Monday, April 28, 2008

It Was All A Dream…

I used to read Word Up magazine, Salt N’ Peppa & Heavy D up in the limousine… As the voice of the late Notorious B.I.G floated throughout the pulsating room, whose thick velvet drapes have seen more interesting things in under two years than many of those entering those doors will see in a lifetime, I couldn’t help but smile.

It’s a rare night indeed if Parker’s MacBook Pro doesn’t find its way to this classic song… and it’s always my bass-intensive signal that it’s about time to put the drink down and get the hell out. But of course, I stay… and watch in amazement as many of those bleach blondes & token light-blue striped, un-tucked buttondowns in attendance only know this song, that was likely released when they were pre-teens, because they have heard it here, amidst the smoke and lights and core-shaking bass. Amidst a world perfectly and specifically manufactured for us.

And this is typically the point in the evening when I realize where I am, and who I have become. A sell out.

Many years ago, I was called the same. On a college campus, joining a left-wing group of satirical-writing individuals in their crusade… I sat in the haze and in the lights back then, just as I was now, taking tequila shots while wearing the uniform. Back then it was thrift-store t-shirts and punk attire that were the antithesis of what my private-preppy school’s MO so emphatically was. These days it was high heels, dark eyeliner, tan legs and, of course, my gold clutch purse. The antithesis of who I really am. But the drug… the drug will get you every time.

And instead of the Crack Music Kanye so geniusly pontificated, this is a crack lifestyle. A crack state-of-being. A theoretical drug I have tried to wean myself off of this year… I tried to accept that as I continue to climb the corporate ladder, I will conversely continue to step down from the list of people you expect to see out until 2am every time, and even sooner my body will no longer be able to handle these kinds of weekends preceding and following 60 hour work weeks.

Yet this weekend, as I sat perched in observation, sipping my vodka tonic with a lemon, not a lime, I realized I had taken another hit of the drug. And my dealer, Mr. Giese, sat nearby, likely checking his bank account’s growing sum via iPhone throughout the evening.

As I glanced over, I had to mentally applaud. He has found a way to strategically manufacture a business filled with smooches on the cheek, name-dropping, bill-slipping and effervescent tonic bubbles that go on for almost as long as my hangover. A hell-centric heaven of sorts where sex in a bathroom is a little more acceptable, where connections to your drug of choice are a little more easily accessible, where local celebrities come to feed their egos. ‘Tis a crack lifestyle, my friends. A crack state-of-being.

Yet over time, as more and more get addicted and capacity remains the same, as the matches get cheaper and the drinks slightly weaker, as the guy:girl ratio rule continues to be one of the smarter myths the doormen perpetuate, there is a method to the madness, and I can’t help but respect that.

And as Biggie & Parker let us all know every weekend around 1:40am, it really is all a dream, just not our own... One created for us. One we pay for. One we love. One we crave. One we are retarded for not thinking of first.

See you next weekend, Mr. Giese. And happy early birthday. I’ll be the one in pink.

Monday, April 21, 2008

Dear Jackie O, (Week 8)

A weekly (or not so weekly) installment answering your most pressing questions.

Dear Jackie O,
You? Me? Green Papaya? Cheap Viet hippie food is so urban-chic. You know you want it. I’m so hot you’d be lucky to be seen in public with me.

Slummin’ it on Oak Lawn,
Ponied Up

Dear SMU’er Driving Parentally-Purchased Rover w/ “2 Long” Plates,
First of all, who lied and told you it was cool to not only have an SMU sticker on your car, but to also purchase custom SMU vanity plates… setting aside for just a moment the vanity plate lettering that you should be punched in the ovaries for.

That’s right. The ovaries.

It’s the same feeling I get when I see the ghetto-ass letters all over the back of a car spelling out a last name, or a fine community group like Ride 'R Dirty as you can see here. Someone, at some point, in some social circle had to imply that last names in the shape of a half-moon were not only socially acceptable, but also something worth paying for. Your group’s influencer has apparently done the same thing, and I’d like to punch him or her in the ovaries as well.

