I’m off for a few days celebrating our 5 year anniversary! Be back soon!
I’m off for a few days celebrating our 5 year anniversary! Be back soon!
So I get a piece of mail from MAC cosmetics last week, which I figured was junk mail since I don’t buy from MAC. For some reason I opened it and soon realized that it was a receipt for $160 of cosmetics! Some asshat had obviously compromised my credit card number and decided to use it to order themselves a online “gift” from me!
Well, what they didn’t know was that now I have their name and address since it was on the SHIP TO section of the receipt. So, I collected some goodies outside courtesy of my yellow lab and will be shipping them a new “gift” from me today.
So, enjoy your bag of poo, TRANG PHAM of TEMPE, AZ. (Oh, and I called the cops, too.)
Someone asked me the other day why the hell I would call my blog ‘Nacho Underpants’ instead of The Titillating Tales of Tiffany or some such crap. Well, it’s kind of a tribute – and has been for over 20 years.
Back in my college days I had a weekly comic strip in the student paper that was also called Nacho Underpants. The name came from a panel of one of my favorite comic strips, Life in Hell – which you may or may not know – was drawn by none other than Matt Groening in his pre-Simpsons days. In fact, after my comic strip had been running a few years, I wrote Matt Groening and enclosed a copy of a few of my strips along with a letter explaining my tribute to him. He actually wrote me back and drew me my own comic, which, although framed, unforutnately has been ravaged by time and has faded somewhat over the years! (see below) If he’d only used black pen for all of it instead of just my name – Bongo (the rabbit) was drawn in blue pen, and his signature was in red pen. I always thought that was so cool of him, even though the Simpsons had not come out yet and he was hardly famous at the time – he was famous to me.
Anyway, obviously my plan of having a comic strip in real life did not work out. It’s a sorry tale of dream-crushing letters, big city drug dealers, and insider information that will have to wait for another day to be told.
I’m off on a sailing trip for the next 14 days, so not much blogging will be happening, I’m afraid. But, I leave you with this blissful photo of life in the 50s – according to my cookbook anyway. The guy on the right makes me wonder a bit, however. I don’t like the way he’s touching Little Johnny, or the way he is handling those wieners. I’m just sayin….
Be back soon!
Yes, I am on Facebook. At first I thought, who wants to be on Facebook? What’s the point? I’m too old for shit like that, right? Eight months and 215 friends later, I get it – it is addicting. It’s weird – it’s like every person I have ever known in my entire life is on there somewhere, and even some I didn’t. I actually connected with some cousins of mine that I have never met in person after they found me.
This morning I logged on and saw that FB helpfully pointed out that it was one of my “friends” birthday today. This friend was someone I have known since 3rd grade, and was also the first boy I ever had a crush on. In 5th grade he played the violin, so I took cello just so I could be in his class – so, in a way, he introduced me to my life-long love of music. I lost touch with him after high school, but FB brought us in contact once again. Being the good FB Friend that I am, I clicked over to wish him a happy birthday on his wall. This is how I discovered that this friend killed himself a few days ago – just shy of his 40th birthday. To say I was shocked was an understatement. Nothing on his FB page would have indicated anything abnormal. Just last week I saw a post from him – one of those annoying “5 Favorite…” and he had put Vans as all 5 of his favorite footwear and I had mentally filed that he must really like Vans and smiled.
This news made me very sad, but also made me feel strange. In this electronic world, I found this person, chatted with this person and now know this person is gone – all through the computer. I probably would have never known otherwise that this terrible event occurred as I long ago lost touch with any “real life” mutual friends. And there his FB sits, like an eerie beacon as all his friends, real and electronic, gather in their grief. In this new world, is an electronic message of sadness the same as a written note or attending a service? I feel just as sad as I would have had I found this news out in person – but it just seems … different , but no less tragic.
Rest in Peace, Dylan. These are for you:
I have an embarrassing confession to make… I color my own hair. In fact, I’ve been coloring my hair myself since I was 16 and I haven’t looked back. I don’t really even know what my real hair color would be if I were to let it go au natural. (Well – I have an idea, but let’s not go there…)
I have never once gone to the salon and had my hair done “professionally” – not even for our wedding – much to the chagrin of hairdressers all over the Chicago region. Hairdressers just can’t fathom that my $15.00 hair color can look just as bad as their $215 hair color.
