The Un-Common Tater

Back From the Dead Placeholder of DOOOOOOOM!

2008-11-30T21:24:00.003-07:00

Suck it, bitches, I'm back.

I don't know what that really means, but it sounded good in my head.

Watch this space.

Look! A New Blog Post!

2007-10-13T19:15:00.000-06:00

Yes, I blatantly stole this from some ladies who I wouldn't necessarily want to meet in a dark alley. However, as they are my knitting brethern (sisterern?) they are automatically cool and down with this type of behavior. Welcome to my world, the sky is purple.

So ... where have I been? (You know you were wondering just this thing. Yes, you WERE, and you know who you are.) And, since I don't know who you are, I'm not gonna tell ya! Nyah, nyah, NYAH.

Ok, I admit it. My life is so dreadfully boring that I just haven't had anything worthwhile to blog about. Sure, I go places and talk to people and move things, but nothing that those not directly involved would even give a crap about. So, why am I even blogging, anyway, since Talking a Lot About Things That Nobody Really Gives a Flying Fuck About is the basic premise of blogging? I have absolutely no idea. Maybe it's some residual guilt about making this guy move my link back and forth then not posting, or some misguided sense of duty after promising blogposts of epic proportions, or maybe I'm a little drunk and a lot bored. Whatever it is, Disney still sucks (here'th the proof) and Belle is not a princess. There is a history to this comment, but you're gonna have to find it all on your lonesome. Or not.

So, here I am, casting around for a worthy topic to re-enter the Blogosphere on, and all I can think of (or have my husband think of) is the plate of unfinished nachos on our table. And that is just so pathetically ... pathetic ... that I think I may have just achieved true Blogging Greatness. This plate of unfinished nachos just might be my Moby Dick, my Citizen Kane, my When Harry Met Sally Fake Orgasm Scene. Or it just may just be a poor excuse to show Tigger and Pluto's true colors. (By the way, why did Tigger feel it necessary to steal the kid's pumpkin, after trying to rip his head off? I mean, talk about adding insult to injury.)

And, that's about all I have, till the wine wears off. Or I have a plate of unfinished Gorditas to talk about.

Harry Potter And The Whiny Hallows

2007-07-03T23:31:00.000-06:00

Wow, that was a whole lot of potty language and whining, eh? My apologies ...

Just so you know, not only am I a big Whiny McWhinyPants, I'm also easily amused.

The One Where the Label (and Grammar) Sucks

2007-06-30T12:48:00.001-06:00

This is one of those days where I would like people to just leave me the fuck alone. However, since nobody else seemed to have gotten the memo, and keep wandering in asking for food and attention and can I come out of the closet please, it's hot in here I'll be good ... I don't really have a proper end to this statement. Hmmmm.

This has been an interesting week. I lost a chicken (not 'lost' as in: "Well, did you check under the couch cushions?" but 'lost' as in 'Laying eggs is for suckers, I wanna be STEW.') I'm not sure exactly sure how it happened, but I'm relatively sure it went something like this: "Hey, Other Chickens! Wanna see something really cool? I can fit my ENTIRE HEAD between this cinderblock and the underside of the chicken coop, and JUMP OFF!" So, starting the week by burying one of my critters (to which my husband yells: "YOU didn't bury ANYTHING, I DID.") ... fine, METAPHORICALLY burying one of my critters (and when, exactly, did I become Ellie Mae Clampett, and can I be expecting the boobs anytime soon?) just seemed like an icky way, karmically (karma-ically? karmicly?) speaking way to start the week.

Then I get the holy mother of god this fucking HURTS migraine from hell on acid two days later (you know the type, when you have a steel band wrapped around a vise grip that is digging into your brain (and, as a side note? When your significant other is prostrate on the floor, sobbing in agony and describing the pain as above, it's NOT helpful to spout out bits of information like this: "Well, you can't feel ANYthing in your brain, as there are no nerve endings up there." "Oh, yeah? Well, are there nerve endings down HERE?!?" (This last statement was only just now made up, and was never uttered out loud. I'm way too refined and delicate a flower to utter such vulgarities to my dear spouse.) Which brings me to another totally related and not at all bizarre segue; this is just one of the best lines ever: "I'm pleasant. Damn it! I saw Drum Eatenton at the Piggly Wiggly this morning, and I smiled at the son of a bitch 'fore I could help myself." Which also leads to one of the worst lines ever: "Smile! It increases your face value!" Which leads to the question: There was a Steel Magnolias TV show? Who thought this was a good idea? I'll bet it was someone who enjoys that particular line, and has a poster with a kitten hanging from a branch with the caption: Hang in there!

Well, I suppose I'll have to have some sort of moral ending or some shit like that, now, won't I? Let's see ...I know! It could always be worse. See?

Thanks be to Derek for A) having the type of job where he can sit around and record insects instead of WORKING, and B) probably being the only person to read and/or comment on this drivel.

I Never Promised You a Rose Garden

2007-06-21T11:47:00.000-06:00

I can only assume that the lack of comments on my last post was some sort of bizarre retaliatory response to the incorrect paraphrasing of Sir Elton's song, and not at all a show of lack of readership resulting from my spotty posting style of late. To which I respond: Fuck you, it's my blog, and I can misquote whoever and whatever the hell I feel like.

That being said, I did promise to write something (there may even have been something mentioned about 'funny' and 'not so much crap anymore' but I was probably lying) so here goes with the something.

Um ... well ... huh. Let's see ... Oh! We can always talk about how life would be more entertaining if it were like the movies. Remember in Groundhog Day, when Bill Murray's character has relived the same day for maybe the 15th time, and is shocking and awe-ing Andie McDowell's character with all the personal details he knows about everybody in the town. That would make parties so much more entertaining if one could introduce people in this way.

"This is Janice. She drinks too much, and her husband's a dick. Over here are Ted and Alice. They vote Republican, and both have sticks the size of redwood trees up their asses. Oh, and their son is gay and schtupping his gym teacher. Have you met Woody? He drives a very big truck to overcompensate for a small penis, and he's terrible in the sack. That's his wife, Mia, over there. She's an anal retentive neat freak who gives out personal information way too freely. And this is Bob. He has a serious flatulence problem, and will probably be on the news someday for taking hostages at the local McDonald's. Enjoy the party!"

And ... that's all I have for today.

And You Can Tell Everybody ... This Blog is For You ....

2007-06-08T00:37:00.000-06:00

Leave it to Pops to force me out of kinda-but-not-really-retirement by becoming the latest victim of Sir Robin-itis. He's off to become a real writer, make shitloads of money, and eat peanut butter off the rippling abs of ... rippling worshippers of writers with shitloads of money. I had that dream, meself ... (only without the peanut butter. Eww.) I was making moves toward that ... then I suddenly started to suck.

Not that this post is any great shakes, but I used to be ... oh, I don't know ... funny? Then suddenly, I wasn't so much anymore. I don't know what happened exactly, but my posts were just downright shitty. Then I got bored. Then I got all involved in the real world, and started making conversations with people with actual faces in place of blogsites, and things just got all weird after that. You start off having conversations, then you start making lunch dates, showering on a regular basis and changing your clothes daily ... What the hell was I thinking?

So, I'm back, bitches. Pops can just go off and make a million dollars and eventually be mowed down by a minivan, (I wish him the best of luck, though. Bastard.), I'll still be here.

I may not even suck so much. Anything is possible.

Watching Too Many Movies Doesn't Make Me a Loser and Holy Crap This is a Long Meme Placeholder Post of DOOOOOOOM!

2007-03-24T14:48:00.000-06:00

Check off the the ones you've seen and bold the ones you recommend!

(I have tried several times, unsuccessfully, to have a 'jump-to' link to shorten this long-ass thing. You'll just have to deal with it.)

(X) As Good As It Gets - Well, as good as it can get with Cuba Gooding Jr. in the cast.
(X) Good Will Hunting
(X) The Sixth Sense - He was dead the whole time! And not just his career!
(X) Home Alone
(X) Jaws - We're gonna need a bigger boat.
(X) Men In Black
(X) Men In Black 2
(X) Cast Away
(X) Mrs. Doubtfire
(X) Ghost
(X) A Beautiful Mind
(X) Jurassic Park
(X) Passion of the Christ
(X) Rocky Horror Picture Show
(X) Grease
(X) Pirates of the Caribbean - Johnny Depp, being all swashbuckley and shit ...
(X) Pirates of the Caribbean 2: Dead Man’s Chest - See above
( ) Boondock Saints
(X) Fight Club - Brad Pitt, in pre-Brangelina Do-Gooder hotness
(X) The Exorcist - New and exciting uses for split pea soup
(X) Starsky and Hutch
(X) Neverending Story
(X) Blazing Saddles - It's twue! It's TWUE!
(X) Airplane - I am serious. And don't call me Shirley.
(X) The Princess Bride
(X) AnchorMan - I immediately regret this decision.
(X) Napoleon Dynamite
(X) Labyrinth - David Bowie, aka Mr. Androgynous Yummy Pants
( ) Saw
( ) Saw II - I didn't Saw the first one, why would I wanna Saw this one? (Sorry about that, I couldn't resist.)
( ) White Noise
( ) White Oleander
(X) Anger Management
(X) 50 First Dates
(X) The Princess Diaries
(X) The Princess Diaries 2: Royal Engagement
(X) Scream
(X) Scream 2
(X) Scream 3
(X) Scary Movie
(X) Scary Movie 2
(X) Scary Movie 3
( ) Scary Movie 4
(X) American Pie
( ) American Pie 2
(X) American Wedding
( ) American Pie Band Camp - This one time, in film school? I decided to make a really shitty movie ...
(X) Harry Potter 1
(X) Harry Potter 2
(X) Harry Potter 3
(X) Harry Potter 4
( ) Resident Evil 1
( ) Resident Evil 2
(X) The Wedding Singer
(X) Little Black Book
(X) The Village - Yeah, so the movie sucked. But ... Joaquin Phoenix!
(X) Lilo & Stitch
(X) Finding Nemo
(X) Finding Neverland - Johnny Depp, being all literary and shit.
(X) Signs
(X) The Grinch
( ) Texas Chainsaw Massacre
( ) Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning
(X) White Chicks
(X) Butterfly Effect
(X) 13 Going on 30 - The best thing about this was the Thriller dance-along. And that is really very sad.
(X) I, Robot - Yes, Will Smith, it IS possible to say "Oh, HELL no!" one too many times.
(X) Robots
(X) Dodgeball: A True Underdog Story - You can dodge a wrench, you can dodge this movie. (But you shouldn't.)
( ) Universal Soldier
(X) Lemony Snicket: A Series Of Unfortunate Events
(X) Along Came Polly - Then She Was Hit By a Bus.
( ) Deep Impact
(X) KingPin
(X) Never Been Kissed
(X) Meet The Parents
(X) Meet the Fockers - Sorry, Babs, but Kathy Bates is a much better (worse?) discomforting in-law.
( )Eight Crazy Nights
( ) Joe Dirt
(X) King Kong - If I want to see a person be eaten alive by a giant slug, I'll go to my mother-in-law's for dinner.
(X) A Cinderella Story
(X) The Terminal - Walk, Forrest. Walk!
( ) The Lizzie McGuire Movie
( ) Passport to Paris
(X) Dumb & Dumber
(X) Dumber & Dumberer
(X) Final Destination
(X) Final Destination 2
( ) Final Destination 3
(X) Halloween - Jamie Curtis shows that knitting is truly a life-saving skill. Well, sorta.
(X) The Ring
( ) The Ring 2
( ) Surviving Christmas
(X) Flubber
( ) Harold & Kumar Go To White Castle
(X) Practical Magic
(X) Chicago
(X) Ghost Ship
( ) From Hell
(X) Hellboy
(X) Secret Window
(X) I Am Sam - I like my mentally challenged Sean Penn's to be a little less politically correct.
(X) The Whole Nine Yards
( ) The Whole Ten Yards
(X) The Day After Tomorrow
(X) Child’s Play
( ) Seed of Chucky
( ) Bride of Chucky
(X) Ten Things I Hate About You
(X) Just Married
( ) Gothika
(X) Nightmare on Elm Street - Johnny Depp, being all messily eaten by a bed and shit
(X) Sixteen Candles - Because it's not every day you get felt up your grandmother
( ) Remember the Titans
( ) Coach Carter
( ) The Grudge
( ) The Grudge 2
(X) The Mask
( ) Son Of The Mask
( ) Bad Boys
( ) Bad Boys 2
( ) Joy Ride
( ) Lucky Number Sleven
(X) Ocean’s Eleven
( ) Ocean’s Twelve
(X) Bourne Identity
( ) Bourne Supremecy
( ) Lone Star
( ) Bedazzled
(X) Predator I - Being forced to watch this should be just cause for divorce
( ) Predator II
( ) The Fog
(X) Ice Age
(X) Ice Age 2: The Meltdown
(X) Curious George - Mostly harmless, just the right amount of cute. It's the chipmunk of the movie world.
(X) Independence Day
(X) Cujo - I like big dogs. Big, slobbering, people eatin' dogs.
( ) A Bronx Tale
( ) Darkness Falls
(X) Christine - I like big cars. Big, slobbering, people eatin' cars.
(X) E.T. - I like big-headed aliens. Big-headed, slobbering, people eatin' ... wait, wrong movie. Sorry.
(X) Children of the Corn - One helluva way to get a theater full of misguided and pissed off Native Americans.
( ) My Bosses Daughter
(X) Maid in Manhattan - There was a big dog in this movie. Couldn't they have locked J-Lo in a Ford Pinto and done Maid in Cujo, instead?
(X) War of the Worlds
(X) Rush Hour
( ) Rush Hour 2
( ) Best Bet
(X) How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days - Alternate title: How To Lose Your Almost Famous Respect in 3 Years
(X) She’s All That - If by 'all that' you mean desperately annoying and absolutely dreadful, then, yeah, I can see it.
( ) Calendar Girls
(X) Sideways
(X) Mars Attacks
( ) Event Horizon
(X) Ever After
(X) Wizard of Oz
(X) Forrest Gump
( ) Big Trouble in Little China
(X) The Terminator
(X) The Terminator 2 - This only deserves half boldness. "Now I know why you cry?!?" You're a fucking ROBOT.
(X) The Terminator 3
(X) X-Men
(X) X-2
(X) X3
(X) Spider-Man - I liked it, despite the fact that whenever Kirsten Dunst fell, she was caught before splattering onto the sidewalk.
(X) Spider-Man 2 - Still no Dunst-cakes, but watchable.
(X) Sky High
( ) Jeepers Creepers
( ) Jeepers Creepers 2
(X) Catch Me If You Can
(X) The Little Mermaid - Hey, guess what? In the REAL story, the mermaid DIES. Let's give the kiddies some aquatic Circle of Life, what say?
(X) Freaky Friday
( ) Reign of Fire
( ) The Skulls
(X) Cruel Intentions
( ) Cruel Intentions 2
(X) The Hot Chick
(X) Shrek
(X) Shrek 2
(X) Swimfan
(X) Miracle on 34th street
(X) Old School
( ) The Notebook
( ) K-Pax
( ) Krippendorf’s Tribe
( ) A Walk to Remember
( ) Ice Castles
( ) Boogeyman
(X) The 40-year-old Virgin
(X) Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring - If I weren't to bold these titles,
(X) Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers - I'd automatically lose my membership (and all privileges therein) in the Dorks of America club
(X) Lord of the Rings: Return Of the King- Actually, I just like seeing Orlando Bloom run around in blond hair and tights. Okay, just in tights.
(X) Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark
(X) Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom - Was the annoying kid from Goonies really necessary? Really?!?
(X) Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade - Sean Connery. Mmmmmm.
( ) Base-ketball
( ) Hostel
(X) Waiting for Guffman
( ) House of 1000 Corpses
( ) Devils Rejects
(X) Elf - Mostly harmless, but not nearly cute enough. It's the bedbug of the movie world.
( ) Highlander
( ) Mothman Prophecies
( ) American History X
( ) Three
( ) The Jacket
( ) Kung Fu Hustle
( ) Shaolin Soccer
( ) Night Watch
(X) Monsters Inc.
(X) Titanic - *Spoiler Alert* At the end of the movie, the ship sinks.
(X) Monty Python and the Holy Grail
( ) Shaun Of the Dead
( ) Willard
( ) High Tension
( ) Club Dread
(X) Hulk
( ) Dawn Of the Dead
(X) Hook
(X) Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe - There are precious few family-friendly movies with talking beavers.
( ) 28 days later - Didn't see this one, but wasn't it about a bunch of zombies in rehab?
( ) Orgazmo
( ) Phantasm
(X) Waterworld - It's like Dances With Wolves, only there's more water, less buffalo, and ... oh yeah, it sucked!
(X) Kill Bill Vol. 1
(X) Kill Bill Vol. 2
( ) Mortal Kombat
( ) Wolf Creek
( ) Kingdom of Heaven
( ) the Hills Have Eyes
( ) I Spit on Your Grave
( ) The Last House on the Left
( ) Re-Animator
(X) Army of Darkness
(X) Star Wars Ep. I The Phantom Menace - See
(X) Star Wars Ep. II Attack of the Clones - Lord
(X) Star Wars Ep. III Revenge of the Sith - Of
(X) Star Wars Ep. IV A New Hope - The
(X) Star Wars Ep. V The Empire Strikes Back - Rings
(X) Star Wars Ep. VI Return of the Jedi - Ewoks!
( ) Ewoks: Caravan Of Courage - You can't be serious.
( ) Ewoks: The Battle For Endor - And you're name's not Shirley.
(X) The Matrix
(X) The Matrix: Reloaded
(X) The Matrix: Revolutions
( ) Animatrix
(X) Evil Dead
(X) Evil Dead 2
( ) Team America: World Police
( )Red Dragon
(X) Silence of the Lambs - It says it likes the movie, or else it gets the hose again.
( ) Hannibal - I'm sure Ray Liotta has a brain. I don't need to actually SEE it.

