Archive for July, 2008

I’m so tired of hearing businesses and people say, “We’ve gone green!” Can someone please define this for me? Because as far as I can tell, anybody can say they’ve gone green, slap a few spiral light bulbs in the office lamps, and presto-chango, they are environmentally friendly.
Americans seem to be a little hypocritical to me as this energy crisis looms. In fact, I think we’re just a nation of hypocritical complainers. As this “green” fad grows, I find it ironic that the people around me, while working at these “green” businesses haven’t done much to “green” their own lives. I’m just as guilty– I’m part of an organization that values this “green” initiative and and I drive my SUV to work and then complain about high gas prices.
So, then I decided that I would not go “green.” In fact, I was totally against “green.” I’d gone “black.” This is the color of oil and I love oil. I was going to drive around town with the a/c on full blast, buy my Diet Dr. Pepper from Sonic– guiltlessly enjoying my Styrofoam cup, and run the water the entire time I brushed my teeth.

I even went as far as debating these “greenies.” In my “going black” mindset, I told one of my good friends that I was tired of hearing people complain and that I was just going to drive my SUV and pay the dad-gum $4-a-gallon. Then I got my hand slapped: she insisted that some people couldn’t afford these higher gas prices and that it was hard for the average working man to make ends-meet. Families were having a hard time putting food on the table and this was a serious crisis. Well, I felt bad. I must admit that I live a charmed life with many luxuries and I will be the first to say that I am very fortunate. I quieted down about “going black.”
But after a few days and a good dose of CNN’s complaining, I started thinking… I wonder what percentage of these people crying about gas prices have cable television? Smoke two packs a day? Eat out for lunch? The problem is, and I’m included, a lot of people expect to continue their live styles without making any sacrifices when the gas prices go up. Instead of “going green” I think we need to “get real.” Even if we can afford the gas, maybe we should lower our consumption so that the prices will go down? Or at least just stop complaining! I’m no genius and don’t pretend have the answers but I do think that each of us could do something. So I had to ask myself a tough question: What have I been doing in response to this crisis? Nothing.

So I weighed my options:

1. Run for Congress- not independently wealthy, so that’s out of the question.

2. Buy a Vespa Scooter. Oooh, what a fun and fashionable option! But the hills in Little Rock and my driving record make this little more than a dream.

3. Carpool- well, I would burn just as much gas picking people up and I don’t really want my car to bake in the local park-and-ride.

4. Have my husband take me to work. A chauffeur! Right, I’m sure he would love that.

5. Take the bus. Still the park-and-ride issue, but so far, the best option.
So today, I took the bus to work. Just to see. And I will have to say it was a lot of fun. The sacrifice I’m making is 30 minutes of sleep because it takes that much longer to get to work on the bus than it does for me to drive. However, I love books on tape and I’m sure I could answer a few e-mails on my blackberry during the trip. Maybe it’s a lame effort and okay, so I’m only saving $50 a month by taking the bus, but Rome wasn’t built in a day, right?
Well, before I get revolutionary, I’ll have to remember it’s only been one bus ride– and I haven’t even taken the return ride home. But we’ll see. Until then, I’m giving “going green” a Tiger Lily until it means something more than a recycle bin and a lot of complaining.


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The Club

This Tiger Lily was inspired by my sister who blogged about music a few days ago. Check it out but be warned if you are a hip-hop music lover that this comes from her vantage point as a mother.
However, I had to agree with most of her sentiments until she attacked Jay-Z and then I was offended. But her indignation got me thinking about music and inspired my thoughts on the elusive “club.” If you are unfamiliar with “the club” here are a few explanations.
http://www.urbandictionary.com/ defines the “club” as:
  • “A place for social gatherings, that plays the latest music and encourages dancing and drinking.”
  • “Place where e’erbody gets tipsy.” (He’s got his fake I.D. so it’s no problem.)

But really, the main source of information about “the club” comes from popular music. This is the first place that really sparked my interest about “the club.” I am a fan of rap music, (I backed my ass up in college as all good sorority girls do) and these clubs sound really amazing. Again, here are a few explanations of what “the club” is, and what happens at “the club”:

  • Usher explains in his hit song, Love in this Club, that he “wanna make love in this club, yea, make love in this club, yea, in this club, yea, in this club” and so on. He then explains to his girl that he’s “About to hit the club, Make a movie, yeah rated R… on the couch, on the table, on the bar or on the floor.”

    (Kim Kardashian. Here’s someone who is no stranger to these types of “R” rated movies made with hip-hop artisits.)

