Libby who?

The other night, I was on a shopping bender at the mall, bound and determined to find body glitter. No, I'm not going to a rave, this isn't 1995. I have a bellydance performance this Saturday and I'm hoping that sparkly silver glitter might distract the audience from the fact that I'll be half a beat behind everyone else since I'm still rather iffy on the routine.

But I digress.

It's hard to find body glitter these days. I checked out Sephora and various body lotions shops, but all they had to offer were quietly sophisticated, barely-there glitter. And that simply would not do. (BTW: Bath and Body Works has invented a new marketing term: "Falliday." The salesgirl said it with a straight face as she pointed out how their products go from pumpkin-scented to a whole pine tree/xmas extravaganza.)

So I started hitting up the little girls' crap accessories stores. And I stumbled upon what must be the mecca for all tweens: Club Libby Lu. Oh dear god, the pink. The feathers. The glitter. The sheer magnificence of it all.

I'd never heard of this, but apparently it's a chain of stores that specializes in, I don't know, dolling up the young-uns? It offers makeovers where you can be a princess or a rock star and has all sorts of beauty supplies that are light-years beyond my childhood's Bonnie Bell lipsmackers (the only thing we had on-hand). I checked their website and found that they have special deals on Girl Scout parties, if that gives you any idea of their target demographic. They also have this thing where you can get a stuffed dog and dress it up the same way you are. I see that and I think, why not cats? Then I read that it's called the "Pooch Parlor" and realized why they opted against it.

Anyways, I could've spent a long time in there looking at all the shiny merchandise, but I was easily three times older than any of their other customers. So I bought my silver glitter and headed out....over to the salon across the way, where I got a mani/pedi with all the big girls. Take that, Club Libby Lu and your Libby Do's!

What is this water falling out of the sky?

It's actually raining here, albeit in a drizzling sort of way. Still, it's nice to see, especially considering how we're *still* under water restrictions. We apparently have enough now in our resevoir, but they're still bitching about the flow rate in one of the local rivers and won't let Bexar County residents spew water indiscriminately. Always something, I tell you.

The weird thing about rain here is that they decided to get around the whole issue of sewers and drainage by not having any. Basically the city planners decided to depend upon the roads to handle any run-off that may occur. Luckily SA still has lots of unused land to absorb whatever water that does accumulate (I shit you not, I drove over a bridge the other day and disturbed about a dozen cattle who were getting a drink from the creek. THIS WAS INSIDE THE CITY'S LIMITS).

Still, it makes driving around during and after a rainstorm something of a challenge, as you never really are sure how deep the puddles are. In fact, some of the roads run across drainage points and have signs warning off motorists with some variation of "Turn around, don't drown." Which makes you wonder why they don't just, I don't know, reroute the water so that accidentally driving into a flooded river is less likely to occur. But maybe that's just me.

A plea to parents and guardians

If you really feel you must learn immediately about defense contractors' misbehavior in Iraq by going to see "Iraq for Sale: The War Profiteers," and canNOT wait for the DVD, then for the love of all that is holy LEAVE YOUR FOUR-YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER AT HOME.

Friday we went to a screening sponsored by the Green Party of the documentary (done by the same guy who ripped Wal-Mart and Fox news a new one) and I guess we got what we paid for. It was free.

Now, if you know a little bit about what's been happening in Iraq, you might already know that private companies have lost employees to insurgents (remember the four guys from Blackwater whose charred corpses were strung up in the streets two years ago?) and that they've been caught up in some nasty allegations regarding interrogating prisoners at Abu Ghraib. So perhaps after second thought, you might decide that your PRESCHOOL-AGE DAUGHTER shouldn't be exposed to sights like that.

Even if you didn't know, and all you knew that it was a free movie about the war in Iraq, perhaps you should realize that it borders on child abuse to expect a FOUR-YEAR-OLD to sit through a documentary. I wouldn't even place my bets on expecting a child that young to make it through a Disney movie in the theater, and those are designed specifically to target the young-uns.

To make matters worse, the guy refused to shush his daughter, allowing her to comment about everything - keep in mind there are maybe 20 seats in the theater, so no noise goes unnoticed - and then he left her to go run an errand or god knows what. All I know is that she was placed in my row next to a stand-in who was unable to get the little girl to stop whining, "I want my daddy. I want my daddy. I want my daddy." After about 10 very long minutes, he came back and collected her. Finally. Undoubtedly so he could head off to his big Parent of the Year award ceremony.

