Wednesday, June 25, 2008

While I'm at it...why don't I go ahead and hug a tree

(Panoramic...I'm somewhere down there in the middle)
My last Sunday was spent volunteering for Surfrider’s Snowrider Project, Alpental Clean Up event. It was a bit later in the year this time around; due to the epic amount of snow we got this season and the fact that there is still a fair amount up there now…

Armed with my trusty side kick, Anna and several gloves, we attacked the upper lots and the areas opposite of the road. In 3 hours time we managed to fill 7 industrial sized garbage bags full of crap. Even with those numbers though, I’d have to say, it wasn’t as bad as I had imagined. I figured lot 4 alone would’ve been hell; seeing as how I’ve had my fair share of beers and picnics there.
(the first of MANY to follow)
After said 3 hours, we broke for lunch, which the foundation was nice enough to supply us: burgers, potato salad and baked beans…mmmmmm the magical fruit that just loves to make me toot. While we sat around gabbing, the subject of what was found started to arise. I myself found the following: the standard beer discardings, cigar butts, approx 50 tea lights, oyster shells, a carpet kit from a vehicle, some human poo, 5 tennis balls, about 7 socks and some man panties-or ‘manties’ (which I tried investigate the reason for tossing and take a picture of possible monster skid marks-Anna said stop-Boo Anna-BOO). Other items found that day: 2 bras, an unopened bottle of champagne, a snowboard boot, boxing glove, and a king’s ransom in Girl’s Gone Wild Mardi Gra beads. In all, it is a great cause worthy event that Surfrider puts on, it’s a shame more don’t participate with as ‘Green’ as this state is. You could literally be up there ALL day cleaning shit up.

I know I don’t look like your typical ‘love Mother Earth, man!’ type of person, but I was birthed by pseudo hippie/rock parents of the 70’s, that regularly took us camping during the summers. Digging holes to do your business, hanging your food from trees and ‘being one with nature’, were par for the course. Of course I leave out the part where we brought along ATV’s; cause we’re not completely uncivilized patchouli wearing freaks. Nevertheless, I boarded a lot this season, put in my time on the slopes and I do feel that trash gets overlooked. It felt good to do something positive (as I regularly comment evil acts of debauchery).

On this random act of earth kindness, I didn’t bring my iPod. Instead, I listened to the music of nature; with the surrounding birds, waterfalls and creeks; awwwww. I think I even saw Bigfoot, waving and shedding a tear as I pick up his backyard; or it could’ve been a REALLY hairy nudist hiker.

Tuesday, June 24, 2008

Old 97's, Triple Door June 14th

This entry will be much like my feelings on the show I saw…unimpressive

Ok, so maybe that’s a bit harsh. They’re not bad; they’re just not my cup of tea; which frankly surprises me, seeing as how I grew up in a house of rock and or roll(me Da); and the occasional classic country injection(me Ma), not that bullshit country they make today. It was a free show at the Triple Door; I was curious and had a free Saturday, so I went to peep them. They sounded good, but I’m pretty much of the opinion that it would be royally fucking hard to sound bad at that venue. I was sitting there thinking to myself, “Wow, I can fully expect to see the ‘Footloose’ kids rocking out in their Midwest 80’s prom attire to this band”. Harsh again? Perhaps; but with Rhett Miller’s Bruce Springsteen booty shaking moves mixed with a southern rock-country influence, it left me thinking that my dad would LOVE their sound. He’s got a great voice, as does Murry Hammond, and the rest of the band were talented as well. So I must give them props, because they seem to be doing well for themselves after 14+ years of music making history.

On a side note of the fellow attendees…I expected to see more greasers or rockabilly folk there, but alas not so much. Maybe this is what those types look like as they get older, have kids and mature into career and life. Hell, I don’t even have my Betty Page bangs anymore and I love me some rocka-silly music.

