May, 2008:

After the KISS, They Wanted to Rock and Roll All Night

May 30th, 2008

I was never going to get married. Or have kids. I’m 1 for 2 so far and it looks like that whole childless strategy is going to pan out. The thought of planning a wedding makes me want to take a nap, so when it was my turn, we eloped. I don’t know whether to admire or shake my head at all the women out there willing to go to hell and back to have the “perfect day”. But stress themselves out they do and without them, the rest of us wouldn’t have such events to attend. And criticize afterwards.

So we’re at this outdoor wedding the other day with MrMudPuppy playing the role of best man. It’s an uncharacteristically gorgeous and cool 74 degree day in the foothills above Sacramento. I can’t imagine the Farmer’s Almanac predicting anything below 95 degrees at this time of year. A perfect day for a wedding.

Behind The Headquarter House, wooden stairs and hills lead up to a plateau of green grass with a gazebo. Coincidentally, the last time MudPup and I were here, back when the place was a restaurant, we celebrated our own engagement. You don’t see the railroad tracks behind the row of nearby trees, but just as the reverend announced the Mister and Missus, a freight train roared by, violently vibrating away any sentiment our hearts held moments before. But this was a Rock and Roll wedding, 80’s metal making most of the play list, so this was merely viewed as perfect timing.

At the beginning of the reception, we formed a two-line gauntlet and each member of the wedding party was introduced. They came through us, slapped our hands, acting like the rock stars they were. I was scrambling my brain trying to think of something crazy fan-like thing to do when the MudPup was introduced. I had too many underthings on blocking any quick panty removal to toss his way, so I did the next best thing…

Van Halen’s And The Cradle Will Rock… erupts from the speakers while the DJ introduces MrMudPuppy to the cheering crowd. When he enters the gauntlet, I jump into it and run toward him frantically waving my arms and screaming like a properly obsessed fan. I plant a big wet one on his lips like a teenage girl who has rushed the stage and is about to be hauled away by security. We spin around - I see cameras everywhere capturing this Rock and Roll moment - and he struts down the rest of the gauntlet. And for some reason I’m giddy with excitement, having slobbered all over my husband in public.

For the lead-in to the garter toss, the groom disappeared head first under the bride’s dress, lingered a little too long as if he’d gotten lost in there, and then jumped up producing a rubber chicken. He dove back in and began pulling out a string of flags that ultimately ended with the garter tied at the end.

As the bride and groom made their grand exit to the limo, we blew bubbles.

A playful wedding for a playful couple. It was perfect.

Kind of blows the wind out of this cynic’s trash talking sails.

So, what’s the coolest or most unusual thing you’ve seen at a wedding?

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Nanny Goats Shout Outs

A big THANK YOU to The Learning Curve for linking to my Timeshare post. And for complimenting the story. And for mentioning Nanny Goats In Panties near a picture of some hot looking Laker Girls! Methinks he likes the ladies in uniform. The Learning Curve is also a member of the Sacramento Top 25.

And another shout out to After The Dust Settles who has generously added Nanny Goats to her blog roll. You have GOT to check out her pigs. A fabulous gift idea, if you ask me.

I’ll Take "Weeks" for Ten Thousand, Bob

May 28th, 2008

by Margaret.

13 comments

Today’s blog is brought to you by the word: timeshare.

For those of you who don’t know what a timeshare is, here’s a brief primer, which some people pronounce “primmer” - why is that? First an advertisement appears before you as if by relentless and incessant ALLCAPS magic for a FREE TV, or a FREE DINNER CRUISE, or something else that turns out to be CRAPPY, but it’s free. All you have to do is sit through a 1 hour presentation. You think, hey, I can do that. So you sit through a 2 or 3 hour presentation and then get pressured to buy a ten thousand dollar timeshare and you ultimately give in because they make it sound so cheap at 99 dollars a month for 37 years and even though the timeshare you buy is in Dusty Shithole, Kansas, you can simply exchange it for a week somewhere way more fabulous. And you have to buy the more expensive VIP red time slot so you have “more exchange power”. Then you go on the crappy dinner cruise, which is really a couple of watery screwdrivers and some cold cuts and stale bread, and come back home seasick and ten thousand dollars in debt.

