10 Reasons Why the Texas Heat Can Lead to a Psychotic Break

1. The inability to think.

  It’s hard to concentrate when your eyeballs are sizzling in your skull. When you’re sitting there in the car, trying not to move because merely blinking your eyes can cause you to break out into a sweat, even with the AC on super max, you don’t need mental distractions. Don’t ask me where I want to eat lunch. I’m not the tiniest bit interested in that. I’m focused on trying to breathe.

  And don’t get all cranky, just because you think I don’t care about anything you might have to say right now. I am not ignoring you. I am choosing to have priorities, and you just don’t happen to be one of them right now. When it cools off, or the sun finally explodes, I will be more than happy to have a discussion. Until then, don’t jeopardize your life by asking if the new paint for the guest bedroom should be Tuscan Potato or Zanzibar Sunset.

2. Touching anything metal while outside leads to a flesh wound.

  There’s nothing quite like the immobilizing pain you can experience by strolling out onto the veranda of the latest hip bistro, and then lowering yourself into one of the expensive, trendy deck chairs. That smell in the air? It’s not the soup of the day. It’s the charred skin peeling off your body. Be sure to order an extra margarita, because when you eventually stand back up, part of you won’t. And it will hurt.

  And good luck getting into your car and driving home. First, you’ve got to find the vehicle in the parking lot. This is tricky enough in Dallas, where everyone buys the same kind of car, and you end up with 47 yellow Hummers lined up like you just wandered into a car dealership. Now add in the cooking asphalt, which is sending up those weird waves of shimmery gases that distort your vision. Now you can’t see squat, feeling like you’re trapped in a Federico Fellini movie, where voices fade in and out while bizarre things happen to clowns.

  Once you finally locate your car, do not touch the exterior of the vehicle without wearing protective gloves. Otherwise, your hand will liquefy, making the operation of the vehicle a little more difficult. When you finally manage to get the door open, do not immediately jump inside or you will instantly vaporize. Let some of the demon heat escape. If possible, pay small children to climb in first and report back when the atmosphere has stabilized.

  When you receive access clearance, the first thing you need to do is turn the AC all the way up. Yes, this means there will be a few minutes of a blast furnace burning all your hair off, but it’s just the price you have to pay. You’ve got to get that puppy working full strength or you are going to die. Once your nose hairs stop popping and crackling, put that thing in drive and get the hell out of there.

3. The miserable air pollution gets even worse.

  It’s already an established fact that the air quality in the DFW area is full of major suckage. Thousands of semi’s lumbering around, hauling cargo to all the Wal-Marts, so we can rush in and buy pointless things that we don’t really need. And of course, it’s a state law that everyone must drive huge 2-ton pick-up trucks or SUV’s. (Anybody caught driving one of those pansy Mini-Coopers will immediately be shot, or at least not invited to the best parties.) Poisonous fumes fill the sky.

  So when you add in the triple-digit heat, the simple act of walking out your front door becomes an ill-considered act of self-mutilation. Within two steps, the gelid air has coated your skin, making everything slimy and unsatisfying. Now you understand what Karen Silkwood felt like, poor thing. Get done what needs to get done, then get your ass back in the house. Shower for at least 30 minutes.

4. The air conditioner never shuts off. Ever.

  There’s that incessant drone that never goes away. No matter where you are in the house or what you are doing, you can hear the unit churning away, trying desperately to feebly pump slightly-cool air through the structure. Turn on every fan you have and pray for nightfall.

  And try not to think about the electric bill. Any time something runs for that length of time, day after day, there’s going to be a financial impact. There’s not much you can do about it, so try to focus on other things. Like which of your relatives has been the least worthwhile in your life, and therefore could be sold for some ready cash.

5. Those dumb-ass misters on restaurant patios.

  These things are only acceptable when you’re drunk, and therefore don’t care or don’t even notice that you are being continually spritzed. When you’re sober, they are completely annoying. It’s hard to have an important, gossip-filled conversation when you are constantly having to rinse and spit. And moisture on your food? Really, other than a certain kinky subset of the population, who wants their buns wet?