Ike, Your Village Called ...

2007-02-22T22:40:00.000-07:00

I'm annoyed. I gave up chocolate for Lent, and I'm thisclose to killing someone with a sharpened ... something that isn't usually sharp but would make a bizarre weapon.

Because I'm annoyed, I refuse to switch over to the NEW! and IMPROVED! Blogger POS, which would further annoy me because I'm an idiot. (See above reference to chocolate and Lent.)

Updated to add: I was forced to upgrade. Guess what? That's annoying!

You know who else is an idiot? Ike Turner. The following picture should be enough evidence of this:

"Oh, I'm Ike Turner! I'm a big, important man! She's nothing without me!"

"I'm Tina-Fucking-Turner, man. I have shoes that are worth more'n you."

Other things that are annoying me:

My body's monthly ritual of bitch-slapping me into a whimpering sack of cramps and nausea, begging for someone to take a melon-baller and put me out of my misery. (Boy, if karma* works, will this post come back to bite me in the ass, or somewhere in the vicinity of my ass.)

My dog is snoring. This doesn't really annoy me, it's really rather endearing, but I'm just trying to fill up space.

I've been a rather shabby friend to a rather not-shabby person who is going/has gone through several shit-based life events lately. Llama, I'm sorry. Really, really. And if you have pictures of you and Sam on the giraffe, can I have them? I promise I won't sell them over the Internet. For much, anyway.

I'm annoyed at how much this post sucks.

*or whatever it is that makes things come back and bite one in the vicinity of one's ass.

This Is What Happens When Dorks Marry:

2007-01-31T19:09:00.000-07:00

"I rock!"

"Isn't that next to Iran?"

"No, I Ran is a Flock of Seagulls song."

I apologize for this. I really do.

A Day Late and a Dollar Short Placeholder Post of DOOOOOM.

2006-08-23T09:34:00.000-06:00

Boy, I missed these.

Anyway, here's my Self Portrait Tuesday self-portrait ... on Wednesday.

Oh, it's Self Portrait Sunday (Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday), you say? Well, that makes this even better.

And Now ... Puppies!

2006-08-08T00:06:00.000-06:00

Boy, can I clear a room, or what?!?

If I post puppy pictures, will you come back?

No? Then, how about Vin Diesel as a blonde? Will you come back now?

I thought so.

She Ain't Heavy, She's My Mother

2006-08-03T13:29:00.000-06:00

Ok, the post title sucks great big donkey balls. Shut up, at least I'm posting.

I'm scrawny. No, not slim, or built for speed, or thin. S-C-R-A-W-N-Y. Which leads me to the gripe du jour: Everybody normal hates me. Fine, people cluck their tongues at the Kiera Knightleys and the Oleson Twins as skeletons pictures and comment on the dire need to shove a cheeseburger down the throat of the offending person. But bring that same person to a friendly neighborhood BBQ, and watch the other women present struggle with the innate desire to drag her outside and rearrange her face with garden tools.

Why is it perfectly okay to sit around and bitch about being too fat and getting sympathetic looks and pats on the back and general commiseration and free booze, but say that you wish you had boobs and hips and were a GIRL, for Chrissakes, gets you mentally stabbed in the head with a garden trowel? I mean, I get it, and if the 95 pound lingerie model sitting across from you eats 2 grapes and says, with a dramatic sigh and hand to the forehead: "Oh, I'm so STUFFED! I can't eat another bite, or I'll never fit into my jeans!" by all means, take her out back and beat her to death with a breadstick. BUT, when the 95 pound mother of 2 is sitting across from you, and you just watched her polish off 3 hamburgers, an extra helping of pasta salad, and is currently into her 5th beer, and she's drunkenly sobbing that she's never gonna be Queen Latifah and where did her breasts go and is it possible to buy hips on e-bay, leave her the fuck alone. No, scratch that. Get her a milkshake, then leave her the fuck alone. She didn't say: "Oh, you're so lucky. I wish I was a fat cow, too!" did she? Not to your face, she didn't. (And ... cue hate mail ... NOW.)

Awkward segue into movies and TV. You wanna know things that bug me? That commercial for depression: Where does depression hurt? Everywhere. Who does depression hurt? (Cut to pictures of weepy-looking children, and the DOG.) Because, when you're clinically depressed, and haven't gotten out of bed in 3 days, and are seriously thinking that a 10 am vodka on ice with a Drano chaser would be a swell idea, you don't wanna piss off the DOG.

The Johnny Depp movie that is on everytime I turn on the TV: Secret Window. OK movie, not bad writing, and it's Johnny Depp. Hello? Anyway, when it's discovered that he is in fact the psycho baddie and he's chasing after his ex-wife and she's screaming and running away in terror because he's about to slice and dice her with a shovel, (why is it always gardening implements?) she's bolting out the door to her car, but she pauses and picks up her purse. "Hmmm, I'm going to be fertilizer in about 20 minutes, better put on some lipstick!"

I think that's about it for now. I'd write more, but I have a peanut-butter covered deep fried steak to eat, and a pair of jeans not to fit into anymore. I'll skip the grapes.

At What Point ...

2006-07-11T16:21:00.000-06:00

... can one reply: "Up your butt." to the question: "So, where would you like this light switch?"

... can a woman smash the fucking TV to bits because she's had just about enough of the Tour de France?

... can that same woman stand to hear her significant other talk about the Tour de France before she strangles him with a bike chain?

... is it considered socially acceptable to pitch chicken feces at the neighbor who is still blaming you for the destruction of her garden (which consists of a fucking tomato plant and a stick) and not the 2 hour rainstorm which happened once in 30 years and the fact that she lives downhill from me doesn't matter a bit because water always flows uphill and I should just give up and nuke the whole fucking thing from orbit so her stick won't get wet again ever in this rain soaked pit of despair that we call a mother-fucking DESERT?

... would it be a good idea to suddenly stop posting Placeholders of Doooooom and replace them with a post full of bile and hatred and potty talk?

... should one finally flip out; after the 13th time that day you've been asked "So, are you the new owners? Where's (previous owner's name)?" or after the 27th time you've had to wait 15 minutes for the customer to hang up their cellphone so they can ask you for directions to Starbucks? And what is the better reaction, accidentally spilling hot coffee on them, or leaping through the window into their car and beating them to death with their hood ornament?

... is it considered financially wise to print out Starbucks Sucks pins and hand them out to customers?

... after this business decision would Starbucks sue the snot out of you and you end up living in a cardboard box underneath a bridge?

... would the guy living next to you complain that your shopping cart has diverted the water from under the bridge to his park bench and has therefore destroyed his precious tomato plant and sticks?

... do you finally realize that no matter how many times you delete and rewrite the previous statement, it still isn't the least bit funny?

... should one just decide to screw this list and begin drinking beer?

Thought For The Day Placeholder Post of DOOOOOOM.

2006-05-31T22:47:00.000-06:00

"You buy enough booze, you don't need groceries!"

That's all for today, and YES, I can post as many fucking placeholder posts as I want. Katie Couric and her colon have left the building, I need a few days to recuperate.

Plagairism For Dummies Placeholder Post of DOOOOOM.

2006-05-16T23:00:00.000-06:00

Thanks be to Derek for supplying today's 'crapping-out of a real post' post pic:

(Clicky for biggie-sized.)

I Can't Find the Fucking Picture I Wanted But I Have to Post Anyway Before Derek Pops an Artery Placeholder Post of DOOOOOM.

2006-05-04T20:09:00.000-06:00

Well.

After that fabulous introduction, I find I have nothing more to say.

Odd.

Crappe au Lait

2006-04-22T18:04:00.000-06:00

Regular readers of this blog (all 3 of you) may have noticed that I'm not particularly fond of people in general, and at least 16 of them specifically. (If you have to ask if you are one of them, then you probably are. I'm just sayin'.)

So, what is the best course of action for someone like me? Why, buy and run a small coffee shop, of course. Which is just exactly what I've done, and now I stand around and schlep Exorbitantly Priced Coffee to The Man on a fairly regular basis.

Woe to the public.

Because I Don't Have Enough To Do.

2006-04-04T15:14:00.000-06:00

I~~'m getting~~ have chickens.

Pictures and deliriously funny stories to follow.

Hurry Up and Wait (5 Hours to Delete the Pathetic Portion of Your Sad Little Post)

2006-04-03T12:48:00.000-06:00

No, do not stab someone in the leg with a fork.

I'm waiting for the salesguy to call me back, to see if he can really pull a lower price for concrete out of his ass. (He's really fun at parties, believe me.) The foundation-layer-people (that is SO the correct term) are waiting for me to call them to schedule the pour. I'm waiting for the plumbing inspector to come and inspect the plumbing so the building inspector can come over and be an officious little jerk.

