paraphrase

In the immortal words of Bob Uecker (almost), "The Astro's won it! The Astro's won it! Oh my God, the Astro's won it!" And to quote Phil Garner, "Houston, we have a Series!" Hot diggity damn!

O-R-E-O

I've identified a new sin: the cruel and unusual punishment of oreos. After thinking long and hard, I can't find another instance of a snack food, being so mistreated (well maybe the extinction of the tan m&m's comes close.) Oreos have been both force fed and shrunken--Oreo double stuff'd, Oreo Big Stuff, and Mini Oreos. They've been poisoned and flavored with mint, coffee, peanut butter and chocolate creams. They've been defaced with multi-colored fillings. They've been mutated for 100 Calorie Packs and Oreo O's cereal. The victim of such cruel abuse, the oreo has developed dissociative tendencies and has spawned Golden Oreos and Uh-oh Oreos. Traditionally oreos have been ripped limb from limp, having their guts eaten first; they've suffered the indignity of being drowned in milk. But these were sacrifices that oreos were willing to make, bringing enjoyment to the masses as nature's most perfect food.Things have gone too far. Oreos are broken and poured into ice cream, pudding, and "dirt cake". They're used to line cheese cake pans and to make Oreo Ice Cream Cones. They are smothered and covered in fudge and white chocolate. They've been copied by Hydrox and generic others. (Well, technically Hydrox was made first, but really it was just a cheap prequel to the oreo.) And, horror of horrors, innocent oreos have been battered and deep fried and sold at carnivals the world over.When will the madness end? When will the oreo be restored to it's reverential place as manna from heaven?

Cursed

To every Astros fan out there, I sincerely apologize.

The 'Stros were up 4 to 2 in the eighth and I just wanted to see them win, to be able to whoop, holler and scream about the house like a lunatic, just like everyone else. But we didn't get to celebrate and I have to confess that it was because of me.

Despite an utter love and devotion to sports in general (I can't play for shit, but damn I'm good at the fanatic part), I do my favorite teams a favor when I pretend they don't exist. Because I am cursed. If I cheer them on, they will lose. Sometimes, I only have to know there is a game being played.

With all the hoopla about us finally making it into the World Series, and how beautifully poetic it would be for us to earn that honor today, of all days, 45 years to the day after the franchise was started, (in Chicago, who we'd coincidentally be playing in the Series), it was damned impossible to not know about the game. But I knew better than to pay attention, and when I put on the TV, I really thought it was late enough not to matter. For God's sake, we were up by 2 runs and were 1 out away from the World Series. 5 1/2 million people were on their feet, Nolan Ryan was rooting everybody on, Craig Biggio wasn't even breathing, and I turned on the damned game.

I'm sorry, Houston. I promise not to watch commercials promoting the game or sports updates during the game. I'll put my TV on BBC and watch Footballer's Wives or some such shit, just to keep my mind occupied so that I don't think about the game.

And if this turns out to be my last post ever, you know I've been abducted by some bookie where I'll be duct taped to a chair, my eyes held open with toothpicks, as I am forced to watch games and root for someone!

Kook Aid Siting

I was out having lunch with my mother today and who do you think we saw? Mr. Who's Your Daddy himself, standing behind the bar of a mid-priced seafood restaurant. He never spoke to us and we never spoke to him. He seems to have found a job he's good at though.

He smiled at the pretty girls, watched the football game and spoke sports with the guys, and he walked aimlessly in circles around the restaurant. From observing his duties, I'm not really sure what his position with the company may be, apparantly he's not concerned with customer service, seating, orders, finances, or making adult frosty beverages.

But's that's all good, cuz I didn't leave him a tip.

If at first you don't succeed...

A couple weeks ago, when I was enjoying my 4 day weekend courtesty of Hurricane Rita, I woke up about 2 a.m. missing the Ex terribly, crying, the whole pathetic 9 yards. But why? It wasn't my birthday, his birthday, the anniversary of us meeting or breaking up, not even his wedding anniversary to Psycho Wife.

As I lay on my air mattress in the cubby hole (the name for my temporary room while we had the houseguests from hell), I did some mental calculations and discovered that we'd been broken up one day more than we had been together.

I know how pitiful it sounds, but it's true. I am still not over him. Dating is supposed to help with that and I haven't been doing much of that lately and I fired the service I'd been using. They were matching me with adventure freaks or those with death wishes. I just want someone to catch a movie with and maybe shoot pool every so often. What to do?

Let's face it. I'm a big girl and barring the reintroduction of ephedra into my favorite over the counter diet aid, I'm probably going to stay a big girl. Why not look for someone who wants a big girl? So I joined a site specifically for the single BBW (that's big beautiful woman). I'll keep you posted on the results.

And maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to get over the past.

Manic Monday

I hate public speaking. So much so, in fact, that I took speech as a night class in college because I would be required to do less actual speaking due to time constraints. So what will you find me doing Monday morning at 8:30? PUBLIC SPEAKING!!

My company decided to have a company wide training day and not having enough actual trainers to send to over 2000 locations, it was decided to group several schools in one location and have the directors teach the classes. Hey, lucky me, I'm not a director, I thought with glee. Poor Boss Lady, she's gonna have to teach. And I laughed inside at the thought. You see, my boss lady is not exactly a people person; she's not current on her people skills. When the EX used to call me at work, he'd hang up if she answered just because he didn't want to deal with her shit.

The joke it turns out, was on me. Our school was chosen as a host site and Boss Lady therefore would be way to busy playing Happy Hostess to teach. So she nominated me! I don't remember putting on the job application that I would be willing to lead a group of my peers in a professional development exercise or even mentioning that it sounded like one hell of a fun way to spend a Monday morning. Yet, dear readers, I will be standing in front of a group of my peers making a total jackass of myself in the all too near future.

But Trisa, you say, you are a teacher; surely this won't be that hard. I am a pre-school teacher. Or I was until about 3 years ago when I entered management. And it is not the same teaching adults as teaching 3 and 4 year olds. To them, I am infallible. Words rhyme, things match, the sun rises and sets just because Ms. Trisa said so. But to colleagues...I have to prove myself more knowledgable than them (or at least be able to fake it.) In my field, there's not much more irritating than being trained by someone that you doubt has ever seen the inside of a classroom. I've been out of the loop for a while, and it could affect my credibility.None the less, I will be soliciting volunteers, asking questions and referring to my flip chart on Monday as we delve deeply into the moving topic of child guidance.

When first notified of my trainer status, I was told to participate in a conference call on ethics, which I did and got all prepared only to have my topic change the following week. What qualifies me as a trainer? Well I attended 2 conference calls and watched part of a DVD presentation. Yeah, buddy, I think I'm ready to take on the world. NOT!

So as you go about your Monday routines, think of me and my public speaking hell.

Free at last

I know my posts are pretty sarcastic and pessimistic, but today I have to break with tradition. Today my houseguests from hell moved out!! Please join me in a celebratory frosty adult beverage (make mine a 'Rita).

I can once again sleep au natural. I can leave my purse in the front room an know that I'll still have money when I next look for it. I can sleep on my bed (on the wonderful mattresses that were a Christmas present from my mother to the Ex and I). I can banish the smell of pets and cigarettes. I can clear out the secret stashes of lotions that my cousin could only have used for one thing. I can come home from work and listen to the sound of silence. I can answer the phone knowing it will be for me.

Yessir, things are looking up at Casa de Trisa. And I feel I should make one thing crystal clear. There is no room at the inn. Friends and family of mine, you know I love you, but no, hell no, hell fucking no, you cannot come live at my house.