luxe overload

Elsewhere, in Bizarro World . . .

2010-04-28T19:18:00.002-05:00

So, I recently broke up with my boyfriend, who shall remain nameless. I told him, post breakup, that I didn't want to be friends. He didn't take it well, I guess.

I know this because when I saw him on Saturday night, he tried to start a fight with a perfectly nice man that was hitting on my friend. Which puts us smack dab in the middle of the bizarre world in which I have lived since I broke up with "He Who Shall Not Be Named". Since our relationship ended, I've been on a dating roll. People keep introducing me to eligible men they know, which is delightful and flattering. But, HWSNBN is so unpredictable and well, crazy, that I'm afraid he'll try to beat up anyone I'm on a date with. And yet, I'm a girl who likes to take risks, so I've gone out on many dates and handed out my phone number like it was Kleenex for the last month.

So far, it's gone pretty well. I posted a profile on match.com, and quickly figured out that the men on match.com were the exact same men on match.com that were there a year ago. So, that's an experiment that I'm going to say was an epic fail. Two relationships in two years, both of which started online and both of which ended with me having to say, "Never call me again." I'm sticking to the random meetings and blind dates.

Speaking of random meetings, Saturday night, a friend and I were at a local wine bar and these two random guys walk up and start hitting on us. Nice. We moved to the next bar, and the socializing continued, and at the end of the night we parted ways. Today, as I'm walking out of my office, the unexpected happened.

A guy pulls up in a sweet convertible, and yells out, "Kate!" I look over and think, "I don't know anyone who drives a car like that..." He goes, "It's R., from Saturday night!" He hopped out of his car and told me that he didn't have a chance to get my number on Saturday, but that he was in the area after a golf game, and thought he'd drop by my office and see if he could pop in and say hello, get my number, etc.

Who does that? First, it was really unexpected. Second, that's pretty ballsy. I like ballsy.

Cue the creepy music . . .

2010-04-04T23:07:00.002-05:00

I'm ba-aaaaaaack!

That's right, faithful readers. I have broken up with yet another boyfriend, and am going to be returning to blogging. About what, I don't know, because I cannot commit fully to dating right now. I'm too busy with work and very important endeavors like working on my golf swing and drinking too much wine. That being said, I am totes on match.com and hope to have many fun stories to share with you. Also, I have decided to finally act upon a long time crush and try to catch the eye of someone around the courthouse. No, you don't know who it is and no I'm not going to tell you, so don't ask. However, for the first person who figures it out, without me having told them who it was before this post, I shall give a special prize.

Haiku

2009-07-14T19:50:00.003-05:00

Why, Whataburger?
Your ketchup is so good, your
calories so high.

My Current Shame

2009-07-14T16:31:00.004-05:00

Recently, my match.com membership expired. I didn't renew it, for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is how depressing it had gotten. But, I am embarrassed to say that I miss it. Aside from the fact that it gave me something to do while awaiting my turn at the bench, it was entertaining. Going on a few bad dates a week was an activity, albeit a dissatisfying one, and I rarely had to pay for my own martinis. Now, I not only have to pay for my own drinks, but I've been reduced to jogging as a way to occupy my evenings. I am so sore that I can't sit on the toilet without groaning aloud and I no longer have an excuse to wear shorts with high heels. Also, I've nearly had a heat stroke twice. Which is the exact number of times that I've been jogging. Damn. The plus side for all of you, of course, is that I am apparently blogging again with some regularity.

The Conversation I'm Currently Having With Myself

2009-07-13T16:38:00.002-05:00

Evil Kitty: You know what sounds really good right now? An Oreo Blizzard. With extra Oreo!

Good Kitty: Ooohhh . . . good call. Cold and crunchy and creamy . . . when did we decide to gain ten pounds?

Evil Kitty: Gain ten pounds? It's just ice cream. How often do we eat ice cream?

Good Kitty: Well, Fat Ass, apparently every day since you decided to start making it homemade. And now you want to drive across town to get it with cookies.

Evil Kitty: Yeah, but it'll be a small one.

Good Kitty: But, wouldn't you rather use those calories to drink alcohol?

Evil Kitty: Good point.

Oh, Goody! More gifts!

2009-07-13T15:27:00.002-05:00

Today, I received a second piece of art from my client. Apparently, he sent it to the judge (whose name you can probably guess), and the judge returned it. I wonder why? That fringe is painstakingly hand-tied. The two hearts represent the two convicts who were crucified alongside Jesus Christ. Seriously.

Hmph.

2009-07-12T20:46:00.003-05:00

I am, once again, conflicted. A union of flight attendants is upset, because one of the uniform choices is only available up to a size 18. Apparently, the union thinks that it should be made up to a size 28. Isn't there some point where we all must sit back and realize that people are not created equal? And by equal, I don't necessarily mean some are better and some are worse, I just mean different. Recently, I went on a cruise, and learned an important lesson from my fellow passengers: Just because you can physically tie something around you doesn't necessarily mean you should wear it. String bikinis are a privilege, not a right.

I went to the mall today, and my eyes were assaulted with young women wearing shorts that were three inches too short and two sizes too small. Why does the mere existence of an item of clothing entitle you to wear it in public? It's as though America has traded it's three-way mirrors for an endless supply of chicken nuggets and soft serve. When I was heavier, I worked very hard to minimize my fat rolls and maximize my better features. There is a limit to what the public wants to see, regardless of how comfortable people are in showing it off. I read the article to which this post is linked (above) and was dumbfounded. The article says that workers above a size 18 are entitled to the same sexy manner of dress as workers who wear a size 2, and that by failing to manufacture the dress larger than a size 18, the airline is essentially telling it's size 20 and larger employees that the airline doesn't want them to wear the sexier options. Why is that a bad thing? How sexy do you need to look as you check my baggage? How much cleavage do these women want to show as they demonstrate in-flight safety? What's next? Victoria's Secret employees striking because they don't get to wear lingerie on the sales floor?

Must've Been the Full Moon

2009-07-12T20:31:00.004-05:00

In the past week, the following things have happened:

I got added on facebook by a guy I went out on a date with one time, over a month ago. I told him after the date that I didn't want to see him again. Apparently, he took that to mean that, while I wasn't interested in dating him, I did have available the position of internet stalker.

While checking my email, a guy that I went out with three times (in January) sent me a request to chat. I told him after the third date that I wasn't interested. He is one persistent mofo. If you scroll through past posts, you'll remember him as "Blue".

I saw the ex, Mike, at the courthouse. He's working there. We didn't talk, but we did make eye contact, and because I'm a total dork, I gave him this wave, like, "Hey, there, guy. Sorry I broke your heart 43 days ago. I hope you're faring well."

I got catcalled walking into my office. By a guy in a Ford F-150 that had a PA system mounted in the grill. It was strange, because at the moment that I heard, "Hey, pretty lady," I was torn between two frames of mind. On the one hand, who wants to get catcalled by some d-bag in a tan late model Ford? On the other hand, how cool is that guy for having a PA system installed in his truck?

I got hit on by a child in municipal court. Seriously, he may have been 19 years old.

I received a very special gift in the mail from one of my clients who is currently languishing in the Montgomery County Jail. It's a hand-drawn picture (in ink and pencil) and a cross pendant that has been fashioned from string and tinfoil. I am flattered and totally creeped out.

I tell you this, not so that you'll think that I am hot shit. Oh no. I tell you this to highlight the fact that, in one week, I have interacted, in some way, with six different men who either want to or have wanted to go out on a date with me. None of them are suitable.

Ice Cream and Champagne

2009-06-28T21:32:00.001-05:00

I have been making homemade ice cream for the last two days straight. And yet, with each batch, I eat a bowl, just to make sure it tastes "right". Also, I've decided that the appropriate beverage for making ice cream is champagne. I can think of very few occasions on which champagne is not the appropriate beverage, other than funerals. Funerals call for something warm and painful like whiskey spiked coffee . . .

Back on the Market

2009-06-27T20:00:00.004-05:00

So, in the past few weeks, I've been doing the online dating thing again. Tragic, I know, but it's better than being bored in the evenings. Things haven't really changed. There is one constant on all of my match dates - we all talk about the weird people we've been on bad dates with. It's wildly entertaining, in part because I now know that most women alive today are completely psycho and are all cheaters. It's astounding. Without exception, every single man I've been on a date with in the past month has been cheated on or needed a restraining order against a woman they've only been out with once. It's astounding. That being said, it's no real surprise that a couple of these guys have been cheated on. There've been some doozies. I shall tell you about them now . . .

1. I met a guy for dinner in Bryan. In his pictures, he looked fit, handsome, and young for his age. That's because his pictures were at least a decade old. And had apparently been airbrushed. Because he had horrifyingly pock-marked skin. Also, he had the physical appearance of someone who had recently melted slightly. You, know, when a man's gut sits a little too low and he's started to appear slightly pear-shaped? Ugh. Throughout our conversation, he proceeded to tell me the story of how his marriage ended, which was depressing, because she cheated on him twice. As the conversation progressed, we started talking about his kids (all three of 'em), and how his daughter takes after him, because she's not competitive. The following interchange took place:

"You know, I'm not really competitive."

"Really?"

"Yeah. When you're playing a game with friends, I don't understand why you can't just play for a while and then call it a tie. Why does someone have the be the loser?

*crickets chirping*

Erm . . . because some of us are WINNERS.

When I arrived home, I had an very nice email about how he thought that we really clicked, and he couldn't wait to see me again, etc. I wasn't sure what to say. So I said, "You're a really great guy, but I don't think that we're a good match. Good luck."

Fortunately, he didn't try to contact me again.

2. After that, I went on a date with a guy who told me another sob story about a woman who cheated on him. He was shorter than he said he was, which is a pet peeve of mine. Dude, of all of the lies you could tell, the fact that you are NOT six feet tall is the easiest one for me to identify as being a patent untruth. So, knowing that the guy was deluded, I still had a glass of wine with him. After the first glass of wine, he asked if I wanted another. I declined, mostly because I was tired of hearing him whine. There was an awkward pause, I excused myself to go to the restroom, and when I returned he had paid the check, which was my plan. On my way home, I received the following text message:

Hi, Kitty, seemed great then quickly no-so? Was it something I said or didn't say, or just not interested? I really didn't learn anything about you and aired my history . . . Just curious why to me it felt on then off . .?