Once I was getting a haircut at a well known chain of Chicagoland salons and the owner and salon namesake happened to be visiting the day I was there. His #2 was also there and, according to my hair stylist, was the Directing Vice Manager Of Hair Styling Stylists or some such dumbass thing. Mr. #2 came by my station and asked me if he could cut my hair that day like he’s doing me some sort of fabulous favor to show some of his visiting students how it’s done. Hey, why not?
Because he’s a flaming asshole, that’s why not. He didn’t listen to anything I said about what I wanted and ended up giving me some completely idiotic haircut where it was way shorter in the back than the front, kind of like some ‘V” thing. I looked like a cross between Clara Bow and something out of Blade Runner.
After the ass desecrated my hair, all the underlings were oooohing and aaahhing over his butcher job like Jesus himself had cut my hair. I was almost in tears, but let them fawn over my awful hair. Then, one of them ran his fingers through my hair and remarked, “Ooooh! That color! It’s just geeeeouuurgeous. Such a unique color. Did Andre create your color as well?” I guessed Andre must be the Man.
“Nope – Walgreens!”
The looks on their faces were one of collective horror. I think one of them may have actually gasped.
“Well, actually, L’Oreal Coluleur Experte Express – Toasted Coconut.”
Andre suddenly hightailed it out of there, as did all his underlings. My regular hair stylist looked pissed off and disappeared as well.
I didn’t get charged for the pleasure of having to grow my hair out for the next six months. I’m sooooooo worth it!
So as you may know, I have been deathly ill off and on for the last six weeks. This last one really kicked my ass and I ended up giving in and seeing a doctor. Well, turns out, not a doctor, but at least someone who can give me some drugs so I can finally join the world of the living again.
I didn’t want to go to my normal doctor, because it would take a week to get in and he kind of creeps me out anyway. So, I think it will be a brilliant idea to go to the new clinic they have at our local Walgreens. It seems quick and convenient as long as you aren’t having a major heart attack or something.
I get dressed for the first time in four days and go to the Walgreens. They have a little clinic area set up in the corner, next to the Pharmacy. I check in via computer and everything seems OK. I had to wait a few minutes to get in the exam room, but nothing major. (Better than the regular doctor who keeps you waiting endlessly with a Readers Digest from 1982.)
Turns out that the person that treats you is not an MD, but a Nurse Practitioner, which I guess means they aren’t a doctor but can prescribe meds. The lady I have seems slightly nervous, like it’s the first time she’s seen someone with the flu and she totally looks like wide-eyed Amy Pohler. She keeps telling me she doesn’t know… it could be viral or bacterial. No shit, Sherlock! Finally, I decide I am going home with some drugs whether I need them or not and tell her that I think I should get the Z-Pac. (I used the Z-Pac once before when I got deathly ill before our wedding – it literally wiped out whatever I had in one day and I had been fighting it for 2 weeks.) Her eyes light up and she says, “That’s totally what I was going to recommend!” like she just won the kindergarten spelling bee. Whatever – I’m getting drugs and now I just want to go home.
Everything in this place is computerized, you never touch a piece of paper. Even when they took my insurance card, they scanned it into the computer. I was thinking it was kind of cool as compared to my dentist who still has an entire wall full of paper files that is three rows thick, even though he thinks he is “cutting edge” because he’ll sedate you with crazy Halcion pills for a crown. (I think you now know why he is my dentist.)
Anyway, Nurse Pohler tells me she is going to put my prescription in “The System” and I can pick it up at the pharmacy “in a few minutes.” Great, thanks!!!!!
Do you know how long it took for the Pharmacy to receive my request? FORTY FUCKING MINUTES. After 20 my husband was like, “Hey, where’s the Prescription?” and we figured out I wasn’t in The System. They said sometimes it takes awhile to reach them over the network. Seems plausible, except for the fact that you are LOCATED 20 FEET APART. It was totally ridiculous, and at this point I am fading fast. Finally, after 30 minutes I saw the receptionist get up from her desk and WALK 20 FEET and hand the Pharmacist a piece of paper. It still took them fucking 10 more minutes to grab the PRE-PACKAGED Z PAC and hand it to me. What a cluster-fuck!
My point is that maybe sometimes just the old fashioned piece of paper is better than newfangled technology. Technology is supposed to help, not hinder. I learned that the hard way when I spent five hours putting all my address contacts in my new Apple Newton and threw away my address book. A week later someone pushed the button that reset the entire device and I lost everything. I still to this day use a paper address book.
Oh, and I’m still sick, but better. Not sure if it was the drugs or not. I guess we’ll never know.