pickle juice

cruel and unusual punishment, indeed

2005-07-31T21:19:00.000-05:00

Before anything gets blown out of proportion or whatever, let me say this:

I am, seriously, facing three years in jail.

I am trying my damnedest to maintain my sense of humor about it, and appreciate the levity as well as the concern.

I cannot give details until after my second, which should have been my third, court appearance on the 11th.

Even then I can only give half the story, potentially.

I'm not trying to be vague; I'm just giving it a "C.Y.A." - as in "cover your ass". It will all make sense in a few weeks.

The union taught me that acronym.

There is no blogging from jail, however, the toilet is conveniently located just at the foot of the raised concrete slab that serves as a bed. Seriously, there was no bed. Maybe prison is different - hope I never find out.

The only reason I threw out the jail tidbit is because I was seriously stressing about it and I had to tell someone. Dunno, man.

In the meantime, I've been "asked to leave" my mother's house and am crashed with my sister. BUT! But today I managed to finagle a sleeping room across the hall from her apartment, so that's pretty cool. A room with a door? For the first time in six months I'll actually have a door! That's pretty boss.

Oh, something funny, which would be a lot funnier if you knew more about my potential jail situation up there...actually, both potential jail situations, but that's another couple of stories to come in another couple of weeks...I received in the mail today (I haven't checked my PO box for a couple of weeks) a notice for jury duty in Minnesota. Then I opened something that yelled at me for not responding to jury duty in Minnesota. Then I opened something telling me I was supposed to be in court in Minnesota to explain why I didn't show up for jury duty. Then I opened something that said I was no longer allowed to drive in the state of Minnesota.

Okay, so it's kind of a funny situation regardless of the rest of it, but in conjunction with the other two stories it's hilarious.

I'll try to blog as often as possible in the meantime in order to fulfill all of your Natalie needs just in case. Case. Court case!

Barf.

But, honestly, is anyone surprised that I may end up in jail? Most of my friends have said, "We're just surprised it's taken this long."

And I kind of have to agree.

so what's new in my world

2005-07-27T23:05:00.000-05:00

Well, I'm going to jail - potentially for three years, gosh! - but that's a really long, boring story, so instead I'll just show you the results of my humor test I ganked from Sollie.

the Cutting Edge

(65% dark, 43% spontaneous, 22% vulgar)

your humor style:
CLEAN | SPONTANEOUS | DARK

Your humor's mostly innocent and off-the-cuff, but somehow there's something slightly menacing about you. Part of your humor is making people a little uncomfortable, even if the things you say aren't in and of themselves confrontational. You probably have a very dry delivery, or are seriously over-the-top. Your type is the most likely to appreciate a good insult and/or broken bone and/or very very fat person dancing.

PEOPLE LIKE YOU: David Letterman - John Belushi

My test tracked 3 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender:

You scored higher than 73% on dark

You scored higher than 63% on spontaneous

You scored higher than 18% on vulgar

Link: The 3 Variable Funny Test written by jason_bateman on Ok Cupid

The worst part? I have really awesome nails now but have been told...if you can believe this...that there isn't a single manicurist available in jail! Surely I'd gladly give up any and all conjugal visits I may be entitled to, provided I was able to maintain my lovely nails, but no. Not even an option.

Plus there's that whole "can't vote" thing, too. This kinda sucks.

Then again, I always have that whole "cutting edge" thing going for me, so life ain't all bad. I s'pose.

needs to be said, needs to be read

2005-07-18T22:38:00.000-05:00

Six months gone, I have to say that I don't hate you anymore. I don't. I'm at a much different, and better, place mentally than I've been in a long time. I've recovered and am stronger, and I thank you for that in my own odd way.

I'm not angry anymore, and I've forgiven everything - no guilt, no blame, no tears. Things were crazy, things were hard, but that's life. Life is hard. Not just our lives - everyone's lives.

Breakdowns come and breakdowns go - but what are you going to do about it? That's what I'd like to know. Make the best of it, kiddo, like I know you can.

I can only give what I have at my disposal, which isn't much and is fairly well in-demand by other circumstances, but it does make me happy when I read that something is going well with you and that you're finally (finally!) optimistic and away from self-destruct mode.

It's about fucking time, mate.

WORLD AT LARGE - Modest Mouse

Ice-age heat wave, can't complain.
If the world's at large, why should I remain?
Walked away to another plan.
Gonna find another place, maybe one I can stand.
I move on to another day,
to a whole new town with a whole new way.
Went to the porch to have a thought.
Got to the door and again, I couldn't stop.
You don't know where and you don't know when.
But you still got your words and you got your friends.
Walk along to another day.
Work a little harder, work another way.

Well uh-uh baby I ain't got no plan.
We'll float on maybe would you understand?
Gonna float on maybe would you understand?
Well float on maybe would you understand?

The days get shorter and the nights get cold.
I like the autumn but this place is getting old.
I pack up my belongings and I head for the coast.
It might not be a lot but I feel like I'm making the most.
The days get longer and the nights smell green.
I guess it's not surprising but it's spring and I should leave.

I like songs about drifters - books about the same.
They both seem to make me feel a little less insane.
Walked on off to another spot.
I still haven't gotten anywhere that I want.
Did I want love? Did I need to know?
Why does it always feel like I'm caught in an undertow?

The moths beat themselves to death against the lights.
Adding their breeze to the summer nights.
Outside, water like air was great.
I didn't know what I had that day.
Walk a little farther to another plan.
You said that you did, but you didn't understand.

I know that starting over is not what life's about.
But my thoughts were so loud I couldn't hear my mouth.
My thoughts were so loud I couldn't hear my mouth.
My thoughts were so loud.

oh, and another thing...

2005-07-10T13:07:00.000-05:00

Audioslave is incapable of making a bad song. Folks, it's just that simple.

Wait, that's not what I was going to say - oh yeah, I have ten days before I get to sit in front of a judiciary panel for the federal government and try to convince them that I'm not a threat and/or menace to society in any respect. Should be a laff, that one.

I haven't thought about court in a week or so, so I've been refreshingly unalarmed at the whole thing. I should probably think about getting a lawyer soon, huh?

I'm really great at sticking my head in the sand to avoid my problems.

I've gotta admit, though, that I'm a little turned on by the thought of all the hot, women's prison shower action I'll be getting, because at least it's, ya know, action. That I'll be getting. If I can remember how.

SAND IN THE PANTS, people. Sand. In the pants.

"I talk about sex a lot because, well...let's face it, if I were hungry I'd be talking about food." - Adam Ferrara

hey, don't i know you from somewhere?

2005-07-10T12:16:00.000-05:00

That's the most popular pick-up line in the US. The correct response is, "Yeah, I think you do - I work at the STD clinic". Ba-dum-DUM.

Here's a joke I heard at work from a construction worker, because that's who I work with since I'm so totally in construction: A mother is cleaning up her teenage son's room and comes across a stack of S&M magazines and just flips out. When the father gets home she's in a tizzy and wails, "What am I supposed to do about this? I need to punish him somehow. What should I do?" The dad says, "I don't know, but I don't think you should spank him."

And that, my friends, is what's known in some circles as "sexual harassment" and "creating a hostile working environment". I thought the joke was funny but got very serious and said I didn't appreciate that kind of humor. Then I told this joke: Two men are standing in line at the bus station and the woman at the counter has these enormous breasts. The one guy goes to the counter and says, "I'd like two pickets to Tittsburg, please" and immediately is mortified at his slip. The other guy tells him, "Hey, don't worry about that - it's just a Freudian slip. Happens all the time. Why, just the other day I meant to ask the missus if she would please pass the bacon but instead I said 'You fucking bitch, you ruined my life!'"

And that counts as sexual harassment, too! Isn't that cute?

Everyone on the site calls everyone by these really prissy nicknames like Precious, Buttercup, Princess, Sweet Cheeks, Twinkle Toes, that kind of thing. I call them all things like Monkey House, School Bus, Flashlight, Lunch Box, Rough Neck, Phone Jack and Chieftan. Plus I call everyone Kiddo, but Chieftan is my favorite. I yell it like, "chiefTAAAAN" kind of like how Captain Caveman said his name. It's funny when I blast out ear drums in my NEXTEL WALKIE TALKIE, bitches!

Yeah, I have a Nextel walkie talkie, ya wanna fight about it? It makes me feel like a MAN, oh yes it does. Like a man with a walkie talkie.

So, what else? Oh yeah - more on the porta-potty war. (It's escalated to full-blown war status now, you see.) I put up a sign in one bathroom that very politely and formally requested that if the gents had to make a "number 2" that would they kindly do it in the other porta-potty? Then I put the same sign in the other bathroom as well. Since I can see the closets from where I am I watched as people would walk into one, then exit only to enter the other. When they came out I would yell at them and tell them to poop at home and stop doing it at work because it's ever so gross.

I told that story to a friend and he said, "Why didn't you just put the sign in one bathroom? People were obviously paying attention. Then you could have had one clean bathroom and your problems would be solved."

Because I didn't think about it, that's why! Plus I wanted to yell at the Mad Poopers who were ruining my day, that's why! So there.

I really wish I'd have thought of that, though. Now they're going to ignore my sign and just poop anyway, even during the day at work, because that's what guys do. They poop.

A lot.

now you've gone and made me feel badly

2005-06-25T19:04:00.000-05:00

I'm all like, "You know...I really should take some time to update for the dozens and dozens (two dozens) of people who still check in with me" instead of, I don't know, getting drunk and celebrating the end of my 6 days, 12.5 hours per day work week. My exhausting, dirty work week. That you totally can't relate to because you're simply not as BAD ASS as I am.

So there.

On the job site there are two porta-potty closets. I hate those and cannot stand them, but with the equivilent of Lake Michigan in Gatorade I drink per day sometimes I have to. But I got crafty - the last time Pete came out to clean them (poor Pete - he takes a lot of shit from a lot of people...feel free to use that joke for all of your own porta-potty occassions) I put signs on the front - one said "ladies" and the other said "men".

I'm the only lady on the job site so for two days I had a nice, shit-free place to do my business. But someone must have asked the boss about it and he must have told them that the signs didn't matter or something, because when I happily jaunted to the closet today the toilet was filled with so much shit that I'm sure these guys must have brought some from home. And maybe asked their friends to bring some, too. It was terrible. It was also, I am told, a "really great prank".

I pee in the field now, and I ain't laughing. But payback's a bitch.

(Ladies, this is what guys think is a really funny thing to do. I don't yet understand the ways of their people, or why it's funny to fart in the enclosed cab of a tractor right before I'm supposed to climb in, but it must be because they were cracking up.)

I wiped my mouth on the inside of my shirt when I was eating. This is standard procedure on the job site, because the inside of your shirt is the only thing that stays clean on your body. However, I did it at the dinner table. I need to watch that.

I ran into an old friend who didn't seem surprised that I'm in construction. He said, "I figured you'd end up doing something really fucking weird like that." I told him, "I'm doing it because if movies have taught me anything, it's that everything works out for the cute girl who does manual labor." And it's true - I'm just waiting for it to happen. In the meantime, I was served with two documents citing the United States of America versus me in a court proceeding, so things don't look so totally swell yet, but they will.

All of the United States versus little old me. Guam and the Virgin Islands are suspiciously silent in this matter. I may file my own suit, me versus the United States of America except for New Hampshire because New Hampshire has never harmed anyone.

But fucking Kansas? I'm going to frame Kansas' nutsack when I'm finished ripping it off. Man, do I hate Kansas.

Now I'm off to pick the mud boogers from my nose. Yes, I just said "mud boogers" because that's what they're called.

do i have it in me?

2005-06-23T21:00:00.000-05:00

I think not.

Long, long story very, very short: I'm busy.

Huh HA!

Betcha didn't see that one coming, did you?

But yeah, I'm busy. Busy on MACHINES.

I'm union. Sorry: UNION.

Haven't gotten my card yet, but then again, I haven't paid my dues yet, either.

This is my machine. There are many like it but this one is mine:

Okay, so technically that's not my machine, but that's the fella I'm really good at running. The tire is taller than I am.

I'm on a job now making a bridge. A BRIDGE. Over a RIVER. That your CAR may POTENTIALLY DRIVER OVER SOME DAY SHOULD YOU FIND THE NEED TO GO FROM ILLINOIS TO IOWA or VICE VERSA. I'm talking pure Mississip, yo.

I'm not running that machine there on this job, but I want to be.

I'm now very thin, very buff and very, very tan. How tan? "Did this mole change shape?" tan. Yeah, that tan.

I'm feeling very good. There is Zen in dirt.

You'd be surprised.

I'm going to finish my beer and go to bed.

AT NINE O'CLOCK.

I've never worked harder in my life and cannot remember when I've been happier about that fact.

Scrape on, moron.

it's the sound of one hand smacking

2005-05-19T04:59:00.000-05:00

I'm doing this paper and cannot for the life of me cite enough references. It's like the horizon is fading away, no matter how quickly I run toward it, just out of reach. So I picked one historical fact in the paper and found, like, five people that have mentioned it in various newspapers and journals, and threw all of their references into the citations. Like if the paper was on the life of Hitler it would look like this:

"Hitler was German (Jones, 2; Bilch and Marsh, 1-3; Ferenge, 1; Tomkins and Randolph, 1; Barnett, 2 - yep, five out of five crazy-ass mother fuckers agree that Hitler was German)."

I'm so gonna get an A. But it's not even my paper, so B for boo.

I asked the person who is the rightful owner of this paper, my creative works, if she was okay with me so totally cheating for her and, without even a pause, she said, "Ethics is next semester".

Ethics is next semester.

I've been a big gluttonous ball of slovenly oinker sloth tonight. I had some Hot Fries that I wanted to eat with hot sauce (they weren't HOT ENOUGH because I was still aware that I HAD A MOUTH) and I dropped a bunch of them into the hot sauce, but didn't want to dig them out because I had a cut on my finger and am a big baby and it would have BURNED, that's why! So I used a barbecue chip to scoop them out. It was such an odd combination that I saw God, and He's ashamed of you and wept. True story.

Last night I had the choice to watch "More Awesome Celeb Beefs!" or "Little Man Tate". Guess which one I chose? Guess! I'll give you a clue - it wasn't "Little Man Tate". And in related news, "Dear Paris Hilton, you're a dirty whore but not in a good way. Stop it. Your pal, me."

I was upset with Nico and had used his full name:

Zoe: No, it's not Nicholas Gorner - his name is Nikolai Gorner Pee Underpants.
me: Pee underpants?
Zoe: No, "p" like the letter. Nikolai Gorner P. Underpants.
me: (blank stare)
Zoe: ...junior.

Nikolai Gorner P. Underpants, Jr. My son.

Funny, I don't remember doing any drugs when I was pregnant with any of my children. I have honestly not a clue where they get their bizarre nature from.

No, you shut up.

surreality du jour

2005-05-16T14:13:00.000-05:00

dad, to me: Well my, my, my - aren't we Little Miss Anarchy Pants lately?

I really wish you had any idea of what my dad was like - you kind of have to know this to understand why his statement to me the other day was so painfully funny.

He's a little bit like every old-man farmer you've ever seen in any movie. The man who drinks the eggs in Napoleon Dynamite - kinda like that. A Norwegian bachelor farmer. He doesn't really speak unless it's at a card table, and half the time he seems really surprised to discover that there are people around him. The only way we really communicate with one another is through shouting, and if there's one word you would never, ever use to describe anything he does or says, it would be "cute".

But when he said that to me? I laughed myself to the brink of pants pissing.

Little Miss Anarchy Pants.

Priceless on so many levels.

bergman weren't nuthin but a hood rat

2005-05-11T11:57:00.000-05:00

This was said to me in utter seriousness: "Are you fo' real? Quit clownin', dawg - you know that 'Casablanca' shit be tight. He was all, like, in love an' shit. In love. Word."

Random things overheard:

girl: If you don't stop it you're going to make me cry.
guy: Why do you do this to yourself?

woman: My kids don't get to jump on the bed.
other woman: (in disbelief) What, you mean ever?

girl: Your denial of my speech impediment doesn't make it any easier for me to say "horseradish".

girl: You wouldn't know good taste if it sat naked on your face. (after an awed pause) That's the funniest thing I've ever said.

guy: (said very seriously after reading something) You were right to hyphenate.

And lastly, from my 12-year-old, Samantha's blog:

I was reading the paper this morning, and found an article titled: "Blog on - but be careful what you write". It was this long article talking about how blogs viewed as journals are bad because they can get you in trouble. They have also decide that blogs "have a negative influence" on writing skills. My opinion: Blogz don t a fect ur rightin skilz. But seriously, so does email, and instant messaging. Who cares about grammar. Grammar is like math, you never use it in the real world.........

I'm deleriously happy that she edits and spell-checks as infrequently as I do.

I wouldn't know how to use commas properly even if they made a "School House Rock" about it, and neither would she.

seriously? i have no idea what's wrong with my thought process

2005-05-10T17:47:00.000-05:00

My father, who so kindly is allowing myself and three children to live at his home rent-free, was not too happy with me today because I was taking a nap when he came home from work. He yelled at me, "This place is a mess - all you ever do is talk on the phone, play on the computer and sleep!" And me, being the genius fucking idiot that I am, laughed, said, "That's not true - I also drink your beer and smoke your cigarettes" and rolled over to go back to sleep.

In hindsight, I realize this was probably the wrong thing to do. In fact, it couldn't have been more wrong. Unless, maybe, if I would have then added, "I'm starving - what are you buying us for dinner?"

Yeah, that probably made it worse. But come on, man - dude needs to get a sense of humor, am I right?

Yeah, I'm right. Or maybe I'm just a complete asshole that needs to grow the fuck right up. I'll have to sleep on it.

These are the drugs that Dan bought.

2005-05-10T16:35:00.000-05:00

This is a test entry from my little phone. My wallpaper on my phone is a lovely autumn scene with the words 'i heart your mom' in gothic script. The wallpaper on my computer is Brad Pitt. Why am I even wasting time on my phone when the scenery is so much better on the pc? Makes not a bit, nor Brad, of sense. (I couldn't just say 'testing', now could I?)

why i don't need to do drugs to get my brain all twisted around and confused

2005-05-09T15:20:00.000-05:00

Said by Zoe, who is only five: "Some days, I feel pretty okay about that whole 'Mexico' thing. But other days..." (very deep sigh) "...other days? I don't know. I just don't know."

She then shook her head and looked off into the distance for a solid five minutes or so. My dad asked what she doing and I said, "I'm pretty sure she's regretting Mexico." He said, "Well, let me know when she's done."

They're all crazy.

all i got for mother's day was a headache

2005-05-09T12:40:00.000-05:00

In the past week I've gotten into physical altercations on two non-consecutive and unrelated occasions. As a result of one I now require reconstructive surgery on a broken tooth. As a result of the other, I'm pretty sure I'm no longer welcome at my sister's house. Which is a shame, as she has her own tanning bed that I haven't gotten a chance to take advantage of, but I guess I didn't want skin cancer after all.

It's finals time, which shouldn't mean anything to me since I'm not in school, but it does because I've offered a lot of people a lot of help. I may even pretend I'm someone else and sit a final for someone who has yet to attend a single class, so the professor has no idea what she even looks like, and hope against hope that student ID cards aren't checked. If they are I may pick a fight with the professor and kick his ass. What do I care? It's not my grade.

I've taken on so many various projects for people that I'm getting them all confused. What does the evolution of organic communicable diseases have to do with Catholicism and Hemingway? Not a damn thing, which means I have to redo this entire paper.

I'm so sick of Hemingway that I want to dig him up and piss in his boots. He somehow manages to make psychoses uninteresting. I wish I could unearth some obscure text that proves that he was, like, a blood fetishist or something. Something to at least keep my eyes open.

The biggest surprise of my week came when I got a phone call from Hippy Sister telling me she had a bag of mushrooms for me for mother's day. Turns out they were only morel mushrooms, but those are pretty good, too. Everything you find growing in the woods should be hallucinogenic - there ya go, that's the topic for the next paper I have to write, regardless of the assigned topic.

Zoe gave me one of her chicken nuggets for mother's day, then Nico said to me, "Mother, please may I have your nugget?" I don't know where he picked up that kind of sentence structure, or where Zoe got the idea that a nugget was a good gift, but it was sweet all the way around.

Zoe just asked me, "What's shakin?" then said, "Oh yeah - that would be me" and started shaking her butt all around the room. Then she asked what I would rather smell, a stinky diaper or a stinky sock? I said I'd prefer a stinky sock and she said, "Well, then, I really hope that's what you'll find inside Nico's stinky diaper!" and laughed and laughed.

I hate clever kids.

vin vin VIN

2005-05-04T13:39:00.000-05:00

Vin Diesel is the new crack.

I seriously cannot get enough of this. I'm really sorry that this came along on a day when I have so much to do, because all of my obligations are going to be totally forgotten in favor of Vin Diesel trivia. Because I have my priorities straight, that's why.

...and now a random fact about Vin Diesel:

A 15 minute rap battle between Diesel's character and Adolf Hitler was cut before the final release of Saving Private Ryan.

Vin Diesel has no bone marrow. Instead, the material is a compound of granite, fiberglass and Rock 'n' Roll.

Vin Diesel not only put the L in lesbian, but he put his penis in them as well. All of them.

When Vin Diesel recently underwent surgery to remove an obstructed liver, surgeons were suprised to find a smaller Vin Diesel inside him.

Vin Diesel is not lactose intolerant, he just refuses to put up with lactose's shit.

Vin Diesel will flip you. He'll flip you for real.

The atomic weight of Vin Diesel = AWESOME

Vin Diesel made a food chart that adds a necessary food group: The souls of your enemies.

Vin Diesel's blood type? Red Bull.

Vin Diesel only eats Lasagna - Lasagna made of Kenyan children.

Vin Diesel has been known to make women have orgasms just by growling at them.

Vin Diesel's middle name is Vin Diesel.

When asked how he feels about punching holes in things, Vin Diesel has surprisingly little to say.

Vin Diesel once used a 3 year old child as a baseball bat during softball practice. That child was Bjork.

Vin Diesel has a fever.. and the only prescription is more cowbell.

Vin Diesel eats a dozen babies lubed in motor oil for lunch and washes them down with asbestos, and doesn't even care.

The first rule of Vin Diesel Club is you do not talk about Vin Diesel Club. The second rule is that you have to let Vin Diesel see you naked.

Vin Diesel likes to compare himself to a little beetle. 'I am less shiny than you, beetle. But I am much bigger.'

Frankly, my dear, Vin Diesel doesn't give a damn. He is, however, making love to your nana.

What was your question again? Don't bother asking, because Vin Diesel told me the answer, and it's Vin fuckin' Diesel.

I just saved you a buttload of F5ing, but you should go do it anyway. Vin Diesel would want you to.

sweet sean hannity!

2005-05-04T05:13:00.000-05:00

You scored as Democrat. <'Imunimaginative's Deviantart Page'>

Democrat

100%

Anarchism

83%

Socialist

75%

Communism

75%

Green

67%

Republican

Nazi

Fascism

What Political Party Do Your Beliefs Put You In?
created with QuizFarm.com

Let's burn down the mother fucking world, but first...affordable health coverage for all!

I've been keeping little random notes in my phone to remind me of funny and slash or interesting things I might like to blog about. Wanna see how helpful this has been?

Colonial Crack House - resort?
Joss Stone - real name, not subtle joke?
Human being in animated auto - best effect EVER
Chicken head duck bank canary - foul fowl
carbon monoxide detector is in the drawer
picks up pennies (puts down pennies)
contagious PMS I swear to GOD!
James Dean tanning a diaper baby
New slogan - "Got Meds?"
pictures of work nuts for weight loss versus pictures of diet pills

HA HA HA HA HA! Comedy gold, people. Comedy. Gold.

This is why I usually operate under the "fly by the seat of my pants" philosophy. It's less painful, and doesn't take up a single bit of storage space in my phone.

...and now a random fact about Vin Diesel:

Vin Diesel can hire ninjas to kill the assassins he hired to kill you. Then he can kill the ninjas with his bare hands. He already did this two years ago, you just never knew about it because he's that good.

and no one cares when i double dip the chips

2005-04-29T02:58:00.000-05:00

I was just sitting here with this window (and my fly) open and thought, "I really love being awake when no one else is awake - it's kind of like a party, but I never get stiffed on the drugs". As I went to write that down I had a horrifying thought - nah, I wasn't worried that people would think I did drugs - I was worried that you'd think that I'd, ya know, worked on that line. Like I thought about it and went, "Yeah, that's definitely my 'A' game material right there". And that's just not how I roll.