Seriously? What about, "Hi, nice to meet you," followed by me listening to you bitch and moan about how hard it's been for you to find a woman for an hour made you think that we were "on"? I don't get it. And your message, after one glass of wine, was weird. Truth be told, you were too old for me, boring and not funny. So, I don't want to see you again. Thanks.

Big News

2009-05-12T00:12:00.002-05:00

Good morning, sports fans. It has been more that two months since my last real post. Today, my life changed, and your lives became more interesting. In short, I broke up with the BoFo. I won't rehash the specifics, mostly because I respect that Man, but also because I have consumed a bottle of champagne in a futile attempt to assuage my pain and guilt. I am not drunk, if you're hoping for a well-lubed rant. I am however, heartbroken. In the past, relationships have ended because "he just wasn't that into me," or because there was some catastrophic event that made it impossible for us to see eye to eye. Today, my love affair ended because it became clear that we were "just not meant to be."

Despite my cavalier attitude and sarcasm in previous posts, I was forever hopeful that each date will bring true love and an enduring partnership. This one had potential. Alas, it was not to be. Tragically, I do not have sufficient savings to justify a restorative trip to Louis Vuitton. So, I soldier on, sans man and sans LVs. I'm not sure whether I will pick up where I left off in the online dating world. I'm thinking that a short break is apropos. What I can say is that hope springs eternal. So does my desire to conquer the English language and Strunk and White's. Therefore, stay tuned for more regular installments.

New Idea

2009-04-30T09:36:00.000-05:00

It has now been two months since my last post. Penance is probably due. I probably don't have readers anymore. But, I have a new idea. I am going to post on Fridays. Only on Fridays. At least once a week, something happens that inspires a rant, makes me chuckle, or makes me thankful that I don't live in Porter, Texas. So, there's fodder for posts, just not daily ones. And, I know everyone's trying to do anything but work on Friday afternoons. So . . . I shall post. Please tune in tomorrow for something erudite and witty.

Yikes!

2009-02-24T12:03:00.002-06:00

I have a dirty little secret. In a few moments it will be secret no more. Here on Luxe, much has been said by me about my addiction to Girl Scout cookies and shopping. There is something else. . .

Leche Quemada. Erika's uncle died, and her parents went to Mexico for the funeral. Knowing my love for the stuff, her mom brought be back a bag of Leche Quemada. I have now eaten more than half of it. I cannot stop. If it wouldn't offend Erika, I would throw it away. Instead, I continue to eat and I can hear my ass spreading. Aces.

Company-Quality Individual Meatloafs

2009-02-23T12:49:00.003-06:00

Lori requested it, so here it is . . .

1 lb. ground beef (the lowest fat possible)
1/2 small white onion, finely diced
1/4 c. Egg Beaters
1/2 c. salsa
1/4 c. oatmeal, uncooked
1/2 pkg. Knorr's vegetable soup mix
1/4 t. pepper
1/4 t. garlic powder
Olive oil
3 or 4 yellow or orange bell peppers, sliced into 2-inch rings, and de-seeded and de-veined
ketchup, mustard, and molasses for the topping

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Mix first eight ingredients together until combined. Fill pepper rings with meat mixture and then pan fry (in an oven-safe pan) in a tiny amount of olive oil, about five minutes on each side. While that's cooking, mix together two parts ketchup and one part each of mustard and molasses. Slather ketchup mixture over individual meatloaves and then cook at 350 degrees for about 25 minutes.

I made these for a couple of guys from Nacogdoches and was told it was "mighty fine," which is the East Texas equivalent of a Michelin Star.

Who knew?

2009-02-23T10:54:00.003-06:00

Friday night, after a Chamber of Commerce event, I went to a bar with the Bofo and a couple of friends. We're sitting there, and across the way I spy the worst India ink tattoo of a fairy I have ever seen. And it was large. Below the tattoo was a rather tacky strapless top on a rather portly young woman. My friend turned to me and said, "Wanna bet five bucks on where that girl bought that top?" Um, yes.

I am not only a snob, I am a mean-spirited snob. Right off the bat, I guessed Wet Seal, leaving my friend with few options. She guessed Bu-Yah-Kah, which was an even better guess than Wet Seal, seeing as how that store is where skanks purchase their "WannaRagingCaseOfTheClap? clothes". I saw her Bu-Yah-Kah, and raised her the Rue 21 Outlet at the Conroe Outlet "Mall". At this point, we were running out of cash with which to bet, and so my friend went over to inquire about the origin on the top. Mind you, this is a country bar, and we stuck out like sore thumbs. Not because we were wearing J. Crew, but because our "cowgirl clothes" were just a shade too ritzy for the clientile at ol' Johnny B. Dalton's.* When Nicole got back, I was chagrined to learn that we had both guessed wrong. And before you roll your eyes at us, and think to yourself, "Duh. Forever 21," I must tell you that I had considered, and discarded that option myself, mostly because the garment wasn't nearly stylish enough to have been purchased at Forever 21. But, nay, it did not spring from even that bastion of cheap and poorly made clothing. It came from . . . wait for it . . . Family Dollar. I repeat - Family Dollar. I don't even know what that is, much less that they sell clothes. "Going out clothes," no less. If I did know where to find a Family Dollar, I am going to assume that I would probably purchase my Fabuloso(!) there.

* Johnny B. Dalton's is my favorite bar. Probably of all time. The DJ booth is in a covered wagon (complete with a string of Christmas lights) and they have a wet t-shirt contest on Thursday nights. And they don't hose the girls down with water. Oh, no. There's an old guy standing at the edge of the dance floor with an 409 bottle that's been re-purposed, and he gives them a couple of well-placed sprays before slapping those girls on the ass and sending them out there to try their hand at winning $300. Needless to say, there are always a couple of ladies out there who shouldn't be. Think Urban Cowboy. And then scale down the class a bit. That's the level we're dealing with here. The place is classic.

Topics

2009-02-19T10:56:00.002-06:00

1. Girl Scout Cookies: Trust me. If shopping is an addiction which is mildly under control, then girl scout cookies are like smack to me. I cannot stop. They call to me from their box in the garage. That's right. The garage. If they were in my pantry, the aftermath would resemble a Garfield cartoon. You know, the ones where he's sitting there, surrounded by bits of lasagna, rolled onto his back, stomach distended like a Somalian refugee?

2. I could just post photos of all the things that I buy, complete with commentary. Like the new boots I bought night before last. They're green and brown. I love them, and will wear them tomorrow night. Nonetheless, they are a pointless purchase, and one of which I am less than proud. Not, however, more shameful than my Old Navy binge just 24 hours ago. What is it about $10 lace trimmed camisoles that makes it seem okay to spend $300? I mean, seriously. And how, mind you, does a brief search for a white button down shirt turn into two dresses, eight tops, two skirts*, and an umbrella?!

3. The new bofo. Does anyone really want to hear that? I didn't think so.

4. I could put into writing all of the crazy stories from my youth. It would be like Tucker Max except with boobs.

5. Recipes: I have a home run meatloaf recipe that I would be more than happy to share . . .

6. Random photos will continue to be posted as they arrive on my camera.

* One is a SIZE 4! I know I've said that already, but whatever. A 4! And thanks to the unnamed attorney who congratulated me on that milestone.

Alright, already!

2009-02-18T15:25:00.002-06:00

I'm a terrible blogger, I know. It's been days since my last confession. Here's the problem . . .

I have a boyfriend. I know, right?! His name's Mike, and I'm not going to blog about him without his permission, although I don't really think you guys would want to hear about it anyway, so I'm looking for new subject matter. Demanda suggested herself, but she has a great life with a cute kid and a wonderful husband, and a job she doesn't want to lose, so there's not much to say there. Instead, I'll continue to write about what I know, which is that I spend too much money and am being stalked by Blue. Remember Blue? He just called me. I haven't answered on of his calls in weeks, but he persists. He also text messages me several times a week, lavishing the type of sycophantic praise upon me that (let's face it) I want to hear, but not from him. Is there any way to end this without coming across like a total ass. I think I'm about two phone calls and four text messages away from telling him to eff off.

In good news, I bought a size 4 skirt today. That's right. A size 4. It might run large, but I don't care. Suck on that, bitches.

Whoa!

2009-02-10T12:39:00.002-06:00

I had no idea it had been so long since I posted. Wow. I'm such a slack. In my defense, I've been very busy working. And going out on dates. Unfortunately for all of you, they haven't been bad dates. I won't be writing about them here - it's not like anyone cares about the good stuff. It's so uninteresting. Even work has been going pretty well, so there's not much to bitch about there, either, except for the economy. If you wanted to hear someone complain about that, you could tune in to FoxNews. So . . . I guess what I'm trying to say is . . . I don't really have anything amusing to say. Well, except for maybe this:

I finally sucked it up and told Blue that things weren't going to work out between us. He said that he had figured that out, and wished me all the best. Then, he sent me another message asking what had gone wrong. Um, Blue? We've gone out thrice. Do you really need "closure"? Are you a sophomore in college? Who recently pledged PiPhi? Because, honestly, what difference does it make? Anyway, because I don't want to fry in hell when I die, I politely responded that I just didn't think there was any THERE there. He said [again] that he understood, and wished me luck. So far, he's still a class act, and I don't think he's a giant loser.

Until the next day. I get a text from him, "Just because we're not dating, doesn't mean we can't be friends, does it? I just think you're really great, and still want to hang out." Um, we live an hour and a half apart, and I just told you that I don't think enough of you to continue to see you, thereby rescuing myself from the miasma of horrifying online dates that have stretched [seemingly] from the dawn of time into eternity. WHAT WOULD MAKE YOU THINK THAT I WANT TO BE YOUR FRIEND?! I mean, if we were sleeping together, and I said, "but let's still be friends," he should have gotten the message, "I may still want to hook up occasionally." But, after three dates, "It's not going to work out. Good luck to you." How much more final could I possibly be?

This is the second time that I have made a similar statement to somone I've seen more than once, and the second time they've considered it an opening to either continue as friends (I have plenty, thanks.) or I guess attempt to try to sidle their way into a love affair. Nonetheless, "Good luck," is clearly not enough of a door slam to make a point. From here on out, I'm going with, "I hate you. Never speak to me again." Maybe a statement such as that would have stopped Blue from calling me. Twice.