My god, this sounded SO much more interesting in my head. (And, oddly enough, it doesn't make it any more interesting when you put a line through it, 5 hours later. Huh!)

Um ... you know what?

Here's a picture of a monkey washing a cat.

Discuss.

Inconceivable Post of Unusual Size Placeholder of Despa...I Mean, DOOOOOM.

2006-03-30T23:12:00.000-07:00

I've got my (person of significance's) birthday party to plan, my shit-trucks to arrange, my sub-contractor to murder and Guilder to frame for it.

I'm swamped.

I'm Just Wild About Harry ...

2006-03-25T21:52:00.000-07:00

And I also really need to get out more. However, if I did, I wouldn't be able to share these lovely little slices of ... something. And then where would you be? HUH?!? I'll tell you where ... you'd be somewhere else, that's where!

This one is ... well, never mind. Let's just say that there's nothing wrong with it.

And this one is just kinda cute.

But this one is just wrong, on so many levels. (It's so wrong, in fact, that I can't even get the damn video to embed, and I have to do a crappy link job to it, instead.)

Looks Like I Picked the Wrong Day To Stop Having a Brain Tumor for Breakfast

2006-03-24T08:59:00.000-07:00

(Phone call excerpt from this morning.)

Me: Two weeks ago, I ordered a dumpster to be delivered on Thursday, and it never showed up.

Her: When is your service day?

Me: ... For my regular trash pickup? Monday.

Her: OK, then. It will be delivered on Saturday.

My Brain: *POP*

And You Thought the Man Panties Were Scary ...

2006-03-22T23:23:00.000-07:00

Discuss.

Photo courtesy of Go Fug Yourself. Who knows where THEY got it from.

Elephantine Drag Queen Space Saver of DOOOOOOM.

2006-03-19T22:20:00.000-07:00

I'd tell you all to go here to order, but too bad, kids! They're all sold out.

My kid is currently desperately trying to cough up an internal organ. So far, all he's managed to do is deposit his breakfast all over my bed. And I don't mean from out of a BOWL, either.

So, that's all for tonight, folks.

Come and Get Me, Stalkers!

2006-03-13T16:34:00.000-07:00

Location revealing information to follow:

I've got a septic tank pump truck stuck in my front yard. Which will eventually become my back yard, but that's beside the point.

If anyone has a yen to come and start hanging out in what's left of the bushes lining my street, come on down. He's been there for over 45 minutes, and I'm guessing he'll have to just live there now.

Who needs pink flamingos? I've got a SHIT TRUCK on my LAWN.

Looks Like I Picked The Wrong Week To Stop Sniffing Glue

2006-03-09T16:01:00.000-07:00

We're doing some work on our house. Which is to say, we're building the whole damn thing from the ground up. And, since we have a finite amount of money, and would really like to avoid that whole 'mortgage' thing altogether, we're also the General Contractors. My, aren't we the financially savvy/independent/SMART type people?

Can someone shoot me now? Please?

Anyone?

Now, I have a question for those of you out there who have any experience in home-building/contracting/other misc. batshit activities: When is it considered socially acceptable (or fiscally wise) to drive over a sub-contractor with a backhoe? And, if I were to bury him within the foundation, would that make the house structurally unsound? I don't really want a Lawn Dead Sub-Gnome, they are just so tacky.

I am serious. And don't call me Shirley.

It Didn't Have to Be This Way.

2006-03-08T17:27:00.000-07:00

You know, it really didn't. I mean, would it have killed you to comment on my last post? That was comedic GOLD, baby. (If you don't believe me, go on and click on a few. I'll wait.)

Ok, see? You're busting up laughing now, aren't you? Your family has already called 911, thinking you're having a heart attack or an epileptic fit, eh? Well, TOO BAD. That's too little, too late, my friends, and I have no choice but to present you with:

Man Panties.

You're sure gonna comment now, ain't ya?!? (C'mon! They're MAN PANTIES. Oh, never mind.)

(The disturbing image du jour, courtesy of You Knit What?? So, don't give me all the credit.)

Oscar Recap

2006-03-05T23:01:00.000-07:00

"Some actresses wear their hearts on their sleeves. I prefer to wear my boobs on my shoulder."

"Hi, I'm hoping to win an award in the 'Ruffled Lampshade' category!"

"If Joan Rivers takes ONE more step toward me, I'm gonna punch her in the throat."

Robert Altman got the heart of a 30 year old woman.
Dolly Parton got her boobs.

"Gary Busey just punched me in the stomach!"

"I would have been here sooner, but my limo driver just dragged me 16 blocks before realizing I was underneath the car."

"I know I had some gum in here somewhere..."

"I'm not wearing any underwear!"

"Shit, here comes Gary Busey. I know I had some mace in here somewhere ..."

And finally, I refuse to point out that my girl Jennifer Garner lost her footing as well as her nursing bra. Oh, dammit! Well, never mind.

I Lent The Good Title Away

2006-02-28T23:08:00.000-07:00

So, it's another Shrove Tuesday come and gone, and I didn't get my freakin' free pancakes. I did get a few extra beads, though, and let me tell you, the guys at the deli counter are very generous.Now, you may be asking yourselves: Why, in the name of all that is holy, if free food is available within a 20 mile radius, wasn't Our Miss Tater knocking the door down of whatever establishment is offering up the goods? Well, because I was laying in the dirt, with dog water all over myself. Funny thing, gravity. There I was, on the teeny tiny little steps that lead down to our back yard, all in a grand attempt to give CatDog water. Apparently, dogs and other creatures, like, need water to live, and stuff. So, there I was, cup full of dog water in hand, while trying to close the door with the other hand. Good thing I wasn't chewing gum at the same time, or I'd have killed myself. Huge gust of wind takes that opportunity to kick up, blast the door out of my hand, and while clawing at empty air, I took one step backward and ended up on my back with water all over myself. It was like Final Destination For Dummies. (By the way, if anyone is interested in making up a phony movie poster/trailer for the above title, I'd be very happy and laugh till I pee myself to see it. Anyone at all.) So, I've had a dull shoulder and headache all day, but at least I have another excuse to get out of doing the dishes. (Malaria and anthrax only works for so long till people start to catch wise.)And ... that's your entertainment for today.Oh, and I've also come to a very important discovery. The world and the Internet really is in desperate need of Another Damn Knitting Blog. Consider this a public service, and don't thank me. Just send cash. Or yarn. No, just send cash, I can buy my own damn yarn.

(Yes, we're remodeling. The links will be back ... someday. Promise.)

(OK, so the remodeling kinda crapped out on me. The links are back, as is the original template. Can anyone else see me? Am I still here? If a tree falls in the forest, and nobody is around to hear it, and if this isn't the least bit funny, will anyone comment?

Olympic Medalists Don't Need Good Titles

2006-02-26T00:16:00.000-07:00

I'm done with the hat! There was some concern about the size, when it looked like this (pre-blocking):

It looks a little bit better here, laying down:

But it looks normal, and good even, after blocking:

For those of you who aren't bored senseless yet, here's a picture of it right before I finished:

And an arial view, as it's being blocked:

For everyone who has stuck around, and may or may not have sense left, here's my non-knitting contribution to the blog:

You Are 36% Evil

A bit of evil lurks in your heart, but you hide it well.In some ways, you are the most dangerous kind of evil.

How Evil Are You?

Now, back to knitting. I still have time to finish the mittens! To hell with gauge, I'm just working with the suggested needles. Podium, here I come. (Barring a crazed knitter coming at me with a crowbar and a vendetta.)

*Final KO update, before we continue with irregular scheduled programming:

This is as far as I got on the mittens, before Ricky Martin got up to shake his bon-bons onstage:

So. This was my personal best, I'm proud of myself, and I'm having a beer.

We shall resume our regularly scheduled drunken ramblings and blatherings-on about television and my stupid neighbors and whatever other shit I can come up with, next week.

Houston, We Have Bobbles!

2006-02-23T10:34:00.000-07:00

I've been worried about this blog turning into a knitting blog. I've also been worried that posting pictures and talking about my knitting incessently would be kinda dorky.

Then I decided: Hell with it.

Because I can make bobbles! See?

And cables! Those too!

Cables and Bobbles!

Lots and lots of cables ... and ribbing ... and only one bobble.

Ok, so it's kind of a small and weak looking bobble ... but it's a bobble, dammit! Do not judge my Bobble, lest your own Bobbles may be judged. (Peanut Gallery, that's your cue.)

Oh, screw it. Here's a picture of a cat driving a car:

Can't Title, Knitting...

2006-02-21T17:07:00.000-07:00

Things I've learned during these Knitting Olympics:
It doesn't do to cast on while drunk.
It may be fun, and you may believe that you are doing really, really well, but once the morning light shines across your bleary eyes and the kids are bouncing across your bleary body, and you finally see your bleary knitting project ... And you get it, blearily shutting up now.

Anyhow, after I decided to swear off the drink whilst knitting, I got to this stage in the hat process:

The ribbing is done, and I have since started on the cables. And
what pretty, pretty little cables they are. (Pictures soon, promise.)

Here is the same hat, only standing up to give you an idea of the standing up size.

And here's the inside of it, to prove that it is indeed round and hat-like:

And, to keep you non-knitters entertained, here is a picture of Gomez Addams and Thing:

I'm not sure if I'll get to the mittens, since I am currently pulling out stitches to get back on course again (I wasn't drunk, I swear. I was ice dancing, and my partner fell on top of me, and I was so very busy glaring at with him with the glare of icy death, I must have knit when I should have purled.) Plus, I missed a day to sickness, and life also has a pesky habit of requiring people to do things, like eat and be sick and subsequently not eat and hit the Internet searching for answers to why one may be sick (Can't go to doctor, knitting!) ... But that's enough of that.

Next step: Bobbles!

Marvel-ous Placeholder of DOOOOOM.

2006-02-17T20:27:00.000-07:00

Ask all you want, but I'm not telling how I can swing between buildings, without any visible means of support.

You are Spider-Man

You are intelligent, witty,
a bit geeky and have great
power and responsibility.

Click here to take the "Which Superhero are you?" quiz...

(Thanks to Steph for the link.)

I Got Nothing.

2006-02-09T09:05:00.000-07:00

I really don't. I just deleted an entire post starting with my hatred for Dragon Tales and ending with me shooting a man in Mexico just to watch him die, (and in between a bit about what I'm knitting now), and I just couldn't do it. I couldn't bear to bore the shit out of you, my faithful readers.

So, I'm going to dedicate this entire post to knitting.

I finally got the gauge right, after a few swatches and a couple needle size changes.
It's hard to see, but that's 5.25 stitches per inch, baby. (Which is good, please pay attention.)

I also learned myself how to knit in on double pointed needles. (Also good.) I had a little bit of a 'Duh!' moment when I finally learned why they were double pointed. (Yes, I'm fully aware how stupid this sounds. Bite me.) After a few tries, with the extra needles flying every which way, like a pair of plastic high school kids getting busy in the back of a Buick, only with yarn wrapped around their legs, and who's to say it has to be a Buick, why not a Ford ... and you know what? Let's forget the metaphors, they have no place here. After a few tries, I figured it out. And then ... uh ... well ... you know ...

Um ... have I mentioned that I killed a guy?

Muppetty Link Placeholder of DOOOOOOM!

2006-02-03T11:48:00.000-07:00

The completely made up truth behind what happened to Jim Henson.

Discuss.

Exacerbate Exacerbate EXACERBATE!

2006-01-31T09:37:00.000-07:00

So, I'm back, and I could regale you all with tales of my family, describe how much I drank and subsequently behaved due to the drink, even post pictures of myself doing the Cotton Eyed Joe without vomiting all over my husband. But, I'm not going to do that, because I have a responsibility to you people. I have a responsibility to inform you, keep you entertained, maybe even convince a few of you to stop wanking off so much and spend your energies doing more productive things, like curing cancer or organizing your sock drawer. (You know who you are, and for God's sake, take your hands out of your pockets while I'm talking to you. Sheesh!)

However, since I don't give a rat's ass about responsibility, I'm going to chatter on and on about whatever the hell I think is entertaining to me. I can promise that there will be no pictures of celebrities with small dogs attached to their persons, however. (For this post. After this, all bets are off.) Despite my promise to Pops, there will be no half naked pictures of Janet Reno, either. (And, despite all appearances, the mention of Ms. Reno naked is not a cheap bid for skeevy Google hits. This is: ALL ANGELINA JOLIE, ALL NAKED, ALL THE TIME. So is this: BRAD PITT FOUND NAKED IN A DUMPSTER WITH SMALL ANIMALS ATTACHED TO HIS BODY.) See? Chatter chatter chatter. My blog, my rules.

Speaking of my blog, I've discovered something either really pathetic or really helpful, depending on which side of the screen you're sitting on. I was going to take a break from all things Bloggy, only to discover that that exacerbated my general pissiness with everything. I have no real point here, except to say that writing makes me happy (or less pissy, I suppose) and that I will take every opportunity possible to use the word 'exacerbate.' You know what would be funny? If exacerbate actually meant 'stoppage of wanking off.' Which I told you all to STOP DOING, and PUT YOUR HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM. Oh, wash them first, GOD! (Chatter chatter chatter entertain entertain entertain!)