6. Rude people actually ratchet up their skills.

  Obnoxious people already have self-control issues. Apparently, in their twisted world, an increase in temperature corresponds to an increase in their ability to offend the population in general. We’re all already suffering, folks, there’s no need for the attitude and the aggressive actions that just make us hate you more.

  This is where our elected representatives should pass legislation. I don’t see why I shouldn’t be able to walk up to a police officer and say “That person over there? The one with the iPhone he won’t stop screwing around with, and the annoying haircut that’s supposed to look tousled but really took three hours at the salon? He just cut in line, AND he flipped off a nun while she was feeding the poor.” At which point the officer will immediately handcuff Perez and haul him away to some place where it’s dark and people cry.

7. Strangers ask stupid questions.

  “Is it hot enough for me?” Actually, no. I’d like it to be hotter. And how am I going to accomplish that? By setting your ass on fire if you dare to ask something idiotic like that again. Go the hell away. And get a vasectomy while you’re at it.

8. Women who insist on wearing three inches of makeup when it’s 112 degrees.

  Do you not understand that this makes you look like Madame Tussaud’s has an inventory shortage? Seriously, honey, step away from the Bisquick. I now know what happened to Baby Jane.

9. Moist loins.

  And not the good kind. There is just something fundamentally dehumanizing about walking around the town square with wet underwear. I don’t care if Pottery Barn just got a new shipment of scented futons. I’m really not invested in the updated menu at Red Lobster, despite the allure of the cheese biscuits. And I think I’ll live if we don’t get to see Cleopatra’s bidet at the DMA.

  I just want to go somewhere that I can pull this SpongeBob wedgie out of my crack and remember what it was like to be dry and not make squishing sounds when I walk. That’s all I ask.

10. Beer does not stay cold.

  And this, ladies and gentlemen, trumps all. There is no surer sign of the Apocalypse than lukewarm beer. Get out while you still can…

10 Reasons Why Attending a Mandatory Staff Meeting with Your VP Will Suck the Life Out of You

1. You have to show up for work on time.

For some diabolic reason, they always schedule these torture sessions first thing in the morning. There’s absolutely no legitimate reason for this, because no one, I don’t care who you are, functions their best before 10am. At that time of day, I’m still struggling with basic things like consciousness and breathing. I’m certainly not going to pay any attention to “new visions for the company” or marketing pushes involving cute, furry animals and a singing ping pong ball.

And really, your VP couldn’t care less if you are there or not. She has no idea who you are and probably never will, since she’s going to take the first decent retirement package that comes along and then go live some place where they have dolphins. She’s just here because it’s one of her quarterly objectives if she wants that damn bonus. She will not shed a tear if your seat is empty.

Your direct manager, on the other hand, will take your life if you don’t make an appearance. So you have to initiate drastic measures to ensure that you are on time, like getting up early, not allowing yourself to harvest anything in Farmville, and forgoing the ecstasy of the local Starbucks. Because if there’s going to be a wreck on the highway, it’s going to be on this critical day, and you need the extra time to take an alternate route through a part of town where people get shot for wearing the wrong bandana.


2. They never pick an appropriately-sized conference room.

I really don’t understand this. It’s not like they don’t have any idea how many people will be attending. We have an entire organization devoted to counting things like paper clips and bar tabs, so surely some fool with a forecasting program on his nerdy little PC can project the turnout. How can this be hard?

But no, it always works out one of two ways. There’s the overkill approach, where you find yourself standing in a vast auditorium along with only two other people, your footsteps echoing throughout the cavern as you wait for the other people that are never going to show. Your natural instinct to sit in the back of the room is tempered by the fact that the last row of seats appears to be located in Kansas.

So the three of you huddle together in one of the mid-range rows, complete strangers five minutes ago but now united in solidarity against the ordeal to come. Of course, when you get the big room package, you also get the touchy, feely VP who insists that everybody join him on the front row, where you can join hands and pray for the stock price to recover. God is my co-trader.

On the flip side of the room game, we have the scenario where 212 people are crammed into a space the size of a utility closet, fighting over the one chair that isn’t broken and unable to find a single place where the VP isn’t actually breathing on you. Within the hour, the body heat in the room will cause you to snap and wipe out an entire department using a plastic bagel knife.