On top of that debt, you pay a “maintenance fee” of eight hundred some-odd dollars a year, which is more than many people pay for a week’s lodging. So in case you haven’t been doing the math, that’s 10,000 smackers, plus the cost of financing those 10,000 smackers which on most loans would be another 10,000 smackers, plus the cost of lodging for a week, all so you can go on vacation somewhere and stay for free!

Now, you also have to pay an exchange fee with RCI or somebody for maybe $100 every year for the privilege of never getting the location you want when you want it. After a few years of aggravation, and perhaps some conclusionary analysis that the scoundrels oversell these imaginary pieces of property and that RCI is just another TicketMaster, where you’re forced to pay a ~~virtual scam artist/business model genius~~ middleman to get in the way, you sell your schrewd investment for a cool $2,000.

THAT is a timeshare.

A certain member of my family, let’s call him Dad, owns (and I use the term loosely) one of these cursed vacation-weeks-on-paper. He owns in Lake Tahoe, but we wanted to go to Hawaii. When I couldn’t find one single condo in Hawaii for the next 13 months on RCI’s lame online website, I called them up, because surely, I must have been doing something wrong. Some girl from India told me that Hawaii was indeed booked up and I asked her when the next anything from Hawaii was available.

“I can’t look it up that way,” she said. “You have to pick a location and specific week that you want.”

Grrr…

“I want Hawaii in November.”

“There is nothing available at that time in that location.”

“Really?”

“It’s a popular place. You have to book that way in advance.”

“Like how way in advance?”

“Two years.”

Did I mention that we have the VIP red time slot? If you want to make customer service laugh condescendingly at your feeble attempts to demand some level of importance, mention that you have the VIP red time slot. You know, for more “exchange power”.

Since I can painstakingly look up more unavailable places all by myself online, I thanked her and tried to hang up, but not before she tried to sell me a 5 year renewal to RCI (because she could gladly help me with THAT transaction). Her lame online system must not have informed her that we just did one of those renewals the last time I was accosted after calling them a month ago.

Timeshares are great, if only for the guy that invented the concept and for the people who sell them. But unless you buy the very unit you wish to stay in during the same week every year, or you like to take the kids to Dusty Shithole, Kansas every year, save your pennies.

What about you? Any of you with a timeshare nightmare? Or are you one of the lucky ones that gets what you want out of it? And what do you know about Ocean City Maryland, because there’s a bazillion openings there.

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Nanny Goats Shout Out

Sue Doe-Nim (and her vagina) gets a big shout out for adding Nanny Goats and Panties to her blog roll. And if you don’t get the vagina crack (oh, that might not be the best choice of words), check out her blog post from last Wednesday regarding such things. It’s wickedly funny. And then read some more. She’ll crack (good word choice this time) you up.

Hide The Clarinet Player!

May 26th, 2008

by Margaret.

8 comments

Memorial Day Weekend in Sacramento brings the biggest (their words, not mine) jazz festival in the west. That’s right, when we are not busy making names for ourselves trying to yank “under God” out of our daily pledge to the flag, we bring together the world’s best jazz bands to Old Sac (not Old Town, you Pasadenians) and its nearby environs. And in celebration of this musical extravaganza, do you know what I do? That’s right, I stay the hell away from it because my God, the crowds.

When I was a kid, it was called the Sacramento Dixieland Jazz Jubilee. Now it’s called the Sacramento Jazz Jubilee. Why? Because apparently, now it’s sans dixieland jazz. Which as far as I’m concerned is a crying shame. I for one, do not like standard jazz particularly, but I love dixieland jazz. It’s so bouncy and happy and New Orleansy. I mean, who can listen to When The Saints Go Marching In without tapping at least three of their feet? I will listen to NPR all day long, until that blasted “trad jazz” crap comes on. Then I ferociously spin the dial over to some golf station. You know, because I’m lookin’ for something that MOVES me.