Some people sit around and work on entries, and proofread, and make sure that they're using real words...not me, bro. We're just chatting. None of us would ever get out of here alive if I started to edit up in this bitch.

I was helping my sister with a paper for school the other day and I was all proofreading and being really critical about things...flash forward, literally, six hours later and the paper I was finally moderately satisfied with shared exactly two sentences with the first draft. It's like the philosopher's hammer: replace the head, then the handle, then the head, then the handle...can you really say it's the same hammer?

So when anyone asked me why I looked like shit the day after that paper I was all like, "I had to help my sister with sixteen papers, man, it was brutal!"

I've been watching Star Wars (episode eye vee - "A New Hope"? I'm afraid so.) and have to say, I'm having a few problems with this particular franchise. I think I should have watched it when I was four, like everyone else, and just ooohed and ahhhed over the robots and hover craft, but I didn't, so.

I have an issue with bitchy-ass little Luke Skywalker. I'm all like, "Why don't you shut up and farm your dirt, you whiny little ingrate?" I'd slap the shit out of him, I really would. Plus, I'm pretty sure he's gay. Not that there's anything wrong with that! No, not gay exactly, but when I see him I can't help but think of the brother from Napoleon Dynamite.

And double you tee eff with there being no Jedi anymore? Oh, we got our asses kicked and have no leadership so we're totally going to disband and not be Jedi anymore, even though we know damn well that Darth fucking Vader, Dark Lord of the god damn Sith is out there...I dunno, dude. What were you thinking, Obi Wan? I mean, you can take the man out of the Federation but you can't take the Jedi out of the man, or am I wrong? Am I wrong?

I'm not wrong.

Then again, I've only watched episode one and, like, fifteen minutes of episode four, so. (I am the single most annoying person to watch a movie with, as I'm sure you can tell.)

Oh, and I hate how they say "falcon". It's not FALL-kun. It's FAL-ken. They rhyme it "falcon" with "maul kin" and it's "falcon" like "pal can". That's that, and I don't want to hear another word about it.

I saw today, for the first time in, literally, fifteen years, the very first real boyfriend I'd ever had. It was weird because he walked past me and waved with the same mannerisms he had when he was a kid and I had a flashback to being in junior high. He looks the exact same as he used to, which was even more weird, except he shaves his head for no reason I can tell. He's not going bald, but he shaves his head - why do people do that? He's going to wake up one day and decide to grow his hair back in, just for a change, and be all like, "Was my forehead always this big?" BLAM - George Costanza.

Of course, I looked like absolute shit - the one day I didn't look cute because I've been so sick - and my hair is mid-process in that I've been going crazy with the coloring and the bleaching and the whatnot. So I need to give it some time between processes or else my hair screams at me and threatens to commit suicide by jumping off my head and into the shower drain.

So I was chatting with him about our respective kids and moms and the "good old days", as people are fond of calling them (this was the kid...hell, kid...who first got me into skateboarding and snowboarding and kissing behind piles of junk in the woods, all hobbies I retain to this day) and we got into the "Hey, you look good!" "No, you look good!" thing. He said something about how he liked my hair this color and I laughed, saying something like, "Well, it's not done - right now I look like some trashy motorcycle racer girlfriend. All I need is to strip Nico to his diaper and give him a baby bottle full of Pepsi!" Then I asked him what he was up to and he said, "No much...just recuperating from a broken foot." And how did he break it?

Motorcycle racing.

I had to get the hell out of there before his wife and baby showed up because if his kid was in a diaper sucking on a bottle of Pepsi I would have killed myself in the shower drain.

I have a knack for saying the absolute wrong thing at any given moment in time, but thinking about things before you say them and then proofreading? It's still for chumps.

gluttony, thy name is me

2005-04-27T15:07:00.000-05:00

I'm having an existentialist crisis at the moment.

Today, on two consecutive, yet unrelated, occasions I orally consumed half a cake. That's not the crisis, but please do realize that this was a twice consumed half-cake rather than a full cake in one sitting - because that would just be disgusting and terrible, yet delicious and oddly satisfying.

The crisis comes into play when you consider that the cake was not a planned baking event, nor was its existence known by anyone other than myself and the dog. (The dog watched the creative as well as consumptive processes.) The cooking utensils were cleaned of the evidence and put away as though they'd never been used. There was no reason for the cake to even be, and there is nothing (apart from a major bellyache) residual to suggest the cake had been either created nor consumed.

I destroyed something I created and failed to share with anyone, selfishly hoarding it for myself and indulging in the basest of human behavior. There is absolutely nothing redeeming about my actions in the slightest, and I can see no justification for what has transpired.

So, in weighing all of the factors - guilt, responsibility, short and long term ramifications, social mores and norms - the great philosophical question here is this: since no one yet knows of the existence of the cookies cooling in the kitchen, would it be okay for me to eat all of those, too?

A whole cake. I ate a whole freaking cake.

Damn, that's piggy.

new religions are started over less than this

2005-04-27T10:58:00.000-05:00

I know I'm not the coolest kid on the block - just by virtue of the fact that I use phrases like "coolest kid on the block" - but, even so, it was always a comfort to me to be able to say, "Well, at least I'm not a Star Wars fan".

Before you jump to conclusions, let me be perfectly clear that I can still say that I'm not a Star Wars fan...however, I do want to grow up to become and/or marry a Jedi.

That's a totally different thing!

No one ever told me how hot it is to battle someone with a lightsaber. No one told me how Zen-badass their philosophy is. Zen. Bad. ASS. No one ever told me that Jedies (Jedis?) are...how can I put this?...cool.

It's cool to be a Jedi. Way more cool than being Borg, or Klingon, or even captain of a Starfleet Command.

I'm sorry, Jean Luc! I'm so sorry. You don't know how much this pains me.

I still love you, Jean Luc, and everything the Federation represents, but you don't have any cool weaponry or acrobatic skills or even a single mind trick. Your main power is...dare I say it?...delegation. You can delegate like a mo-fo but can you leap multiple stories without even bending your legs? I think not. Can you mentally will your lightsaber back into your hand from a distance greater than twelve feet? No way. Can you command everyone in a blue shirt to do recon on a seemingly peaceful, yet obviously hostile, planet surface, thus assuring their death? Yup. And that's about it, really. Oh, and you have an uncanny ability to fall in love only with those women who are totally doomed to die. That's pretty sick when you think about it - did you ever think that maybe you're the constant in this equation? Glad you never loved me back, I suppose.

I'm sorry, Picard. You'll always hold a special place in my heart, but even Darth Maul gave me chills that you never could.

dad: Yoda wasn't wise - he was Jewish. That "speaking backwards" thing might sound impressive, but it's not. Hell, your grandmother did that.

So I guess it was kind of my destiny to get sucked into the Star Wars thing, seeing as how I'm part - um - Yoda. What the hell species is that little dude, anyway? Whatever it is, I'm part that.

But I'm not a geek, so you can just shut your piehole.

there were horses, and a man on fire, and i killed a guy with a trident!

2005-04-26T12:53:00.000-05:00

Just call me Brick.

I do not like little fishes that are not on my plate. They, how you say in American, "skeeve me right the fuck out". Hate them with a passion.

Not only does my mother keep a fish pond in the back yard, but also indoor aquariums. Big ones, filled with lots and lots of creepy, skeeve-inducing fish. One of these is in the room where I sleep. Or would sleep, were I a mere mortal who required such a silly, antiquated biological function.

Some of the fish are pretty, like these cool zippy day-glow neon things, some are plain, like the common gold fish, and some are really creepy, like the scum-sucking plecostomus which still retains some of its prehistoric qualities, like blending in with its surroundings and hunting the wooly mammoth. These are the deakiest of all the freaky-deaky fish in the household.

The only common element of all of these beasts is that they're huge. And I was responsible for a handful (three) of them because they were in the aquarium in my room.

I have, thankfully, blocked out much of the memory of actually netting and bagging these fish but I remember running into the laundry room with my arm extended and screaming in a very Brick Tamland fashion. I was like, "Mom! Mom, I have your fish! I have your fish! They're in a bag! In my HAND! Get them off me, get them off me!" and I stamped my feet and clenched my eyes closed against the horror of the disgusting creatures.

She took the bag from my little fist and I stood for a moment shaking all over and scratching at the, what, mysterious fish germs that were trying to worm their way into my skin? I don't know, but I was scratching like a crack head. Bugs, bugs on me! Fish bugs, the most loathsome of all the bugs!

Ew, I just totally shivered, remembering having to hold that bag of fish. I hope they all die, I really do. Sweet potatoes ghost, I hate those fish.

After mom transplanted the traumatized fish into the pond she made me cinnamon toast and a cup of tea to make me feel better and they were both delicious.

I'm still very scarred, though, but not scared because there's nothing scary about an empty aquarium. Those fish are a bunch of smelly pirate hookers, and I hate them to death.

it's kinda hard being n-a-t-a-l-i-e

2005-04-25T06:31:00.000-05:00

Something's been bugging me and I thought I'd clear it up...just in case I lost any "cred" with my "homies" and "Gs" for publicly "digging" on "Modest Mouse" the other day (just scroll down to, like, last Thursday or Wednesday or whenever the hell it was - you're a smart kid and can figure it all out, plus I can't hold your hand forever, you know), may I submit for your approval that my current ring tone is S-N double O-P, D-O double G (or "Snoop Dogg" for all you white folk) singing the lyric "you ain't no G" from the song "Signs" featuring none other than Justin Timberlake, a much-beloved figure in hip-hop culture. So that should restore my credibility. ("Gs to the bizzack, now ladies here we gizzo"...am I right, Gs, or am I right? West SIIIIIIDE! Of IllinOOOOOOIS!)

The actual lyric shamefully includes the "N-Word" but my 'tone is an exclusive Cingula' Remix, which omits that word as it apparently offends ring tone manufacturers and ilk of a similar nature. Whoda thunk it?

Just thought I'd clear that up right quick before I go smack up both my bitches and my hoes.

And in conclusion, I'd rather be broke than ugly, and I'd rather be ugly than you.

Oh yes. I went there.

And I'm sorry, but I absolutely refuse to apologize.

vh1 can eat my balls

2005-04-24T13:05:00.000-05:00

Why is it that I'm way more pissed off right now at VH1 than I was a few hours ago at Bono & Co.? I dunno, dude. My dad says I'm "hardwired all fucking wrong" and he just may have a point.

I watched VH1 for fifteen minutes today without seeing a single video. Is this normal? I'm serious. Back in my day...yeah, yeah, yeah, I know, it's lame to complain about how music stations never play videos anymore but I had no idea it had gotten this bad.

After fifteen minutes I finally saw a video for Eminem's "Mockingbird" and was just days of happy, because I do so love him so, but even that totally threw me off. Okay, how is it that he was so damn poor but had a video camera? And did you see the presents that Christmas? Judging by the size of his kid this was before he got famous. This was supposed to be back in his ghetto days when he was "more poorer than you are". Lies, damnable lies, and untruths! At the very least, half-truths.

His kid had a Power Wheel! My kid never had no freaking Power Wheel. Crazy.

And don't even get me started on Mtv! I saw an ad for this new show, "Con", where old boy goes on and on about what a con man he is and how he can get anything for free, blah blah blah. Listen up, as I have the perfect way to con anyone out of anything.

Step One: Be a cute girl.

That's pretty much about it, really. If you're a cute girl you're getting anything you want. Where's my fucking show on Mtv, huh? I want a show.

Anyway - I was more poorer than Eminem. I bet he even ate bread, the fucking phony.

(I'm beginning to think that it really doesn't matter if I post drunk or not, as you won't be able to tell a difference.)

PS - this is what part of the alphabet would look like if we didn't have the letters Q and R. The comments have fudged the bucket and need to be fixed (because Blogger is archiving things in a stupid, non-Natalie type way) but I'm too busy (busy!) at the moment to play. So all of you goat-humping jackalopes will, indeed, have to STFU.

I went with Haloscan for the time being, which means that the "goat-humping jackalope" comment will mean nothing to you. But it means simply everything to me, oh yes it does.

i once was drunk but now i'm not

2005-04-24T05:03:00.000-05:00

Damn, dude - thank Hey Zeus that I was too drunk to tell the difference between the "draft" and "publish" buttons last night. I got all talking shit about lots of shit and even now, even though the thoughts came out of my own little mind, I cannot follow the train of thought.

Random Mitch Hedberg: I want to be a rebellious McDonald's owner. Cheeseburgers... NOPE... we got spaghetti!!

I always take it too hard when someone famous (usually comedians, as they're really the only people I know of that talk about random shit like this) likes something I don't - I feel kind of confused and lost, like when I'm at someone's house and notice they don't drink the same kind of milk as I do. I'm like, "Who are you people?"

So, Mitch Hedberg. Now, I don't know if he liked spaghetti a lot or if it was mentioned simply because it sounded funnier than, say, Steak Ums, but I was kind of perturbed thinking that he was all liking spaghetti. Because I don't. He also mentions bananas, which I dislike. And toast! Eddie Izzard is a fan of the toast, as well, which seems odd to me. I'm too lazy for toast. It's not that I dislike it but I don't eat it if I have to make it myself. Too many steps, and too much mess, for the sake of some crunchy bread. Ya know? Like, if I had an open flame in my home and could put bread on a stick like a marshmallow I may eat it, but when you have to get specialized appliances involved it becomes a full-on process. I can't bring myself to do it. If I were rich I'd employ a full-time toast making person and die in my giddiness at not having to make toast. But I doubt that day will ever come, so it's a life of toast-free for me.

For a while I thought that comedians were using toast as an example to show that they're really broke, and they have to make a meal out of bread, but I don't believe that for a second. I was unbelievably poor for a great few years and I rarely bought bread. Do you realize how many slices are in a loaf of bread? It's insane - you buy a loaf, that shows a level of commitment that I am simply not comfortable with making. Even those bright dots on the bag aren't enough to inspire purchase. They don't make them in personal, individual-sized loaves, either. You have to buy a great big fuck-off loaf of bread. I do not eat enough bread to make that kind of purchase worthwhile.

Then you have to have something to put on the bread, like butter or jam or honey or somethin, and those were items I never bought while poor, either.

Conclusion: comedians aren't poor. They just really like toast, and aren't afraid to tell you about it. I believe it's a metaphor for something. The end.

I checked out The ONE Campaign because Brad Pitt told me so. That's not true - it was because of Tom Hanks, the most trusted voice in Hollywood today. Tom Hanks.

I don't know what came over me, I think it was the sight of Dave Matthews (aka My Future Baby Daddy But He Ain't Know It Yet) on a deck chair or learning that Michael Stipe was left-handed (I think I knew that but had forgotten it, and I don't know why I care anyway) but I signed the petition and came really close to ordering the bracelets before I went, "Bitch, what the fuck you do?" Because once you buy one of those bracelets, for any cause, you can never again honestly say that you've never bought one of those bracelets. This is an important thing to me, and here I was, ready to throw it away all willy-nilly. It was terrible, in a very nillying of the willy kind of way.

What else is terrible is how Bono has co-opted the word "One" to reflect his sense of "unifying" "outrage" over whatever the fuck he's outraged about these days. I don't even know anymore.

Used to be a day when a Bono joke was out of my mouth before I realized I'd even formed the words. Not anymore. I'm too lazy to give a shit. I'm more like, "If you crinkle the top of the bag down really tightly and threw it under-hand, I betcha you could pitch me that bag of tasty Doritos and neither of us would even have to stand up, let alone walk anywhere." That's the visual of Bono these days. He's very "throw me that bag of Doritos". You can steal that line if you want - in fact, I insist. "Are you talking about Bono? That guy's a throw me that bag of Doritos. Sho' nuff!"

Do not sign the petition for the One campaign. It's little more than bringing politics in through the back door under the heady auspices of Ending Poverty! and Using Our Voices! to Unify Society Against This Tragedy! No it's not - that's a lie. It's a thumb placed gently at the side of the nose of Hollywood to the current administration and foreign policy - a scared little thumb against a timid little nose, indeed. But they'll never say that, will they? Tom Hanks can't just stand up and go, "Hey, ya know something? Fair trade rules are vital to the global economy and, while I'm thinking on it, perhaps there should be a meaningful cancellation of debt for sub-Saharan Africa as well as other impoverished nations, regardless of America's relationship with their governments. While we're chatting here, how's about we put our heads together and come up with a plan to heal the fractured infrastructure of places like Zimbabwe, Malawi and Liberia? How 'bout it, guys? I'll bring the delicious frosty milkshakes and you can draft a foreign debt relief bill."

Nope. Instead, the likes of Toby fucking Mac say, "Hey, let's make it look like we have nothing meaningful to add to the solution apart from our fame and sign this paper. It'll be great photo op, and the timing couldn't be better because I'm finally happy with how my soul patch has filled out."

Remember back in the day when Eddie Vedder's main cause was keeping concert ticket prices fair by selling outside of the Ticketmaster conglomerate? Stop the Ticketmaster hate machine! It's oppressing the fuck out of concert-goers! Oh, and let's get rid of African orphans...wait, what?...oh, yeah, I guess your way is good, too. As long as we can do something about these questionable statistics that we take at face value and never consider the underlying root cause - that's all I'm really after.

"Efforts" such as this are the very reason no one really gives a shit when someone famous has something to say about politics or foreign policy. They done gone and shot theyself in the foot, maw! They made their bed, now they have to lie in it. And sign petitions with Switchfoot.

I like being unfamous - which is very different than infamous - because when I voice my politics there are, literally, dozens and dozens of people that don't email me their outrage or distress over my opinion. I can't count the number of people who never come up to me on the street to tell me that I should keep my nose out of politics and just talk about anal sex or funny things my kids have said or else they'll boycott my blog. It really gives me that warm, "not doing shit about the problem" kind of feeling, ya know?

A poli-sci professor once said of me, when I missed class, "Her presence is made notable by her absence" and I thought that was one of the most horribly awesome things anyone has ever said of me. Horribly awesome and fantastically terrible, all rolled into one little "ain't she an asshole?" package. I'm a very blessed woman.

You know what the best part of this "One" campaign is? All of the real leg-work involved (and I'm not talking "leg work" as in "Hey, there's Angelina Jolie in a refugee camp, just walking around like a normal person! Why, she's Not Like The Other goodwill ambassadors - she even adopted a Cambodian baby!" kind of leg work) is done by...wait for it...the very same Christian organizations that most benefit from some of the most bizarre faith-based legislation our country has ever seen. Take that, um...someone!

Ah, I love the smell of subversion in the morning! Smells like...Cambodian refugees.

Actually, I'm being rather disingenuous here. The truth is, I don't really want Dave Matthews to make babies with me. I just want to practice with him a lot.

mary with the cherry done popped her cork

2005-04-21T12:11:00.000-05:00

I first read this headline as "Virgin Mary seen in shit stain on underpass" and spent a good ten minutes trying to imagine the acrobatics and sheer intestinal volume required to produce such a visage. I wondered what the crazy homeless man/teenage boy who came up with the idea of taking a shit on the wall first thought when he finally removed himself from his ornate shitting-on-the-wall contraption (I imagined a complex rope and pulley device) and saw that it looked like the Virgin Mary. I submit that the first words uttered from his mouth were "holy shit!"

And he was right. It was, indeed, a holy shit. The holiest of all the holy shits in my or your lifetimes.

My favorite part of the whole story was this line: The Roman Catholic Archdiocese of Chicago had not received any requests to authenticate the image as of Monday, spokesman Jim Dwyer said. The funniest part of this line is the inclusion of the phrase, "as of Monday". As though a request for authentication could be forthcoming and, indeed, taken seriously.

I picture a priest being gingerly led to the stain, which was covered by a sheet, by a Chicago police officer who grimly pulls down one corner of the cover. The priest swallows hard and averts his eyes, perhaps in denial of what he's seeing, and says in a trembling voice, "Yes, officer - it's her", all in shock at having seen the body of the Virgin Mary. When he returns to his church and is asked to confirm having seen her, he bitterly chokes out, "They found her under an overpass!" and everyone is in shock because it's all so undignified.

What was she doing under the overpass, anyway? And at night, alone?!? Was she on drugs, do you think? Or maybe...no, it's too horrible to contemplate it...was she with a man? No, couldn't be. Not our Virgin Mary, not my Virgin Mary! She should have never left that tortilla in Mexico City. I told her and told her, but did she listen? Oh, she was just so stubborn!

Then everyone sits around, eating and gossiping, because no one rocks a wake like Catholics rock a wake.

Actually, Jews are much better at doing death than anyone, but we'll never get our moment in the sun because no one has any idea what Moses even looked like.

I'm waiting for Heston's face to show up in a bagel. Then it will be our time to shine, bitches.

And, yes, I know this whole post is based on the faulty premise that it was Mary's body that was found, but that's a whole hell of a lot funnier than a bunch of Catholics praying to little more than a physical testament of Chicago's crappy roadworks department.

But then again, if that's all we're looking at here...well, then it's just fucking hilarious.

yo momma so broke, her bologna don't even HAVE a name

2005-04-20T07:12:00.000-05:00

I was informed the other day by Grandmaster Sol (or "Grand Mal", as he's known for short) that he hasn't understood a word I've said in my last few posts, and somehow believes that others may share his affliction (which is commonly referred to as "not being Natalie, thus, unable to understand a flipping word that's posted here"). So instead of getting all real up in yo grill I'll instead revert back to my standard non-linear (because linear thought is for chumps) manner of speaking. Which is different than my recent non-linear (because linear thought is for chumps) manner of speaking in that I use the words "yo" and "dawg" with an alarming frequency. In a manner of speaking.

Please do try to follow along, as there will be a quiz later.

I love, love, love the fact that I've received so much attention and so many emails over the comment in my last post about the half-midget chick who grabbed my crotch. That's really hilarious to me. I also love, love, love how not a single one of you bitches said anything about the federal charges pending against me, of which there are many. A great costly many, bitches! All y'all are just damn lucky that I'm not posting this from a cell in Cuba, but do you care? Nope. All you care about is the midget chick who grabbed my crotch. A pox on your houses, apartments, and other miscellaneous units of dwelling, all of ye!

At any rate, I can't discuss the case because my representative from the ACLU has advised against it until the case goes to trial - you'll probably be reading about it in the New York Times then, anyway, and won't need me to fill in the details. (I bet you're all interested now, aren't ya? Aren't ya, bitches? But noooo, too late now. You had your shot and you missed it. Bitches.)

After nearly a decade of contemplation I'm ready to make a definitive public declaration: Modest Mouse is the greatest band of all time. Don't even try to argue - just shut up and listen, yo. (Sorry for that last "yo", and also for the "y'all" up there, and any other afrocentric rap-esque word or phrase that has been shamefully co-opted by folks like myself that I may have used in this post. I'm trying to stop but it's just so damn addictive!) I've painstakingly studied their entire discography and have determined that it's pretty much better than anything you've ever done.

Right-click and save as, bitches. Listen now and thank me later:

Never Ending Math Equation (~ 5mb) - Building Nothing Out of Something, 1999

Gravity Rides Everything (~ 4mb) - Moon Over Antarctica, 2000 (Easily one of the top ten best albums of all time, and by far the best Modest Mouse has ever done.) (This song was in a Nissan commercial but you can just suck it, yo. Don't hate the playa, hate the game. The game that involves selling one of the best songs in the world to the folks at Nissan to use in an advertisement for their fine automobiles. Nissan - for when you care enough about the safety of your family to buy a car whose ad uses the first riff of song wholly unrelated to anything even vaguely automotive in nature whatsoever. Nissan.) (I think it was also used in a beer commercial once, too, but eh, am I right?)

Bukowski (~ 5mb) - Good News for People Who Love Bad News, 2004

I actually quite enjoy a bit of old Buk (rhymes with "puke") but I enjoy the song even more because, come on, who would want to be such an asshole? Not I, good sir. Not I.

In an entirely unrelated topic (as if there was ever any flow up in this bitch) you'll note that I'm now currently minding the business of none other than the lovely Vero Vagabond. I heart her. If she were meeces I'd hates her to pieces but, thankfully, she's not. She does, however, rock the ever-loving shit out of turkey legs and floral crowns...simultaneously. She's the only person I know who has even attempted such a feat, let alone succeeded. Behold:

Vero Vagabond sez: My sneezes always come in conjugate pairs, like imaginary numbers!