Re-reading what I just wrote (is it considered re-reading if one is the writer? I don't know if writing something constitutes reading it, especially in my case), you'd think that I don't have any sort of plan, or do any sort of rough draft before I spew forth my entertaining chatter (those of you who said 'More like inane drivel' under your breath can just go to the back of the class). You'd THINK that, but you'd be RIGHT. Rough drafts and planning and any sort of cohesive logic is/are for sissies. Yes, Stephen King (found naked in a dumpster with small animals all over his body) is the biggest one of them all. No, I do NOT have every single one of his books, and I do NOT want to hang out with him, and if he asked me to write a book with him and play the cowbell for his band, I'd have to say OH FUCK YES, but I wouldn't be in the least happy about it. Fame and fortune and money coming out of your keester whenever you slap your name on something? Who the fuck would want that? I bet that money coming out of your hindquarters would EXACERBATE whatever sort of hindquarter ailment you may have. Not to say that Stephen King has any sort of bum issues, and he (Stephen King) is most definitely not having an affair with a NAKED ANGELINA JOLIE and I do not have PICTURES OF ANGELINA NAKED.

No small animals were harmed during this blog post.

Chuck Norris approval rating: 2.3 Roundhouse kicks.

It's All Relative.

2006-01-24T16:30:00.000-07:00

First, forgive me for the sucky post title. I know not what I do, I only know I had to get Nekkid Rider off the top of my blog.

So, that being said, I'm just going to chatter on and on, and you all are going to pretend that you care.

I took CatDog into the vet today for her shots, and the vet tech was quite impressed when, as he was taking her temperature, I reassured her by hugging her head and telling her not to worry, just pretend she was in prison. Damn, but I'm funny.

In a few days I'm loading up the car, the kids and whatever clothes bearing receptacle I can find that is not a Hefty garbage bag, driving 4 hours in one direction, staying in a hotel where there will be a shitload of family members hanging around in one general location for a lengthy amount of time doing varied and miscellaneous stuff. I will eat, drink too much, probably not dance because I will be very busy being put on display by my mother, chasing after my devil spawn and having to answer the question exactly 2.3 jillion times: "And who's daughter are you, again?" Then I will drink just a little bit more, do the Chicken Dance, and eventually find myself face down in a hotel bed. Hopefully mine.

So, there you have it. I will be not posting a little bit more than I usually don't post, David Hasselhoff and his Wonder Wrinkles are gone a little bit more, and you all DO care. You really do.

Baywatch Placeholder of DOOOOOM.

2006-01-23T11:54:00.000-07:00

Discuss.

(You click, he gets bigger. And you know you want him bigger.)

How Many Miles Must a Man Walk ...

2006-01-18T23:25:00.000-07:00

and how many times must a woman rip out stitches before she stabs someone in the leg with a knitting needle? (And, conversely, how far can a man walk with a knitting needle stuck in his leg?)

Yes, I've decided upon a project for this fancy little number:

I had my doubts, as it looked and was talked up as an 'easy project' and would only 'take a few days.' Knitters are BLOODY LIARS!

Really, what in the hell was I thinking?!?

Updates and pictures provided as deemed necessary. Profanity and obscene finger gestures are included, at no extra charge.

*Unnecessary update #1-I can do cables! Or ribbing. I can do bumpy stuff! See?

But I'm doing it too loosely, so need different needles. Knitters are not only bloody liars, they are also hopeless spendthrifts. Crazy, lying indigents, the lot of 'em (us).

Stupid Things That Make Me Inordinately Happy

2006-01-17T17:48:00.000-07:00

That my daughter pronounces 'The Simpsons' as 'The Sim-Sims'.

Farting cats.

My son playing with my hair while we watched farting cats.

Gum. (No, not really, but if I said 'rum' that would make me sound like a total boozer.)

~~Tequila.~~

~~Beer.~~

KITTENS! I MEANT KITTENS.

Meeting old friends after a very very long time and jumping up and down and squealing in the parking lot then going to the zoo and doing unspeakably vile things to ice cream cones.

Humorous Google Hits performed by Maj. McSkeevy and his Band of Oddly Shaped Miscreants.

Starting new projects that I really have no time for but there is a set of really cool buttons waiting for me at the end of it.

Will Ferrell. (Yes, I said it, and I immediately regret this decision. No, I need more cowbell. Um, wait ...What's your favorite color?)

Snoring kids, dogs and husbands. Preferably mine, but any will do, in a pinch.

"I can't remember how this list ends, but your mother is a whore."
(No, not your mother. No, not yours, either. Oh, just click on the link, and I'll leave your mother out of it.

HappyFunBall's Completely Useless Post

2006-01-14T10:52:00.000-07:00

Tropical Depression HappyFunBall has been downgraded to General Annoyance and Pestiness With Just About Everything and Everybody. People in the area can expect sudden outbursts of profanity and airborne shoes. Local authorities are asking that people not panic, don't question unless absolutely necessary, and carry a Twix candy bar at all times. Temperatures should level out within 5-10 days.

The humor level of this blog has hit an all time low, and an increase in funny pressure is not expected anytime soon.

The management would like to announce that the person(s) responsible for the above blog post has just been sacked.

The management would further like to announce that the above post was not a real post, in and of itself, but merely a test to see who was paying attention.

The management now wishes to announce that the person(s) responsible for the above test failed miserably and has now been sacked.

The management wishes to express it's heartfelt regret that they are unable to announce anything else, or conduct any more tests, or do anything managerial whatsoever, because they have also been sacked.

Es-Ki-Mo!

2006-01-10T09:29:00.000-07:00

Ok, so depression sucks. Even mild cases, though less so than the really bad stuff. However, before I let this post turn into a chronology of how much life can suck, I'll list off other things that suck.

When you type in a page to look for, and the task bar on the bottom of your screen says 'Done' but all you're looking at is a blank white screen.

Hitting your head on the wall and knocking yourself unconscious for half a day.

Paper cuts.

Paper cuts on your tongue.

Dog/Cat/Child vomit.

Boogers.

People who save their space in a book by laying it down so the pages are spread out on the surface and are really destroying the spine and haven't these people heard of bookmarks?

This list.

Sweaty feet.

Cold feet.

The fact that the people on Sesame Street are all actors and Maria's real name is Sonia Manzano and she and Luis are NOT REALLY MARRIED and I feel so dirty and ashamed.

Proper punctuation.

Missing your favorite television shows.

Famine, pestilence, genocide and daytime televison.

Headaches in the morning.

This movie.

Free-floating anxiety and feelings of despair and worthlessness and the horrible feeling that you truly are alone in the universe and there is no point to life and the vague and unsettling fear that everything including your existence itself is an illusion, fabricated by an evil third party for some sort of dastardly world domination plan and resistance is futile.

Brussel sprouts.

Giant Ass Slippers and Demonized Kittens ...

2006-01-07T14:49:00.000-07:00

These are a few of my favorite things:

A herd of wild yarn balls invaded my house and, since I already fed them once, they won't go away. I'll keep them, fatten them up, and next Fall make a scarf out of them.

Here is the unfinished HP scarf, with 13 more stripes to go. And yes, we have enormous marshmallows in our living room to display stuff on.

Here is my darling headless husband with his Festivus Pole.

Look upon me, and fear the LIPS! Then give me some tuna.

These are really huge orthopedic shoe lookin' slippers. I love them.

CatDog has her reservations.

No, she pretty much hates them.

But, she is no match for the gigantic shoes of doom.

She gave up a valiant fight ...

but the Orthopedic Shoes of Death prevail in the end.

"I'm back from the dead. Give me a steak, or I'll eat your brain."

(Yeah, I'm back, bitches. Deal with it. I am.)

Not Quite Friday Free For All

2006-01-03T12:56:00.000-07:00

First off, this blog will be largely ignored for a while (SJ, commence mocking ... NOW), as I need to do something else. I don't know what else, but something. Depression is only fun for a short while before it gets to be really fucking ANNOYING.

Secondly, this isn't so much a Free For All post as a really fucking short post.

See?

Finally, a Resolution I Can Get Behind.

2006-01-02T11:18:00.000-07:00

In the year 2006 I resolve to:
Molest more hamsters.

Get your resolution here

So, I said I didn't make resolutions. Except this one, and those furry little fuckers are just asking for it.

Many thanks to Flamingo Jones for allowing me the freedom to show my true self, and creep everyone out just a little more than usual. Looks to be a good year.

Insert Witty Title Including the Words 'Fuck' and Auld Lang Syne' Here

2005-12-30T12:56:00.000-07:00

I don't do New Years resolutions, because I'm already a scrawny stick bug, I lose any more weight I'll be dead. I don't smoke, my gambling is limited to walking across the bedroom floor barefoot with 2 cats, 2 kids and a puppy in the house, and don't even talk to me about the demon drink. It loves me, and you can't give up on love.

Speaking of giving up, Dick Clark will be back for ABC's broadcast from Times Square, with Ryan Seacrest the Boy Wonder as co-host. It seems that once the picture of Dick Clark is finally destroyed and the electrodes inside him short out, Ryan will be taking over as the head vampire. It's the end of days, people; get your affairs in order and kiss your butts goodbye.

So, another year is come and gone, and all I have to say is 'Where the fuck did the year go? For that matter, what the hell happened to my shoes?' I don't have any type of actual list, but I did read a few books and saw a handful of movies and didn't see and didn't read a lot more. Best movie I've seen: Chronicles of Narnia. Yes, it's a 'kids' movie, and yes, there was a lot of Christian symbology, but just bite me, ok? It was a great movie. I read the whole series when I was in elementary school, and just this summer gave my son the set my dad gave me when he was still a dad and not a selfish wanker. There were some deviations from the book, but C.S. Lewis wrote the books in such a way that they could be interpreted any number of ways. So, you can go in and draw the obvious inferences: Aslan=Jesus; the White Witch=Satan; or you can make your own comparisons: Aslan=Larry Flynt; The White Witch=Jerry Falwell. It works for anybody: David Letterman/Oprah Winfrey; 1980's Michael Jackson/1990s on Michael Jackson. Try it. Or you can just go and enjoy a good movie, whatever floats your boat.
Other good movies that should be seen but will be suitable for DVD: Wallace and Gromit and the Curse of the Were-Rabbit. Mr. and Mrs. Jones (but only for the part where Brad Pitt goes off a cliff in a speeding car).

I've read a few books, but none were really worth a mention except that the Da Vinci code sucked and the Harry Potter books are always good.

Books I haven't read yet but really want to: Memoirs of a Geisha. I got this as a Christmas present and I have to sit down and read it quickly before I see the movie and I have to see the movie in the theater or my life just won't be worth living. (Thanks to Steph, for a mini-review of the movie so I won't go in with my hopes too high.) I'm also looking forward to reading The Time Traveler's Wife, a book which was suggested somewhere on Defective Yeti's blog. I also started reading but didn't get very far into Wicked. No, I'm not too keen on seeing the the musical, but I suppose it'll beat a poke in the eye.

Movies I missed:
Corpse Bride. If this is still in dollar movies, we might take the kids, but if I have to wait till DVD I'll be okay.
Mirror Mask. This only played for one week in our town, and by the time we got over the Christmas carnage, it had packed its bags and left. Can't describe how monumentally this sucks. The reviews for it were mixed, but since it was A) produced by the Jim Henson Company and was B) described as being '... like the crack baby of Labyrinth and Alice in Wonderland...' I think it deserves a look.

Movies I really wish I had missed:
The Brothers Grimm. I missed this in the theaters, and damn, I wish I had missed it on DVD, but at least I didn't miss it with my shotgun. (OK, fine, I didn't use a shotgun, but doesn't a well-directed eye-rolling and a highly derisive snort amount to the same thing?) The highest bit of praise I can give it was that its director once made good movies.
Valiant. I rented this for the kids. At least the plot summary was short.

And finally, since he's begging for everyone to do this, and he's a 7-foot tall selfish wanker, I'd like to bid a fond farewell to MPH, who is the Sir Robin in our little corner of Blog Camelot (it's just a model!) and he's not going to get a sandwich NOW, but at least I'm not going to turn him into a newt.

Friday Free-For-All

2005-12-27T11:33:00.000-07:00

Has been cancelled, mostly because it sucks.

Anyway, my Christmas was better than my Thanksgiving, in that all the food I shoved down my gullet stayed there. And oh, there was so much food, and there is still so much food. And there is so much suckitude in this post, and that's not going away, either.

T2 had his doubts about Santa, and was questioning the existence of the jolly fat old fuck up till the last minute when he barrelled across the room and over his sister in a desperate bid to get to bed on time. He even went so far as to bribe him, leaving a $1.00 on the table and a note alongside the plate of cookies. Supplicating the elderly with sweeties and cash, smart lad. I'm figuring this new found faith will last till the innocence killing bastards of the 4th grade get a hold of him next week.

So, after the early morning freak out, we headed over to Grandma's to continue the carnage there. And what carnage it was ...

I got a fondue pot, and Memoirs of a Geisha, and the first season of PeeWee's Playhouse and did you know that Laurence Fishburne was Cowboy Curtis and Phil Hartman was Captain Carl and Natasha Lyonne was Opal? Those alone were worth the price of admission, and he had a talking chair named Chairry, which just makes it so much better!

The scarf wasn't finished in time, as predicted, but it was still received with much enthusiasm and just enough B.S. to supplicate me without the use of chocolate or a $20. The man was quite enamored of his presents, one of which was a iron bar in a clay pot which was wrapped in a paper bag and duct tape. Fine, it should have been an aluminum bar, but you can just bite me, okay?

