Friday, April 29, 2005

PENIS ASSWIPE SNICKERS

Go read this

and leave a comment

but don't beat yourself up if you can't think of one as good as mine because I'm just gifted that way.

Thursday, April 28, 2005

Don't Let Them Stick Their Finger in Your Dike

This song has been running through my head (if you know it, please feel free to sing along, and if I flub some of the words, go get your own freaking blog and stop being so critical!))

I am a pretty little Dutch girl
As pretty as pretty can be
And all the boys
Around my block
Are crazy over me

I L-O-V-E love you
I K-I-S-S kiss you
I K-I-S-S kiss you on your
F-A-C-E face face face!

I have a boyfriend Fatty
He comes from Cincinnati
With forty-eight toes
And a pickle on his nose
And this is what he says to me

I L-O-V-E love you
I K-I-S-S kiss you
I K-I-S-S kiss you on your
F-A-C-E face face face!

One day when I was walking
I heard my boyfriend talking
To a little girl
With a strawberry curl
And this is what he said to her

I L-O-V-E love you
I K-I-S-S kiss you
I K-I-S-S kiss you on your
F-A-C-E face face face!



Ok, so this girl is attractive, although we may be able to assume she is a little conceited (I mean who goes around saying that they are "as pretty as pretty can be"? Exactly.). She's pretty and all the boys are after her. She may put out - we don't know. We just have the lyrics.

Pretty girl has a boyfriend. Now the boyfriend is obviously not a looker. Even if you can somehow IGNORE the obesity (we assume) and the PLETHORA of extra podiatric digits, the guy has a PICKLE on his nose (I'm thinking it's a dill).

Now I picture her liking his toes (maybe he is, let's say, TALENTED with them). Maybe she accepts and loves his pickle too. She's a salty snack kind of girl. She even loves Cincinnati (WKRP fan, the works). You think he would be THRILLED to find a pretty girl who loves him for who he is.

But nooooooo!

By the NEXT VERSE he is putting the moves on ANOTHER GIRL!!! Same lines and everything! Is this how things work in the Netherlands?

Or is it just MEN?

Wednesday, April 27, 2005

Fuck You Blogger

I had a GREAT post (well maybe it wasn't great, but I spent some quality time on it damn it!) for today but Blogger ate it.

No "recover post". No way to find it. Just ate it.

I'm sulking.

Come back tomorrow.

Tuesday, April 26, 2005

Mr. Clean

Today I want to wax poetic about the beauty of bald headed men.

Why? Because you guys are ADORABLE! Especially since so many of you see it as such a chink in your Man Armor. It tends to make you a little shyish and uncertain. S-E-X-Y!!!

Did I mention that my dad is pretty much bald (he's the Bruce Willis scruffy/shaved bald)? Plus I just found out that there are more than one of you (bald-ish guys I mean) that read this tripe (I don't know why, but, er, thanks!).

I have this friend in Nebraska who was well on his way last time I saw him (10-ish years ago) and have seen more recent pictures showing that progress has indeed been made. He was pretty self-conscious about it. I told him to knock it off. He had these AMAZING blue/green eyes - the kind where he would be talking to me and I would have to go "What?" because I realized I was so busy staring that I wasn't following the conversation. He also had fabulous laugh lines AROUND his eyes. It was a miracle I could ever hold up my end of a conversation.

My stepsister's husband is bald and he is one of the kindest people I have ever met. At Christmas he always brings a BUFFET of batteries, all sizes, because he never wants a kid to be unable to play with a new toy on Christmas due to lack of battery power. Love him I tell you!

A friend back in AZ is bald and has a big wart on his head. I always tell him that I think the wart is a secret button which, if pushed in the correct sequence of hard-soft-long-short, will enable him to instantly formulate the cure for cancer. He never lets me push it though. I know, you think he'd be a little more willing to suffer for the good of mankind. Apparently not.

I think that which makes you different makes you interesting. I am completely intrigued by scars. I ALWAYS want to know what happened.

I am physically empathetic to the wounds of others. If I see a booboo or hear about how someone was hurt, I get an electric shock up the back of my legs. It's pretty weird actually. I learned recently that it happens to my mom too, so obviously it's an inheritable trait. Wonder if my kids will get it.

I am curious of people with wandering eyes or limps. I really like those speeding around in wheelchairs or even just temporarily soldiering on in casts. People who don't let life kick them in the butt. People who say, "Oh yeah? Well I'll show YOU!"

I was in Toys R' Us a while back and saw a family standing in line. Their son was very handicapped and in a fancy wheelchair. The mom was bending down to tie his shoe and the dad was talking to him. They were both smiling at him and touching him and making little jokes. It was one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen . You could just FEEL how much they loved him. He could start growing another head and I don't think they would have cared. Awesome.

A good friend of mine is getting breast implants next month. I talk / joke about getting them ALL the time (trust me people, Victoria's Secret isn't exactly hounding me to come model bras for them), but I just can't pull the trigger. I am seriously worried that there will be some freak accident and I will die during the surgery. Then my kids would have to grow up knowing that their mom DIED - left them! - just to get bigger boobs. No thanks. Pass!

