Off to Vegas today! (And another post for the “fat guys” label)

This afternoon I leave for a glorious week in Las Vegas!

I can’t wait to see Mike, except now I’m wishing I haven’t been indulging so much in the upstate New York temptations I find irresistible. Saranac’s Adirondack sampler is damn good beer—especially love the Black Forest! And don’t get me going on Stewart’s Cream and Coffee Fudge ice cream, a.k.a. “dinner.”

I think my friends Tim and Susan, the couple I’m staying with, are positively aghast at my diet. Every once in a while they try to make me eat something healthy like a cheeseburger, but I think more than anything my bad habits are rubbing off on them. Another reason they’ll be singing hallelujah in September when I head back west!

Yeah, I’ve been going to hell with myself, although I have been getting some exercise. On the weekends Susan and I walk on the country roads near their house, and I take a little stoll through beautiful downtown Schenectady at lunch. But most of my exercise comes from climbing the stairs in the office building where I work. I have this new little habit of taking a break and walking 96 stairs to the roof mid-morning and again late afternoon. That’s on top of the 76 I climb to the fourth floor when I first get here and the 79 from the ground floor at lunch.

Who the hell cares—that’s the most boring paragraph I’ve ever written. My point is, I have to do something to keep from grossing myself out in a bathing suit, and to make matters worse, Mike says he’s lost 15 pounds since I last saw him in May. I swear he did that just to annoy me—ha! He knows I prefer men with some meat on them.

Speaking of… have you seen comedian Louis C.K.’s new show? It’s on Tuesday nights on FX, right after Rescue Me ( pant, pant). It's a riot--so funny and well done! Man, Louis C.K. is one of my favorite comics ever—right up there with Larry David and Ricky Gervais (who was on last week's episode). Except Louis is way better looking. I think he’s freakin’ hot.

He’s got some meat on him, yup. In the first show there was a scene where he’s checking out his fat shirtless gut in the mirror and I was like, man, I want a piece of that! I don’t know why, but there’s something about a gut on a guy that I find attractive. (Though there can be too much of a good thing.) A bit of a gut is manly, and sad to say, comforting; I feel a little off the hook about my own body. Is that sick or what? And really, what the hell do I see in that skin-and-bones Denis Leary?

Anyway, I can’t wait to get my hands on my hunk-of-man Mike later tonight. Two months apart is a long time! But a week away from Saranac and Stewarts can only be a good thing.

Going postal and no, I’m not referring to my latest visit to the movie theater

Looks the like U.S. Postal Service is proposing, among other things, to raise first-class postage rates as well as cut back on its 6-day delivery service. Am I the only one who thinks this is a no-duh?

First of all, other than sending books out to voracious readers, the only things I mail these days are birthday cards and sympathy cards. Any bills I have are paid online.

So let’s say I want to send a birthday card to my mother. (Of course, I would never send her *just* a card, but play along for the sake of explanation.) Personally, I cannot freakin’ believe that somebody’s going to take that birthday card from a mailbox in Albany, NY, all the way across the country to Boise, ID, and deliver it right to her doorstep for a mere 44 cents. Is that amazing or what? I would gladly pay a dollar for every piece of mail I send out! At least!

I guess a lot of businesses and non-profits are up in arms about another rate hike because it’ll cost them a fortune to mail out the crap we end up throwing in the recycle bin without even looking at it. BTW, every time I get some glossy piece of literature--or worse, those mailing labels I didn’t even ask for--from a give-till-it-hurts non-profit agency, I’m thinking if you have that kind of money for printing and postage expenses, you sure as hell don’t need a donation from me.

Now let’s talk Saturday delivery. Note to the Postmaster General: you can cut way deeper. I betcha if my mail came once every two weeks there still wouldn’t be a piece worth opening. Ninety-nine percent of the mail I get is nothing but future trash--I'm thinking the Postal Service should deliver right to the landfills and cut out the sanitation department middle men.

Evidently cutting just the Saturday delivery would save a ton of money. I assume that’s money taken directly from our paychecks every week, right? If there was ever a line in the budget begging to be cut, I’d say this is a good one.

At the movies: Linda Lou strikes again!

I had intended to go to a séance last Friday night (how many blog posts open with that?) but instead I ended up at the movies. I saw a fantastic film, Please Give, written and directed by Nicole Holofcener. I’ve been a big fan of hers since her first movie, Walking and Talking (1996), starring Anne Heche, who I would love to see playing moi in the film version of Bastard Husband: A Love Story. We’re both loons with crappy hair, so the casting would be perfect.