She's the teeny tiny little (and younger) sister of the dude that everyone's blaming for my marriage problems, Alfie. Well, not everyone is blaming him - only the idiots. And you really are being idiots, you know. I won't apologize for the fact that he's the best friend I have, and I won't be party to any stupid little blame game that some people want to play. If all else fails blame it on me, as the song goes. And that's all I'm going to say about all of that. That, and Alfie looks like he smells like cafeteria food. Dunno, man - just something about the dude.

And as if this post didn't offer enough (as IF!) I'm going to pass on a little somethin' sumpthin' for all you bitches in the Twin Cities - courtesy of Orbitron Ron (who doesn't play for the Saint Paul Saints (so don't ask him) but does beat the ever-loving shit out of unrepentant fax machines) I give you a link to a super-dee-dooper Saint Paul Saints dealie-o: go here and enter the password "blog" and you will get a general admission ticket to the St. Paul Saints vs. Fargo-Moorhead game on Monday, June 13th, a drink, hot dog and baseball cap all for $8. You can't beat that deal with an unrepentant fax machine! (Dude, I've been up all night - I haven't the foggiest idea of what I speak.)

Happy A of the M, bitches!

ephedra free for me!

2005-04-13T12:54:00.000-05:00

Ya know what's crunked up, dawg?

I just rocked a slam of SoBe No Fear SUPER ENERGY SUPPLEMENT! drink and it totally tasted like tequila. And it's totally nothing like tequila! Hell, I don't even know what tequila tastes like! (after four or five shots of the stuff)

What'd I tell ya, boo? Crunked up. Crunked right the motha fugg up.

Except in this case, "crunked" is "crazy" and "FUNKED".

Speaking of funked, I don't think anyone should be allowed to listen to Snoop Dogg without at least listening to George Clinton's "Atomic Dog" first. No, scratch that - you should listen to the entire Parliament Funkadelic catalogue before even thinking of listening to Snoop Dogg. Otherwise you just ain't gettin' it on as many levels as you could be, and my happy white ass will mock you mercilessly.

After watching the freestyle scene from "8 Mile" for the hundredth time this afternoon alone, I challenged my eldest offspring to a battle. I'm embarrassed to say that she blasted the hell out of my ass when she called into question my non-existent Neopet parenting skillz when she said that I was such a bad Neopet parent that I had to take said Neopet to the soup kitchen so it wouldn't starve to death. Oh, snap!

She then asked why I don't link to her blog. I think we all know why.

My sister has a friend that got a little bit frisky with me the other night, and tried to seduce me by grabbing my crotch. This friend is a chick, bee tee double-you. Let's call her "Whory". Because it rhymes with her real name, which is Rory. Nah, let's just call her Rory - I don't know if she's usually a whore, and it's not like I'm protecting her anonymity or anything, seeing as how I totally just used her name.

Anyway, I was all like, "Quit dicking me, man. Quit dicking me, Rory!" but she totally wouldn't! This is the same girl (that I didn't tell you about before) who, when I complimented her lip gloss, offered to kiss me to see how the gloss looked on me. I wouldn't even share a Coke and a smile with this chick, eff why eye.

Anyway, fast-forward to Monday when I was talking to sister. She said something about how Rory left her a voice mail saying she spent the night in mumble mumble, which is my little po-dunk town. (Po-Dunk, Illinois - population 236 if you count the chickens that the Ramirez family keeps in their backyard but thinks no one knows about.) So sister, dear sweet sister, automatically thinks that Rory stayed the night with me.

So the long and short of it is that my sister thinks I can be seduced by a chubby half-midget with style-aggression issues whose idea of a come-on is to grab my crotch and say, "Well, why not? Ain't you into cootchie?"

Is it "cootchie" or "coochie"? Dude, I don't even know. Nor do I want to.

At any rate, Rory couldn't have spent the night with me because I was in the custody of some of the military's finest boys (and one girl) in blue (or military fatigues) being questioned because I put the nation's security at risk by making a wrong turn and ending up on a military base. Aye, 'struth!

Were you really scared on Saturday night? Because you should have been. I was totally out there, man, being all renegade and making wrong turns onto federal property. And I bet you slept right through it, didn't you? Fools.

Did you know that this is an offense for which you can be arrested? Aye, 'struth!

I'm really glad that, when they were ripping apart my vehicle searching for who knows what, they didn't find those illegal Middle Eastern immigrants I was muling to Canada. Or Iowa. I forget where I was headed now, which probably explains why I took that wrong turn that ended my ass right the fuck up in custody.

Still - handcuffs are hot no matter what the circumstances. And tanks? Tanks are fucking huge. Like, a special kind of huge. Incomprehensible kind of huge. Pregnant Britney Spears kind of huge.

So, yeah, I totally got arrested. So what? So balls.

The other day a friend said that, these days, Britney Spears looks like she belongs in a trailer park in Louisiana. I said that she's always belonged in a trailer park in Louisiana and he thought about it for a moment, then said (in a wounded voice), "True, but at least she used to be good at hiding it." I was all like, "Bitch, Britney don't owe you shit." I didn't say that - in fact, I only just thought it right this second, but it made me laugh.

Also? I'm totally not nearly embarrassed enough that I want this man to have my babies. He loves Jim Morrison, I love Jim Morrison...it's total fate. In fact, he reminds me a little of Morrison. (Or "Mr. Mojo Risin", if you're nasty.) He's kind of like a cross between Morrison and Gary Oldman in Dracula. I don't mean the centuries-old, all clingin' to the ceiling, "listen to them, children of the night" Dracula; I mean the more debonair, man-about-town, tinted specs and top-hat Dracula. The fuckable Dracula. If I ever meet Constantine I'm going to tell him he's a cross between Jim Morrison and the fuckable Dracula, and I bet he'd be so impressed with my astute assessment of his physical beauty that he'll yearn to have my babies. And then I'll reject him. Cuz that's just how I roll.

I don't watch American Idol, but I did tonight and last week because of Constantine. (Or "Mr. Natalie", if you're nasty.) Tonight, Daryl Hall was in the audience. Daryl Hall was my first pretend boyfriend when I was about five years old. I used to hide under a blanket and pretend I was kissing him, and say, "Oh, Daryl Hall! You kiss so much, Daryl Hall!" It seemed like a grown-up thing to say at the time, I guess.

Sheeeit, I don't even know what I'm talking about anymore. Is it tomorrow yet? Is it ever!

I didn't make this up, but I thought I did and it made me laugh: My karma ran over your dogma.

This post took fourteen minutes to write. Can you tell?

Can you ever!

(Take my bold tags...please! Ba dum dum)

i ain't no drama baby mama

2005-04-09T00:24:00.000-05:00

It has come to my attention that a number of all y'all out there have been talking "smack" about me and my "bidness". In fact, some of you are even "hatin'" and have the nerve to "be gettin' all up in my grill".

With these facts in mind, I cordially invite you to remove yourself from the immediate vicinity and make love to your own person in a solitary fashion.

In case you need a street translation, that means "go fuck yourself".

Look, I don't want it to be like this so I seriously suggest that you take two giant bunny leaps back, assess the situation and get a grip. You can't possibly know the full story about what's going on because I sure as shit haven't been talking to you...and it stands to reason that the person you're getting your information from just might be painting things with a, shall we say, skewed perspective.

And, by the by, don't even try to paint me out to be some monster by saying shit like you don't want to do anything to bring about my "malice" or whatever the fuck that was all about. Create drama in your own life because honestly? I cannot deal with even an ounce more. You have no clue how I'm living.

I'm giving you a chance to straighten the fuck up and back off before I go all kinds of bat shit. I seriously suggest you think long and hard about your next move.

I don't want to shit where I eat, I really don't, and I have very little energy left to waste on assholes, but I can only let the chatter and lies and misconceptions go on for so long. I've been way more patient than can reasonably be expected of someone in my situation. Or, indeed, any situation.

Grow up and shut up.

(PS - Obviously, if you don't know what I'm talking about, then I'm obviously not talking about you. But you are more than welcome to watch.)

eff why eye

2005-04-08T16:57:00.000-05:00

In case anything happens to the old bloggo here please note that demonthighs.blogspot.com will, once again, become my new transitional home. Ya might want to make a note of the url, just in case.

quote du jour

2005-04-07T15:06:00.000-05:00

"Fine, have it your way. Just don't come crying to me when you explode the ever-loving-shit out of your stupid face."

-- My father, after I told him to kiss my ass for trying to pull the cigarette from my mouth while I was changing the spark plugs in my truck.

It's my stupid face, and I'll explode it if I want to.

"I think pickles are cucumbers that sold out. They sold their soul to the devil...and the devil is dill" - Mitch Hedberg

2005-04-06T13:43:00.000-05:00

You know you're getting old when you see some hot young thing and the first thing you think is "Damn...what I wouldn't give to have pores like that again!"

I have these crazy wicked badass diet pills that are illegal in the US (but not in Canada, so nyeh, yah hoser) that contain dextroamphetamine (amphetamine, hooray!), but they also contain phenylpropanolamine (pheny...um, "chemical that causes random strokes", boo!). I was debating whether or not the reward was worth the risk but got side-tracked with something else, then noticed the pills sitting there and totally popped one without even thinking about it. I popped the shit out of that little pill. I see pill, I pop pill - it's just how I roll. So if I have a stroke later, you'll know why.

People will be all like, "Damn, that's so sad she had that stroke...and just when she finally got this room so clean. I bet she was going to clean her truck next, but now we'll never get to know what color the carpet is in the thing. Life is so cruel!"

I really hope that pill doesn't interact with all of the crystal meth I've been eating. Just kidding! I'm on a diet so I don't eat anything.

I'm not really on a diet. I take the pills for energy, which is also why I slam my body weight in Full Throttle twice daily. I'm too poor to buy real drugs, and that's probably the saddest thing I've ever said in my life.

About the union...brothas get up in some messed up shit, yo, some messed up shit. It's like joining a legal gang, and I've already inherited a beef because of my associations! I feel so Eminem.

Speaking of Eminem...

...but I still love him anyway. Thugs need birthdays, too, with cake and...Alf. I've decided that I'm going to start rapping again because now my dope rhymes will have a greater depth of experience than the ones I wrote when I was ten where I made fun of the Irish by saying they were so dirty they needed their own special soap. Irish Spring, y'all!

When I spit it my lyrics will be hard and edgy but silly as all get out. (Note to self - it's neither "hard" nor "edgy" to use phrases like "as all get out". There is no such thing as a Minnesotan rapper, dawg, so drop that shit, aight?)

Quit eavesdropping on my internal dialogue, would ya? Damn, you're a nosy little thing. (Speaking of - if you email me, use this one from now on. I share a computer with the fam damily now and they always be all up in my bidness, yo.)

I'd really like to call out 50 Cent for being such a phenomenal prick, even though he's Em's boy, but all I can come up with is a very David Spade-esque, "Yeah, 50 has that new hit song 'Candy Shop' with Olivia...I liked this song back when he sang it with Lil' Kim and called it 'Magic Stick'." Not a very good slam, but it'd still probably get me shot.

My sister said, "Nico needs his diaper changed; he smells like crack." No, that's not true - I said it, not her, but I didn't want to admit that I made that joke. But then I totally just did. I totally just did. Sigh.

I wanted to time my final trip to Minnesota (final? ha! I feel like Mick Jagger for as many times as I've taken my "final" trip to Minnesota) to coincide with the visitation of Mitch Hedberg but it didn't happen because I'm too poor. (See reference above.) I wish I'd have at least been in town to clip his obit from the paper or something. Dude was a genius, man.

I first read about his death, like the death of every other famous person I've ever loved, at Mike's place. I'm going to have to straight-up drop him from my 'roll, dawg. Shit's getting eerie. I'm beginning to think that he's somehow involved.

If I had to sum up the essence of Mitch Hedberg to some unfortunate soul who's never had the pleasure of knowing his stand-up, I would quote them this line:

If I was a locksmith, I'd be pimping that out, man. I'll trade you a free key duplication for... That joke made me laugh before I could finish it, which is good, because it had no ending.

Aw, fuck it - here are some more:

I opened up a container of yogurt, and under the lid it said "Please Try Again" because they were having a contest I was unaware of. But I though I might have opened the yogurt wrong…or maybe Yoplait was trying to inspire me. "C’mon, Mitchell, don’t give up. Please try again." A message of inspiration from your friends at Yoplait - fruit on the bottom, hope on top.

I was at this casino minding my own business and this guy came up to me and said, "You're gonna have to move, you're blocking a fire exit." As though if there was a fire, I wasn't gonna run. If you're flammable and have legs, you are never blocking a fire exit.

I never joined the army because "at ease" was never that easy to me. Seemed rather uptight still. I don't relax by parting my legs slightly and putting my hands behind my back. That does not equal ease. "At ease" was not being in the military. I am at ease, bro, because I am not in the military.

The depressing thing about tennis is that no matter how much I play, I'll never be as good a a wall. I played a wall once. They're relentless.

I'm sick of following my dreams. I'm just going to ask them where they're going and hook up with them later.

I can't get into flossing, I can't. People who smoke say you don't know how hard it is to stop smoking. Yes I do. It's as hard as it is to start flossing. You seem jittery. Yeah, I'm about to floss.

One time a guy handed me a picture of himself and he said. "Here's a picture of me when I was younger." Every picture of you is when you were younger. Here's a picture of me when I'm older. How'd you pull that off? Let me see that camera.

I get the Reese's candy bar. If you read it, there's an apostrophe. The candy bar is his. I didn't know that. Next time you're eating a Reese's and some guy named Reese comes up to you and says, "Let me have that" you better give it to him. "I'm sorry Reece, I didn't think I would ever run into you."

I order a club sandwich all the time. And I'm not even a member. I don't know how I get away with it. "I like my sandwiches with three pieces of bread." "So do I - let's form a club." "Okay, but we're gonna need more stipulations." "Yes we do. Instead of cutting it once, lets cut it again." "Yeah, four triangles. And we shall dump chips in the middle!" "Let me ask you something - how do you feel about frilly toothpicks?" "I'm all for them."

And my absolute favorite one of all time...

When you go a restaurant on the weekends it's busy so they start a waiting list. They say "Dufrane, party of two, table ready for Dufrane, party of two" and if no one answers they'll say the name again, "Dufrane, party of two". But then if no one answers, they'll move on to the next name. "Bush, party of three." Yeah, but what happened to the Dufranes?!? No one seems to care - who can eat at a time like this? People are missing. You people are selfish. The Dufranes are in someone's trunk right now with duct tape over their mouth and they're hungry. That's a double whammy! We need help! Bush search party of three...you can eat once you find the Dufranes.

RIP, bro.

insert a big ol' belly laugh there at the end, because I did

2005-03-29T20:39:00.000-06:00

Overheard between a guy and a girl, after the girl complained about having to buy toilet paper at the store today:

guy: I always buy toilet paper when I buy lube, so I've come to associate it with sex. And odd smells that survive hand-washing.

Ah, nothing like a little lube humor to brighten your day.

and i'll probably feel a whole lot better...

2005-03-28T18:08:00.000-06:00

I have the best friends that money can buy, that spend their money buying me Jager bombs.

Holy crap, dude. Those things are so wicked vicious that you can get hit in the back of the head with a beer bottle and not even really notice. You'd be all like, "Dude, did someone just punch me? What? A beer bottle - are you fucking serious? Shut up."

Not that I'd know anything about any of that.

But what I do know is that I saw a really awesome cover band made up of middle-aged white guys that not only covered Santana but also "Return of the Mack" so well that I thought it was a cd. It was crazy, yo.

Something else I know is that out of the majority of the people I went to high school with (that are still living in the area) (and were at that one bar the other night) I am at least 50% cuter than they are. And boy don't they know it! Cuz I totally told them!

So I'm feeling better now, but people still do suck.

Except for Royksopp. Nothing sucks about Royksopp, and I've got a beer bottle with your name on it right here if you dare disagree with me.

life lessons i've learned at the tender age of twenty-eight

2005-03-27T04:28:00.000-06:00

People.

Fucking.

SUCK.

That's about the long and short of it, I think.

five days has gone already? time sure flies when you're unemployed and living in a basement!

2005-03-25T05:22:00.000-06:00

But perhaps, just perhaps, I shall not be unemployed for long. A chance has come my way to join a - wait for it - UNION. How badass is that? That ain't no blue collar stuff - this is, like, no collar stuff. Because Lynard Skynard concert t-shirts don't come with collars, that's why. I am so there.

I think it would be totally killer to be working construction or surveying or something like that. I'm at a decided advantage because, as my union hook-up (otherwise known as "A Guy") informs me that since I'm female I have a better shot of getting in, due to EEOC regulations and the stunning (stunning!) lack of women in the construction field. Hooray for vaginas! Rather, hooray for my vagina! Today I am proud to hold my hand up high and say, "Yes, I am a vaginal American. Now give me some sweet-ass benefits. Because of my vagina!"

Are all y'all squicked and skeeved over the copious use of the word "vagina" in the above paragraph, and then again in this sentence? Because I am.

I shouldn't have much of a problem getting into this little collective (what a quaint concept, the collective!) provided that I can piss clean on my drug test. Which is why I've given up smoking black tar heroin for Lent. "Good Friday" my ass - more like "Friday I spend puking my guts out in the ficus tree because the methadone clinic is closed".

Vaginas and fake drug addiction in the same post - mama's on fire today.

Jon Stewart, the decadent bolshevik lesbian Jew, once had a bit where he discussed Lent. I'm paraphrasing here, despite the misleading presence of quotation marks:

"Yom Kippur - the Jewish day of atonement. You don't eat for one day and all of your sins for the year are washed clean. And it's not even a full day - it's from sundown to sundown. Most of us are like 'Fuck it - it's cloudy; I'm having a sandwich'. What is Lent, forty days? Forty days of absolution versus one day? Even in sin you're paying retail!"

Why am I up so early? Because today is Easter Egg Hunt Day! But all adult-style, where the prizes are cars and money and shit, which means there are a lot more stabbings than at the candy hunt for the children. Well, maybe not a lot more stabbings, but at the adult hunt more of the stabbings are fatal. Important distinction. Trouble is, everyone else in the area is going, too, so we have to get there somewhere between the cooling of the earth and the Paleolithic era. Sucks, ja!

I'm not hurting for being up - in fact, I'm in a pretty bitching mood - and my dad gets part of the credit for making the first decent pot of coffee he's ever made in his miserable life. I don't like his coffee. I say, "This coffee sucks, dad!" and he said, "Well, don't put milk and sugar in it and maybe you can taste it" and I say, "But I have to put milk and sugar in it because it sucks, dad!" Around and around.

I think I just might be his favorite daughter. Or son, for that matter.

Little story about my dad - the other morning I picked up the four sheets of newsprint that passes for the local paper and said, "This thing is a piece of trash. Front page news is how a duck on a local farm likes to play with the cows. You know, there's a whole wide world out there and stuff happens every single day, but you'll never hear about it down here." He said, "Whole wide world? What the fuck do I care who got shot in Chicago?" Then he laughed riotiously.

My dad says "fuck" around me, and I, he.

The only bad part of this egg hunt is that I'm going to have to run. I won't even run if someone's chasing me with a knife. If that happened I'd probably run to a wall or something and taunt my would-be killer with, "Neener, neener, I hit home base so you can't kill me now!" And the would-be killer is all like, "No way, that's not home base! You totally made that up - you are not scott-free!" and I'd be all like, "Yeah huh! I totally called this wall as home base when we were picking teams. You just didn't hear me." and would-be killer would get all pissed and be like, "Fine then, brat, be that way - I'm taking my knife and going home!" Then I'd sit down to smoke some more heroin, all the while laughing to myself at the stupidity of the would-be killers in my paranoid fantasy scenarios. What a bunch of chumps!

So hopefully the next time you hear from me I'll be bragging about some car or money or some shit that I've won, instead of the really hollow stuff I brag about now.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have a knife to polish. Nothing screams "easter!" like a shiv to the kidney. At least, that's what gran always used to say.

i like cheese. do you like cheese?

2005-03-21T12:13:00.000-06:00

I bet that ticked you off, how I posted then disappeared for days, huh. It's okay, you can tell me. I already know. I'm such a tease!

For the first time in who-knows how long I went out for St. Paddy's day. In the paper today someone who writes a column that I could totally write much better said, "When did St. Pat's become the new New Year's Eve around here?" I agree - all y'all's crazy for St. Pat's in the QC, yo.

I went to a "real" Irish bar - and by "real" I mean that it had an "O'" in the name and served Guinness - and listened to Latin music! Crazy, man. Just crazy. I talked at great length about the Pakistan-India conflict (because that's just how I roll when I'm up in da club) and was hit on by a midget in a leprechaun costume. Where the hell did all these midgets come from?!? Are midgets the new black? Time will tell.

I did not drink a green beer. I didn't even drink several green beers. But I did drink plenty of black beer. Then I got emotional and loved everyone, then I got belligerent and fought with everyone, then I got emotional and cried at everyone. But I didn't puke, so wheee!

This morning my mom told me I need to get a job. I'm all like, "Whatevas. Jobs is for losers." She was unimpressed.

Later on I told her that our family was so neurotic I'm beginning to think our house is built on a haunted Jewish burial ground.

Again, unimpressed.

On Saturday my dad told me I looked fat in those jeans, and this morning my mom told me I look fat in these jeans. I'm starting to think that my ass may be the problem, but I'm still going to blame the jeans manufacturers.

To everyone in the comments from my last post, I apologize for not answering your email. I totally meant to, though, so that should count for something, and I totally mean to reply in the near future. Just know that I got your email, appreciate it, and will be in touch as soon as I get a decent connection speed. Promises, promises! ()

hey there. you may not remember me...

2005-03-16T13:56:00.000-06:00

Ah, how I do so cherish this brief respite from picking up the shattered pieces of my broken life! This tiny stolen online moment just melts my little heart, it truly does.

Hi there. How ya been? Have you lost weight? You're looking fierce.

I'm in Illinois now, after having been to hell and back. Then I took a detour to Wisconsin, returned to hell because I'd left my keys there, then back again, quick hit of the drive-thru at Culvers for a succulent butter burger, then back to Illinois. And boy are my arms tired!

I know I've mentioned this before, but it is totally worth repeating: I kick ass.

You should see what I've managed to do all by myself! I have the strength of two small ponies. Why not one large pony? Because large ponies are ridiculous and, surprisingly, not at all that strong.

By my estimation, I have two more treks back to Minnesota and a few days of cleaning before I'm finished. Shit's hard when you're by your lonesome (now you go "awww! I would totally help you if I could!" Yeah, but you can't, so just suck on your fake helpfulness, you phony.) but I'm pushing through. Because, if I may reiterate the above point, I kick ass.

When everything is finished I've decided to really treat myself by ~~fishing out the wayward penny~~ getting the cd player in my truck fixed. Iowa radio is brutal, man. What have I learned from Iowa radio stations? I've learned that all country singers have dead grandparents that taught them valuable lessons before passing. I've learned that every metal band has had way too much experience with psycho ex-girlfriends. I've learned that rapper girlfriends all have big booties and like to take it from behind.

These are lessons better left unlearned.

But that's not the only thing I'm going to do in celebration, oh no it's not. (Oh Natalie, you spoil yourself, you do!) Damn straight I do! Hell and back, shattered life, yadda yadda yadda. Remember? Anyway, I'm going to get another tattoo and a motorcycle. I'm totally going to be rocking the pink chaps and a helmet with flames on the side. Oh yes I am! And my new tattoo is going to be..ah...a...unicorn. A unicorn on my shoulder blade with stars behind it. Ooh, ooh, and a rose wreath around my wrist!

Well, if I'm going to live in the Quads I might as well get days of white trashy, right? (For those of you who don't know the Quads, it's quite white trashy.) (And that's where I'm going to be living.) (Seriously, people here wear baseball caps to weddings. "Mustang Ranch" baseball caps. Think I'm joking?) (I'm totally not joking.)

It was weird driving around this place again. It's amazing how much of the area I've forgotten, despite the size (it's very small and easy to navigate - nary a freeway or a tunnel or, indeed, a stoplight to be seen) and the fact that I lived here for the first seventeen or eighteen years of my life. I was sad to see that the old Mexican grocer is now an Asian grocer, and the head shop now proudly proclaims to sell Chili by the QUART!!!. Where has my youth gone, I ask you?

One kind of weird thing is that my favorite gay bar is now a gentleman's club (but the point could be argued that it was a gentleman's club before...) that features midgets.

