Another Q Tip for you

LOVE THYSELF

 

The Q Tip o' the Day

If you're caught doing something you shouldn't...

Pause, give your accuser a moment to air their grievance...

And then, when they're finished making their point...

TURN ON THE CHARM! 

Sex and the City $$$

A very special Ewy and The Beast featuring the female take on this flick!

Sex in the city fans are going to love this movie. For anyone waiting years for resolution, you get plenty here. This movie is the great resolver, even pulling in new characters and solving their problems. All of this tying off of loose ends takes a while. I sat almost smack dab in the middle of five hundred women and four men, a raucous double date, and wondered when it would all end. It wouldn't for a long time. To the non-Sex and the City person, also known as the straight male, this movie was like sitting through someone's scrapbooks. And just when they close one and you think you're on your way home, they grab several more volumes from the shelves. They just kept pouring it on. Carrie Bradshaw was about to get married, you see, when she's jilted by her sometimes lover, Big. You'd think her dealing with that would be enough to fill the screen with drama, and it does, butI sat amongst a pack of hungry estrogen wolves who wanted more. They get rocky marriages, pregnancy woes and mid-life sex crises. But for every frown, there's hastily fabricated feminine feel-goodness. Every thirty seconds someone is opening a new dress, or trying on a new hat or squealing at a surprise visit. It's like that Oprah where she gives away all that cool stuff, only this version is TWO-AND-HALF hours long.

For being as long as it is, and for feeling a bit claustrophobic, like I was shoved in someone's purse and left to discover all kinds of horrific feminine secrets, the movie has enough funny spots to keep you from blinding yourself with your date's eyelash curler. The laughter isn't continuous, sometimes it's even a healthy release for the cornier dramatic moments (wait for Carrie to drop her cellphone...), but I caught myself letting a hearty guffaw here and there.

Beware: The corny moments like crumbling bouquet, the computer password and the tumbling phone will nearly crush your will.

Who Will Like This: Any significant other reaping the rewards for surviving what seems like the whole box set in one sitting.

Secret to Better Enjoyment: Sporadic female nudity.

bionic woman saves the day

Wouldn't you hate to be one of those people who loses their load in the middle of the highway? 

Yes.  You would.  Trust me, I know, and I dropped my load on a quiet street.  I heard it clunk, but I just couldn't believe I was going to be that guy.  The one you drive by and say, "oh that would suck" watching a sweaty, desperate man wrestle a 300 pound sheet of PVC.  And that's what people did, drive by.  Actually, it caused chaos.  I can't imagine quickly moving cars on the interstate.  I don't know why, but people driving, perhaps in their hazy daydreams, just didn't know how to deal with the sheet of plastic in the intersection.  One guy screeched to a halt and then watching it, as if it might jump up and steal his hub caps, made a slow and gingerly move around the gray slab.  I stood and waited for him to get out of the way so I could get to testing just how much strength rushing adrenaline adds to the body.   Other cars and trucks passed too, until, and I kid you not, two petite ladies somewhere in their 40s, hopped out of their Sunfire. 

I told them to not even bother.  The sheet was heavy.  In fact my boss, who hopes his employees are competent enough not to require all kinds of time needing things made into points, made a point to tell me these sheets were real heavy.  And that I wouldn't be able to close the bed of the truck, but it was only a short distance so it shouldn't be a problem.  That last "shouldn't be a problem" was a message from a guy hopeful that it wouldn't be a problem because his delivery driver was graced with the innate wisdom to ensure there would be no problems.    But I accelerated from a stop sign and in one loud bang there was a problem.

The ladies who stopped to help were undeterred by my warning.  They were a sprite duo, dressed in bright summer outfits and just a few minutes from happy hour.  Also, they were not at all bothered that I didn't, and actually couldn't, smile.   My teeth were clenched not just because I'd tossed several hundred dollars of inventory on the pavement, but because of my dental appointment.  Thirty minutes earlier I'd left Dr. Cowen's office feeling good.  It wasn't genuine though.  My stomach was lying to me.  Again.  But this time instead of telling me that the raw squid on that boat in Mexico is OK to eat, it told me my teeth didn't hurt.   