Whoops!

2009-01-30T12:27:00.002-06:00

Trooper: "Do you know how fast you were going?"

Kitty: "Probably pretty fast."

Trooper: "Yes, ma'am."

The trooper wrote the ticket for only 24 miles over the speed limit so that I could take defensive driving. That was a nice thing to do. I love my car.

It gets worse . . .

2009-01-29T15:07:00.003-06:00

On Sunday, I went out with another guy. We'll call him Wings, 'cause he's a pilot. Get it? I'm hilarious. Anyway, we met at Pappasito's, ostensibly for a beer. He ordered Perrier. Seriously. And guacamole. He raved about it and then ate like, two spoonfuls. No chips. Which I thought was weird. But not nearly as weird as his voice, which was like that of a munchkin. While the grating quality of the sound was a turn off, I was a bit more concerned about whether he had originally been a midget. You see, I read an article in Details a few months ago about how really short guys are having leg and arm lengthening surgery to add a couple of inches to their height. It's apparently all the rage among dwarfs, and has expanded to the merely short. So, he opens his mouth and starts to talk and I am dumbfounded for the next twenty minutes wondering if he spent a couple of months in a Singapore hospital having a growth spurt.

Then, he asks me about me. I started talking and didn't shut up because I was worried I would have to listen to his voice again. He didn't really seem to mind. There was one thing about him that was more disturbing than his voice (and possible surgical height assistance). He's a big tennis player. But that's not what's disturbing. When I mentioned that I took tennis lessons as a child every summer, he got really pumped and wanted to play together. Apparently, pilots basically do shift work, and when he's not flying he plays tennis twice a day. Sometimes I don't even I was like, erm, I haven't held a racket since 1993, I'm not really sure that I'll do anything other than frustrate you and whoever else happens to be struck by one of my wayward serves. He wouldn't let it go. His faith in my tennis playing abilities was almost fanatical, which was what was disturbing. He got this wild-eyed look and was like, "Great! Do you want to play next week? I can reserve a court!" When I demurred, telling him I didn't want to play because I would be terrible, he was like, "No! I'm sure you're great! You're so athletic! We should play!" Yikes, dude. Ease up a bit. The fact that I haven't held a racket since 1993 should communicate to you in some way exactly how passionate I am about tennis. In fact, you might even infer that I haven't held a racket since I got old enough to tell my parents that I would pick up a coke habit and crabs if they didn't let me quit. For pete's sake. Needless to say, we will neither be playing tennis nor seeing one another again.

Daily Haiku

2009-01-29T15:04:00.001-06:00

Child support court. Why
is it that all of the peeps
look alike? White trash.

New Year's Resolution Update

2009-01-28T12:00:00.003-06:00

1. I have eaten more fruits and vegetables. If you count the grapes used to make Sauvignon Blanc as a fruit. I think there was some celery in my chicken salad yesterday . . .

2. I fell off the wagon this past weekend. It was not only unnecessary, but excessive. I thought of taking a picture of what I bought and posting it, but I'm too ashamed. In penance, I've decided to extend my goal to April 1.

You like me, you really like me.

2009-01-28T11:18:00.002-06:00

I didn't know how much entertainment I was giving to the masses (well, the dozens). I've gotten phone calls, text messages, emails, and in person pleas to post something. Anything. I've been busy. Working. And dating. Which is good, because I have new material. Here goes:

I have been out on three dates with a guy I'll call Blue. He has the bluest eyes I've ever seen in person. He's good looking, well-dressed, and has a hella good job. Blue owns a company with his parents, to whom he's very close, and makes, as far as I can tell, somewhere in the neighborhood of half a million dollars a year. He's a good father to his two kids, of whom he has primary custody. And by good father, I mean he does shit like spend the afternoon with them making homemade pizza from scratch. The sauce and everything. He also thinks I hung the moon. He loves spending time with me, compliments me beautifully, and makes plans in advance, which I love. His mom is excited to meet me. He's also a great kisser. There is really nothing wrong with this guy on paper.

I want to punch him in the face. He is the 2nd most annoying person I have ever met. He doesn't stop talking. Ever. And he's not funny. He thinks he's funny, but he's not. He's not without a sense of humor, because he gets my jokes, but he's not funny. So, to recap, here's a guy who's successful, good-looking, a great parent, has a good relationship with his family, no prior criminal history, and is really into me, and he bugs. Aces. So now, not only do I have to summon the courage to tell this really nice guy that I am so not that into him, but it's back to the drawing board. Ugh.

And, I'm not looking forward to being back to the drawing board, because I have recently been matched up with a truck driver on eHarmony. And not just any truck driver. No. A truck driver who is hoping to get a job driving hot shots. He's an unemployed truck driver. Who, in his best cowboy boots, stands at 5'6". And since all men in the online dating world give themselves an extra two inches, he's only 5'4". eHarmony, I call shenanigans. There is absolutely no way that I am a good match for short unemployed truck driver from Porter, Texas. I don't care if he does believe in Jesus. That's probably all that we have in common. I mean, I have run out of options here. This is not good.

I'm ALIVE!

2009-01-26T17:31:00.000-06:00

Just really busy. I've been storing some thoughts up, though, some come back near the end of the week. There'll be new posts galore.

Daily Haiku

2009-01-20T08:53:00.000-06:00

Long weekend. Big day.
Life goes on whether it's my
choice for us or not.

Erm . . .

2009-01-13T21:25:00.002-06:00

. . . I've been emailing with this guy on match. We exchanged numbers, and because I have a wee bit of a vocal issue right now, we've been texting. So, he sent me a text asking me to send him a picture so he could have one in his phone. I could not be more weirded out than if he asked me to mail him my underwear. Why does he need a picture of me in his phone? Is he going to tell people I'm his new girlfriend? Does he want something to compare it against in case we happen to be at the mall at the same time and he wants to know if the girl who just walked by is me? What reasonable explanation could there be for anyone needing a picture of someone he's never met in his phone? Creeper.

Daily Haiku

2009-01-13T21:23:00.001-06:00

There is nothing worse
than an idiot who thinks
they know ev'rything.

I think Daisy likes the cold weather . . .

2009-01-12T19:03:00.001-06:00

Profile Pic Roundup

2009-01-11T19:55:00.002-06:00

Dear Online Dater:

I'm afraid that the only person who's going to want to date you after seeing a close-up of your nipple and those shiny black trunks is the hunka burning love behind you. Although I appreciate the brevity in your profile, I worry that "meeting a girl who likes to work out and who [you] don't hate to be around after a while" may be too tall of an order for a man such as yourself.

Yours truly,

Kitty

Ugh.

2009-01-11T11:35:00.004-06:00

I am on day 2 of a bout with laryngitis. And not the sexy-voiced-and-otherwise-feeling-great laryngitis. Oh no. I mean the fever, tight and sore throat, can't talk AT ALL laryngitis. When you add that to an upper-respiratory infection that may or may not develop into pneumonia, you get one seriously pissed off Kitty. I look bee-yoo-tee-ful, too. Simply GORGEOUS. On the plus side, Roadhouse is on A&E. Sweet.

Cheat Chili

2009-01-10T20:37:00.003-06:00

I have perfected "Cheat Chili". That's chili that could never be entered in a contest, because it uses a spice packet (the sacrilege!), but is oh so good. Here goes:

1 lb. 96/4 ground beef
Olive oil
1 medium white onion finely diced
1 T. minced garlic
1 packet of low sodium chili seasonings from McCormick
1 can of organic tomato sauce
1 can of organic "no salt added" diced tomatoes
1 can of jalapeno Ranch Style beans, well drained
2 beers
ketchup
cumin, salt, pepper

First, open one of the beers, and start to drink it. Saute the onions in olive oil over medium high heat until they become slightly transparent. Add the beef and garlic, and season liberally with salt, cumin, and pepper. When beef is completely browned, add tomato sauce, tomatoes, beans, spice packet, and 1/2 of the second beer. Add about 2-3 tablespoons of ketchup. Stir, and reduce heat to low. Simmer for about 45 minutes to one hour.

I feel bad, but . . .

2009-01-08T22:17:00.003-06:00

I just read a headline on Yahoo! It said, "Craze over touch-screen gadgets not shared by the blind". I am so sad to admit it, but that made me laugh out loud. Hard. It sounds like a headline from The Onion.

Top 10

2009-01-07T22:54:00.003-06:00

So, this guy that I've gone out with a couple of times has taken to emailing me the occasional "pop quiz". Last night's quiz? What song moves you most, with a limit of three songs, no explanantion needed. This is a difficult question. So, I gave him three songs, chosen at random from my Top 10. In case you didn't know, I have impeccable taste in music. Effin' impeccable. Seriously. I make a mean playlist, typically sorted according to mood or activity. For instance, Chillaxin Inside has an entirely different vibe than Chillaxin' On the Patio.

In an attempt to organize my thoughts, and be a bit more thorough, here are ten songs with which I have had long-term love affairs. I've purposely left out obvious choices like "Under Pressure" by David Bowie and Queen. Who doesn't love that song? If you're one of my ex-boyfriends who read Luxe, enjoy what might be a trip down memory lane. These are in no particular order. You might want to iTunes some of these:

"Be Here Now" Ray LaMontagne
"Hurt" Johnny Cash
"Touched" Visual Audio Sensory Theater
"Sometimes (Lester Piggott)" James
"Whatever (I Had A Dream)" Butthole Surfers I don't care if it's from a soundtrack. "Yeah, rock out. Whatever." That's a great lyric.
"Got You (Where I Want You)" The Flys
"Vineyard" Jackopierce [The Live From the Americas Version]
"Can't Find My Way Home" Blind Faith
"New Favorite" Alison Krauss & Union Station
"Lay Lady, Lay" Bob Dylan

Now that I'm looking at this list, compiled, I'm thinking that it's a wonder that I'm not terribly depressed. This is not exactly uplifting stuff. Geez.

I may kill my neighbor . . .

