Drinking with abandon

Change from beginning of program: -1
Goal: 43 LBs to go
Activity: coughing
Temptation: sweets
Fruit and veg: 5

Holy crap - 12 days since my last post? I blame the holidays.

You do not want to know what I have eaten over the past 12 days. It has been a lot. It has been a lot of sugar and fat. It has not been pretty.

Over the weekend, I went to Big D for not one, not two, but three gift-opening sessions. And they were on opposite ends of the area, so I spent a good portion of the time in the car.

I stayed at my brother's house, where I always drink with abandon. I drink more when I'm around other people who are drinking. We stock up on beer and put the car keys away for the night. And we drink. We often play board games - including the Beatles Trivial Pursuit that I got for Christmas. We laugh - a lot.

In other words, we have a blast.

And I feel just a tad worn out the following day.

Three nights of that + a 3-year old with a nasty cough + over 600 miles in the car = one tired and coughing kitten

I'm taking it easy for the rest of the week to knock this cough out before it knocks me out.

And I cannot be upset with my beautiful niece, even if she did share her lung-rattling cough with me.

Green beer

What's the appeal of green beer? Isn't regular beer good enough? It is the elixir sent to us from the heavens. It's what Homer Simpson calls "sweet, sweet beer."

In honor of green beer day, here is a great scene from the Simpsons:

Homer: Got any of that beer that has candy floating in it? You know, Skittlebrau?

Apu: Such a beer does not exist, sir. I think you must have dreamed it.

Homer: Oh. Well, then just give me a six-pack and a couple of bags of Skittles.

For years, I have enjoyed Skittlebrau at basketball games. A few months ago, I was walking through Costco on a Friday night (because I have such an exciting life), and I heard someone say "Skittlebrau." I nearly choked. I stopped the young guy and asked if he had really said "Skittlebrau" as in Homer's favorite drink. The guy and his girlfriend looked at me like I was the crazy old drunk cat lady, but confirmed that he had indeed said "Skittlebrau."

Ah, Skittlebrau. If only I had some Skittles in the house. I'll have to manage with simple brau tonight.

Friday the 13th like a mothapucker

I swear: some days it would be best just to not get out of bed.

Backstory (settle in - it's a long one): For the past 5 1/2 years, I have been driving a wonderful Nissan 350Z convertible. Before I bought this car, I considered a Mercedes convertible, but He Who Cannot Be Named (HWCBN) said, "I can't change no oil in a Mercedes. Buy a Nissan - I can change the oil in that." I keep cars for 10 years or more and I get the oil changed religiously, so I figured I could save a lot of money by choosing a car where I had a live-in oil changer. I bought the Nissan.

When the car had 3000 miles on it, HWCBN bought an oil filter and 5 quarts of oil and looked under my car to discover that he could not change the oil because the car has a plate under the engine compartment. To get to the parts, the car needs to be on a lift.

Strike 1: I have to pay to get the oil changed every 3000 miles.

When I was looking for a car, I looked at things like color (red), the ability to remove the roof (convertible), and overall good looks. I view tires as something that enable me to drive and rims as something that hold tires. HWCBN focused on the rims - to the detriment of the overall beauty of a red convertible. He then began to complain that the brakes created too much dust and made the front rims get dirty too quickly. (He could still wash the car - even when he couldn't change the oil.) After 2 years of hearing about how bad the rims looked with the brake dust, I got chrome rims because chrome rims were supposedly easier to clean. I must admit that the chrome rims added a nice touch to the car; I like to call them my bling.

Fast forward a few years. At 70,000 miles, I needed new front brakes. HWCBN insisted that I get some after-market brakes that created less dust so that he would not have to work so hard to keep the rims clean. I stated that if that's what he wanted, he needed to go to the auto parts store to get them. He countered with a question on why I would not be independent on this and handle it myself. My answers: I don't care what kind of brakes I have as long as they stop the car, and I would not be able to get the correct brakes.

Yesterday, he called O'Reillys Auto Parts and talked to someone who said they had the brakes he thought I needed to have. This morning, I went to that store and they told me that they didn't have them but could get them in a few hours. I went back in a few hours to get them.

After work (Friday afternoon, in the rain), I drove 30 miles to where the only mechanic HWCBN trusts works and handed him the brakes. After I sat in the waiting room for 90 minutes, the mechanic said that he didn't know what the hell they sold me but it wasn't the brakes I needed. This is not what I wanted to hear. The mechanic put the old brakes back on the car and told me to come back after work on Monday. It is a 30 mile drive each way to see the mechanic - or 3 hours minimum with driving and waiting.

Now it was 7:30 and I was driving home in the rain - with the wrong brakes in a box and bad brakes on the car. I went to an O'Reillys near my house and tried to exchange the brakes. They did not have what I needed, but they said that the store on Hilcroft and Beechnut had them. I asked, "Hilcroft and Beechnut?" The first guy said, "Yes. Hilcroft and Beechnut." The second guy said, "Hilcroft and Beechnut. Do you know where that is?" I replied that I did.

I drove to Hilcroft and Beechnut. No O'Reillys. At this point, I said fuck O'Reillys.

Next stop: Pep Boys. A very helpful man there got some other brakes for me.

Did I mention how much I hate going into auto parts stores? Especially in the dark, in the rain, on Friday night?

I went back to the O'Reillys where they told me about the location at Hilcroft and Beechnut. I told them that there was no store at Hilcroft and Beechnut, and the first guy said, "Oh, it's at Hilcroft and Bissonet." When I informed them that I drove through that intersection and did not see a store, he said that I needed to turn left and then it was on the left.

Again - FUCK O'REILLYS.

I got my money back for the bad brakes.

Next stop: neighborhood store for a six pack, a bag of Tostitos, and some lottery tickets.

What did I accomplish? Absolutely nothing. I was able to spend some quality time in the car by myself. And after I got home, I made a good dent in the six pack.

And now I get to do this all over again in a few days.

I wanna be a Toadie roadie

About a month ago, I saw the Toadies in concert in a small venue in Houston. Bigfoot doesn't like the same music as I do (he was on his way to a smooth jazz - AACCKK - concert the same night), my concert buddy was on a diving trip in Mexico, my brother and his family who were in town dissed me to be with his best friend's family (the NERVE), and my sister doesn't really know their music. So I went alone, after much internal debate.

Am I glad I did. They were great! They have only three albums, and they played pretty much everything from all three. They were loud. They were having fun. They don't worry about any of the clean and sober crap - they sipped from cans of beer between songs. How refreshing!

So I want to go on the road with them so that I can say I'm a Toadie Roadie.

Blue Ribbon Picante Sauce

Yep, my picante sauce has been deemed the best in Texas. Or at least the best one entered in the Creative Arts contest at the State Fair of Texas.

It was hot. And it was hot when we visited the State Fair on the last weekend in September. Hell - it will be hot two months from now.

But I will bask in the glory of winning the blue ribbon for the second time. The first time was in 1996. At this rate, I'm due for another blue ribbon in 2020.

By the way, we had a great time at the State Fair this year. My oldest friend, J, met us there to consume mass quantities of beer and laugh like schoolgirls.