You know you're a real live grown-up when the name of a former classmate can be seen on signs around town urging you to vote for him in the upcoming midterm election. That's some freaky shit right there. I'm going to pretend it's actually his dad that's running.

I'm headed back to Minnesota now and will leave you with this one last visual which sums up the whole Quads experience - while returning the U-Haul to the hardware store today, I saw an elderly man with a comb-over giving oral pleasure to a very fat Hispanic man in the parking lot. (I use the phrase "oral pleasure" because I get yelled at a lot for my potty mouth by a bunch of fuckos. Saying "oral pleasure" rather than "blow job" is my concession to said fuckos.)

And now, my comments!

This is where you click if you want to say something totally awesome about me and my potty mouth. Or even my general bad assness. Whatever your heart desires, yo. ()

i'm a wild woman

2005-02-28T11:06:00.000-06:00

In a desperate bid to assert some sense of authority at this house, I invaded a small shopping list. Blame it on my inferiority complex.

At the end of the industry standards like milk and dog food, I added with a flourish "epsom salts". But I couldn't just leave it at that, so I then added "crumpets".

Guess what? I was just presented with epsom salts and crumpets! And I didn't even know what a crumpet was! (By the way, crumpets are awesome toasted with a little butter. Very yum. I highly recommend them.)

I asked, "What do I owe you for this?" The reply was, "Don't worry about it. I'll just use your epsom salts."

For what, I wonder?

I have an attitude right now because someone who shall remain nameless (in this post, but was heavily featured in the last post) called me today and apologized. But he did it in a really bad way. (Unlike the public way in which I called him out...) I forgave him and now we're awesome again but I fully reserve the right to affect a wounded stance and pout a little bit.

Harrumph.

why can't we not be sober

2005-02-28T00:37:00.000-06:00

Permit me a bit of a whine, if you will. If you would be so kind. If you would just shut the hell up and let me talk. Thanks.

I'm at mommy's abode, soon to be my longer-than-I'd-hoped home, to be sure, drinking too much (many?) Coors freaking Light (yeah, I said I wasn't drinking anymore but you're not my sponsor so you can just shove it) for the second night in a row and connecting with a machine so slow and infected with Christina Aguilara-only-knows-what that the keyboard buffer is literally bip bip bipping at the speed of my typing.

Plus, I'm sick!

Plus, my mom has a cat! (That I'm severely allergic to!)

Plus, my friends are a bunch of assholes! (Except you guys. You're really awesome. I mean those other assholes that don't help you move when they say they're going to help you move (yes, I'm looking right at you, Mr. "Yeah, I'll call you at nine but really won't" rat bastard) and the jerk faces that put caveats on the nice things they'll do for you (scratch your own back, dude - your arms are long enough!) and then won't even answer their phone when I'm drunk and want to share all of my witty Oscar banter...where the hell did I go with this? Oh yeah - John? You see me? Cuz I know you do, boner brain. You suck. There, I said it. You suck.)

Heh. Boner brain. I don't even know where that came from, but it's out there, baby, and I'm letting that pony ride.

Plus, my mom has a gel mouse pad thing that totally exploded because her stupid freaking allergy-inducing cat decided it would make a good mortal enemy so everything is sticky! It's all covered in jam! (That reference was totally for you.)

I've realized that I use the word "totally" and "just" far too often. And "like". Like, I totally just did! Gosh!

Plus, it cost $80 in gas just to get down here! Okay, so John (the aforementioned John, who is my friend but, as we've established, a total and complete boner brain) gave me a hundred smackers (then he paid me for the pleasure...oooeeerrr) to off-set the cost, but still. That's some crazy mad money to pay for a trip that usually costs $30 at the outside.

Gat damn it all to hell, I'm a miserable old coot this fine eve, innit I? How many dialects did I just mash into one sentence? Too many. Far too many.

You ever get in one of those moods where you just wanna go and fuck some shit up? I've been in that mood for, like, a month.

I betcha this bitch will time out before I can even post it.

Meh.

manly, yes, but i like it, too

2005-02-25T23:15:00.000-06:00

Manual labor is awesome. I'm so totally pumped up right now, you don't even know. I felt inspired to stop and do push ups for no reason. But that wasn't good enough, so I went out, raped a hooker and stabbed her in the throat. To top off the evening I came home and rocked some hot wings with ranch.

Just kidding! I'm totally a blue cheese kinda guy.

i had to share

2005-02-24T21:12:00.000-06:00

Okay, I'm packing and moving and stuff, but I'm taking a break to share this with you because I'm so fucking cool.

I'm driving a Dodge Ram 3500 (325 horses, 5.9L Cummins diesel engine, one seriously bad ass chick behind the wheel) towing a brand spanking new 20 foot trailer. I'm responsible for roughly $100,000 worth of equipment, people. That's a house. Would you let me drive your house? Thought not.

So I'm trying to summon up the courage to back this bad boy up my drive while avoiding hitting the (dead) van, mailbox (again) or basketball hoop. I'm kinda ascared. Because if I messed it up and anyone mentioned that I'd messed it up there would be bloodshed.

When I finally decide to attempt this maneuver, it apparently sends out a signal that everyone in the vicinity had an immediate and pressing need to come down my street. Cars were piled up on either side while I'm navigating this thing, and since it's dark out (and I'm practically night-blind) I'm jumping in and out of the truck to see where I'm heading.

Have I mentioned that this truck is so big that I seriously needed a ladder to scrape the ice from the windshield today? The hood comes up to my chin and I can't even reach the top of the cab with my best jump. It has a step to climb into the cab. So it's a safe bet that the people in the cars, some of whom even stepped out of their cars to watch, were amused by this spectacle.

I finally managed to pull the trailer in so freaking straight and perfect that if I'd have posted a picture you'd all think it was a total Photoshop. Upon my triumphant final exit from the truck I pumped my fists in the air and did a little end-zone dance to many cheers from the spectators.

Coming soon to a theater near you, the feel-good movie of the summer. One girl, faced with seemingly insurmountable obstacles in her path, overcomes everything life has thrown at her (a slippery driveway, a poor grasp of spatial relations in the dark, a low tolerance for frustration) to park a trailer perfectly parallel to the sides of the drive. You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll marvel at her unique ability to see over the dashboard. This summer, don't miss what's sure to become a runaway blockbuster - "The Parker".

The sequel to this film, which is coming out in about twenty minutes, is, "The Parker II: The Packer". My character will next attempt to load the trailer herself, all while grunting in a rather un-ladylike fashion. Rated NC-17 for gratuitous use of phrases such as "donkey fuck bastard!" and "fucking mother son of a fuck!"

That, and the full-frontal nudity.

But anyway, I'm bad ass. Way more than you.

just one more thing...

2005-02-22T11:51:00.000-06:00

I don't know if I'm psychic or what, but remember back in August when I posted this?

Last night I had a dream that Deion Sanders was on an infomercial hawking his revolutionary hot dog cooker. It was such a realistic dream that I spent a chunk of the day looking this up (try to google "Deion Sanders" and "hot dog"...useless bloody search engine!) - part of the dream was about how Deion was all giving it, "You can't just boil a dog. You can't just nuke a dog. You can't just grill a dog. This is the way you need to do it if you want that authentic ball park experience."

Trouble is, I have no idea how else you would cook a hot dog. I believe I've had a vision here. If I can figure out an alternate way to cook a hot dog, and construct a machine that will do so, then I will become rich and star on infomercials and have sex with Deion Sanders. (The sex stuff came into the dream later, but I shan't elaborate.)

Aye, 'tis come to pass.

Are you spooked? I'm totally spooked.

i'm like a venn diagram of marketing demographics

2005-02-22T11:19:00.000-06:00

I bet the Coca Cola people are sitting around reviewing their weekend sales for their new energy drink, Full Throttle, and wondering why the hell it's so popular just through this one particular route that leads from Minneapolis to Illinois. That would be because of me.

It's a bit early in the relationship to be absolutely certain but I think that I may, just may, love this stuff more than Diet Coke. But don't mention it to Diet Coke yet - I'm still working out all of the emotional implications.

But damn if that ain't a tasty drink.

I would mention how I'm still not moved yet but I'm afraid that you're going to think that the whole "moving" thing was a total ruse that I'd constructed to have a good excuse to not blog. But you'd be wrong, mister, dead wrong. It's thinking like that that damn near cost us the space race. Where's your faith, commie? Huh? Where the hell is your faith?!?

From my daughter's blog: At the dance I danced with someone, and made the mistake of telling my mom about it. We reveiw the whole "No dating till you are married" speech.

Seriously, though. Dancing at a dance? You know what that leads to, dontcha. That's right - thumb wrestling. And I've barely trained her! I can't send her out into this cold, cruel world without even the rudimentary skills required to put the opposable-digit smack-down on some boy who's trying to get fresh.

I'd like to see the word "fresh" make a comeback, but with the old-time connotation. "You, sir, are fresh!" Then slap them in the face with a glove, even if you have one of those big, fuck-off metal medieval England jousting gloves. (Did I just make that up or did I see that in a movie once? I can never remember if I'm really clever or just a forgetful hack.)

So, yeah, anyway, this is where I tell you that my computer is getting packed up today and that I won't be online for...awhile. An as-yet undetermined amount of time. At some point in the future is when I shall return. I ain't gonna be comin' round hyeah no mo'. Until I get my crap sorted at my mater's abode. Adobe abode. Huh, I never noticed that before.

Away from the computer I shall be, alas alack! but shall return by and by, hither and yon. Sliver and yawn. Zither and Don. Wither and pawn.

Peace out.

Word.

a grown-up i am not

2005-02-18T14:31:00.000-06:00

There comes a time while packing where organization flies out the window, never to be seen again, and you just kind of go, "Fuck it - I'll label all of these boxes 'misc' and be done with it."

'Tis a very liberating feeling, indeed.

no one ever says "i'm a psycho co-dependent head-case"

2005-02-16T22:21:00.000-06:00

A friend of mine and I were ripping on another friend who took the extreme step of signing up at an online dating site ("oh my god, he said he's fun loving and laid back! And that he likes movies! Ha ha ha!") and we amused ourselves by poking around to see if we knew anyone else on there. Oh dear, what a plethora of fun was had by all!

I'm not ripping on these people simply because they're using a dating site - if that's the kind of thing you like, well then, I guess you'll like that kind of thing. I'm ripping on them because they're idiots, and being an idiot trumps being desperate any day of the week.

These profiles were taken verbatim from the site. I didn't change them at all to increase their comedic value, because I didn't have to.

* * * * * * * * *

I am the person in the picture. I like to have fun, I hate to be bored.
(I didn't doubt that he was the guy in the picture until he said that. Now I just don't know. But he hates to be bored, so he has that going for him.)

I like to help & support people.
(Mow my grass and pay my rent.)

I love,,,,,,, Trees,and grass,,,,,and,,dirt.
(HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!!)

My mom tried to strangle me and I made her fat.
(In that order? How did this happen and why do you think it makes you appealing?)

I am tired of the worthless women that I seem to always meet.
("I'm just a worthless-woman magnet! Email me!")

I am not a super model but yet I am not ugly as dirt.
(So somewhere between those two extremes lies "Mr. Git-R-Done". Thanks for being vague, asshole.)

I've been known to sing the wrong words to songs (on purpose mostly) just to get a laugh.
(Oh that Dougie, he's so funny! He's always singing the wrong words to songs! Does he just not know the songs he's trying to sing? Why, no, I believe he does it on purpose, just to get a laugh!)

ME? i'm spontanus, open, smart, caring, fit, wise, curious =)
(Me? I'm curious about your spont-anus.)

i love to breakdance its my favorite thing to do when i have a chance but yeah thats me in the photo doing a flair so yeah i like to breakdance...
(HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!!)

I am just a nice guy, I am sure lots of guys say it, but I get told it by every woman who knows me.
(If they say that when they're dumping you it doesn't count.)

Slayer is the most awesomest rock band of all time. I like pizza.
(Dreamy.)

I am very shy when trying to talk to nice women.
(But you should see how I come alive when I'm talking to the whores!)

Only 10's need respond..well 91/2's too
(How about a 45.5?)

p.s. im super strong supa supa sexy supa MAN!!!
(This is the most badass thing I've read in a long time. I'm going to use this line whenever possible.)

I've been told that I'm not a wimp
(Your mother is very kind.)

Intraverted Loner in search of Extroverted Loaner
(Possibly the most honest ad ever.)

all im doing here is looking for a girl who wants to have sex with me
(I take that back - this is the most honest ad ever.)

Hai Girls! Accept my relationship!
(HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!! Foreigners are funny!!!)

I consider myself to be creative, intelligent, funny, symmetrical, amphipious, and so on and so forth.
(Does he mean "amphibious", perhaps? Symmetrical? I'd like to hear more about this "and so on and so forth", personally...)

My friends, if I tell them I'm running a personal ad, laugh and scratch their heads; not because there's anything wrong with an ad, but because I'm the sort of man who they assume wouldn't need to.
(And what about the sort of women who would respond to a statement like that, asshole? Do they "need to"? Who hatched you? Who the fuck hatched you? Asshole.)

I have a gotee and i have muscle but i do work and live on a farm so i hope that dont bother u.
(I'm confused...does having a "gotee" and muscle usually preclude one from securing gainful employment? And which part of this stunning description does he think will bother the reader? The farm? The muscle? The "gotee"? I'm really confused.)

I may be going out on a limb here but I am a great guy.
(Slow down there, champ! Are you trying to say that you think you're a great guy?!? Where the hell do you get off making an assumption like that? I hate when people are so full of themselves.)

I'm going to be a doctor, talk about craziness!
(HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!! You're twelve!)

I'm not your average 22 year old guy. I'm 5'7" and weigh 150lbs.
(You're right - that makes you truly exceptional.)

SWEAT GUY LOOKING FOR SOMETHING A LITTLE SWEATER
(Poor speller or raging fetishist? You decide!)

I love to have a good inelligent conversation.
(If you can spell it, you can have it. Otherwise, just stick to talking about your ATV.)

I consider myself a intellagent person, But ofcourse I have those days when you could ask me what the sum of 2 times 2 and i might take a second.
(Another Einstein. Ya know, I consider myself pretty "intellagent" as well but I cannot, for the life of me, figure out the sum of 2 times 2. Admittedly, this is pretty nit-picky but I figure if I'm here I might as well stay a while.)

I'd probably pick you up if you were stranded even if I don't know you.
(So would Ted Bundy and Jeffrey Dahmer. This is not a good trait and should be omitted from your profile.)

I'm the guy next door. I've been told I look like Garth Brooks,but I think its just my gotee.
(Again with the "gotee". Here's a mnemonic device for you - it's called a GOATEE because it makes you look like a fucking GOAT.)

I'm 28 recently divorced single dad. The last two relationships I have had have both lasted seven years.
(Gah!!! Are you trying to say you've been in two relationships since you were fourteen, or were the last two relationships concurrent? That might explain the divorce...)

One woman man seeking my one woman.
(His profile picture was his wedding portrait with his ex-wife's face scratched out. Filed under "seriously fucking creepy".)

I work full time, have held the same job for 7 years. I enjoy going out on weekends with friends, and riding the horse.
(So he's a heroin junky who can't get a promotion. Catch him while you can ladies! You'll find him where he's been for the last six days - passed out on a dirty mattress in the alley.)

i like to have fun and like to 69
(This was posted by my old graphic design teacher. I'm serious. This was confirmed by two eyewitnesses.)

I'm currently going through a divorce of my wife of nine years we were having problems and then she went to WAR.
(HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!! Damn her for running out on you like that! Damn her straight to hell!)

i use to be envolved in full contact fighting but im gone from all that .i r aggressive rollerblade,drive too fast , go to the gym and play dungeons and dragons
(One of these things is not like the other...)

i like hanging out with friends and family, doing stuff on the net (games, talking to friends and family, ect...)
(I like how he makes it very clear that he only hangs out with people that he knows (friends, family) but also how he itemizes what, exactly, he does online. Note the absence of "porn surfing" and "google-stalking ex-girlfriends". This boy's a keeper!)

Hey, I can't look at any profiles unless I have one myself. Go figure! So basically, I got bored watching Monday Night Football and triathlon season is 5 months away, so I might as well do something.
(First, I know this is a lie because I saw profiles and didn't post one myself. Second, you're a triathlete and the only thing you could come up with to pass the time is to post a profile...I've seen a lot of "I did this because I was bored" in descriptions but I find this one highly implausible. If I were a triathlete I'd probably pass the time walking around town, telling people I was a triathlete and punching them in the dick.)

* * * * * * * * *

These people make me think that Ted Kaczynski had some pretty good ideas.

My god, do I hate people.

we interrupt your regularly scheduled programming to bring you this important announcement

2005-02-14T20:05:00.000-06:00

It's come to my attention just today (I've been a bit behind what with the whole "picking up the pieces of my shattered life" thing) that my beloved blog-father, John Conners, (who looks totally bitching with his new scruffy 'do, incidentally) has shuffled off this virtual coil, perhaps never to return to blogging again. (He thinks he's all high and mighty because he has one of those "real life" things that you hear so much about.)

A moment of silence, if you will, to honor his passing. He taught me that blogs aren't just for 12-year-old girls who really, really love Britney Spears and puppies and their boyfriends (hi, Adam!), but rather that blogs can be vehicles for discussing important, hot-button issues like blow jobs and shaved vaginas. (Admittedly, I cannot recall that John ever posted about either topic, but let's just say that the student parted ways with the master a long time ago.)

So anyone who comes here and enjoys any thing about this place, you can be sure that you owe a debt of gratitude to Mr. Conners.

A toast to you, John, and to the fabulous life you're living. You're the rootinest, cutenest patootinest little Scotsman to ever wear a kilt - and share the pictures.

Cheers.

even the losers who are alone on valentine's day are better off than me

2005-02-14T09:57:00.000-06:00

OKAY!

Settle in, because this is a long read. The working title is "Ghengis Khan Reincarnated: Mass Killing in a Previous Life Can Sure Come Back to Bite Ya in the Ass, Huh?"

Yesterday I set off from my dad's house with kids and dogs in tow to return to Minnesota. Things were going okay until somewhere in Iowa where this asshole kept passing me, slowing down so I'd pass him, then passing me again. This happened about six times before I pulled up next to him and honked. He looked at me so I pointed at him, flipped him off, then pointed to the road and mouthed, "GO!" About two seconds later, my windshield wipers flaked on me a little.

No big deal, just a touch of rain, so it's okay if the windshield wipers go.

They were okay until it got dark. Once I hit Minnesota the rain turned to freezing rain/slush and the wipers just went, "Oh for fucks sake - we didn't know you were bringing us back north!" and decided to quietly go to sleep.

I pull onto the shoulder, flick on the hazards, and proceed to travel down the interstate at about ten miles per hour until I see an exit, roughly ten miles into the trek. There's a sign that says "lodging" so I figure we'll just bunk for the night.

I was on that road for twenty freaking miles before I saw a motel. You shouldn't be allowed to say "lodging, thataway!" if it's not visible immediately after exiting. There ought to be a law or a religion or something to prevent this from happening.

I pull into a Super 8 and drag the kids to the check-in counter when I suddenly realize I have no way to pay for the room except for my out-of-town checks. Motels are notoriously bad about taking out-of-town checks, which is fucking stupid, because most of their guests would be from out-of-town. If you were in-town why the hell would you need a motel? Anyway, she doesn't want to take my check and I blink really hard like I do when I hate someone, and calmly explain to her that if she doesn't take my check she's assuring certain death for my children on the icy roads of Minnesota. She relents and I ask the total - she tells me it's $69. $69 for a room at the Super 8, where the amenities include a continental breakfast and an infection from the bugs in the sheets. Nice.

I nearly made a comment about how, for that price, I'd expect them to include a little oral but I was afraid that she'd reply, "But at that price we're already screwing you in the poop chute - what more do you need?" I hate to set people up for jokes that are funnier than mine, so I kept my mouth shut.

I considered trying to haggle the price of the room but I had it on good authority that I only had $7 in my checking account so I didn't bother. A $69 check bounces just as high as a $40 check.

I hand her my payment and she goes, "Oh, I meant it was $65, not $69" so I, exasperated, void that check and go to write a new one - and am met with the blinding white of nothing but deposit slips. That was my last fucking check.

I started crying the way that crazy people cry, where the tears are falling but they don't notice them. I told the woman what the deal was and said, very calmly, "I am going to initial around this void and you're going to take it. If you need me to reissue you a check just call me. If you don't find me a pen that works, and soon, I'm going to freak right out."

I think she was impressed.

We settled in for a night of Blue Collar Comedy and an Oreo dinner and I slept like a drunk. Seven a.m. and we were on the road and now I'm home.

For as terrible as the night was for me, I did have a couple of sweet moments. Nico dive-bombed me for the most aggressive Eskimo kiss ever and at one point I was trying to give him a time-out and warned him that if he wasn't in bed by the count of three that there'd be big trouble. I said, "One" and he replied with a very enthusiastic "two!". We counted to five and he gave me a high-five and a kiss, so that was pretty awesome. Zoe asked me to sing Maroon 5's "Sunday Morning" to her until she fell asleep and said I was "the prettiest, bestest mom ever". And I realized that, all in all, I'm a pretty lucky guy.

And isn't that what the true meaning of President's Day is all about?

No. No it's not.

But it's still a sweet end to a bad story and if you don't think so I'm going to have to bust you right in the dick.

My mate Greg (who doesn't have a blog and likes to disappear from my life for months at a time) emailed me and said that he'd come around looking for funny things I've posted on Valentine's Day, but I really never have before. The closest I've gotten is the picture I posted for steak and a blow job day but that's about it. (By the way, Greg, the way you blurted out, "Wow, does your life suck right now!" just warmed my little cockles, it really did.) The absence of posting about Valentine's Day is because it doesn't really mean anything to me. I can't even summon up enough sarcasm to really construct an anti-VD post, and I certainly don't have any romantic stories to share because romance is for girls. But I will share this story - take of it what you will.

At a party once, a guy friend of mine was talking about how drunk he was from drinking only five beers. The girl who liked him joked, "Only five beers? That's my kind of man - a cheap date and an easy lay." He laughed, then got all serious with her (in the way that only the truly drunk can) and said, "You know, you wouldn't have to get me drunk. I mean it. I wouldn't even have to be drunk." like it was a really big, sincere compliment. She laughed and said something like, "Well, that takes all the fun out of it!" He laughed and said, in this really sing-song, taunting voice, "You're a potential rapist, but I just gave you permission to molest me, so THERE - it's not a crime!"

I don't know she ever took him up on his offer, but that cracks me up. I imagine them sitting around when they're old and one of their grandkids asking, "Grandma, how did you know that grandpa was 'the one'?" "Well, Suzy, it was probably when he made it clear that he wouldn't have to be drunk to have sex with me. Yeah, your old granddad is a bit of a romantic."

So happy Valentine's Day, y'all! May all of your pornography remain undiscovered and all of your intercourse be of the non-felonious persuasion.

should i stay or should i go

2005-02-10T10:43:00.000-06:00

I was supposed to be moving all of my crap today but something came up and now I won't get to move until next week. Do you know what that means? I get, like, four more days of procrastination!

I think it's time that I introduce you to my new pretend boyfriend. He replaces my old pretend boyfriends of Antonio Banderas, Eminem, Axl Rose, and that cute Hungarian guy at the car wash who always affects a really sultry tone when he asks if I'd like hot wax.

Everyone, this is Adam. Adam, this is everyone.

He has no killer ninja moves that I am aware of, which is a major detriment. However, the boy is pure sex, which is a plus. (This Love mpg)

The only real downside that I can tell is his flagrant wearing of a yellow bi-band (okay, it's a hanky but still) on his right wrist in that video, which is code for "anything that moves". Do I want to believe this of my dear Adam? No. Am I surprised? No. (see "sex, pure".)

I'm going to head to Illinois shortly, I think, and take a load of crap in the SUV just to get started. Why am I so eager? Because mom's not there, wheee! I forgot she's taking a vacation this week to some...somewhere. I forget. I need to get down there and wash the approximately 700 pounds of laundry that I haven't gotten done.

Someone once told me, "I don't like dogs. I like babies." Oh, how I laughed.

levity and brevity

2005-02-10T05:56:00.000-06:00

Via Susskins, I present you with one of the funniest things I'd read in a long time: Steve, Don't Eat It! where a guy named Steve eats nasty food. And comments.