2009-01-07T21:58:00.002-06:00

He's getting divorced. This is no surprise, seeing as how the cops were called a couple of months ago. He came to me asking my advice about what he should do, what his obligations are with the house, etc. I told him what I tell everyone who does stuff like that. "I may be A lawyer, but I'm not YOUR lawyer. I cannot, as an ethical and financial matter, give advice to people who aren't my clients. If you'd like to schedule an appointment, call my assistant at the office. She's responsible for my calendar." So, what did he do? Nothing. I referred him to a couple of other attorneys because I think that mixing neighbors with divorces is generally bad bull. He has yet to hire one. He has called me nine times in the last week asking me questions. On my way home from work tonight (at 8:30, mind you) he called, wanting to know what he should do about the papers he was served with today. I felt like shouting, "UNTIL YOU PAY ME I AM NOT GOING TO TELL YOU WHERE THE COURTHOUSE IS!" Instead, I was mature and an example of mannerly restraint. I told him what I've said every other time he's called. "It is my policy not to give any advice, especially without seeing the filings, unless we have an employment contract in place, and I have received my fee." Polite, right? He asked what I was up to, and I told him I was on my way home from work.

Approximately 2.643 minutes after I arrived at my home, so did he. RINGING MY DOORBELL. With the filings. Oh. My. God. That was a literal prayer. Not a blasphemy. Dear Lord, please help me not to start screeching at this man like a howler monkey. I pray that the people to whom I have referred this thick-headed colhane will not take out their ire on me by referring me all of their "civil rights lawsuit" phone calls. Please.

I'm not sure where to go from here. Should I post a "No Trespassing" sign at the foot of my driveway. Write a cease and desist letter? As in, cease and desist pestering me or I will be forced to drain your pets of blood and hang them from the roll bar on your Jeep as an example of what I will do to you IF YOU DON'T LEAVE ME THE HELL ALONE! I'm at a loss.

Social Experiment Part Deux

2009-01-07T21:54:00.002-06:00

So, since Pickles McGee chickened out when I asked him about his "VERY IMPORTANT" job in federal law enforcement, I needed to move on to another subject. And then, today, it happened. I was winked at by a "cutie with a booty". Outstanding. Considering that I've already bagged this guy out for his crappy profile pictures before, I'm kind of pumped that he contacted me. Now, I just need to set up a date. I'll keep you posted.

An unnamed friend thinks that my experiment will go horrifyingly awry when I meet and fall in love with someone who I've tagged as douchebag because of their online dating profile. I find this to be highly unlikely, mostly because I don't think he would have fun with any of my friends. I mean, we're not cool enough to wear Affliction, so they would probably think we're unsavvy idiots who must be from the sticks.

Daily Haiku

2009-01-07T17:09:00.001-06:00

I have been freakin'
productive today. You don't
know how much was done.

Important Announcement

2009-01-06T20:18:00.004-06:00

GIRL SCOUT COOKIES GO ON SALE THIS SATURDAY! I think they should be tax deductible. It is, after all, a fundraiser for a non-profit organization . . .

Update: New Year's Resolutions

2009-01-06T19:41:00.002-06:00

1. Do canned tomatoes in homemade chili count for a vegetable? I'm thinking yes.

2. I have not purchased anything. A friend threw down the gauntlet today, and claimed that I would not be able to make it until March 1 without shopping. He may be right. As an incentive to succeed, I may dangle a carrot on the end of a string. If I am successful, what should I promise myself as a reward? I have decided to forswear purchasing Louis Vuitton for one year. I think I may have enough. A new range? Slide-in, stainless, gas and with a warming drawer? A kick ass party for all of my friends?

PS - Welcome to Luxe, Bill, if you're reading this.

Profile Pic Roundup

2009-01-06T19:34:00.004-06:00

Dear Online Dater:

I am embarrassed on your behalf.

Yours truly,

Kitty

Daily Haiku

2009-01-06T15:00:00.001-06:00

Shoes, you look freaking
fabulous. Wooden heel. Why
are you so painful?

Update: New Year's Resolutions

2009-01-04T20:15:00.004-06:00

1. Today I ate at Shogun. There were mushrooms in my hibachi chicken, and it was served with sauteed onions and zucchini. While I'm not counting the fried rice, I am counting the tempura fried eggplant, sweet potato, and zucchini. I'm also counting the pickles and olives I've eaten for dinner.

2. I have not made a purchase of anything other than food, even though I feel an almost visceral need for casual brown boots. Thus far, I have resisted temptation. Luckily, the weather was warm enough last night for me to wear sling-backed platforms on my date. (It went pretty well, so you're not going to hear about it. No one wants to hear the good stuff, anyway.) As a matter of necessity, and because I'm almost out of foundation and my medium-toned copper eyeshadow, I'm adding the following addendums to my resolution:

a) It is not 'shopping' to replace items that I use every day, like skincare and makeup. I'm rationalizing this by refusing to consider this as shopping, and more like purchasing necessities, such as food. However, in the spirit of maintaining my resolution, I am going to economize wherever possible. For instance, instead of buying M.A.C. makeup remover wipes, I'm going to try Dove. They're going to suck, and smell funny, but if I get the small package, they'll be used up by March.

b) If I happen to be in TJ Maxx or Marshall's, and they happen to have flame Le Creuset, I'm buying it. I just got the small casserole on December 31st. Like having sex with Chris Isaak and refusing to call it cheating, I feel that discount Le Creuset is an opportunity that should not be squandered simply because silly things like ethics and morals declare it to be ill-advised.

Pickles McGee

2009-01-04T20:11:00.003-06:00

I asked him directly about his work with federal law enforcement, and its been radio silence for several days. Either he somehow stumbled upon Luxe, or he's a liar who really works in construction. I'm hoping for choice #2, because if he rats me out to match.com, I think it's a foregone conclusion that I'm getting the boot. Then I would only have the chucklenuts at eHarmony to write about, and I'm not that mean-spirited.

Ew, awkward.

2009-01-04T20:06:00.002-06:00

So, I just got matched up with someone I know on eharmony. When you see someone on match.com that you know, it's kind of odd, but not otherwise terrible. I mean, it just so happens that they are one of 200 single men between the ages of 30 and 40 who live within 25 miles of your zip code. Being matched with someone on eharmony is like being told that you've just made out with your cousin. It's disturbing and intriguing at the same time. He's a lawyer. I don't know him know him, but the next time I see him in court, all I'll be able to think about is that one of the five things he can't live without is 'intimacy'. Ew. Even worse, he's probably thinking the same thing about me. On the plus side, I said I can't live without "chips and hot sauce". So I kind of feel that if there IS an awkward silence, it will be his fault and not mine. I would also like to say that it's fairy certain that his photos are either a decade old (which is unlikely, because they don't look scanned), or heavily airbrushed. Industrial Light and Magic would be proud of the work done on those photos. He doesn't even look like the same guy.

Very Interesting

2009-01-01T21:42:00.004-06:00

Did you know that you can have people write testimonials for you on match.com? There's something awful about that. And yet . . . I'm intrigued. You know someone's a pretty good friend when they're willing to draft a letter of recommendation on an online dating site. That's really pushing the envelope as far as I'm concerned. In order to protect the innocent, I don't post pictures with my friends in them. I'm not sure what mine will say, but it's hopefully better than, "She makes a mean meatloaf, even if she is a bit expensive." I haven't seen any profiles with 'testimonials' yet, but when I see a good one, I'll certainly post it. And by good, you know I mean hilarious.

Happy New Year!

2009-01-01T10:01:00.004-06:00

2009 has appeared on the scene. It's going to be a good one, I can tell. Except for the fact that instead of working for the government until April or May, I'll be working until July. More rants about that later. In the tradition of well, everyone, I've made a couple of resolutions. Here they are:

1. Eat the recommended amount of fruit and vegetables each day.
2. Do not shop until March. I can do it.

Pickles McGee

2008-12-30T23:06:00.002-06:00

I sent him an email today. He hasn't "been active" in over two weeks. I'm wondering if that's because his profile isn't getting him the response he was expecting. We'll see if he responds . . .

On A Mission

2008-12-30T09:42:00.003-06:00

After posting the photo (and profile text) of Pickles McGee the other day, my friend has encouraged me to try to get a date with the guy so that I can report back on Luxe. Now that the glow of a six pack has worn off, I'm starting to see the value of expanding my social experiment to include going out with guys who I would never in a million years be attracted to or interested in. I'm going to limit this to people who think they're something special. It seems unfair to bag out a nice dork just because he hasn't changed his hairstyle since 1988. The only problem is that I don't think I'm empirically hot enough to get this guy to go out with me. I guess we'll find out soon enough.

The Sting of Rejection

2008-12-29T19:39:00.002-06:00

I emailed this guy, "I liked your profile, blah, blah, blah," on match.com. He responded by telling me that he was 0-2 with lawyers, and as a result, he had a strict 'No Attorney Policy' when it comes to dating. I am fascinated by this. I get lawyer jokes. I understand people who, due to lack of understanding, believe that attorneys try their hardest to profit from people in their time of need and despair. I disagree with them, especially when my student loan payment is debited from my bank account every month, but I know that in their toughest times, people are tempted to make someone the scapegoat. I will gladly take on that burden. However, what I cannot understand is refusing to converse with someone because she is an attorney. It's as though we are some monolithic being, like an aspen grove, one with the State Bar.

How badly could this guy have been stung by these two women such that he would write off an entire profession in an attempt not to experience the same type of pain? He's not even divorced. I just have this vision of him standing up in court, defending himself against a suit for breach of implied contract when he failed to marry his first attorney girlfriend (plus child support for Junior), with the second attorney girlfriend jumping in and interpleading her own claim for some crap, and him without a rudimentary understanding of the Statute of Frauds to save him from a judgment. Only later to find out that he should have been able to get the engagement ring back after all because girlfriend #1 was knocked up by her landscaper and had fallen in love with girlfriend #2 over the mediation table, and they were running off to Boston to get married as soon as the verdict came back from the jury. I can't think of any other circumstance so wounding that a man would forswear double-blind email exchanges with lawyers on dating websites for the rest of his life.

Daily Haiku

2008-12-29T10:03:00.001-06:00

My car is so gross.
Getting it washed today for
sure. Please don't rain. Please.

