It's a Gal's World

A buddy of mine is in from the Navy, and so we've taken him out to the bars a couple of times. What else would a Navy guy want to do, right, except get sloshed? I've visited many establishments, and most of them suck for lots of reasons. Not a good enough music selection, or live music that should be taken out and shot. Not enough good beer. Service that's slow, shoddy, or whose brains just left the building. No atmosphere whatsoever. That guy who's been there since 2 in the afternoon kicking back doubles of Scotch who thinks he's doing you a favor by coming over to you. You know the one.

But one thing I've noticed more and more since I've been bar-hopping: bars and bar scenes are a woman's world. Men are mostly just SOL. I'm not just talking about Working Women's Wednesdays where your drinks are cheaper or you have no cover (I HATE a cover). Nor the fact that you can pretty much get any guy to buy you booze if you're hard up for it. How women have that edge became painfully obvious to my Navy buddy when our barely legal waitress started hitting on me. Women hit on me about as much as men hit on me. I'm not really sure why. Maybe they want to flirt and it's safer --or more in style??-- to flirt with a woman than it is a man. I don't think most of these younger girls are gay; I don't even think they're bi. That must be really confusing and frustrating for actual lesbians. At some point the personal attention and the flirting become too depressing for my bud, so (after other unimportant details :D) we left, him grumbling the whole way.

The kicker? A group of girls slow down in a car while we're all trying to stagger our way home. You've gotta nice ass! Says the girl in the passenger seat, and her other girl buddies agree.

Navy buddy slows down and yells, Which one of us are you talking to? He has a nice ass, so he'd probably be right to think it was him.

Not you! She says --can you actually hear someone rolling their eyes? :D-- Her!

Sorry, buddy.

A Rant On Going Out

I've just spent two consecutive nights out on bad dates. Here's some pointers for the clueless, not that they read this anyway. Don't make going out all about YOUR preferences. If I want some damn chicken wings, don't look at me as if I need to move into a trailer park. Even if I do want Ranch with them. And don't nix all my restaurant choices just because you think YOU want vegetarian tonight. I might want a piece of meat. It'd be nice if you'd at least ask. Same goes for movies. Don't put the death wish on all the movies just because your fine-tuned sense of aesthetics is not pleased. I can name half a dozen movies I've had to matinee by myself because you won't go. Don't control the radio 100% of the time. Especially if it's Sad Bastard Rock. I hate Sad Bastard Rock. I realize that Metallica's new Whiskey song isn't your thing all the time either, so I'm judicious about it. Give me the same courtesy.

And if I look nice, dammit, tell me so. I used to work in restaurants, and they seat you in the window seat for a reason. That reason is because you're good looking. They don't want ugly people slobbering food at the people on the street. They want good looking people with manners sitting there. With enough manners not to be upset in public, that's for sure. I smelled good and I looked good. Quit talking about your stupid academic work and notice that.

When you buy me beer, don't keep looking at your watch. Where else do you have to be? Nowhere? OK, then quit looking at it. Let me enjoy it, instead of down it like we were undergrads again. There wasn't that much left of it anyway.

Jesus Herbert Christ. I'm going out with the girls for the next few times.

--Virgil

Weirdness and Writer's Block

I suspect that for the next week or so I'll be posting only pictures or fluff, as I have a massive case of writer's block, so feel free to avoid me.

Well, that's not entirely true. There's just a good bit on my mind, most of which can't go on this blog because of a few people who happen to stop by here. (No, it's not you.) I've found that blogging helps to "talk it out," but as some of my cyberbuddies know all too well, everyone else has their snot-nosed opinions on things, too. So for some issues, I don't want a bunch of snooty comments before I have the philosophy laid down for it in my own brain. It's not that I care what people think. But their thinking out loud interupts my own thoughts sometimes.

Once I find the right words, I'll speak freely, if only to get it out of my head.

--Virgil

This is me!!

Tek Tek yourself. Found it originally on Electric Barbarella's site.

Bettie Page

I saw the new Bettie Page movie last night. I absolutely loved it. The clash between her eagerness and the darkness of S&M was fascinating. And Gretchen Mol did an incredible job. Although I have to wonder, how do you not comprehend anything about bondage when you're the leading star in both photos and films? Was she really clueless about that, or was that a front to protect the Christianity she wasn't able to get away from? I'm hoping there's a biography I can check out.