3. You will sit near someone you hate.

This never fails. You can try your best to surround yourself with friends or acquaintances that you can at least tolerate, but eventually someone you despise will slip through the gauntlet and plop down beside you. This usually happens at the very last second, as the irritating VP is approaching the podium, so you won’t have any time to make an escape.

Of course, if you’re on the bonus plan, this person you detest will have no clue how much you can’t stand them. So they try to act like you’re the tight sorority sisters that you will never be. They will tell you all about their latest surgeries, display pictures of their ugly grandchildren, and inquire into the latest stats on your sex life, all within 5 minutes of sitting down. It’s perfectly okay to take your copy of the agenda and suffocate this person.

4. Your chair is a prop from “The Exorcist”.

Naturally, your chair will look completely innocent when you first make your selection. In fact, it will even seem to be completely comfy and relaxing as the session begins. But once you have been lulled into a false sense of safety and non-humiliation, the deviltry begins.

First, the seat of the chair will suddenly plummet to the ground, causing your knees to be banging against your ears, looking like Rae Dawn Chong in “Quest for Fire”. When you attempt to rectify this situation, pulling on random levers beneath the seat, you will suddenly catapult upwards, suffering whiplash and letting out a terrified wail of fear and confusion. Finally, the back of the chair will flip down, sending you toppling backwards to your death and causing your uncontrolled, lethal feet to kick the head of the person in front of you. And yes, everyone will focus their rescue efforts on the person you just beaned, while you lay bleeding behind your chair, ass in the air.

5. You can’t see the preso on the screen.

Granted, we’re not as young as we used to be, no longer able to dance all night at the bars and then drive directly to work with no after-effects. Things on our bodies are now decaying or just dropping off entirely. But still, it’s not really our fault that the idiot who is displaying the presentation on the screen has apparently never used the focus setting. Everything is blurry, and nobody but the people in the first row can read a thing. For all you know, you’re looking at a menu for Chinese take-out.

So you have to wing it, listening carefully and straining to decipher even one of the images, because you sure as hell don’t want to be the first one who complains about the quality of the VP’s dog and pony show. No sir. You will never get a promotion the rest of your life. You just sit there, nodding your head from time to time, and praying to the religious deity of your choosing that nobody calls on you to answer a question of any kind. If things become ominous and you feel direct verbal contact with the VP is approaching, quickly reach down and jerk on one of the chair levers. Hopefully it’s one that will quickly put you in a non-responsive coma.

6. They try to belittle you with fancy buzzwords.

I’d like to be the person who sits around and comes up with the latest catchwords of the day. Seems like a really good gig, because there’s obviously no thought or effort behind the choosing. It’s just whatever sounds catchy and hip, and you’re allowed to completely change the traditional meaning of the word if you see fit. Today’s word is “precious”, which supposedly means the facets of our company that are most important. I’m guessing the VP hasn’t seen the movie or been around Mo’Nique when she’s in a bad mood.

7. You will have a coughing fit during the one interesting part of the program.

You know this is going to happen, so you might as well prepare for the shame. You can quietly sit through two hours of monotonous crap that no one cares about, but the very second that the VP utters something like “and on the compensation side of things”, your throat will dry up like an 80-year-old hooker, dust will billow out your ears, and you will start choking on pure air. If you’re really lucky, your hacking will be the especially pretty kind that involves mucus.

Sadly, because everyone is basically self-centered these days, even if you try to discreetly leave the room, you will fail miserably. People in your row will only grudgingly get out of your way, so you spend considerable time clawing toward the aisle and gasping for air. Eventually you will collapse on your stomach, wriggling toward the exit, only to have your head stomped on by the VP as she retrieves a laser pointer from her Gucci briefcase.

8. The awards presentation goes on forever.

They stopped including actual bonus checks with these recognition awards years ago, so no one really cares about getting one. (Who wants another lousy piece of paper or a cheap-ass trophy when the light bill is due? You want to make me feel appreciated? Give me something I can cash.) Making the awards distribution process even more slug-like is the current corporate “trend” to reward everybody, even if you have to make something up, so the company can claim they are diverse and all-loving, and thereby receive a higher ranking from the Human Rights Campaign.

