Catch Me on TV! Sortof. Internetz TV. That's TV, Right?

To my dear, sweet readers (hi Mom!), tonight, I am expanding my horizons and participating in Ladies Night on Taphandle-TV. What is this Taphandle-TV, you ask, and how can I get my hands on one? Well, my friend, just you wait. First things first. Taphandle-TV is a weekly show on the Internetz. What we in the biz call a "webcast". This "webcast" is about "making drinks" and "drinking". It's shot in a basement bar, the Taphandle. The bartender, Lordo, shows viewers how to make drinks, many of his own concoctions. Oh yea, and he drinks while doing it, so the later it gets, the better the show gets. Tonight's show will be on, LIVE, at 9pm ET. Check it out, yo:  http://www.ustream.tv/channel/taphandle-tv 


But wait, there's more! Here's how you -- yes, YOU right there in the weird sweater thingie, can actually be a part of the show. The site has a chat room function, so you can actually interact with Lordo and whomever happens to be in the bar that night. Tonight, it will be myself and 6 other lovely ladies. Should be a lot of fun. Stop by, make fun of the drunkies, join us in a few shots, whatever. We're easy.

His, Hers, and The National Weather Service

This is Hurricane Ike. He looks bad. Technically it's incorrect to call a named storm "him" or "her". So why the hell do they give them gender-specific names? Tropical storms and hurricanes are even (erroneously) given human attributes; they look "mean" or "target" a city. Why then, is it wrong to give those personifications personal pronouns? I think the National Weather Service should give storms sexless names, like last names. Smith, or Johnson, or Malkovich, for example. What do you think?

If It Weren't For Bad Luck, I Wouldn't Have Any Luck At All

I swear to God, my life is one big laugh riot. Just hilarious. Check out my latest adventure in stupidity:


First, a teensy bit of backstory. My family plans two day trips to New York each year to see a show and go out to dinner. There are about 25 people who make this trip. My uncle rents a bus. Like, a rock star tour bus, complete with a potty. The Saint and I live just outside the city, so I took the train in to meet them. The Saint could give two shits about Broadway, so he abstained, courteously. But, he agreed to bring Monster and join us for dinner after the show.


This year the trip was September 6th, the show, 'Mary Poppins', the restaurant, Tavern on the Green. September 6th just so happened to be the day tropical storm Hanna passed over the northeast. But with a rented tour bus, 25 show tickets and reservations at T on the G, you don't cancel. And thus begins my tale of woe...


I was supposed to meet them for lunch in Times Square before the show. But I missed the train because I am a moron, and went to the wrong station. (Why do there have to be two train stations in my town? Why?) So I had to take the next train an hour later, and just meet them at the theater. Catch that train, and as we're coming up on the tunnel heading into the city, the train lurches to a halt. The conductor informs us that they are one-tracking into and out of Penn Station, so we have to sit and wait for several west-bound trains to pass. Brilliant. 5 minutes later, we get going again. I arrive at Penn Station with about 17 minutes til showtime. No sweat, it's just one subway stop to 42nd. So I run into the Hudson News and buy newspapers for my brother, who needs them for a school project, and a binky for my nephew, who apparently left his at my uncle's house and had been screaming all the way up the Jersey turnpike.


14 minutes til showtime. Still no problem, it's one subway stop, like I said. Except I had to wait 5 minutes in a 109 degree subway station for the uptown 1, holding my purse, a bag full of newspapers, and a sweater for my sister, who is stick-thin and always cold. So now, I'm sweating like a pig in a skirt and heels. 9 minutes til showtime. Still ok. Get on the nice, air conditioned train, we're on our way, and for the second time today, my train lurches to a stop. The driver informs us that there is a train in front of us at the 42nd street station with "a door problem". Fanfuckingtastic. So we sit for what feels like forever, except it was really only 5 minutes or so. It is now 4 minutes til showtime, and I am getting panicy, because they won't let you in after the show starts. Finally get moving, haul ass through the 42nd street station, which is ginormous, and make it just in time.


Oh but it doesn't stop there! After the show, it is raining sideways and The Saint is messaging me and cursing my name for making him drive into the city in that weather with Monster. I come out of the restaurant with my mother's raincoat on to help him, and he's trying to get the baby out of her car seat while holding her bag, the umbrella, and a folder full of pictures for my mom. He hands me the folder with the pictures, shoots daggers with his eyes, and we get into the restaurant, sit down, and proceed to have a lovely dinner with minimal inturruption from Monster, even though we pushed her bedtime. Dinner eaten, we say adieu to everyone, and drive home in blinding rain, flooded highways, and buffeting winds.


Yea, so I left my cell phone in my mother's raincoat. And I forgot to get my sweater back from my sister, who is moving to bumfuck Minnesota.


Seriously, what is wrong with me??

**late add: So while typing up this post, I nearly burned the house down. I completely forgot I was steaming carrots on the stove, and all the water boiled out. I only realized this when I smelled something burning. The pan was all black and bubbly, and smoking. I had to take it outside to keep from setting off the smoke alarm. Had to toss the carrots, too, because they tasted like smoke. Would you like to be my friend? Never a dull moment!