Goddamn you, Mother Nature

Well, I have lived to tell the terrifying tales of Storm Watch 2004 (or the Class 3 Kill Storm as one person put it). Actually, the most horrifying tale is that my Dish Network was out half the day yesterday and most of last night, so that's enough for me to curse Mother Nature. Damn you, Mother Nature, you wet dirty whore! How dare you take away Pimp My Ride and Sanford and Son re-runs.

The news still continues to go ballistic over the rain here, even though 80,000 (and rising) people are dead in Asia. Nice.

Who says Californians are full of themselves??

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I am going to Target, my retail orgasm today, where I will whip out my Target card and spend way too much money on crap I probably don't need. But I don't care. I have been stuck in the house for the last six weeks and need some excitement. I have to buy a new toaster, since my current toaster apparently wants to commit arson and burn me and my apartment down. I put bread in it the other day and walked away, and when I came back the top of the bread was ON FIRE, so I figured that meant I got my ten dollars' worth out of that one, time to go plunk down ten more.

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In sad news, Jerry Orbach died, who was in one of my favorite cheese movies of all time, Dirty Dancing (he also kicks criminal ass and takes names on Law and Order). Goddamn I love that movie.

Nobody puts Baby in a corner.

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Ok, Storm Watch 2004 is coming back later today, so keep praying for me. Forget about all the tsunami people... I might have to actually USE MY WINDSHIELD WIPERS.

Jesus... I am embarrassed even more than usual to be from California today.

Fuck Tony! Toni! Tone! It does rain in Southern California.

Whenever it rains in Southern California, the TV news goes apeshit and tries to make everyone panic that the end of the world is coming because water is falling from the sky. Anarchy in the streets, madness on the freeways, and a general sense of chaos is what they make it sound like. Every dickhead reporter is standing outstide somewhere in a rain poncho, looking like they are clinging to life to tell me that, yes, it is indeed raining.

It's always the lead story on the news, and they always give it some dramatic name like "Storm Watch 2004" or some shit like that. Never mind 44,000 people are dead in South Asia in a disaster of epic proportions, it's drizzling in Los Angeles, motherfucker. We have priorities.


So, since my surgery, I have had a few "complications." As a result, a nurse comes to my house every other day to fix me. Well, yesterday I had a male nurse that was so damn hot I didn't know what to do with myself. He was absolutely gorgeous, and that's not a word I use to describe men very often.

Well, in my sexually frustrated state, I didn't even realize that while he was fixing me, I was flirting my ass off. I was trying to be as cute and charming and funny as I possibly could. This is how bad I am, people. This guy more or less has his hands inside my stomach and I am trying to pick him up.

Smooth, Andria.

The worst part of all of it is, while I was wooing him with my winning sense of humor, he told me what a \"great personality\" I had. Fuck that. I am so sick of hearing what a great personality I have. Then I told myself he was probably gay or had a tiny penis. Or both. I'll tell myself whatever to make me feel better.


Since the rain was nice enough to knock out my satellite reception, today I am going to dork out on my couch watching the Seinfeld DVD's Santa was nice enough to bring me.

Best. Show. Ever.

Pray for me, people. Pray that I survive this horrendous downpour.

I mean, it IS Storm Watch 2004.

It's just wrong.

Today, while shopping for CD's I saw something that I have seen more and more of lately. Fat girls in low-rise pants. It's just not right, people. Unless you're a size two or smaller, they are really NOT flattering at all. As a fat chick myself, I understand the desire to be fashionable, but at some point some common sense has to enter into the picture. It's all kinds of wrong.



In more traumatic news, I witnessed something so awful that it is burned in my memory.

I went over to my parents' house to pick up some gifts I left behind from yesterday. I walked in, as I always do, and noticed my Mom and Dad were nowhere to be found. I walked toward the back of the house where the family room is, and still nothing. It was then that I heard the most ear-splitting sound a child can hear: her parents having sex.
I can not even express to you the shock and awe that was going through my mind at that moment. My parents room is just above the family room, and I could hear everything. As quickly and quietly as I could, I turned around and ran out of the house and got in my car.

Now, I know my parents have sex. But I don't need to know about it. I don't want to hear how good my Dad is sticking it to my Mother anymore than my Dad wants to know what goes on in my own personal life (which my cat was nice enough to point out to him by batting around a condom wrapper she found under the bed when he was here once).

Man, that was all bad. I did not need to hear my 50 year-old parents' bed slamming up against the wall.

I am ruined.



I hope your Christmas was wonderful, and you got all that you wanted.

God knows I got much, much more than I asked for.

Ah, the warmth of love and family.

Christmas, like Thanksgiving, is one of the few days a year when my Mom's whole family is contained in one house, forced to tolerate one another for the sake of family and holiday cheer. Well, in the past I have had the benefit of champagne and beer to fill me with my own particular brand of cheer and make the whole thing pleasant.

Being that I can't drink for a long time, this is the first completely sober family holiday I have had in a while. It's a whole different way of seeing things.

My Mom's sisters, her brother, and my Grandmother are all in denial. My Aunt Susie thinks that if you have a Coach bag and MAC lip gloss on that no one will notice that she and her husband hate each other and go the entire night not talking to one another. Or my Aunt Jane, who thinks that as long as she prays to that whacked Mormon God of hers that it's ok that her kids are assholes to their parents and treat them like shit in front of the rest of the family. Or my Uncle Steve, who is 46 years old, makes a hundred grand a year and still lives with his Mother and has not had a girlfriend (or a date even) in about fifteen years. Or my racist Grandmother, who badmouths everyone, especially the hispanic people, but thinks it's ok as long she spoils her half-Mexican great-grandsons. I won't even get started on my Aunts' kids. That's a whole other entry. Needless to say, my Mom, Dad and sister are the most normal ones of the bunch, and I think that says something.

