All Things Considered...

Just a smattering of random thoughts, micro-updates, and other miscellaneous bits o'crap. Enjoy.

I'm avoiding my husband's phone calls. I have caller ID, and I KNOW WHEN IT'S HIM. And he KNOWS WHY, TOO. (The secret to a long and successful marriage is not 'communication' and 'respect' and the rest of that crap the marriage counseling industry tries to force upon us. The true secret is infantile and childish behavior. That, and liquor.)

The only way The Amazing Race could have ended better last night was, when Ray and Deanna stepped on the mat to be eliminated after having their asses whipped by the brothers, would have been if Deanna had turned to Ray and kicked him square in the balls.

My daughter is asleep. Dear God in Heaven be praised, my daughter is asleep.

I have been de-linked. I don't know when, or why, but it's there. And it hurts. OK, so it doesn't really. (Dear De-Linker, was it something I said? Was it merely an oversight? A computer glitch? ALIENS OVERTAKING YOUR BRAIN?!? I'm only curious. Not in the least bit hurt. Nuh-uh, not me.)

We have temporarily postponed the house-hunt, because 1) house-hunting sucks, and 2) house-hunting REALLY sucks.

I'd really like to give the Sims Online game a try. However, I still haven't been able to finish reading Lord of the Rings, and kids are just pure evil in short pants, so this is highly unlikely.

Um ... yeah, that's it.

You CAN Go Home Again, but Don't Count on Blogging About It

Ok, let's try this again, and hope Blogger doesn't decide to crap all over itself again.

I was quite perturbed, when I came home and found that Defective Yeti had gone on temporary hiatus, and that this was just a huge conspiracy to make my life hell. Then, once I had posted and reposted and re-reposted (see above) about it, and went after the link to provide for you fine people, he was back. This just proved the conspiracy theory. Harumph.

Then I went off on a tangent about how my cats had broken the house rules and thrown wild parties, running through all the extra water, food and litter we had left for them. Then, when they were on the brink of starvation or dehydration maybe 20 minutes after the food run out and 30 minutes before we came home, apparently ran around and left little stress-induced 'surprises' all over our house.

Then I went off in a fit of pique about how The Blogger Train has derailed again, and I'm not sure if I'm even spelling 'pique' correctly, but at this point I don't give a crap. The point of this bitch session was that I'd put more effort in posting than writing this drivel.

Then I ended with a nice, little gift for SJ:

My life is shit! Everything sucks! SEND ME MONEY!!!!!!!!

I missed you, too.

Now, try and imagine how funny this would have been the first time around.

And ... She's Off!

*Advisory: This post contains slightly sensitive subject matter. Said subject matter is not to be mocked in any way, shape or form by any persons, other than those known affectionately as Kif or Llama. Those found to be mocking subject matter (other than those previously stated as exempt) shall be found and their faces chewed upon by rabid ground squirrels. Or something. In other words, "If you can't say something nice, then shut your piehole."

I will be out of town, temporarily, to help and visit Mrs. Potato Head, aka Mom. My grandma, aka Scary Old Broad, is now a Scary Old Broad who is unable to live alone. So, we are going to be moving her Scary Old Stuff into a Scary New Joint. I expect it to take a few days, and I also expect it to require vast amounts of liquor, most of it for me.

So, there will be no empty promises for sandwiches, no Naked Barbie pics, no llama porn references during this time. However, I leave you with this:



Have fun, kids.

Things I'd Like to See:

A Price is Right contestant attacking another because they were outbid by a dollar.

A Disney cartoon couple breaking off from a kiss, and having a saliva string between them.

Ireland.

A reality show featuring challenges such as wrestling pot-bellied pigs for bubble gum, and chasing voles while drunk. (Preferably, the chaser would be the drunk one, but drunk voles could work, too.) Oh, wait ... Never mind.

Robin Williams to be funny again.

John Leguizamo ... doing anything. Clothes purely optional.

A graceful way to end this list.


(*Addendum: This has nothing to do with the list, but is just an example of what Trackback does, for Pops et al.)

You Know What's Really Good?

COFFEE. OMG COFFEEEEEEEEEE! COFFEE AFTER ABSOLUTELY NO COFFEE FOR LIKE 3 WEEKS BECAUSE YOU HAVE HAD STRESS RELATED INDIGESTION THAT FELT LIKE AN ALIEN (not a baby) AND YOU COULDN'T STOMACH COFFEE AND BESIDES YOU KEPT FORGETTING TO GET SOME WHEN YOU WERE AT THE STORE AND TODAY YOU FINALLY HAD A CUP AND ITS LIKE THE BEST THING EVER AND WHO THE HELL NEEDS A SHIFT KEY WHEN YOU HAVE COFFFFFFFFFFFFFEEEEEEEEEEEEE.

I'm going to go take a nap, now.

And If Thine Eye Offend Thee ...

See, my son has given up candy for Lent. He's been a real trooper, too, and eats the replacement cookies without so much as a whimper. Brave lad.

Until today.

I come into the room, and see him quickly whip something behind his back. One raised eyebrow later, he showed me his contraband: a canister of Paint Spray Liquid Candy. Seeing his abashed and guilty look, I opened my mouth to say that he wasn't in trouble with me, as this wasn't something I had told him not to do ... then I saw the tears in his eyes.