In any case, the film was shot like a noir, which I love, and reminds us all of the three main ingredients in life: "pose, clothes and expression".

--Virgil

Do you know what's really sad?

When you can wear your 8 year old's flip flops. He also lifted me 6 inches off of the ground. Pretty soon he'll be looking me in the eyes. I don't want to accept this reality, may I have another, please??

"I Own The Outfield!"

My son declared this while I was in Kentucky and waiting to see him play. Apparently the coach told him, "Dante, you own the outfield now--go anywhere you see the ball." He took this to mean he's the greatest athlete on the team. I take it to mean the other players are still trying to put grass in each other's hair.

I didn't get to see a game--again--but I did get to watch a practice. Quite funny. One thing I noticed right away was the deep accent of Dante's coaches. His assistant coach is a cattle farmer who teaches school during the year. As we say back home, he's as cornbread as they come.

On batting stance: "Back fut stays st-EE-ull!"
When a kid does a good job: "'Air ye go!" (There you go!)

I tried for years to lose my accent. It's not as thick as coach's , but it's there. I can't even buy meat from the deli without having people comment on it. I finally stopped trying to get rid of it. I could just as easily turn myself inside out. Plus, it keeps people on the phone longer--they think it's cute, and as part of a nonprofit, that's practically an in-kind gift!

The Most Draining Day I've Had In A While

As I type this from the hospital kiosk, let me just say that this has been one of the most draining days I've had in a while. And I think it's really selfish to put people through power of attorney and living will issues for something so superficial. I even cried, watching her go off on a stretcher, looking so helpless in her gown. But the hard part isn't over yet--that's recovery. I'm so incredibly tired, I can't even depress the space bar properly. ::sigh::

And also, I've realized that the secretive nature of this operation has kept me from having the support of extended family that I really needed. So incredibly selfish. Perhaps I won't think so when I've slept for more than about 4 hours.

I Have Failed

I can find nothing online or in real life that has helped to persuade my mother not to have her facelift on Tuesday. All the websites I've found say there's virtually no complications. Sure, the possiblity of nerve damage. But rarely. Very rarely.

I find that so hard to believe. This is a six hour surgery that requires an overnight stay in the hospital. It's bound to be more complicated than that. Most of the sites seem reputable, but they're all run by surgeons' groups or hospitals. I'm not saying they're dishonest. But they certainly have something to gain by downplaying the negatives.

I've even called the state board that supposedly certifies and/or penalizes doctors who malpractice. They have no idea how I would find out if Mom's doctor would've had a suit filed againt him. WTF? They even suggested I call his lawyer to find out that information. I'm sure that the lawyer will be eager to tell me whether his client is a lawsuit risk or not.

All I seem to be able to find are anecdotal horror stories. And Mom won't believe that. So, apart from purposefully driving her elsewhere or calling the hospital and telling them she's one of those people who die from anethesia--all of which would just piss her off at me anway--we're back to square one.

My ace in the hole--the new vague blood policy Jehovah's Witnesses have adopted--got blown out of the water already. She simply told the doctor she was a Witness and had issues with taking blood, he said, yes, he understood, he'd worked on Witnesses before. And that was that for her. Apart from the fact that I found it funny that he's worked on Witnesses (vanity, anyone?), he can't understand the new blood policy, because Witnesses don't even understand it themselves.

So, like the good daughter I am, I've packed my things and my book to read during her six hour surgery, and I'll be taking care of her the rest of the week. No matter the crap that she spewed at me when I was younger. No matter the fact that she disowned me 2 weeks before I was due to give birth to her only grandchild. No matter what a "disappointment" I may have been, being college educated, a good mother, a good person, and an EX-Jehovah's Witness. When she needs something, look who's here.

At least there'll be plenty to blog about. And at least I'll get to see Dante again. ::Sigh::

Only in West Virginia

Only in this town in West Virginia can you go into the new Kentucky Fried Chicken and end up eating with the State Senator because he doesn't have a lunch buddy. Only in this town in West Virginia will a girl from Kentucky end up pronouncing and defining 4 syllable words to the State Senator.

This place is weird.