But any time I’m in Texas, driving my 72’ Chevy pick’em up truck with my bestest dog buddy Bandit, mashing my boot on the accelerator, and I get the sudden urge to cut loose in a barn with wicked dance moves and gymnastics…I’ll rock out to Old 97’s

Friday, June 20, 2008

Amateur burlesque? Why not-there's nothing else on

(trust me, it didn't look like this)

I love me some burlesque…

The roommate and I traveled to a local bar for an open tease night of amateur burlesque. I was excited, briefly, but that died…also, briefly. Being that this was on a weeknight and as everyone knows, I’m an old lady who enjoys her sleep; thus said, I’m usually pretty sleepy by 10pm. Why am I telling you this? Um…uh, because some of these girls were so fucking boring they were driving me to pass out in a puddle of drool before 10pm and my drinks, strong as they may be, were NOT saving the day.

We needed more action, more heat, more shimmy, more…more fucking pasted titties damn it. Stop making me yawn with your stiff movements and poor tease skills ladies!! Although, much props must go out, lets face it, you didn’t see my tattooed ass up on that stage…at least not yet

All was looking bleak, until a man; yes a man and a large one at that did tease to Minnie the Moocher, dressed in a suit. In the end, he had balls, but it would’ve been better if he wore pasties, because frankly, he had some good sized melons. So it’s now approaching 11pm and we’re walking towards the door, when we see a rather healthy gal take the stage to Bjork’s “it’s so quiet”. We had pretty much lost all hope of any good entertainment by this point, until this robust young lady started shimming her big ass with gusto. Yes, as I mentioned, large or more politically correct: “Plus Sized”; wrapped in what I can assume, about 3-4 solid yards of fringe…She stopped us in our tracks; she had more heart, energy and character than rest of the acts we’d seen thus far. And yes, she teased and showed us her butterfly pasties and my lord, they were FUCKING HUGE! The pasties, as well as her jugs.

The only other thing worth mentioning was a girl who hiked up her skirt and appeared to open a beer bottle with her crotch. I bet she gets all the fellas with that move…You can bet I’ll be practicing that trick at home.

Friday, June 13, 2008

scribble on a post it

(found this, from this season)

A rendering from the friend I was giving a lesson to...

I'm the one in the goofy beanie and no pants...pretty true to life likeness, I must say

Thursday, June 12, 2008

It's the end of my car as I know it...and I feel fine

So my general bitching about my car on here is not to warrant the “oh, poor Mel” boo hoo pity party, or a “save my ass” fundraiser, as the ex suggested; but more along the lines of: sparing my friends from yet another needless rambling bitchfest about the woes of being a paycheck to paycheck human like most Americans now of days and the unfortunate event of your 02 Mazda wagon deciding to shit all over itself at once…

So the Friday of said incident begins like this: just finished swimming at the gym and emerge from the parking structure to cold rain-in fucking June; and oh did I mention 7 inches of snow at the local tip-IN JUNE?!- Anywho…the oil light pops on, and before any of you fuckers say “why’d you drive it with no oil?!” fuck you. I am not a car retard female with no concept of a seized up motor…mmm-kay? This particular oil light wouldn’t have mattered if I drove straight to the store to put some in-for I got one mere block from the gym before my car decided to shut itself off in mid flight. After coasting into a construction sight I tried to start it. The starter turns, but the motor doesn’t crank; and to add another pleasantry…my car is dumping all of its oil.

So fast forward to Tuesday this week; as my car made it to a shop at closing on Friday and sat until then…I learn that yes, my car decided to in fact have a nervous breakdown and go into a temper tantrum. The conversation goes like this:
Shop: your car had no oil in the motor
Me: I understand that, because as I had mentioned, it dumped it all in the lot where it died
S: here’s the run down
Me: I’ve got the lube and I’m ready, bring on the hurt
S: oil leaked out of a bad seal on the filter; we replaced the oil and there was no compression. We checked the valves, they’re fine; we checked the timing, the belt was lose and jumped 6 teeth. We fixed the belt and put on a new tensioner. However, we’re not getting any spark to the plugs so we have to run an electrical diagnostic. Basically you’re extremely lucky, normally I’d be making the ‘you need a new motor’ call here with these conditions, but not you.
Me: sweet merciful weirdoes wearing their grannies panties and rubbing themselves in peanut butter and Nutella for small favors (relaxes butt cheeks)
Shop: Your car needs a new computer, its dead
Me: beg pardon? It’s a 02 and a Mazda for that matter, shouldn't these things last forever?
Shop: it happens…$1046 for the new computer and install