Something scary.

Don't get me wrong. I love my family. I do. But sometimes they make it really hard to like them.



On a funny note, the UPS man was delivering a package to me today and my cat Ike ran out the door and scared the shit out of him, and I thought it was going to make this grown man piss himself.

Ike's not fat, he's just big-boned.



Even if your family is as nutty as mine, do have a merry Christmas and enjoy yourselves.

Happy Festivus!!

69-ing Reindeer, and feeling guilty.

Tonight I ventured out into my first social event in well over a month. Kay and her husband, DMX had their annual "Bad Christmas Sweater" party, so I decided to go for a while. Man, were those sweaters hideous.

My girlfriend Angela came with her dipshit husband Barney, who decided to take Christmas appliques and have them in different sexual positions as his sweater. Nice. Although, I have to say it was pretty funny to see a gingerbread man sticking it to a penguin from behind and two 69-ing reindeer. Hey, I never said my sense of humor was sophisticated.

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I had all these things I wanted to write about and now they have escaped me, which sucks ass. Oh! Ok, so maybe I am the most horrible person alive, I don't know.

For like four years now, I have been carrying around this secret about a friend of ours (well, she's no friend of mine, but she's in the group) cheating on her husband. Normally, I wouldn't get in some other couples' business (unless it was Kay, she's like my sister), but it has been torture for me to know this and not be able to tell anyone. See, this girl, who I will call The Cake Making Whore (she's a professional baker, duh.) brags about herself constantly, and how great her marriage is, and how wonderful her baby is and what a little genius he is, just like she was. Whatever.

Kay has had a distrust of TCMW for a while, but has never put the pieces together and figured it all out. Well, tonight we were talking about this bartender at our old bar (where TCMW was also a bartender at the time she was fucking around on her husband) coming out of the closet (surprisingly) last week. So I said, "Wow... I happen to know of a threesome [newly gay bartender] and [bouncer at said bar] were in, and I wonder if [newly gay bartender] accidentally gave [bouncer] a little reach around when he wasn't looking." Well, immediately Kay wanted to know who the girl in the menage was, and I said just someone from the bar, so she starts naming names. I keep saying I am not going to say one way or another, except that if they thought about it, it wouldn't be hard to figure out (as soon as I found out, I hated TCMW and refused to say anything nice about her, which made everyone wonder what she did that was so bad). So, when her name was mentioned, I said again that if they thought about it for a minute, it wouldn't be hard to guess. So now four of us know about it, and I don't feel great that I am spreading gossip, because I don't like to do that.

But at the same time, it was killing me to know. I couldn't stand listening to her all the time. She was such a fake. I have no tolerance for people like this.

Oh fuck... I should have just kept my mouth shut. Who knows what Kay is going to do with that kind of information.

Does this make me a horrible human being? Or just a loud-mouthed gossip?

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My head hurts. I am going to bed.

Even in heaven, we're still white trash.

Ok.

So I was reading a friend’s journal entry today, and she was talking about that TV movie from a few weeks ago, “The Five People You Meet in Heaven.” She wondered if you have more than one great love in your life, which one do you hang out with in Heaven (or the afterlife, or whatever the fuck you believe in)? I have perhaps the best example of this question in my very own family.

Que the banjos, people. This is a good one.

When I was little, my Dad’s brother married this chick, Linda. Fast forward about fifteen years, The Uncle gets lung cancer and dies after a long and painful battle. Sad, right? Well, about a year later, after many mysterious days when Linda would just disappear to “think and be alone,” she announces to my family (and still very much grieving Grandmother ) that she and my Dad’s OTHER FUCKING BROTHER are in love, and are getting married, and that she’s pregnant. Jesus H. Christ.

I felt like I was living in the trailer park version of Dynasty or Dallas. But what really perplexed me about the whole thing (besides the Jerry Springer-ness of it all) was that now that she was having a kid with one brother, what did that make that kid in relation to the two kids she had from the first brother? Half-sister? Cousin? Half-cousin?? What is the technical term?

So, when all three of them are in Heaven, who does Linda go to? Will the two uncles duke it out? Will she be with both?

Who the fuck knows.

Unfortunately, that is not even the white-trashiest story about my family. But I'll save those for later.

Let's just be friends.

Man, am I glad I am not a teenager anymore. Being back at the family unit’s pad with my 19 year-old sister all the time has really made me appreciate being 31. It also made me realize what a smartassed (ok, so that hasn’t changed) snot nose I was, too. But my sister, Jackie, is a smooth operator, man. She’s got my parents wrapped so tight around her finger she can get just about anything out of them. And does.

Right about now, you’re probably thinking, “Wow, Andria. You’re bitter.” Damn right I am. I admit this.

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Thankfully, in spite of the horrendous difficulty I am going through right now (and we’re talking two pain pills at a time, people), I am starting to feel more and more like myself. Which is a very good thing. I was starting to go batty for a while, there.

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Ok, so in my last entry (I think) I said that I was going to hang out with Jason, and for the first time, we couldn’t do anything. Well… we did hang out. And it was rough, I tell you. We have been talking on the phone so much and without sex involved, I suspect at the end of this we may end up just friends. I guess that’s not so bad.

Is it?