Things start out okay, with the first few recipients getting generous applause and hearty handshakes from the VP. After 100 names have been read, and we’re down to awarding the cleaning staff a certificate for creative toilet-paper-stacking, the thrill is completely gone. Hardly anyone is clapping, half the audience is dozing, and the VP is shoving people across the stage like somebody just spotted the Po-Po pulling up outside the crack house.

9. No one in the audience EVER has a valid question.

There are only two kinds of people who ask questions at things like this. We have the life-long brown-nosers who will do anything to get noticed, even if it includes public nudity or transactions involving firstborn children. They will ask the most inane queries, somehow managing to blow smoke up their own butt yet still giving the impression that they would lovingly drop to their knees and wash the VP’s feet with their hair, given the chance. The sucking-up noises can be heard by orbiting satellites.

Then we have the renegades, the people who dare to ask the “questions you’re not supposed to ask”, like why the hell are you laying everybody off and yet expecting us to double the output? You know, tiny little issues such as that. Of course, the VP, because she’s been fully trained in double-talk during all those fancy, high-level, closed-door meetings where they determine the fate of the planet, professionally avoids giving a direct answer. Then she quietly whispers instructions into her hidden Bluetooth microphone to have the renegade arrested when no one else is looking. And she will handle the subsequent “interrogation” personally. Jackie Bauer in da house.

10. Stupid, lazy people will not get out of your way when it’s time to leave.

Here’s a news flash, folks: When the VP says we’re done, then we’re done. Get your ass up and walk out the door. Don’t sit there like you can’t remember how to do this. Don’t rearrange your purse. Don’t talk to your neighbor about the excitement of winning an award that everybody got. And under no circumstances should you just stand there and paw at yourself, trying to readjust foundation garments that have slid out of place. You should only do that in the privacy of your own home. Or never.

And as for you brown-nosers? Now’s your chance for some quality time with the power person of your dreams. Don’t hold up the line while you stand there meekly, hoping to receive an invitation to the royal court. March right over there and do what you do best. Pucker up and go for it.

But she still won’t remember your name in the morning…

10 Reasons Why the Morning After Your Memorial Day Party Can Be Frightening

1. Who are all these strange people sleeping on your couches?

  Granted, some of them look a little familiar, so they could actually be invited guests who decided they might not be in the best condition to get on the nation’s highways. But it’s hard to tell. Let’s face it. After several hours of drinking, and even more hours of your inebriated face mashed into couch leather, you’re not exactly ready for any type of beauty contest. People just don’t look as sexy as they thought they did at 2am in the morning, sucking on a bottle of wine and doing a shimmy dance with a tiki torch.

  Of course, you could just poke one of the snoring droolers, and then demand identification papers, but that might be going a bit too far. After all, these poor folk are going to have a hard enough time as it is by just waking up in a strange environment. All that confusion about things being in the wrong place, possible guilty feelings concerning slurred words they may have uttered after the fifth shot of tequila, and the growing realization that the bra they are now wearing is not their own.

  Just let them sleep. They should come out of the coma in a little while. If not, proceed to the kitchen and make cleaning noises. Bang on something metal until they scream themselves awake. If you still don’t recognize the couch guests once they are somewhat mobile, be sure to check their pockets and purses before they stagger out the door, and make a mental note to change the locks before the next party. Or just move to a new house, might be easier in the long run.

2. Who is in the bathroom, and why are they not making any noise?

  This is always a risky quest to undertake. You can’t just barge in, because they might be engaged in an intimate activity that does not require a studio audience. They could be resting in between bouts of recycling. Or they could be lying face down in the tub. One never knows. If you don’t feel mentally prepared to deal with all these possibilities, then make somebody on one of the couches find out who it is. It’s the least they can do after belching into your grandma’s afghan all night.

3. What is that mess on the kitchen table?

  It’s a fact of life that most dishes which look amazing and delicious when first presented will deteriorate over night into something else entirely, most usually a congealed vat of grease with some odd bits trapped just beneath the surface. (Yes, you were shoving THAT into your mouth at one point last night, rhapsodizing over the flavor and licking your fingers clean. Now it looks like something that Oprah would pull along in a little red wagon when she’s doing a segment on weight loss.)