  • In Ray-J’s catchy song, Sexy Can I, his girlfriend works at the club. Ray-J asks his girlfriend “Sexy can I, visit you at work, while you sliding down the pole…I make it rain in the club like Ohh, ohh, ohh.”
  • Also, please correct me if I’m misinformed, but Justin Timberlake encourages his ladies to get their sexy back in the club: “Come here girl (Go ‘head be gone with it) Come to the back (Go ‘head be gone with it) VIP! (Go ‘head be gone with it) Drinks on me.”

But where are these “clubs”? I’ve certainly never been there. I tried the Piano Bar downtown and it wasn’t really “the club” experience I’d hoped for. The closest I’ve come to finding this “club” was in Cancun Mexico at the ever popular, Coco Bongos.

But I didn’t really see any of this glamorous stuff going on. No one bought me anything I’d like to be sippn’ on. We had arm bracelets that afforded us an endless sampling of their alcohol infused Gatorade. I also didn’t feel like a VIP packed in there with all the sweaty 20-somethings. However I do remember a few Circ De Soleil wanna-be’s doing some acrobatics on a “pole” between the Madonna and Beyonce numbers. But, somehow, I don’t think those are the same poles that Ray-J is talking about.

For the most part, the types of clubs that I’ve encountered have a lot of this going on:

(And I’m sorry if that’s your Aunt, but she should be careful not to have her picture taken if she’s going to dance like that.) People are getting in fights, doing line dances and drinking long-necks or well drinks. Oh well, the search continues for “the club.”

To conclude, I must admit that as my thirties are creepn’ closer, I have really given up the search for “the club.” But, in good club form, I’d like to send a shout out to some of my favorites along the way:

  • Opie’s-Norman, Oklahoma
  • The Cowboy- Little Rock, Arkansas
  • The Thirsty Turtle- somewhere in New Jersey (thanks Pfizer)
  • Coco Bongo’s- Cancun, Mexico
  • And a new favorite, confetti and all- Groovy’s- Oklahoma City, Oklahoma

Tiger Lily to the elusive “club.”

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Now, this is not Greta’s failed attempt at a Flashdance costume, it’s the legwarmer-leg look of a doggy-hospital patient. Her little hairy legs had to be shaved for the IV’s.

Well our Holiday weekend had a little hiccup, to the tune of about $700. And after all the worry, tears and a little bit of anger, here we are with one sick puppy– literally.

Little Greta (she weighs 4.6 pounds) has been having stomach trouble for about a month. I boarded her for six days when Matt and I went to Napa Valley and she hasn’t been healthy since. I could record all of the gory details, but believe me, we’ve cleaned up a number of things that I’m sure no Resolve, Stanly Steamer or Act of God will ever get out of our carpet. Needless to say, we’ve been battling this stomach bug for some time.

So fast forward to the Thursday night before Forth of July when I got off work. I came home to find a number of treasures stashed all over the house. Loads of them. Matt informed me that he too had the pleasure of picking up one of her “unfortunates” earlier in the day. Now, although a rational person would conclude, “she’s sick” I was beginning to believe that this was normal for a little dog. I picked it all up, gave her a kiss and went on about the evening.

Now poodles are smart. (So I’m told. Sometimes I think Greta Boomer would have been a short bus kid if she were a child, but she has her moments of genius.) So her shining intellectual moment this weekend came when she finally communicated to me that she needed some serious help. She pooped right at my feet while I made dinner. Again, details aside, panic ensued and I snatched her up to hurry to the Emergency Vet.

Now I’m feeling all of the emotions of a worried parent, because being sans-child, Greta is my baby. I felt guilty, worried and panicky as Matt drove us to the Emergency Vet. Cue the “Money ain’t a thang” music. Because this is how I felt. No matter what, we were going to make her better.

We walk in and they have us fill out the paper work which I couldn’t possibly do, so Matt scribbled away. I watched a huge white mutt-of-a-dog being cared for by three midget sized adults with a bath towel. Being snobby, I got irritated when the little owner man bent over “Copenhagen” (of course, it’s Arkansas) to check out the damage from the dog-fight, exposing his entire rear end. This was the beginning of our wonderful three-hour experience.

Finally, we were ushered into the holding cell, I mean, exam room, and shut away to wait it out. Everything in the entire room was puke green and plastic; as if we were waiting in the drunk tank in the county jail. Finally, the little pancreatitis test that looked suspiciously like a pregnancy test, came back a light shade of green, confirming that Greta did NOT have pancreatitis. The blood panel also came back with no conclusive diagnosis and by 10:30 p.m., we were buying (literally) a very convincing plea from the baldest of doctors to let them keep her over night.

