fefa

2007-03-30T13:54:00.000-07:00

Cause it's Friday, you ain't got no...

[When you looked at yourself in the mirror today, what was the first thing you thought]
And they said there’s no such thing as an 8-pack.

[Next time you will make out]
The next time I accidentally overspend at BCBG. More specifically, right around April 14 when the credit card bill arrives.

[Favorite planet]
Well, of all the planets I’ve visited, I’m going to have to go with you’re an idiot. OK, maybe that’s not a planet per se, but it is accurate.

[Who is the second person on your missed calls list]
My old friend Unknown Caller. We always seem to miss each other.

[What is your favorite ring tone on your phone]
A little something called ‘Cingular Tune’. Of all the only one tone that was conveniently preset when I got it that’s definitely my favorite. And oddly, is the only tone nobody else seems to have.

[What shirt are you wearing right now]
I’m not. Oh la la. This here is called a dress.

[What do you label yourself as]
Better than you.

[Brand of shoes you are wearing]
Steve Madden. And it’s a good thing, as it happened that two more pairs of Steve Madden’s arrived a la UPS this morning. They were able to make them feel right at home when they got here.

[Bright or dark room]
Depends, did I just walk in to it?

[What do you think about the person who last took this]
Funny, I was actually just mentioning how weird it is that she and I haven’t actually been shopping together before. You think you know someone…

[If you’re alone in a room with 2 beds, which one do you sleep on]
Both. Right after I have the cabana boy or bellhop, or both, push them together.

[Best song in the world]
Does this matter? My answer will change tomorrow. And will still be right.

[What’s a word you say a lot]
‘A’. And probably ‘the’. ‘Venti’ is a close third though.

[Last furry thing you touched]
This is not that kind of blog, thank you very much.

[How many drugs have you done in the past 5 days]
Well this would be Mon – Fri, so none.

[How many rolls of film do you need to get developed]
The only pics I take that develop do so in about 2 minutes right in my hand. For good reason.

[Favorite age you have been so far]
25. Maybe 26 will be a good year, I’ll let you know.

[Your worst enemy]
Credit limits.

[Last thing you said to someone]
I’ve got far too much on my plate as it is to turn that around today too. And the last thing I though to myself was…what with this here survey needing to be knocked out and all.

[If the person you were talking to on the phone was getting shot at, what would you do]
Probably just ‘mmmhmmmm’ and ‘yeah’ to anything I heard as if I was listening to them in the first place. Besides, what the fuck am I supposed to do? I’m on the phone…

[Do you do the games in the ads on Myspace]
If I’m on myspace it’s pretty much a guarantee I’m not doing anything that requires even the most remote amount of brain activity. Unless cultivating surveys from people’s posts is using brain power.

[Favorite pj’s]
Onesies. Can't beat 'em with a stick. Well, you could I suppose, but it's not really going to do anything. Unless someone's wearing them at the time. And in my neighborhood, people get killed for that kind of shit.

[What do you do when you pass graveyards]
I, uh, pass them. What the hell am I supposed to do? Stop and ponder? Throw a penny and make a wish? Hold my breath so I don’t breathe in any spirits? Which, btw, for all you breath holders, if spirits were really trying to be all up in your shit do you really think they’d come up to your body and be all like "Dammit! This chick is holding her breath too! Wtf? Who the hell told all the mortals about this?"

[How old do you think you’ll live to be]
Based on my aging process thus far, 25.

[Five things you want to do in your lifetime]
Been there, done that, tried it on, loved it, bought it.

[What do you put on your hamburgers]
Sometimes ceviche, if it’s lunch time. Always avocado. Hold the hamburger either way.

[Do you eat raw hot dogs]
I don’t eat lips, hooves, and assholes. Heated or raw.

[How much salad dressing do you put on your salad]
Lettuce is merely a vessel used to transport dressing from the bowl to my mouth. Ain’t that right, LFC?

2007-03-29T08:31:00.000-07:00

On bathrobes and murder...

Not much new and exciting to report. Except that I won the neighborhood pool about one of our neighbors. What did I bet? $20 that he was the epitome of 'he was always so quiet'. Ie. - I presume to enter his home is not to exit from it. For serious y'all, I'm not even being incredibly charming, sexy, and witty this time. I have even been documenting the complete bizarreness of this neighbor to LFC and a few other incredibly well fashioned ladies for quite a while, long before it became news worthy.

I actually placed my bet when he moved in a year ago and I met him for the first time. When he was outside walking his dog in a small, what appeared to be a woman's, bathrobe. I should have increased my wager when I caught him digging in my garbage can about a month ago. But instead, silly me, I just called the police - again - because not only do I not appreciate a man in a completely unattractive robe on my property going through by discards, but also, oh! the ongoing stench that surrounds this person, his home, and thus my attached home two doors down.

This little tidbit here only scratches the surface of how bizarre this all is, and has been. Why, they don't even mention the apparent kidnapping attempt, ant killer used, missing roommate...much less the completely fabulous dress I happened to have on when Fox and ABC came a knockin'. Weird...

2007-03-13T16:34:00.000-07:00

Just another excuse to feel me up...

Five minutes trapped in line at Target...

OMG! How are you?

Oh, um, hey (person that looks kind of vaguely familiar)…

I don’t know think I’m supposed to know this, but I heard you’re pregnant! That’s awesome, congratulations!

Mmmmhmmm, it’s a good thing you mentioned it then, huh?

What do you mean?

I mean, who told you? I’d like to know who I can’t trust.

Oh, I, ummmm…..shoot, I…

I’m just messing with you, it’s ok. At some point people are going to notice I spilled a small child and it keeps following me around everywhere.

Ok, are you sure? Because she…

Yes. Obviously I told people. Otherwise they wouldn't have known and told you.

Oh, yeah. I guess so.

So anyway, I’ve gotta get going here, maybe I’ll see you around or something. (Incredibly clever attempt to drop conversation, what with her being behind me in the checkout line and all. Honestly though, it usually works. Try it some time. Then watch carefully as they slowly figure out you're both still there.)

Ooohh, wait! I want to feel your baby bump.

Oh, um, that’s ok. Thanks though.

Hang on!

No, there’s really no bump or anything yet. (Reaches for me) Seriously, I’m only, like, 4 months, there’s nothing to…and you’re touching me.

*Squeal* Ooohh, I Iove babies. You’re so lucky! You know, if I was pregnant right now then we’d both be pregnant! At the same time!

You don’t say. So I’m just going to…

*Gasp* I just felt it kick! Oh my god, hold still, it’s kicking!

No, it’s not.

Yes! Oh my gosh!

No, I promise you it’s not. See how my stomach is pretty much flat? This thing is only like 4 inches long, it’s not physically possible for me to feel it do anything, much less you. (What a perfect setup for a 'that's what she said' reply, no?)

Oh yeah, well what’s this little bit of a bump here then?

A foot long Philly Cheese Steak with extra onions.

Uh huh, suuure. I know I felt it move.

Seriously, you don’t need to keep touching my stomach. (steps back)

Well wait a second, I know what I felt. (reaching for my stomach again)

Look, I’m not trying to be rude here, but the whole touching me thing can stop now.

Well, then how do you explain it kicking… (again with the hand coming at me)

Actually, I don’t need to explain anything.

No, I’m sure I felt it…

You didn’t feel a kick, Cheese Steaks give me gas. Is that ok? Is there something else you want to tell me about what’s inside my own body? Or is this all just a weak excuse to keep touching me?

Oh, well excuuuse me. You know, you don’t have to share ALL your information with everyone. Seriously, I really don’t need to know about your digestion problems.

Are you sure? Because you seem like you need proof or something. What with all the telling me I’m wrong and touching me.

(Insulted look)

No really, give me your hand again. (reaching for hand) Yeah, but put it riiiight here instead, I can prove it.

Ok, well now you’re just embarrassing yourself.

No really, that’s the best place if you want feel it "kick" again. Let me just show you here…

What is wrong with you? (takes her cart to another line)

Cashier – I would never even know you're pregnant.

I’m not. I don’t even know who that is.

Are you serious?

Maybe you should let security know to keep an eye on her. Just to be safe or whatever.

2007-03-02T08:06:00.000-08:00

Excuses, reasons, and justifications...

I’m sure you’ve all been staying up nights fretting over what the hell is so damn important I could possibly be dragged away from my beloved pastime of insulting, belittling, disrespecting, and generally singing my own praises by comparison to the general public’s incapacity to meet my standards. Or even dress themselves properly. And there’s no doubt you’ve longed for run-on sentences that take two breaths to complete and require being read back to yourself, aloud, to make any sense of as well. Normally I wouldn’t feel overly compelled, if inclined at all, to explain my actions to anyone. But since in this case it means talking about myself, turns out it’s your lucky day…

Part 1 – Pooh and Kitty have been very ill. It’s pure coincidence this occurred at the same time, life is just fun that way. Sadly, we lost Kitty in December. After much deliberation Mr. Fefa decided he was ready for a new cat because hey, who doesn’t want something to just walk around the house and occasionally spit up on things? So off to Petco we went, and returned with…two cats. Normally I would have fought this, but on this particular adoption Sunday they were offering a two for the price of one deal. Which, is a good deal, so two cats it is. He’s even gone so far as to actually name these two; ‘Ricky Bobby’ and ‘Goddamnit!’.
Pooh, on the other hand, was able to be saved for the nominal fee of 25 brand new pairs of boots. And counting. And if you’ve been here before, you can imagine what that tune sounds like. The good news is, she’s worth more than 25 pairs of boots - to me. And I’m masterfully adept at the art of financial masquerading to cover such expenditures. Let’s not kid ourselves here and act as if 25 pairs of boots wouldn’t have mysteriously appeared in fefa’s closet this past boot season otherwise. The bad news is, of course, 25 pairs of boots did not magically appear in fefa’s closet this boot season.

Appendage B – Work. Enough said.

Scene 3 – Over the past few months here I’ve taken on a rather large project. One that is both all consuming and life changing. I’ve dedicated myself to building an actual, real live, human being. It turns out it’s pretty expensive to just commission one, and it would totally impact my allowance, so I decided to just go ahead and get my own hands dirty. Or some other parts I’m not going to tell you about without you putting the money on the dresser first. So how about that, in addition to having impeccable taste and hair beyond words, I’ll bet you had no idea I was also capable of creating an actual human being, cell by cell, underneath a set of rock hard abs, did you? Sometimes, I even impress myself. Seriously, I could have been a rocket surgeon.

2007-02-21T14:01:00.000-08:00

Not for the timid...

Supposedly this survey, drafted by a friend of fefa's, is not for the timid. It is however, apparently, for the incontinent. Or something. Either way, I'm sure you'll enjoy filling it out yourself and sharing it with friends and family, just like fefa.

PS - How are you? OMG, it's totally been so long! I know, like months and stuff! I've had a lot of insulting, offensive, and as always incredibly sexy and intriguing things to share over these past months, but circumstances that are none of your business have prevented me from doing so. What I mean by that is I'll totally tell you all about it later, when she's not here. But until then, let's get back to our roots and start things off with a stupid survey...

1-Have you ever crapped in your undies (even just a little)? No I'm not talking about when you were a baby.
Even just a little? Is there some sort of acceptable amount I am totally not aware of? What really disturbs me though, is questioning what made you think of this question. Also, NO.

2-If the answer is yes, were you able to fix it immediately or did you have to cope with it for a while?
How do you ‘fix’ crapping in your undies? Unless you’re near a shower, a fresh pair of panties, and a new bottle of self respect and dignity. In which case, you couldn’t make it to the toilet? Why are you my friend again?

3-Do you have a sexual fantasy that made you re-evaluate whether you were sane?
No, but it made me re-evaluate whether they were.

4- What is it?
I can’t believe I’m going to write this. OK, a long sexy foot rub, while eating double-stuf oreos, watching 90210 reruns, and flipping through the new issue of Lucky during scenes with Andrea. And then, just after Brenda gets all hot tempered and storms out of a scene…you go handle your own business, I’ve got important shit to finish here.

5- Do you like pain?
Depends, what's your budget?

6-Do you get off at least once a day? 4 times a week?
First off, there are 7 days in a week. Personally though, I get off 5 days a week. At 5pm.

7- Do you prefer doing that to having sex?
Absolutely!

8- Ladies? Do you OWN porn?
Don’t have to.

9- Fellas? Why do you own SO MUCH porn?
Can I venture a guess here? Because they have to.

10- While talking to strangers or people you know do you find your mind straying to what if's?( i.e. What would they do if I kissed them? What would happen if I hit them in the jaw right now?)
I don’t talk to strangers. Or take candy from them. Or help them look for their lost puppy.
If I’m talking to someone I do know though, odds are I’m watching carefully to see if it appears your mind is straying when you should obviously be completely intrigued by my story about the new boots I just bought, and how totally cute they are. Especially compared to those ankle boot eyesores you’re wearing, you fat cow. Seriously, at least cover up those kankles with a knee high. Ooohh, are we paying attention now?

11- Are you co-dependant?
Only when I can’t afford it myself.

12-Are you happy?
Compared to someone who is considering what a reasonable amount of defecation one may carry in their undies is, yes.

13- If the answer is no, what have you done today to fix it? If the answer is yes, why are you happy?
Because I have a mirror. Seriously, have you seen this hair?

14- If your truest best friend whom you love so dear could only be saved if you blew your brains out with a forty-five. Would you do it? If the answer is yes, where would you put the barrel? If the answer is no.... Damn! Some bestfriend you are.
This sounds like it’s a one or the other sort of thing. And as such apparently this ‘friend’ wasn’t exactly owning up to their half of the necklace themselves. "Be Fri" my ass. You can take this "St Ends" and stick it where the sun don't shine.

15- If a scientist created a clone of you to exact detail would you have sex with the clone?
Um, I wouldn’t be able to. Because we would have the same parts, and…that’s all I’m going to explain to you.

16- Why are tupees ridiculous and those pony tail extensions are so damn popular?
They are both ridiculous. The never-actually-matches-the-hair-color ponytails are more popular because chicks don’t take the 2 seconds out of their day to check their ‘do’ from behind, whereas the road-kill men wear on their heads is visible from the front. Also, men are more interested in sex than they are telling women their hair looks bad, ass looks big, sister is hotter…
(For those of you still utilizing my previously posted "How To Guide’s For The Fashionable Gentleman/Woman", and I hope you are, please add these to the lists of offenses. If you are not up to date on such matters scroll through past posts. Immediately.)

17- Would you throw the switch to kill a convicted murderer?
No. They always do that shit when American Idol is on; obvious time conflict.

18- Do you believe that ugly people should tint their car windows?
Who the hell is giving ugly people cars? Gross.

20- Would you have sex with a cop in his squad car to get out of a DWI?
I wouldn’t have to.

2006-11-08T09:34:00.000-08:00

On pregnancy and public toilets...

In case you've ever wondered why it is so many people seek counsel and support from fefa and her worldly advice. In case you've ever wondered if behind closed doors chicks do, in fact, discuss thought provoking topics beyond flower arrangements, baking, and hair braiding. In case you've ever wondered what 'TMI' stands for. This post is dedicated to you...

fefa:
Tell her not to freak out, it’s waaay too early for that. Even she says she shouldn’t be worried by her account, so stop stressing about it, it really will only make it worse.
The truth is all women are at least slightly concerned if they’re even one day late – this is due to a neurotic hormone called ‘estrogen’. While its purpose is purely to frustrate men, it does have an unfortunate side effect on women sometimes; we call this thinking. Or over-thinking, to be specific. To example:
Long before I was shacked up, hell, even when I was single and not getting any, if I was late I started worrying I was pregnant. What if it really can happen from a toilet seat? Why would a man be in the ladies jerking it on a toilet seat? Wouldn't he have had to do it, like, within minutes of me arriving and sitting down on said seat? Perhaps I need to rethink the manner in which I sit upon toilet seats. Do I want to have the child of a man who jerks it in the ladies? I mean, aside from that it also likely means he's into the whole golden shower thing, right? How am I going to find this man and make him buy me the dinner I should have gotten weeks ago? Maybe a classified? But wouldn't that get flagged as objectionable and removed? I mean, the specifics I would have to use would be pretty offending to some people. Why are people so uptight about experimentation anyway? But of course, every time I was just being silly. Obviously that tissue-paper seat cover is made to protect from things just like this, and a few days later my ladies days would arrive. And as thankful as I would be, I was still a little sad. It's so hard to meet decent guys in this town, you know? I just don't know why it never works out. Why does it always end like this?

She:
You know what grosses me out most about toilet seats? I mean, besides my new fear about guys going in there and pulling it all over the seats and inadvertently making me pregnant? The OTHER ladies going in there and peeing everywhere. WTF is up with that?? Is it because we're all hovering over the seat, instead of sitting down on it? Is that what's going on here? Because there's really nothing worse than carefully laying down your little tissue paper cover, only to have it soak up little puddles of pee left on the seat from some sloppy bitch before you. You don't want to sit down on that, even with the cover. It's not like the cover is impermeable, right? Germs get through transparent tissue paper, last time I checked. So you have to gingerly pick the cover off, flush it, wipe off SOMEONE ELSE'S PEE, and re-do the whole cover thing again, this time hoping it’s actually dry. They say guys are gross? WOMEN are gross. Proof? There's actually a little sign on the stall door in our bathroom here that says "Please...Flush Toilet". Seriously??? There was a big enough problem with non-flushing that you have to REMIND these dumb broads to flush the toilet? Were we raised in a barn? Do we not flush at home? WTF?

fefa:
I agree. What the hell is wrong with chicks? I don't have to do home bathroom checks to know for GODDAMN SURE women aren't peeing on their seats at home, not wiping it up if/when they do, leaving their business floating in the bowl, leaving long ass trails of toilet paper dangling from the roll and strewn across the dirty floor, and so on. And I'll put money on it none of them put nasty used pons they know for GODDAMN SURE won't flush down and will probably clog and then cause an overflow in their home toilets either. Something about being in a stall seems to make some chicks go crazy. Like they are suddenly in their own little bathroom frat house and anything goes! I mean, are they living out some sort of reckless bathroom fantasy in there? Have they always wanted to just get wild and urinate haphazardly? 'Common courtesy be damned! I'm going to pee all over this seat, damn it, and nobody can stop me! Then I'll pretend I didn't notice and tippie toe out before someone sees I was the last to leave this stall, and leave that for someone lesser than me to clean up. Muahaha!' Is that it? Is this like the only 'power' they have in their little lives? To pee on public seats and have someone else clean up behind them? Chicks disgust me.

2006-10-27T14:45:00.000-07:00

Why so blue, Panda Bear?

You know it's Friday when this video forwarded by Chevy turns into this email after I pass along the forward...

She:
OMG! That's SOOOOOO cute!!
Do you think it's a bad idea to keep a panda as a pet? I mean, it's not technically even an actual bear. I bet he'd get along great with my cat.

fefa:
I know, I watched it like 20 times to achieve maximum cuteness. My only concern with getting a baby panda though, is how are we going to make sure he/she is always sort of sick so it will sneeze a lot? Maybe we can find one with allergies...

She:
Find one that's allergic to bamboo. Problem solved.
I've seen those pandas they've got down here at the Zoo, and they're only moderately amusing in person. I think you have to wait, like, 6 days for them to do something even remotely cute. The rest of the time they sleep on their faux tree branches like lazy assholes. Cute lazy assholes, but lazy assholes nonetheless.
OMG, what's wrong with me? I just referred to pandas as "lazy assholes".
Hahahahahah. I should delete it, but...nah.

fefa:
Whatever. Panda's ARE assholes. Fuck them and their stupid black and whiteness. What are you, too good for color? Blow it out your ass panda bear. I hope you choke on that fucking bamboo stick. And stop calling yourself a bear, you god damn liar. If you're such a bear then tell me the last time you killed and ate a deer with your big bear claws and teeth. What's that? You like vegetation? Maybe we should call you a panda rabbit. How about that, you grass eating hippie. We didn't put up with the "Killer Whale" lies. He's a fucking Orca, and we call him a fucking Orca. All you black and white assholes can just get off your fucking elitist pedestals and kiss my perfectly proportioned pink ass.

She:
Right? The panda is a media machine, and a goddamned filthy liar! It's all a media machine for that money-grubbing no-good Zoo. Ooooh, panda cam! Panda flashlights, panda t-shirts, panda dildos! The pandas at the zoo even have their very own line assistant! This little old lady volunteers HER precious time to stand there hissing into this weird little microphone, giving minute-to-minute about the pandas' activities (there aren't any, you stupid old hag!), plus mind-numbingly boring factoids about how much they sleep, how much bamboo they eat, and how they're too stupid to have sex with each other like every other mammal, so the zoo has to artificially inseminate them. The little old lady will also hiss at you, furiously, to be quiet. Because the fucking pandas are trying to sleep. Really, lady? I mean, REALLY? You need us all to be quiet, standing here in this line like a bunch of morons to watch them...sleep some more? Fuck that, I'm going to be as loud as I can so maybe they'll wake up and do something interesting. Like maybe run a lap, or fight with another panda? They could at least be nice enough to eat part of that weird ice sculpture fruit salad their keepers give them. Seriously, now they're just being rude.

2006-10-23T07:19:00.000-07:00

I have good news, and I have bad news…

I am in the midst of a huge project right now with a daunting deadline attached to it; hence the lack of, well, anything. It should all be over soon though, at which time I will once again be able to *work* instead of having to actually work. I know how rough this has been on some of you, that every fefaless day has been a little less rad than the last, but just hang in there a little longer…

The good news is that I’m still really, really hot. And boot season is back. Also, I’ve changed my hair and it is so totally awesome there aren’t even words for it. Except totally. And awesome.

So for now I leave you with Pooh noshing on a stogie. Yes, I give my dog tobacco products. No, I don't care what you think about it. Why? Because she's the tits baby, and deserves to kick back after a long day just like the rest of us. There should be enough objectionable material in this to tide you over until I wrap things up...

2006-09-27T14:19:00.000-07:00

The demystification of women…

When we say "whatever you want" we mean exactly that.
*Note: what you ‘want’ is what we want. Trust me.

Direct eye contact followed by the arching of an eyebrow is equivalent to a rattling tail; back your way out of whatever you did with extreme caution, and proceed directly to a jewelry store for the antidote.

No, we aren’t right about everything. But we can’t help that you are always wrong either.

Changing clothes is not, I repeat – not, an invitation to a boob grabbing party. What we are actually trying to do here is - sit down for this - get dressed.

Poking us in the back with ‘it’ while we are asleep will only sharpen our fake sleeping skills.

If we tell you anything is ‘fine’ we/the situation is not fine at all. More importantly, neither are you.

If we break up and ever meet one of your other ex’s we will instantly be friends. Our friendship will be temporary and based on saying things about you that would make Andrew Dice Clay blush.

Any sort of dancey thing you do wherein you make your penis flap about in our general direction won’t turn us on.

Neither will showcasing your ability to double as a towel or hat rack.

Taking out your wallet and handing it to us with your penis, however, will.

If we catch you looking at another girl you better come up with something insulting to say about her, and fast. We know you’re lying, but it makes it better anyway.

If we made it no matter how bad it tastes, you should like it.

It sounds like complaining, but to us and other women it’s just talking. Unless we’re talking to another woman about you, then it’s probably complaining.

If you leave during a fight we will be distraught, sobbing, pining for you, and call all our girlfriends so we can talk about it until you come back. As soon as you get back we will give you the silent treatment.

We want you to be manly, protective, and even a bit possessive of us. But only at specific times. We will never tell you when those times are, but you had better get them right.

Sometimes we have to fake it. And we know you can’t tell when we’re faking it. Know why?

2006-08-29T13:28:00.000-07:00

Dear everyone I share the road with…

If you need to make a turn but are not in the correct lane, go ahead and stop in the middle of traffic, put your signal on, and wait for a spot to open up. I totally don’t mind waiting.

When my light turns green and I start through the intersection, but your light has only been red for a mere 3 seconds, go for it anyway. I love surprises.

When I’m in a line of cars feel free to ride my ass, and even honk when you’re in a hurry. Lord knows I’m sitting behind all these cars going slowly just to annoy you when I know full well you’re trying to get somewhere.

Please make sure that when traffic is really backed up and it’s clearly visible to everyone there is not room for another car, to pull out and block the intersection anyway right when the light turns red.

If you don’t feel like being on the freeway anymore, but there isn’t an exit right at that very second, go ahead and drive over the curb and down the grass embankment to the feeder road below. If you do this though, please make sure to pay no mind to me driving 50mph on said road when you drive off the curb and into my lane.

If you’re lost make sure you come to an almost complete stop at every single cross street until you figure out where you need to go.

If you are older, fearful of driving, and shouldn’t be on the road in the first place, please be sure the first thing you do is hop on the freeway. If possible, you will want to be in the far left lane.

Anytime you are entering the freeway I would appreciate it if you would maintain a speed of 35mph or less. This will help both of us to merge effectively with the 70mph traffic on said freeway.

That big yellow "YIELD" sign in your lane you see right before it merges with my lane, that’s just a suggestion. Really.

If at all possible please try to ignore that pesky repetitive clicking sound your turn signal makes constantly when you have no intention of turning.

Anytime you need to pull across unprotected lanes of traffic to turn left remember that this is best accomplished by simply pulling out and blocking all oncoming traffic until you are clear to make your turn.

Should you need to turn, but forgot to get in the turn lane, just let me know by turning anyway. I’d be happy to swerve out of your way suddenly to make sure my car doesn’t scratch yours all up and stuff.

If you find you pulled a little too far forward and are obstructing oncoming traffic from a driveway, don’t ever back up to let them pass. We are all trying to pause traffic special for you so you may exit at your leisure.

Never, ever get in line with everyone else waiting to merge onto another freeway. Drive right up to the front of the line, over the double white lines, and ask for cuts by swerving that piece of shit you call a car towards me.

Also, should you be presented with a center turn lane, use it at your discretion to speed past everyone else and cut me off to get back in the lane. Hopefully you can thwart some of those pesky drivers trying to use it to turn on your way to the front.

If you smoke, be sure not to ever use your ashtray. That will diminish the value of your car. Instead, please flick the burning remainder of your cigarette at my car, preferably when I have the top down.

When waiting in line for a toll booth or similar please do not utilize any of that wait time by getting your fee together. Wait until you reach the booth, then look for correct change.

Should you not be paying attention when the light turns red, and that bastard behind you has the audacity to honk after 10 seconds, always have a hissy fit and sit there even longer to prove a point.

And lastly, just for clarification, please be sure to note that honking and/or an extended middle finger is just my special way of applauding your driving prowess.

2006-08-29T07:11:00.000-07:00

Metal death trap of terror...

Not only is that, like, my favoritest Pantera song ever, but it also happens to be my pet name for an airplane. As most of you know when it comes to flying I'm a big fat wuss. And by wuss I mean a completely stressed out inconsolable wreck in an alarmingly attractive package. I mention this as I will be forced to board a death trap of terror when we leave for our vacation this week, and I expect you all to say a prayer for me in the form of shopping so I do not plummet to my fiery demise.

I'm not sure if I will be posting while we are away, but I give you my completely empty promise that I will certainly try. And with that, I leave you with a totally recycled post of a conversation with my dear friend Jakey-Poo, who tried his best to console me the last time I was airborn...

Fefa:
I'm more tense than anything right now. I HATE flying, so a flight this long is going to suck! Plus we still have lots to do before we go. Once we get there though, I'm sure it will be great! And much needed. We've managed a few short trips – mostly holiday weekend stuff like lake travis, vegas, etc, but this will be the first real vacation we've taken in forever.

Jakey-Poo:
The flight will be fine. maybe take a melatonin or something to help you sleep? although you might be pretty excited and might be wound up. i wouldnt suggest drinking too much on the flight, pressure does some funky things when you come off the alcohol high.. you'll be ok..i can definately swing by. i'll need to get with you for keys, alarm code, etc, let me know when i need to get with you for it. we still need to do lunch sometime, let me know if you have time this week or if you are too busy..

Fefa:
That's right, you had some big gossipy secret to tell me…this week is slammed unfortunately, since we're preparing for our absence, I can probably do it the week after we get back…or you can just spill it now. You know, whatever works for you. Like now, for example, would be ok. I'll see if I can find one of our extra keys and one of us can swing by this weekend or something…I've tried the PM stuff before, and I'm usually so stressed it doesn't have much affect on me. This time I'm thinking I'll mix some sort of prescription with alcohol. I hear that can do the trick. Just kidding. I don't have any prescriptions to use. Dammit!

Jakey-Poo:
ooooohhh, wouldn't you JUST love to know ;-) sorry. has to be in person.. its just that way..we'll chat and figure out when to meet up. you can always take NyQuil, which is safe enough to relax you.. dont be grinding up Vicodin with a vodka shot! although, hmmmm....

Fefa:
Any single remedy would be ineffective, so there'd be no real point in pills OR booze. Well there'd be a point, it just wouldn't help with the flight at all. We did upgrade to first class to try to make it a little more relaxing; roomier, better service, and if you're going to be crammed in a metal death trap of terror a mile in the sky that could plummet to your fiery death at any given moment, you know, may as well upgrade, right?

Jakey-Poo:
hmmm...that would suck when it wears off. you'll be fine. its a plane. they RARELY, and i mean, RARELY have issues. the chances are so miniscule, your chances of an accident on the road is so much higher..first class is good! they'll feed you alcohol constantly....

Fefa:
I know it's rare. So far none of my planes have even crashed. I don't know what I'm worried about. Though that just makes odds of this one crashing higher.
Yes, my chances of crashing on the road are higher. My chances of living through a car accident vs. surviving a plane crash are higher too. I'm pretty much inconsolable when it comes to flying. It's the only thing I'm a big baby about. The only thing. I swear. Shut up.