Profile Pic Roundup

2008-12-29T00:05:00.004-06:00

Here's the text to his profile:

First things first. I am not trying to be or sound arrogant or conceeded. However, I must start off by saying that if you are not being truthful about each and every detail that you have listed on your profile, then I am not interested. I DO NOT PLAY GAMES. Do not try to hook me and reel me in with your charismatic personality. If you are untruthful, I will know.Ok. Sorry about that, but it had to be said. I'm a 36 yr old, mature, never married, with no kids bachelor. I hold a Masters Degree and a very important position within a United States Federal Law Enforcement Agency. Away from work, I am spontaneous and fun loving. Family is definitely the most important part of my life. I have had all the fun I need or want to have in dating the Ms Wrongs. I am interested in finding that special someone, who I can settle down with. I never have played and can not stand playing games. I am looking to meet and grow to know a mature, sweet, loyal and sexy woman, who shares many of my intertests. I am well versed, articulate, strapping, intelligent and I am eager to make new friends by surrounding myself around positive people. I work a bit more than the average person. So, I am looking for someone who works as much as I do, or who will understand my work schedule. I enjoy lifting weights and running at least 3 days a week and would love to work out with my girl, if she so chooses to do so with me. I've learned from experience how much work a healthy relationship requires, and I am eager to find her...Ms. Right that is. Are you her? If you think you may be, then drop me a line. My match will be a sweet, well moraled, beautiful, young woman, who truly knows the meaning of love. She is fun loving, with strong values, works hard, plays harder, and is the happiest person I will know. She will want to spend every waking moment with me and our children, once we have them. She will be independently strong and together we will possess a unified strength, not to be matched. She will share my same family values, and will allow me to take care of her, when need be, and she will do the same for me, when the tables are turned. She will make me smile, if I'm feeling blue, and she, in turn, will smile when I support and comfort her. My match will be a lady in life and a tigress in the bedroom. She will always know she is safe with me. My match will have to learn to accept roses on the 1st day of every month. Wherever she may be, I love her now!

Dear Online Dater:

Point of fact: conceeded is actually spelled "conceited". Okay. Sorry about that. It had to be said. Also, one should never describe oneself as 'strapping'. Aside from the general ick factor, you sound like your grandmother, which isn't hot. At all. Moreover, at least twice in your profile you describe your job in federal law enforcement. Thank you for your service to our country. However, if your work was so important that you can't discuss it on online dating sites, then you would have a better cover than "very important position within a United States Federal Law Enforcement Agency". If you were that big of a deal, you would say that you're in training to become an auditor for the IRS. Also, I question whether someone who thinks "well-moraled" is an attribute, much less a word, would be entrusted with national security secrets. Did I mention that your bodybuilding photos are disturbing? While there's something to be said for truth in advertising, I'm not sure that a banana hammock is the best way to score chicks. At least not one with who you will "possess a unified strength, not to be matched". Which, wow. It seems like your toughest hurdle to overcome will not be finding a girl who is a tigress in the bedroom, but someone who will believe that receiving roses on the first of every month is somehow an even trade for having to wake up next to an Oompa Loompa who's still excited that LSU won the National Championship five freaking years ago. So, I guess what I'm trying to say is, good luck with your search.

Yours truly,

Kitty

Profile Pic Roundup

2008-12-28T19:23:00.005-06:00

Dear Online Dater:

I'd like you to reconsider your hair. And your shirt. And the soft-focus lense. And whatever medication it is that you're taking that causes your chin to swell.

Yours truly,

Kitty

Christmas is now Christmas Past

2008-12-28T18:31:00.003-06:00

Which is probably a good thing. I've decided that SH 105 is God's way of teaching me patience. I am invariably stuck behind a Honda Accord or Merry Miler travelling at 55 miles per hour when I make the trek back and forth to the 'rents. No matter how diligently I tailgate, no matter how wide the shoulder, people are determined not to let me pass. It's as though they see me in their rearview mirror and shout, "Not this time! HUH UH, NO WAY!" It is always this person's personal mission to make sure that I spend that particular stretch of highway on the verge of being overcome by the red haze of a homicidal rage. Today I was in a hurry to get home because I was jonesing to try one of my Christmas gifts, a rather large Le Creuset saucepan. In "Flame". As it turns out, wonderful saucepans DO make better sauces.

Ugh.

2008-12-23T22:56:00.004-06:00

I have just been on one of the worst dates ever. And, since I shared a glass of wine with a parolee just three months ago, you know it was pretty bad. There was nothing glaringly wrong with this guy. He was appropriately dressed, is employed in a position that does not require a nametag, and his physical appearance, though unremarkable, wasn't repulsive. When we spoke on the phone, he seemed intelligent and laughed at my attempts at humor. I thought to myself, "This one might work out." And by "might work out" I don't mean, "maybe we'll fall in love, get married, and fall into suburban bliss." I mean, "maybe I won't have to avoid his calls for three days while I craft an appropriately polite email blowing him off." Alas, I am not so lucky.

I have not been that bored since I took business entities in law school. The conversation was stilted and uninspired. Any time I have to ask, "So, what's your favorite thing about your job?," it's pretty certain that we're not going to be back for round two. When, in a moment of conversational desperation, I asked, "If you could do anything in the world and be guaranteed an income of $1 million per year, what would you do?," he responded, "Well, I like to work out, so probably be a personal trainer." He went on to expound about going to the gym and watching people lift weights with improper form, and how annoying that is. Apparently, the days that he works out his arms and lats are his shortest workouts. You know what I find annoying? Men who say that they're six feet tall, when it is apparent upon our first face-to-face that they are indeed only 5'7". In my second lowest pair of heels, I matched this guy for height. I am 5'4".

Have you ever conversed with someone and wondered what they do when they're not with other people? I have this mental image of my date going home and sitting in the dark while contemplating a ball of lint clinging tenaciously to a throw pillow. If every person has an internal soundtrack playing in their head, his is the sound of a clock ticking in a library, with only the occasional rustle of paper or "Shh," to break the endless passage of time.

Daily Haiku

2008-12-23T22:27:00.004-06:00

Date tonight. Ice cream
flavor? Vanilla. Don't like
sushi? Then say, "GROSS!"

Yikes.

2008-12-22T22:56:00.002-06:00

On eHarmony, you can skip all the BS and the contrived questions and go straight to email. All you have to do is request it and get the other person to agree. The last time I agreed, I wound up on a date with a paroled felon. Nonetheless, hope springs eternal [a theme in my dating life], and so when I received a "Fast Track Request" from Charles, I thought, "What the hell?" Here was my first message:

im new at this so be gentle! wanted to say hi ! ive been looking for a good attorney lol ! I live in the woodlands so im right down the road from you! You definately seem like someone that i would like to learn more about. I love to have fun and go places! well im not going to go on and on about myself so i ll wait and hopefully hear back from you.

Hmph. I've never met this guy. Here's what I know so far:

1. He can't spell. Well, my dad can't spell, and he's a successful, highly intelligent, occasionally hilarious guy. I'll give him the benefit of the doubt.

2. He doesn't understand the purpose of the exclamation point. Almost as overused as the comma, I can understand how, when excited, somone might be tempted to exclaim excessively. What I cannot understand or excuse is a complete disregard for the apostrophe. While "it's" and "its" are somewhat confusing, all other contractions are not. Neither is the space bar.

3. He has apparently overlooked the SHIFT key. While I'm not an education major, I seem to remember learning that ALL sentences begin with capitalized letters in the first grade. This annoys me more than the other two. It's not hard, and requires no particular skill or knowledge, other than hand-eye coordination.

4. He's not funny. "I've been looking for a good attorney LOL !" He's right. That does make me laugh out loud.

In an attempt to be nice, I didn't respond to this first email. Not unlike your boss saying, "Nice tits," some communications are better left ignored until it becomes necessary to get lawyers involved. I hate saying, "Um, no," in an email. It seems so harsh. Until I got the second email.

i dont understand this system! Your the only one i have seen that has gotten my attention! so ive havent done this if you could help me it would be a very happy man. i was expecting a message from you. i maybe going outside of rules or whatever here and if i am just please know im not trying to. but im not seeing anything from you on my end. my email is [INSERT EMAIL ADDRESS HERE]. if this is not something youfeel comfortable doing. DONT ! im not trying to do anything wierd here! if you havent sent anything im sorry about this also. im just not sure what to expect! well enough rambling! hope to hear from you soon!

Seriously? Remember that scene in Swingers? Where John Favreau leaves many voicemails on that chick's answering machine? And seems so tragic? Would it be mean for me to send this guy a link to that scene on YouTube?

My Online Dating Profile

2008-12-22T22:37:00.003-06:00

I have recently updated my online dating profile. I've changed a couple of things:

1. I've added two full-length pictures. For the most part, unless I'm wearing red leather motorcycle pants, I shy away from cameras. I always look fatter in photos than I perceive myself to be in daily life, and my left eye is slightly lazy. Not like, cross-eyed lazy, but my left eye shuts more when I smile than my right one. Also, I don't like my nose. I asked for a nose job for my 18th birthday, but my parents said no, and I'm not terribly tenacious about stuff like that. So, it's hard to find flattering photos. Anyway, I think people were looking at my profile and ascertaining that I must be far beyond "about average" because I didn't have full-length photos. I'm thinking being as obvious as, "The last pair of jeans I bought were a size 6," in order to prove my worthiness of winks, but that seems like a bit too much. In the end, I just added the photos.

2. I changed my handle. Before, it was an obscure reference to my preferred summer cocktail. Now it includes the name "Kitty". My profile views have increased 300%. Men are so easy.

3. I added a section about "what I'm looking for". I included articulate, well-educated, and mentioned something about a wry wit. I still get emails from convenience store clerks with five kids and Hep C. Other than changing my headline to "Above Average FICO Score and College Diploma Required" I'm not sure what I can do.

I'm contemplating posting the entirety of my match.com profile on Luxe for peer editing and commentary. If I do, who's going to chime in?

Daily Haiku

2008-12-22T21:28:00.002-06:00

Christmastime is here.
Gifts are wrapped. The fire is lit.
So glad it's cold out!

Daily Haiku

2008-12-19T07:52:00.001-06:00

Ah, Diet Coke. How
I adore thee. So fizzy!
I will drink you up!

'Tis the Season

2008-12-17T21:33:00.002-06:00

I just checked the weather. The forecast for Saturday? 79 flipping degrees. Come on.