Tears. Now, although I'm raising my kids Catholic, if the guilt inherent to the religion is causing actual emotional pain, then there's clearly a problem somewhere ... Then I see the faint blue mark between his eyes.

In his fervor and excitement about putting one over on me and God, he'd effectively maced himself.

Title Which in No Way Plagiarizes From Another Blog Called The Mother of all Blogs

Hmmm. I seem to have been, unbeknownst to me (till today, when it became knownst), that I've been labeled as a 'Parenting Blog.' As in, a blog about being a parent. Sweet Aunt Bitsy, what the hell does that mean?!?

No, really, I'm asking.

I don't think this blog is necessarily about mothering. Not that there's anything wrong with being a mother. I am one, and I think it's pretty safe to say that most of us have had a mother, at one point or another in our lives. That, or we've been in the same room with one. We may have even smiled and said hello, if we are kind and caring people.

Maybe it's me. See, I would think that to qualify as a Parenting Blog, one would have to talk about ... Parenting. Like, on a regular basis. (Here I would like to most sincerely point out: If anyone has come here, looking for reasonable, rational and/or sane parenting tips, please go somewhere else. Duct tape, although funny, is NOT a reasonable alternative to daycare. Also, please don't call the authorities, it was just that one time, I swear.)

So, that leaves the question: What category does this belong in? I have done political posts, a smattering of adult entertainment, and have discussed my painful and debilitating disease. All highly entertaining and informative, I'm sure, but still leaves me wondering where I fit in.

No, really, I'm asking.

I Find That Today is the Official I Hate Matt Jackson Day

Since I am unlucky enough to attract my own trolls, (YET! There's always hope!) despite numerous attempts, I'm gonna borrow one from Dooce.

I find that Mr. Matt Jackson needs some more e-mails. A LOT more e-mails. E-mails from: Women who are 'workplace liabilities.' Women who have 'got married', 'got knocked up' and/or 'pumped out a puppy.' Hens. Hens who have been porked by an athlete or actor. Anyone with a functioning brain and a grammar-checker. Oh, hell, how about anyone reading this right now?

Because I find him to be really needing as many e-mails as necessary.

*And if anyone else wishes to find space in their blog to spread the love, be my guest. If you can find the time.

Things That Piss Me Off

I'm feeling exceptionally ... special today, so am going to just skip all the preamble and witty banter, and just get down to the good bits.

1) When I'm in the throes of self-pity and am whining piteously and over-dramatically (hand fluttering about my forehead and fetch my smelling salts!) about how "I don't have anything to dooooooooo! I'm borrrrrrrrrred!", and someone says, "Well, you have plenty of housework to do. Don't you?" Well, maybe I do, but kiss my ass anyway.

2) The realization, that no matter how many cheeseburgers and ice cream shakes I consume, I will never be Queen Latifah. NEVER. I'm destined to die a scrawny, oily-faced, cholesterol-ridden heart-diseasey death.

3) I was going to say Joan Rivers, but then remembered she blasted Sean Penn as an idiot, (see next item) so this doesn't apply anymore. Well, not for about 2 weeks, anyway.

4) Sean Penn and his 'compromised sense of humor.' How about NO sense of humor? Jeff Spicoli, we hardly knew ye.

5) The fact that I had a huge list earlier, but forget them the moment I sat down and began typing.

6) Long lists.

7) Short lists.

8) Lists that climb on rocks.

9) Unnecessary sequels to books and movies. It is possible to live in a world where Scarlett and Rhett never bump uglies again, and there is a limit to the amount of times incestual relationships can still be considered entertaining. (Alexandra Ripley, and the ghost-writers to V.C. Andrews, I'm talking to YOU.)

10) People who are raising their eyebrows and clucking their tongues while muttering sardonically about how V.C. Andrews was never entertaining. I was 12, and I also read Orwell and Poe and Shakespeare and Oedipus did his MOM, and wasn't even a ballerina, so shut the hell up.

11) Joan Rivers. (Wow, that didn't last as long as I thought it would.)

*Addendum: I realized last night, after I had shut down the computer and I was already in bed, that Shakespeare didn't write Oedipus. I knew this, but I didn't want to drag my carcass out of bed to correct it. I was trying to make a point, dammit, I was too busy to stop and fact check everything. Anyway, to err is human, to point it out pisses me off, and Oedipus still banged his mama, so shut the hell up.

I Would Like ...

... to express my profound regret and sorrow to the hapless Pizza Joint Workers who are forced to answer the phone by saying: "Thanks for calling The Pizza Joint, where we go the extra smile." That is just wrong.

... for this fucking Alien that has been gnawing at me for lo these many weeks to just let the other shoe drop and burst through my ribcage, already. (Indigestion, my ass. It's an Alien, I tell ya. NO, it's not a heart attack, or ulcer, because I can't afford either.)

... to not to have to juggle numbers around in my head to see if I can really afford to plunk down $10 and change for a Pizza Joint Pizza.

... for the damn people who are just watching my ebay crap to bid, already. I'm juggling numbers for pizza and I have an Alien life form in my chest. Cut me a break, already.

... to stop overusing the word 'already', already.

Random Acts of ... Somethin'. Oh, and Underwear!

At least he didn't almost say 'booger' on the air.

Convenience store, or Portal to Hell?

I was looking up 'manatees.' I swear!

Here's the Real Deal

Now I REALLY have a theme song!

Many thanks to Assface Derek.