Jakey-Poo:
i agree with your deduction, but my prediction is that you'll be fine. ;)
also remember that if you do go through a plane crash, you'll be gripped with utter terror for about 3-4 mins and then it will be blank. all blank. with a car crash however, the feeling of terror will probably be for about 15 seconds as you see the object/car/wall come at you, but if you survive and lose your limbs or turn into a semi vegetable, then its a lifetime of utter pain, suffering, rage, self pity, horror and all the other absolutely horrible feelings and sentiments. plane crash is the way go to. not that you'll experience it, but... ;-)
what type of plane is it? 767? if so, they are really new planes, very comfortable...

Fefa:
The ticket says: 767-400 As far as I can relax though, that may as well be an old box with cardboard wings duct taped to it. Oh, and seat belts. Cause that's going to help when we smack the water at a bajillion miles an hour. When they find the wreckage they'll be all…oh, look, a pair of 7 jeans tangled up in a seat belt. Sharks must have eaten that body too. Near as we can tell, fefa must have been sitting there. Good thing she had that seat belt on, otherwise we would have never known who it was, or scored this really cute pair 7's. And then some jackass will probably take my jeans home to his dumb fat wife and she'll stretch them all out and shit. So not only do I die, my jeans see injustice after my terrible demise. Great.

Jakey-Poo:
you are cracking me up!
btw, hate to say this to you, but i have always had this weird 'fixation' (might be the wrong word) about planes, plane crashes and how they are designed, etc. (another 'fixation' is Nazi concentration camps, but that's a whole different topic).aircraft design is the epitome of cost of construction versus cost of structural failure and human injury in the worst negative way.. meaning, that their design has very little to do with survival in the event of a crash. even if the pilot can glide the aircraft on to water, at 300+mph, it would shear off of the lower part of the fuselage with catastrophic results..so, 3-4 mins of terror followed by utter silence (i think, unless St. peter/God/Heaven is true, then you might get a friendly visit from one of the devil's disciples ;-) will be the way it goes..and you really dont want to survive a plane crash, its just not something you want to go through..
yeah, there would be a fat chick with your 7 jeans on somewhere..BUT, IT WONT HAPPEN since the plane will be totally fine... :)

Fefa:
Oh, ok. Thanks for the insight. Remind me to poke you in the eye next time I see you.
Actually, I know that. I think it was actually being informed that made me start to fear flying. I used to fly all the time, and enjoyed it even. Then I went and learned stuff. If you don't already watch it, and I presume you don't Mr. No Cable, there's a show you would like on National Geographic that is literally about just that sort of stuff. Called Moment Before Impact or Seconds Before Disaster, or something like that, which more or less covers what does (or doesn't) happen in emergencies like plane crashes, train wrecks, whatever – everything from mechanics, odds of survival, etc. I watched one recently about (go figure) a flight to Hawaii that crashed, and was pretty famous at the time actually, I remember it being all over the news. Well it didn't crash per se, but ripped apart in mid-air, and managed to land eventually. They went over the whole study of why it happened, how, the reason a POS plane they knew had issues was sent out in the first place (mo money for someone, duh); everything you don't want to know. Of course on this one, some people were sucked out and never seen again, some injured, some survived with just the terror of living through it... Interesting series, worth checking out. Crazy About Goats comes on after it, so you'd be all set for the night.

Jakey-Poo:
'Crazy about goats' is my favorite show! i love goat. they are my friend.. its an Indian thing, you blondes wont understand. and that's right next to my other favorite shows, 'How i survived a Mid air Collision over the Pacific', followed by, 'Man eating Sharks in the Pacific- Survival guide for the Pacific Ocean after a plane crash wearing 7 jeans' '. My favorite though is 'The last 3 minutes of my life in a 767'. And the big hit was "Terror on board Continental CO1 to Hawaii'. it was great!!HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!! i just had to... i just couldnt stop! i'm so sorry!! i feel so bad. really...

Fefa:
Well now, someone’s going to feel pretty bad if my plane does go down now, huh? Maybe even worse than your goat friend felt last night. But definitely not worse than that time your written confirmation of goat love was posted on the Internet.

2006-08-24T15:34:00.000-07:00

Fefa's fight in the war on terror...

I have been advised by Thomas that when I depart for my vacation next week I can not bring hair spray, gel, or anything of the sort on board with me, no matter how I plead. I must check my most precious over-priced cosmetics in shiny bottles with the rest of the *shudder* common baggage in cargo. And as such, upon either landing or crashing and burning to my fiery demise, my hair shall be limp and lifeless. The horror.

I called the airport to see if an exception could be made, but they insist it is just not possible. Even celebrities must check these items and carry the shameful burden of flat hair all the way to baggage claim. I’ve tossed and turned on the issue and I have found both a solution and a significant revelation about the terrorists. I have decided that I shall wear a turban to disguise my hideously flat hair.

You terrorists may be able to disguise yourselves in street wear to most of the masses, but I can spot dull flat hair a mile away. Consider yourselves warned; I carry hairspray, and I know how to use it.

2006-08-24T11:24:00.000-07:00

All's fair in love, war, and shopping...

I was asked recently what in the hell I was thinking when I moved from California to Texas some years ago, and how I met the incredibly lucky Mr. Fefa. I decided I should probably write it down before I drink away the ability to remember any of it. Mostly because one day the children we adopt from a third world country because not only is it totally the thing to do, but I am so not going to have stretch marks and fat ankles thank you very much, will want to know how Fefa and Daddy met. It’s a really long story, so I’m going to try not to bore you with 10 paragraphs talking about myself, and see if I can condense it to 9.

Once upon a time there was an extremely attractive and impressively intelligent girl. When she was a mere 19 years old she bravely moved to Houston, a city she had never so much as visited before, all by her little. She brought with her only what fit in her bitchin’ sports car, and donated the rest of her belongings to charity to help the needy. Or just left it in the house for her roommates to deal with because after carefully packing her entire wardrobe, and nothing else, into her vehicle she was too tired to be bothered with trivial matters like old furniture and dishes.

Not long after arriving she secured a job even though a girl of such surpassing beauty should not have to fill her pretty little head with thoughts and stuff. Because she’s above that sort of mindset. And also, it turns out designer jeans do not, in fact, pay the rent.

One day her tall and sassy boss, Stephanie, asked if Fefa would do her a personal favor, promising she would so totally owe her one if she would.

"I’m sorry" Fefa replied "but my jeans are too small for you".
"Silly, I know I can’t fit into your jeans!" her tall and sassy boss said. "I was actually hoping you would be willing to go on a date with me Saturday night."
"So you want to get into my jeans, not borrow them?"
"No, that came out wrong. I mean, I am going on a date with a guy, and was hoping you would come too".
"A double date then?"
"Well, not exactly. You would be more like a third wheel. I know that’s sort of weird, but I would so owe you."
"What do you need a third wheel for?"
"Well, I really like him, we totally hit it off. But I was thinking about it since we made the date, and hit it off or not, we only met once for a little while. And I went ahead and gave him my address, so he’s coming over for a drink before we go out. So now I’m sort of uncomfortable with the whole thing. But if I had someone else with me I would feel a lot safer about it. Please, this is an incredible guy, it would mean a lot to me. Plus it’ll be more casual, just friends sort of hanging out, and there won’t be any of that awkward first date stuff. It’ll be fun."
"Uh huh. Either that or I am the ignored third wheel all night long. Or he kills us both."
"I’ll buy all your drinks."
"And dinner too."
"Ok."

Soon enough it was Saturday and Fefa arrived at her tall and sassy boss’s place to get her free meal and be murdered. While Stephanie was sipping a martini and finishing her hair there was a knock on the door, and she asked Fefa to answer it. So she would have enough time to run out the back after she heard the gun shot.

"Oh, I’m sorry, I must have the wrong apartment." the tall, dark, and handsome man said.
"You’re here for Stephanie, right? She just scooting the last guy out the back, she’ll be out in a sec. Come on in."
"Oh, that’s good. I was hoping she was easy." he replied without skipping a beat. "So are you her roommate?"
"No, I’m your chaperone. Stay in line or I’ll have to unleash these bad boys on you."
"Yeah, I think I'd be ok with that."
"Not those. These bad boys." Fefa replied showcasing her muscular, and surprisingly seductive, biceps. "You’ve been warned."

Off they went on their date plus one, and a wonderful time they had while Fefa kept mostly to herself so as not to impose. Tall, dark, and handsome was incredible, just as Stephanie described. Smart, witty, charming, well dressed…and as such Fefa realized she could totally order the lobster and Stephanie couldn’t say a word about it.

Half way through dinner tall, dark, and handsome’s best friend showed up and joined the "date". In some amazing coincidence he was out to dinner all by himself on a Saturday night in the same restaurant. It was as if it was meant to be. Or he had called his friend and asked him to show up and get the chaperone out of the way. But alas, it was not meant to be. Despite the best friend being overly persistent and all up in Fefa’s shit, dig his chili she did not, and shut him down repeatedly she did. She was so put off by him she asked tall, dark, and handsome to please please please make him leave before she wasted a perfectly good martini on his face.

For the next few months the trio continued to "date", go to parties together, and make fun of all his friends who thought they were players. Until one evening when tall, dark, and handsome pulled Fefa aside to chat.

"I didn’t ask him to come and meet you" he confessed. "Before we even left to eat that night I called him and asked him to show up and distract Stephanie. I told him she had brought her friend along, and when you opened the door I knew you were "the one", as weird as that sounds. But he hit on you anyway. You should know nothing happened with Stephanie, ever, not even a kiss. I’ve been inviting you both out for months just so I could see you. I know she’s your boss, and it might put you in an awkward position otherwise. I’m sorry if this is wrong, if this is awkward, but I can't stand just being your friend for another second."

She looked at him stunned. "I had no ide…" and he kissed her mid-sentence.

Two years later they were married. On top of a mall. The End.

2006-08-14T14:24:00.000-07:00

Tis better to give, than receive…

I think I slept on it wrong, Fe.

Well, tuck it back when you go to bed next time.

No, seriously. It really hurts. I can hardly move it.

Well, you’re of very little use to me then. Off you go…

Fe, seriously. It really hurts, would you help me out here?

What hurts?

My neck, I can barely even turn my head. Would you help me here?

Sure, Aleve is in the cabinet.

Fe! Please!

Ok, sorry. Fine. You can use my water glass, it’s by my sink. Wash it when you’re done.

*Spends about 15 seconds shifting entire body towards me so he may extend his glare lovingly into my beautiful eyes. While placing his loving gaze upon me he probably also noted the incredible hair day I was having. Which says a lot considering I had only just woken up. Seriously, it was that good.*

Ok, ok. What do you want me to do?

Will you get that neck pack and heat it for me?

Sure, anything else?

Ooohh, actually, get the massager that heats up and use that on my neck, that’ll be even better.

*Plug in massager to warm it up, run downstairs to start coffee, and checks hair in mirror again. Nice…*

Mmmmmmm, that feels good. I think it’s helping. It gets a lot warmer than I recall.

Hmmm? Oh, yeah. Good. That’s good. (I can only pay so much attention to this whilst I flip through a magazine with my other hand and listen eagerly for the beep of the coffee machine.)

What’s that smell?

Huh? I don’t know, probably the coffee maker.

Oh…..

No, I don’t think so. You might want to check it if it is. It smells like something is burning.

*A burning smell is very obviously in the room now, and I swear I see smoke out of the corner of my eye for a second*

I hate that freaking coffee maker! Goddammit, that stinks! I’ll be right back…

As I stand and look left I see that the coffee maker is not, in fact, responsible for the burning smell. Rather, the massager I am using on his upper back is on fire. In case that’s not quite clear – the massager is on fucking fire! I throw it across the room, because when you have fire you want to make it as mobile as possible. And also, make sure it comes into contact with multiple flammable objects as well, preferably all located near your only exit. And thank goodness for my quick thinking, as while in mid-air the little flames coming from the back of the massage heads went out, and the plug yanked out of the wall, though smoke continued to waft out from it.

Seriously, whatinthefuck? Since when does this happen? I reread the warning label, and just as I suspected, nowhere on it does it say CAUTION: May burst into flames while in use.

Before you get all worried, Mr. Fefa is fine. So fine in fact, he forgot all about his poor neck hurting so much he couldn’t even turn. The faker. No, the real damage here was that my hair stunk like smoke, reminiscent of burning plastic, and had to be totally redone.

In all seriousness though, this sort of random event really makes you put things in perspective for a moment. And I realized just how thankful I am that I wasn’t the one getting a massage.

2006-08-14T09:13:00.000-07:00

I heart coffee...

I decided to stray from my normal coffee routine and expand my horizons by trying some au naturel herbal tea some chick with dreads suggested I try when in the coffee aisle this weekend. Because it’s "so good for you, and will make you feel so much more energized, but in a natural way". I have no idea what the hell that’s supposed to mean, but I’ve never been one to shun the advice of a strange woman with hairy pits who reeks of patchouli, so...

My review? The next time a tree hugger tries to ‘advise’ me I will politely decline and let them know that I totally would, but I’m on my way out the door right now to meet a friend for a huge steak dinner. And after that, we’re going to go kick some puppies, and maybe carve some obscene statements in the flesh of poor defenseless trees. Because from what I gather, feeling "so much more energized, but in a natural way" translates to being incredibly tired and having the flavor of what I presume a mouthful of twigs and manure would taste like.

On the up side though, our bathroom now smells of fresh cut grass.

2006-08-09T15:13:00.000-07:00

Things to consider before speaking…

Chevy and I were in a kitschy little jewelry store this weekend looking for some ‘hard core’ jewelry for her. Seriously, like skulls and that kind of stuff. Don’t ask me why, all I know is her nails are painted black, she has weird little scratchy cuts up and down her arms, and she bought some Bauhaus and Skinny Puppy CD’s while we were out too. Anyway…when we get to the counter the guy is trying to talk me into buying their cheap sale stuff, and I decline. He pushes it not once, but twice more on me, and I gently explain in my humble demeanor that no thank you, while I appreciate your multiple offers I am not interested in any of the low price merchandise displayed, for it does not suit my personal style. To which this fine gentleman replies, and I quote, "Oh my god, you are SO RUDE! SERIOUSLY!" so that it echoed throughout the store.

Hhhhmmmmmm…..

Ever the lady, I kept my cool as best I could and burst out laughing. I turned to Chevy, who in turn shared her laughter with him on the matter. And we continued to share our amusement with him until he completed our transactions.

Let’s skip the obvious need here to brush up on the customer relations section of your employee handbook and move on the more important concern he should have considered. A tip for any gentlemen, or gentle ladies, out there: yelling at someone whom you hope to publicly embarrass or intimidate will backfire on you horribly if you have a serious lisp. And I mean a therioth lithp. Because all I could hear was Stephanie Tanner hopped up on steroids yelling that I am "THO RUDE! THERIOTHLY!". And intimidate or embarrass me, it will not. It will, however, insure that I stop in to see what’s on thale the next time I go shopping.

After burning so many calories carrying around shopping bags and laughing at the impediments of others we realized we were in need of some sustenance to fuel us for the rest of the day. We stopped for ‘lunch’, and to my joy I was carded when ordering. Our waitress said something I did not quite hear, but Chevy began laughing immediately.

"What was that?" I questioned smiling.

"I hope when I’m that old I look as good as you." she said sweetly, and left to fetch our drinks.

Hhhhmmmmmm…..

Chevy continued to revel in the moment (she still continues to revel in it) while I tried to digest this information. But it turns out I have a very particular palette, and swallow this I could not. That old? THAT OLD? I don’t think so. My dear, I look good for your age. Where was that response when I needed it? And where the hell is my drink? And how exactly am I supposed to make my point now that the moment has passed and left me miffed?

"Interesting. I’ll bet the next thing she has to say is ‘Hey, where’s my tip?’".

2006-08-08T15:12:00.000-07:00

In case you weren't already convinced that what I say here is incredibly important...

I was noting to Chevy between drinks, catty remarks about other women, and boot purchases recently that I have noticed an unusual increase in traffic here. True, it was only a matter of time before my good deed doing and general being rightness would spread around the world like a plague, but nonetheless I was curious as to what spurred it.

And when I say a large increase of traffic, I am deadly serious. There are literally tens of hits a day pouring in here folks. For reals.

Well, it turns out the Chronicle has linked me as a notable Houston blog. Now, I'm not so sure what exactly this says about Houston, aside from having fantastic taste and being ridiculously good looking, but I do know what it means for me. All my online profiles will now be able to include 'notable' in my 8 paragraph brief description of myself. And I can totally prove it's true.

Also, have you picked up your Chronicle yet today? It's worth the read, I hear they are moving in a fantastic new direction. Might want to just go ahead and subscribe.

2006-08-08T14:01:00.000-07:00

Wow, that has absolutely nothing to do with what I was just talking about...

I have a great phone voice. So great I do recordings for voice systems on occasion. But not great enough to make $3.99 a minute.

If it has avocado in it, that’s what I will order.

When I was little I had a turtle. My parents said I should name it something unique. Something nobody else ever named their pet. I named him Blue Bird.

People often think I’m black before they meet me. They also give me a funny look when I tell them my name.

I once tagged along on a shopping trip for power tools with Les Claypoole and Larry from Primus. They didn’t want me there, but I went anyway.

I lock doors behind me. This upsets a lot of people who arrive after me, even though it’s me who has to be bothered to get up and let them in.

I once had a fork fall and land perfectly upright, stuck into my foot. It hurt like a &*(#$@*()#^&*). Despite the pain I yelled for 5 minutes until Mr. Fefa came into the room so I had 1. someone to backup my story and 2. someone to pull the fork out. It took 5 minutes to convince him I was telling the truth and come help me.

I had a Mohawk. It was blue.

I love to cook, have since I was little, and am pretty damn good at it. I do not, however, like to cook for other people.

I discarded my plans for a guy, and it worked out happily ever after. Especially for him.

I was horribly picked on when I was young for being ugly and a nerd, and I am surprisingly thankful for it.

I was the first to develop in school, and did so over a summer vacation. Suddenly everyone wanted to be my friend, and I told them all to kiss my ass, and meant it.

One time I went to summer camp for two weeks, and my parents "forgot" to pick me up. We’ll see what Mom thinks about that next time she flies in for a visit.

I have been known to, on occasion, wave to someone I totally don’t know and then look at them funny when they wave back.

I have been pulled over for speeding about 10 times. I have received 0 speeding tickets.

I will occasionally nipples throw in something completely random to see if you are even listening.

2006-08-07T12:54:00.000-07:00

Rules of thumb for the fashionable gentleman...

Wearing your ratty old jeans is not the same thing as wearing jeans made to look ‘worn’. I know you can’t tell the difference, but we can.

Don’t pop your collar. Just don’t.

Keep your nipples to yourself. Don’t wear it unbuttoned that far, put on an undershirt, or *shudder* band-aid them if you must. Just like you don’t have a use for them, neither do we.

You look good in that striped dress shirt with the sleeves casually rolled back and ‘worn’ jeans. And so does every other man on the planet. Get a new shirt, sans stripes.

There is a difference between sneakers you wear out, and sneakers you actually use for exercisey or dirty sort of activities. Get another pair.

Jewelry is for girls. You may wear one piece at any given time. Two if one is a wedding ring.

Everything you need to have with you should fit in your wallet. No matter what you call it to justify its presence, it’s a purse.

For god’s sake, put on a belt.

I can tell it’s your favorite hat. We all can. Get a new one.

Flannel is for lesbians and lumber-jacks.

Have you learned to tell time all by your little? Good. Let’s move on from that digital eyesore on your wrist.

Get your hair styled. By a stylist. If it cost $9 it’s a cut, not a style. Yes, there is a difference.

If they gave you a spiky hair cut gelled to the heavens they are not a stylist. Find someone else.

Already styled? Fantastic. Let’s remember that hair products are meant to hold our hair in place for that day, not the rest of eternity. Ease up on the gel.

Vintage is totally hot. Disco is not. If you’re not sure, leave it alone.

Fitted shirts look fantastic. When fitted to the right body.

Fitted does not mean skin tight.

Repeat after me: "we do not tuck our pants into our boots".

If we want to see your underwear we’ll let you know. Pull your pants up. Dually, if we want to see your crack, well, we never will. Get a longer shirt.

You can still be manly and have clean nails. Hell, we might even let you touch us if you do.

I don’t care what your guns look like, put on something with sleeves.

The only war we’re fighting on these streets is against crimes of fashion. Lose the camo.

Dress socks go with dressier clothes (yes, sometimes jeans). Classic cotton socks go with casual clothes. Work out socks go with work out clothes. No socks go with sandals. There is no other allowable combination.

Get a trusted female opinion. Or a trusted metro opinion. Anything else may lead to disaster.

2006-08-03T14:45:00.000-07:00

Rules of thumb for the fashionable lady…

Being able to force your way into a size two does not make you a size two. It does make you look even fatter though. If that happens to be your goal, then by all means…

On that note: low rise jeans are only meant to be worn be people who actually fit into a size two, or smaller. Nobody wants to see your lower back fat. Promise.

Do not attempt your own French manicure after two glasses of wine. In the likely event you cannot control the urge to do so, at least be clever about it and say it is meant as a tribute to the late 1800’s French artistry when Abstract was recognized as more than random shit thrown on a canvas.

Putting unicorns, shooting stars, hearts, or any other kitschy crap on your nails makes you look retarded. If you are under 10, this still applies.

One provocative article of clothing in your outfit is sexy. Two makes you a slut.

Boots are always in style (appropriate weather permitting). Have always been in. Will always be in. Always.

If they go all the way up to your thigh they are not boots. They are hooker shoes.

If you are fat, wearing black does not make you look slimmer. It makes you look like a fat person wearing black.

News Flash: I can still see your clear bra strap.

Scrunchies are only meant to be used in the privacy of your own home.

Tunics: we all know what’s going on under there, but thanks for playing.

Over 3 inches is appropriate for evening. Over 4 inches is appropriate for street walking. Being short does not excuse you.

Unless you need to be easy to find so you don’t hurt yourself if you wander too far from the group, fluorescent colors are always a no-no.

Wearing workout clothes does not fool anyone. And it’s not just the pint of ice cream in your hand giving you away.

Fringe is inexcusable. Period.

Costume wear: dressing too promiscuously is ‘allowed’ on Halloween. Don’t think for a second you won’t still be called a slut though.

If you love her outfit so much you must have it too, you need to get permission first.

If you’re not sure if you can pull off a hat, you can’t. In fact, apply that to anything you’re not sure you can pull off.

Suck it in. Seriously.

2006-08-01T13:51:00.000-07:00

Captain’s Log, star date six nine two point seven three niner four X Y Z…

If that title means anything to you, so will the below. If it doesn’t, read it anyway. The subject matter transcends all cultural and religious boundaries. (Special props go out to a certain slacker without whom this post would not have been possible, even though I am taking all the credit anyway.)

My impression of an email penned by William Shatner:

Hi. Fefa,

How. are. things. withyou? I. was. just. thinking. abouthow. terrifically. attractive. youare. It. amazes. evenme. that. someone. sooooo….sexy. is. also. so. witty. and. intelli…gent. And. that. is. saying. a. lot. coming. from. someonewho. has. boldy. gone. wherenoman. has. gone. be…fore. Please. write. me. back. when. you. haveachance. For. some. reason. my. calls. aaaare…beingblocked. Or. did. you. change. your. numberagain? Please. let. me. know. what. it. is thistime. Call. me. Hoping. to. hear. from. yousoon.

Thinking. of. youalways,

William.

Shatner.

2006-07-25T10:37:00.000-07:00

I heart parasites...

So a while back I was ordering some eroti....err, some sweaters online from a Japanese company. As a special thank you to me they were going to include a free gift with my order; something I would surely appreciate and cherish for years to come.

Last night I realized that horror of horrors, I had forgotten all about my gift. I dashed to the pool table that serves as a general place for things to be set down and left on, and is not so much used for the playing of pool, to retreive it. A tiny pink bag with Japanese writing on the side of it, that roughly translated said something along the lines of "Sirry American, here is your flee gift. Hahahahahaaa!" I remove the tissue from the contemptuous little pink bag and behold in all its splendor...

Seriously? Let's ignore the fact that this is not something you give someone to try to earn repeat business. Unless I was ordering crazy and oddly inappropriate toys for children, which I totally didn't this time. But who in the hell came up with the idea for Holly Hostess trinkets with parasites chewing their way out of her stomach? And where in the hell can I get the rest of the collection?

Check out all the Parasite Pals for yourself. Not only is it amusing in a demented-engrish sort of way, but you now have a resource for that little one whose been begging you all year for a plush tapeworm toy to snuggle with at bed time.

2006-07-20T10:27:00.000-07:00

Home again, home again, jiggity jig…

After too many years away I am at long last going home. Except I have no family there now, or an actual home to visit. So, to where my home used to be, that’s where we're going. Except, we won’t actually be in the burb I primarily lived in. Or in San Francisco, where we used to watch boats dock at Fisherman’s Wharf from our apartment. Or Berkeley, Oakland, Humboldt, Escondido… So really, I could have skipped those first sentences and just said we're going to CA. But in effort to make this a lengthy post to make up for my lack of posts, we are going the long way on this.

Our trip is actually two trips in one. On Mr. Fefa’s trip he will be racing on Laguna Seca during the day while I sexily, yet ever so lady like and classy, cheer him on. I have the perfect polka dot dress, floppy hat, and white gloves for the occasion. And in the evening, we will wine and dine in beautiful Carmel, then return to our quaint hotel to play cards, or perhaps take turns reading to each other from our hotel bible. Either that or ripping out the pages to roll a fatty with and raiding the mini-bar for $12 peanuts. One of those.

After three or four days of this we will be taking a scenic drive along the coast at 100mph to LA, where I will reunite with some of my favorite fellow narcissists. Here we will perhaps visit another beach, catch a movie, tour celebrity homes, and if we’re lucky see someone famous we can discretely get a bad pic of from a really awkward angle because we aren’t so lame that we would ever let on that we noticed that the guy in line behind us at Starbucks was in that movie we totally loved. Who cares about celebrities anyway? According to all my US Weekly’s, celebrities sometimes carry their own groceries, pump gas, walk their dog, even drink coffee…they’re just like us. Not to mention that - OMG! - he just ordered the same drink as me! Hold your camera phone lower so he can’t see, maybe you can get the drink in the pic too. Did you turn off that stupid camera shutter sound it makes?

A few days later we will return home feeling refreshed, relaxed, and ready to get back to every day life.

On my trip I will be joining Mr. Fefa at Laguna Seca Raceway bright and early every morning. When I drop him off. Afterwards I will return to our quaint hotel still in my pajamas, only to find it is not a quaint hotel at all, and actually a fabulous spa hotel located very near to 1. shopping, 2. the beach, 3. I won’t really be at the beach, but at the inside pool, because the water out there is f-ing freazing. And being of Russian descent the concept of tanning is alien to my pale pale skin. Not only will I burn badly despite wearing spf50, but I will be the whitest thing as far as the eye can see. And to be quite honest, I tire quickly of all the tan-able assholes cozying up next to me in hopes the burning glare of the sun coming off my scorched skin like a mirror will reflect on them and better their tan. So congrats on the tan asshole. You look like a saddle.

The spa hotel is something of a surprise I’ve planned for Mr. Fefa. And when I say ‘surprise’ I mean when I tell him about it and he realizes I canceled his hotel reservations and booked us some where a tad more, um….inclusive?, he can’t be mad because I did it with good intentions. For him. And he’s going to be even more excited when he sees the 2 bedroom suite I reserved.

"Why did you get two rooms? We don’t need this much room, Fe! This is ridiculous! How the hell much did this goddamn place cost?!" he will sweetly ask me.

"We do need two rooms though Baby" I will squeeze in when he pauses from his concerns to take a breath.

"What in the hell for?!" he will ask curiously.

"The big one is ours. The other and the pull out couch are for the friends I invited from San Francisco to hang out in Carmel with us for the weekend. Aren’t you excited?".

After I return from dropping him off at the track we will have breakfast and mimosa’s sent up to the room and will spend three to four hours drinking, gossiping, trying on outfits, drinking, maybe eaing some of the breakfast if we’re not feeling all fat and stuff from the drinks and don’t plan to go to the indoor pool, and then figure out what our actual game plan is for the day. I expect somewhere between 11am and 2pm we’ll head out to go shopping. Mr. Fefa will be picked up late afternoon, and we will all return to the hotel for a much needed nap. Or to be too noisy while Mr. Fefa attempts a much needed nap.

Once rested we will all head out for a fabulous dinner somewhere, and the ladies and I will work our magic to insure drinks are free all night long. This is probably one of the few times where my reference to ‘the ladies’ will actually mean other females that are with me, and not refer solely to myself. Take note.

After three or four days of this we will say goodbye to my SF friends and take a scenic drive along the coast at 100mph to LA. Here, I have given the smoking hot and shopping savvy Hilary one month to prepare a plan wherein we will be able to hit as many critical shopping destinations as possible - in 1 day. Though my guidance is not needed by Hilary in this capacity at all, since we only have 1 day to dedicate to this I made extra sure to define "critical shopping destinations" as: a store that upon exiting may result in Mr. Fefa no longer talking to me.

A few days later we will return home feeling broke, dreading work, and be ready to dodge numerous calls from all our credit providers.

2006-07-05T08:23:00.000-07:00

Uh oh Chevy, time to get your game face on...

In checking what bizarre searches bring people here in error (including Zach Braff tattoos, National Mullet Club, and Fake Car Towing Receipts...wtf kind of site am I running here?) it appears someone is beating you in the prized 'big tatas' search.