Holofcener’s other movies are Lovely and Amazing (2001) and Friends with Money (2006), with Jennifer Aniston. All very enjoyable, and all feature the wonderful actress Catherine Keener. If you like well written, quiet, slice-of-life, girl-focused stories, I highly recommend any of these.

I love quiet, independent films and lucky for me, they generally attract quiet, polite movie goers. Generally. My decision to see a movie Friday night was spur of the moment, and I entered the theater a minute or so after the feature started. (I hate that.) There were quite a few people in there, so I took the first seat I could find up front on the aisle.

Of course, I had to pick the row with the talkers. Yep, the couple two seats away from me must have thought they were on their living room couch instead of a public movie theater. Deep breath…

Remember how I publicly scolded the couple behind me when I took Connor to see the Karate Kid a few weeks ago? Okay, so I’m sitting there thinking, “What kind of message am I sending out to the universe to attract these rude-ass people?” But for some reason, I didn’t react with my usual, I am going to rip your f*cking head off if you don’t shut up. No, I was perfectly calm throughout the film, determined that I wasn’t going to let anyone ruin it.

I remained perfectly calm as the credits rolled, but when the couple rose and headed toward the aisle, I lifted a 4-inch Vegas heel onto the seat in front of me, blocking their exit from the row.

“Excuse me,” the guy said.

I channeled an attitude from my old substitute teaching days. “You two talked through that whole movie,” I said, still perfectly calm and not even using what my kids call my “snotty voice.”

“Oh, we’re sorry,” he said.

I held out my hand. “Nine dollars.” They gave each other a quizzical look. “That’s what I paid to hear you two talking.”

“We’re sorry,” he said again.

“You can’t talk through movies. That’s not polite. Don’t do that again, okay?”

“Okay,” he said.

I released my foot and let them pass. Then as I walked up the aisle behind them, I realized they… might be…

Retarded.

I honestly don’t know; maybe they were just nerdy.

But just in case, I’m glad I held back from my usual seething self. So I guess the moral of this story is, the world would be a nicer place if we treated everyone as if they were retarded.

Independence--is it really all it's cracked up to be?

It’s Fourth of July weekend—Independence Day.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard people remark about how independent I am. They say, “Wow, you’re so independent!” as if it’s some kind of wonderful achievement that a single gal like me can actually go through life totally unassisted.

I’ve always found their remarks kind of curious. Handicapped folks in “independent living” programs, my 89-year-old mother-in-law gettting along by herself in her condo… now, those are people worth marveling over. I’m a perfectly healthy aging nymph—getting myself to work, paying bills and going to the grocery store should be no big deal. But I guess there’s a notion out there of “The Independent Woman” and flinging your hat in the air like Mary Tyler Moore.

I know their intentions are complimentary, so don’t think I’m complaining. I think what they really mean is, I seem to handle my single self well. And by “well,” I suppose they mean “with confidence.” Yep, that I’ll go along with; I’ve been told a million times that I project an air of confidence. But confidence shouldn't have anything to do with one’s marital or relationship status or living situation or... independence, right?

A while back I posted about how I'm sick of being independent, and I bet some of you can relate. Wouldn't you love to have somebody remind you of a bill to pay or an item to pick up at the store? Wouldn't it be nice to have to lean on someone once in a while?

Yeah, sometimes independence can be overrated, and as I say in my book, "In the end, your heart beats only for yourself." But damn, it's so much nicer when two hearts beat as one, as Bono would say.

Speaking of hearts, I'm heading to Las Vegas next Saturday for 8 days. It's been almost two months since I've seen Mike. Talk about fireworks...

Vegas hot vs. Ivory girl and the divine order of the workplace

I really like my new job. I mean, as much as I'd like any job. It's still not what I'd choose to do with my time if I didn't have to work, but it's truly a nice gig. My boss is a cute young guy who I think I've seen a total of 30 minutes since I started--perfect--and I have an adorable little BFF in the cubicle next to me. (Of course no one compares to my 25-year-old BFF, Joe, from my last job.)

I'm guessing my new friend is in her early 30's, though she could pass for 19. She's a beautiful girl and I don't mean hot-chick Vegas-tits beautiful; I'm talking fresh-air Ivory girl beautiful. Sometimes when she's explaining stuff to me about the project I'm working on, all I can think is, "Do you have any idea how lucky you are?" But I don't think she has a clue that she's gorgeous. She just acts like a sweet, normal girl.