Now, all you need is a Lake Kiowa sticker and a glove compartment full of AAC platinum parking passes to round out the “I make up for my deep insecurities from my childhood days, when popularity wasn’t based on my parents' checkbook, by flaunting said checkbook to which I contribute nothing... not a damn thing” superfecta. Go get ‘em, tiger.

All my love,
Jackie O


Dear Jackie O,
You gonna watch me on that there color box this Wednesday? It’s going to be the least politically-motivated manifestation of an agenda you will have ever laid your eyes on!

Makin’ Waves,
Tom Tom

Dear Mayor Tom Leppert,
I saw the press release. Looks interesting. But riddle me this… I know in those looks-to-good-to-be-true downtown development renderings it’s a piece of cake,
but how do you Photoshop out all the drunk hobo SWAG & underage Purgatory regulars (the more shameful of the two I’m not sure) in a tv show?

All my love,
Jackie O


Dear Jackie O,
Whaaa…what happened? Why am I in jail?

Dizzy in Dallas,

Dear This Guy,
Because not only did you drive drunk, but you were dumb enough to subsequently slam into a building and injure some SMU chick whose dad is likely a partner at any one of the illustrious law firms in this great city. The funny thing is, I’d put a ten-spot on the fact that you yourself also attended SMU. And if you had been fortunate enough for some older jackass of a drunk driver to pin you to a wall & sue the pants off of him when you were a sophomore, you would likely have never ended up a depressed 24-year-old working for the family biz, realizing you actually don’t have an ambitious bone in your body, & getting so bored you were forced to get tee-tee gonzalezed and slam into an apartment. Orrrr… you were just simply wasted. It happens.

All my love,
Jackie O


Dear Jackie O,

You hear about our new Tony Hawk ride opening in May? Come on out & I'll give you a free season pass!

Still Dancin',
Weirdest Choice for a Brand Icon Ever

Dear Six Flags' Creepy Old Dancing Man,
Unfortunately for me and my dorky self, I already have a season pass for this year. So, no thanks. And until your park, the childhood memories of which were so very different, stops smelling like pee & attracting the most white trash crowd of overweight, sweaty, creepy...

Okay, okay... fine. You got me. Here's the truth. Rides make me nauseous. Bottom line. Used to not be that way. Now it is. Sue me. I'm a realist these days. I respect gravity. And as long as thin cables and tiny bolts are the glue holding some of those rides together, I fear they will always create a little nausea party in my tummy.

So... to answer your question two paragraphs later... no. Freestyle skateboarding while moving 40mph & spinning upside down simply ain't my cup of tea.

But Mini-Mine Train? I'm rowdy rowdy, 'bout it 'bout it.

All my love,
Jackie O

Friday, April 18, 2008

tee-tee gonzalezed

By 9:41pm, jackie o is well on her way. What happened to me... What happened to the days when 7 margs was a start and not a finish. More to come...

Update: Made it home safely that evening, but of course not without a few tequila shots, a visit to Suite (obviously on the wrong night) and well-deserved, tequila-centric hangover. How this translates into a restful weekend, I'll never know. But nevertheless, I press the repeat button every weekend like clockwork.

Thursday, April 17, 2008

Yet Another Reason I Don't Live in Addison

26 Toilets? 26X the Fun.

I'm not sure what this lady is concerned about... my best guess is that she need not worry about maximum occupancies in a 10 million dollar mansion in Connecticut the same way the Dallas Housing Authority does in a 1-bedroom apartment. I'm guessing this wise man built his house upon the sand... the white powdery kind, and 26 bathrooms is just his way of creating the home of his dreams.

However, I do understand her concerns... especially if she starts seeing suspicious activity like this.

Early Bird Gets the Worm

SO many things wrong with this story, but the fact that I have my Halloween '08 costume already picked out is just oh so right.