And that's about all the suckiness I can dish out for now. I'll be back later with twice the amount, never fear.

Friday Free-For-All

2005-12-22T22:35:00.000-07:00

I don't have time to eat, much less post.

However, this should get you all through till I come back.

The D' Isney Code

2005-12-21T19:02:00.000-07:00

I'm being kind when I say my latest posts have been ... pretty shitty. Instead of retiring, throwing in the towel, packing it in and packing it up and sneaking away and buggering up and chickening out and pissing off home, yes, bravely throwing in the sponge, which seems to be all the rage these days, I fished into the murky depths of my mind to find something that won't make you want to impale yourself and your pets on a sharpened candy cane. I couldn't find anything, so instead I'm going to talk about a book which caused major controversy and discussions and public beatings in Piggly Wiggly parking lots. Of course, this was months ago, and everyone's all talked about it and nobody gives a flying reindeer fuck anymore, so why not bring it all up again?

Since everyone's either read the book or decided to NOT read the book because everyone who had told them how much it sucked, I'll just go over the key points. (Or I'll just make shit up, and see who's paying attention.)

The book starts out with Jacques Sauniere, the curator of the museum, who in the first chapter is shot in the stomach and left to die. However, he's a remarkably clever man with a passion for the Weekly Jumble, and before he bleeds to death, he finds the time to run around and leave obscure clues before finally taking off all his clothes and arranging his dying body into a final clue for his granddaughter to find instead of just leaving the name of his killer because he's that smart.

Naturally, when the police find the body, in a stroke of deductive genius, they immediately contact Robert Langdon, who is a religious symbologist and naturally the best person to solve a murder. Especially since he is the main suspect, and rather than handcuffing him and taking him in for questioning, they decide that bringing him to the scene of the crime and glaring at him while making thinly veiled accusations is the best course of action.

Next we meet Sophie Neveu, a brilliant cryptologist, granddaughter of the dead guy, and prude extraordinaire. We can tell she's a brilliant cryptologist because not only does she trick Robert into explaining the meaning behind several different codes, she speaks with a French accent.

So, the dead old man with a fetish for kinky sex is dead, he leaves several clues behind that point to the fact that Jesus was doing the horizontal mambo with Mary Magdalene, and we all know this because Da Vinci included her in The Last Supper, and he was a painter so he KNOWS THINGS. (He also included Thing from the Addams Family, a link which is inexplicably omitted.)

Along the way we discover that Walt Disney was also in on the conspiracy theory, and he left several hints in movies that were made years after he was already dead. Clever move, that. One of the movies which had hints was The Little Mermaid because Ariel had red hair. Which makes perfect sense, but what does the giant schlong mean?

So, Sophie and Robert hightail it out of the museum, she continues to pretend to be a dumbass to keep Robert and his highly irritating fop of a best friend an excuse to exposition the shit out of everything while maintaining the writer's illusion that Sophie's character will keep them feminist chicks out there happy.

Blah blah blah and la-di-dah, there are car chases and footraces and a lot of words and finally the whole thing is over and I can devote the rest of this post to something much more important, like Googling my ass.

We Want ... A Shrubbery! (A Nice One, Not Too Expensive.)

2005-12-19T12:11:00.000-07:00

The War on Christmas has hit close to home. In fact, it's IN my home, and about 2 feet to my right. We brought in and decorated the tree last night, and my cat (who shall hereon be called Stinky, not to be confused with her much older and larger 'brother' FatBoy), was in Evil Kitty Hell Spawn heaven (or wherever it is that Demon Cats go to party), targeting only the most fragile and irreplaceable ornaments and whatever bare foot happened to wander past the tree. She has not managed to eat anything yet, I can survive with 9 toes, and the dog is still alive and not crushed to death with a Hallmark Snoopy ornament lodged in her skull, so I can safely say that, as yet, she has failed to destroy this most sacred holiday which is in no way superior to Kwanzaa, Chanukah, Festivus or Bill O'Reilly.

So, we obviously have our Christmas tree up, sans lights because they don't work anymore. The corn husk Nativity scene is done and waiting to be mailed off (even if Mary looks like she had too much Communion wine and can't stop tipping forward into Joseph's nether regions). The Hogwarts scarf, at roughly 1 stripe per 4 hours multiplied by 18 stripes minus 4 stripes divided by 6 days equals one less present under the tree and I'm sure the math isn't right but I'm not finishing the damn thing in time and if you have a problem you can take it up with Santa, dammit oh, and Merry Christmas, darling. The doll clothes will be finished in time, but only because T2 has complete and total faith in everything I say, from "I'm not making anything here, I'm just practicing on my sewing machine and Santa must have come early and eaten all the fudge and although it's only 3 in the afternoon and 7 days till Christmas, I'm pretty sure I heard sleigh bells on the roof so you better get to bed and stay there till I call you."

Now all that is left to do is get the last minute gifts and stocking stuffers; have the customary Christmas Eve meltdown when we realize that although we have enough wrapping paper to entirely cover the White House, we don't have any Scotch tape, and it's somehow your mother's fault, don't blame ME; prepare the airing of the grievances and perform the feats of strength; right before consuming enough spiked eggnog to take down a buffalo and passing out under the tree.

Happy Kwansmasukahus, everyone.

Friday Free-For-All

2005-12-16T15:35:00.000-07:00

Hey, I have a novel idea. Why not just change the name of this entire fucking blog to Friday Free For All, since that seems to be the majority of the posts?

Best laid plans: I had every intention of going to no less than 3 classroom holiday parties, having adult conversation with whatever adults were in the room, while stuffing my face with as much free chocolate and baked goods as I could wrest away from people shorter than I. However, before the first party even started, T2 complained that her eyes hurt, crawled into my lap and started to cry. So, my original plan was condensed into making a mad dash at 3 parties, stuffing my pockets with as much chocolate and baked goods as would fit, and only elbowing one third grader in the throat as I left. So I went home, and instead worked on doll clothes, and watched The Gilmore Girls and tried to see the appeal. I didn't succeed, but I have a new appreciation for throwing small appliances through the television screen.

Here are some good movies to knit to:
All the Harry Potter movies.
Pirates of the Caribbean.
Scrooged.
The Truman Show.

Someone said that if I were to knit using wool yarn, the lanolin would get on my fingers and help heal my cracked skin. Someone LIED.

Boogers are just a bad invention.

Cheese, however, is really good. I like cheese. And bread. I love bread.

Eh, that's it.

Because I Have Nothing Better To Do.

2005-12-13T22:19:00.000-07:00

OK, so let's forget the fact that I have as yet not started on the doll clothes for the Demon Doll I gave T2 for her birthday last year.

Let's also wipe from our collective memory (memories?) that I have also not yet started to LEARN how to knit a Gryffindor scarf for T1 for his Christmas present.

We can, however, take solace and pride in the fact that I have finished the corn husk doll Nativity scene for my mother-in-law and have earned major bonus points with the husband which I will most definitely cash in the next time he asks me to do something vile and unnatural such as housework.

We will all be very relieved next week when we are able to purchase the material for and make the knotted fleece blanket for my father-in-law.

Along the way, let us continue our search for the perfect gift for the husband which will hopefully bring a smile to his face, joy to his heart, and an unending desire to his brain to wash the dishes for the rest of his natural life.

Let us ignore the unfolded clothes and the stack of unopened mail collecting in the living room. Irons and paid bills are for suckers.

Let us instead focus our energies on making Christmas tree ornaments with the children to give to their teachers and not for a moment remark that we do not even HAVE a Christmas tree yet. It's Christmas time, not Logic time. What's the matter with you?

Yea and verily, we shall spend two hours of our lives which we shall never get back watching the Amazing Race Family Edition and cheering just because the Weaver family DIDN'T win and grouse just a teensy weensy bit that none of them were eaten by a bear or Rollie didn't just run them over with a golf cart for being such huge buttheads and making him do every-freaking-thing that involved physical movement.

We shall steadily and dedicatedly breathe into paper bags and recite calming mantras whenever we realize that we will be have to entertain the children for 2 weeks during the Winter Break.

We shall also make up words because it makes us feel smart.

Finally, we shall write long-keyed and tedious blogposts about the above mentioned projects instead of actually doing them because that is just the right thing to do.

Praise be.

Friday Free-For-All

2005-12-09T16:38:00.000-07:00

Enough mental laundry lint for everyone! Enjoy.

If mean people suck, do nice ones blow?

My cat has lips. Why does my cat have lips? Can somebody tell my cat that cats aren't supposed to have lips?

I liked the movie just fine, but c'mon. This has got to stop.

I know how to make the world a better place. To hell with peace, harmony, and the rest of that stuff. What we need is more penguin farmers.

Oh, my, this is even worse than the last post. But I'm still bothered about my cat's lips. And her tail is at least an inch too long ...

I've started knitting. Because I'm an idiot, that's why. But I'll be an idiot who will have a shitload of ugly scarves, so THERE.

I have polka dot underwear, and they make me feel very special.

Lips! On a CAT!

My husband has the worst superhero powers I've ever heard of. He can't stretch his body to unnatural length, he can't fly, but he can rub his stockinged feet on the carpet, and knock the cat through the wall just by touching its nose.

LIPS?!?

I can't go on anymore. This is just too disturbing.

My Dog's a Carpet Muncher

2005-12-08T11:58:00.000-07:00

Dogs are gross. Not gross as in what one earns before taxes, or gross as in certain of dogs. My, would ya look at that pack of dogs! There must be nearly a gross there!

No, gross as in what they put in their mouths, what comes out of their mouths, and what comes out of other places that aren't their mouths, but most certainly will go back in their mouths if certain people at the other end of the leash don't pick it up while screaming NO! BAD DOG.

Other dog owners don't say this, either, no. They blather on and on about how great dogs, how loyal they are, how smart, how well accessorized, how they can kill a man in 30 seconds without leaving a mark and the CIA would be LUCKY to have them. While they are blathering on about Fido's ability to count to do long division and rebuild a carburetor blindfolded, they fail to mention the fact that just that morning he had cat feces hors douvres.

When CatDog was a puppy, I didn't mind, because she limited her intake to puppy food and my fingers, and she could fit into my SHOE, and if that just isn't the cutest fucking thing, then I guess it isn't, but she was in my shoe! She was in my shoe and isn't her puppy breath intoxicating and oh, look she's in my shoe again!

She can't fit in my shoe anymore, and oh, dear god, the grossness. The first time I was forced to witness the gross factor was while on a walk with one of her brothers, in a misguided attempt to socialize her to stop biting the crap out of us and start biting the crap out of other dogs like she's supposed to. Best laid plans of mice, men, and woefully misled dog owners. Instead of behaving like a good dog, and guiding her younger brother to the path of righteousness and not peeing on stuff anymore, she led him off the path, into a low hanging thicket of sharp and pointy branches that humans couldn't penetrate, and straight into an all you can eat buffet of horse shit. See? Gross.

CatDog isn't all bad, of course. There is something to be said for a small creature that just wags his entire body because you went outside the gate to check the mail and dear god why can't I be with you and are you ever coming back and just because I can see you doesn't mean that you won't just poof disappear in a puff of smoke and oh you're coming back you were gone for a whole 3 minutes and it is time for the sniffing and making sure you are really real. Definitely not gross, there. There's also the whole 'barking and defending your humans and property from the evil scarecrows of doom you just placed in the front yard while I watched the whole thing take place but they are clearly evil and must be destroyed from a distance by the sound of my barking while I stand on the porch and do not go near them and it's a good thing I don't have ready access to a word processor or computer because I have no grasp of correct punctuation. Plus, I have no thumbs. How you are reading my thoughts is also just way beyond me but did I mention the evil scarecrows and oh, look, poop!

Oh, and my dog is not a really offensive term (that I would of course never use except as a blog post title read by pretty much anybody who wanders by but it's just a play on words to entice people to read and not meant to be derogatory in any way, shape, or form so that makes it okay) for a lesbian, but really tried to eat my carpet as in my floor covering. Because there was a vast shortage of horse shit in my house. And, she's just gross.

Next post: Well, tomorrow's already Friday, so I'm sure y'all can figure it out.

Friday Free For All*

2005-12-01T23:37:00.000-07:00

*Which In No Way Takes the Place of Carpet Munching Dogs But Merely Serves as a Buffer Post Until Such Time as a Sufficient Post May Be Produced And Blogger Gives You a Limit on How Long Post Titles Can Be, Did You Know That?

Anyway, here's the goods.

Paparazzi are morons. They spot Super Famous and Wildly Overrated Celebrity A strolling down the carpet at Nationally Televised and Stupendously Over-Hyped Awards Ceremony, and what do they do? Start calling her name: "Hey, Super Famous and Wildly Overrated Celebrity A! Look over here!" When has this ever worked? HAS this ever worked? Wouldn't a better attention-getter be to start screaming: "Help, help, my baby's on fire!" ? I bet it would.

Odd Thing That Bugs My Husband #847973: Disney's persistence in including Belle from Beauty and the Beast in it's Disney Princesses clique, because: "She's NOT a princess!" Not that Cinderella is, but it's his gripe, let him split the hairs.

I had a really good observation to make, and I thought of it while I was brushing my teeth, but then I dripped water down my arm, and got my bathrobe sleeve all wet and cold and forgot it and that really sucks because it was a GOOD one. But isn't it a bitch to have wet bathrobe sleeves? (She said drily.)