The minute I met her, I thought, "Oh, that's why I'm here," meaning I knew right away we were meant to be friends. And the funny thing is, last week at lunch she expressed that exact sentiment.

I really believe that most of the time work simply provides a structure for the universe to get a bunch of people together; the work itself is secondary, even inconsequential. I've made so many dear friends, people I expect to know for the rest of my life, through the corporate environment. Even though 90 percent of the time I could not give one shit about the work. Doesn't matter--it's all perfect.

I feel incredibly lucky.

How about you? Have you made some friends for life through work?

And given a choice, would you rather be Vegas hot or Ivory girl beautiful?

Another brilliant thought during my commute to work

I have a pretty long commute to work these days. And by pretty, I do mean pretty. I travel through rolling hills of rural Albany County to get to downtown Schenectady (um, not so pretty), where my office is. (In case you missed it, I landed a great 3-month tech writing gig. But don't worry--it's just for the summer and I'll be Vegas Linda Lou again in no time.)

Anyway, here are some pictures I took at 50 mph when I should have had both hands on the steering wheel.






The other day on my way home I made a music video with a song from Crazy Heart in the background, but wouldn't you know, my damn phone won't upload it and don't tell me it's user error. I'm beginning to think I own an $80/month piece-o-shit brick.

Anyway, the other day I passed a cop off the side of the road waiting for speeders. Lucky for me, I don't speed on country roads. That's just plain stupid, especially when you're taking pictures and making music videos.

But upon seeing him, my first thought was, "I sure as hell don't miss those damn Henderson cops," as anyone who's ever driven near Las Vegas can relate. That wasn't the brilliant thought, though, just the impetus for it. No, my brilliant thought was,

In order to get into the police academy, prospective cops should a) be at least six feet tall, and b) be packing at least six inches below the belt.

That would take care of a lot, don't you think?

I'm adding that to my "If I were queen" list.

Tom Cruise, you would still turn me gay but jumping on Oprah's couch is not a crime

In my book I talk about the little games my friends and I used to play to get through a work day at GE. We had our "ghoul pool" of celebrities we thought were knockin' on heaven's door, our "If you had to be gay with any celebrity, who would you choose?" question (hello, Beverly d'Angelo!), and our "Which supposedly hot celebrity would, in fact, turn you gay?" question. I know--not extremely mature behavior for a bunch of people with masters degrees.

Anyway, the celebrity who would turn me gay (not that there's anything wrong with it) is Tom Cruise. Eeew--I find him repulsive. So. not. my. type. Give me Denis "Handcuffs and Whipped Cream" Leary, that skinny-ass genius Billy Bob Thornton, or an intelligent hunk of Philip Seymour Hoffman anytime!

So the other day I heard a piece on NPR about Tom Cruise's new movie and his apparent fall from grace in Hollywood. Yes, the Scientology thing is just plain icky (I'm in total denial about John Travolta's affiliation) and I think he really was an asshole to Brooke Shields and Matt Lauer.

But then there's Oprah's couch...

That's the part I find baffling. Is it just me or was that whole thing blown way out of proportion? I'm reminded of Howard Dean's infamous scream from his concession speech after the 2004 Iowa caucus as he tried to fire up his supporters (the media never showed us the thousands of people in the room cheering and waving flags).

So Tom Cruise jumped on a couch while expressing his passion for the woman he loved--isn't that a good thing? Wouldn't you LOVE to have someone so freakin' enamored with you? (I mean, as long as you felt the same way. Otherwise, yeah, that would be... uncomfortable.)


Kobe Bryant is a basketball hero as if those rape charges ever happened (personally, I believed his young accuser) and Clarence Thomas continues to sit on the Supreme Court (every cell in my body says Anita Hill was no liar), but Tom Cruise jumps on a couch professing his love and sends his career to the shitter?

That's messed up, people.

What do you think?

LUT: Some fun music and a video

You know I think my son-in-law, John Rice, is the ultimate—I couldn't hand pick anyone as a better mate for my daughter. In addition to making my Courtney the happiest girl on earth, John is a fantastic musician.

Besides playing in the Red Haired Strangers, I just found out he’s been working on something for years and it’s a lot of fun. LUT (pronounced loot) is a tongue-in-cheek project in the vein of bands like Ween, Flight of the Concords, and Tenacious D. Check out these lyrics to one of my favorite songs, “Woman Driver,” on their latest CD, War Wagon.

