Monday, March 26, 2007

All Three Lorelais are WHAT?

This is how part of my date went on Saturday.

Micaela: "I watch cheesey shows, like Charmed and The Gilmore Girls."

Date: "Oh, yeah?"

Micaela: "Hey, Lorelai is hot!"


Micaela: "The mom, not the daughter."

Date: "Hey, all three Lorelais are hot."

Micaela: "Three! You totally watch The Gilmore Girls!!"

Date: "Yeah. Well. I like the banter between the two youngest Lorelais."

And I thought, "This guy totally kicks ass."

Saturday, March 24, 2007

Look What I Did

I never knew what El Pollo Loco was until I moved to Reno. But then I had the amazing experience of having their black beans, which are full of pseudo-Mexican goodness.

And then they took them away! Freaking bastards.

So, I wrote them a (not-so) nice letter stating that I would never, ever, not in a million years! eat there again until they brought back the black beans! (Pinto beans being so over-rated, of course. Unless you are from New Mexico, where apparently everyone eats pinto beans like they are going out of style. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Literally. I, however, am NOT from new Mexico, and I detest pinto beans. But I digress...)

The Evil Crazy Chicken himself emailed me his apologies and mailed me a gift certificate for $5 to El Pollo Loco. Trickers! They tried to trick me into eating there again! Well, I would not be fooled. I gave the gift certificate away to someone who likes pinto beans. I WILL NEVER BETRAY MY PRECIOUS BLACKS BEANS!

And then, many months later, during a particularly bad drought of black bean goodness, a blessed miracle occurred. I got an other email from The Crazy Chicken Himself, stating that black beans are back. They realized the error of their ways and are now giving the public what they want! The Black Bean!
Ha! Take THAT Crazy Chicken! You lost money on that one, my friend, and now you will reap many rewards from realizing that I, as usual, am right.

Thursday, March 22, 2007

On Being Thirty, Post #2

I do realize, though, that I am getting to that age where people have stopped asking how old I am.

Remember when you were younger and everybody asked you how old you were? "How old are you, Micaela?" "Tell Mommy how old you are." Etc, etc, ad nauseam, ad nauseam.

Then, remember, when you were twelve, and your next birthday was coming up? And then you could tell everyone, "I'm a TEENager." And then when you turned 18, and you could vote? And buy cigarettes? And then when you turned the GLORIOUS 21! you could DRINK!!? (Well, legally, anyway.)

When I turned 18, I couldn't wait to be old enough to buy beer. I didn't even like beer at the time, I just wanted to be able to buy beer. And then when I was old enough to buy beer, I realized I could buy better things, like rum and vodka. But everyone always asked how old I was. I got used to it. It was like my blankie from when I was younger. It was comfortable.

Then one day, I went to buy alcohol, and no one asked for my ID. OK, it was last weekend. The kid behind the counter took one look at me and decided that I was old enough in his mind to buy alcohol. Who is this kid to judge me and my age? I don't look 21! I look 18! Even if I am 25, I still could pass for 18. Couldn't I?

Alas, I cannot. I could maybe pass for 24, but I think that is even pushing it. Although a woman I used to work with was convinced that I was 24, but she wasn't that smart. So we can't really trust her opinion. So, instead I try to pass for 25, which is nice, because that is the age I feel like, and so when people ask my age, and I tell them 25, I don't feel like I am lying.

But seriously, when did people stop asking about my age? I know it isn't polite to ask people how old they are, especially women, but I haven't got to that age yet, have I?

Thursday, March 15, 2007

A Sign of the Apocalypse

Today, as I was plucking my eyebrows, (a favorite pastime of mine, don't you know) I found a GRAY one. A GRAY EYEBROW HAIR!!! I immediately had images of my grandmother penciling in her eyebrows to make them darker. But instead of my grandma's face, it was mine! Then I started looking for the tell-tale eye wrinkles. Nope, none there, thank GOD! But a GRAY eyebrow! I seriously am beginning to wonder what the Bible said about the signs of the Apocalypse, because this has GOT to be one of them.

"And lo, behold, you will see a GRAY eyebrow upon your face, and you will know that a horseman will come with his three brothers. You will know that this is a sign. A sign of the upcoming destruction of the world, and of Jesus yet to come. After you have seen the GRAY eyebrow, you will then notice that no man will look toward you with an interested eye. He will look at you and glance away as if he has seen nothing. And then you will know that the four horsemen are soon on their way. Prepare for that time, as it is near!" - Revelations 3: 4-11

See? It's in the Bible. It must be the truth, because the Bible says so. I better go get ready. You know, drink more, start smoking again, general carousing.

Tuesday, March 13, 2007

And Once Again, a Man Totally Pisses Me Off

I had a very nice date the other night with a young gentleman that I will not name, but whose name rhymes with "Fan." Fan and I had a nice date: sushi, coffee, walking by the river. And a good night kiss. A light, little, fun peck, but a kiss nonetheless. We made plans to continue our conversation later on, in exactly one week: Sunday.

On Saturday morning, I woke up and checked my email, like the sick addict I am. I had a message from Fan. He apologized and said he couldn't make it on Sunday because he had to pick up another shift at work, and that he couldn't really reschedule due to the fact he was moving and busy packing. I chalked it up to brushing me off, and was quite bummed out: I started a fight with my sister, worked out frantically to get bad vibes out of my system, cleaned the bathroom with a toothbrush, etc.

Everyone said to me, "Oh, don't freak out! He just had to work. I mean, he kissed you, right? Of course he still wants to go out with you."

I just want you all to know that I know a brush off when I get one.