Wait, what happened here? I swear I was going to talk about cute bald men! Oh well, I'll just go spy on you all with the Google satellite maps. You're easy to pick out.

Monday, April 25, 2005

Blogger Amway

Okay Janel, but just this once.....

1. You're stuck inside Fahrenheit 451, which book do you want to be saved?

I'm going to try to save them ALL.

I think I could take those firemen. Or die trying.

Probably the latter, but nothing like buying the farm for a noble cause.


2. Have you ever had a crush on a fictional character?

I get crushes on fictional characters ALL THE TIME! Isn't that part of the fun of reading? Putting yourself in the story?

My most RECENT crush is Richard from Laurell K. Hamilton's Anita Blake series. I think the fact that he is a werewolf is cool.


3. The last book you purchased?

I don't buy books. I get them from the library for free.

I DID try to buy "Paula" by Isabelle Allende for my best friend, but they only had it in espanol.

I also write a lot of checks to Scholastic (every time my kids get to pick books & I let N's teacher pick a book for class) - come on summer!


4. What are you currently reading?

A Prayer for Owen Meaney by John Irving, but you all already knew that.


5. Five books you would take to a deserted island?

1 - a "How to Survive on a Deserted Island" handbook

2 - The Stand by Stephen King

3 - The Thorn Birds by Colleen McCullough

4 - An entire set of encyclopedias (which I am counting as one book because it's is my list)

5 - Diana Gabaldon's "Outlander" series (again counting as one - back off)



If you REALLY want to know about me and books, check the side bar. The link goes back to a page where I am entering my book list. I am only up to like 1998, but I am working to get everything back to mid-1988 (when I started keeping track). I also posted all the quotes that I found inspiring / entertaining. I'll let you know when I get it all done - if anyone cares.

Saturday, April 23, 2005

I'm so Vain, I Bet I Think This Song is About Me

She can kill with a smile, she can wound with her eyes,
She can ruin your faith with her casual lies,
And she only reveals what she wants you to see.
She hides like a child but she's always a woman to me.

She can lead you to love, she can take you or leave you,
She can ask for the truth but she'll never believe you,
And she'll take what you give her as long as it's free,
Yeah she steals like a thief but she's always a woman to me.

Oh, she takes care of herself, she can wait if she wants,
She's ahead of her time.
Oh, and she never gives out and she never gives in,
She just changes her mind.

And she'll promise you more than the garden of Eden
then she'll carelessly cut you and laugh while you're bleeding,
But she brings out the best and the worst you can be.
Blame it all on yourself cause she's always a woman to me.

Oh, she takes care of herself, she can wait if she wants,
She's ahead of her time.
Oh, and she never gives out and she never gives in,
She just changes her mind.

She is frequently kind and she's suddenly cruel,
She can do as she pleases, she's nobody's fool,
But she can't be convicted, she's earned her degree,
And the most she will do is throw shadows at you
But she's always a woman to me

Thursday, April 21, 2005

Like Mrs. Kravitz, Only Not So Much

I have the most AWESOME neighbor.

Hub and I had the grand total of Two Days to pick a house when we moved here. When we first looked at this one, she was out front of her house and hollered at us "The neighbors are really nice!" and, believe it or not, I wrote that down in my notes about the house (had to keep notes - we saw like twenty some houses in a day-and-a-half).

When I first moved in she:
1 - brought me a map she had drawn of the cul-de-sac with everyone's names, phone numbers, kids names & ages.
2 - brought us breakfast for our first night & organized other neighbors bringing us other meals
3 - brought my kids the most awesome bag lunch while the movers were moving furniture in & I had them cordoned off in the back room

She is beyond fabulous. Plus she has the same kids-will-be-kids-and-more-than-likely-hurt-each-other-severely-on-occasion attitude that I do. I have carried her son back to her house crying numerous times and my son had to get two stitches where his eyebrow meets the top of his nose because her son clocked him in the head with a spade. I told her she should have taken me up on the who-will-send-who-to-the-ER-first pool.

Last night my husband was out of town. My daughter, who had done a little Chernobyl in Target was up in her room, without dinner, going to bed at 5:20pm (apparently April is "Test Your Mommy" month). My son was playing in our yard with her son & the girl next door.

Awesome neighbor calls and says she's grilling burgers, can my son eat over there? I tell her sure, hub is out of town & daughter is in her room, blah blah blah, so we weren't exactly breaking out the chateaubriand tonight. She then offers to send me over a burger and I, never too high-and-mighty to turn down the offer of free food (which occasionally got me into questionable situations during my dating days, but that's another story), say "sure!".

So when the burgers are done she calls over, I send the boys over to her house & the girl home & she sends the boys back over with my superbly delicious burger. She then calls later to see if I had enough & offers to send me another over where I reply that I can't even finish the first one, tasty though it was, because it was giganormous and I am stuffed like last year's Anna Nicole.

About an hour later she calls laughing to tell me that the boys (mine plus two of hers) were jumping on the trampoline when she hears blood curdling screams emanating from the backyard. She rushes out to see all three clutching their heads. Her two are gushing and boohooing and mine is just holding his head and scritching his eyes. She calms her two and comments to mine that the her boys must have taken the brunt of the collision because he doesn't seem to hurt. He tells her,"It hurts, but it doesn't hurt as bad as when C hit me in the head with the shovel." She cracks up and probably leaves her kids blubbering in the yard so she can go in, tell her husband about it, then call me.