I must admit that my aversion to drinking breast milk is something of a double-standard. Let me try to put this as delicately as I can out of respect to my female readers... but some women have been known to willingly "ingest" a certain dubious "body fluid" made by men, during moments of "intimacy." (These moments are known as "blow jobs." These women are known as "awesome.")

I don't know what was most revolting about Steve's site - the picture of the Natto (scroll down) or the link to J. Lo's shaved vagina.

Need to go on a diet? Post either, or both, of those pictures on your fridge.

I probably won't find this nearly as funny after I've gotten some sleep but at the moment I'm calling it high comedy, folks.

random fact of the day

2005-02-08T11:18:00.000-06:00

It's really really weird to be packing up the left-over clothes of a man that's no longer here.

The upshot is that I get to steal all of his shirts that he'd never let me wear because I would, and I quote, "stretch boobs into them". Hey, it's not my fault that all of the shirts he owns seem to be designed for a flat-chested woman. Or men.

Plus? All of his comfy pants are now my jammies.

I'm feeling a little bit better now because I'm listening to too much Snow Patrol. I seem to be developing a "thing" for songs about gay heartache.

It's just infinitely more interesting than my stupid crap. I highly recommend it.

yeah, yeah, i'm still here

2005-02-08T10:02:00.000-06:00

Okay.

Thing is, everything pretty much sucks right now. Well, a couple of things don't. Swedish Fish, for example, is always a welcome treasure. Swedish Fish, and all that goes along with it. Pure joy, and one of the few remaining rays of sunshine in my life. I love Swedish Fish a lot more than I probably should, but honestly, I think I could eat these things every single day of my life and not get sick of them.

So there's that whole thing.

Did I mention I had Swedish Fish for my birthday dinner? Alone, on a bare mattress in my living room? In the dark?

Yeah, so there's that, too.

I went to see a friend who owns a bar and he made me work. This was fun, actually, until I slipped and crashed down on both of my knees. I didn't have the good sense to be embarrassed and just kind of went, "Daaahhhmmm!"

I'm still saying "damn" like that these few days later because they still hurt.

Said friend also gave me a couple of books for my birthday - one being "The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People" (falling to your knees onto tile isn't one of them, by the way) and "Never Alone: A Personal Way to God".

Sometimes, recovering alcoholics totally suck. (Just kidding, you!)

No, seriously - most recovering alcoholics have no interpersonal skills whatsoever. It's like they (and only some of the "they" - if you're one of "they" that doesn't fit this description, then I'm obviously not talking about you, now am I?) have spent too many years drunk to know how to actually interact with another human being while abiding by the general rules of, ya know, etiquette and good taste and whatnot.

Still. It's probably better than hanging out with drunks.

Have I mentioned I don't drink anymore? I don't know if I will again, apart from the occasional social gathering, if even that. It's really hit home lately how alcohol has ruined so much of my life from way back to when I was a wee lass to now. I feel a lot better about things now that I've realized that.

I haven't fully moved yet - hell, I've barely packed - so there's that whole thing, too. No one to blame but myself for that one, I'm afraid.

I've slept three or so hours of the past 40 or so. Yeah, it's almost exactly 40 hours. I've been awake a full work week with little more than a nap. Yup. That's healthy.

The upshot is that I may have lost enough weight through my Swedish Fish and Stress Diet to justify the weight gain I'd experience by quitting smoking.

No drinking? No smoking? No...funny?

I really hope this isn't a case of Samson's hair - but if this post is any indication, I'm afraid that it just might be.

Go Fish!

(get it? Ah, I'm clever.)

iiiieeeeeeeee!

2005-02-03T15:18:00.000-06:00

So I'm packing, right, because up until this morning I could only boast a mighty three boxes having been packed. I'm avoiding the computer because it sucks too much time and I have a hard time staying on task, what on account of my ADD/laziness/bad habit of being distracted by shiny things, when what should happen but the UPS dude shows up at my door. He gave me a box and a big, fat kiss (not really but I could tell that he wanted to - after all, I am sweaty and unshowered) and went along his merry way.

Inside the box was a book from Smeggy Smeg (that's his rapper name) called "The Know-It-All: One Man's Humble Quest to Become the Smartest Person in the World" by A. J. Jacobs.

sniff He knows me so well, doesn't he?

Smeggy bought it for me because my face has been like this :( alot lately, plus it's my birfday tomorrow and he's sad because I'm spending it all by my lonesome. So he bought me a time-sucking book to make me feel better and distract me from the cleaning and packing I need to do.

As the kids say, w00t!

why i so totally need to get the cd player in my truck fixed...

2005-02-03T03:08:00.000-06:00

...or "How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Embrace My Desire to Kill Rick Dees"

* * *

Dear Gwen Stefani:

Your hair is gross, your lips are gross, the warbly way you sing is gross.

I do not like you.

You are tacky. You are obvious. You are turquoise personified.

Please stop.

* * *

Dear Maroon 5:

Jamiroquai called. He wants his vocal styling back.

* * *

Dear John Mayer:

How's about you grow a set already? Sheesh.

* * *

Dear Nelly:

Uncle, alright? Uncle. You got me. I'm not made of stone, you know.

* * *

Dear Good Charlotte:

It's so nice to see that you've decided to own your hypocrisy. Well done, you fucktards.

* * *

Dear Destiny's Child:

First off - stupid, stupid fucking name.

Second - I'd heard your "hit" song before, but only on Mtv and I was too busy waiting for the "got dressed in the dark" Destiny's Child to make out with the "these outfits are a joke" Destiny's Child to pay much attention. On the radio, however, there were no such distractions. I would suggest that you stick with videos if you plan to release any songs that are equal to or more horrid than "Lose My Breath".

* * *

Dear Switchfoot:

You should have never quit your job writing jingles for Cingular Wireless and Rainbow Foods. You blow. Plus, that's a stupid name.

* * *

Dear Chingy:

Who the hell are you? Where did you come from? If I met you in real life I could totally beat your ass and you know it. Bring it on, bitch.

* * *

Dear All Y'all:

What the hell is the deal with "featuring" all of these other artists in your songs? This technique is totally overdone, especially when your "featured" guest feels compelled to introduce himself before he starts his little rap like he's trying to distance himself from the rest of the song. Weak, weak, fucking weak.

Oh, and please stop using flash on your webpages. Played, alright? Played.

* * *

I really should not listen to the radio. It enrages me.

In entirely unrelated news, a friend of mine has volunteered not only to help me move, but also to use his trailer that he will be driving himself all the way to Illinois for me. It doesn't get much better than that.

In other entirely unrelated news, my birthday is tomorrow. Yeah, 28. I'm not sure how I feel about that yet, but at least I'll be too busy packing to think about it. It's not the age as much as the life changes that are surrounding the milestone. So, yeah, I may be a downer.

You've been warned.

jewish mother syndrome

2005-01-30T14:20:00.000-06:00

Why is it that, while in a crisis, all roads lead to mother?

Yeah, I just did that creepy thing where I call her "mother" instead of "my mother". Like a Norman Bates/Principal Skinner-type thing. Even if you don't pick up on the signifacance just trust me - it's creepy.

Nearly eight hours of blissful journey with my girls and little man, who's ill, and the dogs that my mother most emphatically does not want at her house under any circumstances. (Side note - hey, mom? The dogs are coming with.)

It used to skeeve me out knowing that my family looked in on my blog but it's saved me an awful lot on my phone bill.

Anyway, I get to take the kids down and leave them there, then return without them to finish up getting the house ~~thrown away~~ packed up. Unpleasantness abounds.

As a side-note, the kids spoke with Andy the other day - they seem to be taking his absence well. I was nervous until I heard Zoe tattle on Nico for eating the last donut. I chuckled, then passed the phone to Nico...who proceeded to tattle on Zoe for eating the last donut. It was a trans-Atlantic tattle-tale!

I think they're adjusting quite well.

See ya Monday!

wonder where she gets it from...

2005-01-29T17:11:00.000-06:00

We were driving home from Taco Bell tonight (dinner for the second night in a row...I'll take that "mother of the year" award now, thanks) when I happened to look in the rear view mirror and noticed Zoe had unbuckled her seat belt. Frantic, I yelled, "You buckle that back up right now!" As she hastily relocked the belt into place I said, "You know you have to wear your seatbelt. Just who do you think you are, missy?"

She replied, "Who, me? ...a goddess."

Children learn what they live, I suppose.

something i forgot to mention...

2005-01-27T13:16:00.000-06:00

If you do have my work email, don't send me anything there. (note: the email to the right is the one you should use.) Because I'm not there, see. My last day is supposed to be tomorrow but I've been "working from home" all week. Last night I noticed that I can no longer access my email account or the website's file manager. Looks like they've deemed me a menace and figured out (read: hired a computer consultant) how to change the passwords. Interesting.

I feel like I'm walking underwater today. Throw out a bag of crap, then sit for twenty minutes. Clear a counter, then take a nap. At this rate it will take me roughly fourteen years to get the house finished. If I drop a couple of grand on the asking price of the house I wonder if I can get away with selling it "as is" with all of this junk still in here?

I think that half of my problem is that I always work best when I have music playing, but I can't find much in the old library that doesn't result in a lump in my throat. Even Bauhaus is making me weepy. Sisters of Mercy? Fuggadabout it. Cure? Not gonna happen. Even when it's something that I have no Andy connection to, per se, it still gets me. sniff "I remember how the sound of Mike Doughty's voice used to grate on Andy's nerves so badly that he used my Soul Coughing cds as coasters."

I may have to just fire up Sims 2 and listen to the salsa station or something, otherwise I'll have to take a match to the whole house, which would make it remarkably hard to sell.

Okay, I'm done procrastinating now. Right after this one last diet coke. And maybe I'll read a few blogs. Or google hexes I can put on this crap to make it throw itself away.

Sweet.

when you're weary

2005-01-27T09:21:00.000-06:00

The first night is the hardest, right? It gets easier from here, right? RIGHT?!?

Oh lawdy, how I hope I'm right. When did I become such a wuss? To quote BNL, "This sentimentality doesn't look good on me." Makes my butt look big, it does.

I let myself be miserable from the moment we hit the airport until just now when I got off the phone with Andy so from here on out I'm not going to let myself be miserable any more. A little bit sad here and there, probably, but no more misery. There's been too much of that in my life lately as it is.

The hardest part is the kids. When we were leaving the airport yesterday I stopped at a kiosk to get the kids a little snack because, as Zoe informed me, they "haven't eaten in twenty million years! The last thing we ate was a dinosaur hamburger!" where Nico spied another toddler in a stroller. He walked over to the kid and gave him a monster hug and said, "My daddy bye-bye." Later on, when we got back to the truck, he got pissed at me and said, "You no daddy bye-bye. Where's daddy?" That's the first sign I've had that the kids might blame me for Andy's departure. Sammy replied to Nico, "Mommy just drove him here; she didn't drive him to it." I'm pretty proud of how astute her understanding of the situation is.

At any rate, Andy sounds to be in okay spirits. I think the utter lack of household stress has already made a significant impact on his general well-being. His first doctor's appointment is Monday, which is amazing for the NHS, and we'll go from there.

I'm feeling a bit better about the whole situation, so hopefully, soon, I'll be able to lighten the fuck up a bit.

Thanks so much to everyone who has gotten in touch and offered their well-wishes and support. It's really touching...again, when did I become such a wuss? Since when is shit "touching" to me?

Gah, I'm such a girl.

wow

2005-01-26T16:04:00.000-06:00

That really, really...really sucked.

I want a do-over.

you're throwing your life away!

2005-01-25T20:34:00.000-06:00

He, she and I just finished completely filling a 20 cubic yard roll-off dumpster with many of our ~~wordly~~ worthless possessions.

It felt g-o-o-o-o-o-o-d. Very Zen. Very Thoreau. Very "where the fuck did all this crap come from?"

I highly recommend a move like this. Not under these circumstances, of course; rather, just chuck it all and start new. Expensive, yes, but it's good for your soul.

I've been pretty quiet about the Shit Storm That Is My Life™ lately, and for good reason. I couldn't really get my head around things.

As some of you know, Andy was laid off around a year and a half ago and fell into a massive depression. Plus, he turned into a total prick and I utterly hated the very air he breathed. Everything he said, everything he did, everything he thought was a major annoyance to me. We were constantly bickering and I generally did not want to be around him. I told his mother, "You're taking back this train-wreck of a son of yours" a long time ago. I told Andy, "You're back to England - we're getting a divorce!" And I meant it. Oh lawdy how I meant it.

That he was sick was only a marginal part of it all. I spent over a year being a stellar care-giver, as Andy will tell you. The number of times that I dashed away from work in a panic of worry over him are too numerous to mention. The sleepless nights, the doctoring, the constant concern to the point where I didn't even have the energy to take care of myself was par for the course for a very long time. As a person who's battled bipolar disorder practically my whole life, I had eternal springs of empathy.

The trouble came from the things that he could fix and do but didn't. I felt like I was giving too much - there is a limit to how selfless a person can become without being mired in resentment. And I enjoyed my resentment like one enjoys pushing on a bruise. His flight couldn't be booked fast enough.

And then it was, and here we are. Once the flight was booked it was like a cloud was lifted. Gone was the mutual...well, hatred, that we'd come to use as a crutch against boredom. It was like magic.

We were hopeful.

It would seem that, for as miserable as he was making me, he was equally - if not moreso - as miserable with himself. And that's no way to be. We both knew that this was going to fix him and, as pessimistic as we both are, we knew that we'd be better for this kick in the ass.

We were finally unburdened of the threat of infinite years making each other crazy and, instead, could look to a time when we would be how we were. You know, we were together for three years before we had a fight. That's not an exaggeration. And even then it was a stupid "I'm drunker than you are so that must mean I'm smarter" fight. It's weird, but there never seemed to be a reason to fight. We were completely and totally best friends, and just oozed respect for one another.

Somewhere along the way, the respect fell out of the equation. I never felt less respect for Andy because he was laid off - this stuff happens, ya know? - but I didn't respect how he let himself get sucked into himself.

I have a weird thing with my emotions - other bipolars or depressives who have been in treatment will understand what I mean by this analogy. When things feel too big or heavy for me deal with, I will mentally slice it into pieces and stick bits of the drama into little drawers in my mind, like deli meat. It was total self-preservation because dealing with the whole slab all at once would destroy me. I've know this for years and I know it now.

This makes me very emotionally unhealthy, and one of these days all of my little drawers are going to come flying open and I'm going to have to deal with the emotions that I've repressed for, literally in some cases, decades. This will not be a pretty picture.

Andy, on the other hand, seemed to press the ball of emotions to his chest like an infant. He seemed to nurture them and care for them and watch them grow into the monster they eventually became. I hated that. Why couldn't he be like me? I fell into the trap that a lot of non-depressive people fall into when trying to be a care giver for a depressed person. And I knew better. But I was pissed off that so much was being asked of me and I was slicing up more and more of my emotions and, frankly, I was running out of damn space to put it all.

Then he got really sick. I won't describe what life has been like around here lately but it's been very, very painful. It's the stuff that makes you realize just how much you love a person. That almost makes it worse.

When I say he's my best friend I don't mean it in any glib manner. I mean that, should he decide to leave me tomorrow (pun not intended) that he'd have a hard time getting rid of me. I know this more strongly now than I've ever known anything in my life. Everything else can fall away, but at the end of the day, The Shit Storm That Is My Life™ just wouldn't be the same without him.

It's a painful thing to go through, and I would give damn near everything to not have to be doing all of this crap, but part of me is glad because I know we'll come back from it, stronger than ever. He'll go back to England tomorrow and I'll start up a new life just ready for his return. And it'll be awesome.

If only he can stop being such a monumental prick.

how do you fit seven years of crap into thirty small boxes?

2005-01-22T09:58:00.000-06:00

Man, do I hate the thought of packing. I still haven't done any of it yet. I have the boxes, I have the crap, but I have not the motivation.

You know you're a real, live grown-up when you have a box of miscellaneous power supply cords that you have no use for, but will take them to the new house anyway.

I have two such boxes of miscellaneous power supply cords. Go me!

I'm sore from having to unload twenty tons of rice by myself yesterday. Technically I wasn't by myself, but the two 75-year-old men weren't much help. One of the men proudly told me that he was actually 75 and a half. Only very small children and the elderly measure their lives by half-years. For good reason, really.

Like that Eddie Izzard gag where he comments on how only very small girls and huge fuck-off boxers ever jump rope. Yeah, kinda like that.

I don't wanna pack. I want to stomp my feet and throw a temper tantrum like the cute girls do. But I'm way too dude for that.

My friend John told me, "You're prettier than most of the guys I know."

The interesting part of that statement is his inclusion of the word "most".

i'm just gonna give up now and start living vicariously through my children

2005-01-20T10:45:00.000-06:00

Samantha's blog just plain cracks me up.

I haven't really done a post about my siblings, have I? Well ok I'll do that then. Let's start with my little sister. Let's just say she watches too much TV, and has a wide vocab for a 4 year old. A conversation with Zoe. "I would be honored to turn the television (television? Who says television? It's TV) off for you."
Or "The monks cheat at that game"
Yes, the monks do cheat at that game.
Then there's my little bro. He's two and fascinated with pink, and shoes, and spoons. He fits in well with this family.

They grow up so quickly, don't they?

sniff

i am so not mature enough to be turning 28 in two weeks

2005-01-19T15:24:00.000-06:00

It's been so long since I've been around stoned teenagers that I don't know how to handle myself. I had one come into my office just now and it was a scream. Seeing it from the outside makes me wonder how it is that I was never arrested when I was younger because you simply cannot fake being sober if you're stoned.

Dude was all fidgety and didn't want to make eye contact with me, lest I spot his totally blood-shot peepers. He could barely form a coherent sentence and I wasn't sure how to best respond to this. "Now Kurt, I don't think it's appropriate to come here in this state. I won't tolerate it. I simply will not stand for this obvious intoxication. I'm very disappointed."

That would have been a good answer.

"Kurt, you seem like such a smart young man. Why do you want to destroy your brain with that stuff? It steals your motivation, robs you of dignity, money and self-respect...son, that stuff will ruin your life."

That might have worked, too.

"Dude, maintain, alright? If you don't mellow, someone's going to get wise to your sketchin', bro. Let's hit White Castle - I'll buy you a slider."

Not appropriate!

But I did score a bag at a pretty sweet price.

Just kidding!

Keep it clean and sober, kids. Auntie Picklejuice is on to you.

it's my name - i'll write it in the snow if i want to!

2005-01-18T18:52:00.000-06:00

This is dedicated to you, Jack, and all of the little things you're missing out on during our loverly Minnesota winters.

Write your name in the snow.

Somehow, "write your name in the sand" doesn't have quite the same oomph to it...does it, Texas Boy?

Thought not.

instead, he uses it as a chance to put his testicles all over me

2005-01-18T06:13:00.000-06:00

My brain was feeling mushy because of all of the infomercials I'd consumed tonight (note - the "magic bullet" vibrator people should have trademarked the name, because now there's a really killer mixer with the same monkier that I so totally want) so I turned on the education channel. Have you ever watched this shit? It was a still-shot of the NASA logo with Chopin playing in the background. That's it!

Gee, I feel smarter already. Why, that's not propaganda at all!

Okay, NASA dudes - you're smart. We get it. Can we please move on now?

Then I watched Animal Planet and learned a whole lot about the octopus. Do you know their mating ritual? The male hands the female a packet of sperm and she tucks it away until she can make a nest. Could you imagine? "Honey, I got you a little gift!" "13 million sperm? But how did you know?" So yeah, that was pretty romantic.

What sucks, though, is that the female will nest and not move for six months - not to eat, not to shower, not even for a Star Wars prequel - until the eggs hatch. Then she dies and starfish eat her.

Makes me feel kinda bad about complaining when I was pregnant. If my life mimicked an octopus I don't think I'd be signing on for that whole "motherhood" gig. Propagation of the species? Nah, I think I'll pass - it's the "eaten by starfish" thing. Kinda squicks me out.

The dude who was diving with the octopus was like, "Yeah, if they grip you with their front tentacles and they're holding onto the rocks with the others, you're toast. You can't get away, no matter how strong you are." Which is a pretty neat trick seeing as how an octopus, as far as I can tell, is made of scrotum.

They change colors, which I didn't know. Like, really quickly - none of this sitting around waiting for ten minutes like you do with freaking chameleons. It was pretty cool to watch that part. When an octopus is afraid it will turn totally white, which doesn't strike me as being particularly helpful in an aggressive situation, but I suppose that's what they get for taking lessons in evolution from Scooby Doo cartoons.

So there ya go. More than you ever wanted to know about the octopus.

My next post will be an education-channel-worthy point-by-point deconstruction of the myriad merits and delights of the Ronco food dehydrator, and why I so totally want one of those, too.

i caught you a delicious bass

2005-01-16T15:05:00.000-06:00

Smegnacious totally came through.

From here on out, it's all Napoleon, all the time.

Freakin' idiot!

How much you wanna bet I can throw a football over them mountains?

But my lips hurt real bad!

Get your own tots.

(I could do this all freaking day.)

Sorry I'm late. I just got done taming a wild honeymoon stallion for you guys.

(Okay, that's the last one.)

Wow. Look at that fella go. I could sit here forever.

Sweet.

random like sunday morning

2005-01-16T10:13:00.000-06:00

Nico likes to jack with me. "What does a cow say?" "Cow."

Ah yes - that's why we call them that.

"What does a duck say?" "Hat."

I've got nuthin.

When I told my friend John about the CEDOO thinking that "Sunami" was a country he replied, "Yeah, I'm not very good at geology, either."

A couple of weeks ago some dude totally hit on me, which hasn't happened in a while - how can you get hit on if you don't go anywhere - and I, in shock, told John and Other Friend. Other Friend said, "Don't be so surprised. You've still got a few 'cute' years left in ya yet." John looked at him, horrified, and said, "Did you just get out of prison or something? Where are your standards!?!"

When I told him about Andy going back to England he said, "Well, if you're going to start dating again you'd better hit the gym."

sniff I'm gonna miss that guy. I've decided to bequest him the giant pink Clint Eastwood picture that's currently hanging in my bathroom to remember me by.

Andy's flight is tentatively booked for the 26th. It's odd how disposable everything suddenly becomes the moment you have to think about moving and storing it. I'm only keeping a small handful of things, and I'm sure that "handful" will become smaller the closer to moving day it gets. The kids are being a big help in that they're willingly throwing away any and all toys that are missing even a single piece. So that takes care of pretty much everything apart from the PS2, a dump truck and a Blues Clues chair. So that's nice.

Can you tell I'm procrastinating on the packing? Yeah, I am.

If anyone comes across an animated .gif of Napoleon Dynamite dancing in moon boots would you please let me know? That would totally make my year.

Gosh!

life's too fucking short

2005-01-12T23:04:00.000-06:00

Tonight I was talking with my mother and she absentmindendly mentioned that she'd been at a funeral. A funeral for whom? I ask. A funeral for none other than my favorite uncle, Uncle Bill.

But what? When did he die? November. I had no idea. I cried harder than I've cried in a great long while, and that's saying something because I cry an awful lot these days.

Uncle Bill, whom I'd been meaning to email for weeks, is gone. The dude that I felt guilty about not sending a Christmas card to, is gone.

The last email I'd gotten from him was from October where he said, and I quote, "When you gonna send me some more funny titty pictures, bitch?"

Such was our relationship.

I can't believe he's gone. He was 48. He was only 48.

This is what happens when you let your pride stand in the way of your family. You lose people and don't even know you've lost them.

I've been so fucking stupid.

Bill asked my mom, "Why doesn't Natalie email me anymore?" The truth was that I didn't have the time.

What bullshit. What total bullshit.

I would give damn near anything to go back to October and email him some titty pictures.

You know, he was the one who instilled in me the desire to see an odd-number of breasts each day. He started me on that whole thing.

So in honor of you, Bill, I give you these photos. I'd sent them to you, lo those many ages ago, and you enjoyed them. I hope you enjoy them still.

My homage to Bill.

Three breasts for you, my son. An odd number, just as you'd always recommended. I hope your Mormon wife let you have last rites.

I love you Bill. I say this despite being fairly sure there are no blogs in heaven.

where did you find the spawn? i found the spawn on my lawn.

2005-01-11T19:28:00.000-06:00

So my daughter Sam has a blog, apparently. I was unaware of this because my CEDOO did not pay the internet bill in time so we were without access all freaking day. Which meant calling people on the phone, which I loathe, but I couldn't call Andy because I did not pay my cell phone bill in time.

