Drag Racing - not what you think

Holly's Boyfriend and I finally had something interesting happen in our very boring domesticated lives. Through my connections, we scored VIP seats to the 4th annual OSU Drag Competition! This was a stiff race to see who would be crowned the 2005 King and Queen of the Beaver. We learned a lot the do's and don't of winning a drag show. It was a jam packed evening with really too to much to tell - so I'll give you some of the highlights.

Don't wait til its too late to throw a performer your panties. 2004 King Aiden was up first to show this year's competitors what they had to live up to . I tried to show Aiden just how much I liked the show by throwing him some pink thong panties, but he was off stage before they landed on the catwalk. Then there they were just sitting in the middle of the catwalk. Don't double switch genders. There was some creepy dude (real life dude that is) pretending to be woman pretending to be a man. It was all very strange mostly because he had a full beard and fake breast (little perky ones). I was thoroughly confused during both of his performances. He achieved not being sexy as either sex. Don't forget to tape your junk in place. One of my favorite early highlights was when "Brock"lost his penis down his pantleg and it ended up on the floor next to the catwalk (see photo). Do practice practice practice walking in heels. Also featured in our photos is the princess that I like to call Bambi. She had it going on in a Joan Jet sort of way but looked like a new born fawn when it came time to walk in those 3 inch heels. Do get a melodramatic super queen to be your back up on stage. Kiki, shown with the sexy bra and F-me boots, is a show stopper. Pretty much to the point that she doesn't compete b/c there would be no competition. Kiki is hot as either sex and Kiki knows it. Brock eventually sealed his fate of becoming the 2005 King of the Beaver by performing a gender bender version of Prince's "You got the look" with Kiki. Kiki went from sexy diva to assless underwear Prince look alike. It really didn't matter what Brock did at that point because nobody was watching. We were all too busy digging in our pockets for some dollars to shove down what little there was of Kiki's pants.

At the end the audience cast their ballots and the new King and Queen of Beaver was crowned. Holly's Boyfriend picked the Queen and neither one of my favorites made the cut.

My MOPAR madness

The muscle car is back- well sorta - in a new millennium sort of way, but I still think the 2005 Dodge charger looks pretty bad ass (especially in burnt orange with black racing stripes) and I'm not so secretly turned on by the Mustang's return to the boxy, blunt nose. This has grabbed the attention of Holly's Boyfriend. "Since when did Holly like American gas guzzlers or have any interest in cars in general!?" Until recently, I've only expressed interests in owning a Prius and Flip-pac. That was until I made several trips back to Indiana this summer to visit my family. I came back pointing out every new mustang there was out on the highway. Holly's Boyfriend didn't seem to get it when I pointed out the finer details - the chiseled new lines, the lifted rear end. I don't remember any comment at all when I voiced my concerns that the new body would be ruined if was made available in yellow (I hate yellow cars and yellow flowers, but that's a different story).

So here is my explanation for what appears to be inexplicable - my fascination with muscle cars. Muscle cars are not smooth rides. You don't drive them slow so everyone can see you. You drive fast and they shake, rattle and roll. At stoplights the idling vibrates through your entire body. When I was about 7, my sister had a Chevy Nova. She'd put my brother and I in the back seat and we drove fast. She took us to the mall parking lot and took the curves so fast that we went up on 2 wheels (I'm not making this up). I'm pretty sure Blondie was blaring in the background. My oldest brother's friend, Jerry, had a Challenger. I could hear Jerry coming to get Don at least 2 blocks away. There was usually some tire squealing when they left. I had no idea where they were going, but I was sure it had to be someplace pretty bad ass in a loud, fast car like that. Then there was a MOPAR dry spell for several years - called the 80's.

I have a brother 3 years older than me and he likes cars...ALOT. Cary's first cars were a green, beat out Super Bee and my favorite a white 1970 GTX. I hated the super bee. It didn't have any heat, it was unreliable and I had to ride bitch to Cary's skank-ass girlfriend during our drive to school. I also was a jock, a cool kid. I didn't want to be seen arriving to school in that piece of shit and I didn't want to associated with Cary's skank-ass girlfriend. I'd rush away from them and the car a quickly as possible when we got to school. Then came the GTX... The doors were welded shut, but it did have heat. I balked at the whole door thing when it came time for me to climb in with a dress on, but I secretly loved feeling like the Dukes of Hazzard. He took out the back seat which meant his skank-ass girlfriend had to ride on my lap. So this car was sucking ass too as far as I was concerned. That was until my brother realized that if I could drive, he would have more time to feel up his girlfriend on the way to school. This is when the car became very cool.