A little later she walks my son home & brings me apple crisp for dessert. Now, here is why I REALLY love her - not only does she TRIP on the way over and drop my apple crisp upside down (it was tinfoiled, no fear), but she TELLS me about it when she gets here and we both laugh our asses off!

How can you NOT love a girl like that?

Wednesday, April 20, 2005

Mirage

When I was a child my mother taught me how to swim. She would stand a few feet away from where I clung to the edge of the pool with her arms out-stretched, telling me that I could make it. I would thrust myself away from my secure perch and flail toward her.

Then I opened my eyes one time and saw her feet, underwater, walking backwards away from me. I came up spluttering and shaking and MAD AS HELL!!! I was furious with her for duping me.

Yet here I am as an adult, pulling the wool over my own eyes, as I propel myself blindly through the water, madly swimming toward a destination that is always receding.




I have never had a completely fulfilling relationship. Apparently I either get sex or security, but never both.

I spent years, YEARS!, off and on, trying to make a relationship work with a guy because the sex was SO AMAZING that, to this day if I smell the cologne he wore I almost pass out. But personality wise - we were a train wreck. We fought like cats and dogs (if by "cat" you mean "Bengal tiger" and by dog you mean, um, well, some big tiger-sized dog).

So now I'm married to a WONDERFUL man who lets me fulfill my dream of being a stay-at-home-mom, who thinks I'm sexy and smart and is a hands-on proud father. You can see where this is going, can't you? The sex is abysmal.

Originally I thought it was going to be like giving up smoking. I'd miss it A LOT to begin with, but eventually come to terms with it and miss it less and less. Come to find out, it's more like missing water. I can feel myself shriveling up with want. With need. I'm start to question just what lengths you might go to for a long cold drink.

"I thought he gave you everything you wanted."
"He did, it just turns out I wanted the wrong things."

Only I didn't want the wrong things, I wanted (and got) the RIGHT things. I just miss the "wrong" things.

Tuesday, April 19, 2005

I Did NOT Want to Know That...

A Route 44 Slush from Sonic is over SEVEN HUNDRED CALORIES!!!

Regular Chocolate Coconut Cream Pie shake = Route 44 Slushie


Decisions. Decisions.


How can you not love Sonic? Even their SALADS have Fritos and Onion Rings!!!

Monday, April 18, 2005

Howling at the Moon

Blue Moon by Laurell K. Hamilton:

"Sometimes it's just a gesture, a turn of the head, and you catch your breath, your body reacts on a level you can't control. When it happens, you pretend it didn't, you hide it. Heaven forbid that the object of such instant desire should know what you're thinking."

What is it? Is it the sudden bevy of wrinkles that appears at the corner of his eye when he smiles? Is it the sheepish running of brawny hand through hair that is so childish that it is endearing and sexy all at once?

I think hands are sexy. Some people are all about feet. Or eyes. Or (fill in body part).

Sometimes you can't put the attraction into words. It's just something IN that other person that calls to something IN you.

Yet, "heaven forbid" that person should know what is happening to you. That your mouth is inexplicable watering. That your stomach went a little fluttery. That things lower than your stomach are tingling. Or your knees are threatening to buckle.

Or should they?

Sunday, April 17, 2005

Clowns to the Left of Me, Jokers to the Right

I am the shiny new *Vice President* of our Homeowner's Association.

Will I have my dirty little fingers in everyone's dirty little business?

Yes.

Yes, I will.

Thursday, April 14, 2005

Why they Don't Say WOMAN'S Best Friend...

Since I'm bored, NOTHING exciting has happened lately AND I am too lazy to go surfing for tidbits, I thought I would tell you all the story about how I got arrested and hauled to the pokey through no fault of my own.

Truly.

I swear.

Bad circumstances and bad timing collided with me in the middle.

Really.

Get a snack, something frosty to slake your thirst and make yourself comfortable cause we're going back. WAY back.


I was waitressing at a great brewpub in Lincoln, Nebraska at the time. For reasons I can't currently recall, some of us had met for some sort of meeting (I think) at the OTHER brewpub in town (so we could smugly dine in the knowledge that our place was WAY better). Being in our mid-twenties (aka footloose and fancy free) we OF COURSE imbibed probably a few to many and there may have been some smoking questionable substances in the back of someone's truck too (I plead the fifth / blame it on dead brain cells, but I'm REALLY not sure).

Anyhoo, the festivities break up and I saddle up my Jeep CJ7 and head for home. Well, a few blocks toward home, I see those oh-so-dreaded red and white flashers behind me. Trying not to hyperventilate, I pull it on over. I'm chewing gum like it's the miracle buzz-cure-all and sitting patiently with both hands on the wheel (so as to not startle the nice officer).

The Officer moseys up to the side of my vehicle (topless / doorless jeep - he could see that I was alone) and tells me good evening and asks for the paperwork. I immediately start digging in the glove box (now that I've gotten the go-ahead to move) and I nonchalantly (yeah right!) ask if I had a taillight out or something, because I KNOW I wasn't speeding (sounds cocky, but didn't come out that way - keep in mind that I'm like a 23-ish year old cupcake with charming smile. And I KNOW, in my "influenced" state, I had been keeping it on the right side of the posted limit).

