The Pita Pity

What I Read On The Bag Of Pita Chips Before I Ate 30 Of Them:

Pita Chips: Now with Healthy Flaxseed!

You Gotta Try Our Delicious Flaxseed Crunch!

WWJD? Part The Red Sea, Then Eat These Rockin' Flaxseed Pita Chips!

Do You Know That Angelina Jolie And Her 27 Kids Love Flaxseed?

And So Does Brad!

Flaxseed, Flaxseed, Flaxseed! Yum, Yum, Yum!

Seriously, If You Don't Eat Flaxseed Chips, You're A Drooling Moron Who Should Be Evaluated By A Mental Health Professional!

Pssttt....Flaxseed Makes Your Boobs Grow By Two Cup Sizes And Re-Perk!

Flaxseed: Kicking Wheat Germ's Ass For Over 2 Million Years!

Oh, For The Love Of God, Put Down The Hot Dog You Tub Of Goo And Eat Some Of These Magical Flaxseed Chips Already!




What I Read On The Bag Of Pita Chips After I Ate 30 Of Them:

Flaxseed Has A Known Laxative Effect

Why We Don't Entertain Much

Jack, did you like having our neighbors over for dinner tonight?

Uh-huh.

Good. Because mommy and daddy like having people over, too. But I need to talk to you about something, OK?

What?

Well, remember when you stood up on the dinner table and yelled "Hey, everybody! Look at me! I'm Captain Underpants!"?

(giggle) Yeah, that was funny, wasn't it?

Not really. I mean, sure, people who enjoy broad, physical humor probably would have laughed at it, but unfortunately for you, none of them happened to be in our dining room tonight.

Oh.

Yeah, tough break. But after you got onto the table and yelled "I'm Captain Underpants!", what did you do next?

(long pause) I pulled down my pants?

Yep. You sure did. You dropped trou like a junior member of the "Thunder From Down Under" male strip crew. Marcus, the Outback Hottie with a smile on his face and a kangaroo in his pocket. And do you remember what you had on under your pants?

Ummm....nothing?

That's right. Nothing. So, really, you weren't much of a "Captain Underpants" after all, were you?

No.

More like a "Captain Commando" or a "Captain Free-Ballin'" or even a "Captain Dangler", if you will. Basically, Jack, tonight you were letting your boys run free while mommy was serving tiramisu.

Oh.

Yeah, "oh". The point is, nice people don't pull their pants down when they have company over because it might make the guests feel uncomfortable and want to leave early. And then they might not want to ever come back. So I don't want you to pull a stunt like that again, OK?

OK.

Unless, of course, daddy invites the McAlisters over. Then I want you to whip 'em off as soon as the doorbell rings.

Quirk-Quirk

I just got tagged by Deb, which is good news because this is one of those weeks when all I want to do is sprawl on the couch watching TV and wondering why I weigh more than all of the male gymnasts in the world combined.

So here goes--six quirky things about me:

1. I like to sprawl on the couch watching TV and wondering why I weigh more than all of the male gymnasts in the world combined. (Like you didn't see that coming.)

2. Next month, I will be taking swimming lessons. This is partly because of my near-death escape from a shark in Hawaii this summer, but also because my husband recently told me that whenever I swim it looks like I'm "battling a sea monster". And losing.

3. For some reason, I really like to listen to the extended remix of "Disco Inferno" when I'm in the car. However, due to the many disco sirens and whistles in the song, I always think I'm being pulled over by a sheriff and therefore spend the entire drive looking in the rearview mirror for the po-po's flashing lights.

4. I can't find anyone I like to cut my hair. Last week, I was stuck with a 21 year-old stoned kid named "Joey Disco" who spent an hour taking 1/8" off of my hair and talking about how "awwww-suuummm" skateboards are. The time before, I had Terry, a Sideshow Bob lookalike, who styled my hair like a 1970's Playmate and told me I could easily do it myself at home with "12 round brushes". I had to tell Terry that if I even attempted to do it with two round brushes, I'd then have to call 911 and ask them to send over the jaws of life to rescue me from my own hairstyle, so maybe we should just stick with a curling iron from now on. Terry did not like that.