Oh the complexities of life, and check books!

Anyway, you should check out Sam. She's a scream. Her punctuation and grammar leave a lot to be desired, and I only mention that because it offends her, but she's eleven so what do you expect?

I shall call her Mini-Me.

In unrelated news, I am as yet unfired, which is really freaking bizarre. I don't even know how to handle myself. I did allow myself to go a little bit ape-shit today and slam a filing cabinet drawer closed.

It's called "testing my boundaries".

you wish you were this good

2005-01-10T19:07:00.000-06:00

So I went into work today - late, because...well, screw 'em, right?

It seems that some people read my earlier post and got the impression that I'd quit. Oh no - not I. That would make things far too easy. I'm the George Costanza of the non-profit world. And I'm enjoying every minute.

They read it and were less than pleased but helpfully suggested that "next time any of us finds something lacking in one another, we should be more of a team and help one another out instead of pointing out flaws" because that is, apparently, anti-social and destructive. Ya know - to the team.

And I'm nothing if not a team player, am I right?

It was funny on Friday when I was relating the CEDOO story to Smegnacious. He's my Lester Litmus test for funny posts - if it makes the fat bearded man laugh, then it's a go. Needless to say (in my humble opinion) he was howling and said, "Ah, it's too bad you can't blog that in case they read it!" I said, "Dude, fuck that noise. I'm gonna get dooced up in this bitch."

Turns out that I am, how you say, utterly fucking indispensable. I'm indispensable to the point that my boss offered me an all expenses paid trip to Honduras for two weeks on a fact-finding mission. And to Liberia if I wanted it.

Can we say swish? Cuz I think we can.

CEDOO was displeased, but then again, CEDOO doesn't know half of what I do so CEDOO can just suck on it. Cuz my ass is going to Tegucigalpa, yo.

Nah, not really. But I am tempted. Instead, I'm quite happy to let CEDOO go in my place so she can learn a little something about the world and the suffering people who have had a hold of my heart from the word "go". Because that's really what this is about. It's about the loss of everything that once drove me and how badly things have become.

So yeah - I guess I still have a few emotions tied up in this job of mine and part of me will be sorry to see it go. Especially if I'm the guy who has to end it.

Still.

She's fucking stupid.

i use my dream dictionary to prop up the short leg of my table

2005-01-10T02:36:00.000-06:00

I dreamed I was being interviewed by Larry King. I was in Asia helping the relief efforts and I said to him, "Larry, I think we can all agree that, in order to heal this region, we clearly need more television shows that feature Jude Law's naked ass."

After that coverage I was then featured in a newspaper article where I was photographed with not one, but two potato peelers.

I had no idea that I have such a firm belief in the healing powers of Jude Law's ass. Also, I had no idea that losing my favorite potato peeler affected me to this extent.

Now I'm going back to sleep to see if Jude Law got my message.

Wish me luck.

in which i seem to be trying to get fired...

2005-01-07T18:01:00.000-06:00

Man, is my new "CEO" a fucking idiot or what?!?

I mean, everyone says that about their CEOs but mine? Oh man. The only reason for her appointment into that post is that my boss is, quite clearly, utterly senile.

Enumerate and elucidate, my good man! I hear you say.

And I shall.

But first, I have to say to my good friend John - I know you told me to not burn any bridges but you know, I'm feeling a bit pyro today. A little bit reckless, let's say.

Firstly, this CEO in question has never had, as far as I can tell, a professional job prior to this. She walked in off the street asking for work. Turns out, God made her do it so I guess it was fate. Oh, and she's in her forties, thereabouts.

So she gets this title and...wait, before I go on I just want to point out the fact that I honestly couldn't care less who my CEO is. I don't want that position - I've been offered that position a number of times and always turned it down for reasons I shan't elaborate upon. This isn't jealousy or bitterness or whatever.

No, do you know what this is? Okay, it's like back in high school. It's like knowing that one really geeky dude that you knew would go out with you in a heartbeat. You feel nothing at all for this guy and, at times, you're downright rude to him to make him get away. Then another girl goes out with him and not only thinks he's a really great catch but also tries to rub your nose in it. Even when you say, "Dude, I wouldn't touch him with a barge pole" she still thinks that it's jealousy that's made you said that.

You with me? Good.

So Ms. CEO (who, in a rare moment when she was able to extract herself from Bossman's ass) writes this letter to the president of mumble mumble company. I read this letter in absolute horror - she's illiterate at the best of times, but this one took the freaking cake. You might want to sit down for this one.

"We're very interested in helping the poor people of Sunami and are looking for an NGO in that country to partner with."

The poor people of "Sunami". That were hit by a tsunami.

Oh, the irony!

Did I happen to mention that I work for an international relief agency? It's kinda helpful to know where Sunami is located on the map, I suppose. And what do we call these people? Sunamese?

I guess I have a lot left to learn.

The poor people of Sunami. Oh for the freaking love of all things holy.

And she's my CEO.

But wait! There's more.

I was still groaning and dying a little from that line when I saw how she signed the letter:

"Chief Executive Director of Offices and Operations"

Pick a lane and stick with it, toots. How about we throw the word "engineer" in there somewhere, too? That'd round it out nicely.

The thing that kills me is that she thinks "CEO" stands for "Chief Executive OFFICES".

Offices. Oh, and operations.

What the fuck is up with this Jackson Pollock of a title?

But I bit my tongue, lest I seem "bitter" or "jealous". Until I saw she had a purchase order for business cards with this title.

I said, "You know, if I saw that on someone's business card, I'd bust a gut laughing. All that does is scream 'I'VE NEVER HAD A PROFESSIONAL JOB BEFORE'!"

She wasn't amused, but I suppose that CEDOOs rarely are.

(This post is dedicated to my brand-spanking new CEO whom I know reads this blog. And has all weekend to stew on it. Don't worry - I cleared out my desk the moment I read that atrocity of a letter you wrote. Have fun not knowing what the fuck you're doing!)

ear porn

2005-01-03T19:52:00.000-06:00

Oh dear. What to say?

Last night I was on the phone to the lovely Ms. Luminous on her spiffy new cell phone. At three a.m. I was talking to a girl who just the other day said this about said phone: But the flip side of this is that now people might feel entitled to be able to reach me at any time, any where.

Yep. I sure did.

I've never heard any sound as sweet as her voice. (I'm going to gush again, like I did last night.) It really is shockingly lovely. At one point I had to ask her if she was an animation - I had Disney in mind and believe I referred to her not only as Snow White, but Bambi and Thumper as well.

And what did I talk about with this sweet, sweet young lady? (Apart from running away to Missouri with her because "they'll never find us in Missouri".) I gave her relationship advice that consisted of me loudly saying, "Dude, fuck that shit, yo. You should tell her that you saw her girlfriend making out with a dude. Oh, the girlfriend lives far away? Then get all up on that shit and be, like, a caring friend. Then you can ask to hold her to your bosom. What, is 'bosom' a gay red flag or something?"

I could have improved on that advice by reminding her that all gay people are unfaithful and promiscuous. That would have rounded it out nicely, wouldn't you agree?

I would like to make a recording of Luminous saying random potty words, throw down a pumping bass line, and marketing it to German night clubs. We'd get rich fast, Lumie. (Yes, I just gave her a pet nickname - but that's what love does to ya, yo.)

The only potty word she said was "asshole". So in honor of you, Ms. Luminous, I dedicate the rest of this post (and the top part of the post, too) to you.

From Mike (the asshole) - which is a different guy than Mike the Asshole (who doesn't have a blog but I wouldn't link to him anyway because he's an asshole!) - we have Questions O' Thrice. Remember how I said Mike started...wait, sorry, I mean Mike (the asshole)...don't want you to get confused. Anyway, remember when I said Mike (the asshole) had rekindled the whole thing for me? Well, I sent him my questions and he hasn't answered them. That's the back-story here.

1. Why haven't I answered your questions to me yet?

Because you're an asshole!

2. Why do you keep referring to me as an asshole?

Because you're an asshole!

3. Why are all of these questions about me?

Because you're an...wait for it...asshole!

(Meet me in St. Louis, Lumie. They'll never find us. I don't know who is "they" in this equation, but damn it if it ain't romantic.)

did you ever notice...

2004-12-30T18:20:00.000-06:00

That nothing at all besides mail-order pornography is ever shipped in brown wrapping?

Makes me question the use of the word "discreet".

Moving on, from Hey Lisa! (I must confess, I always viewed the name "Lisa" as the ultimate slut name. Now I can't, because I know someone named Lisa. So I guess "Debbie" is the new ultimate slut name, because I don't know anyone named "Debbie".) we have this installment of Questions O' Thrice!

1) Why "Pickle Juice"?

Because I love it. It never loved me back. I can only drink an ounce or two at a time these days (as opposed to my pint at a time I used to consume) because it makes my gut rev like an outboard-motor. Also, I thought that there was no way that anyone would Google anything related to "pickle juice". I used to get pissed at finding websites wholly unrelated to my search. Except this one time where I stumbled upon an essay entitled something like, "Have It Your Way: The McDonalds/Burger King Dichotomy". That was actually a pretty good read. I can't find it anymore, though.

2) What do you like most about children (in general)?

The general sweetness:

Or the most lovely gal this side of the Mason Dixon:

Or maybe it's how many teeth my son has, thus ensuring his intelligence:

Or maybe it's the costume reveals:

3) What do you like least about children in general?

Everything else.

if this is how i treat my friends...

2004-12-30T13:34:00.000-06:00

First batch o' questions from my bestest friend, Smegnacious. Enjoy.

1. Do I have to ask you 3 questions, when I know you're just going to
come up with some lame answer that won't make any sense?

Life is little more than a fatal sexually-transmitted disease. Well, okay, maybe not "little" more. But not a whole hell of a lot!

2. If I do, what would they be?

The other day in the car I heard The Music's "Breakin" and could have sworn it was Jane's Addiction. Then I heard Audioslave's "Like A Stone" and could have sworn it was Soundgarden! It was the one-two punch that really finished me off. It was brutal.

Sheesh, I'd be humiliated if anyone else ever found out about that. So keep it under your hat, yo.

3. Can you make sure my death is quick and painless, please?

My boss used to try to convince me to clean my office by telling me, "If you manage to even keep your inbox cleared, I'll buy you business cards." It never worked because I hate business cards. But then the admin ordered them for me anyway, so he had nothing to lord over me. The other day, after many, many months, I cleaned my office spotless. The next day I came in to find this taped to my door:

FANTASTIC!!

OUTSTANDING!!

OVERWHELMING!!

REVELATION!!

EARTH SHAKING!!

The admin told me that the boss had actually given her a tour of my clean office before I got to work. He said, "Look, here's her desk, and here's a table and...look at that, she had a second computer in here the whole time!" Then they laughed at me, so I emptied everyone's garbage on my floor. Who's laughing now, huh?

Who's laughing now?

it's a disturbing trend...no, wait. they're both disturbing trends.

2004-12-29T11:19:00.000-06:00

There's an episode of "Family Guy" where Peter becomes some big ol' woman after being forced to attend some sensitivity-training camp. Lois is most displeased. At one point, Peter says something to Lois like, "I have to give myself a breast examination" or something, and into his shirt goes his hand. He gets alarmed and goes, "A lump? A lump? My God, I've found a lump! Nevermind, it's just a Cheeto." Then he eats the Cheeto.

My son mimes this scene perfectly. Right down to the look of horror on his face upon finding the lump, and the joy when he eats it.

"A lum! A lum! Blagrerol bagger...CHEESETOE!" Munch, munch, munch.

I had to draw the line when he tried reaching into Zoe's shirt to find her lump. Okay, I drew the line after he did it for, like, the fifth time and it started to not be as funny.

A mom's gotta have some principles, you see.

In other news, that asshole has nothing new or interesting to say. Which is a bit of a coincidence, because neither do I. Unlike me, he's shown some initiative and rekindled Ye Olde Sende Me Questions Thrice And They Shall Be Answerede Thusly On My Blogge. And I'm stealing his idea.

So if you wanna, mail me three questions and I will answer them.

Oooh, it's such a weak little device, isn't it? The meme, I mean.

A pox on your house, meme!

(Side note - do you want to know how stupid and culturally-unaware I am? I thought it was a ME ME, as in "all about me, but double the me!" Andy had to explain it. But I blow his tiny little mind with my theories of quantum physics, so I guess we're even.)

I think I'd actually enjoy this meme, if I get any questions. If I don't, I think I'll cry.

A pox on your house, those who make me cry!

Cheeto.

a few factlets and one big old factoid

2004-12-28T13:35:00.000-06:00

I love Swedish Fish. Love, love, love Swedish Fish. But only the red ones. If they made a red Swedish Fish beverage I'd throw some vodka in there and drink it from a baby bottle.

I'm getting my hair cut like my favorite Sim. I saw a girl at the airport with a similar style and thought, "I'd look waaaay cuter with that cut than she does!" Thus my fate, and hair style, were sealed.

My husband is moving back to the UK in the near future. I will be moving back to Illinois. Odds are fairly good that blogging will be very light after that, as will most internet communication. I don't know about his arrangements in the UK but I know that I'll be staying with a mother who still seems to think that a local call on dial-up costs a lot of money.

I will miss Minnesota a lot. And I think there may even be a small part of me that just might miss Andy, too.

Or maybe I'm just gassy.

this post brought to you by my post nasal drip

2004-12-27T16:32:00.000-06:00

I'm really sick so I left work early today. Now you make this face :( because you're sad that I'm sick.

That was lovely, thanks.

So in my congested-induced state I thought I'd bring these two items to your attention. Both of these situations are true and can be credited to CNN.

First. On Christmas they were showing the heart-warming video clips of soldiers in Iraq broadcasting their holiday wishes home to their families. Typically I cannot watch these - they break my heart. Especially when they have the video link-ups where one side of the screen is some harried-looking soldier younger than my paperboy and the other screen is his wife, inevitably holding a baby that was born while the husband was deployed. But this time I couldn't look away, for beneath this lovely holiday scene of love across the miles was the most horrifying soundtrack I'd ever heard.

Wait - I'm getting ahead of myself. Boys and girls, if you were in charge of the production of this segment of the news program, what message would you try to convey? Something somber, perhaps? A bit melancholy? Heart-warming?

Well, those would have all been fine choices, kiddies. You all get a gold star.

However, the person who chose a rag-time instrumental version of "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus"...big fat F and a whipping with a switch when he got home.

What the fuck were you thinking?!?

Second. Again, CNN. The segment was about Kwanzaa, the proud African holiday that was invented in the sixties by some dude in L.A. (Not that there's anything wrong with that!) But I digress. The segment was about breaking down black stereotypes and celebrating families and African traditions and what-not. Again, the musical director hit one out of the freaking park when he chose..."Pass The Dutchie" by Musical Youth.

In case you don't know, "dutchie" is a slang term used by Jamaicans (primarily) for marijuana wrapped as a cigar. I believe people also refer to them as "blunts" but, as I'm a white mom in Minnesota, I would know nothing about such things.

Further, the song has a refrain that goes "how does it feel when you have no food?"

A person could reasonably infer that the song in question is about poverty-stricken blacks in Jamaica who smoke pot because they have little else.

And it was used as the backdrop for a segment about how Americans misunderstand Kwanzaa.

Did I overexplain this? I may have, seeing as how half of my brain currently resides in a Kleenex in the garbage but...

What the fuck were you thinking?!?

Aren't you glad that Auntie Picklejuice gets sick and ponders such things, and is then generous enough to share?

Like hell you are.

warm and fuzzy christmas story

2004-12-25T06:49:00.000-06:00

I have a friend who is completely incapable of bullshitting. Once, after having been asked if he liked an outfit he replied, "I don't know anything about clothes so I can't have an opinion."

And this just in - there is no snow in Minnesota. Repeat: no snow in Minnesota.

It's a Christmas miracle!

update: Bloody snow. Stupid non-miracle.

ho ho ho! wait - only three hoes? why, that's not a very merry christmas at all!

2004-12-24T17:10:00.000-06:00

Sometimes I forget what a funny kid Samantha can be. On the way to the airport today she said these three things (of orient are...wait, sorry. Different song.)

"I just can't warm up to that lunch lady. You try to make a conversation with her but she always turns it into some bitter story. Do you think she's bitter because she doesn't have a husband, or that she doesn't have a husband because she's bitter?"

On hearing a commercial for a star registry (where you pay to have a star named in honor of a loved one):

"Pshaw. I bet you'd play with it once and then just throw it into the toybox. What a useless present - you can't even re-gift it or anything!"

When I asked her to count how much cash I had in my purse:

"One thousand two hundred. No, wait. Hang on - how did I mess that up? You have one hundred twenty-three dollars." (pause and a glare in my direction) "When are you going to admit that you did drugs when you were pregnant?"

You've got to see her delivery - it's hysterical. And she's only eleven! Ah, what a kid.

At the airport things were a mess but the gate agent was being really cool. Some woman had a dog in her lap and another woman came to the desk to inquire. "She's not taking that little mutt on the plane, is she? Or is it going underneath with the bags?" Gate agent said, "The dog has a kennel, so she probably paid extra to take it on." Bitchy woman glares. Gate agent goes, "Come on, dear, it's a short flight." Bitchy woman goes, "Oh, but what if I sparked up a cigarette? Would you say to the other passengers 'it's a short flight'?" Gate agent said, "No, but if you kept your cigarettes in a kennel I don't think I'd complain."

Again, delivery. Totally had to be there but it was cool.

Oh, and I saw someone I knew. I was looking at him going, "Wow, he looks like that total prick, whats-his-name." I saw that he was using his business card as a luggage tag and I peeked. It totally WAS the total prick! Just standing there in all his prickiness glory, without so much as an apology for being such a monumental prick!

He said to me, "Do I know you?" I said to him, "I don't think you want to."

Merry Christmas, motha fuggas!

to market, to market to buy a fat pig

2004-12-23T23:37:00.000-06:00

I overheard this during my grocery shop tonight...

While standing next to the deli cooler I'd spied this "Minnesota Monster" sandwich. It was, like, four pounds of fresh deli "processed meat and obscure cheese" glory. All for the princely sum of $10 bucks. I was considering it for dinner because I'm very lazy when I heard two girls talking about said sandwich - "It's too big. You know what would be awesome? If they cut it in half and sold each half for, like, five bucks each! That'd make more sense."

I blinked really hard like I do when I hate someone and had to resist the urge to bludgeon them with a camembert - because it's a soft cheese. If there had been a block of parmasean around, however, she'd be dead. Both shes. Because the other she was guilty by association with Stupid She.

I encountered another pair of Stupid She. They were walking past me and one said, "But this is, like, totally only one net carb!" Other Stupid She crinkled her nose and said, "You need to learn balance."

Actually, thinking on it, that was probably the smartest thing any Stupid She has ever said in the history of all the Stupid Shes. I think I may be impressed.

Or perhaps I'm just bored.

stupid search engines

2004-12-22T19:49:00.000-06:00

So I have a script that is supposed to stop search engines from loading my site. Sometimes it doesn't. Like today.

Someone found me by searching for "what's the plastic part of a shoelace called?"

I love how people ask the internet questions. Like you'll get a result like, "Indeed, grasshopper. What is the plastic part of a shoelace called? And, for that matter, what isn't it called? Let's ponder."

NO! No, you dumb mother fucker! It's called an aglet, got that? AG. LET. Man, are you stupid or freaking what?!?

You are now my mortal enemy. Go, and darken my doorstep no more.

cough

Boy, it's a bit cold out there, innit?

(Now do you see why I block search engines from getting here? It's just so much better for everyone involved.)

(Another parenthesis - funniest thing is that I'm the fourth result and the first relevant bit. No, wait - the funniest thing is that the answer to the question was clear in the search result, and yet, Genius Amongst Us clicked my link anyway. And was sore abused for their troubles. And now here is the second parenthesis in the set that closes this thought.)

Rock star!

sucks to be me, struth!

2004-12-21T11:21:00.000-06:00

I'm trying to do a preliminary balance of the year-end numbers and I'm off by fourteen cents that I can't find anywhere. But you can't just go, "Screw it, I'll throw it in myself" - you have to find the freaking fourteen cents. Fourteen is now my least favorite number. How I loathe fourteen.

A Google search for "hooker with a heart of gold" returns about 6,430 results. A Google search for "that'd be cool" returns about 38,700 results. This leads me to believe that people think there are cool scenarios that don't involve hookers with hearts of gold.

Yesterday there was much freezing rain, and I was sore afraid. And really, really late to work. Two and a half hours late! And I'd even left on time for once - unlike today when I was late because I left the house late. Sometimes when I'm running behind schedule I get really angry at red lights. But today I simply did not care. Bring it on! Bring on the red lights! Marvel at my laid-back stature!

No one was in the office when I got here but I got a phone call from my boss. He was all like, "I called at 8.30 and you weren't in!" I told him, "Yeah, I forgot that no one would be here when I arrived and I brought the wrong keychain. I had to go back for my office key." At least I have the decency to lie.

Today the freezing rain has turned to slush, which is quite nice. Yesterday the driving was brutal. I was tooling along behind this little S-10 pick-up that suddenly had the urge to test his off-road capabilities. S-10 pick-ups have very little off-road capability. The gentleman in question did not seem to care - or maybe he couldn't stop. We shall never know the truth.

I was at an intersection and I saw a truck blast into the back of a semi, which was interesting. That's what you get for calling your line of vehicles "Ram". What were they expecting? It's like, "Come, let us away for a nice Sunday drive in my new Volvo 'Children Are Speed Bumps'! Oh, you'd rather take the Ford 'Plows The Elderly'? Suit yourself!"

Another. An other. Some people split the word "another" and say things like, "A whole nother..." A whole nother ball game. A whole nother problem. A whole nother horse of a whole nother color. But it's stupid to do that. An other. Another. Be more responsible next time.

That reminds me of a Jack Handyism: Maybe in order to understand mankind, we have to look at the word itself: "Mankind". Basically, it's made up of two separate words - "mank" and "ind". What do these words mean ? It's a mystery, and that's why so is mankind.

A Google search for "Jack Handey mank ind" returns about 2,110 results. That's a bit too accurate to be considered an estimate, yet they include the word "about", which, in this context, could be replaced with the word "approximately". What ho!

I like how Michael Caine tells you what you are and then asks you what you are. You're a bastard. What are you?

I work with...well, not "with", I suppose - more like I work near a fellow who is rather protective of me. Something creepy happened at work the other day and now people are, like, paying an awful lot of attention to me. This guy keep checking on me. I mentioned it to Andy and this was thus spoken:

me: Dave the Asshole keeps checking on me.
andy: Who is he?
me: Mike, the dude from next door?
me: Mike is Dave the Asshole.
me: He's actually a very nice guy.
andy: You need your bumps felt, you know.
me: What?
andy: Your head examined.
me: Why?
andy: If the guy's name is Mike, why call him Dave?
me: Dunno.
me: He just looks like a Dave. Plus, I already know a Mike the Asshole.

I think I've met my asshole-knowing quota for the day.

Back to fourteen-cents hunting!

a series of random events

2004-12-18T18:30:00.000-06:00

I was expecting a phone call but my phone was on the charger in the kitchen down the hall from me. I told Andy, "So lemme know, Joe, when my fricky fricky phone goes." When I said "fricky" I made it sound like a record scratch.

If I had ever managed to achieve my dream of being a rapper my name would have been "Pepperidge Farm" because I'm so white. But we'd have to rapifiy the name due to unnecessary syllables so I'd be called "Peppied F". Peppied F rocks the mic, y'all. Peppied F does, indeed, rock the mic.

Zoe said, "Hup, hup, liquid!" for no reason. I said, "Oh yeah? Well liquid you!" Her reply was, "Liquid eggs!" and she laughed like a maniac. The end.

We saw the Lemony Snicket movie tonight. It was cute, if a bit mergh. Jim Carrey totally overacted (big surprise - not really). Meryl Streep was freaking awesome (big surprise - no, really). Jude Law's narration wasn't featured heavily enough. Then again, I could listen to Jude Law read the freaking phone book and not get bored. Oh, and Billy Connolly? You so didn't want to be touching those snakes. I could totally tell. But you're great and from Glasgow and stuff so I'll overlook it.

I'm drinking beer out of a glass. I do not enjoy doing this when beer typically comes in perfectly adequate drinking vessel (unless it's a can of Guinness or Boddingtons, I mean). Drinking beer out of a glass when it's beer that came in a bottle is just so...so...ugh.