As I snap back up in my seat, registration & insurance in hand, he tells me that my license plate is missing.

Me: (stupidly) "No it's not"

Officer (looking up from his cursory glance at my paperwork) "Yes, it is."

Me: (dimmest bulb on the Christmas tree) "No, it's not."

The nice officer then has me get out of the jeep and leads me to the back, where, whadda you know, my license plate is missing. I circuit the vehicle to check the front plate. Yep, still there.

Me: "Hmmmm"

Back around to the back I go.

Me: (again) "Hmmmmm. It was JUST here!"

Officer: "When was the last time you saw it?"

Me: (realizing that I don't exactly keep tabs on my license plates) "Well, gee. I'm not exactly sure. I don't usually approach from the back."

Officer: "I see"

Me: (getting a little miffed now - I daintily stamp my foot) "Dang nab it! I can't BELIEVE someone stole my license plate! Why would they do that?"

Officer: "I don't know miss."

Me: "This STINKS!"

Officer: "Well, I'll call in and report is stolen."

Me: "It says 'OTTER'. I HIGHLY doubt anyone is using it on their getaway car!"

Officer: snort

Me: "I'm sure it's in someone's basement by now."

Officer: "Well, I'll just call it in so you can be covered until you can get a replacement." (Truly, he is trying to be nice officer-man and help me out)

Me: "Oh, all right."

Officer goes back to his patrol car, sitting in the driver's seat with the door open, as I make a few more circuits looking dumbly at the front plate then back around to gaze at the clean spot where the rear plate should be. Then stand with my hands on my hips looking pissy. I can make out some of what the nice officer is saying. I hear him say things like, "Really?", "Oh.", "For what?" and "Are you sure?", etc and I start to get nervous (again - keeping in mind my altered-reality state that I thought I was passing off as 'normal').

He finally, reluctantly, drags himself out of his car and back over to me looking at the ground. I'm getting a little nervous and wondering what's up.

Officer: "It seems you have a warrant out for your arrest."

Me: WHAT??!!!

(but there just aren't enough question marks and exclamation points in the WORLD to convey the forceful incredulity I pour into that one small word - especially since my bottom jaw is somewhere around pavement level)

Officer: (really, again, looking uncomfortable) "It seems you had a ticket for "Dog at Large" that you did not pay."


FLASHBACK FOR BACKGROUND

I had a gorgeous Samoyed named Tori who was my best friend and constant companion. I had recently moved out of a third-floor one bedroom walk-up apartment in a chopped-up older home to a little two bedroom house that I was renting with a co-worker. I thought Tori would love the good-sized back yard complete with chain-link fence. But she became Houdini Dog and was ALWAYS escaping while I was at work or at church (JUST KIDDING! You KNOW I meant at work or OUT DRINKING).

One time I even caught her squeezing between two layers of overlapped fence. She was pushing herself along the fenceline, about a foot off the ground, trying to get to the edge of the overlap that ended on the outside. I just stood there and watched in awe until she made it, then I went out, called her back and fixed the fence. WONDER DOG!!

Anyhow, I know I had received a warning, but they TAPE the notices to your door. The fact that I had been actually ticketed but NEVER SAW SAID TICKET did not surprise me in the least.


BACK TO OUR HEROINE

(While you were gone getting the background story, I was also back on the side of the road basically giving the same story to the Nice Officer - including the fact that they TAPE important things like tickets to the door).

Poor Mr. Officer is looking REALLY uncomfortable. Here he had pulled me over because someone STOLE my license plate and while he was trying to be HELPFUL he is told to BRING ME IN!!!

I am talking a mile a minute (literally - I talk like an auctioneer under NORMAL circumstances) and trying not to cry when it hits me that I SHOULD cry! After all, that would give me a good reason to be all red-eyed when I show up at the station. So I turn the waterworks on full blast.

Oh gentle readers, you should REALLY be feeling for the Poor Officer right now. Again - me: cute, long brown hair, big brown eyes, cute, blubbering, yet acting occasionally like I'm trying to be "strong" but that I just can't help it (hey, he doesn't need to know I used to be a theatre major. Nor does he know that I am Smart and Sneaky and Manipulative). I am trying to get him to just let me go and PROMISING (batting my eyes forlornly) to go FIRST THING TOMORROW and pay the fine. Of course, he says he can't do that because "they" already know he has me. This information, again, releasing TORRENTS of tears.

Somewhere along the line, I have ended up sitting in the back of the cruiser, but the door is sitting open. I see his "cavalry" pull up. Ironically enough, it is my NEIGHBOR who is a K-9 cop (His dog is a COOL German Shepherd - of course - who has the most AWESOME silver fang. It really makes him look menacing and I LOVE it and HIM. Therefore I say hi to them over the fence and go drool over the dog and give him lovin' when they are out playing frisbee.) He knows I am a "good" neighbor who doesn't have loud parties, goes to work, keeps the lawn from jungle status, etc.