5. I get very upset when people leave their cars running while they go into a store. If it weren't probably illegal, I'd love to get into their car and move it to a different part of the parking lot so they couldn't find it when they came back. Oh, man, how I'd love to do that.

6. My socks never match. Ever.

Whew. Now that that's done, I'm headed back to my busy day of sprawling on the couch and watching TV. Only this time, what I'm going to be wondering is just how come those beach volleyball players never seem to get a swimsuit wedgie. I mean, is it double-stick tape or what?

It's Hot, Y'All

August in Austin, Texas. A wonderful time. If you’re an air conditioning repairman or a lizard. Otherwise, not so much. It's hot. It's humid. It's an inhumane 102 degrees day after day after blast furnace day. It's just miserable. In fact, I've already decided that once I come into money, I’m going to buy a summer home someplace cooler. Like Zimbabwe. But until then, I’m stuck down here, sweating my ass off in the Lone Star state. Yee-haw.

When I tell people (“tell” = “bitch to”) how unhappy I am each August and that I can’t believe that people in the South live like this, they usually look at me like I’m some kind of delicate moron, then slowly drawl, “How the heck’d you not know Texas gets hot in the summer?” Yeah, I know. It’s like moving to Chinatown, then one day saying, “Hey, where’d all these Asian people come from?” But in my defense, the one and only trip Chris and I made to Austin before moving here 10 years ago, the trip that made us fall in love with the city and want to raise a family here, was taken in December--the one month a year no cattle die from heat exhaustion. I think I even wore a sweater.

Without question, the first few summers we spent in Austin were a little rough on us. Well, rough on me, anyway. I sometimes think Chris would be happy living in a greenhouse in Havana. But the thing was, for some reason I just couldn't get my body to adjust to the suffocating air of the southern climate. I mean, how come it felt the same being in the shower as it did being out of the shower? When did my upper lip start sporting a permanent bead of sweat? And why the hell did I suddenly look like a post-game Shaq every time I walked outside? Even when I was wearing a sundress?

But then, after a few years of living in Austin, I finally found a better way to deal with the heat. Better than wretchedly staggering around town, numbly muttering “Oh, Lord help me Jesus, I'm soooo hot" while crying tears that evaporated before they reached my cheeks, anyway. So now, at the first hint of August heat, I take a more enlightened approach to dealing with it all: I hide.

Every year on July 31st, I simply load up on the dry goods and wine, bid farewell to our neighbors, then happily hunker down inside our air conditioned house like a crazed religious leader waiting for his spaceship to arrive. Then, thirty or so days later, when the outside temperature has finally begun to dip into the low 90’s, I slowly crack open the front door and step outside, blinking from the sunlight like a recently released hostage. Yeah, I know this makes me kind of an anti-social loser, but so what? At least I don't have to buy clinical strength deodorant anymore.

I just saw on the news that today's going to be another scorchingly hot 100 degree day. But I don't mind. After all, the only plans I have are to just sit inside my 78 degree house, contentedly drinking iced tea and watching my landscaping slowly turn brown and die through my living room window. True, it's maybe not the most ideal way to spend my summer vacation, but trust me, I'm only doing what I have to do. Because when T.S. Eliot famously wrote that April was the cruelest month, he'd obviously never been to Austin in August.

See you in September.


(More of my annual whining about the heat can be found here and here.)

Besides $2 For Water, A Few Other Things You'll Now Have To Pay For On US Airways

Seat Belt:
$4.00

Tray Table:
$5.00

Seat Cushion:
$3.00

Seat Cushion That Doesn't Smell Like Richard Simmons' Armpits:
$5.00

Token For The Restroom:
$.50

Toilet Paper For The Restroom:
$1.50/square (where available)

Courtesy Heads Up That Your Knee Is About To Be Whacked By The Food Cart:
$2.75

Bag Of Ice To Reduce Swelling On Knee That Was Just Whacked By The Food Cart:
$7.50

Greeting From A Flight Attendant:
$6.00

Pleasant Greeting From A Flight Attendant:
$12.50

Oxygen Mask In The Event Of An Emergency:
$3.00

Activation of Oxygen Mask In The Event Of An Emergency:
$39.00

Barf Bag:
Due To Overwhelming Respect For Our Customers, This Item Is Still Free Of Charge

Barf Bag Disposal:
$155.00 (where available)