Of course, we are each talking about the other's tatas in the referenced posts, so perhaps I should just shut my trap. About your tatas anyway.

2006-07-03T08:25:00.000-07:00

Pug sitting...

Pooh vs. Yoda, Round 1.

(Note Pooh's signature spin move.)

2006-06-20T12:32:00.000-07:00

The dirtiest dirt…

Not only do I get to talk about my all important self in this here survey, but I get to dish on, and trash, others too. Welcome to fefa’s top 8 ‘Have You Ever’ questionnaire, as ganked from myspace…

First, a picture introduction to fefa’s top 8:

Number 1: Sarah

Number 2: JGreene

Number 3: Zach

Number 4: Hilary

Number 5: Baron Von Bluto

Number 6: Allyce

Number 7: Ashley

Number 8: Brian

And on to the dirt…

Done something illegal with ..5:
Of course not. We were straight-laced, clean cut kids. Kind of.

Kissed ..1:
Yes, but not in a girls gone wild sort of way. And she doesn’t remember it. Neither do I, actually.

Hung out with ..3:
Every time I want good service in a gay restaurant I hang out with him and his two sizes too small shirt.

Hugged ..2:
Yes. Although, I was really just trying to move his ginormous head out of the way.

Gotten drunk or high with ..4:
High School + Humboldt = yes. Sometimes, I wonder what she’s like in real life. Or if she really even exists. I had a roommate, right?

Played a sport with ..5:
Absolutely. If ditching school and drinking beer with the neighborhood gay guy is a sport. And it is. Hit me up if you want to try out for the team.

Had an inside joke with ..6:
Carbs!! Noooooooooooo!!!! (This joke actually works outside too. Or anywhere there are carbs, really.)

Had a relationship with ..4:
Yes. We even bought a magic dragon together and named him Scooty. It ended poorly though, right about the time we woke up on a hill somewhere in Humboldt county.

Had a crush on ..1:
Still do! How could I not have a crush on someone who would risk throwing up in bebe for me?

Gone shopping with ..8:
Only one time, and I don’t know if it counts as ‘shopping’. We took BART into San Francisco to ‘shop’, and then my boyfriend got totally mad at me and stuff.

Had class with ..7:
We are always classy, motherfucker. No napkins stuck on these cheeks. Or, um...

Seen ..4 in a swimsuit:
Yes. It’s one of the reasons I want to hate her. But I can’t. No matter how good she looks, I just can’t erase our magic dragon love.

Hurt ..6's feelings:
Not to my knowledge. I believe my position is insult generator of those who do.

Has ..1 ever hurt your feelings:
No. Or um, actually, yes. Yes she has. And it can only be made up for with a new pair of Manolo Blahniks.

Ridden in a car with ..2:
Ridden in a car? Try sprayed down the entire back seat with a 2 liter of orange soda.

Kissed ..4:
Yeah, her ass. But only when I wanted something I couldn’t borrow without her knowing it.

Dated someone in your Top 8:
No, but I have dated friends of someone’s in my top 8. Which is probably why the someone’s knew better.

Traveled anywhere with ..2:
After signing a no orange soda waiver I was again allowed entry into his vehicle for a 6 hour trek to Humboldt.

Met ..5's family:
Actually, no. The closest I ever got was her driveway. Something about mohawks don’t go over well, just wait in the car.

Ever eaten anything in front of ..1:
Absolutely. We liquid lunch all the time.

Hated ..4:
Wouldn’t I have put her in my bottom 8? Why isn’t there a bottom 8? Its time to really bring this myspace thing full circle and show folks how we really feel.

Fought with ..7:
No, she knows better. Seriously, have you seen these guns? Kachow! Kachow!

Has 5 ever seen you do something embarrassing:
I don’t do anything embarrassing. Well, embarrassing to others maybe, but not to me.

Had romantic feelings towards number ..1:
If romance sounds like a credit card charge, you betcha! Hell, if that’s the case she even knows my "O" face.

Has ..1 ever given you a present:
If farts are gifts, then all the time.

Done something insane with ..4:
Yeah, I lived with her.

Seen anyone in your Top 8 cry:
Number 1, Sarah: Every time we finish the 4th bottle of Ballatorre, here come the waterworks.

Number 2, JGreene: Every Christmas when we lock him outside, and point and laugh while we open all of our presents.

Number 3, Zach: About 30 minutes after putting on his tiny muscle t-shirts he starts to tear up when the circulation loss to his arms gets painful, but that’s it.

Number 4, Hilary: Just that one night when she ate a whole chicken and giant bag of caramels and her stomach exploded.

Number 5, Baron Von Bluto: No. I had a no crying bumper sticker on my car back then though, so she knew to hold that shit in until she was home. And that telling just means getting hit again.

Number 6, Allyce: When I threw a bag of potato chips at her she teared up a bit, but I think it was just out of fear from being in close proximity to carbohydrates.

Number 7, Ashley: Do incidental tears while praying to the porcelain god count?

Number 8, Brian: Only when he was made to vacuum.

Has anyone in your Top 8 seen you cry:
Fuck that, crying is for pussies. So yes.

Not in fefa's Top 8? Do you wish you, too, could be ridiculed in a public forum? Just submit an incredibly attractive picture of yourself, and brief essay summing up why you heart fefa in 1,000 words or more, and if I get around to it maybe you too will have your embarrassing moments posted here for all to see! Or maybe not. This offer is only available for a limited time, so don't wait! Operators are standing by...

2006-06-13T09:59:00.000-07:00

This weekend brought minimal, yet memorable, life lessons…

Lesson 1: When not to shop
First off, I know that’s a frightening concept. Times exist where one should not shop? Blasphemy! Shut your mouth Fefa! Thankfully it was not Fefa herself who experienced this life lesson, though she was both present and affected by it none the less. Identity will be withheld in this lesson as not only does – let’s call her Miss Expulsion – have plenty of dirt on yours truly, but more importantly, she has a precise knowledge of Fefa’s shopping locales, tactics, and sizes and could sabotage future attire endeavors were she so inclined.

Saturday started well enough. Miss Expulsion and I headed to the Galleria and started with lunch at Nordstrom’s, where the previous evenings booze-rich activities and other people’s private details were discussed and ridiculed over mimosa’s and lunch. After finishing approximately ¼ each of the food we ordered so we could fit into our preferred sizes, and throwing back the last of our drinks, into the vast collection of designer stores and over-priced boutiques we ventured excitedly, and slightly tipsy. About two hours in, and 4 boutique bags each, Miss Expulsion felt a tad woozy and thought it was perhaps time to head home. "It’s just the smell of new clothes" I assured her. "Sometimes it overwhelms me too". Pro that she is we made one last essential stop before real consideration of leaving would be put on the table. It was here the gravity of the situation became apparent.

Unable to select even a single item for herself, she sat in my dressing room feigning as best she could to adore what I was trying on. When she seemed to approve of a pair tapered leg jeans I knew we were in a serious situation, we had to leave ‘stat’. Or just as soon as I checked out. No sooner than we exited did the imminent danger reveal its ugly head; she was going to throw up, right here, right now, in the middle of the Galleria.

Our stilettos clicked and echoed through the Galleria as we tottered as quickly as possible towards the nearest bathroom. With a hand over her mouth she croaked out a "take these", tossed her bags to me, and hightailed it down the hall, through the door, and into the stall. She made it. Calm was restored, and bags in hand we sauntered out of the bathroom as if nothing happened, only to return moments later for bout 2.

Soon enough we were able to make the trek back to the car. Seat reclined all the way, she lay exhausted in the A/C taking slow, deep breaths. "Are you sure you’re ok?" I asked. "Thank god we managed to make it to bebe" she replied. And this is why Miss Expulsion is totally, like, my bff. Lesson learned: bebe should always be the first stop.

Lesson 2: What not to sit on
This lesson will also withhold the identity of Fefa’s friend. Except for her ass. Warning: the image below contains graphic detail that some readers may find disturbing. Or arousing.

Ladies, I’m sure we are all familiar with the scenario: a beautiful Sunday, patio with cocktails flowing at the nearest happening establishment, the perfect little short or miniskirt outfit so one may both tan and look cute in the process. Yet it comes with one downfall: the chair to skin factor. As we settle in, drinks in hand, gossip flowing, we dread the moment where we must stand, for any reason. Not only will our beautiful legs have somewhat adhered to the seat after sitting in the sun for some hours and have to peel off the chair, but we will then be forced to take the patio walk of shame with the backs of our legs embarrassingly red, or worse – waffle printed – from the combination of heat inspired skin adhesion to the patio chair, and whatever imprint said patio chair design leaves on ones legs.

This can be somewhat avoided by sitting in the uncomfortable perfect-posture-edge-of-the-chair position, where only half our ass is seated, and we have an awkward - though well postured - positioning of the rest of our bodies while attempting to both remain seated and look casual at the same time. But we all know we actually appear as if we are sitting on an upright stick, and do not portray the graceful, comfortable, lady of leisure image we hope to project. Not to mention that after a few drinks any attempt of posture or lady likeness goes to shit anyway.

So what’s a girl to do? I don’t have an answer for that. But I can tell you that what you should not do is sit on a paper napkin in hopes it will absorb any sweat, much less prevent waffle print. Tis a far more embarrassing walk to the bar when…

2006-06-08T11:09:00.000-07:00

Yeah, yeah, yeah….

I’ve been gone for a while, I know. You’ve been saddened and had fewer things to pretend to be working on from 8-5, I know. You don’t even find my surveys particularly entertaining but will read it anyway because it’s far better to be mildly amused yet bored than to work, I know.

Worst damage you ever took in a fight:
Laceration to the arm requiring 72 stitches. That was, like, my biggest ouchie ever. A little advice for you folks: whenever possible try to avoid getting into a fight with a chain link fence. Seriously.

Most money you ever owed a credit card company:
About a car’s worth. Approximately.

Last time you got kicked out of a bar:
I don’t get kicked out of bars. I only fall off of them.

Longest time you slept in a car:
There was that one night after the Girls Gone Wild Birthday party Chevy threw for me where we woke up in our car somewhere in River Oaks with no idea how or when we got there. If I ever find the driveway we were parked in again I’ll be sure to ask them how long we were there for.

Most fucked up nickname you've ever been given:
"Hey Fuc….ow! owow! Sorry, please stop!"

Worst job you ever had:
Employee.

Shortest job you've ever had:
Midget wrangler.

Longest romantic relationship:
Just over 6 years, 28 pairs of boots, 8 pairs of 7’s, 1,896 Starbucks drinks, 1 pit bull mix, and 482 filthy dirty martinis.

Shortest romantic relationship:
I’ve never had a short relationship, I’ve always been selective about long term people. I have, however, escaped a date from time of pick-up, meal consumption, to being dropped off in about an hour.

Food that you would eat until you puked:
All of it. How do you think I keep this sexy figure?

Food that even looking at makes you puke:
Omg, if I could master this skill I’d totally be set!

What music saved your life:
Duuunn nuuuhhh. Duunn nuuhh. Dunn nuhh, dun nuh, dun nuh, dun nuh, dunnuh dunnuh….as soon as I heard it I knew to get the fuck out of the water.

Person you miss the most in the world:
Anthony Martin. Tony Ace, where are you?

Worst movie you've ever seen:
Didn’t see it. I have these crazy things called legs and fingers. Through years of study and practice I have mastered both the art of the walk-out and the channel-change which save me from such horrors as Showgirls, Glitter, and Water World.

Best movie you've ever seen:
We are still in the casting stages to play the role of Fefa, it’s going to be a while before I see it.

Movie you really want to see:
I’ll give you one guess.

Ever almost die:
I have excellent follow through. I never almost anything.

Ever fist fight a member of the opposite sex:
No, but I have kicked a door into your face fought with the opposite sex.

Best place you have ever lived:
In a mansion with Brad Pitt.

Worst place you have ever lived:
In a shack, married to Bud Bundy, with 7 children, and working as a one-armed waitress. Damn you M.A.S.H!

Bad habit you have:
Irritatingly cute.

Noise that makes you want to punch people:
"I’m sorry ma’am but we are about to close the store".

Your favorite tattoo:
The one that is not on me.

Least favorite tattoo:
The one that was on me.

At your poorest, were you a ramen noodle or mac n' cheese:
Are you shitting me? Mac N’ Cheese was on a rich day! I had to have butter AND milk to make that shit right.

Most money you have ever spent on a single meal:
A couple hundred. Ish...

Best gift you ever got:
A sweet ride.

Best pet you ever had:
Pooh.

Ever run from the cops:
Yes. And we got away. May I just say, if I can escape the police in high heels the department has some serious work to do.

Money or love:
I don’t understand the question.

2006-04-25T10:07:00.000-07:00

Big sexy ladies with fat ass…

That’s right, I said it. I have previously tried not to say things of a potentially sexy, lady like, fat, or an ass related nature. Not because I didn’t want to, mind you. Of course I’ve toyed with the idea of addressing the subject. Surely it’s implied that I’ve wanted to talk about big ladies and fat asses. Because, well, obviously. Countless times, in fact, I have found myself jotting down an inspiring entry about asses, fatness, and of course the ladies, only to leave it unpublished. While I do want to entertain you, and on occasion perhaps provoke a thought of some sort, it has never been my mission to broach such controversial subject matter.

But no more! Now I know what it is you seek and will post accordingly. For in checking my stats today I found that despite my omission of such wondrous posts, should one do a search for, say, ‘Big sexy ladies with fat ass’, that search will, in fact, bring forth this page for fat ass seekers to regard in all its splendor. Chubby chasers of the world; lick the cheeto dust from your girlfriend’s fingers, and behold this page in all its glory!

Other recent searches that have misdirected the world to Fefa:

1. manatee cake
OK, seriously, wtf? Leave alone that this search brings you here.

2. "Neck brace"album
Perhaps we can direct this new fan to Chevy so she can make an album for them.

3. sex+flash+funny.
= Fefa

4. cursed cars
Well duh. Welcome to my life.

5. ma’am
I’m not sure what all this polite search shit is about, but what the fuck ever.

6. mulleting
I came just after some National Mullet Club thing. People, I have officially ‘arrived’.

7. bitch slap
I’m a well known resource for this actually, so no surprise here.

8. Ass face
I’m a well known resource for this actually, so no surprise here.

Also, Mom, I said ass, like, a bunch of times here, and some other bad words too. You should probably skip reading this post.

2006-04-18T14:31:00.000-07:00

It’s been twoish weeks since my last post…

This recent dining experience pretty much sums up what the last two weeks have been like and why I’ve been randomly tripping passers-by as a little pick me up. And also, why I will be moving to China to fulfill my days old dream of obtaining a job as a waitress at an 'American Food' restaurant to exact my vengeance.

And fo you ma’am?

I’ll just have an order of your vegetable fried rice.

Yes ma’am. You want small or large size order?

Oh, the menu doesn’t say anything about sizes. Uuummm…how big is the large order?

It about this big *Swiftly jumps on top of neighboring table and snatches cloth napkin from less attractive patron. Then, utilizing origami skills, folds a large bowl of fried rice out of said napkin to indicate size. Or just cupped his hands in a large bowl shape. Same difference*

I’ll have a small order. Thanks.

Yes ma’am. We have no small size for flied rice. Just one size.

Ummmm…

So you want regulah size?

Why did you ask me if I wanted a small or large then?

No ma’am, we only have regulah size.

Ok, but what was that whole small or large, and showing me how big a large is thing all about then?

Yes ma’am.

*Share what the fuck glance with Mr. Fefa*

How about a Venti? Or a Grande? Can you show me what size those would be? You know, IF you carried them?

Uuummm...I check with kitchen ma'am.

Wait, I just want a regular size bowl of vegetable fried rice. OK?

You want regulah size?

I want whatever size you actually have. Any size. Surprise me. Just bring me whatever you would bring someone who ordered this *pointing at menu*. OK?

Yes ma’am. You want drink?

Is this part going to be as difficult as ordering rice?

Ma’am?

I’ll just stick with this water. Thanks.

Yes ma'am. What size water you want?

I want this size *Cup hands in large bowl shape*

2006-03-29T14:02:00.000-08:00

How To Guide of the Successfully Executed Bitch Slap...

By popular demand of those too lazy to search through past posts and their respective comments themselves to find Fefa's How To Guide of the Successfully Executed Bitch Slap, I've reposted it here in all its glory. Stop emailing me or I'll enroll you in my hands on class next time I see you.

The key to a successfully executed bitch slap is a loose wrist. If you're not sure you have the positioning correct, pretend you're gay. This is essential as bitch slaps are meant to be more humiliating than painful, as while us girls may occasionally 'get into it' it's rarely a big enough deal that we would want to muss each others makeup or hair. We do have places to grace with our presence later, you know?

The other element this assists in is sound; the loose wrist allows for minimal impact, but a very audible smack, as your main goal is to draw attention to the bitch and whatever bitchy thing she has done. If the bitch in question has done something extraordinarily bitchy, this is when you would follow the bitch slap with a hair pull. This is only to be used in serious bitchuations though. Like, I don't know, someone swiping the boots you were holding out from under you. For example.

IMMEDIATELY after the bitch slap is when this should be executed, when said bitch is still stunned and trying to look as if she is cool despite having just incurred the audible bitch slap. If you wait too long, you open yourself up to a return bitch slap, or worse, bitch slap from behind from the bitch's bitches, as most often bitches travel in packs.

Bitch packs is also why so many of these instances occur in the ladies room. Most guys think we just like to pee together, but in actuality, the ladies room is where we go to rumble. Hope that helps explain it a little...

2006-03-27T09:50:00.000-08:00

25 things you totally don't care about, but will read anyway because, let's be honest here, you're at work. We both know we wouldn't be here right now if it was the weekend...

1. ONE OF YOUR SCARS, HOW DID YOU GET IT?
I have a big scar on my right forearm shaped, oddly enough, like the letter F. I got it when I was trying to punch through a glass window and my arm was grabbed by their doberman after we broke into a commercial property to steal a car and were spotted. Either that or I fell off a fence because I’m an idio…errr really attractive.

2. WHAT IS ON THE WALLS IN YOUR ROOM?
My Big Bopper and Teen Beat Kirk Cameron poster collection.

3. WHAT DOES YOUR CELL PHONE LOOK LIKE?
Seriously? It looks like a phone. But – I’m plugging you here Laird, you owe me – it could look like a banana.

4. WHAT MUSIC DO YOU LISTEN TO?
I set the XM receiver to BPM and *accidentally* broke the switch so it could never be changed. Next, I will get one of these for my own car.

5. DO YOU KNOW WHAT TIME YOU WERE BORN?
No. Of course, that was, like, the one day I forgot to wear a watch.

6. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE DESSERT?
Mojave. (This is an intentional blonde joke. Don’t get all excited like you caught me screwing up or something. Dumbass.)

7. DO YOU GO TO CHURCH?
Never. You didn’t really believe we would make it there that day, did you? For the record, it was all Mr. Fefa’s fault, and we somehow wound up at the Galleria instead.

8. HAVE YOU EVER DONE DRUGS?
Hey, what’s that over there?!

9. HAVE YOU EVER GOTTEN IN A WRECK?
Yes.

10. DO YOU GET CLAUSTROPHOBIC?
No, always use protection.

11. DO YOU GET SCARED IN THE DARK
We installed these crazy things called lights in our house, and I can totally control that kind of stuff now. We also put in this thing called an air conditioner that totally lets me control the air. It's, like, the most sophisticated habitrail ever.

12. THE LAST PERSON TO MAKE YOU CRY?
This bastard. How could you discontinue my favorite color?

13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE COLOGNE / PURFUME?
Secret. It’s a deoderant. So long as your ‘personal aroma’ is under control, I don’t give a crap what you smell like.

14. WHAT KIND OF HAIR/EYE COLOR DO YOU LIKE ON THE OPPOSITE SEX?
Don’t care, so long as you have it. Bald and, um, eyeless need not apply. Or really, let's just say bald need not apply. I'm guessing all you eyeless people aren't reading this. Let me know if I'm wrong.

15. HAVE YOU EVER LIKED SOMEONE AND THEY DIDN'T KNOW?
No. I mastered the art of passing notes with ‘yes’ and ‘no’ checkboxes in grade school.

16. COFFEE OR ENERGY DRINKS?
I’m caffeine free, so let’s just say I prefer 7 Jeans to True Religion.

17. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE PIZZA TOPPING?
I’m not a pizza person, so let’s just say I can fit into 7 and True Religion jeans.

18. IF YOU COULD EAT ANYTHING RIGHT NOW, WHAT WOULD IT BE?
Ceviche, heavy on the avocado.

19. WHO IS THE LAST PERSON YOU MADE MAD?
What? I don’t upset people! Pshaw! My ways are sweet, and of a gentle nature.

20. DO YOU SPEAK ANOTHER LANGUAGE?
I speak a little Mexican, but only enough to communicate with the maid.

21. WHAT WAS THE FIRST GIFT SOMEONE EVER GAVE YOU?
Life.

22. WHO WAS YOUR FIRST KISS?
Mr. Fefa. I’ve never been with anyone else. Seriously. I swear. What?!

23. ARE YOU DOUBLE JOINTED?
Depends on how much I’ve had to drink.

24. FAVORITE CLOTHING BRAND?
I’m totally open to whatever looks good on me. Feel free to submit your clothing samples any time.

25. DO YOU LIKE WHERE YOU LIVE?
Well, I live here, don’t I?

2006-03-17T10:25:00.000-08:00

The difference between cats and dogs...

There are two types of people in this world. Cat people, and dog people. If you are a hamster/fish/lizard or whatever person, don't even start. Nobody cares. Not even your unfeeling fish.

We have a cat and a dog in our home. Mr. Fefa brought the cat into our relationship. We call him Kitty. Clever. When he is not throwing up on our expensive comforter, tracking litter throughout the house, and bringing us "gifts" in the form of small dead things, he is sometimes cute. This is despite that he insists on sleeping rightnextto my face every night so when I wake up I have to search haplessly for those little hairs stuck to my face that are, for some unexplained reason, much more difficult to locate than they should be.

I am the resident dog person, responsible for the bundle of wonderful that greets us at the door daily. Her name is Montana. She has no idea this is her name though, as we've called her Pooh consistently since we got her. As in 'Winnie the', not as in what she did on the floor. In our cat vs. dog debate Mr. Fefa often claims he doesn't even like her. Which is odd, because every time he comes home there's a chorus of "Who's a Pooh? What a good girl! Who loves daddy? You do? Oh yes you do! Pooh loves daddy! Who's giving daddy kisses? Mwah, mwah, mwah.." And so on. And except for the occasional game of 'how much stuff can I pull out of the trash can and strew throughout the entire house?' she plays when we're gone, she's a great dog.

So why is it people are drawn to one pet over the other? We all no doubt have our own reasons. Cat people, for example, are wrong. Kidding. To be more specific about my own reasons I've decided to share with you what I am greeted with each and every morning.

Here we have Kitty. What is that he's sitting on, staring at so intently for 30 minutes, for no reason whatsoever except that he's a cat? Fefa, trying to sleep. For those of you wondering, those are Mr. Fefa's dirty clothes lying on the floor there. Not pictured: the laundry hamper about 18 inches from said dirty clothes.

Not visible in the Kitty-wake-up-now-or-die picture, is Pooh's bed, just on the other side of our bed. She sleeps snuggled into her little bed, 4 pillows thick, cute as can be all night long. She lets me sleep in peace as long as I want. She's so considerate in fact, she'll pee by the door downstairs before disturbing my slumber. And when I do feel like dragging ass out of bed in the morning, this is the cuteness I am greeted with. And this, is why I am a dog person.

2006-03-06T15:18:00.000-08:00

If you don’t want to see pictures of breasts, this post is for you…

As promised I am bringing to you all the no pictures of boobs from Mardi Gras you could ever want to not see. In fact, I’m also bringing to you no mulleting pictures. I know, I know. We were all jazzed to see some quality pics of Fefa making fun of some serious white trash and (hopefully) being clever enough about it that she would not be hit upside the head with a can of Pabst for it. But alas, our beloved camera failed us and we were only able to pop off a few pictures before the POS died. Rest assured though, many a mullet was mocked regardless, as well as targeted fiercely with beads whipped from our balcony. So as not to completely disappoint you, I have posted some pics from Mardi Gras past to suffice. As well as a few miscellaneous mulleting pics that have been submitted randomly over the past year.

Aside from the normal breasts, beads, booze, and mullets we did encounter one entertaining tidbit I’ll share with you. We were sitting on the balcony mostly (completely) wasted and were eating dinner when some surprisingly good live music came from the balcony across from us. They had various bands playing on the balcony about 30 feet away from ours throughout the day, most of which weren’t worth the beads we were trying to hit them with. I leaned over to Mr. Fefa and slurred something about “That’s a really good cover band, I love this song! Doesn’t my hair look pretty today?”. And in my enhanced state it was clear to me the obvious thing to do to celebrate such a good cover was to get up and start the always enticing intoxicated white girl dance; hands in the air, ass side to side, with an occasional stumble and well timed “wooooooooo!”. No doubt looking incredibly sexy and demure, which this particular dance is known for, I look up and notice it’s not a cover. It’s Blues Traveler, for reals, and suddenly I realize that someone who used to be almost famous sort of for, like, a year or two, whom I might not want to see my white girl dance is looking right at me. Smoooooth...

I became a fan of Blues Traveler some years back when a certain someone turned to me one day while we were paused at a light, gently took my face in her hands, leaned in and whoa! Wrong day! Sorry. Rather…when a certain someone turned to me one day and said, “check it out Fe, this is going to be your new favorite song” and blessed my ears with one of the best songs of all time. Or best song titles anyway. And I’ve been listening to them ever since. Anyway, they did a great set, despite not actually playing my song, and along with my hair holding up so well it totally made my day. That said, it only got better a little later when we were stumbling around the VIP section, and who damn near walks into me? John Popper. Seems they decided to leave the party across from us and come to ours instead. And here you thought I was kidding when I said the white girl dance is incredibly seductive. Anyway, just as we notice him, he notices us, and John Popper walks right up to us and says “That was some impressive dancing you were doing there! What’s your name pretty lady?” Either that or he walked right towards us, then right past us, as if he didn’t even know or care that we were standing there and was just trying to get to the bar or something. One of those, I don’t quite recall. Anyway, I’m certain he meant to compliment my dance skills, hair, or something, but was probably just too polite to just interrupt our obviously important and intelligent conversation just to yammer haplessly at me like a blubbering fan or something. Which I totally appreciate.

Anyway, it was fun. Y’all totally missed out. And you would probably prefer I quit typing and give you back the two minutes you lost reading the above and just show you the damn pictures already, so…

First and foremost, because occasionally people ask and I have no profile pic, and because I like to look at myself, here is us before the camera went down, and only 5 drinks in...

Looking left over the crowd from our balcony...

Looking straight down...

I'm sure you want to pan right as well...

And now, on to the mullets! This is the shot that started the mulleting craze currently sweeping the world. You'll probably want to take a moment to absorb and truly reflect on the historical significance captured in this picture. Behold...

Here we have the Mardi Gras Mulleting winner of '05. In addition to the condition of the mullet itself, the expression of the normal person making fun of said mullet is essential to qualify for a good mulleting shot. Note the many folds on the Tyra Banks-esque forehead and apparent unhinging of the jaw signifying the high quality of the mullet located...

This is a submission from the beautiful Nece. Complete hotness of the mulleter in close proximity to said mullet itself also racks up your points. It is a daunting task for us to be so near to a mullet as our own hair goes limp with fear when in close proximity. (Due to this mysterious hair reaction you will notice most females elect to wear a hat on mulleting excursions.)

And here we have Jim sharing a moment with a capped mullet. While we prefer the full mullet be in view, submissions of partially obscured mullets are acceptable provided the face and attire match the hair we assume is there. And in this case, it obviously does.

2006-02-21T14:18:00.000-08:00

You sure got a purdy mouth…

You probably won’t be seeing another post from me for about a week or so. Tomorrow is D day, and I will be handing my well being, and most importantly, the number two most looked at part of my body, over to the doctor. (My face, jackass.) I will be going under the knife, or drill as the case may be, for a much procrastinated appointment to repair two broken teeth. Along with the ability to justify anything, I can also put off anything with good ‘reason’ by utilizing said justification skills. This is not to be confused with my if-I-can’t-see-you-then-you-can’t-see-me methods. While I am adept at removing situations or bettering myself in some form by simply pretending something does not exist - like ex-boyfriend’s, bar tabs, clothes on hold under someone else’s name, and so on - this does not, unfortunately, apply to pending issues involving myself directly after a certain point. Like, say, right about when a tooth starts to hurt. For example.

I don’t think I’ve noted on my List O’ Fears and Tics before that one of my incredibly endearing quirks is avoiding the dentist at all costs. So when I broke these teeth I entered into the procrastination Olympics, and won! Except as it turns out, I didn’t win. So what would have been a couple of hours under the drill has now turned into many hours. Now, I know you are all probably inclined to take the day off tomorrow and hold a vigil of sorts in my honor, and I thank you for that. But don’t. Go to work, do a good job, and make money. You’re going to need it for all the flowers and gifts you should be sending me in my time of need. I will, for those unable to send gifts, be holding an invitation only pity party in honor of myself Wednesday evening, and you are all invited! There’s a small door fee, but let’s not worry about trivial stuff at a time like this.