Monday, April 14, 2008

Betrayed by the Slurpee.

Oh Jimbo… Jimmy… Jim... James, is it?

I’ve sat tight. Made ninja jokes. Sat tighter. Truly, squeezing ass cheeks every time I read about your next moves. But no more. I don’t have it in me to watch Blockbuster out-punt its coverage any longer.

And with the recent Circuit City maneuver, I’m… at a loss… for words. When I bought your adorable little stock at $6.50 way back when, I was sure it was a great purchase with you and your 7-11 comrades soon to take the helm.
But oh how wrong a Coke Slurpee can lead one astray, while bringing utter happiness and joy out of a plastic cup all at the same time.

The neon colored spoon-straws? Genius. The see-thru large cups? They make my Slurpee look so much jucier and bigger all at once. (Mark.) Maybe you could craft a colossally giant see-thru Slurpee cup and build it around the Blockbuster HQ… or even the stock itself…

You see, the evolution of the Slurpee hasn’t been drastic, but it certainly has been successful and has always embodied exactly what it means to have a true competitive advantage within a highly-competitive industry… the antithesis of what it seems Blockbuster’s MO has so emphatically and destructively been in the 21st century.

And what we have now is a perfect merge of a once-great Blockbuster with the historically and forever-will-be (pardon me) shitty Circuit City. The breadth and depth of my dislike for this ridiculously and irreparably retarded company somehow outweighs my annoyance of your stock’s continual and unrelenting plummet. Frankly, how the hell do you expect for this to be your saving grace? I never saw the railroads putting offers on rickshaw companies in the 50’s to compete with the auto industry. Yet, here we are.

I have held out with faith for oh so long, watching in bewilderment – wondering what you have up your sleeve. Now, I’m hedging my bets by betting in pools on when you file for bankruptcy, just as Circuit City has contemplated repeatedly for so very long. And while I watch, almost with amusement now, I will sip away on my large Coke Slurpee… every last drop… just as someday my children, and my children’s children will. The irony, however, lies in the fact that if I calculate just how much I have spent over the years on Slurpees (Ages 7-18, 330 days per year, $1.29 each), it still pales in comparison to how much I have lost on Blockbuster stock in the last twelve months.

So, Jimmy Keyes, do me a favor. Send your cute little paperwork over to the SEC by July 3, take Circuit City down with you, and my forgiveness you shall have. I’d pay a lot more than what I did for your stock to never have to be visually harassed, sexually harassed, not offered any help whatsoever or forced to wait in a customer service line for 20 minutes to check out again at that God-forsaken miserable excuse for an electronics store you are so very eager to purchase.

Now, let's go grab a delicious frozen Coke Judas, and forget about our troubles... forget about our cares.

All my love,
Jackie O

Launching Today...

Friday, April 11, 2008

Monday's Bitter Pill

4.14.08 might kinda sorta maybe be a good day for Check back to see, if ya want. Actually, don't. I don't want to go getting your hopes all up and then you check, and it's nothing new, and then you check again, and it's still nothing new. It gives me a complex. So, it's official. Simply DO NOT visit on Monday because you will be utterly disappointed in the most gray-scaled way possible.

Phew. I need a drink. A 10:30am martini, perhaps.

All my love,
Jackie O

Monday, April 7, 2008

Dear Jackie O, (Week 7)

A weekly (yet not so weekly) installment answering your most pressing questions.

Dear Jackie O,

This bad press in Dallas is so annoying. No way we could have foreseen this decline in Hummer sales due to fuel concerns… The segment five years ago was very strong. I don’t think anyone could have foreseen all these shifts.

Packin' for my eminent vaca,
87 Octane Cures Cancer

Dear Martin Walsh, General Manager of Hummer Division,
Really? You didn’t notice any one of the 1,030 articles I was able to just pull up from 2003 involving Hummers and their fuel economy?
Hmm. I guess it’s possible you were busy bathing your unicorn, so I understand. I know those little guys get so dirty sometimes.