  And the troubling bit is that you KNOW you put away all the delicate goodies hours ago, supervising the two drunken people who had the manners to ask if you needed any help, while the rest of the carefree crowd avoided the kitchen entirely. (This “clean-up duty” is the best way to separate your friends: There are those who love you and will immediately race to assist when they see you scraping queso dip off the wall, and there are those who are just using you, hiding in another room until everything is sparkly and then wandering in, pretending to be devastated that they didn’t make it in time to help you out.

  Oh, and then there’s third group: Those folks who don’t give a damn if anything gets cleaned up and don’t even try to offer help. They apparently believe that little hostess fairies flitter in and tidy things up, and their clean-up efforts are limited to throwing an empty beer can in the general direction of the trash can. These people suck. Interestingly enough, these are the same people who don’t understand why no one wants to be in a relationship with them.

  Anyway, if some of this perishable food is back out on the table, then it means some little piglet burrowed into the fridge, and then encountered some type of issue that prevented him or her from returning the containers and covering their tracks. Which might explain…

4. Why won’t the refrigerator door close?

  Holy cow, who let loose some billy goats in here? Your organizational skills from the night before are no longer in evidence, with the perfectly-stacked and arranged containers now all over the place. We have guacamole dripping out of the produce drawer, potato salad in the egg tray, and half-eaten Pop-tarts shoved in between the condiment bottles.

  There’s not an inch of available space. But that didn’t stop the last person who tried to shove something in here. Nope, they apparently just opened the door, hurled an armload of containers and plastic baggies through the air, and then slammed the door mostly shut, hoping the weight of the door would keep things in place until they could get in their car and drive away. I really need to get new friends. At least some nicer ones.

5. Who jacked up the stereo?

  This thing was fine when I went to bed. But there must have been an adventure of some kind once prissy Brian quit whining about wine spillage and left the hard-core partiers to their own devices. One of the stereo speakers was on the front porch. (No idea. Did Eva Peron stop by and need to make a statement to the neighborhood?) The bass was turned all the way up, because drunk people don’t think there can ever be too much of that. And the radio station was now set to a Christian talk show. I guess somebody needed some spiritual guidance after they ran out of Jaegermeister.

6. Why is my throat raw?

  This could be the result of anything, really, considering the crazed mix of the crowd, but I’m leaning toward two explanations: One is that I had enough beer to decide that I suddenly understood world politics and needed to share that with everybody for hours. Or there had been singing. Probably singing. Nobody can belt out some Elton John like I can after being fortified with Mike’s Hard Lemonade. Hold me closer, Tony Danza.

7. What the hell happened on the patio?

  Generally, knowing my friends as I do, I can usually piece together what may have taken place in a given area based on the physical evidence. Other times, I don’t have a clue. Whatever happened out here required that most of the patio furniture be relocated in odd positions, power cords knotted together in an intricate web (did they need roof access for some reason?), and the spokes of the patio umbrella were now pointing the other way, toward the sky, creating an impromptu tribute to Marilyn Monroe and that pesky subway steam. Some stories are just better left untold.

8. Dear God, did we really drink all that beer?

  These are the moments, reviewing the towering stacks of beer cans and wine bottles, spread out over the patio like an alcoholic Stonehenge, when you realize that something fundamental really needs to change in your life. Then the moment passes and you just go back in the house, ready to lay on your butt all day and watch meaningless television until you get thirsty again.

9. What is wrong with the siding on the end of the house?

  How did they manage to damage THAT? With their car? The house is at least four feet away from the nearest part of the driveway. How do you get that confused? And you didn’t even leave a note. These people just have no sense of decency. Or direction.

10. If a guest is passed out in the yard, and they are closer to their car than your front door, are you still legally responsible for their well being?

  No. This is international protocol, understood by all legislative bodies. If the victims are closer to the car, especially if one or both of their arms are outstretched as if lusting for the vehicle, frozen in time like a Pompeii villager, it is a clear indication that they were done with your particular social extravaganza and they were moving on. Legal liability has ended. Likewise, it’s also international law that any items your guests leave behind, intentionally or not, automatically revert to the ownership of the host. Especially if money is involved.

   Because you’re going to need that cash when the city cites you for the giant cow statue, stolen from the local Western Sizzler and now sitting on top of your house. Don’t cry for me, Angus-tina…