I had more to say, but ... well, dammit, my sleeves are wet! I can't be expected to work under these conditions!

That is all.

So This is Christmas...

2005-11-29T14:46:00.000-07:00

Nothing begins the pre-Christmas gorgefest (or ends it, I suppose) like reviewing your Turkey Day meal in glorious technicolor Blork-O-Vision. (This was previously known as Vomit-View, but the public relations voices in my head forced me to change it.) Yup, precisely 30 minutes after downing the last bit of my second helping of thirds of sweet potatoes, my stomach did it's best impression of Mt. Vomituvius (the 12 year old humor voices in my head have just murdered the public relations department, deal with it), and that's how I spent my 3-day holiday; curled up in a fetal position ~~praying for mercy while having my insides gnawed upon by demonic elves,~~ not really feeling my best, rather than getting trampled to death outside a Wal*Mart on Black Friday. Life just isn't fair ...

What else I didn't get to do, until Sunday afternoon, was go to the latest Harry Potter angst-fest. But, as noted, I did go on Sunday, and after months of eagerly anticipating it, and after 3 days of ~~bitching and moaning~~ mildly expressing my displeasure about how I was going to miss it again, I was there ... and I was disappointed. Yes, they touched on all the key points, (Big Ass Snake! Dead Muggle! Burning Scar! Quidditch! Death Eaters! Goblet! Teen Angst! Cho Chang! Dragon! Ron's Gone Mental! Rita Skeeter! Mad Eye Moody! Where the Hell are the Dursleys! More Special Effects! Hermione's Suddenly an Hysterical Git With No Logical Reasoning Behind It Unless You've Read the Book and Why Won't Ron Get a Haircut, Already! etc and so forth.), but didn't bother to put in enough back story to make logical sense of anything. I had initially ~~bitched and moaned till my fingers bled~~ put down a lengthy discourse on the flaws of the film, (anyone interested in discussing this, feel free to e-mail me and we'll dish), but here's the condensed version: Fine, leave out the Hermione/S.P.E.W. bit, but was there any other reason to leave in the Rita Skeeter part other than to give Miranda Richardson something to do? Wouldn't that time have been better spent explaining why Hermione suddenly had a meltdown at the end of the ball (teen pregnancy is such a drag, even within the wizarding world) or why Harry suddenly felt compelled to give Cedric information on the first task (busting a meth lab in Diagon Alley)? And, is it just me, or what the hell was with Harry nekkid in the tub with an egg and Moaning (ahem!)Myrtle deep sea diving bit?

Those Brits, sick perverts, the lot of 'em.

And, this just in: What the FUCK happened to Sarah Connor?

(Photo courtesy of the Fug Girls. Who knows where the hell they got it from.)

Next post: My Dog's a Carpet Muncher.

Can't Talk ... Eating ...

2005-11-23T12:06:00.000-07:00

"I'm glad I'm ME."

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.

**Bonus points and extra cranberry sauce for the first one to get the reference(s).**

Friday Free-For-All Quickie

2005-11-04T20:34:00.000-07:00

Yes, I know it's late. Yes, I know you were all waiting with bated breath for my latest installment. Yes, I know that I shouldn't let you all down, you need me to survive.

What I don't know (and don't really want to find out, either) is how the hell they collected this.

That's it, you may now go on about your lives. Nothing more to see here.

(And yes, I realize how much this post sucked. I'll get over it.)

Because Sally Struthers Was Busy

2005-11-03T12:58:00.000-07:00

Due to a recent flare-up of Ennuitis-Shit-For-Brains Syndrome, I was roped in to chairing the silent auction at the Fall Festival at the kids' school. What this means, roughly translated, is I was responsible for doing every fucking thing except complaining about the results. Well, except for picking up 3 items. 3 items out of 100+. The evening went well, we made a decent amount of money, I only had to be physically restrained to prevent bloodshed twice, and if I ever find the person who told me that 'It won't be that much work, you'll have a lot of support!', I'm going to auction off their spleen next year.

Yes, I said next year. Unfortunately, my disease is chronic, there is no cure, and there is little chance at my having a normal life. A normal life where I'm not sleeping under a pile of to-do lists, where my children don't get catfood instead of Cheerios in their cereal bowls because I've only had 3 hours of sleep in the past 2 weeks and the phone isn't permanently grafted to the side of my face and dear god why can't I just say no and don't bother me can't you see I'm busy and where the HELL ARE MY SHOES I HAVE TO GO.

Now, remember I said little chance. There is a glimmer of hope for sufferers of this horrific disease (which, at this point and from here on out includes ... myself ... and that's about it), and that glimmer is you. Well, you and money. I'm starting a most-definitely-for-profit foundation to buy me games, books, movies; whatever it takes to keep myself occupied and the hell away from any and all volunteer-driven events within a 25-mile radius. I accept money orders, cashier's checks, and well-concealed cash.

Don't expect any thank you cards, receipts, or photographs of the poor soul you're sponsoring.

I'm just too damn busy.

Friday Free-For-All

2005-10-28T00:20:00.000-06:00

Aaaaah!! He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Combed!

REDRUM!

Noooooooo!

Braaaaainnnns! Need more BRAAAAAINNNS!

EEEEEE-HEEEE-EEEEEK!

And, finally, it wouldn't be Halloween without pumpkin guts everywhere.

Happy Halloween, everyone.

How Do I Love He?

2005-10-24T20:36:00.000-06:00

Let me count the ways.

Reason #38742 why I adore my husband and will willingly do things with him that I wouldn't do willingly with other people:

He spouts off sentences like this on a regular basis: "You're very big on spleens."

I mean, really. Who wouldn't love that? (YOU won't, that's RIGHT. Because I'm very big on spleens.)

Friday Free-For-All

2005-10-21T18:53:00.000-06:00

Right now, my life is held together with a Band-Aid and a string, and I'm about thisclosetohavingabreakdown of some sort.

Therefore, this is all the mental laundry lint I have to spare for y'all:

Just when I thought I was done with the shabby treatment given me by ER, and could move on to a quality relationship with the much better written but less aesthetically pleasing (Patrick Dempsey was mildly charming in Can't Buy Me Love, but he is NO Goran Visnjic and I'm not 12 anymore) Grey's Anatomy, they drag in John Leguizamo, a man I would pay money to watch eating cornflakes nekkid. First they bring in the Amazon for the menfolk, and now this.

Bastards, the lot of 'em.

Business As Usual

2005-10-12T21:29:00.000-06:00

I will be posting sporadically-er over the next couple of weeks. I'm very busy doing super secret stuff that involves such things as gift baskets, cakewalks, and begging strangers for gifts and monetary donations.

Speaking of gifts from strangers, I received my super spectacular prize from The Son of Cheese today, and you can't get much stranger than him. I've tried, believe me, but I ended up with a bruised collarbone and at least two broken ribs. Although it wasn't an Official Red Ryder Carbine-Action Two-Hundred-Shot Range Model Air Rifle, it was spectacular, so thanks to Derek for that.

And that's all I got for today, kids. Try not to shoot your eyes out.

Friday Free-For-All*

2005-10-07T11:22:00.000-06:00

Okay, so this is my first attempt at trying one of them 'serial-type' things. Not serial-killing-type things, because that would take up too much time and cause too much laundry; and not a cereal-type thing, either, because that's A) a really bad joke and B) there is only so much Count Chocula in the world, and I'm not good at sharing. So, let's get this party started, and we'll see how it goes. Actually, now that I think about it, it's not really a serial-type thing at all, but more like a recurring nightmare type thing. Whatever, Count Chocula is delicious, so just shaddup and read, already.

I'm pretty sure that Christopher Walken is my dad. Sure, my mom never met him, and there is no evidence that I was adopted, and I look nothing like him and maybe if Maury Povich were to have us as guests on one of those 'Who's My Daddy?' episodes, our DNA would not come close to matching, but after seeing this, I'm convinced. How much more proof does anybody need, anyway?

Hey! Look what I can do!

PLAY ME.

Free music video codes by PCPlanets.com

So I can't sing or play any musical instrument without making the listener's ears bleed and at least one internal organ explode, but I can cut and paste code like a demon. Like a DEMON, I said. Fear me.

Here are some things I should be doing, and good excuses why I'm not doing them:

Brush my hair.
Excuse: This would involve movement, and I can't find my brush, anyway, and this would interfere with that whole 'Depression Chic' thing I've got going on.

Do some work on the volunteer/indentured servitude committee I ~~was forced into at gunpoint~~ willingly accepted after aliens ate my brain.
Excuse: That whole 'movement' thing really sucks shit. Besides, I haven't brushed my hair.

Wash dishes.
Excuse: It involves water, gooey leftover food and movement. Try and pay attention, would you please?

Dubious honor(s) du jour:

Pops referred to my blog as: Mine is ho-hum everyday drudgery while yours is condensed into time-release capsules of erratic and occasional Explosive Hi-Larity, sometimes up to 30 words in length. (Yes, he DID. See, right here underneath the picture of Gerard Dippity-Doo.)
I'm going to ignore the implication that I maintain the diarrhea of the blogosphere, and instead point and laugh, because of the implication that his is the constipation. HAH.

Speaking of blog diarrhea, I won something here for having this condition. I'm hoping it isn't his finger, or part of his ear, although I could probably make a mint selling it on e-bay. I'm also not going to provide you with any handy links to narrow down your search, because I'm a winner, that's why.

Finally, MPH thinks I'm really cool. He said so, and I didn't even have to make him a sandwich. Take my word for it, I'm not about providing the proof. I don't have to, because my daddy's going to be President.

*It's Friday. It's a Free-For-All. Can't get any more clear than that.

Less Than Less Than Zero

2005-10-06T14:12:00.000-06:00

I got nothing.

Thought you'd like to know.

Well, except for this:

Oh, yeah, and then there's this:

Discuss.

There will be a test.

Placeholder of Doom

2005-09-28T14:31:00.000-06:00

No, not really, but I had to call it something, didn't I?

T1's been home sick for 3 days, and I'm about to chew my leg off in an attempt to escape. Any links that entertain, enlighten, and/or force me to send the kids out of the room will be most appreciated.

What a Bust, I'm Such a Boob

2005-09-25T11:14:00.000-06:00

I try and try to put out a quality product, doing my best to provide the world at large with fact-based, sincere and enlightening discourse on the state of things, keeping myself abreast on current events and other really important shit. So, I'm sure you can understand my disappointment when I discovered that I only came in 5th in Google search hits for nasty nipple clamps.

I just can't fucking win.

(However, despite my utter and complete defeat, I now have a partial answer to that age old question: Are nipple clamps tax-deductible? Score!)

Some Posts Just Write Themselves.

2005-09-20T11:55:00.000-06:00

Others must be stolen. Without further ado, I present (Insert witty title for equally Witty Regular Feature) here:

Welcome to my brain. Might be a bit feeble these days, but what can you do?

Well, I've indulged in a bit of (almost) old fashioned pencil drawing. One of those random pictures happens to be my random brother, Jason. It must be noted here that he does not drink coffee. Instead, he put his belly directly onto the floor and made like a boot-camp soldier, speed-crawling into the laundry room and behind the dryer, where I was informed later that he stayed until 4 pm.

What is it that makes me say "No more" to this relationship? He's also one of those people who talks to you with his eyes closed about 80% of the time he's talking. Plus there was a whole lot of head tilting to compensate. But unfortunately, he just wasn't playing my game. He chose a mini cheese pizza. He cleans up his own puke, thankyouverymuch. Here's a video of it, fresh at the table, boiling with spicy soybean goodness:
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I don't know when it will begin, but I know that it's gonna happen any time now. Using a splayed pair of scissors to pierce the layers of tape, the first fragrant hint of humid excrement becomes apparent. The animals can always smell it coming first. I'll be begging for good luck when it gets closer. There's even lightning and thunder and everything. Now you see why I can't sleep. Please, oh please, let it go okay.

I feel like I've shed a hundred pounds. I might just make it out alive as well. Well fuck. It's all at the bottom of the cup - look at the color! That's not the right color. It's fuzzy. How much do I have left? You can't get that shit in Detroit. I just passed out momentarily but landed safely on the carpet. Totally worth it, though.

But nobody is getting my eggplant.

You all know the drill: Much laughing, no suing. Thank you for playing.

**SJ-inspired addendum**:

(For those of you who don't know the drill, here's the scoop. I go around, visiting different blogs I frequent, and take a sentence there, a phrase there, and transmogorify it into something completely different, something really odd, and something completely not-intended-by-original-writer. Get it? Got it? Good.)

Yet Another Good Excuse For Not Writing (Arrrr.)

2005-09-19T10:51:00.000-06:00

Avast and ahoy and shiver me timbers! It's Talk Like A Pirate Day, so to celebrate I'm off to find me some grog, a town to pillage, a ship to keelhaul ... or something like that.

Arrrrr.

Post Under Construction

2005-09-15T09:43:00.000-06:00

I am working on a post, really really.

In the meantime, here's a picture of a dog.

Discuss.

Hey! I Posted!

2005-09-09T20:56:00.000-06:00

So, here it is. The long awaited and highly anticipated by two people year tribute post. Since I'm not one to mince words, and I'm also sure that at least one of those two is aiming a high powered rifle at my head, let's get on with it, shall we?

