Dear Mr. Taxman

My uncle Rodney, the consummate joker, is in the habit of sending out mass emails to friends and family members on a fairly regular basis. Most of them are harmless, funny, little tidbits about rednecks (of which there are many in my West TX family tree), marital strife, or some variation of sexual deviance. (To elaborate on that last one, I actually can't remember a time when my innocent, still-forming mind was not bombarded with vivid imagery from sex jokes told by adult family members, which make them all the more inappropriate and icky. This above all else, I believe ultimately rendered me with very indelicate sensibilities. Although I like to pretend from time to time that this is not the case.)

Many, many of these emails involve, of course, critiques of every branch of governmental function. And since that dreaded tax deadline is fast approaching, I thought I'd share this latest installment:

Dear Internal Revenue Service,

Enclosed you will find my 2007 tax return showing that I owe $3,407.00 in taxes. Please note the attached article from USA Today dated 12 November, wherein you will see the Pentagon (Department of Defense) is paying $171.50 per hammer and NASA has paid $600.00 per toilet seat.

I am enclosing four (4) toilet seats, valued at $2,400, and six (6) hammers, valued at $1,029, which I secured at Home Depot, bringing my total remittance to $3,429.00. Please apply the overpayment of $22.00 to the Presidential Election Fund, as noted on my return. You can do this inexpensively by sending them one (1) 1.5" Phillips head screw (see aforementioned article detailing how H.U.D. pays $22.00 each for 1.5" Phillips head screws). One screw is enclosed for your convenience.

It has been a pleasure to pay my tax bill this year, and I look forward to paying it again next year.

Sincerely,

Satisfied Tax Payer

Holy moly...

I have found the cure for baby fever: listening to my sister's horrifying stories of substitute teaching. Yikes.

Little monsters!

Baby Breaks

If you have the means, I highly suggest taking periodic breaks in your work week for 20- to 40-minute cuddle sessions with yummy, irresistible, little infants. Although this activity has been documented to illicit, on occasion, raging cases of baby fever, the therapeutic benefits far outweigh the risks.

It just so happens that the cutest infant within my immediate vicinity is one, Ms. Elizabeth Grace Hall, daughter of Brad and Alisha Hall. Alisha brings Ms. Lizzy into the office 3 days a week because her bosses are just that awesome (and Alisha's ability to keep their collective shit together affords her great understanding and flexibility from these bosses).

As soon as I learned Ms. Lizzy was on the premises, I scheduled an impromptu 30-minute session. Our meeting consisted of cradling, rocking, and rhythmic patting of the bottom. (That patting of the bottom is her 'off' switch, by the way. As soon as I started, she was rendered incapacitated. Her eyes started rolling into the back of her skull, and she was gone.) Therapy also included an intensive lesson in restraint. I can't be the only one tempted to gum baby fingers, toes, and noses. They were put there to torment me with their cuteness and edibility.

The only repercussions from our meeting is a sore and cramping right bicep and shoulder. As yet I am not skilled enough to rotate yummy, irresistible infants from one arm to the other. Therefore, during our next session on Friday, I will use further cradling, rocking and patting of the bottom to exercise the opposite arm.

My phone camera picture of yummy, irresistible, little Lizzy wasn't saved so you'll just have to take my word for it that she is, in fact, yummy and irresistible and very little.

Soccer Synopsis

• 1-9 thrashing last night. We got our bottoms spanked fair and square.

• Lance makes the most dramatic goals (and collisions) of all time. Last night it was a flying head-butt into the net, which took everyone by surprise, including, thankfully, their keeper or else it would have been a complete shut-out.

• The team member threatening to quit was a no-show so I'm guessing she really is quitting. I was going to try to talk her out of it but decided against it.

I've hit my drama threshold, to be quite honest. This was supposed to be a fun, social way for us to get a little exercise each week, not an outlet for a bunch of repressed anger and frustration. As I see it, there are two problems here: 1) people take things too personally and 2) some people are just jackasses and need to grow up already. For the love of God, you're almost thirty! It's time to put on your big girl panties and quit with the temper tantrums! its embarrassing!

I just want to play the game and escape the crushing, suffocating stresses of work for a while. That is the whole point of these extra-curricular team sports, is it not?

Whole Lotta Nuthin'

That pretty much sums up our week-end activities. And it was wonderful.