Neighbor Officer: (strolling over to me in the back of the cruiser, wearing goofy smile) I heard the situation over the radio and figured it was you and thought I'd drop by. So, what kind of trouble did that dog get you into this time? (Since he is my neighbor, and a dog owner, he is WELL aware of my dog Trials and Tribulations.)

Me: (flashing watery smile) That damn dog! I keep telling him he needs to take me home & I will GIVE him the dog! SHE is the one that should be going to the slammer!"

Neighbor Officer: laughs and pats my knee

Neighbor Officer & Poor Officer confer with lots of glancing at me and much head shaking. Neighbor Officer turns to waive then goes back to his car (and law-enforcing dog). Then Poor Officer comes over and says how sorry he is, but he really has to take me in, but he's not going to cuff me or anything. I sniff daintily (um, right) and try to smile up a little at him.

Me: "Thank you" (I say, because I think this will make him feel even shittier, which it seems to because he won't even look at me).

He softly shuts the door and, as promised, drives me straight to the pokey.

He walks me down to the booking area, telling them PROFUSELY what the charge is (not paying Dog at Large ticket) and trying to get them to put me in a solitary cell (because decent citizens like me shouldn't be in with, you know, the DRUNKS, or god forbid, the DRUGGIES!!). Unfortunately, Booking Matron Hilda is not impressed with my pathetic self and tells Poor Officer that the solitary cells are full of unconscious drunks so I'm going in the with the "rest" of the women. Poor Officer looks very distressed by this, but can't do anything about it. Before he leaves he tells me again how sorry he is and mopes out the door (I later write him a letter telling him not to be to hard on himself about the incident, he was just "doing his job", etc., because it's ALWAYS good to have a cop who might feel like he OWES YOU ONE!!! Also, I'm just THAT nice of a person. Okay, quit laughing, I AM still in the slammer here)

I am relieved of my shoes, my picture is taken (OH GOOD LORD!! do I start blubbering here, as I think they are taking a mug shot, but it turns out they just want a Polaroid to put on your file so they know who is who and don't accidentally take the rapist away thinking he is the drunk driver, and vice versa). They tell me I have to pay the $100 for the ticket and I pipe right up that I have it, on me, believe it or not (apparently I was going to the bank with my tip money the next day or something). That's all well and fine, but someone has to come get me. I finally call my friend Nick, explain briefly to his sleepy voice (it's like 3am at this point) that I'm in the hoosegow and he agrees to come get me.

Now I get escorted to "my" cell. There are three, maybe four, other women in there. I slip onto the corner of the bench right by the door and try to make myself invisible. Immediately this large black woman asks me "What'd you do honey?".

As I may have mentioned, I don't exactly look criminal, plus I look pretty soggy and forlorn at this point (and inwardly grateful they aren't making me take a pee test or anything and wanting to get the hell outta Dodge before they realize their oversight). I tell her (and when I say "her" I mean everyone in the cell as this is not exactly a clandestine conversation involving the Cone of Silence or anything) about the stolen license plate and the Dog at Large ticket TAPED to the door. She tsks and shakes her head several times during the retelling.

Large black woman: "Honey, you don't belong here."

Me: "I know! That's what I keep telling them!"

Large black woman: chuckles, "Dear, dear, dear"

In the approximately two hours I'm in there, she must tell me that I "don't belong there" at LEAST twelve times. I keep nodding my head and saying, "I know".

When they FINALLY come to spring me, I find out from Nick that he had gotten there right away, but they told him HE had to pay the $100 and he had to go wake up a friend and borrow the money. Freaking idiots!!! I give him the money right back, he takes me back to my jeep (which Poor Officer had told me he would keep an eye on, since it was parked in a dark business area and had no top or anything) and I go home to my dog.

Who is running around out in the front yard.

Fucking dog.

Tuesday, April 12, 2005

I HATE eBay! (But Having Said That....)

I fear for humanity. Truly I do. Although I do get a good daily laugh from it.


hell hath no fury


What? You don't believe in magic? It's the devil's plaything? Oh yeah??!! Well get a load of this!


Look out Pope! Here he comes!!!


You wait until your child is sleeping then put this on their nightstand.


We've seen that the Pope has really gotten around since he died, but now he's got a little boogie in him.


Tuesday is voodoo day.


I already have one of these. I call it "hub". But you might want one.


I'm leaning toward Big Mac, QP With Cheese, Meatloafy, Porterhouse and goulash.


You guys can't actually have this one because I'm all over it. My mom has a birthday coming up.


Her name is Paula (yes HER, keep scrolling down) and she comes by Greyhound bus (I bet none of the other "passengers" even notice).


What to give your ex as a wedding gift (yeah, I'm talking to you Nick!)


Elvis? I'm thinking Lucy from Peanuts.


I ONLY eat Claussen pickles.


Tired of playing Tonto? Now you get to be Silver.


Okay, I gotta go. It's my turn to bring treats for t-ball.

Monday, April 11, 2005

Dear Deity.....

Why are they remaking Amityville Horror?

Why are they remaking Charlie and the Chocolate Factory?

Why would Target still have three tubes of Loreal Paris Dermo-Expertise New Sublime Slim Anti-Cellulite + Skin Sculpting Body Firming Gel - Day, but be completely OUT of Loreal Paris Dermo-Expertise New Sublime Slim Anti-Cellulite + Skin Sculpting Body Firming Gel - Night?