Daily Haiku

2008-12-17T15:48:00.001-06:00

I've missed you haiku.
It's been busy, and you've been
neglected. I'm back!

Maybe I'm too picky, but . . .

2008-12-17T12:34:00.003-06:00

Last week, I met a guy for a glass of wine. Nice guy. Reasonably well-dressed, obviously intelligent, he laughed at my jokes, great (and I mean great) job, etc., etc. I was not even remotely attracted to him. Not even a glimmer of what might be, if fanned gently over a period of weeks, a spark. But, I figure there's not that many guys who meet all of my other criteria, so I told myself to give him another chance. Maybe this is a guy who might grow on me. I've tried that before, and it hasn't worked, but who knows? Maybe this time will be different. So, we met on Monday night for the second time. I now know that we can never be together. And it has nothing to do with my utter lack of desire to make out with Steve.

While discussing how difficult parents are to shop for at Christmas, he said, "My parents don't need nothing." I had a visceral reaction to that sentence. It was as though someone took a piece of tinfoil and ground it into my fillings. I shuddered inwardly. I know that not everyone keeps a copy of Strunk and White's The Elements of Style on their bedside table, as I do. I understand that grammar can be tricky. Occasionally, even I trip up on the finer points of whether I should use "I" or "me". However, I cannot countenance a man who doesn't know that anything is not nothing. And, by definition, it never will be.

Profile Pic Roundup

2008-12-14T17:33:00.005-06:00

Dear Online Dater:

I appreciate the wink. Unfortunately, my only further response will be a polite "no, thanks." While perusing your profile, I was astounded at the number of photos in which you were wearing what would cause a man of lesser confidence to blush a rather alarming shade of purple. I'm not sure where you're buying these shorts, but I think four pair in varying shades is perhaps an over-representation in your wardrobe. Perhaps you would consider diversifying into board shorts? Or some pants? Just a suggestion.

Yours,

Kitty

PS - Those sunglasses are awesome. Really. Unless you're not being ironic. Then they're as bad as the shorts.

News Flash

2008-12-11T10:58:00.001-06:00

My neighbor's Navigator got repossessed last night. That's gotta be tough.

My Christmas List

2008-12-10T16:21:00.003-06:00

I don't believe in Christmas bonuses. Aside from the tax consequences, I don't feel like you should get a lump sum of cash for showing up to work for a year. That's your job. To show up. So, I tell my assistant to make a Christmas list. And put anything on it. I could win the lottery on the way home from work today and start handing out new cars. You don't know. So, she made her list, and that got me started thinking about mine. Obviously not included are cop-outs like "world peace" and "health and wealth for those around me". This isn't a plea for gifts. Seriously. It just seemed like a fun exercise. This is a dead serious, "If The Sky Were The Limit What Would I Want For Christmas" Christmas list. So here goes:

12 place settings of Lenox Eternal China, complete with serving pieces.
12 place settings of Francis I sterling silver flatware, complete with serving pieces.
Silicone spatulas in a variety of sizes and colors.
An arbor for my back patio.
Flame-colored Le Creuset. I already have the largest round and oval dutch ovens.
A culinary vacation to the Napa Valley. I would say Italy, but I don't want to sound greedy.
Boot socks. In crazy colors.
A 3/4 length mink coat.
Stainless steel measuring spoons and measuring cups.
The large Vernis Alma bag from Louis Vuitton in their oxblood color.
A gift card to Barnes and Noble.
An iPod nano. I have lost mine. Again.
Illy coffee. Despite my ability to rationalize almost any purchase, I cannot pay $10.99 for a small canister of coffee. But I love it.
Estee Lauder lip liners. (Not the roll-up kind, the kind you have to sharpen.)

So, there you have it. That's all I really want for Christmas.

Profile Pic Roundup

2008-12-09T23:38:00.004-06:00

This guy actually exists. And his profile reads thusly:

I'm a confident, comfortable, financially stable, laid back guy who is also an expert lawyer, electrician, carpenter, plumber and painter.

If it's broken... I can fix it.

If it needs building... I can build it.

If it needs a lawsuit... I'll handle it.

If I can't do any of those things to it... well... we needed a new one anyway! :)

Also... for those wondering... *All* of my photos were taken in the last 12 months... most in the last 6... and I look *exactly* like my pics.

UPDATE: I know this is an odd request, but *please* send me an email and have pictures posted if you're serious about a response from me. I'm a 'people person' who loves to hear from others and their experiences. 'Winks' are *way* too easy to send and I don't take them all that seriously. Once I meet 'her'... my profile will disappear. Simple and easy! :)

Dear Candidate:

While I appreciate your sincere belief that you have dating superpowers and your confidence in your sexual attractiveness, it seems like this is an appropriate forum for me to say that you are an ass. You live in Houston, Texas. There are approximately two days out of 365 on which it is cold enough for you to wear a suit AND an overcoat. The cell phone and sunglasses are particularly revealing. How did that picture come to pass? Is there a timer on your Blackberry? What are you trying to communicate here? I think your message wants to be, "I'm busy, successful and debonair." What I'm actually getting is, "My self-worth is tied up in women thinking that I am hot shit." Either way, I feel sorry for you. Mostly because you obviously tan. Moreover, your command of punctuation leads me to believe that your education was top notch. Is that spooge on your chest in the second picture?

Anyhoodle, good luck with your search. Don't worry. There are indeed women out there who are willing to overlook your obvious arrogance and receding hairline. "Lexi" has to make it through real estate school somehow, right?

Yours truly,

Kitty

Pass The Word

2008-12-09T12:53:00.002-06:00

Okay, Luxe Lovers. I keep track of my daily hits (in a very informal way) because I am frequently bored while on the phone with my mother. I am nearing a hundred hits a day. Luxe Overload must go worldwide! It's MANIFEST DESTINY! Tell all of your friends who work at a desk!

Daily Haiku

2008-12-09T08:21:00.002-06:00

Nice guy. No sparks. There's
something uninteresting
about him. Dunno.

Daily Haiku

2008-12-08T11:06:00.001-06:00

Tonight. A date. We'll
see how it goes. He doesn't
seem like a loser.

Things I've Seen

2008-12-07T18:18:00.005-06:00

I'm assuming this guy has a police radio. Apparently, his daughter died in a tragic accident. I'm not sure why that means he has to be a vigilante, but whatever. I am strongly reminded of Twister. You know, back when Bill Paxton was kind of hot. On the other hand, I could follow him around and hand out my cards. . .

Grandma's Brown Rice

2008-12-07T11:15:00.002-06:00

When I was a child, my family and I ate Sunday lunch at my Grandma's. She was a phenomenal cook, and since she was from Ohio, she carried with her some recipes the likes of which us Southerners had never tasted. One of them was her Brown Rice. I've expanded upon her recipe and perfected it. It's easy and delicious.

1 1/2 cups of white rice, uncooked
3 green onions, chopped
3/4 stick of butter (I've actually cut that down from a whole stick)
1 can Campbell's Beef Broth (Do NOT substitute brand. It does make a difference.)
1 can Campbell's Beef Consomme (Do NOT substitute brand. It does make a difference.)
A few glugs of quality Cabernet

Melt the butter in a skillet and saute green onions. Add the rice, and brown it for about 5-7 minutes. Pour into a high-sided baking dish and add remaining ingredients. Cook at 375 degrees until the rice is done.

Trust me, y'all are going to love this.

So, here's what I DO want . . .

2008-12-05T21:59:00.007-06:00

I realized today that I have spent a great deal of time on this blog talking about what I don't want in a man and the problems that I've had with dating. After deciding on my way home from tonight that I don't care if I ever see the guy I've been dating for last couple of months again [Let the phone calls from girlfriends commence . . . now.], I started to reflect on what it is that I do want. I mean, there's physical attraction, a modicum of intellectual parity and a sense of humor, blah, blah, blah. But let's get down to brass tacks. I learned from the ex, A., that it's all well and good if you both love Jesus and Robert Earl Keen, but what really matters is whether you both want to go out for dinner and drinks with the same people on Fridays, wake up at 8 AM on Saturdays, have some dirty lovin', and then take in the early matinee. More accurately, I think there are some things that Mr. Right should know about me, what I want and what I'm all about. So, with that in mind, and knowing that some of y'all have some friends and family who are single guys who also have jobs (I'm looking at you, [name redacted]. PS - When should I arrive in Seattle?), here we go:

1. He should have a job that, if not super-lucrative (which is also preferred), is really cool. Firefighters, helicopter pilots, and the independently wealthy should apply. Cops, parole officers, and prison guards should, for obvious reasons, not.

2. He should find the following movies hilarious:
a. Three Amigos ("Lip balm?")
b. Hot Fuzz ("What was the second most painful?")
c. The Big Lebowski ("Did I micturate on your rug, Mr. Lebowski?")
d. Charlie Wilson's War (anything Gust says)
e. Gross Pointe Blank ("You get dental with that?")

3. He should understand that, approximately once a month, I will get completely schnockered with my friends. He should not only accept this, but think it's as funny as I do. Also, I might come home smelling like cigarettes occasionally. It's not that I smoke, it's just that on rare occasions, I smoke. You know?

4. He should accept the fact that my monthly grooming budget is roughly in line with the gross domestic product of many island nations. After all, I'm doing it for him. I'm fairly certain he doesn't want my feet to feel like sandpaper when he rubs up against them in bed and bikini waxes ain't cheap.

5. He should understand that when I'm on a rant, it's safer to just nod and act interested. I'm not looking for input. I'm looking for validation and a kiss when I run out of steam. Righteous indignation is one of my few talents. Just sit back and enjoy the show.

6. He should know that no one is ever going to make me feel guilty about paying $2,000 for a purse. Including a homeless kid with one leg. In fact, if given the opportunity, and fifteen minutes to prepare, I could convince Tiny Tim that the $2,000 that I spent was not only completely reasonable but good for the economy. Some women scrapbook or play tennis. I go to Louis Vuitton.

7. He should know that I will get plastic surgery one day. Namely, a boob lift, blepharoplasty, and TCA chemical peel. (See #4, above.) That's money well spent. Don't worry. It will be tasteful and subtle. I don't want to be forever young, but the women who age the most gracefully do so with the assistance of skilled surgeons.