Today I got this email:

Hi Micaela,
How are you? I am fine. Hey, I dont [sic] want to like string you along or anything.. [sic] I am going to take a break from dating for awhile. Good luck with your search.
Fan* (*Name changed for the purposes of this story)

Now, what the hell am I to say to that? Oh, I know: if you think you don't want to date, then DON'T DATE!! Don't put your freaking face up on and tell the universe what a fantastic and great guy you are. Don't tell women that you are the frog that they can turn into a prince. Don't tell women how you are sympathetic and nice and caring. Because you are not. If you were, you would have called me, rather than emailed me; you would have hugged me rather than kissed me; and you certainly would have ignored my next email rather than telling me you wanted to go out again, this time for Thai food at 4:30 on Sunday.

Saturday, March 10, 2007


**Please note: I have yet to read Tracy's "rant" in full. I am typing my response as I read it.**

Tracy, in response to my "Kiefer Sutherland is the hottest man on TV" post, has now posted her own version of hot men on TV. While I respect her opinion, I was quite disappointed on how she tried to taint your mind with unappealing images of Kiefer when he was acting in MOVIES! Now, we all know that these men are actors, and spend hours and hours a day trying to look good for women like Tracy and I to drool over. But when she pulls up a picture of Kiefer being a bad guy in a movie to "prove her point" of why he is not hot, that is just silly. He was ACTING. It is a little something called his JOB. And just because he was acting as a villain, doesn't mean it detracts from his handsomeness at all.

Even if Kiefer is a white trash Klan member in a MOVIE, he is still looking hot. Not quite Jack Bauer hot, but hot nonetheless. While it MIGHT detract from his overall hotness, it certainly does not make his less good looking.

And vampires are hot. Even girl vampires. Everybody knows this.

But this doesn't matter because he was in the movies, and when I stated Kiefer was the hottest man on television, I meant television.

Now, there are two things I have to mention with the rest of Tracy's list. While I still respect her opinion, she listed all the men from Lost. EXCEPT Matthew Fox, who is the hottest one of them all! I mean, why leave out Matthew? He is smoking hot, too. (Although not HALF as good-looking as Kiefer.)

And the whole shit about Phil, the host from Amazing Race, is just lies. That is like saying that David Caruso is hot at all. I mean, Phil? He is fugly. Seriously, what were you thinking, Tracy? Phil? I might have been sucked into your fantasy if you hadn't mentioned Phil. Phil. Please. I am shuddering as I am typing.

Now, am I saying that there aren't hot men on television besides Kiefer? Of course not. That would be like me saying that U2 is the only music I listen to. It would be a lie. But do I still think that Kiefer is the hottest man on TV right now? Yes, yes I do.

In other words, Tracy, I think we might have to just agree to disagree on this one.

Friday, March 2, 2007

On Being Thirty, Post #1

I know that I am supposed to be really bothered by the fact that I am going to be turning 30 in a month, but really, I have good days and bad days about it.

I woke up this morning, and I realized one reason why it isn't a super big deal is because I don't think of myself as 30. Hell, not even 29 or 28. My "Matrix" mind (that self-residual in your mind of what you look like, what you act like) thinks of myself as 25. Skinny. (Moderately skinny.) Funny. Fun-loving. Hot. And 25.

Now, why 25, I have no idea. My twenty-fifth year of existence wasn't particularly exciting or thrilling. I was in grad school, and English professors do a pretty good job of sucking your will to live on a fairly regular basis, so I wasn't living the high life or anything.

But when people ask me how old I am, I usually have to stop and think, "Twenty-five. No. that's not right. How old am I again? Oh, that's right, 29. Almost 30." But not because I feel like lying or that "I will be 25 from now on, until I turn 35. Then I will be 30." Nothing like that. I just don't think of myself as 30.

To me, being 30 is being a mature adult. With bills, and a husband, and kids. You know, respectable. But I am none of those things. Yes, I have bills, but I also can go do whatever I want, when I want. I can go out to the Outback and eat $35 worth of food and not feel bad and wonder if I am going to get into trouble when I get home. I can come home at 2:30 in the morning, and no one is waiting up for me, wondering where the hell I have been. I can go to the movies when I want. And to whichever movie I want to see. There are no compromises in my movie-going experience, something that a respectable, mature adult would have to contend with. I don't have to worry about anything like that. So, in my mind, no worries equates to still being in college, and still being a fun-loving single. A 25-year-old single.

(But then I have a bad day, and I realize that I am almost 30, and still single, and alone. And that, my dear reader, is a really bad day.)

An Open Letter to Steph and Nate

I would like to comment on why I think I would make a fantastic Godmother. Not only will I be the best auntie EVER, I will be a great Godmother because I will buy him whatever Star Wars things he wants. (Not like our mother who wouldn't buy me the Princess Leia figurine I wanted because I was a girl and girls aren't supposed to like Star Wars. But if your son wants a Barbie, I'll buy him that, too, because I do not discriminate by gender.)

Your son will know all of the cool bands of our era, and he won't think that they are nerdy or lame, because his cool Tia Ky likes them. He will know about U2, The Dave Matthews Band, and Modest Mouse. And Pink Floyd. And Pearl Jam. And of course, Ani. (We won't have to tell him TOO much about the last Ani concert you and Nate went to, OK?) The music list goes on and on, but our love of music will not be lost on him.

I will also share my love of reading to him. He will love to read like you and I, Steph, and because he will read so much, he will be the smartest kid in school, but cool, too. And when he becomes the President of the United States, I will be the proudest Tia and Godmother ever. Or when he becomes Bono's assistant when Bono gets too old to do his humanitarian work. Whichever the little one would rather do is all right with me.

In other words, I will try to be the best role model that he can have, besides his own mother and father. I will always try to help you and Nate out in whatever way you need me to in raising the little guy, and I will always try to be the coolest Tia Ky a kid can have.

Although it is kinda hard to be me and not be cool at the same time.