All my love,
Jackie O


Dear Jackie O,
Please stop stalking us about accepting Microsoft’s offer. Seriously. We want a better one. And when they use words like “deadline” and “hostile takeover,” we laugh over here. It’s comical really. Hmph. Hah. Ahemm. Haha.

Come 'N get me,

Dear Yahoo CEO Jerry Yang,
Isn’t your company demanding a better offer slightly synonymous with a mouse who has been living in a snake cage crossing his arms at feeding time, staring the snake in the eye, and demanding he spray a little Binaca before dining?

All my love,
Jackie O


Dear Jackie O,
I guess you saw the news… Rasanksy’s vote is out. My quest for bad-assness seems to be close to its end. Not to mention, I smell like freaking tires & gasoline after this weekend. Sheesh.

Lonely on the South Side,

Dear Dallas Convention Center,
Wait, you don’t love the smell of gas? I do… but more importantly, you have nothing to worry about. An old sewage field was turned into Victory Park, so just think how much more potential you have! Hobos galore, an exterior made of gorgeous, top-of-the-line concrete, and an underground tunnel that makes even me pee my pants out of fear in the middle of the day – your aura just screams fancy hotels and expensive restaurants based on this city's standards... so don't you worry your pretty little head.

All my love,
Jackie O


Dear Jackie O,
If you were a few years younger and a few condo developments short of a tanking housing market, I’d have used my religiously-blessed charm to woo you to my fabulous compound in Eldorado. We could have had a baker’s dozen of children and I could have grown old by your side as I tried to sexually assault at least four of them. It could have been heavenly.

Awaiting My Fate,

Dear Warren Jeffs, Former Polygamist Compound Leader & Accused Rapist,
Please literally go F yourself, although I’m hoping a very large man named Tiny is keeping that part of your anatomy thoroughly occupied in your cell in AZ.

Every part of your story disgusts me, but the little town of Waco & the creepy old man in the trailer who spends every fall chasing off the curious new freshman class at Baylor University did want me to pass along this to you & the town of Eldorado:

“Thank Yer, and Gawd Bless.”

They also sent me a few pre-emptive nicknames to help move along the transition:

Eldoraging Crazy-o's
Eldo, Eldo, Eldo-wanna-polygamy-here-anymore
And the age-old classic, Eldowacko

All my love,
Jackie O

Friday, April 4, 2008

One Stop Shop

For all of your saw and/or knife needs.
I had always wondered where one might go in Dallas to find a good saw... now, I no longer have to wonder.

Tuesday, April 1, 2008

How Jackie O Spends April Fool's Day

9:15am: Stroll into work. Attempt to slip into my desk without the VP (who arrives @ 6:45am & sits within 4 yards of me) noticing.

9:16am: Clunky bracelet makes full contact with my desk announcing my "late" yet regularly-scheduled arrival.

9:17am: Mumble something about traffic.

9:18am - 9:30am: Coffee break.

9:31am - 9:34am: Work.

9:35am: Grow bored with work.

9:35am - 10:15am: Craft an email 'from' my company's HR department announcing our new cost-cutting initiative by limiting restroom usage to once every four hours, along w/ the new BYOR policy. (R=roll)

10:15am - 10:30am: Amused with myself while thinking of another prank.

10:33am: Receive super-secret text letting me know there is poison in my coffee, and further instructions to follow.

10:35am - 11:00am: Experience pranker's block

11:00am - 3:00pm: Work. Again.

3:05pm: Colleague steals my computer out of the restroom. (No, my office is not in the restroom, but if it were, that would be so much cooler of a story.)

3:05pm - 3:07pm: Wonder who the heck would want my computer in a place filled with computers.

3:08pm: Get excited thinking no computer = no work.

3:09pm: Greeted in the hall by giggling colleague with computer in-hand.

3:10pm - Now: Friggin' workin.

Sheesh. What a disappointment. April Fool's used to be so much cooler. So did foiling.