It’s gotta be a woman,
Gotta be a woman driver
She’s playing with my life on the left-hand side
Oh, woman
She’s on the cell phone
Since 50 miles ago
I seen her nearly back-end a truck and I said what the…
Heck are you thinking?
Ain’t like it used to be
In this land of the free
A man needs a wife on his right-hand side
Not in the driver’s seat

The three band members perform under assumed names (John is “Lars Bumgratenschlef”) and what’s interesting is the guys haven't played together in the same room since 1996 when they were all living in California. Since then they’ve made five CDs worth of material by sending tracks back and forth across the country, at first by mail and now through the Internet. They even put together this music video via remote technology (starring "Lars" himself).



If I have one criticism, it’s that the music behind the kooky lyrics is so damn good, it’s hard to remember the CD is kind of a spoof. They’re planning to enter the CMJ and SXSW music festivals—both great places where bands can break out. Hopefully their novel recording technique will help to set them further apart from the sea of crap-rock that's out there. They’re also looking into ways to market to music supervisors who do movies, etc. Keep your fingers crossed for LUT!

Got some extra time at work today? Check out LUT’s website at www.stinkpants.com. Stinkpants? But of course.

Purgefest 2010: so far a resounding success!

I'm a happy girl these days. I admit it: I like to get what I want and fortunately, things are unfolding just as I had hoped.

For those of you new to this blog, a couple of months ago I quit my job, got rid of most of my possessions, gave up my fab luxury apartment, sold my 14-year-old car and bought a new one and told my boyfriend I'm leaving Las Vegas to spend the summer with my family and friends in upstate New York and hoped he'd still be there for me when I returned.

I purged everything that no longer brought me joy. I gratefully released circumstances in my life that had run their course. I put a treasured relationship on hold. I shook the Etch-a-Sketch of life and crossed my fingers that the next picture I'd create would be a pretty one and not a scrambled mess.

I took a risk. So far, it's paying off.

Since I initiated Purgefest 2010, I laughed my ass off during a 12-day cross-country trip of a lifetime with my sister/best friend. I savor every minute while in the company of my daughter and son. I hold my beautiful infant granddaughter almost every day. I'm able to joke with my 11-year-old grandson before he gets too cool for granny humor.


I'm enjoying the Albany music scene, and have seen bands in a coffeehouse, the back room of a downtown bar, in the backyard of a watering hole in a tiny hamlet, and on the banks of the Hudson River.


I watched with pride as my son-in-law played with his band, and will practically burst next Saturday night when my daughter plays her first gig since giving birth 2 months ago.

My dear friends Tim and Susan have extended me an open-ended invitation in their country home.


I feel like we're a bunch of college kids again, sharing a house together. I am filled with joy as I listen to Tim play his guitar on the deck and watch them cuddle on the couch after 31 years of marriage.

Last Friday I started a technical writing job that will last through September--perfect timing for my return to Las Vegas. It took me two weeks to find that gig. They offer benefits, a 401-K, paid life insurance and an hourly rate that's higher than the job I gave up. My co-workers are awesome.

My relationship with Mike is stronger than ever. Forget "out of sight, out of mind"; absence has made our hearts grow fonder.

The moral of the story is, don't be afraid to take risks. If you're not happy with the way your life is going, take the steps you need to take to change it. Figure out what you want, what will make you happy, and for God's sake, just do it.

I've gone to two wakes in the past five days. Enough said.

Memories of my father and why I wonder, “How Am I Normal?”

Tomorrow is Father’s Day—if you’re lucky enough to still have your father or you have a loving stepfather or an exemplary baby daddy, don’t forget to honor him.

I’ve written about my father several times here and he pops up in my book a lot, too.

I come from one of those families where everyone's a comedian. "You're eight years old?" my father would ask my little friends. "I'm surprised at you. When I was your age, I was ten!" Each new playmate we brought to the house was subjected to Daddy's repertoire of one-liners, straight from Yogi Berra's B-list. "I know your mother," he'd tell them. "We went to different schools together."

Daddy was a funny man. Funny ha-ha and funny odd. When he called to inform his sister about a death in the family, he was both at the same time.

"Joyce," he began to break the news, "how many uncles do we have?"

"Why, we have one uncle," she answered, to which he bellowed, "WRONG!"

What a nut, huh?

On our road trip my sister Lori reminded me of something else he once said, which I’d totally forgotten.

“Why should I worry about driving around in clean underwear? If I get in an accident, I’m gonna shit my pants anyway.”

Aaah, the wisdom of Dad.

Happy Father’s Day to all the dads out there!