Wednesday, July 19, 2006

Surge Returns!

I am beyond super-duper pleased to report that a new and improved Surge arrived on our naked doorstep yesterday. And much glorious rejoicing was had by all. The new Surge does not spew, sputter or spank in any way and is even brighter and shinier and cuter than the former Surge. I guess they upgraded us a model. I had my green lemonade this morning, and it was perfection.

And now all is right in my world.

Thursday, July 13, 2006

Shoegasm, Part Deux

So the darling new pinupgirl pumps made their debut the other day. I hadn’t expected the rave reviews to come so soon, but there I was, 8:30 a.m. in the dentist’s chair, about to get a filling. As my dentist gently withdrew the J.Lo’s Ass-sized novocaine needle out of my piehole and moved to place it on the counter, she finally noticed my shoes and squealed with delight (this, BTW, is a huge advantage of having a girly-girl dentist).

Dentist: “Ohmygod! Your shoes! They are so cute! They’re absolutely darling! Where on earth did you get those?”

Me: (novocaine kicking in) Awen’t they shew adaramable? I knew eshhheewwwn as I saw mem dat ah musht ha mem like, immidianetery!

Dentist: “My daughters would love those, where can I find them?”

Me: Ewe cn geff um offfff beeeenoffkoffinghoff-dot-nam.

Dentist: “pinupgirlclothing-dot-com huh? Great, thanks for the tip!”

Later, whilst having lunch with Toni and gabbing away as girls do, she stopped mid-sentence, pointed down and exclaimed “ARE THOSE THE SHOES??? I knew I recognized those shoes!”

See, so I have made the shoes famous. Now all I need to do is smack them around and get them in dirty movies where they will feel exploited and used and develop a drug/wine cooler problem and write a tell-all book denouncing me and my abusiveness and joining a religious group that provides support and understanding for other exploited shoes. I can see it all now.

The Return of Surge Is Imminent

About a month ago, I bought a juicer. Specifically, this juicer. Now I know you all think I’m mental to begin with, but now you’re really going to think my porch light’s not on.

I named the juicer. Seriously. I named it Surge. I did this for a few reasons:

1) Surge sounded so much nicer than JE95;

2) I used to have this really bitchin’ awesome cat named Serge, and just saying the name brings back warm fuzzy memories of a warm fuzzy kitty who was the spawn of a cat I adopted when I was 19 and moved into this shithole house in Simi Valley with five other girls and the girl who lived in my room before me abandoned this cat who it turns out was pregs, and then during the week of the summer solstice shortly after she gave birth to her kittens, she was abducted by Satan worshippers along with all the other dogs and cats on our block so I had to painstakingly bottle-feed four screaming-clawing-with-razor-sharp-claws-on-bare-legs-in-summer kittens six times a day and kept the little baby long-haired grey and white girl who later it turned out was really a boy whose little gonads hadn’t yet dropped but I was already treating him like a girl and using my high-pitched girly-pet voice and imagined he must have been gay because of how I treated him all girly, so the only name that seemed to fit was that of the dude from Beverly Hills Cop (“Vould you like a little lemon tvist?..... Nah, it's no trouble, dun’t be stewpit.”) and later in his adult life when I lived in Redondo Beach, Serge would go up and down the driveways of all my neighbors’ homes and chat with them individually each day, and they all knew Serge (by his name tag), but didn’t even know me, that’s how cool of a cat he was -- I would be in front of my house and people I didn't even know would walk past and go "Hey Serge" and Serge would go "Hey, 'sup dawg?". He lived to a very ripe old age. And nobody could ever replace Serge. That’s why I spell the juicer’s name Surge. But it still makes me happy to say Surge. Or Serge.

3) Surge got me off coffee. I swear. And we’re talking about a serious coffeehound since the age of ninth grade when cramming for finals became a part of my adolescent repertoire. I love me some coffee, man. But with the green lemonade that Surge gives me in the morning, coffee, eh! Sniff! It has no appeal for me. I am so jazzed up and stoked with vitamins that there is no need for caffeine. Even for a non-morning-person! This I consider the act of a friend. A friend helps you say goodbye to unhealthy habits and embrace healthy new ones. A friend would not be named Model JE95, or “the juicer” (sounds waaaaaay too OJ Simpson for me), or just “that there appliance gizmo thingy there”. No, a friend has a name. And my friend’s name is Surge.