I originally started this blog to express my undying gratitude and devotion to The Bastards That Canned Me. Then it morphed into a catch-all of daily life, book and movie reviews, the sordid underbelly of suburbia and soccer moms. Then, I got bored, and just started to make shit up.

Monkey was the first person to wander in, left some very nice comments, and subsequently dragged me into his own twisted and perverted corner of the blogosphere, polluting my eyes and mind on a regular basis with more depravity and overall ickiness than I thought humanly possible. How I miss that man.

Then came Our Miss Flamingo Jones, who called me a 'Cool chica' because I used the word 'craptacular' in a sentence properly. Fine girl, that. And, although I am now and will always be the Mary to her Rhoda, she was the first to publicly admit that I caused her to spray milk out of her nose, and people like that must be worshipped and stalked and have their initials cut into your flesh at least once a week.

Somewhere along the way, I found The Son of Cheese. You can imagine my disappointment to discover that he was just some guy from Colorado, and not the end result of a steamy tryst between two consenting adult slices of American cheese. Then he went ahead and made me a theme song, and all was forgiven. (If you are unable to imagine my disappointment, go ahead and read this joke again, that should fix you right up.)

Then came Pops. I think I may have told him that he was my hero, that he was my new personal god, that I have two children, please don't pull the trigger ... no, wait, this last bit was directed at MPH. The other two, definitely attributed to Pops, not so much because his beautiful prose moved me to tears, so much as his lengthy posts wore me into submission. Must ... Google ... Brad ... Pitt's ... Dick ...

Yes, there are others. Many, many others. Others who use phrases such as Darth Vader Likes Cock, which still makes me giggle, and will also increase my skeevy Google search hits. There are those who provided me with more information about anal bleaching than I ever thought necessary, which will also boost up my perverted visitor quota. Then there are those who decimate posts but still leave behind pictures that get me all verklempt and gooshy inside.

Now, lest we forget, this blog IS ALL ABOUT ME. Therefore, here's a list of a few of my favorite things by and about me.

The Best and Worst and a Little Something in Between of Everything

Screw the Shark, I'm Going In

Clearly, I Don't Know What the Hell I'm Doing.

Apparently, December was a good time to be me.

Finally, here's some things that aren't about me, or by me, but are still very funny and may cause some people to sue me.

I Got Your 15 Minutes Right Here, Pal!

I Got Yer 15 ... No, 30 Minutes Right Here, Pal!

So, that's that, then. Thank you for your support, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

Well, Do Ya?

2005-09-08T22:32:00.000-06:00

Tomorrow will be the one year anniversary of this blog. I may post something to commemorate this monumental milestone, I may not. You've got to ask yourself a question: Do I feel lucky? Well, do ya, punk?

But, I'm a Chihuahua!

2005-09-07T17:59:00.000-06:00

As promised, here's a small breakdown on some (okay, ONE) of the interesting things going on in my life. (They ARE interesting, they ARE!)

First: we have a puppy. A smallish one that will eventually turn into a real mediumish dog, instead of one of those yappy-fur-covered irritants that have delusions of dog-ness. We got the dog because, as responsibe adults who are now also homeowners, we felt that the most logical next step was to buy a smallish creature that would shed, chew, and piss all over the new joint. It was just the right thing to do.

However, when we got the puppy, we were unaware that one of our cats was the Mary Kay Letourneau of the animal world. This little factoid was discovered by my husband, and was reported to me in a shocked little whisper, after he finished rinsing his corneas with Lysol. Those of you familiar with the mating habits of cats and the playing habits of puppies can probably piece together the scenario; it was like Wild Kingdom meets the Kama Sutra. Now, although this was just pure blog gold, having a pediophiliac, incestuous, inter-species lesbian love affair running wild all over the house can only be entertaining for a certain amount of time. Besides, we already have cable, so it was a quick trip to the vet to get Mary Kay spayed.

And, that's enough about that.

6 Feet or Over

2005-08-29T19:00:00.000-06:00

Just to let you all know, I haven't, as yet, choked on a sandwich. There is a whole helluva lot going on in my life, and it's just so damn interesting, I may even share it with you all. Or I could just go drink. I might even post a picture of a cat, but just to piss off Pops. Yeah, that's always a good idea, so here goes: (More on the rest, later.)

...But, These Go to Eleventerhooks!

2005-08-11T17:31:00.000-06:00

First, it's good to be back. No, wait ... First, my computer sucks, second, it's good to be back. We're out a cool hundred, but it could have been worse, my computer doesn't suck so much anymore ... and let's move on.

We've made an offer on a dwelling, a residence, a piece of earth that isn't so much ... HERE anymore, and after letting us stew all day, they have called and accepted. They have ... what's that?!? ACCEPTED?!? Sweet holy fuck, what the hell?!? I mean, oh, good, we're homeowners now. No ... wait ... I'm sorry, my first reaction was the right one.

SWEET HOLY FUCK, WHAT THE HELL?!?

Oh, yeah, and the: Oh good, we're homeowners now stuff, too.

A Good Comment Bears Repeating

2005-08-02T10:42:00.000-06:00

Well, since I failed to receive proper credit and milk-spewage from a comment I left here about this story, I'm repeating it here.

"An animal-control officer took the dog to Dr. Sondra Brown, a veterinarian at Northwood Animal Hospital, who could not determine whether the dog had been sexually abused."

Here's an actual snippet of the actual conversation that I just now totally made up:

"Can you show me, on the doll, where the bad man touched you?"

"Bark bark woof."

"Bark bark WOOF? I'm sorry, I'm unfamiliar with that dialect, can we get an interpreter? No, Lucky, don't do that to the doll ... Bad dog! I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. You're a very good dog, in a bad situation ... Ok, d'ya think you can stop licking yourself ... there, and look at me? Let's try this again... No, I said NO! Put down the doll, DOWN! Oh, look, Lucky, here's the nice interpreter, she's just here to help me listen to you ... LUCKY! DOWN! BAD DOG! Get off the nice interpreter's leg ... I'm so sorry, no, come back, he doesn't understand what he's doing is wrong, he's a victim! Wait! Oh, DAMMIT. This sucks, I KNEW I should have become a dentist ... PUT THE DAMN DOLL DOWN, YOU FUCKING DOG!"

And, in related news, keep your pets away from Washington State.

(Thanks to observant reader and ice cream fetishist Llama for the story.)

And Now ... Puppies!

2005-07-24T14:52:00.000-06:00

And my new favorite movie line from The Waterboy: "I invented electricity! Ben Franklin is the devil!"

And in other, non-depressing news, She's Having a Baby!

On Second Thought, You Can Take That 'Bright Side of Life' Crap and Shove it up Your ...

2005-07-20T11:45:00.000-06:00

So, after all the sleepless nights, hospital beds and nursing staff, dreaded late night phone calls, flower arrangements, constant stream of family, friends and misc. well-wishers, plates and plates and plates of potato salad and deli sandwiches, eulogies (and ratings of those eulogies afterwards), and just enough pomp and circumstance, sound and fury to send her off ... we're left with a refrigerator stuffed with pies and casseroles and sandwiches and a house full of not as yet wilted flowers ... and a huge hole in everything else.

A huge hole that will soon be filled with estate taxes, paperwork, meetings with bankers, accountants and lawyers, endless sifting through a lifetime's worth of collected ... stuff, and at least one huge-ass garage sale. I'd say this would make one helluva good script for a comedy, if it didn't suck gi-normous donkey balls.

And then, there's still the hole.

Always Look on the Bright Side of Life

2005-07-18T01:12:00.000-06:00

Well, after these last few days, I've learned that people have some strange requests for their funeral. That being said; when I go I'd like to be buried in a spacesuit, and I'd consider any less than 3 Shetland ponies at the mass simply disgraceful. Oh, and I'd really like to have Stifler read my eulogy. No, not this Stifler, this one. What, do you think I'm crazy?

Thank all of you who left such kind comments. Everyone else can just bite me.

** Addendum: I don't need to point out that I was joking, do I? Oh, good, I didn't think so.**

Bite me hard.

We Interrupt This Interruption ... Whatever.

2005-07-13T22:39:00.000-06:00

So, that's that. After a lifetime of living, my grandmother is not so much doing that anymore. And, after a nighttime of drinking, I'm not so much feeling my fingertips anymore. (Fine, this is not exactly true, I'm just now working on my second, but it's good to have goals.) Anyhow ...

We interrupt this soon-to-be-drunken rambling to drop this little hint off to Medical Personnel Who Are In The Process of Telling People That They Can Cross One Name Off Next Year's Reunion Guest List: Either turn your cell phone off, or switch it to vibrate mode, especially if your ringtone is set to La Cucaracha. No, not even if the scrawny little chick in front of you is struggling to keep from laughing, it's still not a good idea. Really.

We further interrupt this getting-steadily-drunker rambling to warn certain home-health care givers who refused to change a certain scrawny little chick's scrawny little grandma's soiled undergarments because "I'm busy!" that that same certain scrawny little chick KNOWS WHERE YOU LIVE.

There will be no more interruptions, firstly because the word 'interruptions' is rather difficult to type when one has scrawny as well as numb fingertips, and secondly because the interruptions have now become the entire drunken rambling. So, to the nurses and misc. staff at the nursing home that the above mentioned scrawny grandmother was transferred to just about 5 minutes before there was one less incredibly busy home-health caregiver left in the world, and to the EMTs who drove her to the nursing home ... thank you for not being busy, and for calling her by her first name, and for announcing that "We're going over a bump!" and for allowing me to ride in the ambulance with her, and for not pointing and laughing when I wandered out of her room at 3 in the morning in my polar bear pajama pants, and instead asking me if I wanted to sit and watch Will and Grace with you till I was able to sleep again (which actually never happened, but you know what I mean.)

Thank you for giving her pain meds whenever the fuck she wanted them, and thank you for apologizing to her when you had to move her and it hurt, and thank you for not being asshole shitbags who kicked her out of the unit because you got tired of her, (I STILL KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE, AND IF YOU'RE READING THIS, YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE), and also thank you for cleaning her face and pretending that you just now discovered that she was gone, when my mother walked in from the visiting the bathroom, even though you had already called me 5 minutes ago and asked me NOT to tell her so she could hear the news from a human rather than a voice over the phone.

Once I find my fingers, and the phone, again, I'm SO inviting the lot of you out for beer.

(For everybody else, I'll be taking a brief hiatus, and will be back ... later. We can discuss the beer, and the invitations to partake of, then.)

Q and A

2005-07-11T11:57:00.000-06:00

Celti-How can we possibly get to the point of the perfect amount of cowbell?

There is no way to achieve this. The only one who has gotten close was John Belushi, with his Samurai Delicatessen bit, but the strain was too much for him, and we all know the results.

Derek-Do you, in fact, have access to a "streetwise Hercules?"
If you do, does he work on Thursdays?
Do you know what movie I vaguely referenced with that last question?
Small dogs fetching firecrackers and dying horrible deaths: for or against?

Yes, but he's doped up on crack and marshmallows, to keep him off the furniture.
No, but he can work on your car (but only if it's a '76 Gremlin, otherwise, never mind.)
Yes. Yes, I do.
I'd have to say 'for', simply because I don't want to be against a small dog when it's dying a horrible death. Ew.

MPH-First, where's the sandwich?
Second, isn't Blog Jesus already doing this?
Third, sandwich?

No, Why is the sandwich, Hoo's on first, and Where's in left field.
I'm stumping to be your replacement, a la Letterman/Carson, and I fully expect to be hosed over for the job just as Dave was, but at least I'll have a crappy TV movie of the week made about it.
Um ... still no. (Insert witty reason why here.)

Pops-Why all the disdain for "phoning it in"? This is some kind of passive-aggressive way to tell me you don't like my blog, isn't it?

No, this is: "Gee, your blog is really ... interesting. It's amazing what some people do with their spare time, isn't it?"

Kevin Hayden-What are you wearing?

A pirate hat, bright pink mukluks, and a smile.

Kif-What are you NOT wearing?

Dentures, hence the smile.

Flamingo Jones-Hmm...I have no question, but you CAN count on me to spray milk out of my nose. I'll have a tall glass and some oreos at the ready.

No question = No soup for you! Unless you fork over those Oreos, then we'll talk.

Kim-Can you explain what incredible coochie-super-power Paris Hilton has that keeps her in the media spotlight?
and while you're at it is there anyway to stop her and her evil from spreading?

Don't quote me on this, as I do not want to be pursued by her evil monkeys, but she has crack and marshmallow mojo. Powerful stuff, but I have a secret weapon consisting of mayonaisse, Nutter-Butters, and a super-secret-sauce that will cause her old nose to grow back, which will of course stop her evil from spreading. It worked on Barbra Streisand, after all. Everybody loves Babs.

As always, I look forward to ripping off more of MPH's material.

Where Have All the Good Posts Gone?

2005-07-08T13:03:00.000-06:00

And where are all the fans?

I have little, if any, funny going on in my life right now. I could try and put together something, 'phoning it in', as the kids are saying nowadays. I could do a lot of things, but I'm not gonna. Instead, I'm going to just rely on you, my loyal and dedicated fans (all 6 of you). Ask me questions, I'll answer them, and hopefully I'll be able to make at least one person spray milk out of their nose (hopefully from laughter, and not some unfortunate medical condition).

What?!? It could happen!