I know a lot of people are of the opposite view, to whom I say: DIXIELAND-DIXIELAND-DIXIELAND. And it’s because of you anti-dixites, that MY kinda music has been scraped from the playlist like the charred part from toast.

Now for all I know I’m talking out of my ass, assuming dixieland jazz is all but eradicated from the event, but when I looked at the genre of bands (traditional, zydeco, blues, etc.) guess which category was NOT on the list! So, while the Black Tuesday Jazz Band claims to play dixieland, they are listed under “classical”. It’s like: “OK, you play dixieland jazz? Well, we can’t really put you under that, because we don’t want to scare people. We’ll just see who comes in and then see how it goes. You know, AFTER we get their $100.”

So Dixieland jazz has been relegated to the underground. How do you like that? Secret handshakes and passwords and sunglasses and trenchcoats and “Pssst, c’mere buddy” and twenty-dollar bill-slippin’ to the man in the know just to find out where you can get you some o’ dat. Because as you know, you can never quite get rid of all the burnt bits, no matter how much you scrape.

May The Peace Be With You, Luke

May 24th, 2008

by Margaret.

10 comments

You know those people who say “I can watch such and such a movie over and over because I see something new everytime”? Do you know why they see something new every time? I will tell you why. It is because they can’t keep their big trap shut during the movie. They will buy the movie on DVD even though they’ve already seen it in the theatre, pissing the rest of us off who want to see it only once and want to hear every damn word the FIRST time. I pay gobs of money to see it in the theatre and for some crazy reason, expect people to shut the hell up so I can hear it. And I expect them to turn off their damn cell phones. But I guess that’s like paying gobs of money for a house and expecting the neighbors to take care of their damn lawns oh don’t get me started.

Anyway, my niece and I went to the movies the other night to see Death Note, which was playing all of two days (at 7:30pm only) here in Sacramento. I didn’t know much about the movie, only that it was a Japanese animation movie and as it turns out, I was even wrong about that: it was live action.

As we walked toward Theatre 2, we passed a couple (or maybe they were just friends but that’s not the point) who reeked of nerdiness. They were hunched-over, unkempt mouth-breathers with odd conversation oozing from their pie holes. They took turns growling and screeching and the girl said, “I like to freak people out,” in a sort of Beavis and Butthead tone of voice. “It’s like, my hobby.”

We grabbed two seats inside and the place was full of Beavis and Buttheads, dweebs of all shapes and sizes. I was easily the oldest person there. There was a festive buzz in the theatre. These kids were FANS. A girl in the back proclaimed to all of us that it was her birthday and did people get all smart-assy on her like I expected? No, they shouted “Happy Birthday!” Someone else walked up to the front and announced something that people applauded, but I had no idea what he said.

Geeks to the left of me. Geeks to the right. I thought, This must be what it’s like to go to Comic-Con or a Star Trek convention.

The first trailer came on and everyone cheered. It was an ad for an upcoming movie based on another Japanese comic book (excuse me, graphic novel [excuse me again, manga]): Bleach.

Then a commercial for some other Japanese comicy thing came on and more people cheered. The girls were woo-hoo-ing between each trailer, like giddy school girls. In fact, it seemed like there were more girls than guys in the theatre.

And then something wierd happened: the movie started and everyone shut up. For the WHOLE MOVIE. And the movie was actually good. A good premise, a good story, intriguing characters. Unfortunately, this was only Part 1, but it was still good and didn’t leave me totally hanging off a cliff. And…AND…not one cell phone rang out.

So I guess if you want courteous neighbors who mow their lawns and say, “After you” at the grocery store and wave you on at 4-way stop signs, move to Nerdville.

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Nanny Goats Shout Out

Nanny Goats would like to thank Tammi over at Love The Eclectic Life for adding Nanny Goats In Panties to her blog roll. She’s a blogging SAHM who’s new to the SAHM scene and the blogging scene, so go over and say hi and tell her Nanny Goats sent you. I’m hoping she regales us with what’s got to be a large mental library of retail nightmare stories.

… and one more thing….if you haven’t clicked the Top 25 logo, please do so. The rankings have reset and I’m back at the bottom. Actually, clicking here will do the same thing.