I am a teeny, tiny bit excited though. In all this, at the end, I am going to have my Texas Residency Application approved! I am still not yet considered a Texas resident, and can not honestly call myself a “Texan”. While my application is still pending I am only allowed to use the titles “Hillbilly”, “Hick’, and “Red Neck”. Only the elite superficial upper class are allowed the title of Texan. In order to fully qualify you must meet four very specific criteria, on par with US Citizenship requirements:
1. Tax paying resident for over 5 years. Check!
2. Have adopted the phrase “Y’all” into your every day vocabulary, including written correspondence. Check!
3. Know who shot JR. Check!
4. Have had superficially inspired cosmetic improvements done to oneself outside of large Texas hair, fake tan, and so on. Pending…

So as long as I’m going there anyway, I figured I may as well go ahead and order my very own newscaster’s smile. I’m so excited! It won’t all happen in tomorrow’s appointment, my smile installation is scheduled a few more weeks out. But I can hardly wait! Now when the locals tell me I sure have a purdy mouth, I know they’ll mean it for reals. They aren’t just being polite. Which, btw, what’s with people saying that all the time? I get how “y’all” works, but…

Anywhoooo….aside from that, speedy recovery or not, Mr. Fefa and I have obtained the ever elusive VIP Sponsor passes to Mardi Gras this weekend, so I expect to have little to no posting time for the next few+ days as a result of this as well. (It’s the Galveston Mardi Gras, not New Orleans.) Not as big or as long a drive, but equally trashy, and that’s what counts. Mardi Gras, in fact, is where mulleting all began. Hopefully we will have some post worthy mulleting shots for me to post upon our return.

And before you ask, yes, we will probably have more boob shots than we can count, and no, I will not be posting them because...
1. I have the ability to see boobs any time I want, and it’s not so exciting to me for that reason.
2. I don’t care if you want to see boobs. If you can’t see them on your own you have bigger problems than me not posting pics of them for you.
3. The boobs you typically see displayed usually belong to a woman wearing LA Gear jeans and a Budweiser shirt with the sleeves ripped off, feathered hair with growing out roots AND a home perm, and the only person ever interested in seeing them in the first place is her mullet having husband/brother/dad.

Truth be told, for those of you have not had this experience before, we’re throwing all the beads from our balcony to that flappy breasted chick not so she’ll flash her saggy bits again, but in effort to put additional weighted materials on her and cover that shit up.

2006-02-16T12:29:00.000-08:00

Just how accurate are these things?

Let me start by saying this – I’m not pregnant. Let’s not all act like some of our minds didn’t race there right off the bat. Not that the world isn’t eager, if not in desperate need, of incredibly attractive little Fefa’s tottering around in the new Manolo Blahnik kids line, of course. And not that they wouldn’t be the most adorable, well dressed, smack talking, and snide little garbage-taker-outers this side of the something or other. No, much to the disappointment of my in-laws who would loathe me even more if they ever read any of this, I am not alerting you to yet another celebrity bump watch just now.

In cleaning out the closet recently we happened upon some old documents about yours truly from some time ago. Long ago mother Fefa subjected me to some hard core aptitude testing in effort to nail down my strengths, weaknesses, IQ, best career direction, and so on. Translated, this was a fancy way of asking a professional; “Please, please, please tell me she is not retarded and this is only a phase”. In the end, she received her happy answer in a written document convenient for showing concerned family and friends the explicit written statement from a professional confirming that her daughter was not, in fact, retarded. So there!

(On a side note, to my bad-mouthing, hillbilly, ‘concerned’ relatives, I am not autistic either. What I am is ignoring you.)

I remember taking these tests – it took two days of being analyzed, tested, and generally annoyed to complete the process. And much to mother Fefa’s joy, my best suited career was a brain surgeon. I was medicine bound, and should maintain a focus on intricate activities. This was, to much dismay, something I stated explicitly at the time I had no interest in, so don’t get your hopes up. Aside from the overall ickiness of poking around, all too literally, inside of a human head, how on earth would anyone see exactly how awesome my outfit is under a lab coat? Plus, as if I need to mention it, I understand heels are not to be worn in surgery. Short AND wearing a baggy coat? No.Thank.You.

So, let us take a look at some of the employment experiences this brilliant mind’s career path actually encountered…

1. A favorite joke amongst friends, and frequently referenced here, my first job was working a Pepto Bismol booth at a 3 day chili cook off. Yes, technically I suppose that translates to being a carnival, which yes, would have made me a *shudder* carnie for three whole days. However, I scored some serious loot, provided ‘loot’ = lifetime supply of Pepto Bismol. As well as getting to keep, or forgetting to tell them I was taking, the leather ‘gun’ holsters designed to hold Pepto bottles and spoons. Of equal importance, this was in all likelihood the only job where one can wear all pink, all day, every day, and not only have it deemed as completely acceptable, but be applauded for their ability to produce a different completely pink ensemble each day from their own wardrobe. Oddly, my coworker had nothing but complaints about this. His name was John.

2. A favorite amongst me, which compiled a great wealth of stories that were amusing to my then boyfriend, now Mr. Fefa, as well as friends; I worked for a dating service. This was, by far, one of the bestest jobs of all time. This was not only an online service, but a high end personal dating service as well. No BS here. We interviewed you in person, had a PI that checked out anyone questionable, ran background checks…the whole she-bang. So you were well assured that nobody here was actually married, and was exactly who they said they were. This is in no way meant to imply that every member was, uuhhh, appealing. As many ‘normal’, and attractive even, members as there were we had an equal amount of eccentric people in our dating pool. And by eccentric I obviously mean complete weirdoes.

My primary functions were event coordination and member relations. Member relations very much means hang out with people. And event coordination left me hosting singles dinners and parties; always a good time. Plus, I could bring Mr. Fefa as my date, and hey, free food.

If you ever need a self esteem boost, I highly suggest you submit your resume to such a company. Not a day will pass without you being asked out, complimented, and having the added entertainment of meeting a wide variety of people. Also, did I mention the gifts? Every day was like my birthday/Christmas! From interested suitors, to appreciative members who found love, almost every time you arrive to work a gift of some sort was awaiting you; flowers, balloons, food, gift baskets, beauty products, the occasional frame with their picture in it you quickly replaced because those always came from the weirdoes, and my personal favorite; one gentleman inquired as to what I was drinking from Starbucks one morning, and every day for the next few weeks had my favorite drink delivered to me from the Starbucks next door.

Also note that if you are the type who enjoys being up in everyone else’s business and drama, and would enjoy getting paid for it, this is soooo the job for you.

3. Accounting. This was the most boringest of all boring jobs that has ever bored someone into total and complete boredom. No offense to any boring accountants reading this, it’s a very important and significant role, and I do loves me the ability to play with other people’s money. But every day was the same. Every day was the same. Every day was the same. In fact, the only thing remotely interesting about this job was that they hired me because they thought I was black. Now those of you that know me, or have even seen a picture of me, know that I’m about as white as they come. Fair skin, light blonde hair, blue eyes…my background is Russian. Even the signature cocktail of Russia is white and creamy. In school, just prior to being pummeled, some kids used to tease me by calling me Casper.

I realized on my first day of employment when the CEO walked out, looked at me strangely, and asked “What are YOU doing here?” that something was amiss. It was not until the first company meeting, when I met everyone, that I completely realized what had happened. Picture me, Whitey McWhitington, sitting in a full conference room otherwise comprised of only black colleagues. And the look on their faces, and mine, as we all slowly realized just what had happened, but none dared to state the obvious, for obvious reasons.

The receptionist, who always has all the dirt at every company, clued me in on how it went down. When they narrowed down the final candidates after in person interviews and testing, my resume stayed in the finalist category because the name Felicia is typically equated to someone of African American descent. Even though I don’t spell it with a “Ph”. When testing results came in I had the best score, was called, and offered the job. When I showed up to start work they realized they forgot to stamp my resume with the ‘disqualified for being a honky’ stamp and were now stuck employing a white girl. So let’s just say this job didn’t last; most my colleagues went out of their way to make me feel uncomfortable, and I was treated – by most, but not all – unfairly. A small example of this was on my birthday. When anyone had a birthday they were treated, and everyone went, to a birthday lunch. When my birthday rolled around there was in fact a birthday lunch, but guess who wasn’t invited and instead was given someone else’s work to catch up on so they could attend? Don’t get me wrong, there were a few really great people there. The key word there being few.

4. Controller extraordinaire. This is my current position, and yes, that is what it says on my business cards. Why? Because I’m the controller and guess who gets to make those decisions, that’s why. While this job lacks the social interaction of some of my previous employment, I do get to use my brain for a change. It is not a mundane position, where every day repeats itself, and instead new challenges, ideas, and tasks are thrown at me every day. Being in IT and staffing a number of engineers, this also allows me to boss around a bunch of men on an every day basis - always a plus. This being my current job and one I plan to keep for many years to come, I’m going to shut up about it right now.

So there you go, that’s how accurate these things are. How right on was your career counselor?

2006-02-10T14:38:00.000-08:00

And on the seventh day she didn’t do any shopping…

Nope, looks like Sunday’s going to be a total shopping bust. Our whole day is planned out with not-shopping activities. I think this is, perhaps, part of Mr. Fefa’s evil plan to prevent me from finding a pair of boots I didn’t even know I absolutely must have. Recently he found himself inspired to clean again, and we cleaned out *sigh* the entire closet. It was painful. And it was only then that the truth of my boot adoration came to light, as previously much of my foot apparel had been obstructed from sight by throngs of clothes. In the end, the floor throughout his side of the closet was cleared out to accommodate neat rows of beautiful boots, and his 6 pairs of shoes went on a shelf. I spent the next hour staring fondly at the rows of height and color coordinated boots, Mr. Fefa at my side. Until I realized he was not sharing in my moment, and rather was glaring at me when he interrupted the blissful silence with “You’ve got a problem” and walked out.

At any rate, Mr. Fefa has secured plans for us that afternoon to go see some magical horse show. Seriously. Magical! Horses! Yay! I plan on bringing my spare horn and some glue and slapping it on some nags forehead in case they aren’t really unicorns as promised. Aside from me, let’s not disappoint the kiddies.

I suppose this is to be the day of trying new things, so I may as well get everything over with at once so I can get back to normal. I can’t say I’m overly excited about seeing a magical horse show though. Every animal based show I’ve ever been to was not at all what it was chalked up to be. Nine times out of ten the most entertaining part is the look on the trainer’s face when said magnificent animal pauses his amazing trick for a moment to pinch one off on the stage. Seriously, you’re training horses to cartwheel, yet you can’t master the don’t poop while we're on stage command? Or, I don’t know, put a feeding schedule in place that’s digestive process doesn’t end right around, oh, let's say show time? So this is about what I expect. And quite frankly, if I wanted to watch a 900 pound animal shit on a stage, I’d go see Michael Moore speak.

2006-02-10T10:33:00.000-08:00

Decided to try something totally new today...

Just to mix things up today, here's a survey. Surprise!

1.Who was your first gf/bf?
Matt Willinger. The whole time we went out we never kissed, it was all awkward shyness and hugging. And shit talking. I think that was the reason we liked each other, we talked a lot of shit and thought we were incredibly funny. Mostly because we were. Speaking of incredibly funny, Matt, if you’re reading this, remember that time my dog dragged you down the hill by your ankle? You always knew how to make me laugh.

2. What was your first concert & with who?
Primus & Mr. Bungle…don’t remember who all went. Most the people there probably don’t even remember going.

3. Who was your first prom date?
Well, I only went to the one prom. So my first and last prom date was Tyler – my X at the time.

4. Who was your first roommate?
This crazy girl…

5. What alcoholic beverage did you drink when you got drunk the first time?
Jaeger. First and last time ever with that crap. I don’t think we even got drunk. No, I’m pretty sure we went straight from a drink to getting sick. That’s how Jaeger works.

6. What was your first tattoo & piercing?
First piercing – ears. Then I did them again, and again, and again - all the way up. Then my nose, twice, because two holes are better than one. Then my eyebrow. Then I got a dragon tattoo on my arm. Then I pierced my lip. Then I swapped out the lip ring, and put in a tongue ring. Then my belly button. Then I ran out of things to puncture with metal. For some reason, people don’t believe me when I tell them this.

7. What was your first job?
Pepto Bismol booth at a chili cookoff.

8. What was your first car?
The VW Fox, retarded little brother to the Jetta. We called it Corky.

9. When did you go to your first funeral?
About 6 months ago.

10. How old were you when you first moved away?
Moved away – from my parents? 18.

11. Who was your first grade teacher?
Couldn’t tell you. I was probably ditching class to smoke in the alley with the cool kids. Just kidding Mom, I totally didn’t start the smoking until I was in second grade.

12. Where did you go on your first ride on an airplane?
First I remember, from San Diego to Missouri. I think…

13. Where did you go for your first date & who was it with?
First official date…I think we met up on Telegraph in Berkeley, then hung out at Fat Slice ripping on people. His name was Sean - he will also be mentioned below.

14. When you snuck out of your house for the first time, who was it with?
Heather, and some boys from the neighborhood. I think it was Matt (see 1st boyfriend), Tal, and Scott. We got arrested and had to be picked up from the police station at 3am.

15. Who was your first best friend & are you still friends with them?
Emily Deppe. No idea where she is, probably swimming in the Olympics.

16. Who was the first person to give you flowers?
I never got flowers, I used to get the stupidest, most random, ‘date’ gifts. Like this one idiot, he brought me an orange. An orange. One.Single.Stupid.Orange. WTF do I want with an orange? Moron. I told him I needed space, but hey, here’s an orange for the road. I think he was pretty upset about the whole thing. Either that, or the orange really was for throwing at my door.

17. Where did you live the first time you moved out of your parents house?
In Humboldt, with my first roommate mentioned above.

18. Who is the first person you call when you have a bad day?
Boopy.

19. Who's wedding were you in the first time you were a bridesmaid or a groomsmen?
Hilary’s. I spilled beans on my boob while we ate and had to walk around all day in my pretty pink dress while everyone stared at my bean stain boob. Had it not been for all the champagne, I might have cared. Or noticed before I saw it on the dress the next day.

20. What is the first thing you do in the morning?
Snooze.

21. Who was your first kiss with?
Sean Patrick. Asshole.

2006-02-07T10:25:00.000-08:00

And on the seventh day, she shopped…

While we were in Hawaii Mr. Fefa made himself a new friend. An interesting new friend, whom he’s actually emailed with, and done lunch with, since our harrowing return. His new friend, though, is a new experience for us; he is a man of the cloth. Not to be confused with my fabulous man of the cloth at Saks who matches fabrics for me, Mr. Fefa’s friend is all into God and stuff. So you can pretty much guess what his role in flying out for the wedding we attended was. Anywhooo, Man of the Cloth has, upon learning our Godly history, invited us to attend his church, and we’re going. And this makes me a little bit nervous, albeit curious and excited too. When we had dinner with Man of the Cloth I think I said about 5 words, “I’ll have the filet, rare”. Not just because I was busy drinking and shoving food in my mouth, but in effort to not dribble something completely, ignorantly, offensive out of my mouth in front of Man of the Cloth and Mrs. Cloth. I’ve never been involved in, or really educated above a superficial level when it comes to religion, except about Christmas. And let’s be honest here, we – I know I’m not the only one – are in it for the gifts and know very little about “it” aside from that. And that “it” screws up my birthday every year as well.

Believe it or not, I’ve never been to church before. Never. Ever. Not a single time, which is what I meant by “never”, actually. Not even when I got married. True Story Tangent: I was married on top of a mall, right above Saks and Bebe. I.Shit.You.Not. It was a perfect day; I officially took the sin out of my living arrangements, much money was spent, it rained, gallons of champagne was consumed, some of my closest friends were there, drunk people had to be thrown out, and there was a skylight view into the mall below us. Also, did I mention we were right above Saks and Bebe. Because we were. Right above Saks and Bebe that is. While this is a true story, it’s a long one, and one I’ll have to tell another time. Back to Fefa does Church…

OK, so maybe that’s all not sooo unbelievable. I suppose a good church go-er probably doesn’t write cards to people on behalf of herself/Jesus. Or hijack designer boots. Or call the obsessive few who preach to every passer-by about their assumed sins 'Bible Thumpers', for that matter. I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess that maybe, possibly, some of that might offend some of God’s peeps. Not all of his peeps, per se. Many of God’s peeps seem to have a level head, and a few are some of my BFF’s at that. And aside from being intelligent, witty, and obviously above par on the pretty meter, they get up early on Sunday. Which, btw, what’s that shit all about? I thought there was something about resting on the seventh day? Or is it on the seventh day HE rests whilst his followers have to get up early, put on their Sunday best, and drag themselves all the way to church in his honor? I’ll tell you what, if I put on my best anything – let’s pretend for a moment I don’t do this every day anyway – and get up early in your honor, you had better not only be up, but paying attention to me, and appreciate my efforts. Seriously, I may roll up in my PJ’s, hair not done or anything, just to see if you’re paying attention God.

A few of our friends have offered to come with us, not only to intervene when I no doubt do something stupid and offensive, but to be supportive in our effort to try new things (and because they go anyway). Because that’s what really attractive friends do. And I love them for it. And odds are, God and some of his peeps will wind up thanking them for it. I had a point to this post though, outside of sprawling things about myself on the Internet to be read, judged, laughed at, and criticized line by line by the throngs of people reading this. It was not only to thank my peeps, God’s peeps, for guiding and encouraging us to try something new, but also, what should I wear?

2006-02-03T10:07:00.000-08:00

Taking a lead from "Big in Texas"...

I decided to take a looksie for myself. And because I know you care, in no particular order except from the most to the least, here is an edited to my deeming of whether or not to mention them list of where you are reading this from:

1. California - primarily LA/San Diego/Hollywood, with splashes of San Francisco, and *gasp* Humboldt. Humboldt? You picked up an attention span? Huh? What were we talking about? I can pick out three repeat offenders, and the rest either traffic from you, or are in the Fefa fan club and come here daily to reread what I haven't posted since last week.

2. Texas - the usual suspects, only one of which is check-outable right now. Primarily Houston, and a little Dallas. But Humble, Plano, Nac, and some others trickle in every so often. Glad to hear y'all got sum 'lectricity out dere finally. Just kidding. I was totally referring to the other town mentioned, not yours.

3. The UK - Don't be all surprised and shit. I was an obvious candidate for international celebrity, it was just a matter of time. Thank you for sending OK! my way, btw. Much appreciated. Please don't tell Us I said that.

4. Oh Canada! - I'm just going to say hi to Moi, and hope there's no upset I listed you here. There are additional trickles from the great north that have arrived here a la you. And look at that, I bet you didn't even know I could speak the French. Ta da! Voila! Something like that.

5. Misc. US - Florida, Missouri, Tennessee, Michigan, and Colorado. Let's all just say hello to Emu in Florida, who has failed to comment since promising she would do so more often, and see how long it takes her to say something now. Or if she is, in fact, not actually reading this as she claims she does. Emu, take it away...the privacy of your childhood secrets depends on it.

2006-02-02T10:50:00.000-08:00

Tagged by a tall, dork, and handsome dude...

Four jobs I've had:
1. Pepto Bismol booth at a chili cook off. No shit, and I mean that on so many levels. Not only am I still the proud recipient of a lifetime supply of the pink stuff (keep your dirty jokes to yourself you perv!) but I also got to keep the leather gun holster made to hold two pepto bottles and a plethora of spoons. In addition to the obvious bonus of being able to play superhero to upset tummies everywhere, I found it also holds beer bottles equally well.
2. Blonde
3. Controller
4. Survey taker

Four movies I can watch over and over:
1. Wedding Crashers
2. The Wall
3. Muppets Take Manhattan
4. I totally lied on one of those

Four places I've lived:
1. San Francisco, CA
2. Humboldt, CA
3. South Beach, FL
4. Houston, TX

Four TV shows I love:
1. Scrubs
2. Scrubs
3. Scrubs
4. That’s it.

Four places I've vacationed:
1. Amsterdam. I think. Right?
2. London
3. Hawaii
4. Vegas

Four of my favorite dishes:
1. Jade square dinner plates.
2. Those tea cups with the little matching plates, even though I don’t drink tea. Unless it’s Chai, although that’s more or a latte than a tea, I’m not sure why everyone thinks it’s tea. What’s the deal with that?
3. The poop bowl.
4. Since you probably meant what kind of food and don’t care about my dishes so much, at the moment we’ll go with the Filet Oskar from Morton’s. With accompaniments, of course. Just let me know when to be there.

Four sites I visit daily:
1. this one
2. duh
3. at least twice a day here
4. can't get by without a dose of this

Four places I would rather be right now:
1. Good lord man, what’s wrong with you?! Surfing porn at work! Pervert! I totally knew it! Seriously, you could get fired for that shit, you know?
2. On the plus side, it wasn’t an actual porn site. Not really. Sort of. Take a sigh of relief, you’re not fired. Yet.
3. The Galleria
4. See vacation list

2006-01-22T14:08:00.000-08:00

When husbands clean...

Act 1: scene 1
Fefa, donning her casual Valentino evening house dress, elegantly slinks into the kitchen to find Mr. Fefa - to her pleasure and surprise - cleaning. Strolling to the fridge she grabs herself an extra dirty belvedere martini that happened to be sitting there waiting, and settles herself on one of the plush red barstools. Mr. Fefa looks up from his task and smiles gently, yet mischeviously, to her as he caresses a bowl with a paper towel, showcasing his powerful forearms. It's my intro, shut it.

"I see we've developed a taste for cleaning. I like it."

"Yeah, guess so."

*****silence*****

"So..."

"So....what?"

"Nothing, just saying so..."

"Whatever. Man, this stinks."

"Good reason to clean it."

"No, seriously, this smells like shit."

"Ok."

"No, I mean like shit. Like actual shit. *hacking sound* Seriously, smell it, it smells like poop."

"Yeah, no thanks."

"What did you do, pick up poop with these paper towels?"

"What? Are you serious?"

"Yes, they smell like poop Fe. Poop!"

"Well where'd you get the towels from?!"

"The garbage."

"You got them from the garbage? Seriously?"

"Well, yeah."

"Ok, then yes, those are the paper towels I used earlier to pick up your cats poop."

"OMG! Gross!" Sprinting to the garbage can...

"For real. You really went and took those towels out of the garbage to clean with? Why? Why would you do that?"

"They looked clean."

"Yeah, face down maybe! Gross! Why did you take towels out of the garbage? Why not from the roll?"

"Shut up."

"No, seriously, I have to know."

"Just shut it."

Ok. But hey, just for future reference...if I put something, anything, in the..."

"OK! I get it!"

2006-01-21T13:27:00.000-08:00

Cursed cars...

As long as I have been driving it has been a joke amongst friends and family that when it comes to cars, Fefa is cursed. We probably all have that one thing that just never seems to go our way, but my one thing is actually for reals. Let me take you on a journey through my vehicular past...

Car 1: VW Fox, Red
For those of you unfamiliar with this car, it was basically the retarded little brother of the Jetta. It was my first car though, and despite the lack of A/C, speakers, sex appeal, and so on, it got me from point A to point B, and that was good enough for me then. That is, of course, until one day on my way home from school when I was rear ended at 50mph while I was sitting at a red light. My car was totaled, they found part of the stereo wedged under the pedals even, and I spent the next 6 months in and out of a neck brace and mild physical therapy sessions until I completely regained use of my left leg. RIP retarded little Fox.

Car 2: 1968 Plymouth Satellite, Red
This was the beauty I bought with my insurance claim. I adored this car, it was everything I ever wanted; was in cherry condition, and complete with a leopard fur interior. To this day I am committed to getting another car from this era for my Sunday driver. Being a junior in high school at the time, I was the biggest pimp on campus. However it did not pass CA emission standards, and by law the previous owners were liable for meeting those standards (ie. - they committed fraud and claimed it passed emissions by giving me a fake certificate when I purchased it). This was before I realized I was cursed though. And of course they screwed me, damaged the car when it went to be worked on to comply with standards, and disappeared. While it still maintained it's aesthetic glory, it was essentially turned in to a P.O.S that didn't run, and a money pit that was out of my high school financial league. We had to part ways. RIP beloved '68.

Car 3: Ford Escort, black
College bound, economical, under warranty - the perfect buy for someone off to school. Unless, of course, said car suddenly starts to shut off every time you take a right turn and frequently leaves you stranded on the side of the road. Seriously, have you ever tried to get somewhere without ever turning right? Think about it. Ford themselves is baffled and can't repair it. This car did follow me to Houston despite its constant issues, until it became some sort of target for vehicular violence. I walked to my car one day to find it had been smashed up with no witnesses, by someone wielding some sort of blunt object. Nice. Repaired, but never the same and barely drove, it had to go. I've since learned not to hang out on the left side of town. RIP can't turn right Ford.

Car 4: Honda Accord SE-i, beige/gold
I had this car for exactly one week when I left for work one day to find it had been broken into. Not just broken into, but another apparent victim of vehicular violence. It was trashed thoroughly on the inside: burned, stained, cut up, and all the windows were of course obliterated. For some reason they were picky about my CD's though and removed those they did not care for before taking off with my carrier. So you, Pink Floyd hater, I'm still looking for you. Your damage was so extensive that seats, carpeting - everything - would have to be replaced.

Honda Accord SE-i, beige/gold - Part Deux
Tow truck driver arrives to take my Honda to be fixed, my rental arrives, and off to work I go. I'm at the office for about 15 minutes when the shop calls me.
"Ma'am, I thought you said your car only had smashed windows and internal damage."
"That's correct."
"Um....I think you should come down here."
"Why, what happened??"
Long story short, the tow truck driver somehow wrecked my car while in tow. When he got to the shop he dropped it in the street, threw the keys in their driveway, and took off. My car was totaled, beyond repair, pieces of it were literally hanging off, and the all the machiney stuff in it was fucked. And the towing company? Denied they ever even towed my car, even though it was cooordinated by insurance and we have receipts. It was an ordeal so frustrating, so disheartening, let's not even go into this part. RIP Accord I didn't even have long enough to make up a quirky name for.

Car 5: Honda Civic, silver
I am now tapped for cash after putting out deductibles I have to wait for reimbursement on - twice in a day - and get into another Honda. Five days after purchasing it I am hit by what appeared to be a group of intoxicated jerks cruising around. My car was parked, in a parking lot, and I saw the whole thing happen. What I could not see was their tag number, or faces, and they were never found based on the descriptions I could give. Having just bought this car and paid 2 temporary deductibles, more repair was not in my budget at the time, so I drove around a bashed up car. Nice.

Honda Civic, silver - Part Deux
About 6 months after the above incident I was driving down 59 on my way to work after dropping mom at the airport after a recent shopping visit. Ahead of me, three lanes to the right, is a large pickup truck moving furniture. Suddenly, a giant, heavy, wooden rocking chair - not tied down - flies up out of the back of the truck and comes straight for me. I get nailed by an 80mph flying chair, and it sheers off chunks of my passenger side. Perfect! We both pull to the side of the road, and as soon as he sees me start to get out of my car, he hits the gas and takes off. WTF? I take off after him, have my headset on and police on the phone, and we begin a 20 minute chase through the freeways of Houston, with the cops trying to locate us and recording a blow by blow with me on the phone. Eventually, with the help of a good samaritan in a Volvo who saw the whole thing, and a big rig, the guy is stopped, and the rest is taken care of by police. On the up side, where my car was damaged by his chair, is where I had unrepaired damage from the previous incident, and it was fixed by insurance at the same time. Not to mention the cool bonus of being able to tell people I was in a high speed police chase.

Car 6: Mustang GT, Charcoal (and sparkley!)
Loved, loved, loved this car. Despite our gas station incident and previous statements, it was more fun than you can shake a stick at. If you happen to really like, uh, shaking sticks at stuff that is. And I do. Not long after buying her I was hit by a moron on my way to work. Me, in the far left lane, her in the far right lane - 2 open lanes between us, she suddenly decides at an intersection to turn left, cranks the wheel and comes flying across two lanes into me. My passenger side is properly thrashed, as all vehicles I own require, in the process of shoving me sideways down a side street. She then tries to lie and pit the whole thing on me - it's my fault! People like this, thankfully, are too stupid to keep up with their own lies, and she got herself busted. Still, an extra $750 out of my pocket to repair my baby to my satisfaction. But worth every unfortunate penny.

Car 7: Porsche Cayenne, silver
I've had this car for what, a month? Shit, that's some kind of record! Things were going good. Too good. And my car curse just couldn't hold out any longer. At about noon today my new baby was T-boned by a %*)(*#%^&@) god *%&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;#&( asshole who ran a red light. Many props to Porsche for making not only a spectacular vehicle to drive, but a safe one at that. No injuries to team Fefa (Mr. Fefa was actually using it), and, well who knows and who cares if the asswipe in the other car is ok. He lived without any disfiguring injuries, if you do care. I would be more sympathetic were it purely an accident. Except in this case (a frequent issue in Houston, and reason for the controversial red light cameras being installed here) his light had turned red 5 seconds before, and instead of stopping he slammed on the gas to try to squeal through the intersection just before the other cars might have hit him. If you're not from Houston and unfamiliar with this, just ask a local about it. There's some bizarre 2 second rule where people think they should still be allowed to go on red. 5 seconds though, is even over their ignorantly allowed timeline. And, btw, how dare you or anyone take my, or anyone else's well being, into your own hands. Hope it was worth it and you learned something.

So there you go, Fefa's car curse. The only thing parallel to my curse, is the car curse that lies with Mr. Fefa. If anything random, or especially unexplainable, happens out of the blue to a vehicle for no apparent reason, you can bet money that car belongs to one of us. So, we'll find out the damage assessment on my baby Monday(ish), keep your fingers crossed...

2006-01-17T09:48:00.000-08:00

I had this crazy dream the other night ...

Not really, but I was actually thinking that OH! Hey, look! A survey...