Is Merv in "Sin City" SUPPOSED to look like Kirk Douglas?

Why does it ALWAYS take my son FOREVER to get out of the car when I queue up to drop him off for pre-school? Have I not EXPLAINED to him on NUMEROUS OCCASIONS that we are HOLDING UP THE LINE??!!

What is the half-life of a Butterfinger once it has become permanently lodged in one's molars?

Who WOULDN'T curb-kick Jennifer Aniston for Angelina Jolie?

Why does having short hair mean that you've "given up"?

Why are there never Girl Scouts selling cookies in front of the grocery store when you actually WANT some?

Why do I have such primate arms so that I can't find long-sleeves long enough to actually reach all the way down to my wrists?

When the hell is summer going to be here??

Why is it again that marijuana isn't legal?

Am I Pope yet?

Saturday, April 09, 2005

If You're Evil and You Know it, Stomp Your Hind Feet

(Alternate Title - "Reincarnation - It Ain't All Cleopatra and King Arthur")


I have found where you go if you are very bad in your past life.

Yesterday, my favorite neighbor took the monsters and I to the zoo. Whilst enjoying (well, not to begin with) the snake exhibit, my neighbor rolls her little tyke's stroller right up to the glass to watch a diamondback snake who is trying to slither UP the side glass. This go-getter keeps slowly weaving his way up the glass, back and forth, so persistently and methodically that I am reminded of a certain recent movie starring Jamie Fox. (wait for it.... wait for it... starts with an "R"... ends with an "ay"... got it? Oh NEVER MIND!!)

"Hmmmm. That's interesting." I quip and I start to turn and walk away.

Then I notice what is in the glass enclosure on the OTHER side of the snake. Huddled up against the wall AS FAR AWAY FROM THE SNAKE AS POSSIBLE (indeed, even trying to shrink back into it's own fur) is a little handful-o-puffball of a cottontail. The legend above the enclosure notes that cottontails are the "blue plate special" of diamondbacks everywhere (no, of COURSE it didn't say "blue plate special", but "preffered diet" is just a little to dry for these hallowed halls. Okay? Can I continue? Thank you.)

I find this SO WRONG that I burst out laughing.

"Oh my gosh! I wonder what THAT guy did in his past life that was SO BAD that he came back as a RABBIT in a SNAKE EXHIBIT!!"

Still snorting with laughter, I look again at the enclosure and notice that the poor huddled creature's carrot-hunk lunch has been placed on the floor, by the glass, RIGHT IN FRONT OF THE SNAKE!!! (Zoo employees = animal lovers MY ASS!!!)

Again, laughing even harder, I point this out. As I turn, I see a woman who actually looks pale and stunned by this whole revelation.

I bet she's plotting a complex rescue plan right now.

Friday, April 08, 2005

Fight Club

Occasionally (by which I mean today, but, um, it's happened before)I will hit MYSELF really hard in the face.

Nothing like a left upper cut outta NOWHERE, landing on your cheekbone right below the corner of your eye, to wake you up and get you going in the morning.

Apparently, it would seem, that I am mad at me.

Was I talking shit about myself whilst I slumbered? Was I touching myself inappropriately and thus offended myself? Okay, that can't be it because that happens ALL the time. Maybe it was an accident. Yeah, that's it, an accident.

Just in case it wasn't...

Dear me,
If you are somehow, inexplicably, angry at me, I would just like to say

GET IN LINE BIATCH!!!

Thursday, April 07, 2005

Wait 'Till I Catch Your Little Green Ass...

Dear Lucky Charms people,

I know you worked very hard on the vitamin fortifying and the "part of this complete breakfast" but, I gotta tell you, you're barking up the wrong tree. I feel I speak for the global "many" when I say, we only buy your cereal for the tasty crunchy marshmallow goodness. Period. End of story.

I appreciate, truly I do, the modicum of exercise digging for the tasty treats affords me. But really, I'm not here for the "plot" folks, just give me the money shot. Everything else is just effluvium that has to be Hoovered up. I don't like to Hoover.

So I ask you, nay BEG you, put more marshmallows in the cereal. By "more" I mean a ratio of 90% marshmallow to 10% cereal (assuming cereal has to be involved at all). I don't care if they look like Lucky's hat, Lucky's rainbow or Lucky's sphincter - just load me up.

I thank you in advance for your attention to this vitally important matter.

A J

Wednesday, April 06, 2005

It's a Mad, Mad Blog World

*Nest Blog*

I've been clogging for like 13+ years

*Next Blog*

List you top 10 hottest women. To include pictures, you need the photo of the woman on your computer and then click on the Upload Image/File button.

*Next Blog*

I have two lovely adorable turtles name Mac and Cheese.

*Next Blog*

Is anyone else super excited about the discovery of soft tissue in a 70 million-year-old Tyrannosaurus Rex bone?

*Next Blog*

A couple of hours later- having befriend both of the boys so much so that the younger one felt more than comfortable to gaze longingly at Gianna's chest.

*Next Blog*

Location Rents for $75/hr or $750 for the day. If you use Lee in a scene, the rate is discounted.