I remember when I got my sweet little wagon…(cue harps and fuzzy fluffy edges around my memory) I had an 89 5.0, highly supped up; it was my baby, it hauled ass, took corners, made itself known for miles, rocked a sweet system and basically ate shitty rice rockets in So Cal for breakfast. Alas, with all that power and torque, came the wonderful 8-12mpg stat. So enter my wagon…a cute little mom mobile that I could toss all my gear into and still have plenty of room for my friends. With good gas mileage, AC, reliability and most of all, no modifications. (Other than me lowering it, rims and a DVD/Monitor system) I kept the stang and my wagon became my daily driver; and I didn’t even mind so much that it was a 4cylinder when the thing got me home from Vegas in 2.5hours.

Yep, she’s been good to me, and the end is in sight on my payments and I’ll probably keep her when paid off…but I’m realizing, I miss the simplicity of an old car. No computer, no fancy doo-dads, easy electrical, carburetors and when they break they're not requiring of a expensive mechanic's bill

(hit and run victim; story for another day)

Wednesday, June 4, 2008

Damn you Staley

It's Pledge drive time on good ol KEXP! So I turn to other avenues of music fulfilment...My Pandora radio station just played 'Nutshell' and now I must go on a tangent!
Nutshell (Alice in Chains)
"We chase misprinted lies
We face the path of time
And yet I fight
And yet I fight
This battle all alone
No one to cry to
No place to call home
My gift of self is raped
My privacy is raked
And yet I find
And yet I find
Repeating in my head
If I cant be my own
Id feel better dead

Wake Up (Mad Season)
"Wake up young man, it's time to wake up
Your love affair has got to go
For 10 long years, for 10 long years
The leaves to rake up
Slow suicide's no way to go, oh
Blue, clouded grey
You're not a crack up
Dizzy and weakened by the haze
Moving onward
So an infection not a phase
Yeah, oh
The cracks and lines from where you gave up
They make an easy man to read, oh
For all the times you let them bleed you
For little peace from
God you plead, and beg
For little peace from
God you plead Ahhaahh, Yeah, Ahhaahh, Yeah, Ahhaahh, Yeah
Wake up young man, wake up, wake up
Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up Oh, yeah
Wake up young man, it's time to wake up
Your love affair has got to go, yeah
For 10 long years, for 10 long years,
The leaves to rake up
Slow suicide's no way to go, oh
Slow suicide's no way to go
Wake up, wake up, wake up
Wake up, wake up, wake up"

Very few deaths of musicians leaves me melancholy.
John Lennon was one; although I was too young to remember his murder in Dec 1980, I do remember the first anniversary of it; and having grown up in a house of Beatles, I still mourn the loss of a great artist.
Having been unfortunately too close in my life situations to view and live amongst addiction to heavy drugs; I've seen the unfortunate side affects to one self and those that surrounded. Even with that fact, I CANNOT understand how anyone can let themselves continue on with a losing battle, without help, when they can acknowledge their problem; yet let it consume them till death. I understand depression and addiction can be a debilitating problem, but suicide is the easy way out. When Layne Staley died, I was literally pissed. He was robbing not only everyone, but mostly my selfish ass, of his distinctive voice and home hitting lyrics.

Alice in Chains' Jar of Flies was one of earliest CD's purchased (Pearl Jam's Ten, was the first). I may not have been a crazy huge fan learning every tidbit about them, but I could fully appreciate the scale of their talents and the strong core shaking music they produced. I found them vastly better on all fronts than Nirvana (spare your knife slinging to my head Cobain fans, he too left an amazing short libbed mark on the world). Jerry Cantrell is also an incredible musician, but without Staley he's kinda a peanut butter sammy without the perfectly matched jelly.

le sigh
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