Awww, stress and craziness and ever-changing definitions of “home.” In Garden State, Zach Braff says that thing, like it’s a lifetime turning point: “…you know that day when your childhood home doesn’t feel like your home anymore?” Well yes yes, I know that feeling, I learned it years ago. But what no one told me is that that feeling doesn’t just change and end. It continues to change. To warm, to chill and to be weird and morphy like some turnstile of nostalgia looking for a place to take root. Anyway, it’s surreal going back to the home where my parents live with the ghosts of “encantadas past” living in my room. They’re creepy, weird ghosts too.

I just found this just two seconds ago when I was googling for an URL to link and I’ve decided that Zach’s blog is weird. The video post is a little off-putting too, like he’s saying that he’s actually blogging…but it’s for Fox Searchlight and I don’t want to get duped into thinking that he’s actually blogging. Plus, there’s the ever-present Sales Pitch. Could be requisite of his blogging contract, but still…the appearance of real in a template of facade.

Today is LOTA’s one-year anniversary. Left Of The Aisle is one year old, and already has some teeth. I remember when I first embarassingly told him about blogging, sitting across from me, catching me up on the events of the six years between our last conversation and that one. I remember how he consequently wanted to read my blog and then I regretted having told him about blogging.
You’ve done a great job of conveying your thoughts, Jeff, and you continue. You continue the level of dialogue, you reveal insider banter, you’re involved-in and care about what you’re doing. Congratulations.

I hate, hate, hate the “money is TIGHT” feeling after the holidays. This morning I spent way too long trying to figure out what could be paid and what would have to wait. Then, I did that whole “let’s try it this way” thing, let’s slide the scale. Let’s see if, after rent and the huge chunk I have to plunk down for my driving indiscretions of 2001 (help, please, statute of limitations!??), I can afford a haircut AND a highlight AND New Year’s AND that conference. The answer is “no” of course. I’m still getting the haircut but I really want this and this, but alas the bread does not stretch. It doesn’t even stretch for the necessitites, but that’s alright. I just hate the feeling is all. I used to live everyday there for years and years; I’m lucky now that I only live there after Christmas. But I hate it.

Off for lunch at Spec’s to pick out the treats for NYE. Maybe I’ll pull a wallet-fumble and see if ol’ KO comes to my rescue at the counter.

I’m already using the term “stray,” so needless to say, these just entertain me. I can’t help it. Totally crack me up. Besides, I’m wondering where the beighborhood is in Houston.


beighborhood (n.) Area populated by good-looking people. (”Let’s go downtown. Fourth Street has turned into a total beighborhood.”)

DIZO (n.) Acronym. Describes (busy, working, all-too-typical) couple: Dual Income, Zero Orgasm.

Earnest Hemorrhagen (a.) A man who is oppressively forthcoming with every thought and feeling. Antonym: Ernest Hemingway, linguistically stingy author.

foxymoron (n., and my favorite) One who is incredibly dumb but incredibly cute, who simultaneously attracts and repels. (”I’m so ashamed. I hooked up with that foxymoron last night.”)

GHaGn. Acronym. Girl-Hating Girl. The one whose only friends are guys.

hobeau (n.) A less-than-hygienic boyfriend. (”Better open the window. Here comes Chris and his hobeau.”)

nontourage (n.) A group of undesirable sycophants. (”The party was fun until Justin showed up with his nontourage.”)

pharmasecrecy (n.) The secret bond one has with her pharmacist. (”Only Pharmacist knows the truth about my little Klonopin/Paxil/Beta-blockers habit.”)

showflake (n., Y I like this one too) Person who chronically misses every appointment (e.g., haircuts, doctor visits, dinners). (”Is Lauren going to show, or is she doing her showflake thing again?”)

SoDeeWah (n.) Socialite/designer/whatever. The model/actress/ whatever of the ’00s. You know the type.

staremaster (n. – a.k.a. the dudes at Bally’s in the Willage) Gym dandies who constantly check themselves out in the mirror. (”If that staremaster touches his pecs one more time …”)

The non- or hyper- Darwinian Origin of Life (depending on the way you look at it).
It’s a short read, but I daresay an interesting one.
I wish my brain was full of all kinds of saucy goodness. And pure unadulterated knowledge/fact/fictions. I have so much learning to do.

I’m into wishlists this Christmas (and Northface fleeces, but “I digress“). I just wish everyone would put together a host of wishlists where I could peruse their heart’s desire from an amalgamation group of said desires and get them exactly what they wanted. And they would be so happy and they would love me and consider me absolutely fantastic beyond my current state of infrequent fantastication. I’m on an online-purchasing stint at present and am loving it. Hence, the wishlists. And hence, this public plea: If I know you, and you think I’d like to buy something for you at some future juncture, alert me to your wishlist(s) please. Duly note that this is a truly sincere proposition (employ the “find me” link on the lower left-hand side of encantada).

“Society” secret of the day: I’m sure Oaklawn Superhero doesn’t want anyone to know about this, but since no transaction of “hush money” has taken place between us, I will delight in yanking him out of the closet at present: Oaklawn Superhero , my dear, dear friend, is turning down happy hour with me tonight in order to hang out with Tom DeLay out in fkking Ft. Bend County.
Ha! Outed you, DeLay lover!
Okay, so I’m exaggerating. He has to do it for work. But still, one would think that one would have principles or something, even in work situations. I mean, geez. Sigh.


So it’s Christmas again. When did that happen? What am I going to do for New Year’s?
It really is so hard to blog at work. I don’t know why I keep doing it. It’s a smoke-and-mirrors game of minimizing, then maximizing the box on my screen at the sound of any voice or footstep. It’s ridiculous.
What is it called when you identify a problem with your routine, then you complain about it and never get around to adjusting it? Same is true for my newspaper subscription. I carry it around more than I actually read it these days. Ah yes, lazyness. That’s it.