*Next Blog*

I fell off a yoga ball and laughed really wierd

*Next Blog*

My wrist is starting to hurt, and there's only so much of Eric Evans in Harry Squatter and the Sorcerer's Bone I can handle

*Next Blog*

Let me begin by saying that no one in my neighborhood has ever been nominated for Septic System of the Year awards.

*Next Blog*

I still believe that shi-tzus and little fru fru things are naturally pathetic and ragged-looking and always have crusty butts/eyes and I would sooner carry a turd in a party hat like an ice cream cone than I would put one in a burberry carryall

*Next Blog*

I got no cash and I got no ride,
I lost my Secret Ultra so
I smell like low tide.

*Next Blog*

Moving up to Minnesota most of these vikings have no clue as to what succotash is, so its fairly hard to find.

*Next Blog*

Speaking of midgets, they are some funny looking human beings.

*Next Blog*

Put the ping-pong paddle down, Billy

*Next Blog*

"Here I am, middle of the night, a slight buzz, in a Wal-Mart looking at a little plastic Chewbacca, smelling like a stripper."

*Next Blog*

“Did you know that ‘puttanesca sauce’ translates to 'sauce of the whore?'”

*Next Blog*

Tuesday, April 05, 2005

Gimme a T!!

Last night we went to N's first t-ball game. You couldn't miss us. We were the geeks with adult-sized uniform shirts that said "N's mom", "N's dad", "N's nana" and "N's grandpa" on them. We were also yelling almost the entire time (okay, that was actually just me, seeing as how I feel that there are very few things in life that can't be improved by yelling during them - see also "sex", "roller coasters" and "giving birth").


Highlights (other than the 25 MPH wind) -

- Our first base girl and our "pitcher" girl running toward a ball dribbling up the first base line. First base girl gets it first and hands it to pitcher girl who holds it until first base girl gets back to first base then throws it to her. It makes it about a third of the way. First base girl runs over and picks it up and runs back to first base (where the runner has been for about a minute and a half).

- Our catcher "pouncing" on every ball in his reach and rolling around with it like he's wrestling a Bengal tiger. I love this kid.

- Their batter who whiffs three or four times then finally makes just enough contact to knock the ball off the tee. Barely. Repeat whole cycle six or seven times until he finally hits it off and it rolls about four feet. The umpire decides to make an exception by not calling it a foul (otherwise we might be here all day) and tells him to run. Which he does - toward the pitching mound. Then, to cries of "First base! First base!!", toward second.

- Batters repeatedly running to first and standing with their teammate until said teammate can be convinced to scurry on to second. Repeatedly.

- Play continuing despite various players on both sides being carried to the port-o-potties and/or chasing their hats (did I mention the wind?).

- Outfield players, oblivious of the cliche', picking dandelions


Oh, and the Chick-Fil-A cow put in an appearance.

It was a red letter day.

Monday, April 04, 2005

Might as Well Face It - I'm Addicted to Blog

Help me.

Seriously.

My children are running out of underwear. I can't find the wood portion of my desk top. We are eating out a repulsive amount. A sparkling array of books sits gathering dust upon my lonely nightstand. Movies linger on TiVo, unwatched, until they die of old age and drop off. I believe my kitchen floor is growing a pelt.

I am so addicted to blog surfing it is affecting my mental health.

Oh, "Next Blog" button, you are so tempting and alluring. I am drawn to the Vegas-slot-machine-like response you elicit. You had me at "Next". You had me at "Next".

Recently I went to comment on a "Next Blog" blog and found the other comment was from a blog I read frequently. What a co-inky-dink, you might say. I think not. It's the karma of blog. The natural flowing cycle of blog. Or as Cate so eloquently puts it, The Incestuous Circle of Blog.

I store up blog stories, Stephen-King-"Bag-of-Bones"-like, so as to keep you, the discriminating public, happy. I picture you like Perry White, sitting behind your desk, teeth gnashing furiously on a stogie, barking "Where's the story??!! You call THAT a STORY? GET OUTTA MY OFFICE!!!"

I like finding promising new bloggers and giving them the comment nudge to keep up the good work. I lurk around the "bigger fish", neglecting to comment as I feel 68 comments already is more than enough.

I do a lot of eyerolling and snorting derisively. A LOT.

Between the non-blog-related masturbation and the blog-addict-necessitated mouse use, I'm pretty sure I will be losing all use of my right hand post haste. Maybe I can use my toes. For the COMPUTER you freaks! I'm not THAT limber.

Sunday, April 03, 2005

Okie Dorkie

These crazy Okies...

Last night, hub went down to his mom's house (have I mentioned that she just moved here from AZ? Down the street?) to watch the Suns game (keeping up on the hometown teams - her husband has the package deal-i-o where you get ALL games for NBA and Baseball. No football though because, let's face it, no one outside the owner and the players families gives a RAT'S PATOOTIE about the Cardinals). I took the opportunity to lounge on the couch and watch some backlogged TiVo crap.

About, oh, 9:30 or so the phone rings. I THROW myself off the couch and through the kitchen and LAND on top of the phone mid ring two. I am irate because hub is out and calling when he KNOWS the kids are in bed. I'm thinking to myself, "this had better be good".