1. What do you generally wear to bed? Sheets. And a smile.

2. What position do you sleep in? Lying down

3. Prefer black or blue pens? I use crayons, and I prefer Periwinkle.

4. Dress up on Halloween? See carrot costume entry.

5. Where is the next place you want to travel to? Saks

6. Number of songs in your iTunes? N/A

7. Favorite song of the moment? Track 10 on Tiesto's newest: UR

8. What’s your best quality? Just one?! Fine…I have fabulous hair, that holds up perfectly amidst slews of witty and snobby remarks and is styled in such a fashion as to make evident superior intelligence is in your presence, all the while pairing perfectly with consistently fashion forward outfits and always making me aware in perfect time when a picture is about to be taken so I may present myself appropriately at just the right moment.

9. What is the last thing you did for someone else? Bought something from their store.

10. What is your current mood? Pretty

11. Have you ever cheated someone? Yes, once in high school. Emu, you know what I‘m talking about. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll throw in the container for *free*, you just owe me $50.” Idiots.

12. Birthplace? The armpit of America.

13. Prefer Christmas or Halloween? Every halloween I just candy and crap, at least on Christmas I get Christmas/Birthday gifts that don’t promote fatness.

14. Read the book or see the movie? Huh? Books? I believe they call those transcripts or something, don’t they? They don’t release those, it would ruin the movie!

15. Do long distance relationships work? If both parties are equally committed and aware of what they are going in to.

16. Do you believe in astrology? Some respects.

17. Do you believe in love at first sight? Only if you base love on initial appearances and superficiality. So yeah.

18. Do you consider yourself the life of the party? No, I consider alcohol the life of the party.

19. Least favorite alcoholic drink? Jagermeister. Wow Emu, two high school throw outs for you here! Sorry mom. If it helps, we didn't drink it while we were at the house. And you weren't upstairs sleeping when we did. Didn't!

20. Least favorite non-alcoholic drink? Huh?

21. Do you make fun of people? OMG, how totally mean!

22. Do you think dreams eventually come true? Depends on your bank account.

23. Favorite fictional character? Way too many. Let's just go with Gem for now.

24. Go to the movies or rent? Go to the movies and make copies to 'rent' to others.

25. How many times have you moved, and to where? 1. Armpit of America 2. St. Joseph, MO 3. St. Louis, MO 4. San Diego, CA 5. San Francisco, CA 6. Oakland, CA 7. Walnut Creek, CA 8. Humboldt (Arcata) CA – moved 3 times while there 9. Houston, TX – moved 4 times here so far. I think that’s it…

26. Have you ever stolen anything? Depends, what are you missing?

27. How's the weather right now? I’m inside.

28. Last time you cut your hair? Just got it did a few weeks ago.

29. Last person you talked to on the phone? Telemarketer. Wouldn’t call it ‘talking’ though.

30. Last time you showered? This morning.

31. Last time you took a bath? Last night.

32. Loud or soft music? Yes.

33. Favorite thing to order at a Mexican restaurant? Guacamole. And Ceviche if they got it. With a side if guacamole.

34. Prefer the night or the day? I’m an equal opportunity sleeper / shopper, so both.

35. Number of pillows? 4 on the bed when we sleep. 10-15 when it’s made.

36. Piano or guitar? Yes.

37. Future job? Your boss.

38. Current job? A few people’s boss.

39. Current stress? End of boot season after an abnormally warm winter. There are boots I haven’t even been able to wear yet!

40. Current annoyance? End of boot season after an abnormally warm winter. There are boots I haven’t even been able to wear yet!

41. Cash or credit? Yes.

42. Last thing you said? Yes.

43. Last thing you ate? Yes. Errr, wait, I mean homemade roast beef with mashed potatoes, gravy, and cornbread.

44. Last thing you bought? Clothes. White clothes. It’s my color of the month.

45. What are looking forward to? Dining with great friends at Morton’s this weekend.

46. What are you listening to right now? UR

47. Plans for the weekend? Um, dining with friends at Morton’s. Ask me again.

48. What did you do today? I “worked”.

49. Favorite song lyric? At the moment, everything from track 10 on Tiesto’s latest. You’d have to hear it to appreciate, but here’s a taste. Seriously, why haven’t you picked this up for yourself yet?
Wish I was a better man
Wish I had a better plan for dealing with this
What am I
What am I to do now?

Maybe I should run away
Maybe I could run away and never be found
What am I
What am I to do?

The way that I'm feeling
The dreams when I'm dreaming
Can this really be happening
Can it really be true?

You are
My love and my life
My heart and my soul
Just trying to keep the world
From smashing crashing in

I had this dream the other night
I had this crazy dream the other night
How have I
How have I arrived here?

50. Favorite movie quote? It’s a rose. A rose from Felicia.

2006-01-12T15:49:00.000-08:00

The Fefabet...

A- AREA CODE YOU ARE IN RIGHT NOW: the seven one three

B- BIRTHDAY: Can’t really say, but the stamp on my ass says best used by 12/28/2010 if that helps.

C- CURRENT CRUSH: Gael Garcia Bernal

D- FAVORITE N0N ACH. DRINK: N/A

E- EATING CURRENTLY: I’ll give nothing to whoever guesses this correctly.

F- FAVORITE FOOD: I’ll start with the bacon wrapped scallops with a side of apricot chutney, followed by the Filet Oscar – medium rare, to the rare side, and the Godiva Souffle for dessert please. Oh, and a bottle of Morlando. One glass.

G- GO TO FOR ADVICE: Sarah, Allyce, Mommy

H- CURRENT HATRED: Manual labor

I- I'M THINKING ABOUT: Myself

J- CURRENT JOB: Controller. Fitting, no?

K- ANY KIDS: No. But when the time comes you will know by the devastatingly attractive little ones following behind me. Carrying my shopping bags.

L- I LOVE: Me. Boopy. Boots. Chai. Shopping. Sushi.

M- FAVORITE MOVIE: The Illustrated Man. You figure it out.

N- YOUR PHONE NUMBER: Is what you use to call me.

O- OTHERWISE KNOWN AS: Fefa, Fe, The Real Boss

P- FAVORITE PERFUME/COLOGNE: Bulgari. This week anyway.

Q- A LITTLE QUIRK ABOUT YOURSELF: I’m always right. I can justify anything. I can basically say the same thing twice without you knowing it by wording it differently.

R- LAST ROAD TRIP: I don’t remember. I think it was a drive to/from Humboldt. Didn’t I go to school there? Or something? Anyone?

S- DO YOU SMOKE: Not any more.

T- FAVORITE TV SHOW: Scrubs. Biography.

U- COLOR OF YOUR UNDERWEAR: Paisley

V- LAST TIME YOU WERE IN VEGAS: July 2004

W- LAST CALL RECEIVED ON CELL PHONE: My mommy.

X- X-RAYS TAKEN: Just my bags at the airport. Since when does the world’s most fantastic hairdryer look like a weapon, by the way? So long as you’re guided by a professional it’s totally harmless..

Y- YOUR SCREENNAME: Fefa, betterthanyou.

Z- ZODIAC SIGN: You know, I never believed in this shit until I actually read up on it one day.
Capricorns tend to be astonishingly beautiful people, inside and out. From their breathtaking good looks, to sparkling personality, you can always sense the moment a Capricorn graces your presence. Amazingly, this is coupled with what is regarded as being a superior level of both intelligence and wit that can impress or devastate on a whim. When the goddess Armani aligned with the Prada moon, the deity Chanel and Lord of MAC kissed all those born to this sign, forever promising that the fascinating and charming Capricorns that roam the earth today would be of a superior presence in all facets. It was felt by the supreme zodiacal being, Lord Gucci, that such a bestowment of beauty, charm, intelligence, and humor was the very least they could bequeath to these noble beings in effort to compensate for screwing them on their birthdays every year just because, by no fault of their own, they were born during the goddamn Christmas season.

2006-01-10T07:38:00.000-08:00

A fond farewell...

The next time you see a stunningly attractive blonde roar past you on the freeway, top down, chrome exhaust gleaming in the sun, it's not me. And she's not stunning, just driving fast, don't waste your time.

That's right, I kissed my old wheels goodbye. We had some good times, and I know I'm not the only one sad to say goodbye. No more will everyone know I've arrived 5 minutes before I reach their door. And no more will we be pulled over because of your just begging to go faster and have to bat our eyelashes out of tickets.

We had some good times old car. Too many to count. You were like a best friend to me. Even that time you stranded me at a gas station and totally messed up my hair was sort of funny. Later. Well, actually, it really wasn't that funny. Come to think of it, that was just fucked up. But I'll miss you none the less. Sort of. Okay, not so much. Now that I'm thinking about it, that was really messed up. Why would you do that? Seriously! I should have dumped your ass sooner. Piece of crap car. Blow it out your exhaust, because not only do I not even care after all this BS you put me through, I can totally fit, like, so many shopping bags in my new best friend. Oh, and by the way, I can take you in a straight line and can totally drive right over curbs, shrubs, the elderly, or whatever - should I need to. If there was, like, an emergency that called for it. Remember that time we saw the front row spot at Saks open up but couldn't even get in the parking lot until we reached the driveway because you're all low to the ground and stuff? Next time, that spot is mine. Don't let the door hit you on your way out! And if you see us coming in your rear view, just do the smart thing, and move aside in shame.

2005-12-27T14:56:00.000-08:00

OMG, don’t I totally look just like Jesus?

Totally? Because I get that a lot. Like every year, right around my birthday. Which happens to be right around Christmas. So in case you were wondering, Christmas, the day we celebrate the birth of Jesus by putting sparkly crap on trees, that’s HIS birthday. Not mine. You’ll know because on mine we celebrate by putting sparkly stuff on me. (Now would be the appropriate time to start thinking of your how to equate Fefa to being tree-like remark to comment with below. LOL!!!1!! Dumbass.)

As frequently, and understandably, as people confuse us, it turns out that Jesus and me – sit down for this - we’re different people. I just wanted to point that out real quick. Because every year, without fail, I get the big Christmas/Birthday jip. You other Christmas time babies know what I’m talking about. ‘Merry Birthday!’ ‘Happy Christmas!’ Well, aren’t you so clever? You may as well sign it ‘I’m a cheap bastard!’, because that’s how it reads to us.

Look, all of us Christmas babies understand what this season does. We know everyone is broke from all the gift buying. Tired from all the festivities. Fat from all the eating. Drunk from all the egg nog. Believe me, we know. From the day we were born our birthdays have been lost in the shuffle of the holidays, it’s nothing new. But adhering our birthday to another holiday? WTF? Technically we all have a birthday near one holiday or another. How would you like it if I combined yours with some other event? Born around the 4th of July? Happy 4th of Birthday! Here’s some sparklers. Or perhaps you are a Halloween child. Well, Happy Birthoween! Here’s a bag of various candies I found when that kid at the end of the street tripped on that shoe my foot was in and dropped it. That’s what you wanted, right?

It’s not that we think you’re cheaping out on us by combining our Christmas and Birthday gifts (note: yes we do). And it’s not that we’re bitter that everyone’s too tired, out of town, has family in town, and generally has a slew of reasons why they, why nobody, is even able to celebrate on our birthdays (note: yes we are.). But you’re really only embarrassing yourself when you do this. My telling you any of this is actually for your benefit. Right after it benefits me. You see, we know you did the combo gift to save a few bucks. You know we know. We know you know we know. Know know know know know know know. And that in itself makes the entire gift an awkward exchange in the first place; while we both just sit there – knowing - and grimacing through the moment until it’s finally over, when we both turn around and our fake smiles immediately drop from our faces in relief.

This year I just can’t stay politely silent any more. And your thank you cards will reflect exactly that. Just as I read can read between your lines of cheapness, you can read between my lines of thanks:

Dear Cheap Bastard,

Thank you so much for the half of a DVD you gave me for Christmas! I love it! You can imagine how excited I was that for my Birthday, you gave me the other half of the DVD! What a surprise :) Thank goodness you figured out a way to give them both to me at the same time, otherwise I would have been on pins and needles wondering what happened during the second hour of the movie. Or worse, might have just gone and bought the other half myself not knowing you were going to give it to me for my Birthday! Anyway, I just wanted to say thank you for thinking of my birthday - on Christmas no less! – on a day most people only think of Christmas, well, only someone like you would be thinking of my birthday too! Thanks again! I hope you have a wonderful New Year / Easter!

Love,
Fefa/Jesus

I don’t want to put you completely off of the whole combo gift thing. There are allowances. Holidays and birthdays may be combined in effort to purchase a single high dollar item that may be above the appropriate price range for just one event. And if that’s your MO, hey, go cRaZY! Seriously, do you need a ride to the mall? A co-signer? Just let me know. You should, however, let the person know in advance that a combo gift is to be expected, and why. No need to name prices, simple mention of a high dollar item is information enough. Or, if you need it to be a surprise, make sure you give it to them on the prior event, if the holiday and birthday do not fall on the exact same day. Do not, I repeat, do not be the asswipe that waits until the latter event to give an unannounced combo gift.

All that said, my point is just this: separate the two events. You can even skip the birthday or Christmas gift. (For the cheapskates reading this: do note the OR, this is not permission to skip out on both.) Like I said, we do understand the season and the financial burden that comes with it. It’s ok to not give a gift. Honestly, it’s better than giving a half assed gift - for both you and the receiver. As much as we’d like to think of gifts as necessary, this is not what holidays or birthdays are about. I can’t believe I just said that. Just please understand that it’s also our birthday; a day separate from Christmas, and a day already lost in the shuffle of the holidays as it is. A card, or even a simple phone call to say in ten thousand words or more exactly how great I am and, oh yeah, Happy Birthday, would be more than appreciated. When you try to pull off this cheap combo gift shit, at the end of the day you only look cheap, and I get shit.

2005-12-21T09:19:00.000-08:00

Guess who’s back. Back again…..

I know, I know. It’s been a month of torture without any offensively laced posts for your only-funny-when-nobody-is-looking reading pleasure. And I’m totally super duper sorry. You deserve an explanation, at the very least. So without further adieu…because it’s important to me you know how much I appreciate you coming here…because I’ve tossed and turned many a sleepless night stressing over it…because I owe to you my justification for my unexpected disappearance…I’ve been busy.

So my plane didn’t crash, despite Jakey-Poo’s death wishes. We made it to Maui and back, and our trip fell nothing short of fantastic. We would go again tomorrow if we could. If it didn’t involve barreling through the sky at a bajillion mph in a metal cage of terror again that is. The flight there was actually nice. Mind you, I took some advice on relaxing remedies to pop prior to flying. And we were seated in first class, so within an hour of being seated we were more or less (let’s go with more) hammered, kicked back in oversized lazy boy type recliners, and being served hot fudge sundaes. Not too shabby, I could definitely get more comfortable with this whole flying thing. It went so well in fact that when we arrived for our return flight I was only a partial complete wreck, and only annoyed my traveling companions to within an inch of slapping me, like, maybe three times. This is of course what would happen prior to boarding the 8 hour flight from hell.

The captain came on no less than five times during the flight to talk about the turbulence and how there was nothing to worry about, we’re going to keep going higher and lower until we find a less turbulent pocket of air, and don’t worry because he radio’d a plane ahead of us and they’re experiencing it too, it’s totally normal. Oh, well alrighty then. I’m just totally not going to worry and go back to eating my not all the way cooked what looks like it’s supposed to be a, ummm, pot pie? Is that what it is? Kind of hard to tell what with my goddam spork shattering in half trying to break through it’s not fully cooked cement center. Thanks for the heads up jackass. I’m so relaxed now I probably won’t club the flaming gay flight attendant with my ice pie on a spork who was so offended I would dare ask they complete the cooking process of my “meal” that he wouldn’t dignify me with an answer before walking away. Foolishly I gave him slack for his attitude as 1. I understand the fabulousness each gay man needs to both feel and emit about themselves and seeing that he added an extra “d” to Brad on his name tag, knew a degree of this was present, it wasn't personal. And 2. the flight was extremely turbulent and I’m sure that coupled with numerous frightened passengers his job on this flight was far from desirable. Plus, I had my own impending death to worry about. Of course, I queried my ‘fabulous’ friends when I made it home and they assured me that Bradd was, in fact, just a bitch and I totally should have called him on it. So, you hear that Brad with two d’s, whose name is so stupid I refuse to include your second ‘d’ when writing it again? Next time you find yourself in Houston watch your back for rogue pot pies. Bitch.

So to summarize, our return flight pretty much sucked in every way it could have sucked, and couldn’t have possibly sucked more. Brad with two d’s was merely the icing on the cake though. It was the constant elevation changes and never ending turbulence that shook the plane to such an extreme I can only equate it to what I presume it would be like if you were trapped inside of Jenna Jameson’s vibrator that solidified my continuing disdain for air travel.

Aside from needing time to recover from my ordeal and stock up on pot pies just in case, when we returned to Houston I immediately went into training classes. Unfortunately this meant I actually had to pay attention and stuff, and was not in an environment conducive to pretending to work while I actually dribble out loosely sarcastic gripes and stories about myself. And my time out of my 8-5 classes was spent both catching up on work from the week I was gone, as well as the work I missed because of class. And shopping.

So there you have it, the reasons for my prolonged absence, and my eagerly awaited return. Fefa has turned off the fasten seatbelt light, and you are free to roam about the cabin. Or go back to work. Or whatever it is you were supposed to be doing when you were reading this instead.

2005-11-16T16:27:00.000-08:00

Fefa’s fear of flying…

Those of you who have traveled with me know the sheer pleasure it is to be my flying companion. That is if you consider someone who is freaked out, sweating profusely, asking ‘what was that?’ every third second, gripping the shit out of your hand until my knuckles turn white, is overly informed and sharing every minute detail of who/what/where/when/why you should be terrified to be trapped in a metal cage of death barreling through the sky at umpteen miles per hours, and is essentially one huge traumatized mess wrapped up in an alarmingly attractive - some even say devastatingly stunning – package during the entire flight to be sheer pleasure.

That said, we’re leaving for Hawaii next week for Paul and Allyce’s wedding. More commonly known, by me after a few bottles of sake, as Paullyce, because it’s easier, and it works, and I said so. So it’s for a good cause that I am subjecting myself, and a few hundred other passengers, to my sheer pleasure on flights that are a bajillion hours long. Oddly, of the many people we are going with, none booked on the same flight as us. Odd…

Anywhooo, Jakey-Poo (aka Brown Bear) was trying to make me feel better and offering to watch the house for us, or raid BJ’s panty drawer, or whatever, so I thought I’d share what may very well be some of my last words exchanged in email with a dear friend prior to plummeting to my fiery demise…

Fefa:
I'm more tense than anything right now. I HATE flying, so a flight this long is going to suck! Plus we still have lots to do before we go. Once we get there though, I'm sure it will be great! And much needed. We've managed a few short trips – mostly holiday weekend stuff like lake travis, vegas, etc, but this will be the first real vacation we've taken in forever.

Jakey-Poo (aka Brown Bear):
the flight will be fine. maybe take a melatonin or something to help you sleep? although you might be pretty excited and might be wound up. i wouldnt suggest drinking too much on the flight, pressure does some funky things when you come off the alcohol high.. you'll be ok..

i can definately swing by. i'll need to get with you for keys, alarm code, etc, let me know when i need to get with you for it

we still need to do lunch sometime, let me know if you have time this week or if you are too busy..

Fefa:
That's right, you had some big gossipy secret to tell me…this week is slammed unfortunately, since we're preparing for our absence, I can probably do it the week after we get back…or you can just spill it now. You know, whatever works for you. Like now, for example, would be ok.

I'll see if I can find one of our extra keys and one of us can swing by this weekend or something…

I've tried the PM stuff before, and I'm usually so stressed it doesn't have much affect on me. This time I'm thinking I'll mix some sort of prescription with alcohol. I hear that can do the trick. Just kidding. I don't have any prescriptions to use. Dammit!

Jakey-Poo (aka Brown Bear):
ooooohhh, wouldn't you JUST love to know ;-) sorry. has to be in person.. its just that way..we'll chat and figure out when to meet up.

you can always take NyQuil, which is safe enough to relax you.. dont be grinding up Vicodin with a vodka shot! although, hmmmm....

Fefa:
Any single remedy would be ineffective, so there'd be no real point in pills OR booze. Well there'd be a point, it just wouldn't help with the flight at all.

We did upgrade to first class to try to make it a little more relaxing; roomier, better service, and if you're going to be crammed in a metal death trap of terror a mile in the sky that could plummet to your fiery death at any given moment, you know, may as well upgrade, right?

Jakey-Poo (aka Brown Bear):
hmmm...that would suck when it wears off. you'll be fine. its a plane. they RARELY, and i mean, RARELY have issues. the chances are so miniscule, your chances of an accident on the road is so much higher..

first class is good! they'll feed you alcohol constantly....

Fefa:
I know it's rare. So far none of my planes have even crashed. But that just makes odds of this one being the one higher.

Yes, my chances of crashing on the road are higher. My chances of living through a car accident vs. a plane flight are higher too.

I'm pretty much un-consolable when it comes to flying. It's the only thing I'm a big baby about. The only thing. I swear. Shut up.

Jakey-Poo (aka Brown Bear):
i agree with your deduction, but my prediction is that you'll be fine. ;)

also remember that if you do go through a plane crash, you'll be gripped with utter terror for about 3-4 mins and then it will be blank. all blank. with a car crash however, the feeling of terror will probably be for about 15 seconds as you see the object/car/wall come at you, but if you survive and lose your limbs or turn into a semi vegetable, then its a lifetime of utter pain, suffering, rage, self pity, horror and all the other absolutely horrible feelings and sentiments.

plane crash is the way go to. not that you'll experience it, but... ;-)

what type of plane is it? 767? if so, they are really new planes, very comfortable...

Fefa:
The ticket says: 767-400

As far as I can relax though, that may as well be an old box with cardboard wings duct taped to it. Oh, and seat belts. Cause that's going to help when we smack the water at a bajillion miles an hour. When they find the wreckage they'll be all…oh, look, a pair of 7 jeans tangled up in a seat belt. Sharks must have eaten that body too. Near as we can tell, Felicia must have been sitting there. Good thing she had that seat belt on, otherwise we would have never known who it was, or scored this really cute pair 7's. And then some jackass will probably take my jeans home to his dumb fat wife and she'll stretch them all out and shit. So not only do I die, my jeans see injustice after my terrible demise. Great.

Jakey-Poo (aka Brown Bear):
you are cracking me up!

btw, hate to say this to you, but i have always had this weird 'fixation' (might be the wrong word) about planes, plane crashes and how they are designed, etc. (another 'fixation' is Nazi concentration camps, but that's a whole different topic).aircraft design is the epitome of cost of construction versus cost of structural failure and human injury in the worst negative way.. meaning, that their design has very little to do with survival in the event of a crash. even if the pilot can glide the aircraft on to water, at 300+mph, it would shear off of the lower part of the fuselage with catastrophic results..

so, 3-4 mins of terror followed by utter silence (i think, unless St. peter/God/Heaven is true, then you might get a friendly visit from one of the devil's disciples ;-) will be the way it goes..

and you really dont want to survive a plane crash, its just not something you want to go through..

yeah, there would be a fat chick with your 7 jeans on somewhere..

BUT, IT WONT HAPPEN since the plane will be totally fine... :)

Fefa:
Oh, ok. Thanks for the insight. Remind me to poke you in the eye next time I see you.

Actually, I know that. I think it was actually being informed that made me start to fear flying. I used to fly all the time, and enjoyed it even! Then I went and learned stuff.

If you don't already watch it, and I presume you don't Mr. No Cable, there's a show you would like on National Geographic that is literally about just that sort of stuff. Called Moment Before Impact or Seconds Before Disaster, or something like that, which more or less covers what does (or doesn't) happen in emergencies like plane crashes, train wrecks, whatever – everything from mechanics, odds of survival, etc. I watched one recently about (go figure) a flight to Hawaii that crashed, and was pretty famous at the time actually, I remember it being all over the news. Well it didn't crash per se, but ripped apart in mid-air, and managed to land eventually. They went over the whole study of why it happened, how, the reason a POS plane they knew had issues was sent out in the first place (mo money for someone, duh); everything you don't want to know. Of course on this one, some people were sucked out and never seen again, some injured, some survived with just the terror of living through it... Interesting series, worth checking out. Crazy About Goats comes on after it, so you'd be all set for the night. Wow, I almost got through a paragraph without saying something snide. Hhmmm, maybe next time…

Jakey-Poo (aka Brown Bear):
'Crazy about goats' is my favorite show! right next to my other favorites, 'How i survived a Mid air Collision over the Pacific', followed by, 'Man eating Sharks in the Pacific- Survival guide for the Pacific Ocean after a plane crash wearing 7 jeans' '. My favorite though is 'The last 3 minutes of my life in a 767'. And the big hit was "Terror on board Continental CO1 to Hawaii'. it was great!!

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!! i just had to... i just couldnt stop! i'm so sorry!! i feel so bad. really...

Fefa:
Well now, someone’s going to feel pretty bad if my plane does go down now, huh? Maybe even worse than your goat friend felt last night. But definitely not worse than that time your written confirmation of goat love was posted on the Internet.

I win. Sucka!

2005-11-10T07:25:00.000-08:00

All beware the wrath of Fefa...

Sin 1: Wrath

1. Who did you last get angry with?
I don’t get angry. I get even. Word of warning: revenge is a dish best served cold. By someone better looking than you.

2. What is your weapon of choice?
My breasts. Seriously, these girls can get business handled. Just ask BJ to tell you about his car stereo, some of their best work. Though that, admittedly, took a couple tosses of the blonde locks too...

3. Would you hit a member of the opposite sex?
No, this is the exact reason I have friends of the opposite sex. To insure any potential nail-breaking situations are resolved for me.

4. How about of the same sex?
I don’t hit, per se. But I do carry a serious bitch slap and hair pull, so step off.

5. Who was the last person who got really angry at you?
Probably that chick that thought she was getting the last pair of size 7 knee high 4 buckle boots because they would be *safe* if she left them at the counter with one of many clerks, but didn't put a name with it or make sure they were stashed out of sight, when someone could totally just walk up to check out and be all 'oh, and those are mine too, they were holding them for me'. Dumbass.

6. What is your pet peeve?
I hate it when I plug in my hairdryer, switch it on, and *nothing*. And I have to push that reset button on the plug and go through the effort of switching the switch to on all over again.

7. Do you keep grudges, or can you let them go easily?
I would have to care first.

2005-11-03T23:25:00.000-08:00

25 'spill your guts' questions...

1. First thing you did this morning?
Gretta opened the blinds ever so slightly so I would awaken to the gentle caress of the morning sun, and placed my coffee and croissant tray on the bed stand. I gently pushed aside the mound of crème satin and velvet sheets that drape my oversized sleigh bed, and slipped into my dusty rose maribou slippers and matching silk robe. Motioning to Gretta to leave, I picked up my tray and carried it to my balcony table, hoping the robins would be back again to sing me awake with my coffee, and perhaps share a few of my croissant crumbs. They were, and a pleasantly sung beginning to my day was in place as hoped. I lifted my croissant plate, heavy with crumbs, and offered thanks for my morning serenade. The smallest of my morning songbirds quickly flew to my lifted plate, and as she was about to land the sudden scream of sirens filled the air. Sirens! They were deafening, and invasive enough that my crumbs were abandoned with fear from the blaring, repetitive noise piercing the air...and goddammit, turn off the fucking alarm BJ!

2. Last thing you ate?
Cannelloni from Vincent’s. You can tell by the heavy cream sauce, carbs, and cheese galore I’m really doing well with that getting healthy crap. Then again, I already wore and retired my smurf hooker outfit, so we’re not so concerned about my appearance in ho clothes anymore.

3. Is your cell phone a piece of crap?
Sometimes I think I might get better reception if I held an actual piece of crap to my ear rather than my phone, if that’s what you mean.

4. What's the thing you look forward to most in the next 6 months?
It’s boot season baby! I’ve already added three new pairs to my collection.

5. What's annoying you right now?
That pair number 3 was out of stock in my size, and these things feel like some sort of modern day Chinese foot binding device.

6.Whats the last movie you saw....at the theater?
The Weather Man. Not even worth making a joke at its expense.

7. Do you believe in long distance relationships?
If it’s with someone you don’t like, sure.

8. What's Worse? a) getting hurt b) people that dont tell the truth c) not getting everything you try so hard for
I’m going to go with A & B, getting hurt by people who don’t tell the truth.

9. Is there someone you miss?
Not really. Except you mommy! I love you! (Did you get my xmas list?)

10. What inspires you?
Lame questions in need of thought provoking, intelligent, and witty answers with a slight undertone of sexy intrigue.

11. If you could put together a concert of 3 bands or artists, who would you choose?
That band from the opening scene in Old School
Paul Oakenfold
Pink Floyd

12. Song that sums up your life?
”Smart, Funny, and Smoldering Good Looks” I can write my own song, right?

13. What's one thing you wish you could do better in?
Hair drying.

14. If you could be anywhere this second, where would it be?
We can all be anywhere we want, when we want, if we want. I’m exactly where I want to be right this second.

15. What's your most vivid memory from 6th grade?
Getting crowned the prettiest pretty princess. I was the only one playing, but hey…

16. Latest addiction?
Starbucks Espresso Double-Shot with cream

17. Have you ever had the slight urge to kill someone?
Slight urge? What’s that, like ‘You better watch it motherfucker, I’m gonna fuckin’ ki…ooohh, Scrubs is on! Never mind….’