Lately our Friday-Sundays have been jam-packed with productivity, bar-hopping, travel, or worst of all, work. And while I generally enjoy most of these things, sometimes its nice to just turn everything off, tune everyone out and wallow in unwashed, solitary introspection. Or maybe not introspection so much as a state of complete anti-social vegetation.

The only foray we made into the civilized world this week-end was to catch Run, Fat Boy, Run at the Drafthouse with our friends Katie and Derek.
It was actually the second time I've seen this movie this month. The first time was at the Paramount during the SXSW film festival when it was introduced by the director, one Mr. David Schwimmer. Its a nice, simple, funny movie, but do yourself a favor and divert your eyes during the blister-popping scene. Why, David, why??

p.s. SXSW Aside: Moby was in town to play a show during the music festival. And I know someone who MADE OUT WITH HIM! THE Moby!

Geeky cute

I won't say who, but apparently she was all cute and smitten afterward. They were apparently texting each other all the next day, and we haven't heard from her since so don't know if there was ever any follow-up. The last we heard, he said he was going to take her on some trip with him. I'm eager to hear any future reports. Ha!

Update on Mr. Mac

I talked to my mom briefly. She's at the hospital getting ready to check him out. Looks like the major stroke risk period has passed (hopefully) without incident. His blood pressure was doing some pretty impressive loop-de-loops, dropping like crazy all Friday night (down to 60/40 at one point!), but they got it stabilized by Saturday morning.

So far she's reporting that he's grumpy but in good health. :) Big sighs of relief all around.

Boys Only Holiday

A few week-ends ago, Greg abandoned me so he could fly out to Miami to meet some of his favorite English boys for some hard drinking, sun-soaked reminiscing. Here are a few photos.

James, G, Stu and Ray

Notice that while other boys drink beer, Greg orders stuff with STUFF in it. What is that? Mint? Sugar cane?


They stayed in the crappiest Days Inn ever. And it was still $150 a night. But since the bars in South Beach stay open until 5 a.m., they didn't see much of their rooms anyway.

Stu doesn't believe in smiling for cameras.




Stu cracks a smiles, but only when Ray is in pain.


Or when he is pinched.

The boys on the streets in various states of drunken confusion.


No words.... ::hanging head in shame::

Ray gets the munchies after all night benders...

...while Stuart studies local real estate markets and debates the economic ramifications of expanding his growing empire...

...and Greg, well Greg just loves everything and everyone...

Obviously, a good time was had by all. And Greg is already talking about the next boys' week-end in a year or two. All I can say is that I have got to get in a girls' week-end before he makes it to round 2 or I will never forgive myself!

p.s. Only a guy could spend an entire week-end in a new town on the coast and not take a single picture of the beach. Or even daylight for that matter...

Quick Recovery, Mr. Mac!

Our wedding, April 29th, 2005

Mr. Mac, or Brent as most people call him, has been my mom's partner in life, love, and crime for the last 20 years. I don't call him Brent and never have because when I met him at 11-years-old he was introduced to me as Mr. McAfee. I'm from Texas. This is what we do. We call people mister and missus. We say yes, sir and no, ma'am. Its respectful. Even if the person in question is your mom's new boyfriend.

Needless to say, he's been a constant fixture in my life, almost two-thirds of it to be exact. And over the years calling him Mr. McAfee became too cumbersome so it was quickly shortened to Mr. Mac. And that's what I've always called him. It's been branded into my brain, and there's no changing that now. This seems to disturb some people, namely my husband, who finds himself calling Brent Mr. Mac by accident because he hears it so often from me. Sorry.

And get over it. :)

This morning my mom and Mr. Mac drove to the hospital at 5 a.m. for a scheduled carotid endarterectomy.

At a doctor's appointment a few months ago, they found Mr. Mac's arteries were majorly blocked - actually something like 90%+ blockage. This is not good. This means that blood flow is greatly diminished and also that at any time the plaque of whatever the hell was blocking his artery could become dislodged and cause a major stroke. This is serious business.

After discussing options, the initial plan was to surgically insert a stent, basically a hollow straw placed in the artery that serves to open up the passages for blood to circulate more freely. He's already had one of these a few years ago from previous problems. My understanding is that this is minimally invasive surgery, although still scary and not without side-effects. However, when they imaged the carotid artery with an angiogram on March 1st, the doc showed my mom pictures of a twisted, mangled mess. "Tortuous" was the actual word the doc used. Apparently this blockage has contorted his arteries to the point that the doctors said there was no way they could possibly insert a stent. His vessels were too convoluted. So instead they're left with the CEA as the best option.