Me: (a little breathless) Hello?

Him: (a little slurry) Hello?

("Great!!", I think, "How many beers HAS he had? What a jackass.")

Me: What the HELL are you doing calling me?

Him: Uh, who is this?

Me: Who the hell do you think it is?

Him: Uh...

Me: Who were you trying to call, you JACKASS??!!

Him: Uh, well uh, I was trying to call my fiance.

Me: (ROARING with laughter) OH MY GOD!! OH MY GOD! I AM SOOOOO SORRY! (laughing so hard by this time that I am bent over) I totally thought you were my husband! Oh my God! I AM so sorry!

Him: Well, uh, I guess I forgot to dial the area code or somethin'. Are you in Tulsa because I'm tryin' to call from Fort (something something - I was still laughing too hard to catch it)?

Me: Yes, I'm in Tulsa. Really, I am SO sorry!

Him: No problem. I guess I just messed up.

Me: (trying to quit laughing and picturing this guy thinking "Who IS this psycho chick??!!") I bet you're glad I'M not your fiance, hunh?

Him: Yeah, uh, heh heh. Well, sorry.

Me: No problem! Really! Sorry!! Sorry!

*click*

I go back to horizontal mode still chuckling to myself.


Fast forward to today.


We walked down to MIL's house for dinner. When we get home a little after 8:30, I check the messages while hub herds the monkeys up to get jammies and brush teeth.

"You have ONE new message...
New message, today at 8:30pm...

"Hello, this is Ronnie Hargrove. Hey, I was just callin' - one of my buddies called you on accident last night and he told me I needed to call you just so I could hear what a sexy voice you had. I know it sounds kind of silly. But, anyway, if you wanna call me back for some reason, my number is XXX-XXXX and sorry for callin'. Bye."

"End of message. To erase this message press 7. To save it press 9."

Nine, baby! NINE!!!

Saturday, April 02, 2005

Ultra Marathon Man - Road Kill Waiting to Happen

During one of my blog strolls, I came upon a blog that linked to this article about Ultra Marathon Man


Although the entire story is worth many a head shake, I found the following particularly whiplash inducing...


"In his book Karnazes describes in gripping detail the pain and exhaustion of running his first 100-mile race in a mountain range with an elevation change of 38,000 feet (11,580 m) -- equivalent to climbing up and down the Empire State Building 15 times.

'The first time I did it was really a journey into the unknown,' he said. 'I had no idea if I could withstand it.'

Despite 'pretty severe blisters, losing a toe nail as well as temporarily going blind,' he made it.

'I realized when I crossed the finish line that I had learned more about myself in the past 21 hours than I had accumulated in a lifetime.'

The next challenge was the Badwater race, 135 miles across Death Valley in southern California to Mount Whitney, the highest peak in the contiguous United States, in July, when temperatures can exceed 130 degrees Fahrenheit (54 degrees Celsius).

'You run down the white line on the side of the road because your shoes will melt if you run on the asphalt.'"


Oh, where to start?

Blisters? Okay. Losing a toenail? Happens to a lot of runners. TEMPORARILY GOING BLIND? Um, mister? Maybe it's the powers-that-be's way of telling you to STOP FU$#%@ING RUNNING!!!

Moving along to...

Gee, if the ASPHALT is so hot it is causing your SHOES TO MELT, what exactly do you think it is doing TO YOUR BODY??!! Your BRAIN is probably doing a little "fire burn, and cauldron bubble" in there.

(Side note: In light of his nocturnal running habit, I gotta say I think I would be okay with him being MY husband. My hub hogs the sheet and snores like a rabid beast. I would have NO problem with him going out jogging for the night and leaving me with the whole bed to myself. Bonus points for meeting me somewhere for breakfast.

What's a little (obvious) mental illness in the face of bed monopoly?)

Friday, April 01, 2005

April Fool

You don't have to play any tricks on me today people as, apparently, I am out to get myself.

First as I was walking down the stairs in my socks (which I don't normally wear, but occasionally my concern over the welfare of the carpet - or more likely the increasingly hazardous stickiness of the kitchen tile - makes me rethink my normal barefoot routine) carrying a bunch of hangars down to the laundry room when I SLIPPED. I was on my ass, at the bottom, and in pain before I ever even knew what hit me.

The floor looked like a hangar grenade exploded and I had somehow managed to scrape my inner right arm on the (now I know) SHARP edge of the newel post from right above my elbow on up in such a manner as to cause skin loss and instant bruising.

"GAAAAHHH! GAAHHH!", I cried like a wounded Muppet. My left hand, of it's own volition, fluttered up to the inside of my right arm to offer consolation and scope out the damage. The contact caused me to again bleat out,

"GAAAHHH!!"

Then, trooper I am, I got up, shook it off, scooped up my once neatly arranged assortment of hangars and continued on to the laundry room. Uh, well I DID take my socks off first. I am holding them personally responsible for the incident and have informed them they will be confined to the inside of shoes from here on out. Fucking assassin socks.

Then, later I did SOMETHING ELSE to myself which I now can't seem to recall. I'm thinking it might have involved a blow to the head, but I can't remember.

Happy First of April from a certified Fool.