Well, a couple of blissful weeks after getting Surge, and having fresh green lemonade daily or fresh carrot/apple juice (shut up and try it!) or whatever combinations we came up with, there were sunshine and unicorns and flowers in my world, but it became apparent that Surge had a problem. Surge would spit juice out the sides whenever the produce went down the chute. I don’t just mean the “Say it, don’t spray it” kind of juice that comes out when you’re talking to an over-enthusiastic close-face-talker, I’m talking more like the kind of spray that comes out of a broken sprinkler.

This sucks rotten eggs.

I called the company and they said there must be a defect. Surge shouldn’t be doing that. I would have to pack up Surge and gingerly place him in a box with wadded up Old Navy shopping bags and send him back. In other words, I would have to part with Surge for an indefinite period of time. Ooooooh this made me very, very bitter and cold. But I did it with the hopes that soon, there would be a new Surge in his place that didn’t spew out juice in my face in the wee early morning hours.

Days turned into a week. A week turned into a week and a half. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I called the company again, tense and shaking, and inquired about the whereabouts of my new and improved Surge.

I think I stated my issue quite calmly. In my mind’s version, it went something like this:

Me: “Well hello, jolly good sir, I wonder if you might give me the latest status on the arrival of my new juicer. An ETA, perhaps?”

Juicer Company Guy: “Why yes ma’am, that juicer is en route to you and should arrive tomorrow.”

Me: “Jolly good of you, kind old chap. Cheerio!”

But I’m sure it went more something like this:

Me: (crackhead edgy stuttering) “Look, man. WTF is my new juicer, man???? What’s the holdup, man????? I once had solid hope for like, the concept of like, having to get up and exist in the mornings, man. That hope is gone, man! Gone! Gone daddy gone! Love is gone! You took it away from me, you, you, you, you dickface! Gimme back my juicer, man! Even if it’s still broken! Alrighty??!!!! Then I won’t have to cut you!”

Juicer Company Guy: “Why yes ma’am, that juicer is en route to you and should arrive tomorrow.”

Me: (grateful sobs) Click.

Thank God. Thank you for Surge. I never knew I needed him so bad.

P.S. -- Recipe for Green Lemonade. One try, and you will understand how it can get you off coffee and make you happy to be alive and stuff. (All ingredients organic, of course.)

1 whole head of celery
1 whole lemon (unpeeled)
1 whole apple (Fuji rocks the best in this)
5-6 pieces of kale

Put all in juicer and drink. The lemon cuts out that greenie taste that nobody likes and makes it taste like -surprise!- lemonade. This recipe is from the book The Raw Food Detox Diet by Natalia Rose.

Quote of the Day

When someone shows you who they are, believe them...the first time.

-Maya Angelou

Friday, July 07, 2006


Because I am a show-offy sort, I just had to boast and brag and generally be obnoxiously self-serving and shallow about my most recent shoe acquisition from my beloved Behold:

Could you just die? Can you believe how flippin' cute? Couldn't you just eat it with a spoon? Damn I loves me some shoes! DAMN!!!

I haven't quite figured out what to wear with them yet, so they have remained cloistered within the uncomfortable confines of my closet, suffering the jealous glares and snipings of my other shoes:

Pink Satin Ballet Flats: "Oh. My. God. Becky, look at the attention whore. Just look at the size of that heel. It is so big. Slut."

Brown Hippie Chunky Pumps: "Hey, what's with Snow White over there? Looks like someone could use a little chilling out, man, talk about uptight. She's harshing my mellow. Hey, who took my bong, man? That's a straight-up party foul, man."

Black Patent Leather Pumps: "Oh please, the ruffle is SO impractical. REAL classic shoes don't have to try so hard. She is obviously insecure and has daddy issues. We should feel sorry for her. She's just going to end up on the shoe repair man's couch."

White Pointy Pumps: "I don't see why we're even having this discussion. I'm the light-colored sexy shoe that gets taken out everywhere. I'm the one who invokes scandal and drama with every click of my stiletto heel. Even psychos bow before me. I have this power--"

Purple Glittery Stripper Shoes: "Bitch, don't even make me come down there and smack the white off your cracker-ass again! We all know who the favorite is and if that new bitch even thinks about going near my baby daddy (Derek's Steve Maddens), I'ma knock the lace off dat face, shooooooo."

Pinky, Aqua and Blackie (Stripper Shoes' illegitimate Old Navy $3.95 flip-flops): "Mama, why you mad, mama? We get taken out more den anybody! Tee hee!!!"

But the shoes will come out soon and be flaunted, oh yes, they will come out soon. It is written.