8. He should know that I would actually prefer it if he had children from a prior marriage. Coming from a stepfamily myself, I'm cool with it, and think I'd be a great stepparent. Bonus: then, I don't actually have to have a baby. Believe it or not, especially after reading the litany of vanity listed previously, I'm not worried about stretchmarks and loss of breast tissue due to nursing. No, no. I'm worried about those billboards I read that say, "Never ever shake a baby". The fact that babies require a BILLBOARD to protect them from being shaken leads me to believe that lots of people want to. Why would I want one of those? Plus, I'm worried that I might trip and fall and kill the baby. Or worse, trip and fall and not kill the baby and but make it retarded. It would be much easier if I could just love his children as though they were my own.

9. He should miss me when he's off doing things with his buddies. Not creepy miss me like, "I can't go a day without seeing Kitty." I mean more like, "Oh, Kitty would have thought that was funny," or at the very least, "I'm glad I don't have to pick from this litter of scags. I can go home to Kitty."

10. He should accept that I am never [ever] going to wear themed lingerie of any kind. It is one thing to invest in beautiful undergarments that are tasteful, if somewhat abbreviated. It is quite another to wear a red crushed velvet teddy trimmed in white maribou feathers and a Santa hat. If it requires me to make an entrance, it's not happening. However, there are some things that, quid pro quo, could be negotiated. Like exotic vacations (or the occasional girls' weekend in Vegas) and garter belts. I believe that it's important to express appreciation when it's due.

11. He should understand that I don't watch sports on TV, unless it's rhythmic gymnastics in the Summer Olympics. I will gladly sit next to him and read while he does, but I'm not going to get excited about it, not matter how much he natters on about whatever. I will not participate in fantasy leagues either. While I think it's sweet that he thinks I care, I don't, and honesty is important, right?

12. He should want me to be responsible for all decorating decisions in the household. I don't even mind if he gives me a reasonable budget. But, other than "That's really pretty sweetheart," I don't really care what he thinks. Except for in his study. Every man needs a cave.

So, what do you think? Am I asking too much?

Daily Haiku

2008-12-05T17:25:00.001-06:00

Tonight is a sing
song night. Christmas music shall
jingle through the air.

Daily Haiku

2008-12-04T17:07:00.001-06:00

Brokeback Mountain. For
a film that was such a big
deal, it's way boring.

I am so ashamed. . .

2008-12-04T17:01:00.002-06:00

Today I broke down and purchased something that I never thought I would buy. A Juicy Couture terrycloth sweatsuit. I'm ashamed. It's cute, but I'm not sure that I have the joie de cougar to wear it in public. It's going to make an appearance tonight, and I am fearful that I will look like the douchebags that I lampoon. It's terribly comfy, though, which is good. Someone mentioned today that she thought I would make a great soccer-stepmom, and I guess I'm just trying that identity one for size. I feel that I should rent a Mercedes SUV just to complete the look. I'd say I should make an appointment with a personal trainer as well, but I think we all know I'm not going to work out.

Things I've Seen

2008-12-04T16:56:00.003-06:00

When I saw this, I thought, "You're goddamn right!" Is that wrong?

Daily Haiku

2008-12-02T22:05:00.000-06:00

Need a massage. Bad.
Tired. Cranky. Wondering what
the heck is goin' on?

Squee!

2008-12-01T22:20:00.002-06:00

I have an admirer. This email deserves publication. If Shakespeare could write stuff like this, he would pull so much tail . . .

Dear Kitty X,

My sister showed me your blog over the Thanksgiving Holiday and I find you to be extremely entertaining. Your mastery of the English language is very attractive. I am happy to know that Texas A&M is still capable of producing an exceptional product.

From your blog, I find your dating life to be much more vibrant and entertaining than mine. Superhuman perception is not required to ascertain many of your candidates are the proverbial "low hanging fruit." I have never ventured into the on-line dating world, but I am not surprised by your results. My sister has been trying to convince me that on-line dating is the last hope for those of us in the professional class. If accurate, I am disheartened those of us that excelled and continue to do so feel it is unlikely to encounter one another in the conduct of our lives. I thankfully look at my cousin, [name redacted], as an example it is possible to have it all.

After looking at the well manicured men in your blog, I wondered how (and if you really did) unceremoniously reject them. If I received pictures from attractive women, I think the curious part of me would have gone out with them, regardless if they had massacred a flock of ducks as a demonstration of their self-sufficiency and prowess. Since you appreciate honesty, I will attempt to set myself apart from your other candidates. I spend less than your recommended $37 on my monthly 'manscaping' expenses (excluding my weekly haircut). My features are not nearly as defined as your example candidates and I do not wax, but I will admit to minimal and tasteful body hair shaving. Additionally, I am seldom accused of being prettier than my dates and the usual comment is "How did he do that?" You are better educated than me, earn more money, and have a much cooler job (at least as portrayed in "Night Court"). While I am in a self-depreciating mood, I am also a Long Horns fan. Finally, I do not have one 'cool bone' in my entire body. I am aware a period existed in the 90's known as the 'G-Funk era', but I missed it. I also missed the 'fizzle nation' era in the early 00's, and thankfully I missed the mid-decade trauma of losing Anna Nicole Smith (from your home state).

As far as my positive attributes, I love education and I am extremely ambitious. I enjoy reading and writing. For the last ten years I have maintained a subscription to the NYT. I have even tried my hand at writing and my proudest moment occurred in 2007 when the Houston Chronicle published one of my articles (my mother is very proud). My current undertaking is looking into business schools and law schools, meaning I have not ruled out a run for the presidency. I am disciplined, methodical, loyal, and committed; all great attributes for a guy you should go on date with and the attributes of career criminals (I am sure business is good for you).

So as in your blog, I will go for broke and ask you out to dinner. The hard part is I live in Washington State. On January 18, I am attending The Divine Performing Arts to celebrate the Chinese New Year at the Paramount Theatre in Seattle (Leave it to the Chinese to attribute all arts to the Divinity, at least we Americans only bestow Divine Rights to our presidential candidates). My meager earnings will provide your ticket and accommodations, but your lawyer salary will be responsible for your transportation. I expect a favorable reply or well-done public humiliation in your blog. Regardless I will remain one of your readers.

Respectfully, [name redacted]

PS. Reasons I can't be disqualified…

"You look WAY older than 40." I am actually younger than you, but not by much.

"You're short." I am six feet tall, so you would have to be an Amazon.

"I didn't date waiters in college, and I'm not going to start now." I have never been in the food service industry.

"All of your friends look like douchebags." Hopefully, not all of them.

"YOU look like a douchebag." No one has ever said that to my face.

"You still read Stephen King's books." I read the Stand when I was 12 and loved it. I tried to read another one when I was 22 and thanked God I didn't buy it for myself.

"You read Joel Osteen's books." I read a book every other week and I have never heard of Joel Osteen. I am almost exclusively a non-fiction reader and I have been reading a lot of Pat Buchanan, Thomas Friedman, and my favorite books are Freakonomics and The Lean Six Sigma.

"You don't have a rudimentary grasp of the shift or CAPS LOCK key." Good there.

"Anyone who isn't smart enough to realize that Baytown is a crappy place to live and move is not smart enough to date me." The only Baytown I know of is in San Francisco and if I thought that was the Baytown you were referring to I would stop now.

"Your mustache is disturbing." My boss offensively calls a mustache a "dick duster." I have never attempted to grow one.

"You would lose a third grade spelling bee. In the second round." Maybe, but I have spell check and really good editor.

Needless to say, when I arrive in Seattle on January 17, I will be jumping this guy's bones. . .

Do you think . . .

2008-12-01T17:41:00.002-06:00

. . . that God will mind if I have a glass of wine before I go to choir practice? It's not really a sin necessarily, but it's not really pious, either. I guess I'm willing to risk it. I've been in trial all day. My voir dire was not so good. The rest has been pretty good, considering.

So back to my eternal damnation for a glass of wine . . .

Daily Haiku

2008-12-01T17:39:00.001-06:00

Trial today. Perhaps
it would help if you read the
law. It's on the page!

Things I've Seen

2008-11-29T15:10:00.004-06:00

Yes, those are metallic gold stretch pants. With kitten-heeled black mules. And yes, that woman is older than 40. Ma'am? Ma'am. Just because you shop at Forever 21 doesn't make you actually Forever 21. I thought you might like to know.

My New Love

2008-11-29T15:05:00.004-06:00

That's it. I am no longer going to obsess about men, my work, the state of my cream-colored carpet, the economy, or finding the perfect pair of jeans. I have something entirely new to obsess about:

It's as though the Keebler elves took all of the goodness in the world, dusted it with powdered sugar, and sold it at Wal-Mart. The Girl Scouts have nothing on these bitches. Nothing. I have eaten half of a box, naively believing that it might cure my hangover. It hasn't really helped, and I've gained five pounds since 1 PM, but I don't care. They are that good.

Thanksgiving Blessings

2008-11-27T20:11:00.005-06:00

In honor of Thanksgiving, I offer you this list of things for which I am thankful:

I do not have any visible birth defects. Or invisible ones, for that matter.

I did not have eighteen relatives at my house today, as was originally planned. Instead, I drove to them, and am now peacefully ensconsed in my home, enjoying some wine.

Wine.

In the past year, I have managed not to contract ebola, hanta, or any other illness contemplated in the movie Outbreak. But, on the night I saw that movie in the theater, I did contract a particularly virulent stomach flu. My first gastric pyrotechnics occurred approximately three hours after consuming a large raspberry snowcone. Imagine my horrified surprise when I upchucked red goo. I was certain that I had contracted something fatal. Turns out, I was going to be fine.

My dogs do not pee on the floor every time that someone comes in the door.

I do not have a baby. It's not that I don't want one eventually. [Perhaps.] I'm just glad I don't have one right now.

My shoe size is available at most stores. It would be a whip to have to order online.

Wine.

I'm not unhappily married.

I'm not lactose intolerant. Festivus Ben & Jerry's is about to this the shelves, and I would hate to miss out. It's cinammon ice cream, swirled with caramel, marshmallow, and with chunks of gingerbread. My attraction to it is almost sexual. For real. I know it's creepy, but if you'd had it, you would feel the same way.

