Wednesday, February 28, 2007

American Singers

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It’s Bido

The Place: the living room of my apt

The Time: last night

The Scenario: I get home from school and walk in the room to greet my husband

Me- “Hey, Bido” (yup, I call him “Bido”- pronounced Bee-dough)

Dale- “Hey, Pica” (Sometimes he calls me “Pica” –pronounced pee-kah)

Me- “what are you watching?”

Dale- “American singers” (That’s what he calls “American idol”)

End Scene.

Dale has never watched American Idol before. Well, at least not the competition part. He has seen some of the audition shows in the past, but we have never stuck around for the competition.

Lately, he has been religiously watching the show. It kinda freaks me out.

He never really comments on it. I don’t think he has a favorite. When I comment on a singer, or on something a judge says he will just nod in agreement. I don't think he could even tell you the name of any contestant. He just sits there.....and watches. Every night, he asks me if "american singers" is on.

I don't fucking know!!! And I don't really care. It's not my bag, baby.

This could be the beginning of his descent into insanity.

Last night, he got mad at me because I did not want to watch "good eats".

"Fine, Sarah! Why don't you just pick a better show since you are such an expert on good T.V.!"

Yowza! Take it easy, buddy. I relinquished my control. Ya gotta pick your battles.

Sunday, February 18, 2007


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A few years ago, my mother allowed me to go through some of my late grandmothers possessions to pick any items I would want to keep. I took some of my grandmothers beautiful paintings that she created, other decorative items, and a pearl necklace.

My grandmother had some money, and was well traveled. I was not sure if the pearls were oyster or man made. My mother figured they were man made, but was not sure.

The pearls remained in their original box and inside my bathroom closet for a few years. I opened the box yesterday and was greeted by a scent that reminded me of my grandmother….white shoulders perfume and turpentine. The label on the box said “Majorica”. I looked this brand up and found that they are, in fact, man made. They are the highest quality of man made pearls, though, and are the only man made pearls recognized by jewelry appreciators…whatever that means.

Every Majorica pearl is perfectly matched and round-shaped whereas no two oyster pearls are alike. Oyster pearl’s peculiarity stems from its certain blemish just like birthmark or fingerprint.

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(the real strand is the third from the top)

Another search on the internet led me to discover that these pearls fetch a decent value, for being man made and all. Thanks, mom!

I am not biologically related to my grandmother. She and my grandfather adopted my mother and her brother (who are also not biologically related to each other).

By the way, I called my grandmother “Nana”.

Growing up, I loved visiting Nana’s house. It was a fascinating place that displayed various items from foreign lands such as Germany and Korea. Tokens from where she and my grandfather lived during his military duty.

I would roam their house while inspecting their treasures and eventually relax on their fancy furniture, pretending it was mine. This never got old.

As I got older, I began to notice the weird relationship she and my mother had. When traveling the 4 hours to Nana’s house, my mom would let us wear our normal clothing. As the distance between the road and Nana’s house, my mothers temperament would change and she would become nervous. We would always stop about 15 minutes away from her house to change into “good clothes” and to wash our faces and comb our hair. We had to be “presentable” for Nana.

We would then go over “the rules” of visiting Nana:

  1. Do not make the sign of the cross at the dinner table (Nana hated Catholics)
  2. Do not argue if Nana refers to my deceased brother as “David” instead of “Joshua” (“Joshua” Was his first name and “David was his middle name. Nana called him “David” because “Joshua” sounded too ethnic.
  3. Do NOT get anything on Nana’s white carpets! (Nana would lay out a small blanket for us to sit on while we played with dominos in front of the t.v.)
  4. Do not mention that you saw a roach, mouse, any type of but, etc. in our house. (Nana was a clean freak and hated the fact that we lived near a field and were often exposed to such creatures)
  5. For god Sakes, BEHAVE!

Eventually, I figured out that Nana was one messed up lady. She was pretty cruel to my mother and father. Hell, she was also pretty cruel to my sibling. Especially my brother. He looked too much like my father for her to like. Damn my mother for marrying a man with Italian blood! (I keeed).