The easiest way to describe this operation, the way my mom described it to me, is that the docs go in, open up the artery, scrape out all the crap, and then sew him back up. Hopefully this will alleviate much of the blockage and remove most of the plaque that poses a danger of stroke.

(Wow. I just noticed how shallow my breathing has gotten. Deep breathes, Larisa...)

So I talked to my mom at noon today. He was out of surgery and doing well. But the doc said it was the hardest CEA he's ever done. And this is one of the best docs in town. There's no way they're discharging him tomorrow as originally planned. The next 12-24 hours are critical. There is still the possibility that he might have a stroke so he's under careful watch during this time.

Right now he's in the critical care unit because there was no room in intensive care. Luckily, this is the same hospital where my mom worked as a nurse for 25+ years. Her old friend Minny from the recovery room still works there and snuck her in to see him a little early. Regular visiting hours are pretty generous so she's been by his side as much as she can be. Leah, his sister, has also been there keeping vigil. I'm so thankful for this - Mom needs the distraction. She's been fighting panic attacks since about 3:30 this morning but has managed to keep sane and talked herself down from a few potential break-downs.

When he's finally discharged and given the green light, Mom has plans to kidnap him, take him up to the cabin in Ruidoso, turn off his phone, and force the bull-headed man to rest, relax, and recuperate.

Typical cabin scene of rest and relaxation, Thanksgiving 2006

I'm sending all my good thoughts and, yes, prayers his way. I'd appreciate it if you did too.

Guess What I Got in the Mail Yesterday?

ANTS! My much anticipated new pets. All 25-30 of them that I ordered weeks ago. Its time to bust out that gel farm that has been sitting neglected in the corner of my bedroom for the last month.

How do I get this damn lid off??

The directions suggest that you stick the tube, their turbulent home over the last few days, into the refrigerator for 15 minutes to sedate the ants before attempting any relocation process. But after their long, jostling trek to my house via the USPS, I figured further torture would just be cruel. They needed liberation. And soon.

However, as I tried to open the tube and accidentally shook it a little too vigorously, they got all riled up and pissed and started scrambling way too quickly for my liking. I lost my nerve. So into the fridge they went for 10 minutes. And guess what. It totally worked. They were in a little coma-like state, so much so that I was afraid I might have killed them. But no, I saw their little limbs barely twitching so my conscience was cleared.

I tapped them out onto the gel, and just as I was about to try retrieving that little bit of carrot, they suddenly awakened to more frenzied creepy crawling. Forget the carrot, get the lid on. Pronto!Locked and loaded

My sister and I tried to count them, but they're a bit too stealthy for census-taking. We think there are 25. And they're all ladies. And they're my new babies. The least I can do is name them.

So... Please allow me to introduce you to the clan: Eunice, Geraldine, Mabel, Beatrice, Imogene, Phyllis, Loretta, Mae, Gertrude, Edna, Mildred, Marjorie, Gladys, Thelma, Ethel, Wilma, Agnes, Bertha, Viola, Louella, Francine, Hilda, Flo, Delores, and Winifred. They will be our house guests for the next 1 to 3 months.This totally creeps you out, doesn't it?

Check it out! It glows! Adding that extra touch of geekiness.

Entranced by my ants...

Thanks, Shelley!

SXSW Hipster Style - a Pictorial Tutorial

Gentlemen:

• slightly greasy, unkempt hair
• chains and other metallic accessories
• tight jeans that accentuate a complete lack of any butt whatsoever
• ironic t-shirt, again, tightly fitted

Ladies:

• flowy summer dress
• cowboy boots
• huge, no, I mean HUGE earrings
• extra eye liner
  

Everyone:

• disaffected look of boredom and/or counter-cultural superiority
• tattoos
• stretched lobes
• sometimes when feeling extra-specially festive, it may be necessary to bust out the furry, multi-colored go-go boots with matching bikini

Obviously this festival afforded us an inordinate amount of people-watching opportunities, one of my all-time favorite pastimes. It was awesome. But, seriously, I've never seen so many super-skinny boys in my life. Eat something! My sister and I, who unfortunately both inherited the 'ghetto booty' gene, have enough to go around. We were walking around trying to find one decent visible butt amongst all these hipster boys but, realizing the utter futility, soon gave up. After abandoning our search, my sister turns to me and says, "You know, between the two of us, we could probably ass 5 or 6 of these guys." And you know what, it's so true.