18. How many people would you say were interested in you at once?
All of them

19. What do you love doing?
Slamming two double-shots and storming the boot sales high on Starbucks.

20. Do you think someone thinks about you daily?
Daily? Try minutely.

21. Who was the last person you saw or talked to?
The smartest person I know. Uh oh, not you?

22. What do you want to be when you grow up?
Younger

23. What is your favorite food?
Pushi

24. How many people do you know with the same name as yours?
None. Then again, I only know a couple black chicks, so…

25. What was the last thing you spilled?
My guts, apparently.

2005-10-28T18:05:00.000-07:00

This week has pretty much sucked the big one…

On Sunday I hurt my neck and was introduced to a whole new definition of owie.

Because of this BJ and I couldn’t go get his Halloween costume.

So he’s just going to wear a sheet and when people ask tell them he’s a mattress, not a ghost, you idiot.

Since Sunday I have twice had the pleasure of my neck being hooked up to some sort of cruel electric shock therapy machine - while also freezing me under heavy ice packs that don’t numb as claimed they do.

Since I have to lay face down for this "treatment", BJ thought it would be funny to give my ass a little rub so I would think the doctor did it and freak out. HA. HA.

My Halloween costume arrived Monday, but I couldn’t try it on because of said neck injury until Thursday to make sure it looked ok.

It is now too late to change my costume, and it turns out it makes me look like a smurf. A smurf hooker.

Because of this I am changing what I tell people I am to: Smurfette, the later years. After The Smurfs was canceled, much like other discarded 80’s stars, she too turned to a life of drugs and crime.

This considered, I may have BJ go as Gargamel, the later years. When he became Smurfette’s pimp and dealer.

BJ seems ok with this, but I’m not sure if it’s because of the hooker ensemble, his passion for blue, or because he’s always preferred the Snorks and takes secret pleasure in the Smurfs sad downfall.

I had my court date this week and they wouldn’t let me change it ‘just because of a neck injury’, which also makes it painful to drive.

In order to change it I would have to go there in person and request it formally, which was what I couldn’t do in the first place.

The cop who ticketed me was way out of his jurisdiction, so I had a long uncomfortable drive.

His jurisdiction is in the ghetto, right on the corner of Crack Street and 40oz. Ave. So that was nice.

While I was sitting there, uncomfortable, and waiting my turn, a creepy, foul smelling, old guy came and sat right next to me. And I mean rightnexttome.

Then he told me I was probably the prettiest girl there, but it was between me and - now pointing and talking louder - that girl over there who looks pretty young too.

Uuummmm...

When I tried to get up to move seats I was told to stay put by some assface in a uniform, and only to rise when it’s my turn.

After waiting until 10:30 for my 8:30 trial to start I was finally called and told they have rescheduled my trial for March of 2006 and sent on my way.

All this caused me to miss some work, of course during the only week upgrades are going on with my Blackberry and I can’t get email when I’m out of the office.

Shamefully, being without my Blackberry is more crippling than a hurt neck.

If someone is stupid enough to make a ‘haha you’re handicapped’ joke at my expense, they’re also too stupid to appreciate being told ‘no, I’m handicapable’.

A dollar goes to anyone who can tell me where I got handicapable from.

Someone unable to appreciate handicapable, also can’t put together that a hurt neck in no way impacts ones ability to stick their foot out and trip you.

They will, however, realize the stupidity of handicap jokes at my expense when the favor is returned after said trip.

That was all pretty lame. Much like this week. Ha ha! You read it.

2005-10-20T03:10:00.000-07:00

Someone got me a whole new brand o' survey...

Three names you go by
1. Fe
2. FeFa
3. FeFaFoFum

Three parts of your heritage
1. Mom
2. Dad
3. I’m pretty sure that’s everyone

Three things that scare you
1. spiders
2. nobody there to kill the spider for me
4. the number three

Three of your everyday essentials
1. shower
2. hair dryer
3. haute outfit

Three things you are wearing right now
1. a shit eating grin
2. myself out
3. haute outfit

Three favorite musical artists
1. the singer in the cover band in the opening scene of Old School
2. Tiesto
3. Armin Van Buuren
These will all change within a month

Three favorite songs
1. The song in the opening scene of Old School
2. Say Hello
3. Georgia on my mind
These will all change within a month

Three things you want in a relationship
1. love
2. trust
3. humor

Two truths and a lie
1. I’m better than you
2. I’m better than you
3. You’re better than me

Three physical things about the opposite sex that appeal to you
1. kill bugs for me
2. can reach things that are high up for me
3. carry heavy stuff for me

Three of your favorite hobbies
1. belittling others
2. buying stuff
3. surfing. Channels and the internet stupid, who do you think I am?

Three things you want to do really badly right now
1. BJ. Ooohh, so clever, it works on multiple levels.
2. See the look on my mom’s face when she read that
3. Because I waited until # 3 to tell you all to get your minds out of the goddam gutter; Ben and Jerry’s people! Gawww, you’re all sick!

Three places you want to go on vacation
1. Ibiza
2. CA
3. Amsterdam

Three ways that you are stereotypically a chick/dude
1. First off, I’m not a tranny. What’s this chick/dude thing? Gross out! And what would the answer be, like, shave before applying foundation? Make man cleavage?
2. I’m always right
3. I have breasts

You! And You! Survey! Now!

2005-10-18T22:18:00.000-07:00

How do I get not fat?

So I have a challenge in front of me. One both BJ and I set in place, not paying attention to the little detail that I have no clue whatsoever how to do this. And actually, I really didn't take the whole thing too seriously, we’ve loosely discussed this many times before. And by ‘discussed’ I mean said something along those lines and then either 1.) both forgot, 2.) pretended said conversation never happened, or most likely, 3.) both knew we were full of it, but wasn’t it so much fun speaking as though we might do something productive or even *gasp* to better ourselves?

Except this time, I think he meant it. For a week I’ve sort of followed in line with number 2 there, but damn his concern for our well being and happiness, he keeps bringing it up. Now don’t get me wrong, we both acted as if we were on the same page the day of said conversation, and followed suit even. It was the second day I began to employ ol' number 2. But now, a week later, my Jedi mind tricks haven’t worked, and I think I need to get my ass in check and figure this thing out. So I’m turning to you, my friends, for guidance in this matter. How the hell am I supposed to do this?

What we talked about was being…drum-roll please…healthier. It’s long overdue, we need to take care of ourselves; body, mind, and soul, and blah blah blah a bunch of healthy hippie crap like that. And here in lies my dilemma. I have never dieted, not once, not for any reason. I love food with a capital glutton, eat it in embarrassingly large quantities, and even at the end of a giant meal am already planning my next meal – which I do on my way to get dessert. And on this note, I wouldn’t know healthy food if it fell from the sky, landed on my face, and started to wiggle. So telling me to just make better food choices is a little too little info. for me. I may very well make a healthy choice, and then drown it in alfredo sauce and extra parmesan with a side of lard for good measure (that's bad, right?). So what the hell am I supposed to eat (thus prepare for us both to eat)?

There are millions of diet suggestions, this carb goes with that, only eat protein, some fat is ok, some sugar isn’t and why the frick does it feel like my head is about to implode? What really is and isn’t ok? Seriously, our health is in your hands. The only thing I know to rule out is seemingly what my every day diet has consisted of for as long as I can remember. And to give you a taste of that, here’s a vague example of what I consume on any average day:

Breakfast – usually just an enormous coffee. IF I have something that involves chewing and you're looking to make a buck, the odds are on Krispy Kreme.
Lunch – Either a sandwich or sushi, often with a venti something or other from Starbucks.
Dinner – There’s a large variety here, but a household fave is a heaping bowl of pasta, salad doused in not-fat-free dressing (to which Sarah can attest to my adoration for dressing, and lots of it), many (4-6) pieces of garlic bread, all of which is then followed by dessert.
Snacking – candy, chips, cookies, pistachios…whatever is around.
Wild card - Throughout the day I’ll have anywhere between 1 and 6 Mtn. Dew’s. I’m serious, so if you ever wondered why I seem unaffected by caffeine, well there you go…

Is that bad? Too much? Too little? Bad combinations of food? And seriously, I see diet meals in the store, and aside from the cardboard flavor I assume them to have, the meals are so small. So very very small. They look like something that is aspiring to one day be a meal. I imagine myself using a kid’s tea set silverware that I totally didn’t take when my neighbor’s brat left it in front of my yard again in order to spear the tiny morsels of food in these things. These aren’t supposed to be, like, entire servings, are they?

Dilemma, part deux: exersize. See, I don’t even know how to spell it, that’s how learned I am on this topic. What the hell do I, we, do? I used to exercise a lot actually. In grade school. During PE. Playing steal the bacon, and ooohh, sometimes dodgeball. And I don’t want to toot my own horn or anything, except that you know I totally do, but I pretty much ruled the dodgeball court, thank you very much. One time I even almost got a trophy. But now that I don’t have a dodgeball court anymore, and playing in the street downtown might be a little, uh, dodgey, what do I do? Most especially, without workout equipment or a gym membership (I’m not buying one, so let’s be simple here). The only thing I can think of are sit-ups maybe? Crunches? Are those the same thing? We have a pool table, and that’s supposedly a sport in some lazy bowling kind of way – but short of vaulting over it repeatedly, I don’t think that qualifies. Anyone out there who does know what the loophole is that garnered the word 'sport' be associated with things like pool, bowling, and even dog shows, please do share. I'm certain I will both benefit and use your wisdom. A lot.

So there it is, my dilemma. Most of you already do this healthy thing, so any words of wisdom would be most welcome. And any of you realizing you have a brilliant chance to chubb me up by my own healthy ignorance, please also realize you’re a total and complete dolt; refer to my current crap filled diet exampled above. When I say followed by dessert I mean either an entire thing of Phish Food, or a whole bag of Double Stuf Oreos. Except I twist open the Oreos and throw away the one sad little cookie side with no cream, so it’s really only like 2/3 of a bag. I’m not a complete pig. So even if I followed your eat 10 twinkies before every meal advice, don't think I can't hang with that just fine as it is.

2005-10-13T19:28:00.000-07:00

When asked "Who is most likely to respond?", Fefa is always the safest answer...

1. What is your full name?
Fefa. I just smooshed them together so as to join the ranks of single namedom, like Cher and Madonna. Seriously, check my mail.

2. What color pants are you wearing right now?
I'm not. It's wear your naked to work day.

3. What are you listening to right now?
Click. Clickity click click click, clickity click. Click click clickity click.

4. What was the last thing you ate?
Sushi. Surprise.

5. Do you wish on stars?
No, I'm 100% for the whole pennies in a fountain thing.

6. If you were a crayon, what color would you be?
Periwinkle. Sorry Burnt Sienna. It's been good, great even, but periwinkle and I just really hit it off, you know? And frankly, periwinkle looks better on me. It's time to accept it and move on Burnt. Really, it's nothing to do with you per se, it's me, MY complexion, stop questioning yourself. I'll always remember you fond...Oh, who am I kidding, I look fantastic in any color, it's just over. Get out.

7. How is the weather right now?
www.weather.com

8. Last person you spoke to on the phone?
Myself. What? A gal has to appear to be working when she's not.

9. Do you like the person who sent this to you?
Yes, but only because periwinkle and orange look soooo good together.

(Hey, where's 10?)

11. What is your favorite drink?
Venti non fat tazo chai latte mountain dew belvedere martini extra dirty three olives. And blend...

12. Favorite sport?
Ripping bumpers off cars.

13. Hair color?
Huh? Oh, no thanks. Ooohh, look...pretty :) You what? Oh, ME! Ok, I get it now. Blonde.

14. Do you wear contacts?
Nope, I just carry them around and hold them up in front of my eyes with a teeeeeny tiiiiny little contact holder when I need to read something. Like a stop sign.

15. Siblings?
No thanks.

16. Favorite month?
December

17. Favorite food?
See # 4

18. What was the last movie you saw?
Rachel Rachel; a young girls erotic journey from Milan to Minsk and...What?! BJ's out of town!

19. Favorite time of the year?
The beginning.

20. What do you do to vent anger?
Vent.

21. What was your favorite toy as a child?
Credit card.

22. Summer or winter?
Something in between.

23. Hugs or kisses?
Yes

24. Chocolate or vanilla?
Swirl baby. I got me the fever!

25. Do you want your friends to e-mail you back?
Why don't you write to me about something? Just emailing 'back' sounds like a waste of time.

26. Who is most likely to respond?
Fefa. Yes, to my own survey. I'll have new answers tomorrow.

27. Who is least likely to respond?
Fefa. In case I don't have new answers tomorrow. Gotta cover my bases.

28. When was the last time you cried?
When Dylan's girlfriend was killed in an ironic twist, in a plot meant for Dylan himself. Remember that Jeremy?

29. What is under your bed?
Kitty Puff Paws. That's Mr. Meow to the rest of you though.

30. Who is the friend you have had the longest?
That reads this? Emu.

31. What did you do last night?
Got together for practice with my downhill tennis team.

32. What are you afraid of?
All shopping coming to an end as we know it. Or Starbucks closing. OMG, what if BOTH happened!?

33. Plain, buttered or salted popcorn?
Buttered. Sticks to people better when thrown.

34. What's your favorite car?
Matchbox

35. Favorite flower?
Pretty

36. Number of keys on your key ring?
This would only interest a janitor. Any janitors reading this?

37. Number of years at your current job?
4ish

38. Favorite day of the week?
Tomorrow. Ooohh, I can be positive and uplifting too, see? Dumbass.

39. What did you do on your last birthday?
ON my bday...I went to work.

40. How many states have you lived in?
Does state of mind count? If not, 6. If so, infinite."

2005-10-12T18:35:00.000-07:00

Guess where I'm not today?

Vegas. Yes, thank you all mighty hurricanes, you canceled my trip. So much business is out here as a result of companies not being prepared for power outages, and companies relocating to Houston, there was just no way to pull it off. Someone had to stay here to maintain projects and everything incoming, and guess who got the pleasure. So BJ had to take on Vegas without me. And as punishment for going to Vegas without me I decided to get fat. 2 giant burritos, 1 bag Double Stuf Oreos, and 1 Phish Food down so far. And just to make sure I didn't burn anything off, I refrained from walking the dog too. That'll learn him.

In other words, I have no exciting Vegas stories to tell. If you want to hear all about the SOW's, quotes, PO's, sales, engineers, and whatnot that have occupied my time in place of Vegas I'd be happy to fill you in though. You know, if you need something to fall asleep to or whatever.

I've only heard of a few things I'm sorry I missed. Mostly, the last night party, infamous for the 'spread'. This year they hired the Blues Brothers to perform for their little party, and booked the House of Blues for it. This is one of the two things I am most sorry to have missed. I adore the Blues Brothers.

The other item though, has to do with a certain someone who - while 'harmless' as everyone tells me he is - creeps. me. out. Maybe it's because he looks like George McFly from the grave. Maybe it's because he's a close talker. Maybe it's because if you have a conversation with him - while he close talks - he never looks away. I don't mean he's focused on the conversation, I mean like he's attempting some deep looking into your eyes soulful thing, which is awfully uncomfortable when it comes from Lurch.

It's okay to make eye contact people. But there is a time when it's appropriate to look away, or even *gasp* stop. Like when the conversation ended 3 minutes ago, that would have been a good time. Or maybe when you are making direct eye contact from a foot away, but hey, we weren't even talking, there's no real need to look me in the eyes then, right? Or how about when I look away from you, how about then? There is no reason why I should turn around and find you are still in the same place staring at where my face was a minute ago. Freak.

Anywhooo...this particular gent fancies himself a blues musician. When I say he fancies himself a blues musician, I mean it - he always carries a harmonica on him. At ALL times. Period. You know, just in case you need to bust out some blues for a moment. Cause hey, you never know. So imagine his joy in finding out who the surprise entertainment was. Case in point; harmonica on him, Blues Brothers appear for a jam. So naturally Mr. McFly takes it upon himself to try to join in on the jam. Which is not to say that McFly is a bad blues musician by any means. But it's not to say he's any Blues Brother either.

So Belushi comes into the audience a little, and McFly does all he can to get his attention. For some reason Belushi was unresponsive though. Gee, that's odd. So McFly plants himself front and center to the stage and starts blowing his little harmonica as hard as his little tar filled smoker's lungs can blow. And sure enough, Belushi seems to take notice. Knowing he's been seen, McFly tries to incorporate it a little more, and this goes on for a little while. When suddenly, to his surprise, he looks up at Belushi and it looks like he's really noticing his skills. Oh my! Is he finally going to invite me on stage to join the jam? High five me on account of my harmonica prowess? Or perhaps he's just taken by my creepy, leering, never-ending stare. Ooohh, I'm all a flutter! Belushi and me, jamming together! And just then, Belushi makes direct, uncomfortable, eye contact with McFly, his lips part and...."Quit it! You're fucking up our jam!"

Oh Belushi, I knew I loved the Blues Brothers for more than just the blues. But a favor? Would you do it again, just one more time, when I'm there to enjoy it in person? Pretty please?

2005-10-05T20:32:00.000-07:00

Easy like a Sunday morning...

I woke up early on Sunday and decided to make it a productive day. I mean 'Sunday Productive' though, which is not to be confused with Monday Productive. Sunday productive is comprised of things I feel like doing, don't have to, and that probably won't cross anything off my to-do list. It basically means I didn't stay in bed all day to continue the ongoing contest between BJ and I to see who can get out of bed the least in a 24 hour period. For anything.

My definition of getting up early on a Sunday is any time before noon. Nobody should expect anything of me on Sunday prior to p.m. Not even in an 'emergency'. Lost your foot to gangrene? Don't care. World peace was finally achieved? Don't care. Your foot will still be gone after 12, tell me then. And getting me up before noon would put a quick stop to that whole world peace thing you were so excited about.

Only one has dared to tempt me out of my lair of blankets sooner. Should you feel so inclined to tempt fate yourself, I suggest you consult bff's wise ways first. To date only three tactics have prevailed: 1.) arrive with flowers and Starbucks, 2.) something that involves shopping, and 3.) party at La Strada. This last Sunday was a 2, with a bonus of lunch. Food is almost worthy of adding a #4, but alone is just not reason enough.

I left BJ to sleep into p.m., took his precious car, and picked up Sarah around noon. Taking BJ's car always entertains; it gets a lot of attention, is great to drive, and it is so rare it's in street condition that it becomes a special occasion when I take it out. Our first stop, Jeans Couture. Mmmmmmmmm. It was time to initiate Sarah into the wonderful world of 7. I felt she had achieved a place in her life where it would be appropriate for her to don a pair of jeans made for royalty, celebrities, and me. Oh, and I think she had a birthday or something. You can read all about it and see a tight shot of Sarah's ass right here. So if you've been needing a new desktop or something...

7's in hand, we headed to Little Pappasito's for some eats and gossip, err, discussion. We also had to nail down some plans for Allyce's upcoming bachelorette party, and decided that one of the things we should do for her is write sentences that make her think for a second we're about to reveal something, and then totally not. Like that one. Sorry my little Spic n' Span, but mums the word. If it helps I can tell you about things we've ruled out. We've definitely decided against the WWF theme now, so put your mask back in the closet.

After lunch I was to drop Sarah off, and planned to do that grocery shopping I missed when my car stranded me amongst the gas station dwellers. We were driving along Kirby, through River Oaks - the posh part of town - and not even at the speed limit as we're in Sunday traffic, and churches just let out. All of the sudden we hear this awful sound, it sounds like we are dragging something. We look right, and there is a guy in a truck next to us flipping out and pointing at the front of the car. Great, as if I need a repeat of the wandering small child incident. We turn on the next side street, only half a block away, stop, and look at each other. In my world if you ignore things you don't like, it makes them not true, so seeing whatever is wrong is not what I want to do here. But unfortunately reality does not work that way. We each get out and walk around to meet in front of the car, take a good look, and are both visibly shocked and upset. Ooohhh, I am in trouble.....

This is not good. We only make faces like in that picture we don't like for people to see when it's really serious. How the hell am I going to explain this? And more so, who the hell would believe me? I wouldn't believe me! What we are looking at is the front end of BJ's high end, adored, babied like a, well, baby, precious reason for living....sans bumper. The front bumper is fucking gone! Yes, fucking was necessary to drive this point home. Well, it wasn't gone per se, though it may as well have been. It was still attached by some wires to the fog lights, but dragging underneath the car as a result. Has this ever happened to someone before? Or did God save this little bitch of a joke special for me? Since when do bumpers just fall off of cars?! Seriously, I'd like to know.

I don't even want to go into trying to explain this to BJ. Of course the world thinks I hit something, bumped something, something'd something. And believe me, it would be easier to explain if I had a story to tell where I did something that caused the bumper to come off, and would happily tell it if so. Upon close inspection though, there is no damage to the bumper except where it was dragged. Nowhere that it has been bumped, scratched, hit...nothing. My best guess is that after racing it hard, and countless repair jobs and modifications, and it just being held on by clips essentially, maybe it was just loose and eventually popped off. Naturally while I was driving it, of course. And while Sarah can attest to all this, Mr. Guy In The Truck Next To Us When It Happened, if you're reading this, speak up.

So there you go. We are officialy carless now. If you've been meaning to have something costly and random happen to your car, just let me know. I'd be happy to drive it around the block for you. Don't worry though. Pop-in-law is out of town right now and kind enough to loan out his car. And as luck would have it, I don't mind driving it one bit. You know, if I have to. Surprisingly, it actually holds a full load of groceries with ease. I get the feeling this was life's funny little way of whispering to me "Fefa. FeeeFaaa. Hey, get up! Maybe it's time to get that new car..."

2005-10-04T07:40:00.000-07:00

At long last, here it is! Something to tide you over until I get around to something else...

These are supposedly 26 questions that no one would ever think to ask.

*Whoever thought up these questions doesn't think about stuff to ask very often. My guess. Then again, I stopped and answered them, and then made a whole post about it, so it's entirely possible, err definitely factual, that this was actually brilliance disguised as just another dumb survey.

1. When you look at yourself in the mirror, what's the first thing you look at?
Um, myself. Don’t try your trick questions here mister, I’m ssmart!

2. How much cash do you have on you?
About $200. But that’s just what I made on the pole during Cherry Pie, wait until I gather up the dough scattered on the stage.

3. What's a word that rhymes with "TEST"?
icle. But it’s not a word. Sort of a weird question if you ask me, you have to add it to…oh wait, rhymes with. My bad.

4. Favorite planet?
Well gee, of all the planets I’ve been to, I think I’d have to go with…Earth. Yes, definitely, Earth is the winner, hands down.

5. Who is the 4th person on your missed call list on your cell phone?
I’m glad you asked, 832-419-74XX. If that first part looks familiar to anyone, let me know. Otherwise, you jerk off who probably isn’t reading this, your number will soon be posted in full for all to use as they see fit. Quit calling me in the middle of the night.

6. What is the main ring tone on your phone?
It’s a noise produced by the phone to notify me of an incoming call or similar.

7. What shirt are you wearing?
That one I got with my Mom when she was visiting with the little shiny sequiny things, but not actual sequins, because that would just be tacky during the day. What am I, a whore?

8. Do you "label" yourself?
"Property of Fefa". I slap those on pretty much everything I own. And things I would like to own. That shirt in your closet with the "Property of Fefa" label on it, the one you thought you bought, turns out it’s mine. Give it back.

9. Name the brand of your shoes you're currently wearing?
OK...shoes, I officially name you Fefa Brand!

1o. Bright or Dark Room?
Depends, are the lights on?

11. What do you think about the person who took this survey before you?
Let’s just play it safe…she’s super nice!

12. Ever "spilled the beans"?
Nothing snide comes to mind to write here. Just say something witty and pretend it was me.

13. What were you doing at midnight last night?
Rendezvous with my sexy secret agent counterpart, Jupiter Demayo, at the checkpoint and commenced Operation Too Many Beers

14. What did your last text message you received on your cell phone say?
"Whoever this is, give me back my phone!" Good luck calling that complaint in now, loser.

15. Do you ever click on "Pop Ups" or Banners?
All the time. Not on my computer.

16. What's a saying that you say a lot?
Most recently…"Everybody’s workin’ for the weekend…", but I sing it, mostly with the intention of getting it stuck in someone else’s head.

17. Who told you they loved you last?
Motherf*cker, you better not put me last on that list!

18. Last furry thing you touched?
My legs. For the longest time I thought someone wearing corduroy was secretly following me around too.

19. How Many Drugs Have You Done In The Past Three Days?
Is This A Title? Why Are All The Words Started With A Cap?

2o. How many rolls of film do you need to get developed?
Just the one from 5th grade I’ve been holding on to. I’m dropping it off right after I drop off my Beta to be fixed. Get it? Cause Beta is, like, really old, and now there’s newer stuff out and stuff. And I have a digital camera, so that wouldn’t require me take it in to be developed. Unless I guess I had it on cd from my digital, and I could take that in to, I don’t know, maybe Walgreens or whatever, and get them developed there. What’s that, like an hour wait or something? I would think so, if they can do it in an hour with the old stuff. And omg, are you still reading this? Tard.

21. Favorite age you have been so far?
My second year as "24" was pretty bitchin’.

22. Your worst enemy?
Myself. Aren’t we all though? You are, after all, what you eat. Last night I ate Mexican food (that's just "food" to BJ and Allyce, in case you weren't sure about how that works), and very quickly I found out I was, in fact, my own worst enemy.

23. What is your current desktop picture?
Just a blank, black screen. I call it "Never Ending Void", and frequently lose myself in its never endingness in dark times at the office. My home pc has bunnies playing on it though.

24. What was the last thing you said to someone?
"Excuse me. *ahem* EXCUSE ME." Intriguing question, so glad it made your list.

25. If you had to choose between a million bucks or to be able to change a major regret?
Sign my check

26. Do you love/ like someone?
Do I love/like someone? What’s that? Lovelike? Is that kind of like when you like like someone in grade school? Then I'm going to have to go all the way here and say no, but I do love love someone.

2005-10-02T21:39:00.000-07:00

T.G.I.M. Wait, what?!

Highlights of today's exciting post include such hits as:

I won’t have my damage bill in for a while
Husband injury humor
Limb lobbing is only mildly amusing
that volunteer mission she's on
lady with giant just injected lips
No sour cream for you!
cha ching cha ching cha ching
sharp metal runners digging into my ass
just because of our charm and good looks

I think I may have, quite possibly, raised my own personal bar in how expensive I can be in one weekend. I won’t have my damage bill in for a while though, so you’ll just have to wait on pins and needles until then.

Friday evening we dined with Paul and Allyce at a new sushi place. OK, old, but new to us. It quickly became old when we were billed twice as much as any other sushi place, for food that was half the quality. They did do this free appetizers and desserts thing, which was neat. Mostly because when the appetizers were brought out Paul and BJ could hardly wait to dig in, and each promptly inserted a giant baked scallop in their respective mouths. A giant JUST baked scallop, which left Allyce and I in tears laughing as they each sat there, mouths full of food, jaws agape, eyes watering, puffing air in and out as quickly as they could while fanning their mouths to cool the molten lava fire of just cooked-ness they should have let cool off before proceeding. This went on for five side splitting minutes with other patrons looking over periodically on account of all the huffing and puffing. And laughing. Oh my god, I know it’s bad, but why is it so funny when people get hurt? More specifically, when husbands hurt themselves. Seriously, I don’t even have to be in the room, if I hear a thud followed by BJ’s ‘ooowwwww’ I start to giggle. I wouldn’t laugh if it was serious, mind you. Were a limb lobbed off or something I wouldn’t bust out in laughter. Limb lobbing is only mildly amusing, at best. But smack your head on a desk, that’s funny stuff. Especially if it happens to be a giant immovable desk that’s been sitting in our house for months because it was *free*, and well well well, wouldn’t that have been avoided if you had removed, or not even gotten it, as suggested. Husband injury humor is in a special category all its own. Similar to the kind of funny when kids fall down, but different. Don’t get them confused. Husbands don’t look around to see if anyone just saw them hurt themselves to determine if they will get attention if they start blabbering like a big baby about it. Husbands just start blabbering.

On Saturday I decided to treat myself. It’s been a rough week, what with all the no damage caused by the Hurricane that didn’t come here and all. So I went to get my nails and my hair did. And as long as you’re getting your nails and hair did, you may as well get the spa treatment, right? And the Starbucks. And perhaps the new strappy sandals to show off the freshly done pedicure, that one may as well have sprung for while the nails were being done. I have a feeling I know what you’re thinking right about now. ‘Oh my god, what a practical, efficient, sweet natured, giving lady. Always thinking of others, I wonder how that volunteer mission she’s on is going….’ Let’s just divert briefly to one of the first things I ever told you; "I am high maintenance, but self maintained." So shut it, fatty. Anywhooo…..I left the nail salon and ever so delicately tippie toed to my car and gently fired her up, so as not to muss my fresh coat of paint, laid down some rubber and tore ass across town to my hair salon. Man, I loved my car. Have I ever mentioned that? It contradicts pretty much everything I just described about myself (if you were going to judge me on just the above description that is, which I would, so…), hauls ass, is so loud it doesn’t need a horn, and more or less sounds like you’re in a club since installing the massive stereo which removed any and all trunk space I ever had, thus forcing shopping bags to ride shotgun, i.e. – in Sarah’s lap. In order to hear anything in this car we had to both overcome the wind when the top is down, and the exhaust when the top is it doesn’t matter how it is, it’s. that. loud. And oh, hey, wait a sec Fe. Did you say loved your car? Yes I did. Glad you caught that, but you’ll still have to wait until I get to that part. Right now, we’re only at about 1pm on Saturday, but I know you’re anxious, so I’ll speed through the hair appt. part…..color, gossip, rinse, trim, make fun of old lady with giant just injected lips, style, blow-dry, gossip, pay, leave.