My brother put in fiberglass racing seats, a racing steering wheel, a tachometer, new racing shifter, a Holley 4 barrel (which I helped rebuild), glass packs and a bunch shit I can't remember. It was fast - very fast, and there were alot of wide open country roads for me to learn to drive the thing on. I learned to drive 100mph and come to skidding halts. Cary told me all the tactics for street racing. I ignored him. That car was powerful and I got to drive and that's all that mattered. I wanted to be seen with that car in the parking lot. It was bad-ass, just like I was.

So do I actually want to buy a muscle car? No. Do I want to drive one 100mph down a straight dirt road? Very much so.

Race in our world

It's a sad day when this comes through your inbox - Young Singers Spread Racist Hate - followed by a message from the Dean denouncing the cowardly act of an anoymous someone putting flyers in all the ethnic/race minority faculty members mailboxes questioning why there isn't a "Whites only" scholarship. This shit isn't funny.

I'm sick and tired of seeing under-represented groups being put on the defensive in relation to their qualifications and their education. I'm tired of the old boys network crying out everytime a minority or women gets a decent job. Sick and tired.

Not Mine, But You Get the Idea.

A Turn for the Worse.

I've been thinkin' 'bout this blog and just how bad it truely is. Thus far, it has combined two of the worst elements - cute pets and gross out pictures - into one truely banal product.

Anyway, we have several more photographs of cute pets - but what good will it do to post them. No good at all - in fact, it will serve evil. That is why this blog will change themes and be all about our pets. No stories about Corvallis, Oregon. It will be about cute pictures of beagles and cats snuggling by the fireplace. Pets with costumes and in themes. I'll already picturing the Gone With the Wind theme where Kitty dresses up like Scarlett (he is a little bitch after all). That will bring loads of traffic to this blog. No one can resist cute pets!

Kitty's Gobi

The Kitty (Pre-Abscess)

Oozing Pus

Its only day number two and I'm already providing "content" that has zero redeemable value. ...Straight to the bottom.

Seeing as how my better half may be the sole person that looks at this little niche of the internet, I will use it to describe the festering sore on my cat's ass. Now that is entertainment.

Kitty went to the vet today to have his tucass examined. Apparently he has a penchant for midnight knife fights or some other such thing because there is a big puncture wound on the starboard side of his tail. Last night it was exposed in its full glory (or should I say gory) because he has now stripped all of the fur from the area surrounding the wound.

That was too much for me. Keep your festering sores out of sight and out of mind, that's the way I live my life. If kitty thinks that he's going to parade around with a big gobi on his ass, then he's got another thing coming. ...hence today's vet visit.

The visit marks my entry into the role of pet caregiver. Up 'til now, the most I've ever done is been on the receiving end of a vet office's obligatory post-visit follow up call. Even then I didn't really take any responsibility ("Yeah, he looks fine, but I'm not the owner - you'll have to call back to speak to Holly.") Anyway, who knew that kitty-totes were expected?

The vet and assistant gave kitty a cursory examination (he was surprising well-behaved - even when they deployed the rectal thermometer), prescribed antibiotic pills and some-kinda wipes, showed me how to dose a cat with a pill (apparently cats are more discriminating and pill-resistant than our omnivorous beagle), and that was about it. Kitty continues to live a double identity which caused a slight amount of confusion. "The Feline Formally Known as Friskie" wasn't catching on.

The vet advised me to keep an eye on the wound, wipe it twice a day, make sure that it doesn't close up or leak pus. ...great.

What Are You Going to Vomit About???

We got sucka'd into this blog just so we could post a comment to some Mongolian chump's story about sleeping on the job. What a scam.

Anyway, after much deliberation we (Holly and I) settled in on the title "Bus Your Own Table" because Corvallis Licks Salty Balls seemed a bit abrasive. Who wants to type all that in anyway?

What to say?

Not really sure...

How 'bout some occasional stories about clueless servers, rainy days, and piss poor climbing?

Stay tuned. Or not. I really don't care.