I'm not a humorless prat with a perpetual dumb look who lacks a rudimentary understanding of my job function and it's necessary skills. [Nemesis, I'm looking at you.]

My Christmas tree is fabulous.

I can fit into those effin' red leather pants.

Have I mentioned wine?

My definition of "Other"

2008-11-25T12:40:00.006-06:00

On eHarmony, when you are "matched" with someone, and decide not to proceed through "Guided Communication", then you must close the match. When you close the match, they ask you to give a reason, like, "I think the physical distance between us is too great," or "I don't think our must haves and can't stands fit," or my personal favorite, "I'd rather not say." There is, of course, the all-encompassing, "Other". To me, "Other" includes the following reasons:

"You look WAY older than 40."

"You're short."

"I didn't date waiters in college, and I'm not going to start now."

"All of your friends look like douchebags."

"YOU look like a douchebag."

"You still read Stephen King's books."

"You read Joel Osteen's books."

"You don't have a rudimentary grasp of the shift or CAPS LOCK key."

"Anyone who isn't smart enough to realize that Baytown is a crappy place to live and move is not smart enough to date me."

"Your mustache is disturbing."

"You would lose a third grade spelling bee. In the second round."

I mean, if eHarmony is all about finding your true match and being honest about who you are, let's be honest about who you AREN'T, and why we're never going to hit it off, right?

The DCC

2008-11-19T12:17:00.006-06:00

That's what the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders call themselves. I know this because I am obsessed with their show on CMT. That's right, CMT. It comes on right after "My Big Fat Redneck Wedding", hosted by Tom Arnold. I don't watch the wedding show, but the DCC? It is, without a doubt, one of the most riveting programs on TV today. Nightline schmightline.

The significance that these women place on being a member of the DCC is akin to the level of significance that the average doctor places upon their education and license. It is the culmination of years of working out, tanning, and plastic surgery.* Notice that I didn't say dance practice. Most of these girls couldn't dance their way onto a pee wee football drill team. Don't get me wrong. Some of them are, miraculously, able to keep the beat. However, they are not exactly what I would call talented. They're talented in the "Hoo, boy. There's a lot of talent in this club tonight," way.

Looking good in the uniform is what it's all about. Well, looking good in the uniform and not being such a slut that there are pictures of it on your myspace. Because they do background checks. If you're looking for 36 girls who are willing to strut around a stadium in white shorts so tiny that they require a specific bikini wax, where are you more likely to look? Hooters in Grapevine, Texas? Or the dorms at Brigham Young? But, once again, miraculously, they somehow find 32 trampily virginal blondes** who are willing to don the uniform who have not yet posed in lingerie for a photographer's 'online portfolio'.

Then, they teach them the choreography, which is awesome. It is so bad that I don't know how they could convince anyone with a real dance background to go along with it. The latin phrase non sequitur comes to mind. Balanchine would be outraged. It goes something like this: kick ball change (with a shoulder shimmy), double pirouette, jump out to second position, drop-it-like-it's-hot booty shake. ("Pop it harder!," shouts Kelly Finglass, the Director, who has gained at least 15 pounds from last season.) Yikes. And these girls are devastated when they get cut. Devastated. And then, on the final episode (which airs Saturday, I believe) they find out whether they make the team. Who do these girls run to when they find out the good news? Their dads. Creepy. I'm telling you, if you're not watching this, you're missing out. Big time.

* All of these chicks are 22 years old and look at least 35. I dunno if it's the tanning, or what, but they look beat.

** There are 36 Cheerleaders in total. 32 blonds, two hispanic girls, and one black girl. One is of unspecified origins. The only new hispanic girl who had a chance got cut because of her "questionable background". Apparently, she had a criminal record. The two Asian chicks got cut in the finale.

Fortunately . . .

2008-11-19T11:57:00.003-06:00

. . . my persistent vegetative state was cured by a little white miracle known as Lunesta. That stuff is the greatest invention since velcro. When I went to the doctor a couple of months ago and told her that sleep was occasionally as elusive as the perfect pair of black pants, she offered me a script for Ambien. I had to turn her down. You see, I know a few people who have a ticket on the Ambien train, and a couple of them have some pretty great stories to tell about the various shenanigans that they (or their spouses) have gotten up to while under the influence of the drug. That Congressman who got busted for DWI has got nothing on a certain someone I know who once put on a puppet show with some boiled shrimp. I think it was a kick-line of sorts. Luckily, her spouse was there to make sure she made it into the bed. I live alone. So, when she suggested Ambien, I had to decline. There are a couple of risks that I refuse to take: 1) Wandering around my neighborhood in my Cuero Gobblers Football t-shirt and undies in a sleeping pill induced haze, and 2) Running a marathon, because I hear that some people get so fatigued that they crap their pants. Both of these things are below the level of humiliation that I am willing to stoop to in order to accomplish a specific goal, no matter how lofty. So, as an alternative I got me some Lunesta. I have never slept so well. Or fallen asleep so immediately. I mean, it's kind of creepy to go from bright-eyed and bushy-tailed to so drowsy that you can't keep your eyes open with toothpicks. The nine hours of sleep that followed? Totally worth it.

Daily Haiku

2008-11-19T11:56:00.001-06:00

Some people are not
satisfied if you give them
the earth, moon and stars.

It's Official. . .

2008-11-18T12:53:00.004-06:00

I am brain dead. Or, for those of you who prefer to be politically correct, in a "persistent and prolonged vegetative state". Have you ever reached the point where you could no longer stomach the lie, "Great!," when an acquaintance asks, "How's it going?" When that one-word platitude seems more repugnant to you than particularly graphic porn? That's how tired I am right now. I have two assistants. TWO. It's shameful the easy life I lead. I mean, it's hardly one of laziness, but I've got no kids, no husband, and a great job, house, etc. I should be fine. Instead, I just want a nap. Or a vacation. Somewhere with a gorgeous pool that overlooks a particularly picturesque white sandy beach. I don't want to go to the beach, you understand, just look at it while someone brings me cocktails at regular intervals. In between spa treatments. Also, I would like a winning lottery ticket. The proceeds upon which are tax-free. And a cheeseburger and tater tots with cheese from Burger Boy that doesn't have any calories. Followed by a pint of rice pudding from Nick's cheesesteak restaurant in Dewey Beach, Delaware. And a limitless supply of Louis Vuitton bags. And a deep and complete understanding the internal combustion engine. I was kidding about that last one, of course.

Daily Haiku

2008-11-17T12:23:00.001-06:00

Fortunately for
my sanity, justice will
come early next year.

Nemesis

2008-11-16T16:35:00.002-06:00

I have been inundated with requests to identify my nemesis. I shall not. You'll probably figure it out after a while, anyway . . .

Things I've Seen

2008-11-16T16:32:00.002-06:00

Flipping sweet. The owner walked out as I was taking this picture. I tried to play it cool, but he probably knew I was going to make fun of him on the internet. His helmet also featured the Corona Extra logo. Apparently, no one has told him that Corona is the shit beer of Mexico.

Red Leather Motorcyle Pants

2008-11-16T16:31:00.001-06:00

As promised, the red leather motorcycle pants, in the flesh, so to speak. . .

Daily Haiku

2008-11-14T20:14:00.001-06:00

So busy that I
can't even enjoy a meal.
Stop insanity!

Nemesis: ancient Greek goddess of retribution

2008-11-10T16:05:00.002-06:00

Many of you may recall that, in its prior incarnation, Luxe Overload was called Kitty X Complains, and was mostly about my nemesis at work. Until today, I have not had a nemesis at work. This has been both bad and good. Good, because it means work isn't too bad. Bad, because I think a nemesis is a healthy thing. Someone specific upon whom to direct all of my negative energy, whether they deserve it or not.

Having a nemesis is cathartic. It's amusing. Having a nemesis is a measuring stick for one's daily productivity. Have I done something to make my nemesis' day worse? Then today has been a productive day. Did my nemesis question nemesis' decision to enter into nemesis' chosen profession today, possibly discussing a career change with nemesis' spouse? Then I have done all that I set out to do.

Perhaps the most lofty goal in having a nemesis is to make said nemesis despise you as much as you despise them. One former colleague would refer to this as a blood feud. Unlike the average nemesis situation, where one person secretly despises and works to undermine another, the blood feud is public. Grenades are launched in the open, spectators in awe of the vibrant fury to which they are witness. That is my objective. En garde!

This is going to be fun.

Daily Haiku

2008-11-10T16:01:00.002-06:00

A new nemesis.
I have longed for you, hated
one! Now you have come!

O, Tannenbaum! O, Tannenbaum!

2008-11-09T21:51:00.003-06:00

Don't judge. It's a sickness.

Argh!

2008-11-07T22:31:00.003-06:00

For a variety of reasons, I have unpacked my Christmas tree, and tonight I went about fluffing it. (No porn jokes, please.) After putting it together, and plugging in all of the sections (it's pre-lit), I was more than dismayed to find that one of the light strings isn't working, in part. I can think of no good way to fix this. So, I poured myself a glass of wine, and am now staring at it, wondering how to fix the problem, and pondering the fact that my arms are tired as balls. I need to work out. When it's complete, I'll post a photo of its fabulousness. Until then, I will curse the lightbulb that is making the top 24" of my 9 foot flocked spruce look depressingly dark. Argh!

PS - Have I ever mentioned that I'm a planner? The fact that I am decorating my Christmas tree on second weekend of November is not something that I am proud of.

Daily Haiku

2008-11-07T14:10:00.001-06:00

Friday, you are my
second favorite day. Starts
out good, ends up great!

UPDATE: Red Leather Motorcycle Pants

2008-11-06T13:02:00.000-06:00

A special request came in via email today regarding the red leather motorcycle pants. In a couple of weeks, I'm going to a Metallica concert. The author of the email has requested that I wear the pants. I've decided that I shall, mostly for the amusement of my friends. I will certainly take pictures and post them here, so that the world may enjoy them. See? You do have something to live for . . .

Daily Haiku

2008-11-06T13:01:00.001-06:00

Today I am so
tired. I have that feeling like
right before a yawn.

Daily Haiku

2008-11-05T08:38:00.002-06:00

Cat poop. An ashtray.
That is the taste in my mouth.
Die, cat! Die! Hate you!