty.

I’ll even come out and say it. I love John Madden. I love how much he loves to use the pen to write all over the damned screen. Hell, if you gave me one of those things, it would be u-u-u-ugly.

I’ll also admit that I miss Dennis Miller. Now THAT was fun! I consider myself to be smarter than the average bear. I claim this simply on the fact that I understood 80% of what he was talking about. It bonded us together. I am saddened that some secret club was never started based on the understanding of Dennis Miller.

Now, the Packers are my team. As this is most likely the last year I will get to see Brett Favre play, I am all about him. DO NOT try to talk to me on Sunday unless it is the Packers bye week. I am going to try to start a tradition in our family this year. I will be taking my sweet little daughter out with me to raise the Packer flag in front of our house and I am working on a Packer Prayer. I’ll keep you posted on how that goes. We will then commence football watching. And there will be cheese.

The dumbing down of my DVD player.

Okay, I’ll say it. I am a connoisseur of dumb movies. Now, don’t get me wrong. I enjoy thought-provoking film as well. I enjoy artsy films in foreign languages. But really, I own Weekend at Bernie’s. I could not agree more with Chandler Bing when he said that there is nothing funnier than a dead guy being hit in the groin over and over again.

And here’s the kicker. I watch them several times. It’s not enough to watch it and let it go. No, I felt the need to purchase Starsky and Hutch. I got it “previously viewed” of course. I never said that I, myself, was stupid. I’m not going to pay full price for dumb. But, if dumb is on sale, I’m buyin’ it. And if Will Ferrell takes his clothes off and does something stupid in a movie, I am all about that.

But notice I did not say fan. No, no. I am a dumb movie snob. There are a few dumb movies I will not watch. A girl must have her standards, after all. If the movie involves an African American male playing half the roles in the movie by dressing up as random relatives or other people, I ain’t goin’ there. Robin Williams. Funny as an old woman. Martin Lawrence. Not so much.

And I hate space movies. My husband went through a phase where all he wanted to do was rent really dumb movies about Mars. And there are hoards of them out there. I had to put him on Mars movie probation.

I think that there should be a show which reviews only dumb movies. They don’t need to be new. Just dumb movies. And not just thumbs up, thumbs down. This would be a deep analytic discussion of the genre. I’d be willing to host.