I decided on my way home to pick up some groceries. A week later, shelves are finally re-stocked since the evacuation, and I’m hoping insults won’t be dispersed randomly over the only tub of sour cream left when it’s already in my hand and you come from out of nowhere and decide it should be yours because ‘I saw it first and hadn’t decided if I needed it yet. I was just about to get it, but needed to look for some other things before I did’. Idiot. No sour cream for you! This was going to be a pricey grocery trip, we need to restock all the essentials we lost while the power was out and literally have only Mtn. Dew in our fridge. So I figure while I’m racking up the bills I may as well stop and top off my tank on the way. I pull into a Shell station, fill ‘er up, and hop back into my car. Turn the key and….nothing. Try again…nothing, followed by a mysterious click. Try a third time….click, click, click. Let me translate that from car speak to English for you; click = cha ching. I hoped to alter the definition of insanity and tried for a fourth time….cha ching cha ching cha ching. Wonderful. I figure it’s my starter, and if I can get some movement I might be able to pop the clutch and at least get home. But living in the flatlands I have no hills to help build up a little speed, and would need a few people to push me fast enough to get me there. And that’s assuming it is actually my starter. So I did what any level headed woman would do, I called my husband and cried about it.

Luckily he was nearby, and showed up pretty quickly. He was getting some work done on his car - again, and it was just finished; officially a perfect running vehicle. Which is rare for his car since it doubles as his race car on the track. I only had to stand around with my hood up looking upset - yet sexy - for 10 minutes before he arrived, which was enough time to be asked by morons three times…’Soooo, you havin’ some car trouble thur?’. No assface, I just like standing around gas stations in heels while my hair is sweating onto my face because of the humidity and my car’s hood up hoping I can meet winners like you. So, tell me about yourself....

Soooo, BJ swoops in, ever my hero, a tow-truck following shortly after, and with my car secured and on its way, I hop in the back and we head home. Why hop in the back? Because amidst race modifications seats have been removed from his vehicle and if I sat shotgun I’d be sitting on the metal runners the seat used to be affixed to. And while many of you may relish the idea, sharp metal runners digging into my ass, digging into my 7’s more importantly, it’s not so much on my list of things I want to feel.

On the ride home we couldn’t help but have a laugh at the coincidence, the convenience even, that I am for the first time in as long as we’ve known one another, down a car (for mechanical reasons), and he is not. We usually spend at least every other week sharing my car, as his is always, always having something or other done to it, fixed on it, removed from it…and what marvelous luck that when his car is in show worthy form, a true driving machine, that this would be the one time my car breaks down. We arrive home and set to reinstalling the passenger seat and start deciding what to do that evening. And as it turns out, while there’s something a little sexy about a guy working on a car (even if that guy doubts your starter diagnosis from earlier in the day, and just you wait until they call later this afternoon and confirm my rightness), there’s apparently something a little sexier about a girl working on a car. According to a number of mechanic oriented calendars and my husband anyway, who knows that while yes, I’m a little bit fancy, I know how to get dirty too. Besides, if your hair is already all icky and stuff, why not? Don’t look so surprised, just because she’s wearing heels, 7’s, and just got all prettified at the spa, does not mean she can’t install a seat in a car when you run into issues doing it yourself. She might not be able to lift it all by her little, but install it she will, and look good doing it.

Boy, it almost, sort of, sounds like I might be leading into something with all the coincidence, convenience, and laughing in the face of good luck talk. It’s only 5pm on Saturday right now, and so much has happened already, what else could possibly go on in one little no-plans weekend?

So BJ and I decide on an old fave for dinner, with a nice patio, to enjoy the evening. We arrive to find an old neighbor works there, who is apparently thrilled to see us, and ushers us through a packed restaurant to a fantastic table, and the only one open on the patio. Can’t ask for more than that, except perhaps lighting fast service, comp’s, and special off-menu desserts just for us. I didn’t even know I had an opening for another bff, but apparently I did. Sounds fab, no? Once we were seated and our first drinks arrived I took a look around. And suddenly I realize we are the oldest people in the restaurant. Turns out it’s some sort of homecoming night or something, and the place is packed with teenagers in prom ensembles. Except for us old people. The eager wait staff wasn’t extra nice to us just because of our charm and good looks. No, they were all vying to have the one table belonging to someone old enough to vote, thus old enough to not act like a 17 year old without supervision for the first time ever, thus old enough to tip after a meal. So we had a fantastic meal, with plenty of entertainment provided by all the kids at neighboring tables, and headed home after that. As nice as the evening ended, we were ready to put Saturday to bed and welcome a much less eventful Sunday as soon as possible. And just you wait to hear how uneventful Sunday was…

2005-09-26T17:43:00.000-07:00

A few things I learned from the hurricane and evacuation...

My husband and I have very differing ideas of what "essential" items are. Someone, who is not me, seems to think that if someone else were to pack, say, I don’t know, all their 7 jeans, that their priorities are all wrong.

Not packing any additional underwear for someone who should have kept their opinions about priorities to themselves when someone else was doing them a favor and helping them pack their own stuff will make that first someone mad when they unpack later.

An argument of ‘jeans are jeans, just bring normal ones’ loses to the argument of ‘if jeans are jeans, what does it matter what jeans are brought, and doesn’t it make more sense to bring the more valuable and better jeans than the cheap old ones?’.

When one wins the 7 jeans argument the losing party won’t bow to the rightness of bringing better quality possessions to such an extent they can be convinced to wear their tuxedo while the other wears, I don’t know, maybe their wedding gown or something for the evacuation drive because not only is it just good sense to bring your better belongings, but wouldn’t it be so funny to evacuate dressed to the nines? Most especially when you get out of your car around other evacuees who look, no offense, casual and stuff?

If you dress to the nines to see if your fellow evacuee will follow suit once they see how great you look, they won’t. Because they are wrong.

If you ever post something about a hairdryer so wonderful it’s as if God herself is blowing your hair into place, people will ask if you brought it with you. And if you own such a hairdryer your answer would be yes.

Ladies – if you think you may spend a lot of time in traffic with no restrooms available and may possibly have to go to the bathroom somewhere on the highway and can see this fact plain as day on the news, plan ahead; pack a roll of toilet paper. If you’re extra smart you’ll wear a skirt.

If the news says traffic is so bad it takes 10 or more hours to move 10 miles, and has footage to prove it, believe them. In that respect, I just want to point out, in case a couple million people didn’t notice, that there are more than 4 roads in Houston. If you spend 15 minutes with a map you can be 125 miles outside the city in less than three hours by using back-roads. Plus, if you have to pee when you’re on back-roads you’ll more likely have an audience of cows than 100 people in surrounding cars.

If you evacuate to a country B & B that only has one tv for all guests to share in the living room and wish to retain control of said tv so you aren’t stuck watching The Price is Right reruns some old lady puts on every god damn morning at the butt-crack of dawn and sits watching for longer than you thought was humanly possible, and that’s saying a lot coming from a tv addict, one might consider taking the remote control with them to their room at night.

If an old lady sees you walk off to your room accidentally forgetting to leave the remote control and has the nerve to politely mention it, a good alternative is to remove the batteries from the remote control. Unplug the tv too. Old people are from the time when you had to get up to do stuff, and might try something tricky like that. They are apparently not from the time when you check to see if things are plugged in.

If you dump city folk in the country where there is nothing to do and one has only occasional tv access at that, once they tire of walking around the lake and back - quickly because it’s a bajillion freaking degrees out - they will find ample time to plot ways in which to retain control of said tv.

You can make any country local look at you with disdain by asking where the closest Starbucks is. Their look of disdain will morph into evil contentment when they see your very obvious disappointment as they answer ‘I don’t think we got any of them round here’.

If you plan to evacuate to the country bring one of these. Seriously.

2005-09-21T15:30:00.000-07:00

For those of you wondering.....

I have more calls and emails than I can return at the moment from concerned out of town friends, sorry if I have not gotten back with you. And thank you so much for your concerns! Things are a little crazy in the city right now, and getting a cell connection is proving difficult at best. If you've ever wanted to see a city in a state of should-we-be-worried-yet panic, stop on by. I just returned from going to fill up my car, and to my dismay found every gas station was dry. Literally, completely dry. Hopefully they are more gas prepared as we head out of town.

Long story short....yes, we have been asked to evacuate from our home. We secured a place we can stay for a couple days outside of town. Hopefully that is all we will need, and things will blow over quickly with minimal or, better yet, no damage. Keep your fingers crossed! I will reply, call, post, whatever I can when I can. For my nearby friends, take care of yourself, and stay in touch as best you can (we will too!) so we all know we're all ok.

2005-09-19T17:47:00.000-07:00

Speaking of talking like a pirate….

Here is a fun game that some of my more intelligent, more sophisticated, more socially superior friends like to play. We determine what ‘Speak’ we are going to use, typically just for a particular evening out, and then speak it with confidence throughout the evening while watching the response of others with amusement. The game plan usually emerges somewhat randomly over the course of 2, maybe 3 hundred group emails on a Friday afternoon. After we’ve completed our days work of course. For example, I might email a couple close friends with something like "Did you read the latest genome directive theory on acquaint molecular dynamics in an aggrieved state in the new Advanced Scientific Dissections, and wasn’t it ever so fascinating?"…to which someone might reply "Why yes, and I can hardly wait for the new Hypothesis Brief to try to rebuff it! LOL ;) BTW – shall we play ‘Speak’ again this weekend? I find it ever so amusing…." And the ‘Speak’ game plan initiates…

First, the rules of Speak:

Nobody talks about Speak
Nobody talks about Speak
You must commit yourself 100% to Speak
Buy me something pretty

Once you have your team of Speakers, you must determine what Speak you will be using. Pirate speak is a good example here. For the evening that you’ve committed to a game of Speak, all Speakers must interject the determined speak both regularly, and randomly, into conversations throughout the evening. The most difficult and critical components of this game are keeping a straight face among Non-Speakers, as well as helping your fellow Speakers when needed. For example, I might be talking to a group of people mixed with both Speakers and Non-Speakers, and might say "Would ye hand me a napkin from over yonder on that thar bar? Aaarrrr!". At this juncture it is critical that not only I, but my fellow Speakers, keep a straight face and carry on as if nothing out of the ordinary was said. It would be especially helpful for a fellow Speaker to even pick up said napkin, and hand it back with a "Thar ye go, Matey". At which point, all Speakers must carry on as normal.

Should a Non-Speaker suspect something is awry, you must avoid the questions at any cost, and carry on as normal. This game typically occurring in a bar scene makes this fairly simple to do by a) pretending to have not heard the question, b) being distracted by something (another Speaker asking something to distract?), c) a random and sudden change of topic, or d) a quick punch to the Non-Speakers jaw. Throughout the evening this will become increasingly difficult, as not only are drinks multiplying, but holding back the laughter as well as not letting your Speak secret out to Non-Speakers can prove trying, to say the least.

I assure you, this game is not as easy as it sounds, but thoroughly entertaining for not only you and your fellow Speakers, but the Non-Speakers around you who think you may be slightly imbalanced. Next time you head out with your friends for the evening, get a few of them on board, and let me know how you do. And of course, additional Speak suggestions are welcome and encouraged. I’ve listed a few others with examples where necessary that we’ve used in the past to get you started…

1. Ye Olde Speak – ever been to the Renaissance Festival? No further explanation needed.

2. Generic Foreign Speaks – "Pip pip", "cheerio", "cheers", "top o’ the morning", "Right-o", or two fingers in the air (like flipping the bird, but make a backward peace sign – and be careful who you do it to)

3. Secret Agent Speak – Use ‘code’ and a slight whisper when possible… "Martini’s have been delivered, repeat, Martini’s have been delivered. Over". Or when handed your drink, you might whisper into your lapel "The eagle has landed, rendezvous bar-side".

4. Southern Drawl Speak – Fanning oneself assists in this speak quite well…. "I do declare Sir, another drink would be most welcome."

5. Canadian speak – watch Strange Brew, then go out and "Eh?" and "Dontcha know" all over the place.

2005-09-15T18:04:00.000-07:00

What happens here, stays here. Until I get back and flap my big fat mouth about it.

To entice you through this entry with actual excerpts of what's to come:

panties all in a wad
I’ve-never-touched-a-boob-curse
words comprised of 19 consonants
we recommend increasing your blood alcohol level
Cherries, do it man!
group chanting
Beer Goggle Hottie
go to Taco Cabana naked
every pasty skinned engineer in the country

Today I booked a trip to Vegas. For *work*. I say *work*, as by that I mean an annual conference in which the host(s) lure their guests with extravagant parties, meals, and so on. Basing my assumptions of what to expect on the late night phone calls I’ve received from the apparent midst of party central from conferences past, there will be a lot of *work* to be done.

When I discovered the venue had been moved to Vegas this year, there was no way I was going to miss it. Despite the supposed non-stop party everyone has their panties all in a wad over from previous years, attending was on my list of things to do right after entering an eye poking contest. Working in IT, about 90% of my coworkers are male - except when sales are involved; enter moderately attractive to pretty cute female sales force. Also worthy of mention, most of my male colleagues fall under a category equivalent to the D & D kids in high school, hence the effectiveness of said attractive female sales force. Except now the invigorating D & D conversations of wizards casting spells upon your elf warrior, only to be bested by the red hatted garden gnome from Edna’s yard who is disguised as a half lizard half chicken hobbled goblin who, consequently, saved up all his newt tails in hopes he one day could combine them to cast away the I’ve-never-touched-a-boob-curse placed on his clan, are being held between people with chest hair. And I do believe some of them may still be trying to cast out the I’ve-never-touched-a-boob-curse, but who knows. I can only speak for my husband, whose no-boob curse was removed by casting a look-at-the-pretty-diamond-ring-i-bought-for-you-will-you-marry-me spell on me.

In less confusing words, I work with engineers. People who use words comprised of 19 consonants and one vowel correctly. I like to think I’m fairly intelligent, mostly because I like to think highly of myself in general, but also because I am fairly, um, incredibly intelligent. And good looking. But these guys, they have a serious case of the smarts. What they do not have, however, is a serious case of the social skills.

Let’s venture, shall we, into a (drunken) conversation between some attendees at last year’s conference. I will preface this by letting you know that they (they being inclusive of my husband) called me, set the phone down for a moment, and in two seconds forgot they were just on the phone with me and left the phone on the table. This is a rare glimpse into the previously undocumented, and mysterious world, that is an engineer being plied with booze, compliments, and freebees by competing vendors. You must read this though, with an arrogant superior than you engineering tone, with a slur. Or like a pirate. Your choice.

* Warning: what you are about to read are the words of heavily intoxicated and slurring individuals. The following conversation may make little to no sense. To increase comprehension of the following transcript, we recommend increasing your blood alcohol level to a minimum of 0.08%, make that 0.25%. For the sake of your reading pleasure, and those bored by your presence in general, please take a moment to toss one or five back before proceeding.

Approx. 8:00pm –Phone rings. I assume it’s a drunk dial, and answer in hopes I can ask for a puppy again while 1. the husband’s tipsy, and 2. he’s in front of other people and may say yes

Fefa – Hello

Fefa – Hello?! Stop calling me when you guys are lit. Seriously. Some of us are trying to work. (Or watching Scrubs.)

Intoxicated Engineer(s) – Baybeeeeeee! Hi Feleeesheeeshia! Bbbaaahhhahahahaha! Yeah, dooooode, do another! Wait, hang on a sec Fe, I have to hang on, and what about the, no don’t! Ahahaha!!!!!

Fefa – You have to what?

* sets phone down *

Intoxicated Engineer(s) - Cherries, do it man! No, no more cherries, that shit’lllll knock you on you. On you ass. On you, wait, huh? The cherreeees are infooosed man, don’t do it. Infoosed? Inshoosed? Infooooseded? I don’t know, dude, they soak them in shtuff and infoos them, or um hey, wait…tequila shots!

Fefa – Baby? Can you hear me?! Don’t! Drink! Any! Tequila! Baby!!??

Intoxicated Engineer(s) – (All attempting to say this together) Oooonnneee! Twooooooo! Nooothreeeeenooooo! Not yet, ok, threeee! No! Go! Hurry, gogogogo!!!!!!! Aaaawwww, yoouuuu SUCK!

Fefa – I’m hanging up now!!! Hello?!?!?!

Intoxicated Engineer(s) – Dooooode, checkin her out! Hey, hey!!!! Shhhhhsssshhh, shut up, dude, no. She’s looking, ssshhhhhh, talk to her man. Noooo. Just talk to her, she’s haaawwtt! (Beer goggles are on by now, I’m sure…). Don’t be a pussy, do it! (Enter group chanting, because that always reels in the hot chicks) Dooo it! Dooo it!! Dooo it!! Omigaaad, she’s coming. Ssshhh, you guys, chill. Be cool. Ssshhhh.

Beer Goggle Hottie – Did you want to order another round of drinks?

Intoxicated Engineer(s) – Hey, so uh, yeah. You know *cough*, whatever sounds good to, eeehh, you. We’ll have what you, you know, you um, ok?

Beer Goggle Hottie who is actually a waitress though some of them haven’t figured that out just yet – How about I just get you guys some beers, ok?

Intoxicated Engineer(s) – Aaaww, man, I telled uuhh TOLD you! She was all over us, sssshhhit. She’s buying US a round, man, shit cool! I’m hittin’ that, yeeeaahhh! You know it!

The one apparently less intoxicated engineer – Man, she’s the waitress man! She ain’t buyinnn you SHIT!

Intoxicated Engineer(s) – Baaaahahahaaaaaa!!!!!!!!!!! Wait, no way! Ahahahaaaaaaaaaa!!!! No, the waiteress, she’s buyin’ them for us? Sweeeet! No, dumbass, she, she….ahahahahahaaa!!!!!

Fefa - *click*

The next call I got was at about midnight, asking me for directions to their hotel rooms. To repeat, asking me to give directions to where their hotel rooms are. Me, in Houston. Them, in Florida. Me, was sleeping. Them, "somewhere, I think, on the second floor?", in Florida. *click*

Hard to believe, right? Grown men having this conversation, even with dramatic amounts of alcohol consumption. Let’s not pretend we all haven’t had our glory moments like this though. And by let’s I mean you, because I know my own limits and would never do anything stupid after drinking too much, like agree to go to Taco Cabana naked at 3am because it sounds like a good idea at the time, until you get to the drive-thru window and sobriety hits you and you chicken out and make him turn around and go home foodless. That’s just immature.

So in short, Vegas seems an appropriate venue. When you gather together every pasty skinned engineer in the country, things can get a little cRaZY! However, being that I will be in a sea of people not necessarily on my same good times page, I’m thinking I need to come up with other things to entertain myself in addition to the proper tea party detailed above. I’ll let you know what I come up with…

2005-09-12T17:31:00.000-07:00

A pox upon your house! Or your husband….

To summarize:

There is a pox upon us
Our house is contagious and contaminated
I punched a doctor once when he wanted to shave my head
Shoots and Ladders game pieces with my saliva on them exist somewhere in the world
I ate a piece of Manatee leg
People used grass instead of a hallway runner
We renamed Jakey-poo "Brown Bear"
I can fetch like nobody’s business
And most obviously, I am a joy to be with

Now would probably be a good time to mention that I decided to switch things up a little bit here, and have placed my summarization in the beginning of this entry, so as to entice you with its randomness, sexy intrigue, and overall creativity, to lead you into reading this whole thing. Hopefully, this will allow you to not feel you're wasting your time until much closer to the end because you'll keep thinking you have something to wait for. Yes, surely it gets better than this, perhaps in the next paragraph...

So, this week has been fun. With a capital F. And U. A certain someone to whom I have committed myself has landed himself a case of the pox, of the chicken persuasion. My recollection of chicken pox wasn’t too bad; I watched tv for two weeks straight, was fed any sugary and otherwise not allowed food I asked for out of pity any time I asked, and aside from a little itchiness, felt pretty much fine. Except for the part where they tried to shave half my head, and I introduced my pediatrician to a fist like no other 9 year old fist he had ever met before. But that’s a different story, despite the irony that years later I would actually shave my head on purpose, which is also a different story. I have this thing where when I start a story, I don’t finish until the latter part of next year, because it will lead into about 20 ‘different stories’ in order for you to fully understand and appreciate the story I am originally telling. But I most often forget the original story about 5 ‘different stories’ in and don’t remember until it becomes a ‘different story’ itself, triggered by something else I am talking about, and everything comes full circle and the world is complete once again, and I promised myself I wouldn’t do that this time. Sooooo, back to my original story…. Plus, as soon as my pox were gone – but I was still contagious, I was greeted by numerous slumber party invitations from the parents of children who had not yet had the pox and wanted their children to get it as soon, as young, as possible, and welcomed me over to rub myself upon their children to my heart’s content. Eerrr, uh, watch movies and play games, and, uh, things like that. That’s what I meant. A little girl far from being in the elementary in-crowd seized this wonderful opportunity to thank all her sorry-this-seat’s-taken classmates for their friendship with many a licked Shoots and Ladders game piece. So if right about now you’re thinking "Hey, wait a second….didn’t you come over to my house and play that?" you may consider yourself officially informed that you could have avoided all this by letting a shy little girl sit with you. Oh, and by the way, I make more money than you.

Being stricken by the pox as an adult though, is much, much different. Aside from the normal symptoms being more severe, they add to the list irritability, whining, and even self importance. These symptoms are a bit more intricate though, and only triggered by the having of a good time without the pox havers inclusion. Translation; Fe went out Saturday night and got home late. I know, I’m a horrible person. My husband was home with the pox, and I left him all by his wittle self. In my defense though, these were plans we committed to weeks in advance, inclusive of a reservation where head count was significant, as well as an outfit I purchased which wouldn’t look so great anywhere else. That and I really wanted to go. This was Wu’s annual white birthday party, where all our Caucasian friends come together to celebrate their Caucasianess. Except for the part where it’s all white people celebrating their skin color, that’s totally true. Really, obviously, the theme is white – the color – the décor, and every person’s attire, is all white. Except the Manatee cake, which was brown. The party is always fabulous, massive effort goes into everything – and it shows, the pics afterwards are gorgeous. And not just because we’re in them. This year’s surprise decoration (last year’s being a cage to dance in), upon entering the party, you find yourself walking on grass. Yes, the entire entry and front hall had grass laid down in it! As always, the party was a smashing success, and I don’t blame him for a second for being upset about missing it.

Back to me. I thought I had actually put in a lot of time with my infirmed. Friday night he wanted to sleep early, I grabbed dinner with friends, came home and woke him up with dinner, and we hung out until the wee hours of the morning and had a great time. Saturday, I spent the entire day – from 9 until I left around 6:30, hanging out, watching the entire season 4 of Scrubs – from which we renamed Jakey-poo "Brown Bear", fetching juicey boxes and cookie dough ice cream, and being an overall kickass caregiver. I mean wife. I thought I had tired him of my presence by that time. I can only surmise one of three things from this; 1. he became so enamored with my fetching prowess, that retrieving his own snacks left him feeling alone in the vastness that is my fetching shadow, 2. non-use of his legs left him in such a deteriorated state, that nothing but that flappy skin was left hanging off his bones after all the muscle was gone, thus he was unable to fetch snacks on his own, or 3. there is absolutely no other past time, or person, that can even begin to compare to the pure joy that is my company, and without me, for even a few hours, he was a broken man. Let’s save ourselves, and science, the time in calculating these hypothesis’ and presume it to be the latter.

The End

2005-09-08T18:00:00.000-07:00

I know, I know. I haven't posted anything in a while. Too long. Bad blogger! Bad!

But in my defense, I lost all my fingers in a tragic hair drying incident with my new Rusk Super Turbo Jet Engine hair dryer. If my hair looked anything less than completely awesome this would have been nothing short of tragic. I would have been very put off by this figuring out of what alternate appendages I can type with, because let's be honest, without fingers typing shit is hard. You try. And I'll give you a tip; you can rule out using your elbows right now. Luckily though, the hair is perfectly styled, and I have remarkable toe control.

In reality, the last week+ was spent with two time consuming impacts on the normal routine; family visiting and moving. Mostly moving. So effective now, I am up and running in a new office downtown. Sort of. This was one of those moves where if it can go wrong....

First our moving truck canceled our reservation. The devastation of Katrina, and Houston being very active in assisting in this matter, has resulted in pretty much every rentable vehicle in a 100 mile radius being pulled from availability to assist with disaster efforts. Obviously a good reason, but left me without a moving vehicle the afternoon before the move nonetheless. Not. Fun.

Second, the discovery that despite being told our internet was up and running, we arrive on site to find this is not the case. We are then informed "Well, that figures. I was pretty sure we didn't set things up the right way." Um....let me sum up my response "@&*(!)#^$#() &amp;$*@(_ $&#*&^#@( $)@(&$@()^&@) *($&*(@)&$*("!!!!!!!!!!" Luckily they responded somewhat promptly to that, other wise I would have been left with no choice but to start talking in wing dings.

Third, our new office furniture was to be delivered and set up over the holiday weekend. Guess where I am going with this? So work the first part of this week took place in an office comprised of make shift 'desks' built out of unpacked boxes. Which wasn't really that bad, since I was like, the fort building champion in the West Coast Division in my younger years. If there had been some throw blankets and heavy books with which to anchor them, I most definitely would have designed an office fort worthy of photographing and posting for your applause. But I didn't, so I didn't, and only I will ever know how truly truly awesome my blanketless office fort was since I was the only one here. Which is my ever so clever segue into mentioning that people were traveling the earlier part of this week, so as everything unraveled and business was to be conducted as normal, I had to again summon my magical powers to juggle this mess alone and still not run the business into the ground. Again, thank god I have remarkable abilities with my toes.

Thankfully, in moving into this building, and one of two reasons I was accepting of this location at all, my haven is located in the lobby. Actually, not the lobby itself, but in the tunnel system. Downtown has an intricate underground tunnel system that attaches to a number of buildings in the area, so one never actually has to step into the outside world to go somewhere downtown. Even better, the tunnels are filled with shops and restaurants. So not only is my haven 13 floors below where I sit, I essentially sit on top of a pseudo mall as well. It's like it was meant to be, I can take the elevator right into it. So naturally I first ventured out to obtain my Chai the first day here, only to find that the "Starbucks located immediately under the building" is actually a good block away. My vision of being pleasant every morning from here on out vanished quickly. I'm a pretty quick thinker though, and salvaged the situation as best I could buy purchasing an office fridge and stocking it with my other good-mood beverage. I've started every morning with one of these for as long as I can remember, so why not increase my intake to 2? And why haven't I been awarded stock options for my keeping them in business?

The other reason this location was approved is the commute. It now takes me a maximum of five minutes to get from home to the office. You can't shake a stick at that. No sir! Now when I'm late to either locale I have no excuse. Except I'm never late anyway, so never mind that. Punctuality is one of my tics.

I guess what I am also saying, is aside from the snarl above, I haven't had anything really exciting or fun or even vaguely, infinitesimaly, an itsy bitsy little bit interesting going on.

I guess I can mention a new racially inspired term I have thought up for someone. If you don't like race inspired terms that may potentially be offensive and are there-by funny, and pretend along with the majority you don't make racial slurs amongst close friends after looking over your shoulder to make sure one of 'them' isn't nearby and going to hear it, or if you found spicshaw upsetting because you lack a bad sense of humor or are Mexican and pull a rickshaw, stop now. You see, we often tease my husband, who is half Mexican, and a close friend of ours, Allyce, who is also half Mexican, that together they make a whole Mexican, and could probably mow a mean lawn. But often Allyce specifies that she is Mexican, but of Spanish descent. And being that there are two generally known Mexican backgrounds; Indian and Spanish, I have taken it upon myself to slur the difference of these in Allyce's honor. Allyce, you are now, officially, and forever more; Spic n' Span.

2005-08-26T18:37:00.000-07:00

I fought the law and, I won.....ok, not yet, but I will....

This has been a hectic week, one with little to no time for posting. BJ has been out of town, which leaves everything in my hands. This also means that while juggling eighty two bajillion and six things at any given time, I must also field hourly calls to make sure that I have not yet run the company into the ground. Which is a helpful reminder, because sometimes I forget I am not supposed to do that.

This would all be well and good, except this week came coupled with a pretty bad flu, which is still hitting me hard. So if I sound as if I am wearing cranky pants, it's because I am. Normally if I'm sick I log in from home and knock the mouse around every 5 minutes so it does not appear to be idle while I watch Days, Montel, Dr. Phil, Maury, Judge Judy, Divorce Court, Blind Date, TLC, Biography, and National Geographic between fridge trips, tabloid reading, and texting Sarah and Allyce to whine about being sick, but not this time. No, I had to be in the office every day. Not only due to his absence, but we hired a new engineer this week, and are preparing to move our office downtown next week, which is a too cumbersome task.

I of course made my regular BJ's-out-of-town-so-I-can-eat-whatever-thunder-thighs-artery-clogging-crap-I-want-trip. But to no avail. Despite my very valiant efforts to devour it in its entirety, I managed to eat next to nothing, thank you oh wonderful flu. Probably for the better anyway, word on the street is I need to wear a bikini in the near future.

And I got a ticket. I consider myself an excellent driver, and as such this is my first ticket ever. It is not the first time I've been pulled over mind you, but I also consider myself a reasonably attractive blonde with eye batting skills that are yet to be challenged. Plus, I can cry like you just kicked my puppy on the spot when needed. No kidding. However my having a fever, sore throat, and faucet for a nose surely looked so alluring you'd cross to the other side of the street if you saw me coming, and that probably didn't help me here.