Well, Daddy Warbucks stuck our little Greta with two IV’s and a hefty bill by the time it was all over. Still, no indication of what was really wrong. She was released from the hospital with instructions to go see our regular vet the following morning, when she would be back from her 4th of July holiday.

First thing this morning, we took her straight away to our wonderful veterinarian, Laura Mahaffey. She took one quick sample (an uncomfortably probing endeavor) and diagnosed Greta with HGE. Basically, this is a really bad irritation of the bowels. She said that it could be very dangerous and sent us home with an antibiotic, for $60. Then, not meaning to add insult to injury, she informed us that if she kept a dog in her hospital for a week, she would probably not collect anything close to $700.

Now, I know this sounds like I’m just complaining about the cost, and I am, but I’m really glad that Greta is ok. She’s wanted us to hold her all day and hasn’t eaten much. As you can see by the photo, I had trouble typing because of my little sicko. She’s not out of the woods yet, but we think she’s going to recover. No thanks to Daddy Warbucks. I know this is a stretch, but Tiger Lily to the Emergency Vet that pumped some fluids for $700. I mean the irony here is that they are supposed to help you, not send you into bankruptcy.

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She has a unique beauty, a mysterious and captivating shyness about her and a flair for humanitarian efforts! Forget about Tomb Raider and that weird Billy Bob Blood thing, I think I like Angelina Jolie. I think I like her a lot. She seems so nice, so pretty. Right away I wanted to see the pictures of Shiloh. Recently I’ve even considered a cool tattoo down my back- it’s chic. No, I wouldn’t kiss my brother on the lips, but it’s ok for her. It’s not weird, it’s just a gesture of love, right?

And it was out of this mesmerized fog that I got snapped right back into reality when my cousin dropped this Tiger Lily nomination on me:

From Gina on Angelina Jolie:
“For someone the media is making out to be this glowing maternal goddess and heroic humanitarian, I’d just like to remind them of the bizarre behavior she’s repeatedly shocked us with in her not-so-distant past….drug videos, open confessions of weird sexual encounters, making out with her brother, wearing a vile of her husbands blood to show devotion, etc, etc. Has the public so quickly forgiven and forgotten all of this?

In addition, the way she picks these poor kids up like souvenirs and thrusts them into her odd world is not heroic or maternal, it’s sad and selfish and a little shady. There’s just no telling what kind of psychological trauma they will be sorting through in 10 years. And for someone who insists she’s interested in keeping a low profile, she continues to pull one attention-grabbing stunt after another. Coincidence? I think not. So before she’s nominated as woman-of-the-year, I just felt she deserved to be nominated for a more appropriate award – a tiger lily!”

At first, I was a little defensive. That is some strong language about my girl. After all, Angie’s helping people in New Orleans. But, UN ambassador or not, the facts are the facts. I immediately went to one of the greatest sources of accurate and thorough information, People magazine. Their online magazine has a number of features which have come in very handy for me, as I track Jay-Z and Beyonce’s every move, so naturally, I went there for my information. Here is Jolie’s biography:


After reading her bio, and now out of my transfixed state, there is no doubt in my mind, Angelina Jolie deserves a Tiger Lily. And not because she is so strange and yet so revered, but because she has been able to do what no one else I have ever known has been able to do: She is has overcome her past without totally separating herself from it. I mean, she’s in the public eye and there’s no “fresh start” or “clean slate” for this movie star.

Here’s the thing. In my experience, once labeled a strange-cat, always a strange-cat. Last time I checked, the kid that talked about maggots in the 5th grade and ate his scabs for lunch is still not voted “most popular” at his high school reunion. Instead, they give him “most changed” and then avoid him in the punch line. That’s why, as I watch all of the mania unfold about Angelina Jolie, I am astounded at how quickly people have been able to forgive and forget.

This acceptance of Angelina has me in deep thought about our society’s criteria for forgiveness and redemption. What is it about Angelina? How is it that people are so easily mesmerized by her? Maybe she’s just beautiful and beauty affords great forgiveness in our society. Or maybe it’s just that we like to see Brad happy again. I myself have been taken in by her charms and I just can’t explain why I’m able to look past those Goth years.

As my 10 year high school reunion creeps ever-closer and people sympathize with me when I say I’m not so interested in going, it makes me wonder: How did Angelina escape with only a few cutting scars and few not-so-great tattoos? Looks like we’ll never know. Unless, of course, People decides to enlighten us.

Thanks for the nomination Gina, Tiger Lily #7 to Angelina Jolie. Hmm. #7, a lucky number–maybe this explains the Jolie phenomenon.

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