Halfway into a hoagie from the sub shop across the street, my teeth felt like they were going to fall out.  The Gestapo flosser's work was bearing fruit.   I wrapped up the rest of the sandwich and went about my delivery.  Twenty minutes later I was trying to be as courteous as possible to my delicate rescuers.  One of the ladies looked at my pursed lips and tried to comfort me with a story of her losing a mattress on I-25.  I said I'd be fine but I really didn't want them trying to lift this plastic. 

The smaller lady pointed at the larger woman and said, "Oh no, she's freakishly strong."  

"I am," she agreed. 

And she was.  It took all three of us to lift it to one side, but it took only the one woman to lift the edge to the tailgate.

She's the strongest woman I've ever seen.  She then did most of the pushing the six-foot slab into the truck.  She flexed her muscles and laughed, and I wondered if she looks for husky men in distress, helps them, and then skins them for her man-suit. 

With that in mind, I turned down their offer for beer and went back to explain why one piece was all bright and shiny and the other had kind of an impromptu matte surface.   My boss wondered aloud how such a short distance could have been a problem.  While I felt bad and like a total idiot, it helped that the only face I could conjure was somber dejection. 

The Trundle and The Stain

Suddenly it’s Tuesday.  This is when the three-day weekend comes back to haunt you.  Now you have less time to get five days of work done.  And you’re brain won’t realize what day it is until your late for a Thursday appointment some time on Friday.  

Sarah, Q, Paco and I will have a harder time moving into the week as we had a pretty good weekend.  Going to the mountains always makes me happy, and to stay near the Poudre River made the experience better.   The rushing water at first, terrified Quin.  It’s pretty loud and a far cry from the bathtub.  His eyes bulged at the sight of the mountain runoff.  Staring at the rapids he gave it a few of his double waves.  It’s some kind of baby greeting where they flap their arms in a lazy worship flail.  Usually it’s accompanied by a screeching.  This time he was silent.  The snowmelt rushing at 3000 cubic feet per second had him stunned.  But he had to get used to because that’s where I wanted to take pictures and hang out.  

It was my own fears that dealt us a blow.  Saturday night we stayed at a cabin in the Poudre Canyon (in American pron:  “Pooter”, but originally from the French “Cache la Poudre” or something about “hiding the powder” for their guns.)  On the king-sized mattress was a stain, a most unspeakable blemish that garnished the middle of the bed.   Now because I like sleep so much I have become somewhat stain resistant.  I can look at a mattress and pretend it was just iced tea.  I’ve seen stains on hotel mattresses and convinced myself it’s something that eventually shows up on all mattresses.  Like Posutrepedic liver spots, they come with age.

This, however, was blood.  I stood and stared at it for a second, holding my breath as not to allow it to enter my body, and then went about finding some sheets to put over it.  

There was nothing.  In our hurry to pack Q a U-haul of diapers and smashed fruit, we didn’t pack ourselves any bedding.  I thought about flipping the mattress over, but Sarah asked the grim question that if that’s the side they have up, then what must be on the other?  So I opted for the other bedroom with the trundle bed.  Now trundle beds are great when they’re all trundled and more like a couch.  But trundle technology never quite caught up with the concept of a hidden, pop-up bed.  We have one passed down from my mother that’s near impossible to unfold.  I’ll wrestle it and pull on springs and hinges and it only pops up when it feels like it, and usually when all your fingers are tangled in its vast undercarriage of twisted metal.

This was the case with this trundle.  I was on my knees and groping it for a good twenty minutes.  It was from this vantage point where I saw a huge fricken spider run into the baseboard heater.  I hate spiders, so more girliness ensued.  And I was hit with the notion that when we turned on the heater, that big, awful thing would have to evacuate his hiding and more than likely want to feast on the slumbering mounds of flesh.  We decided to brave the stain—or I did--as Sarah was alternately feeding the baby and laughing at my sad attempts at untrundling.  

Quin had the best setup.  His Pack N’ Play (a stroke of genius this mechanism is) was all warm and cuddly.  Sarah and I spread out the trundle’s bed skirt across the stain, and tried our hardest to levitate.  We kept ourselves warm with towels and our dog.   He’s never felt so loved as he did on Saturday night.

Memorial Day Weekend 08

We went to the mountains...

And Q helped me give away his grandma's scholarship.

This year Ann's Fund helped fund nearly fifteen percent of North Park's graduating class.  Two of the 17 received scholarships.

maybe the best 20-something marketing ever in the history of the world

Walk of NO Shame - Watch more free videos