But here's the real story - the ticket was bogus. The officer, with whom I had a very lengthy exchange so I will summarize and it will still be long, perhaps did not expect to encounter my mad debate skillz. Spelled with a z for emphasis. I've always enjoyed debate, preferably in an open minded venue. If not, well then it's an argument, isn't it? I'm also not well adapted to taking shit from people. Not in a ghetto way, but in the I-will-stand-up-for-myself way. Like the time I went head to head with the Dean resulting in a full staff, then school meeting, and I won. Not because I did anything great, but because I was honestly in the right. This was also helpful when it was time to argue my friends', and of course my own grades up. Wasn't it Jeremy? ;) Good times. Good times.

Why did I get pulled over if I did nothing wrong? Good question. I pissed him off. I did nothing wrong, or illegal, or anything of the sort, but I did piss him off by moving into his lane - the only lane with a car in it - so it appeared I was just being an asshole and he wasn't going to be in the front of the line at the light. Mind you, I moved into that lane because after the light I needed to turn left into the next drive, but he didn't know that. So he pulls up next to me, puffs up, and begins to stare me down. My reaction was apparently not indicative enough of the fear that should have been struck into my heart by my small statured power hungry neighbor, and he threw it in reverse, backed halfway down the block, pulled up behind me, and turned on the lights. And sirens. Because sirens were necessary. I might not have noticed the hissy fit you had next to me a moment ago, the screeching into reverse, or the bright lights spinning on top of your car behind me.

We have the standard just been pulled over conversation. "No sir, I don't know why you pulled me over" I croak out of my scratchy throat between what sounds like I'm doing rails to keep what's in my nose, in my nose. To which I am told he pulled me over for speeding. I tell him blatantly that I didn't speed, and that he and I both know it. He initiates writing me a ticket anyway and I let him go through his dribble about how he's doing me a favor, before I let him know why and how I can prove that it is not true. "Let me just point this out real quick, the distance we went was one block, from one red light to another. It is physically impossible for me to have exceeded the speed limit. Especially to have been able to stop at the next light as well." Granted, my car is pretty bitchin', has giant double barreled exhaust, gets me from point A to point B pretty damn fast when I want it to, and kicks ass all over the place in general. But break the laws of physics it does not. And my brakes need work. He looks pretty annoyed, and begins to sing a different tune...

"Ma'am, I also watched you make an illegal lane change". Also, not true. I was very aware there was a cop immediately behind me in traffic. Not only do I have eyes in my face with which I can see the blatantly obvious, I'm also not so stupid as to make a bad move when I'm pretty sure said officer has eyes in his face too. So I point out that this is not true either, and he actually dropped this accusation pretty quickly.

We move on to the next one as he walks up and down my car looking it over. "I see you haven't bothered to take care of maintaining your vehicle registration. I'm going to have to write you up for that." While I do not have my sticker displayed, I have paid it, and simply did not receive the sticker. Which I documented and carry said paper work that I filed notice of non-receipt and the canceled check proving it was paid just in case I am ever stopped. Despite my showing him this, he needs to "confirm my story" and go back to his car to call in and check it out. And much to his chagrin, I am not lying.

In the end, he issues me a ticket anyway. I don't know if the rules are such that when one starts writing a ticket, one must finish, as he and I both know very well at this point he had nothing. The ticket I was issued is for none of the above, but rather, for an illegal left turn. I waited until he wrote it out completely before pointing out what I would think to be painfully obvious. "Sir, before entering the one block distance on Louisiana we were both headed westbound on Elgin. Now we're both headed Northbound on Louisiana - a one way street. I'd like to just point out to you that in order to go north, from west, one would have to make a right turn. And if otherwise we would have gone the wrong way on a one way street, which would surprise someone that you didn't ticket me for that." He told me he was doing me a favor by only writing me up for a lesser offense in response. "Okay, but you've also written the address you pulled me over at on here, which completely contradicts that." And he actually tried to change what he wrote, scratched some stuff out on the ticket to re-write it, but it's still clear it is not legit.

"Thanks officer, I look forward to seeing you in court." And honestly, I do. I've got this, no sweat. But I just don't get it. I've always backed the boys in blue, they have a thankless job, and one I'm glad someone other than me is doing. I understand having a chip on your shoulder, and even a bad attitude; most every person a cop encounters is less than savory, hostile, and potentially dangerous to them - and typically they have done something wrong, not the cop. You're out there protecting the good citizens, and putting your life on the line to do it. But this? I guess every family, every department, every group of everything has it's bad seed. And I just had the pleasure of meeting up with someone who let the "power" go to their head. But my God man, you literally put in writing that you wrote a fraudulent ticket, and then signed your name to it. Why not walk away instead of setting yourself up? It only takes one person to ruin it for everyone else, and you sir, and your actions, are the very literal example of one person giving everyone else a bad name. I'll see you in October.

2005-08-22T19:01:00.000-07:00

Signs you had an interesting weekend...

You now know what actually does happen if one eats a spoonful of wasabi. A heaping, gigantor, burn the hairs out of your nose size spoonful. A spoonful you will continue to come to know through the next morning.

You saw someone have a giant vase, larger than your own torso, knocked on top of their head.

You lost a friend and people spent hours trying to find them.

You got in your car Monday morning to find 4 bras, glitter everywhere, makeup, and bags of birthday gifts - none of which belong to you.

The call log on your phone indicates calls were made to numerous people, none of which you recall speaking to. Or who recall speaking to you.

You tried to get a friend un-banned from somewhere.

You had a 30 minute conversation and swapped makeup tips with a guy you don't know. In the women's bathroom. And he was far more fabulous than you.

Half of your once tan and brown belt is now mysteriously red.

You have received upwards of 10 emails from people believing you may or may not have ____ that they misplaced some time over the weekend.

Between Friday night and Monday morning, that's all you can piece together.

How was your weekend?

2005-08-20T12:32:00.000-07:00

My husband: the most tolerant man on earth...

There are a lot of things my Mr. Wonderful has had to adapt to in our union. The hardest of which was his loss of the ability to be right. About anything. I had that written into our vows actually. Then there's my OCD-ness, where I double check doors, have to have things clean in my specific way and re-do what the maid cleaned wrong, and so on. I haven't achieved a level yet to warrant a prescription, but I am actively pursuing my goals here.

Which is not to say that I haven't had to adapt to his quirks of course. Like having the tv programmed so when turned on it automatically sets to Speedvision. Done so that no matter what we sat down to watch, he is able to first confirm that his worst fear is not occurring; an F1 race is happening without him. In the event said atrocity is confirmed, complete control of television programming must be relinquished to him until said race is over. And nobody may pass through his direct line of sight. Which is ok, he got that in exchange for the me always being right thing. And I got a second tv.

So you see, it evens out. But here is my absolute favorite. Here is where his tolerance is truly put to the test. And how I know he really loves me. He lets me dress him up. I don't mean in that yes-your-socks-have-to-match or no-you-can't-wear-sneakers-if-a-dress-shirt-is-involved way. He was actually very well dressed when I met him. Less the tapered leg jeans I had to discard when he wasn't home because he insisted they were still in "ok" condition, thus had to wear them until they weren't. Or the circa 1989 Nike hi-tops he wouldn't get rid of for the same reason until I dragged him to the mall and the shoe people made fun of him. Which still irks him to this day because it reinforced my being right, again, and took place before the vows. And because he was publicly scoffed at by shoe sales people in the mall. That too.

No, he lets me dress him up for occasions; events and theme parties, of which we attend many. And most anticipated by all, Halloween. It's the talk of the party...what is BJ going to wear? For weeks prior people ask about it, offer suggestions, and so on. And he gets lots of attention at the event. For example, this past weekend we attended a luau. There were many bikini's, sarongs, and Hawaiian shirts; the norm. But BJ, no. BJ was a tourist; red Hawaiian shirt, cacky shorts, sandals with socks on, panama jack hat, brochures in each pocket, zinc on his nose, and to complete the ensemble...a bright red fanny pack. (I didn't have to bring a purse, bonus!).

Or last year, for Halloween, when I was a white rabbit. Eventually, with much assistance from friends, we decided on the perfect costume for him; a carrot. Complete with an orange hat sporting giant green leaves. He fought it though. Valiantly. And in the end I let him out of it, and he went as a magician. Get it? It was a full body carrot costume after all. Awesome as that obviously is.

Next Halloween is already in the thought process, and people have already started asking and suggesting. Sometimes, we go a little too far though, and funny as it is, I just don't think he'll be game. Even men have their limits, like dressing as produce. Nonetheless, it's always fun tossing around the idea with friends. First, we figure out my costume, and then what goes with it - but not what you would expect it to be paired with, think outside the box here. At the luau this weekend I mentioned to Ashley that I would make a mighty fine plumber...

Ashley: here is an idea for your plumbers costume......you could be a "big fat" plumber...like this

Fefa: that's big fat! but tracking down the scrub brush or plunger costume....tricky. maybe he can be a toilet seat, and we can just get one from home depot and put it around his neck. plus, that way, if he starts mouthing off or something, i can just shut the lid. yes, i think that's the way to go...

Ashley: just make him dress up in brown and he can be a turd

Fefa: true, that's easier too. he's going to fight me on the cologne though.

Ashley: lol ahaha..........stinky bj

Fefa: ooohh, ooohh, wait! why do you call a plumber? that's right, because you have a clog! we can just bundle him up in some 'iffy' looking toilet paper, all around his mid-section or something, and voila! he's a clog!

Ashley: i love it

And so there it is. Our costumes for Halloween '05. Ok, probably not. But now you too know the recipe to come up with creative ways to dress your husband. And you're welcome.

2005-08-19T17:26:00.000-07:00

The audience is listening...

Tune in to 97.5FM this Saturday around noon. My Mr.Wonderful will be interviewed in a 10-20 minute feature. This won't be the normal technical interview you've heard him do before. You'll get both personal and professional background, and some about the company from an entrepreneurial perspective without focusing on the technologies we work with so much. Or so they say....

I'll be listening baby! xo

* UPDATE - THE PROGRAM TIME HAS CHANGED. WILL BE ON AIR IN THE 9 - 11AM TIME SLOT.

2005-08-18T22:10:00.000-07:00

Convenient logic......

Ok, so we all make decisions based on what's convenient for us, and the outcome we want. Fine. Sometimes though, one's convenient logic gets in the way of someone else's. Because you just don't see something the same way. This usually happens after the fact of course, and when you're married, that means figuring out a balance so both people are happy. 9 times out of 10, that actually means debate for a while and then give in to her, it's better for everyone involved that way. True story.

7/15, 8:30 am. I receive a call at the office from a moving service saying they are at our home address trying to deliver and nobody is there. Huh? News to me. I call my Mr. Wonderful, get voicemail, and figure it's a mistake. Around 10:30 he calls back.....

Oh, I had the desk delivered.
Huh, what desk?
Oh, I didn't tell you. I got a desk.
I caught that, why, from where? What do we need a desk for?
It was free.
So it was free, so you took it? What for?
It was free. We might be able to use it.
Just because it's free doesn't mean we should take it. What kind of desk is it?
It's like a big bankers desk. Really heavy too, takes at least 2-3 people to move it, and kind of big. There's no way one person can move it alone. Seriously, I have bruises form helping them move it.
Um, so WHY did you take it? Where is it?
It was free. It's in the entry way.
Oh, well that's good, we've been needing a big immovable desk in the entry way.
Well, I figure we can use it in the new office when we move.
Uh huh, and when is that?
September.
Right. And so now we have a giant desk in our entry way until September? That makes sense. Who wouldn't want to have a giant desk in their entry way for a month and a half?
Well where else was I going to put it?
Want me to answer that?
No.
Why not deliver it to, oh, I don't know, our office, where movers will have to move stuff from anyway?
Uummmmm...the house is closer. And where in the office am I going to put a big desk like this?
Gee, why not the entry way? Just how huge is it?
Well it sort of blocks the front door. You can open the door from the garage all the way though, it clears that by a good 2 inches.
Um, yeah. And what about the doors to the laundry room? And you know we have people coming over this weekend, right?
Yeah, I know. Don't worry, there's room for you to get in to do the laundry, woman.
So shall we just have everyone scoot over the top of the giant desk when they get here?
They can squeeze around it.
Or maybe I could just set up a station there and check people in when they arrive and give them name tags. Maybe put out a bowl for business cards.
Or you could do that. I think they'd enjoy sliding over it more though.
Is it so big we can't get it through the doorway into the spare room?
Probably, but we'll need a couple people to help.
So you know that this is official commitment to clean out the spare room and move that desk this weekend, right?
Fine. But we need more people to move it. Let's just wait until people come over this weekend and they can help.
I think you're missing the point - which is to NOT have a giant desk taking up the front entry when people arrive. And NOT have them arrive only to find they were tricked into moving furniture.
Who cares?
Me.
They won't care. And it's not a big deal, it was free.
They will care. And it's not free when you pay movers, who you will have to pay again to move it to the office in September. And factor in that it sacrificed our entry way, and now your time cleaning out enough space in the spare room to fit it, and the help of others to move so we have an entry way. Cost isn't always just, literally, financial.
Whatever. It was free. You don't just come across free desks every day.
You and I have a different idea of "free".

Bryan, Paul, John - thanks for helping move the desk when you came over.
Sarah, Allyce, Ashley - thanks for helping me watch them move the desk when you came over.

2005-08-16T13:08:00.000-07:00

10 years ago today
i was given legal right to strike fear into the hearts of anyone who happened into my way. in other words, i was licensed, and sunk my every penny into a car just like this. however, it is crucial you picture it freshly painted fire engine red, with custom leopard fur interior. i was a pimp in high school.

5 years ago today
i was new to houston, all alone, and had just made my first few friends here and met a guy. little did i know i would throw away my pending return to san francisco, and make him the luckiest man on earth.

1 year ago today
after looking at my calendar, i see that i was making (some secret) reservations for dinner and transportation for a certain big fat friend's birthday.

yesterday
i worked as if my head was not pounding, i hadn't had sarah's favorite food around midnight, and went to bed more than 3 or 4 hours before i had to get up.

tomorrow
is wednesday

5 snacks i enjoy
i'm not much of a snacker, but i do always have room for sushi and starbucks. hate me in all my yuppie glory.

5 bands that i know the lyrics to most of their songs
i recently cut off my hair. about a foot of blonde locks, gone. and i really like it now. it was a shock to the system at first. but now, see me on the far right, it's not so bad, eh? it's not short short, that would have been really bad, on account of my fat size face. that has almost, no wait, it has nothing to do with the question, but i felt like talking about it, and mom wanted to see a pic. so there you go.

5 things i would do with a $100,000,000
half goes straight into savings
roll around in it. i'd have it cleaned first of course, cause money is really dirty, and partly just because i could afford to.
purchase the most fabulous cars in existence. and actually drive them.
set up my mommy, and a few significant people in my life
something about donating and charities goes here

5 locations i would like to run away to
ibiza
holland
california
narnia
mom's house, wherever it is at the time

5 bad habits i have
buying the same thing in multiple colors
laughing at someone else's expense
doing this when i should be working
gossiping, even though it's only with my bff, and never about you, i swear
pretending i know the words to songs when i don't

5 things i like doing
shopping. for pretty much anything. i procure at a professional level.
eating. oh my god i love to eat. houston, the fattest city in america, was made for me.
watching tv. even more, watching tv while eating.
ladies events. always fabulous.
stupid surveys

5 things i would never wear
anything 80's chic - no scrunchies, la gear, layered shirts with matching layered socks, and so on.
spandex
designer knock-offs
a hair net
anything you have seen me in before

5 tv shows i like
Scrubs
Biography
The Law Firm
News, doesn't matter which one
Comedy Central Presents

5 movies i like
Just like? ok....
Old School
Hitch
The Illustrated Man *kudos to you if you can tell me why. or at that, have seen it.
Scarface
Zoolander

5 famous people i would like to meet
If i meet them, it will totally ruin the notion that they are somehow superior people worth reading tabloids about, so none. Until my Us Weekly subscription ends.

5 biggest joys at the moment
working - surprise? it's going well at the moment
shopping - always on the list
tazo chai - in my hand right now
pics from the luau that just went up
the recent pic of sarah, which everyone will just have to wonder about if they don't have it (not that i take joy in it bff, but it's going to be a funny one)

5 favorite toys
my husband
my credit cards
my car
my blackberry
the wind gun. some of you know what i'm talking about...muahahahaha!

2005-08-12T19:10:00.000-07:00

Identity theft gone wild!

Twice this week I have been involved in instances of identity theft. Unrelated, random incidents, that came together in effort to remove any free time I might have otherwise had.

First, was my personal identity: my credit card number has been stolen - not the card itself, just the number - and used to the limit. What amazing, frivolous, cRAzY (you like that, Sarah?) spending spree did this person go on? What was so tantalizing to them, that they stole my number and spent like a woman just dumped by her boyfriend out seeking a revenge on her ex's card that he forgot she had? Books. Things you have to read. This should have had alarms going off throughout my card provider's company. Books? As soon as the charges started racking up and they looked at the activity a thought should have entered into someone's mind..."ooohh, looks like Fe's doing some shopping today. Ladeedadeeda....and oh, hey, wait a second. This is all books! Her card must be stolen! Quick, freeze the account and call her!". But this thought did not transpire, and someone, somewhere, is getting their smart on at my expense.

Second, my business identity: today I received a utility bill in the mail. Billed to my company, specifying service at an address I have never heard of. Receiving the bill itself was odd, as we do not even have an account with this company for an error to be made. Not to mention the billing address provided lists the wrong suite, and is our shipping address, not our billing address. If you searched our company, you would never see our shipping address listed anywhere. If you searched the address listed on the bill, you would never find our company name since the suite # is incorrect. Our neighbor two floors down sent it up to us when it arrived to them.
Now, jump 45 minutes ahead when I finally reach a human being in the customer service department. It seems as though someone used our good name to open an account for themselves. Obviously intentional, since correct (less the suite #) but unlisted information of ours was provided, and since we have no account there, and there is no way account info. was mixed up somehow.
Now get this, the service has been on since 12/04, under our name. All the associated bills have been paid in full, in a timely manner, yet intercepted until this one bill made it to us. Here's the clincher - this is not service at one small place being done under our name. Not some poor schlub who didn't pay his bill, and obtained service this way. No, as we start investigating with the utility provider they find out this is much larger than that. Service has been setup at many locations; an entire apartment complex, with multiple buildings, holding hundreds of units each, is all being done under our name. How's that for a little bit of crazy in your coffee cup?
I was put through multiple tiers of panic sounding utility employees, who continued to pass me to their superior, their superior, and their superior. Said utility company seems very distraught over this, as distraught as I likely sounded, and I can imagine why. How in the hell did they allow someone to setup a corporate account obviously without ANY verification of anything?
Apparently the one bill I did receive is only one of MANY that was sent to 'our account'. And as they go back through the account setup to find the utility rep responsible for setting up the account they can't find the rep. MIA.
They did kindly provide me the person's name, phone #, etc. who setup the account under our name when I first called, thinking it was a small mixup - before finding how much is really going on here. Never heard the name before, and shockingly, the number doesn't work.
I have a set call with the utility company on Monday when the supervisor-supervisor will update me on the investigation. Fun stuff....

2005-08-11T16:31:00.000-07:00

I am going to tell you a not so secret secret about myself; I dig surveys. Dig 'em. Something about surveys just gets me, and I can not help but fill them out, no matter the length or time consumption that may be involved. (One of the best gifts I ever got, and she may not have realized at the time, was a book from Sarah called "All about me" that was page after page of survey type questions.) It's well known the only thing I enjoy as much as a stupid survey, is talking about myself. Case in point.....

ARE YOU CURRENTLY GROUNDED?: since I’m not 10, I’m going to presume “grounded” as in, level headed, in an established place in life, etc. And, no.

DO YOU SNORE?: BJ suggested I did once, but when the bleeding stopped he apologized for the error.

ARE YOU A LOVER OR A FIGHTER?: a lover of fighters.

WHAT'S YOUR WORST FEAR?: Flying. Correction: plummeting to my burning death from a bajillion feet in the sky while strapped to a seat in a metal cage of horror next to some fat dude who is STILL hogging the arm rest.

AS A KID, WERE YOU A LEGO MANIAC?: Nope. An ego-maniac, and still sharpening my skills.

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF "REALITY" TV?: Best. Trash. Ever. Seriously, I might pop out a few just to get a gig on Super Nanny

DO YOU CHEW ON YOUR STRAWS?: No, I chew on random straws belonging to others when they leave their drink unattended. Then watch the look of ill-concern as they scan the room having returned to a chewed straw…

WERE YOU A CUTE BABY?: As a button. On a super cute shirt, from a super cute store, called Everything Super Cute and More.

WHAT COLOR IS YOUR KEYBOARD?: Burnt Sienna

IS BARBIE SEXY?: Um, it’s a doll. I don’t “dig” piñatas either, you perv. And if you got that reference you should be proud.

DO YOU SING IN THE SHOWER?: At the absolute top of my lungs. But only in an effort to break the concentration of my husband when he decides that while I’m showering he absolutely must handle business, and can not wait or go downstairs.

HAVE YOU EVER BUNGEE JUMPED?: Nope. Haven’t started working up my resistance to poisonous snake venom either.

ANY SPECIAL TALENTS? Spending money, ridiculing others, and….no, that’s it.

WHAT'S YOUR IDEAL VACATION SPOT?: White beaches, blue water, private staffed cabana, internet connection, and a credit card.

CAN YOU SWIM?: no, but fat floats, I’m not worried about it.

HAVE YOU SEEN THE MOVIE "DONNIE DARKO"?: Um, yeah! What demented rabbit lover hasn’t?

ARE YOU A VIRGIN?: Born again maybe

IS JAY LENO FUNNY?: Dude makes a living laughing at others, that’s funny in my book.

DO YOU GIVE A DAMN ABOUT THE OZONE? This survey writer has some issues, in a pre-judgmental PETA kind of way. Do I give a DAMN? You don’t ask about my DAMN vacation spot, or F’ING virginity, so why wad your panties all up on this question? Sheesh.

HOW MANY LICKS DOES IT TAKE TO GET TO THE CENTER OF ATOOTSIE POP? 587, exactly

CAN YOU SING THE ALPHABET BACKWARDS?: Sing? No. But say, now that’s different.

HAVE YOU EVER BEEN ON AN AIRPLANE?: How else would I know the sheer HORROR of flying?

ARE YOU AN ONLY CHILD?: Yes. (Don’t tell Alicia I said that)

DO YOU PREFER ELECTRIC OR MANUAL PENCIL SHARPENERS?: neither, they ruin every pen I use

WHAT'S YOUR STAND ON HUNTING?: That’s the sort of thing I conveniently block from existing so I don’t feel bad about the hot new leather boots I just bought.

IS MARRIAGE IN YOUR FUTURE?: It’s in my current. I won’t know future until Cleo finishes serving her term.

DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING?: On the back of a check

WHAT ARE YOU ALLERGIC TO?: Manual labor.

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU SAID "I LOVE YOU"? today

IS TUPAC STILL ALIVE?: Who cares?

DO YOU CRY AT WEDDINGS?: Depends, is it a cash bar?

HOW DO YOU LIKE YOUR EGGS?: beaten, mixed with other ingredients, and made into something else

ARE BLONDES DUMB?: Fake blondes...absolutely.

WHERE DOES THE OTHER SOCK END UP?: They go through a chrysalis of sorts, and turn into one of the many mysterious extra hangers that appear around the same time of said disappearance.

WHAT TIME IS IT?: 4ish

DO YOU HAVE A NICKNAME?: yes

IS MCDONALD'S DISGUSTING?: Completely. (Except when nobody is looking, and I totally get my McGriddle on)

WHO'S YOUR HERO?: Currently accepting applications

ARE YOU IN LOVE?: in, on, all over it

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU WERE IN A CAR? When I had to go somewhere

DO YOU PREFER BATHS OR SHOWERS?: showers, except when I’m in a bathy kind of mood

IS SANTA CLAUSE REAL?: This motherf’er skips my house every year, so from here on out, NO.

DO YOU LIKE TO HAVE YOUR NECK KISSED?: Not so much. One too many hicky inflictions when promised otherwise.

ARE YOU AFRAID OF THE DARK?: No, not now that I got these new things, called “lights”, installed in my house

WHAT ARE YOU ADDICTED TO?: Starbucks. Shopping. Sushi. In fact, that’s my every Saturday agenda right there.

CRUNCHY PEANUT BUTTER OR REGULAR?: Crunchy, and only Laura Scudders. I take my PB very seriously.

CAN YOU CRACK YOUR NECK?: amongst other things

HAVE YOU EVER RIDDEN IN AN AMBULANCE?: Once for me, and once with the one it happened to.

HOW MANY TIMES HAVE YOU BRUSHED YOUR TEETH TODAY?: today?

IS DRUG FREE THE WAY TO BE?: Did my mom tell you to ask me this?

ARE YOU A HEAVY SLEEPER?: I can sleep through anything. Less the sound of someone opening MY container of Phish Food foolishly thinking I wouldn’t notice before they replace it tomorrow, and to their surprise find I am already awake and downstairs standing, staring at them, on the other side of the freezer door by the time they close it.

WHAT COLOR ARE YOUR EYES?: bluey greenish gray

HOW LOUD DO YOU SNEEZE?: loud enough to cover up the fart sound

DO YOU LIKE YOUR LIFE?: I can sneeze over my farts, what’s not to like?

WHO'S BETTER: STONE COLD OR THE ROCK?: Ooohh, tough choice…I’m going to have to go with I don’t care.

HAVE YOU READ "CATCHER IN THE RYE"?: Yes, I graduated Jr. High.

DO YOU PLAY ANY INSTRUMENTS?: Saxophone baby, Meow! Well, a long time ago anyway, but I still list it as a hobby/interest on my resume to appear like I have interesting outside interests

CAN YOU SKATEBOARD?: Yes. However, upon graduating to high heels, I had to retire that for a real vehicle.

HAVE YOU EVER STOLEN ANYTHING?: What, like a car? I would never do that. That’s just crazy, stealing a car. Ludicrous. Seriously, why do you keep talking about it?

DO YOU LIKE CAMPING?: At the 4 Seasons maybe.

ARE YOU HORNY?: Surveys get me soooo hot.

DO YOU SNORT WHEN YOU LAUGH?: No, I fart though. That’s sort of like a snort, form the other end, right?

DO YOU BELIEVE IN MAGIC?: I believe in “Magic Tricks Revealed” on Fox

ARE DOGS A MAN'S BEST FRIEND?: if he's a jerk

DO YOU BELIEVE IN DIVORCE?: If all else fails

WHAT'S ON YOUR MOUSEPAD?: I don’t have one. Ha!

CAN YOU DO THE MOONWALK?: Why would I? Seems like a weird way to get around.

ARE YOU A RACIST? Simply put: no. I am an equal opportunity disliker though. You give me a reason to dislike YOU, and voila! I don’t like you.

DO YOU MAKE A LOT OF MISTAKES?: I am a female, by the rules of our genders you should know that I am always right, even when I’m wrong.

IS IT COLD OUTSIDE TODAY?: August. Texas. Melting.

DOES SIZE MATTER?: Only "little" men ask this question....Of course. And you know what, give that info. out up front you louses. Would you be pissed if you thought you were getting double-d’s and I whipped off a 100% padded bra and delivered a chest that would make a NAMBLA charter member foam at the mouth? I think so. Size matters, either way you go, little man.

WHAT'S THE MOST ANNOYING TV COMMERCIAL?: Paul from the Diamond Center

DO YOU SHOP AT AMERICAN EAGLE?: This is your finale question? Lame.

2005-08-11T13:56:00.000-07:00

After much prompting, and then more prompting, I have been prompted into splattering my business for all to see somewhere other than the comment pages of others. I rather enjoyed just being snide at random on all your blogs, and essentially blogging without blogging, but what can I say? I'm a sucker for a good prompt.

Since you're surely dying to know more, and I lack the creativity to be creative right now, here's the "about me" portion I filled out on one of many profiles...

Fefa's quick and dirty:
I've already had fun at your expense. I know pretty much everything about everything. Dirty martini's are next to godliness. People think I'm a snob. I don't particularly care because they are all, like, not even a tenth as cool as me anyway. I rarely have a simple yes or no answer. I talk a lot of sh*t, but in a good way that is funny for me and my friends. I like to use *'s when I write naughty words my mom told me not to say. I am high maintenance, but self maintained. I have no short stories. I always have a really insightful and thought provoking point, just wait for me to get to it. I firmly believe that 99% of the population should have their drivers license revoked. In an effort to suggest better driving techniques and courteous driving behavior I bought a fast car, made it faster and ridiculously loud, and use it accordingly whenever I encounter said bad driver. It is a convertible, of course, so I can maintain my tan and obviously natural highlights while helping to better my driving community. And for the record; yes, it does matter. And yes, we do have more fun.

Fefa's Interests:
Having fun at the expense of others, drinking over-priced coffee, buying things I'll only wear once, getting from point A to point B faster than you, and of course mulleting.

Music
Dance, techno, house, you get the idea...

Television
Shockingly I'm sure, pretty much anything on Biography, A&E, National Geographic, and yes, the History Channel. And Scrubs.

Books
Einstein's Dreams, The Devil Wears Prada

Fefa's Details
Status: Married
Orientation: Straight
Hometown: San Francisco area...specifically, The Creek. Yo.
Body type: 5' 6" / Slim / Slender
Ethnicity: White / Caucasian
Zodiac Sign: Capricorn
Smoke / Drink: No / Yes
Children: Someday
Occupation: Blonde

Fefa's Schools
Humboldt State University Arcata, CALIFORNIA
North Bay Orinda School Orinda, CALIFORNIA
Northgate High Walnut Creek, CALIFORNIA