I feel like such a girl.

there happens to be no shame in my game, however, i quite obviously have guilt in my kilt

2004-12-17T18:29:00.000-06:00

I had a big event at work today that I really did not want to be a part of. Thankfully I had a reason to leave work just as it began, and return to work just as it ended! So, that was nice.

I had to leave because my son was sick but then I saw that he wasn't that sick so I came back to work. I know you shouldn't wish illness on anyone, but come on...kid coulda puked or something to make it so I didn't have to feel all guilty about skipping out on all the stuff waiting for me at the office.

I heard the most baffling word in the world today. Seriously, when I heard it I said to myself, "My goodness, am I baffled!" I gave the radio a dumb-founded look.

"Semi-boneless".

Think about that for a minute.

You're baffled, too, now aren't ya? Admit it.

Here, let's look at that again:

Semi-boneless.
Semi...boneless.
Semi. Boneless.

Utterly baffling.

My mate Sandwich To The Head guy gave me a good metric for determing whether or not your pig is real: If it weighs more than you (me) then it's real. So the next time you're out buying a pig just gimme a ring and I'll give you my digits (digits from my scale, that is) so you can be sure you're not buying a fake pig.

He said some other stuff, too, but it was really odd and had no meaningful value. Unlike the pig thing, which makes perfect sense and has practical applications.

I have some of the best friends in all the world. Except for this one guy, who's a total asshole!

Speaking of assholes, there is no snow on the ground in Minnesota. What's the connection? Minnesota drivers are assholes at the best of times, but if you throw snow into the mix they become assholes of epic proportions. Any understanding of spatial relations, velocity or threat of impact between their Nissan Maxima and my big-ass Olds SUV fly straight out the window. But this shouldn't matter right now, as there's no snow on the ground, right?

Oh, how horribly wrong you are.

It seems that since there should be snow on the ground at this time of year the fine residents of Minnesota have gone into winter-driving mode. I know this because of the increased frequency of the word "cocksucker" in my vocabulary. Used to be I'd only scream it, what, four or five times a week, tops. Now it's four or five times per commute. One-way, too - that's not even for the round-trip.

No one ever thinks that they might be the bad driver in the equation, do they?

You think you know coffee? You don't know beans about coffee!

That's not my joke. That's a line from a spam email from "Coffee Time!" (please do make note of the inappropriate exclamation mark there. No one ever gets that excited about coffee time. It's more like, "Mlugh, glurgh, need to make coffee" time. If you're screaming about coffee time! then it's more likely to mean that it's stop drinking coffee time!)

I have a friend who sometimes lies on his blog but he always confesses to me and that's just swell.

free tibet!

2004-12-16T18:38:00.000-06:00

With the purchase of a Tibet of equal or greater value.

My, what a lazy joke that was! I'm simply astonished at myself.

Sorry, folks - I got nuthin'.

i call rude people "rudy"

2004-12-13T21:02:00.000-06:00

I was at the post office picking up a package (I like the letter P because I have a sPeech imPediment and always PoP my Plosives!) and this woman with two little angel-faced babies that I just wanted to num num nummy on was standing at the postage machine (sorry - Postage machine) just agonizing. I figured she probably had some phobia or something so I gave her some space...okay, am I the only one who's really, really conscious of every instance of the letter P now? Oh I am? Alright then, let's move on.

Where was I? Oh, yes, the woman with the kids was having a freak-out at the postage machine. She then looks at me with sheer agony in her eyes and practically wails, "Can I borrow 11 cents? I just gave all of my change to the Salvation Army!" Okay, here's 11 cents - whatever. She practically falls all over herself with gratitude to the point where I wanted to give her another 11 cents just to prove that it was no big deal. But I didn't.

Anyway, as she was walking out I looked at her kids, who were both giving me the hairy eye like, "Why is that woman making mommy all psycho?" and I said, "Oh, your babies are just adorable!" She gave me this really bitchy look and said, "It costs 11 cents to look at them." Then she practically stormed out of the post office.

'Twas rude, 'struth!

Tonight I was at a mandatory concert viewing at my daughter's school (seriously - if she didn't show up it was an instant two grade drop...right before midterm! Those Nazis!) and three very very large people sat down on the bleacher in front of me. I don't discriminate if you're fat - being an asshole trumps being a fatso any day of the week. I only mention their size as a literary device. So these three people spread all kinds of out to take up the whole bleacher (my bleacher comfortably fit five adults and four children). I heard the woman say to her husband, "Scoot down so we can save space for grammy and grampy." They were using their fat as a force field - for a moment I was envious. But grammy and grampy never showed and the bleachers filled up tighter and tighter around us all. Except for these behemoth people, who had a whole freaking bleacher to themselves. At one point, Grammy showed up to tell the woman that they were sitting over there! No, we don't want these seats because Grampy can't climb so good! We're staying over there! Guess what, broad? We're at a concert and my kid's doing a freaking solo, you hear me? A solo so just get your ass back over to grampy, okay?

Okay, so that's resolved, right? The Titanic Trio didn't need to save space for Grammy and Grampy anymore, so they could scootch together, right? But they so freaking didn't! They SO freaking didn't. In fact, it almost seemed as if their girth increased with the knowledge they didn't have to, ya know, skinny up for grammy and grampy.

'Twere assholes, they were!

Now, the third part is a story I'm reluctant to share, as it's what I used in my Christmas card story to my bestest friend but it rounds out the trilogy nicely so I'll share. (Smegnacious, don't read this or else you won't get a good Christmas story like you've come to expect from me. Are your eyes closed? Good, I'll continue.)

The local fire department was doing the Salvation Army bell ringing outside of my grocery store. They were all kitted out in their fire retardant uniforms despite the fact that it was, ya know, snowing. Last time I checked, snow is highly inflammable, but whatever. It was probably a marketing idea.

Anyway, these three dudes are standing around the kettle and, out of nowhere, this fourth fireman storms up and straight-arms the guy holding the bell. Dude goes absolutely flying into the wreathes. The aggressor shouts at him, in such the Minnesotan accent, "Hey, hoser, I can't hear your frickin' bell!"

'Twere uncalled-for, aye!

What do these three stories have in common? Apart from being intricately woven and flawlessly executed anecdotes?

Combine them all - the fireman, the titans on the bleacher, the crazy woman - and that does not even begin to approach the level of assholitry I've accomplished on this here blog.

I was informed last night that my entire family has read my entire blog. And I've said some less-than-flattering things about sisters that I otherwise quite like. But hey, cut me some slack - I thought you were too technically illiterate to find this page! Wait, no, that's not what I meant to say.

I meant to say, "I'm sorry" and "I won't do it again" and "I hope you don't hate me" and "Christmas is the time for forgiveness" and "Can I borrow fifty bucks?"

Seriously - dear, dear sisters, to whom I haven't spoken in months - lovely gals that I exaggerated for comedic effect - please don't be pissed.

But Stacy - honestly, what the hell was up with locking me in the closet and making me sing the state song? You were pretty brutal, man. I was just little!

Anyway, hope to hear from you all at Christmas. I love you loads and actually miss you guys. Thanks for reading - I promise you will no longer be blog fodder.

Much.

linktacular

2004-12-12T14:44:00.000-06:00

I saw a sign today that said, "This sign cost $4.75". Such weak, miserable attempts at conspicuous consumption make me so mad!

Holy shit - now, how often do I get excited by movies? Last time was...what, never? Yeah, I think "never" is the correct answer here. But the preview for Tim Burton's remake of "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" (found via the stupidest evil bastard of all time) has me drooling. This has all of the ingredients of either a masterpiece or something that will make me mourn the selling off of yet another piece of nostalgia. Still, it looks pretty wicked. I may actually have to enter a cinema for this one.

How much does eternal love cost these days? 'Bout a hundred bucks, US. (found via totally awesome Gerard.) The funniest thing on that site, however, is a little quote waaaay at the bottom: "All you need in life is food, shelter and clothing...oh, and ladybugs and flowers."

I'm having a hard time today because I have to let go. I've been in denial for years but now it's time to face the facts: U2 has definitely and without remorse completely subscribed to their own hype. "How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb" is entirely unlistenable. There, I've said it. Do you hear me, Bono? Un. LISTENABLE! And the cover art, where you guys are all sitting around looking rock-star-surly but you have that little smug half-smile and your sunglasses on? Unlookable. Un. LOOKABLE.

It didn't have to be this way, guys. But you've just lost your last hold-out. I'm with them now and I can no longer defend you. Yes, I think you'd better go now - I don't want you to see my tears. Good-bye, Bono. Friends of my youth, at last adieu! Haply some day we meet again; Yet ne'er the self-same men shall meet; The years shall make us other men.

Fie, fie! You visionary things. (Sorry, Sir Richard F. Burton. I know not of why I speak your divine words of wit and wisdom - you sure as shit didn't have no freaking U2 in mind when you wrote that, but it kinda works, doesn't it?)

(Sir Richard F. Burton is dead but I just pretended like he was alive and would read this. And then I told you what I've clearly just done. I don't know why.)

Zoe: "I thought that was my muse but it was really just a precursor orb."

It's been months since my last mania, but I think I'm feeling one coming on. The increased posting is one sign. I posted once a long time ago how helpful it is to have a blog when you suffer manic depression because you can kind of tell when things are going to shift by plotting your posts. There are a lot of other signs I've noticed...small things that don't seem significant out of context, like tapping my thumbs when I'm listening to music. But if I'm tapping my thumbs and have to fight the urge to scream lyrics I kind of go, "Aha!" Oh, and the range of my peripheral vision increases. No lie. And I kind of feel like I have a happy little bunny sitting on my stomach. Not on the outside of my tummy - I mean I feel like I have a happy little bunny sitting on top of my stomach organ on the inside of my body.

So, yeah, that's a bit interesting in a less-than-interesting way.

I prefer to say, "None of my friends live in Minneapolis" rather than "I don't have any friends in Minneapolis." I even have a boyfriend in Texas, which I was not aware of. I went to bed early last night and when I checked my phone today I saw that someone had nosed around in my call log. I asked him why and he said, "You missed a call last night and I was checking to see if it was your boyfriend." Who's my boyfriend? Why, it's none other than Alfie! But it wasn't his call that I missed - it was my other boyfriend. Who is also in Texas.

Andy called Alfie my boyfriend because he caught me talking to him on the phone at five in the morning about civil unrest in Bolivia and American imperialism. Apparently, that's the language of love. I usually talk to my other boyfriend about sex and poop and getting drunk and similar. Slightly different relationships, see.

It's funny that the Alfie thing makes him jealous, as it's probably the most platonic friendship I've ever had. I'm more romantically-inclined toward my mailwoman. (Oh, Brenda, your blue-eyeshadow renders me weak as a kitten! Your surly nature and resentment of having to walk into the building rather than throwing mail into the slot gives me jelly knees!) Plus, Andy spends most of his day chatting with a Scottish lesbian...and playing Scrabble...and I don't get jealous. It's all in your perspective, I guess.

At any rate, this is my perfect man, anyway. I've taken that quiz multiple times (the questions change) but the only difference is that sometimes he has glasses or a thinner chin. So if you look like that guy you obviously possess all of the personality traits that I find appealing. Call me.

Asymmetry leaves me feeling terribly unbalanced. I'm not saying that to be clever - I'm serious. I just happened to say it in a clever way.

Andy once complimented my singing really hard-core by asking if I'd ever had any formal training. Since then, it's impossible for me to shut the hell up, except now I sing everything in a Pete Murphy voice, which is way better than Andy's Pete Murphy voice.

We're listening to Dalis Car and Andy screamed, "Get that fretless bass! It's orgasmic!"

Not the word I'd have used, but anyway.

dude. seriously, bro.

2004-12-10T20:27:00.000-06:00

I just both "duded" and "broed" you, yo. It's just the kinda guy I am.

Today I walked around for hours with my pants unzipped and I didn't notice. When I did notice I said, "I've been walking around for hours with my pants unzipped and I didn't notice!" Telling you thus ends the cycle.

I've had a shite week at work and an even shiter day today. Not shittier - "shiter" is "shittier" to the fourth power. I just made that up.

Instead of saying "lol" I say this: haec jocatus sum, per jocum dixi. When I'm trying to be mysterious or elusive I say this: Non sempre ea sunt quae videntur.

Nah, just kidding - the only time I use those two phrases is in the context of that very paragraph. Like when I tell people that I get "corpuscular" and "crepuscular" confused, that's a lie. The only time I even use those words is when I tell people that I get them confused. I don't know that I've ever confused the two, but hey, it's a talking point, right?

I was looking up the movie "Baadasssss!" so that I could mention it and spell it with the requisite number of the letter s (how do you pluralize "s"?) and came across this line on a message board: I thought that Mario has a smaller but more attractive naked ass than his dad. The most disturbing thing about this statement is the glaring lack of commas.

My boss is totally and embarrassingly in love with my crazy mad marketing skills. This afternoon he said of my latest campaign, "Your message is going to change the world! Just like Jesus!" So I guess I can safely predict how my employment will end. And the Jews will be at fault.

Avenge my death, if you would be so kind. Ya know, if you're not otherwise engaged. Thanks a bunch.

I lost my glasses but I keep reaching up to adjust them. Now I know what it must be like for people who have lost a limb or their pancreas. You reach to adjust it and go, "Oh crap, that's right - I no longer have my pancreas!" Everyone will give a good belly laugh at that one. If I were missing my pancreas I don't think the lack of glasses would bother me nearly as much as it does. But I still have a pancreas, as far as I'm aware, so I have the right to bitch about not having my glasses.

Confusing the Coldplay "Amsterdam" with the Guster "Amsterdam" is just...oh man, it's just so no, ya know?

I thought the line was "bass guitar and Shaq cd". I was like, "Whoa, that's pretty brave of him to admit his ex-girlfriend had a Shaq cd." It was only today that I went, "Oh wait - he said Shaggs - holy crap, is that an obscure reference!"

Not one person in a thousand will know who I'm talking about and that's just swell. Just proves how retro I am - as retro as the dude from Guster.

Can you really call it "retro" if your taste simply hasn't evolved since 1977?

Let's ponder.

thursday can never be friday no matter how much you offer him

2004-12-09T19:27:00.000-06:00

Whenever I'm being pitched to buy into a product or service I always ask, "What are some reasons why others have rejected what you're offering?" It's a pretty standard "now tell me about your weaknesses and don't be all stupid and say something like 'I work too hard' or something" interview question but you'd be surprised at how often this throws off the entire sales pitch. Today was just such a day.

I posed my typical query and the salesperson in question kind of squirmed and said, "Well, some people don't want to use our service because they think it's kind of...illegal."

Well that doesn't sound like a deal-breaker to me! Not at all. Now get out.

Some nights, Brandy isn't a fine girl at all. Don't know why I did it but I don't think I'll ever do it again. Until next time.

Funny joke: Knock knock.
Who's there?
Control freak - now you say "control freak who?"

Most days I get sad when I read "there are no new messages on the server". Other days I get emails with the subject line "Haitian Intifada - please reply" and I wish there were no new messages on the server.

I love how Alfie starts a conversation by saying, "Okay, six things. One..." and then just kind of goes through his list. I also love how Andy just freaks the hell right out about Argentina. It's like the first time I met an Austrian person and I kind of threw all of my pent-up Jewish hostility at her.

I thought it was less-than-awesome, however, how Andy totally busted me out for buying all them cookies. I tried being bulemic for a while but I kept forgetting to purge - maybe it's time to try that hat on once again.

It's not that I dislike the umblemished that walk amongst us - their easy breezy fresh Noxema faces, lives younger than my water heater, just lovin' that Jesus - it's that's I'm afraid for them. Sometimes I can't even be in the same room as these people because I'm afraid that my dark will rub off on them and instantly transform them into the portrait that Dorian Grey kept so fiercly hidden. I like fractured people. I gravitate toward fractured people. Not because damage makes you interesting but it is a tie that binds. I've been beaten to within an inch of my life by virtual strangers on two non-consecutive occasions, but I don't fear the thugs that did it. I fear the sweet kids who, thankfully, are so protected from life that they could never comprehend what it's like to really hurt in any meaningful way. And hey, that's probably one of the least funny things I've ever said, but it was on my mind, so you can just suck on it, yo.

If I were a little bit cooler, a little bit more gangsta, I could get away with calling someone a "trickin' fat ghetto rat". But alas, that day is not today, my friends. That day is not today.

Why Not Matt has the single best holiday skin (skin? HA!) that I've ever seen. It's nice to see that there are still "butt men" out there (or as my mate Paul would say, "badonkadonk") because I'm packing a bit of what you might call "junk" in my so-called "trunk". I hates me some scrolling but with Matt (is Matt a woman or a man? Who knows, as I've yet to absorb any, ya know, content or anything) I found myself not so objectionable when it comes to using the mouse ball, nor, indeed, the scrolling shortcut keys. God bless you and keep you, Matt.

I remember an old love letter from an ex-boyfriend that said, "I'll love you forever, or until which time you become utterly intolerable." Joke's on him, though, as I found him utterly intolerable waaaaay sooner than he found the same of me.

I brought home a big old box of busy work that I didn't get finished today and Zoe told me, "I'll help you until it's time for me to lay my eggs."

That's all I've ever asked.

here i was, thinking it's tuesday but it's actually wednesday so i'm all like "whoa...bonus!"

2004-12-08T11:33:00.000-06:00

I wish I had the power of the Pied Piper only, instead of rats, I'd run stupid people out of my office.

I used to get the Pied Piper, Nero and St. Patrick confused so I thought that someone burned down Ireland because the rats were eating the snakes. True story.

My special needs kid is now obsessed with finding out what my blog is. He told me that I could search for his blog because he told a joke on it yesterday. "You might be a redneck if...um...you might have a dirty truck and you reverse...no, ah...reverse your dirty truck. BEAVER!"

I think all jokes should have word "beaver" added to the punch line. It's just good livin'.

I kind of miss my special needs kid from last year, Gordie. Remember Gordie? He ended up punching out his coach so he's not allowed to come back anymore, so now I have a beaver-joke-telling kid instead. Who blogs. Just like me.

Speaking of punching, I punched someone today. Right in the gut! I was loading up a container for Honduras and the truck driver was a "prevert", as I used to pronounce it when I was a kid. He just stood there watching me instead of, ya know, helping. He was an older guy and he said - I'm not making this up - "In awl mah yearsa drivin' a truck, I ain't never seen no woman on a fawklift, and sointly none as bootiful as y'all."

I gotta admit, I swooned a little. And by "swooned" I, of course, mean, "threw up in my mouth".

He asked, "Do you have a boyfriend or a husband?" and I said "yes". Didn't want him to think there were any vacancies in my life that he might fill. He also sat like a lump while I ran myself ragged shrink-wrapping the pallets and said, "I could watch you all day. I love to see a purdy girl work." It was so annoying.

Then he stood close. Again, I "swooned" - I was thinking, "Okay, you're all pumped up from manual labor - don't go off. Just ignore him." Until I was bending over and was grabbed from behind. You know that thing where a guy will grab your sides and give you a squeeze? Yeah, that thing. I couldn't help myself - I swung around and socked him as hard as I could right in the gut.

But it wasn't him. It was my friend, Sandwich To The Head Guy, and he's built like two small ponies so it didn't hurt him. I did, however, knock the wind out of him, which pleased me for some reason.

So the upshot of my day is that I have aid going to Honduras. The bad part of my day came when Sandwich To The Head Guy accidentally stepped on my toe. The end.

this doesn't bode well

2004-12-07T08:49:00.000-06:00

I'm five minutes in the door and already co-workers 1 & 2 and Boss Man are worried...

CW1: Uh-oh. Natalie's whistling.
me: What?
CW2: That's not good.
me: Why? I know I'm crap, but...
CW1: I wonder who she's going to blow up on today?
CW2: I'm leaving early so it's going to be you.
CW1: Maybe not.
me: What are you talking about?
CW2: Whenever you whistle, you snap at someone.
CW1: Like you're trying to let some insanity out a little at a time but it doesn't work.
me: Really? No way. I've never noticed that.
BMan: Good morning!
CW1: She's whistling.
BMan: Uh-oh.

So apparently they've all had a conversation about how I snap on days that I whistle. I find that oddly curious. But it's kind of nice to know that I'm destined to go off on someone - relieves some of the pressure.

Now I just get to sit back and see who it is. Glad I don't have any meetings with anyone important today - I'd hate for my whistling to be the cause of an international incident.

Toot toot!

---------
update - I just heard word that my buddy Rick a.k.a. Achmed the Deaf Mute has made it safely into Baghdad but that "it's pretty intense with the daily bombings and gunfights...still, could be worse. I could be in Minnesota!"

Ah, you're a funny one.

We have a "differently abled" kid come in every day to do basic cleaning and whatnot to prepare him for having a real job someday and he saw me typing as he emptied my garbage. He said, "You have a blog? I have a blog, too! What's yours called?"

I didn't tell him. I pretended like no, he did NOT recognize the Blogger interface and that, hey, this is something totally different and REALLY IMPORTANT!

He totally didn't buy it, so now I'm whistling really, really hard.

tooooooot. (that was an ominous whistle, by the way.)

it's no wonder i don't have any friends

2004-12-05T11:56:00.000-06:00

Making a new friend is nice, isn't it? Unless your new friend happens to be me, in which case I'll jack with your head.

I was texting with Alfie last night about the Julian and Gregorian calendars (because we're not geeks at all, you see) when he calls me. It was like something out of a John Hughes movie - he was walking home, he sounded a little breathy and he started off by saying, "There's something I wanted to tell you that I couldn't properly convey in a text." I thought, "Ah, here it is. Poor kid's in love with me. Well, it happens - I'll just have to let him down gently." He said, "I just wanted you to know that I was hanging out with some of my friends last night and they were 26 and 27. And I didn't think they were old."

You charmer, you!

It would seem that I made him think that he'd once insulted my age and then I made him feel bad about it. He was shocked (shocked!) that I would do such a thing. That should set the tone for how I like to jack with people. He should have known.

But there's really no excuse for me to pretend like I didn't see anything wrong with digging up bodies to dissect them, even if it is for the sake of art. Sorry 'bout that, Alfie. I was just jacking with ya.

Mike once said something to me about how he'd like to be there to watch me "fuck up people's heads". With me, it's a spectator sport!

I bought polyurethane pants just so that I could tell people that I bought polyurethane pants. I melted them and made them even more wicked bad ass than before. When I wear them I say, "Have you noticed my pants? They're polyurethane. And what are yours made of? Hmmm. Not polyurethane. I see."

I saw Zoe, who is four, on the floor writing something in the rug with her finger. She was very engrossed so I asked her what she was doing. She very darkly replied, "I'm making an anti-zero" and waved me off. It's pretty important work, that. If she's creating an anti-zero now, anti-matter can't be too far behind. I asked her how it was going and she sighed and said, "Not very well". Poor thing.

And one soggy piece of chicken!

There's nothing quite like the thought of sharing your music with someone to throw you taste into a tail spin. It's shit, it's all shit! I'm not cool! Damn you Gordon Lightfoot and your soothing, dulcet tones! Damn you for making me love you so! And where the hell did all this Justin Timberlake come from? I'm like the dude who went on eBay drunk and bought the whole series of "Mama's Family". Don't drink and Kazaa, kiddies. Just don't.

Nothing at all phases my family any more. Nothing I say, that is. When asked what I want for Christmas I rattled off a short list and Samantha took it seriously.

A kiss, a donkey and bubble bath. Merry Christmas to me!

At dinner my broccoli touched my ketchup. I think that's a sign that I need to call in sick to work tomorrow. (Just kidding, work mates! I'll be in with freaking bells on, ready to tackle the challenges, fulfilling though they are, that are to face me. No, seriously. Stop laughing! That's it - you're fired.)

On IM tonight with Smegtacular - "My father was emotionally distant and I don't like muffins."

Let's call that a break-through, folks.

hmmm

2004-12-04T13:32:00.000-06:00

I have so few blog readers anymore that I could invite you all to my wedding and it still wouldn't be considered an ostentatious affair.

I sat through a technical demo for mumble mumble that was given by one of the least technical people I've ever met. "I don't know why everything keeps crashing like that! I don't know computers stuff!" she wailed, like, seven times. I looked at the machine thoughtfully and said, "Was your html properly lubricated with visual basic fluid before you tried launching your embedded table?" Blank look. "I think you should call your tech support and ask them exactly what I just asked you."

Deliciously wicked, or wickedly delicious? You decide!