(Oh, and the documentary was very interesting but I think not as good as his other pieces. They could only get a few truck drivers and translators to speak about the abuse of contracts there. Although one egregious example: they were charging the government $100/bag of laundry, and still not getting the clothes clean. For more info, go to: http://iraqforsale.org/.)

Back on track

Back from my travels, back from being sick, back in the swing of things. One hopes.

DC was dy-no-mite, at least as soon as the work obligations (and lord, were they obligating) ended. I got to catch up with a bunch of friends and have drunken noodles at Thai Regent not once, but twice. I don't know why, but I've never had really good Thai food outside of the DC area (caveating that to say I've never had Thai food, period, outside of the United States. I'm pretty sure that there's good Thai food in Thailand). And the drunken noodle seems to be a dish that's only in DC. So good.

I also got to eat at Two Amy's, a pizza place that's been certified by the Italian government as having authentic Italian-style pizza. I took a cab up there and was driven up Massachusetts Avenue, past all the embassies. As we got to the Naval Observatory, where the veep lives, the ride was all rattles and bumps as we drove over some of the worst potholes I've seen in DC. Hee. I hope that Dick Cheney chips a tooth every time he gets driven in and out of his manse.

Travellin' gal

Lately, the radio silence has been due to a crushing amount of work, a sore throat that will. not. go. away, no matter what, and preparation for a couple of trips.

Last weekend we were in Chicago for Katie and Jim's wedding (hee. inside joke for those who were there). Their wedding was simple and perfect. It was held on the third floor of a building that allowed us to see the Chicago skyline. Plus, in a touch that couldn't have been planned, there was a full moon Saturday night, so we got to watch it rise up through the buildings. The Texan and I were taking notes on how to throw a fun wedding - we hope that ours this spring will be half as enjoyable for the attendees.

Today I'm doing last-minute prep for a trip that will not be anywhere near as much fun - at least, not at first. I'm going to DC for work and then will be sticking around for the weekend. That should be good at least and I can see how my liver's healed itself after having had a couple of weeks' off (when I'm sick, coffee nor alcohol appeal to me. Life is hardly worth living). See everyone next week.

Old-timer

I wandered into the living room the other day as The Texan was catching up on his DVR recordings of "The Avatar." I have to admit, I wasn't as interested in the show as I was in the commercials that ran during it. They were, surprisingly, almost entirely of toys that I remembered from my childhood - just much cooler versions.

For example, Care Bears now have walkie-talkies. For real? What is there that they can't share over their care rainbow, I ask you? One of the first movies I was allowed to go to with my friends and unaccompanied by an adult was, um, the Care Bear movie. Plus I had a particularly favorite set of Care Bear sheets that were ragged by the time I left for college (I left them behind!)(largely because my dorm only had twin extra long beds and the sheets wouldn't have fit) And maybe I had a Care Bear sweatshirt. But no walkie-talkie. That's just lame. And it supposes you have a friend who likes the Care Bears as much as you do, which sadly was unlikely in my case.

My Little Ponies now have a golden palace to romp around in, complete with elevator. Back in MY day, the only toy to have a house requiring an elevator was Barbie. My grandma got it for me when I was maybe 5 and oh my god did I love it. Now, Barbie you could feasibly see needing an elevator: how else was she going to get on the roof to take cocktails after yet another swinging party with eligible bachelor Ken? But why in the world would ponies need an elevator...especially ponies who could already fly? Gratuitous marketing, I tell you.

But the most shocking was Holly Hobby. I had a set of cut-outs of Holly Hobby that I played with quite often - the kind where she's in her undergarments and you can fold over various outfits. Very analog, I know. But I feel that given the time I spent changing her wardrobe, I am very well-versed in what Holly Hobby wears. Holly Hobby wears dresses made out of rags and has an air of the early 1900s, if that makes sense. Not any more. Now, Holly Hobby wears bell-bottoms and cute little tees. GASP. The horror! That's not Holly Hobby.

According to Wikipedia, Holly Hobby was revised this year for a movie - figures - and they're trying to pass off the Holly Hobby I knew and loved as the current Holly Hobby's great-grandmother. DUDE WHAT THE FUCK? I was a little girl in the 70s. Even if I tried, there's no way I could be a great-grandmother today. Why are my toys being aged prematurely? And why don't these whippersnappers today realize what great toys they have compared to the crap we used to put up with?