Nana was insulting to my mother about her weight, her marriage to my father, her religion, her lacking bank account, etc….She also told my mother that her biological mother was probably a fat whore. The fatness would explain, in Nana’s twisted brain, the fact that my mother was overweight and the whore part explained why my mom’s bio mom gave her up. Interestingly enough, my mother was not overweight as a child. She started gaining weight as a result of Nana’s mental abuse.

All of the above, and more, made me resent Nana. I stopped visiting her as a teenager. Soon thereafter, she acquired dementia and was never herself again. The dementia made her a nicer person, so I hear.

Now that I am nearing 30, I have come to terms that Nana most likely had a rough childhood herself. I know she loved my mom, but just never learned how to show it. That makes me sad for both her and my mother.

So I will wear her pearls and remember the good times I shared with Nana (surprisingly, there were many) every time I crack open the box and catch that scent. I will remember that people make awful mistakes, and that there are often reasons behind them.

Like the Majorica pearls, my grandmother seemed perfect but lacked the characteristics that only nature can provide, like being loved unconditionally by her own family. I forgive her, for this. I also hold my mother in the highest regards for being able to overcome this deficiency, this lack of unconditional love, as she provide us with all the love we needed, even if our house was not filled with treasures and fancy furniture.

Sunday, February 11, 2007

Almost Famous

Currently, there are Texadelphia restaurants located in Austin, Dallas, Houston, San Antonio, and in Norman (which is in Oklahoma).

If you happen to breeze into any of the Texadelphia located in Austin, you will see my buddy Colin all over the place as he is the model for their catering campaign.

Have a look-see-
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Dale and I had lunch there the other day and I could not resist taking this photo.
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This gigantic poster is the first thing to greet you when you enter this fine establishment.

Colin is everywhere in that place. He is on every table, he is by the soda machine, he is at the counter, his image will be burned into your memory! I gotta tell ya, it’s very surreal.

The advertising agency allowed Colin to keep the outfit that he was wearing in the picture.

Dale models it for us:
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Maybe all of the Texadelphia locations will pick up on this advertisement.

Way to go, C-mac.

Thursday, February 08, 2007

cats and cameras

Today, I was looking everywhere for some damn fingernail polish remover. I never found any, but I did find my CAMERA!!!!

It was in a drawer in my bathroom. I was surprised to see it there amongst a plastic freezer bag, some old brushes, a broken curling iron, and some safety pins. During my cabin fever mode, brought on by the ice storm, I must have placed it there for safe keeping.

I told you, I might be going crazy.

However, the following pictures are not from my beloved camera. Bean took these. Behold, Dale the cat whisperer!
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Here we see Dale and Lanie, Bean’s cat. Dale has a way with the animals. Lanie, as Bean will tell you, is quite finicky when it comes to letting people handle her.

Though she quickly succumbed to the Cat Whisperer as he trained her to walk a board propped up on Bean and Colin’s back fence.

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The proof is in the pic. Thanks for sending these my way, Bean-o-licious. AKA Laurie, AKA Lbo, AKA monkey.

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Sunday, February 04, 2007

Prince is a bad ass

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Prince just did his super bowl half time thing, yall. At first, I winced a little. It started out a bit too “Vegas headlining act” for me.

But then, the man delivered. Damn that prince and his talent. He may only be like 5’2” (or something like that) but he performs like he is the biggest thing out there.

And he might be.

He really turned out that Foo Fighters song, no?

In other news:

I went to a few stores this weekend looking for a jewelry armoire and discovered that I feel/sound like an ass whenever I have to say the word “armoire” out loud.
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I wish I was friends with someone who sounds like Paula Dean. I could listen to her talk all day. She should have a radio program.
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I just bought Guns N’ Roses Appetite for Destruction on Itunes. This was the album that jump started my lust for rock and roll.
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-I got a massage today, from an ex marine. It hurt.

- Don’t take Claritin and then drink beer. Yes, bean, the Claritin I speak of is the one you gave me. I ended up passing out after about 4 beers later (at Josh’s house).

-I still need to give Amanda and Wyatt their gifts. I am posting this here so I will remember to do so.

-I am ready for SXSW!!!!! Ohhh, and the ski trip. Is that still happening, J3?
That is all.