The Way Things Are






How lucky am I?
2006-01-18, 1:16 p.m.

How lucky am I? Very, that’s how. Today, I have scored the following from our insurance agent and one of my many, lovely, work-related attorneys:

-8 tickets to see Bill Engvall (one of the blue collar comedians) at the San Antonio Rodeo next month AND
-2 tickets to see the Spurs embarrass the Bucks tonight.

Bill Engvall: the poor man’s Jeff Foxworthy. Do y’all think this kind of redneck humor is funny? Because I sure do. I guess maybe you have to identify with it and see yourself, your friends, and mostly your family members in it. For me, it’s like watching King of the Hill. I KNEW those people when I was growing up in Dallas. I know the people of whom that Bill and Jeff and their merry troupe of rednecks speak. Of. What?

And what is a Buck, by the way? A Buckeye? A Buckskin? A Buckhead? A Buckmerunning? And did I just jinx the whole thing by (1) talking shit and (2) agreeing to attend the game, thereby ensuring a loss? Probably.


Did I tell you guys that I got a George Foreman Mean Lean Fat Reducing Grilling Machine for Christmas? I have to admit that I was rather skeptical at first. I’ve always been intrigued by the little suckers, but never would pull the trigger for an appliance that I might or might not get any use out of.

(As an aside, Lil Guy called it the Gary Coleman Grilling Machine so many times, that we have simply named the appliance Gary Coleman. Apparently, there was an episode of “Josh and Drake” or whoever those nice young men are with Gary Coleman. And in the “Coincidence, I Think Not” category, who is going to be on Skating with the Stars? Todd Bridges. Full circle, my friends)

I digress.

I LOVE THAT LITTLE LEAN MEAN MACHINE! I love my Gary Coleman. Do you have one? Do you love it? Does it make the most kickass hamburgers in 5 minutes? Can you make the flattest, crispiest grilled cheese sandwiches ever in the entire history of the universe and infinity and beyond? I CAN.

I’ve been so excited lately that I have been scavenging for long-forgotten meat in the freezer, and have menus planned for every night this week (except tonight because: Spurs) featuring Gary Coleman and his Machine. If you find a piece of meat that’s tough with a funky flavor to it, don’t mind that; it’s just freezer burn. Spit that out and give it to the dog.

Who, by the way, is so mistreated. Sometimes we make her go outside! And sometimes we make her wait until we are finished eating before we let her eat our scraps off our plates! Since she cannot be trusted in the house during the day by herself, she either spends the day outside, or in her crate on rainy days (and DW comes home at lunch to let her out, and she immediately wants back in anyway). The dog takes and takes and takes and takes, and continues to look at us with the most persecuted look on her face.

“Poor Beans,” we’ll say. “Nobody loves her. Nobody feeds her. Nobody pets her. Nobody lets her sit on the couch. Nobody takes care of her. Nobody ever lets her in the house.”

For the record, in case you are new here, Beans is our 60-pound Doberman who was a rescue dog, and we can see why she needed rescuing. She’s incorrigible. Monday afternoon, Lil Guy and I took her to the vet to get her nails trimmed (because she freaks right the fuck out when you do this and it takes an entire veterinary clinic staff to hold her down), and she was so nervous in the car that she wouldn’t stay in the back seat; she crawled up front, all 60 pounds of pointy elbows and talons and rock-hard knotty noggin, and sat in LG’s lap, with her front paws on my seat, and her nose right in front of my right eyeball.

It was so sad. Poor Beans, with her $10 pedicure.


You never did see my other favorite Christmas present, did you? I mean besides the almost-dozen bottles of wine. Why do you suppose people think wine is the perfect gift for me? Hmm. Anyway, here’s what today’s busy, professional executive has hanging in her office:

This makes the statement “Take me seriously, ‘kay?”

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