I was at the shop last night and the woman in front of me put her stuff on the counter, like ya do. The clerk says, "Nineteen fifty-four. No, wait. Seven ten." Just like that. So this woman looks at me like, "Isn't this kid a doofus?" and rolls her eyes. I'm thinking, okay, you just pulled me into the game on your side, but I'm really not interested. So I say, "Boy, they discounted that quickly!" Lame, I know, but I wasn't ready. She then looks at me like I'm an idiot and goes, "...sure...did." Then she gives the clerk the same look that she'd given me a moment before and then he rolls his eyes at ME. He said, "I forgot to void out the last sale" or something like that and the woman nods her head sagely. But of course!

Okay, so now I'm the idiot. I'm stewing while she's making correct change. I'm getting mad. So I blurt out, "You tricked me!" Needless to say, this did little to improve my standing with the clerk and the Mistress of Trickery, aka the woman in front of me in line at the shop last night. The end.

I'm listed somewhere as being the "official blog of Dame Edna" and I've gotten hits from it. I hope She sees that (Dame Edna is a saint so everything in reference to Her needs to be capitalized) and sends me a terse email where She insults my clothing and calls me "poppet". That'd be so boss.

I'm no Dame Edna, but I am, apparently, funny. An online quiz told me so.

You are Thalia, the muse of comedy. You are constantly finding the humor in every situation. However, you are a gossip, and you love to revel in other people's torrid affairs.

I found that via The Drool Factory but I was actually supposed to be taking the "Which of the seven deadly sins are you?" quiz. I saw her result (lust) and was like, "Wait a second - lust wasn't a muse!" And I was sore afraid, and sore confused. And then I got a little hungry. But I kept on taking the quiz, because that's just the kind of "suck it up, soldier!" kinda guy I am.

I think I'm going to start a blog called "My Sim is a Dirty Filthy Whore" and post pictures of all the times she's woo-hooed with people. She's a little slut, that Sim of mine. She hasn't gotten knocked up by an alien yet like my other dude Sim has, but then again she's too busy knockin' das boots (that's German for "gettin' it on") to look through a telescope long enough to even be abducted.

Last night on my drive home I got a call from work because dude couldn't figure out how to move the forklift. In a bid to be "helpful" I'd carefully arranged the mechanical animal such that it was, ya know, directly in his way. I thought it would be funny to pretend that he was some rookie cop that found a bomb and I was the wizened leader of the bomb squad who was unavailable to lend my expertise so I had to talk him through it over the phone. "Do you see those two large plastic things on your left? Carefully, now, careful - don't do it until I say, okay? Carefully connect them. But not too quickly! Are they connected? Good. But you're not out of the woods yet, Jim." (His name is Kyle, but I have an inability to take anyone named "Kyle" seriously.) I dragged that out for, like, ten minutes, at which time Kyle/Jim sighed and said, "I'm seriously beginning to think there's something wrong with you, ya know." To which I replied, "Well, Jim, you have to be a little bit crazy to do what I do. Dismantling bombs for a living is - " He hung up on me.

Once, in high school, I referred to Oscar Wilde as a "shameless pederast". A girl who didn't belong in my class said, "Why should he be ashamed of having to walk everywhere?" This girl also once loudly complained that she was sick of the music director insisting they play, "Stars and Bars Forever". Ah, Jenny - you were so ignorant! How we all laughed at you!

It used to be that every time I took a shower, the sound of the water hitting the tub would make me launch into the first verse of "Purple People Eater". Listen closely the next time you take a shower and you'll see what I mean. But now my detachable shower head is broken so it just hangs there and it's not the same. I haven't felt the urge to sing "Purple People Eater" in weeks, and I'm strangely at peace with that.

When I was about six my sister locked me in a closet and made me sing the state song of Illinois while she taped it. I don't know why, and I don't know how I came to know the song at such a tender age. I also don't know where the tape is now, but it's somewhere in my childhood home, presumably hidden for strategic blackmail purposes.

Illinois

words by C.H. Chamberlain and music by Archibald Johnston

By thy rivers gently flowing, Illinois, Illinois,
O'er thy prairies verdant growing, Illinois, Illinois,
Comes an echo on the breeze.
Rustling through the leafy trees, and its mellow tones are these, Illinois, Illinois,
And its mellow tones are these, Illinois.

From a wilderness of prairies, Illinois, Illinois,
Straight thy way and never varies, Illinois, Illinois,
Till upon the inland sea,
Stands thy great commercial tree, turning all the world to thee, Illinois, Illinois,
Turning all the world to thee, Illinois.

When you heard your country calling, Illinois, Illinois,
Where the shot and shell were falling, Illinois, Illinois,
When the Southern host withdrew,
Pitting Gray against the Blue, There were none more brave than you, Illinois, Illinois,
There were none more brave than you, Illinois.

Not without thy wondrous story, Illinois, Illinois,
Can be writ the nation's glory, Illinois, Illinois,
On the record of thy years,
Abraham Lincoln's name appears, Grant and Logan, and our tears, Illinois, Illinois,
Grant and Logan, and our tears, Illinois.

At the end of it I got really snazzy and belted it out like, "IllinOOOOOOYYY-ah!"

Jazz hands!

it'd be nice if i could even get into the fecking thing to post

2004-12-03T13:20:00.000-06:00

Wait - I'm in?

Cool.

'Bout bloody time.

So anyway - linear thought's for chumps, as I say quite too often far too oftenly.

So is proper grammar and, indeed, real words.

So feck 'em!

I've not really cared for blogging for some time now and I honestly don't know why I suddenly do once again, but I do. Trouble is I seem to have lost The Funny somewhere along the way so now I'm simply all about keepin' it real. Yo.

On relating my home-life to a co-worker the other day: "I have three kids who have the tendency to be total monsters. Then I have Andy, who is like a giant kid who smokes and curses alot. Then there are my three dogs, which are really like hairy stupid kids who could kill me if they were smart enough to realize it."

I'm not necessarily a selfish person, nor am I ungrateful. I just have a block in my brain that makes me not acknowledge when someone does something nice for me. I have to block it because otherwise my brain would overheat while trying to process each and every ulterior motive of said niceness. I have a hypersensitivity to any overt sign of kindness and I tend to dislike people who like me. This is typical. It's also Vonnegut. So I'm in good company.

That said, there is absolutely no excuse for not acknowledging the uber-bad-ass necklace that TQ made for me...by hand...that I so totally and righteously love. I didn't thank you in private because I am, how you say, an asshole, but I'll do it now and in public. Because I'm shite at sending emails and even being a decent human being.

But that was so cool, TQ. Thank you. And I ain't even looking for an ulterior motive or nuthin! I do sincerely apologize for not saying "thank you" before. I'm asstacular and I'm sorry.

TQ can be deep and he kind of scares me. TQ is a vortex. Get thee to a nunnery, post haste! "The plebeian, like me, will be thrown out as salt without flavor, salt without function." Swish, motha fuggah. Swish.

Ah, it's nice not being constricted nor conscripted by linear thought.

Smegnacious and me's gonna do us a song together. You should listen to his cover of "Surrender". It's the most bad ass asstacious baddy song to date. Anyway, we're going to do a song if I can figure out a way to record without it sounding like shit. (Step one - find someone else to sing it, ba dum dum.)

"Anhedonia" is the word you use to describe when you no longer find pleasure in things you otherwise should/did. "Parerethesis" is an excitement for abnormal reasons.

There's a company called "Document Destruction" and I really want to work there. They don't just get rid of your documents - they destroy them. If I worked there I'd totally get all dojo master on those documents.

It's the name I find so funny, like there's some dude in an office somewhere glaring at a pile of paper going, "Yes, I have shredded my documents to be sure. And yet, their essence...it remains! They must be destroyed!" Then he'd call me up and I'd show up all in a robe and bow at him, then destroy the very essence of the documents with my wild dojo ways.

I still mourn the break-up of Guns N Roses because, in all of their years together, they failed to produce a single Christmas album. There will always be a void.

Dear Green Day: The cliche of a fabulously well-to-do rock star talking about walking alone down boulevards of broken dreams is, in and of itself, a cliche. And not a good cliche, like how all hot blonds with big boobs are easy. I mean a bad cliche, like how a once angst-ridden neo-punk singer, now grown fat on domesticity and dividends, has the nerve to whine about how lonely and misunderstood he is. On a boulevard, surrounded by those broken dreams. And loads of cash. Hey, how about you try being a cowboy and riding on a steel horse? Maybe then I'll take you more seriously. Or perhaps I won't.

I brought home one of those great big Christmas tins of multiflavored popcorn last night and convinced Zoe that there were puppies inside.

Go me!

all my spanish speakers in da house say "si"

2004-11-29T11:06:00.001-06:00

At this time of the month I get to sit down and wade through all of the appeals I've received in the past 30 days and decide who we're going to help. (My favorite part of the job, to be sure.) Trouble is, I've received a letter in Spanish and I don't speak a word of it. The letter is from Guatemala but appears to have been walked into the US and mailed from Los Angeles, strangely enough. There is little punctuation or capitalization and it's tough to make out some of the letters, as it appears to have been folded and unfolded many times. If anyone can give me the gist of the letter (I'm assuming it's an appeal but I may be wrong...I don't know if a lot of these words are misspelled or what, but the translators are balking at it) I would certainly appreciate it. (Email me if you can.

Me es grato escribirles estas cuantas lineas para saludarlos muy atentamente y esperando que mi peticion sea oida pues el odjeco de mi precente espara contarles mis penas aqui en Guatemala. pues yo soy Guatemalteca soy madre. Soltera tengo dos ninos una hembray un baron y yo la ilucion mas grande. que he tenido es el sueno americano pero aqui en guatemala vivimos muy oprimidos en lo economico y yo quiciera superarme. Pues tengo amis hijos y quiciera darles. Algo bueno pero quiciera ganarlo con el sodor de mifiente pero quiciera que esta intitucion on empresa o como se llame me ayudara a subir pero yo. No se como pedirles o enque me pueden ayudar pues no quiciera irme mojada pues se que uno de mujer pasa muchos obstaculos por eso yo quiciera que mi peticion fuera oida aqui con ustedes y espero en dios que me escuchen pues mi nombie es (name omitted) y mi direccion. Aldea la esperanza ixhuatan stu Rosa disculpen mis borrones pero son mis nervios. Me suscribo de ustedes. Atentamento.

Little help, anyone?

you know what they say...

2004-11-22T11:52:00.000-06:00

Time flies when you're suffering from massive carpal tunnel in your wrist and are out of Diet Coke!

What? I have no idea - that was my way of saying I'm really freaking surprised that it's noon already.

I'm blogging from work (work!!!) when I should actually be working (working!!!) even though, clearly, I am not (not!!!).

And why am I wasting valuable time? Because I'm the only chick in the office today, wheee! I was able to hog the bathroom first thing this morning and play around with my makeup and it was all downhill from there. Should I cut my hair in bangs? Maybe layer it a bit? Does this clip make my ears look big? What about this lip liner...too dark?

Then, before I knew it, it was eleven o'clock.

*****

Did you see that? No, of course you didn't. What you don't know - what you have no way of knowing if I don't tell you, is that it's now nearly five a.m. the day after I wrote that. Time really does fly, dontcha know?

I thought I'd be smart alecky about posting from work but it backfired and I became uber-busy. Then I was busy not so much. Then I became vaguely tired and I may have approximately napped, but I'm primarily awake. At four-thirty, I woke, which was actually alright because I'd forgotten I'd left a pie to warm in the oven. Sure beats waking up at quarter to five with sweaty, raging nightmares, which is what I've been prone to doing for the past few weeks. Not cool. Monsters have teeth! And they bite! And they scare me!!!

There are entirely too many .edu domains in my stats log. You people really should know better.

I think videos are the worst thing to ever happen to music. Now I get to see what big old dorks The Killers and Franz Ferdinand really are so they don't seem nearly as blistering as they once did. I'm pleased to see Scott Weiland back in the game, but not with Slash and Duff McKagen. (I'm sure I've misspelled a few names there but I'm too lazy to google. Just be impressed that I can still recognize Duff on site, yo.) I sat, bewildered, watching that video going, "Is that Scott? No, that's not Scott. Wait - I'd recognize that hip swivel anywhere - that's what all of my adolescent dreams were made of! Hang on...what happened to the dude that sang 'Lady Picture Show' and who is this guy mimicking a drug overdose with a groupie from Great White?" Then I felt dirty and a little ashamed. But then a video came on which featured a chick who had a butt to the moon, so I was happy again.

.Edu people - should that be "whom" or "who" up there? It probably doesn't matter since I change tense more often than people change water. What does that even mean? I dunno, but it's five in the morning!

I feel really bad about the pie. I'd made it to impress Paulo, who gobbles lobby and will be with us during this Thanksgiving break. It was a wicked good meat pie and I wanted him to say, "This is better than all the meat pies in all of England!" to me, and then rub my feet in appreciation and not make fun of my toes. Alas, 'tis not to be.

Two of the funnier things I've heard lately - first, from my banker: "English people scare me. If you're not careful, they'll kidnap you and put you in their band or on their soccer team. You're just walking around and bam - you're suddenly the drummer for The Verve."

Second, from the dude at the liquor store: "You get better looking each time I see you, and yet, I still don't find you attractive."

Did I happen to mention that it's five? ()

update yer ferkin blog!

2004-11-20T11:55:00.000-06:00

That's what Alfie said to me, and I'm powerless to resist commands which utilize poor grammar and bastardized words.

This may surprise some (many) people, but I have the fantastical ability to be rather professional when I need to. I've even been called "gracious" by an ambassador, yo. He's obviously never seen my ass on a dodge ball court.

But at the same time, I pride myself on the ability to be laid back. I'm so laid back that I'm horizontal. Yet, there are people with which I share a working relationship that simply do not seem to appreciate that.

There's a guy who's been working for me for a few months now and I think he may be on a power trip because lately I'm feeling like I'm working for him. There's been a weird shift in our relationship that I am not entirely comfortable with. Because he's too gat danged professional all the time. It's driving me to distraction. Just once I'd like to answer his, "How are you?" by lifting my shirt up, giving my tummy a slap and saying, "Man, I'm so bloated. I pigged out on salsa and Tang last night while watching reruns of SNL. How you doin'?" But I can't do that. The tassels on his loafers render me powerless.

There's one guy I work with whom I only see about once a week, but he responds really well to my laid-back nature. The last time I saw him I had my back turned to the door while working on my other computer and I heard a "think fast!" I looked up just in time to see a Subway sandwich explode against the wall in a magnificent spray of green pepper and mayo. He then left. It would appear that the gentleman in question drove a hundred miles round-trip simply to throw a sandwich at my head and that's just swell.

But this other guy? I just couldn't see it. Even if I related the sandwich-to-the-head story I bet he'd say something like, "And how did you respond to that? Do you think this is acceptable behavior?" Well hell yes, I think it's acceptable. In fact, I think it's awesome. But, apparently, I am a loser.

I was in a meeting with him last week and a truck driver guy showed up to cart a load of stuff for me. The truck driver was our usual guy but he didn't know this other dude. Truck Driver poked his head into the room and said, "Hey there, good looking!" to me. Other guy about swallowed his tongue, I swear.

I'm approachable - so shoot me.

I just woke from a dream where I was pouring tequila down this guy's throat in a bid to make him loosen up. That was my whole dream. I was at a bar with this guy and grabbed him around the head and poured a bottle of tequila down his neck. I didn't get a chance to see if he finally managed to loosen up, as I was awoken by an intense craving for Little Debbie snack cakes, but now I can't help but entertain the thought of him singing karaoke and accidentally using the womens' restroom rather than the mens'.

I bet he showers with his clothes on. I should ask him. Because I'm the consummate professional, that's why. ()

and he built my hot rod, too

2004-11-13T10:58:00.000-06:00

So last night I finally saw The Passion of the Christ. When it started, Andy grumbled, "Oh, great. I love reading movies." I told him he shouldn't have quit studying Aramaic in school and then he wouldn't have to read so many movies. He was unimpressed.

When the movie came on, Samantha said, "Holy crap - Aragorn was Jesus?!?" I chastised her for being disrespectful but really I was thinking the same thing. I kept expecting Frodo to jump out to save him. Jesus of Gondor!

But I didn't say it, because that would be wrong.

I was actually very moved and sobbed like a little bitch during most of the film. Whether you believe Jesus was the son of God or not, that was a pretty horrific way to die. The suffering is almost beyond comprehension, and I can understand how the idea of God allowing his flesh incarnate to die that way for the sake of all mankind still resonates deeply today.

Which brings me to a conversation I was having with Smeggy Smeg about religion. He's a regular Charlie Churchy but he has brains with it, so it's quite a nice mix. I was telling him about a co-worker who is a die-hard evangelical Christian and it's getting on my nerves. Every other phrase out of her mouth is "thank you Jesus!" This is fine in moderation, but the other day she got her sweater snagged on the door. A brief moment of panic ensued where she said something like, "No, no, no! Don't you dare unravel on me!" to her shirt. She unhooked herself and saw there was no damage and said, "Thank you Jesus!"

Jesus died one of the most horrible deaths imaginable to save your soul from eternal damnation and the fires of Hell...and he unsnagged your shirt.

Praise the Lord!

That irritates me to no end. Most of the people I have associations with are like this. During prayer time (sometimes twice a day) we go around the room and vocalize a prayer. I believe that most of the time people are praying for the sake of the audience rather than to God. They sound like auctioneers half the time, and the other half of the time they sound like they're leaving a message on an answering machine. It's kind of pathetic, really, and gives off a really arrogant vibe.

I wasn't raised in a particularly religious household but I was taught that when you pray, you pray for yourself last. I was taught that you don't pray for specific things - it's not a Christmas list you're delivering, it's your humble thanks to God.

People, I've heard prayers for money. I'm not kidding.

It's really going too far when you say grace over a bag of popcorn, then say "Thank you Jesus" before every single piece you eat.

If I were Jesus I'd be constantly pissed off. I'd be all, "It's fecking popcorn, you moron, now shut the hell up! For this, I died on the cross?" (He was Jewish, you know, so I'm sure he has that backwards question thing going on.)

Ah, so much sport! And right on the brink of the holiday season, so it's just going to get worse.

Lord give me strength. ()

being gay is the new nader

2004-11-06T10:42:00.000-06:00

When I heard that so many states had the gay marriage amendment on the ballot, part of me knew that the election was a done deal. All of those newly registered voters, whom I'd originally credited to Puff Daddy, were actually of the "thems gays ain't gonn sully up the sanctity of my marriage, nosiree bob!" persuasion. This was reinforced when the exit polls showed that the majority of Bush supporters cited "moral values" as their top concern.

That's right. Gay marriage ranked higher than terrorism. The nation is now on purple alert.

I couldn't believe that so many states are now moving towards amending their constitutions to limit civil rights based on sexuality. I thought, "How can you restrict the rights of someone based on something they have no control over?" Then it dawned on me - these voters are people who believe homosexuality is a choice.

I grew up with a gay brother and, believe me, that boy wasn't choosing nuthin.

I don't want to go into a tirade about gay rights or how I believe you're born how you're born or how you can't legislate morality - I believe I've done my fair share of that in the past on here - but I will say this:

To all of my gay brothers and sisters out there: Marry each other. I'm sure that most committed lesbian couples know committed gay men...pair up! It's a gay marriage and there ain't shit anyone can do about it! Because if this past election has proven anything to me, it's that I won't see a legally recognized proper gay marriage in my lifetime. Sad, but probably true. But I've found you the best loophole you're probably going to get.

Moving on.

Well, I still haven't managed to help Sudan, but not for lack of trying. I've made some fascinating contacts along the way, though, including one of the "Lost Boys". I mean the Sudanese rather than the vampires or the Peter Pan clan. The Lost Boys of Sudan were a band of boys (primarily) whose families were attacked and killed. The girls of the Sudan people are considered the property of the father, so the majority of them died along with their parents, but many of the boys fled - trekking for miles and miles across barren, harsh terrain until they reached the border to Kenya. Many of them died along the way. Relief organizations knew what was going on (even if the rest of the world didn't) and would fly in low and drop water and rice near the boys. They couldn't land because of the risk - nevermind the risk that the kids were taking, but that's another tirade for another day.

The boy I know is now a man and was relocated to the United States a few years back. The Kenyan government didn't want these boys, and since they couldn't readily prove they were orphans they weren't afforded the same assistance as regular orphans. Many of them were given asylum in the US, and I'm lucky enough to know one of them.

During his trek across Sudan he woke up after a brief nap and found vultures eating his brothers eyes out. He's the last person in his family. He has the facial modification of his tribe but he had to look up the history of his people on the internet to even find out the significance of the scarring.

Last week, the government-sanctioned military surrounded the refugee camps in Darfur. They wouldn't allow humanitarian workers into the camps and no one knew what was going on. They had destroyed everything, including water pumps - leaving thousands of people with no source of drinking water - and looted all of the relief for the people. They carried on killing and raping the people that they've been killing and raping for years. And no one has even tried to stop them. Before too long, Sudan will consist of nothing more than the military and the rebels, who will then kill each other off. Sudan will no long exist in any meaningful sense. That's not some doomsday prophesy - the UN agrees with me.

But, hey, no one listens to the UN anyway, right? We're all a bunch of morons.

So until I can pull together a meaningful way to help Sudan I have to turn my attention elsewhere - like so many others, I know, I know - and am getting relief into Baghdad, Mombasa, Dodoma, Pristina and Tegucigalpa instead. Gotta keep myself busy, you see.

Wow, I've gone and depressed myself here, so I will leave you with one of the funniest things I've said in a long time - funny to me, anyway. From comments at Andy's where he misquoted...

"Actually, Samuel Johnson first came up with this definition for his famed dictionary: "patriotism - Combustible rubbish ready to the torch of any one ambitious to illuminate his name." The quote you're thinking of is from "The Devil's Dictionary" by Ambrose Bierce, which states, "In Dr. Johnson's famous dictionary, patriotism is defined as the last refuge of a scoundrel. With all due respect to an enlightened but inferior lexicographer, I beg to submit that it is the first."

HA HA HA HA HA!!!"

Oh yeah - I can still bring the funny. ()

ADDENDUM:

TRANS-GLOBAL EXPRESS (Paul Weller)

Ordinary people don't get time to think
not that it's their fault
cos you have to hustle and bustle about your work
just to make sure the food gets bought
governments threaten you with recession
then they threaten you with war
how the other side wants to take away
all the things you ain't got no more
keep us divided with their greed and hate
keep you struggling to put the food on your plate.

Imagine if tomorrow the workers went on strike
not just British Leyland but the whole world
who would earn their profits?
who would make their bombs?
you'd see the hands of oppression fumble
and their systems crash to the ground
and you men in uniform will have to learn the lesson too
not to turn against your own kind
whenever governments tell you to.

Get the trans-global express moving
and see our marvellous leaders quiver
they know that if it happens
their lazy days are over
the day the working people join together
we'll all rest much more easy
the responsibility you must bear
when it's your own future in your hands
maybe a hard one to face up to
but at least you will own yourself

christmas in october, yo

2004-10-29T21:27:00.000-05:00

By this time tomorrow, I will have met Gee Dubya President, slapped him in the face, and been killed by the Secret Service.

Then you can all sigh and say, "I knew her when..."

This will be right up there with the time that George Michael knocked me down at Heathrow airport after his "coming out" interview when he tried to suck off a cop in a public bathroom.

Man, my life is sweet.

Am I a star-fucker? Perhaps.

But Gee Dubya President, coming into my work...just too much temptation. Like I told Andy tonight, I have to not be totally enthralled because all it does is remind me of whom it is that's actually going to be there - to avoid getting hyper psycho on his ass.

For all of those Secret Service fellas who may be reading me for "background" at the moment (or as I like to call them, the "SS") please know this:

I so super duper love, love, love the president and all of the choices he's made thus far. Sending those kids to die on faulty ingelligence in Baghdad? A stroke of brilliance, my fellow 'Merkins. Totally ignoring Osama because he proved too tricky to capture? Excellent!

My gawd, how do I love thee?!? Let me count the "dead in a foreign country with no one to mourn them because it's unpatriotic to 'go against' our soldiers during this time of war, war, war" ways.

At most, I'll have three to five seconds with the man. How can I condence nearly four years of vitriol into that short of a conversation?

Wish me luck, folks.

Thank sweet jeebus I live in a swing state, or else the fucker would totally be ignoring us right now. ()