Less Than Zero

2005-06-27T22:48:00.000-06:00

The good news, Robert Downey Jr's character won't drop dead at the end of this post, and neither will Susannah Hoffs (which, depending on your point of view, may be not good news at all). There is (also, depending on one's point of view), no bad news.

Moving on!

We are here, we are family, we are depositing as many teeny tiny errant Lego pieces in every imaginable crack, crevice, and crawlspace possible. We are concerned that that sounded funnier in our head than it appears in print. We are forging on, and have convinced ourselves that this is not so, and everyone has had an immediate laughter-induced coronary/embolism/major organ explosion upon reading it. We are NOT IN DENIAL. We are staying away from the caps key from now on, and we have also decided that we are not the Queen of England, so we can just shut the fuck up with this whole 'We' shit.

So, it's hot, Jaws is chewing up Florida teenagers like so much Bubblegum, Tom Cruise has replaced Anna Nicole Smith as the cockroach on the linoleum that is my life, and I'm now on cable high speed internet. (The first person who can come up with a logical connection to these three events clearly has nothing better to do, and therefore will not be awarded anything.) It's not what I was expecting, but then I was imagining that the sheer force of it would force my skin right off my bones, cause at least one of my internal organs to rupture, and the internet itself would jump out of my computer and dance around in a mad mad mad computerized version of the Macarena before smashing through the wall behind me with a drinking fountain and running off to live in the forest, feeding on smaller and slower computers. However, I did get to watch the trailer for Herbie, Fully Loaded, about 15 seconds before I even realized I wanted to, which was cool enough, I suppose.

We will have more to say later, we promise.

The Good Title is Still in a Box.

2005-06-22T15:34:00.000-06:00

I'm back ... sorta.

I'm computerless ... sorta.

I'm glad to be back ... totally.

Film at 11:00.

Hitting The Wall

2005-06-01T12:07:00.000-06:00

It's crunch time. In just a little over a week, we're packing up what's rest of our stuff and getting the hell back into Dodge. The house is a mess, little bits of schmutz everywhere, boxes in between the schmutz that is everywhere, and yes, it IS possible to eat too many peanut butter M&M's.

I can't clean, I can't pack anything else because I won't have room to put anymore boxes till the furniture is sold/donated/offered as a sacrifice to the great god Kerosene and his brother Arson Investigator.

However, I did release some pent-up frustration and anger when I offed the upstairs neighbor. I had to, there was nothing else to do. I was standing outside, all dolled up in a fabulous ensemble of house slippers, unwashed sweats, and a tee-shirt telling some guy named Frankie to just chill the hell out. There I was, with my youngest child surgically attached to my hip, watching my oldest run for the bus stop, when Mr. McSceevy from upstairs insisted on leering at me. Not mindlessly looking in my direction while imagining how good that mullet will look once the hairplugs kick in, no. Openly staring at me, while dropping his cigarette ashes all over my patio. He can afford rent and hairplugs, but can't be bothered to spring for an ashtray. Anyway, as I said, I had no choice. I had to incinerate him with my laser eyes. I was just going to go for his heart, to give the Medical Examiner a good something to think about, but once they were fired up, I was unable to control them, and he was reduced to a small greasy pile of ashes within seconds. And, wouldn't you know it, they immediately blew down onto my porch.

I just can't win.

And That's Why He's Called Cliff Hanger!

2005-05-26T13:33:00.000-06:00

Well. The Amazing Race is over (no need to go back over all THAT again). ER squished a handful of 20-somethings (why oh why couldn't Morris have been in the pile?) and said goodbye to Noah Wylie before it packs its bags and heads to Miami for the summer. Medium ended with a cliffhanger that involved the Bible, a bunch of heartless people, and a set of nail clippers. And, last but not least, Alias ended with White Russians, one really big-ass red golfball, and an answer to Syd's quandary about keeping her name or not after she marries Vaughn. (I'd say yes, if I hadn't choked up my voicebox when that damn car came out of nowhere and smashed into them.)

In other news, my mother is ... trying. My grandmother's decline not only has provided me with wonderful opportunities to be a depressed, moody, and otherwise lovely person to be around, it has prompted my mother to be less like ... how do I put this, without sounding harsh or judgemental ... less like a demented, passive-aggressive control freak, and more like a normal human being. Yeah, that'll work.

So, kudos to her, hooray for me, but now what the fuck am I going to write about?

Wednesday Free-For-All

2005-05-25T11:56:00.000-06:00

Yes, I'm fully aware that 'Friday Free-For-All' would have made a nicer sounding title. Fuck you, it's my blog.

So, after that gracious and welcoming opening, let's get on with it.

Why can't I, in the middle of a PTO meeting at my child's school, use the phrase 'Well, fuck me raw with a chainsaw!' to express surprise? I honestly believe it would make the proceedings SO much more interesting.

A commercial that pisses me off: The Wendy's one, where there are 4 people sitting around a workplace cafeteria table, eating salads and making irritating noises to describe them. However, there is one lucky young lady who has gone to Wendy's and instead of using the irritating dying-dolphin noise to describe the overall shittiness of it, she's busy having a mini-gasm over her bowl of lettuce, chicken flesh and dried bread. Now, all this is just mildly annoying, but what really pisses me off is the fact that her irate co-worker is all up in her face about it. However, as the mature and reasonable person you all have come to know and tolerate, I would NEVER scream at the screen "YOU could have gone to Wendy's, you large and annoying sea-cow, leave her the fuck alone."

Open letter to the pale and shirtless man walking around my apartment complex the other day: For fuck's sake, either get a tan or a tattoo to cover up all that pink flesh, because EW. No, don't smile and wave at me, either. If I'm walking around a street market with my darling husband and gorgeous children on a warm Saturday evening, I may smile back at you because I am carefree, I am hip, I am way too young to have 2 children (YES, I AM, DON'T MAKE ME HURT YOU). But if I am alone in the pool with my youngest child, and you're wandering around looking lost and horribly skeevy, I am terrified that you may, at some point in the future, attempt to remove my liver with a plastic eating utensil, so kindly put a shirt on, and go the fuck away.

Regarding Star Wars: My 4 year old likes Star Wars because "It's funny when that lady chokes Jamba. That part is funny!" The bad news: this is indicative of a slight homicidal bent. The good news: It's directed toward a fruit juice franchise.

Oh, and speaking of EW, here ya go.

And, that's it for today. Please put your eating trays in the upright position, dispose of all trash in the proper containers, and we thank you for your support.

Penance, No Sandwich

2005-05-24T23:11:00.000-06:00

Well, as fun as it has been tweaking the tall man's nose, I have repented and will let the faithful know that Blog Jesus is back. Heightened Thoughts is still not returning my calls, but you can also find him here.

The One Where I Have Nothing to Say

2005-05-24T12:41:00.000-06:00

Blah blah blah blah blah boxes everywhere. Blah blah blah blah blah house is a freakin' mess. Blah blah blah blah soul sucking pit of despair. Blah blah blah blah blah.

Blah blah blah blah how stupid is THAT? Blah blah blah blah and the fact that I'm writing about it speaks volumes ... Blah blah blah I mean, c'mon! Blah blah blah blah at least we're not related.

Blah blah blah blah fucking blah. Blah blah blah blah fuck blah. Blah blah blah are you bored yet blah blah? Blah blah blah blah just a while longer blah. Blah blah almost there blah blah.

Blah blah blah blah (told you) blah blah.

Hunka-Hunka Burnin' Love!

2005-05-22T22:49:00.000-06:00

So, we went to see Star Wars Ep. 3 today, on a spur of the moment decision. Kudos to the man for swinging the vote 'our way' with a cleverly given choice: "Do you want to go buy swimming suits, or go see Star Wars?" Never mind that the purchase of swimsuits was to be followed up immediately with the USE of them, by the time this little factoid was realized we were sitting with the Jumbo Tub O'Cholesterol in a darkened theater, watching Angelina Jolie's naughty bits flash by advertising her new movie.

Anyhoo ... not wanting to leave traumatizing our children to virtual strangers, there was some discussion about whether or not it would be too violent for the little one. And, since it's hard to get this information while you are face down on the floor screaming "Don't tell me what happens in the movie!!!" with your hands pressed over your ears, we had to selectively read other spoiler-wary reviews, and finally just decided that we could cover her eyes if necessary. Or dump water on the person sitting to our side, in order to distract her so we could watch the carnage unencumbered.

Now, for those people wondering if the movie is too scary/violent/emotive for their own younglings, I can say that it was ... not so bad. Here's the spoiler-free violence breakdown, with it's sponge-worthiness rating.

Instances of hands lopped off with light sabers: 3
Sponge-worthiness: First two, no sponge needed. Happens very quickly, no blood. The last one (in final battle scene) 2, possibly 3 sponges.)

Beheadings via light sabers: One. Implied, camera cuts away, happens too quickly to necessitate sponge. 0
(Not counting robots, droids or storm-troopers, unless your child is emotionally attached to vacuum cleaner. Then 1 sponge.)

And, since I'm tired of this whole thing, and the sponge-worthy test has been done to death, I'd just have to say that the only thing I'd be concerned about is the final battle scene, (highlight to see, can't avoid spoiler here), which may leave your child afraid of amputees and smore's.

And, finally, I'd just like to say that the most disturbing thing is that poor Anakin, so intent on keeping his marriage together, learning to master The Force, and compete with Orlando Bloom for top sci-fi/fantasy hottie, can't find time to sleep or wash his hair.

(Disclaimer: I don't know most of you from Adam, nor do I know your kids. I have no idea if they are afraid of the dark, public speaking, or cotton balls. All I know is that, when I was eight, my parents took me to a freakin' CINDERELLA stage performance, when everyone else in my class saw the movie, and you see how I turned out. The decision is yours, and you'd be amazed how high people can jump when cold water is tossed in their lap.)

Best Laid Plans of Pack ... Mice and Garbagemen

2005-05-20T14:45:00.000-06:00

We were supposed to have a garage/moving sale today, but the ~~fucktards~~ lovely people who manage the place wouldn't let us put up signs. No signs + non-functioning mental telepathy + fire codes restricting smoke signal = a huge pile of crap to deal with. Not just any crap, but crap that's too good to give/throw away, but a real pain in the ass to pack. I'm thinking ebay, I'm thinking put up signs anyway, I'm thinking rental insurance policy and a suspicious fire...

Everything I Need to Know I Learned While Crammed Into a Car With Tired and Cranky Children

2005-05-18T13:42:00.000-06:00

So, we just got back from another trip home, where we celebrated a neice's graduation, and got to visit with various and assorted family members. Here's some useful and interesting knowledge I picked up during the trip:

Judging from the eye-level showerheads, lowered doorways, and short beds, I've decided that my mother has a dream to open a bed and breakfast that caters to dwarfs, the Keebler Elves, and amputees. Furthermore, judging from her strident claim that "It's just a normal sized mattress!" that she is of the opinion that anyone over 5'3" is a gigantic, enormous freak of nature and must be destroyed, feet first, with bed linens. I found this out while attempting to fold my gigantic, enormous freak of nature legs under the firmly wedged and totally unmoveable sheets, and had to sleep all night with my toes en pointe.

My conversation skills are sorely lacking. During a conversation with a female relative who once gave birth to my husband but shall otherwise remain nameless, I was suddenly and without warning bombarded with a lengthy list of her physical ailments and various ways in which her life sucks. Since I felt that replying with: "Damn, you're right! I sure hope that shit doesn't flow downstream!" wouldn't promote familial harmony, and openly mocking said person with hand puppets and funny accents would really only amuse me, (boy, do this one time, and you never hear the end of it), the best I could come up was head nods and concerned looks at critical junctures.

Now, regarding the graduation. Looking out at all those bright, young faces, so eager and expectant to go out and conquer the world ... Well, it gave my cynical and pessimistic heart hope and joy. Of course, this was because I was rifling through my sister-in-law's purse for loose change while she was distracted with watching her daughter receive her diploma. (Ok, not really, but it provided me with an excuse and the means to drink heavily at the dinner afterwards.)

My kids picked up some new travel games, the most popular one being How Fast Can I Make My Sibling Become an Only Child? which they both were remarkably astute at. Grandma tried to teach them how to play Passive Aggression, and It's Not Me, It's You, but they were too busy playing Never Ever Ever Go To Sleep and Watch Cable Television Till Your Brain Runs Out Your Ears.

Then there was some sort of roadside attraction we stopped at, which involved a line of cars, a video taped presentation, and a buttload of sand. All in all, a enjoyable and pleasant roadtrip. Or at least that's what I'm going to tell the social services people, when they bring up the kids' homemade travel game: Get Out of the Duct Tape Before Dad Hits the Freeway.

(And as an aside, partially because of Flamingo Jones, and partially because I'm just a developmentally delayed lemming and have to follow the latest craze 10+ years later, I picked up this copy of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. It has 5 books in one, it weighs roughly the same as my car, and I have a new hero. Four years and seven days after he died, sure, but a hero nevertheless.)

A-fucking-mazing Race

2005-05-10T23:43:00.000-06:00

Here there be spoilers, and a post dedicated almost solely to the show. Don't read if you haven't seen it yet, or are Pops. (Ok, fine, even if you are Pops, but don't say I didn't warn you.)

Joyce and Uchenna, the Bald Dynamic Duo, got their shit together, won the race and million dollars, knocking Rawb down a few notches and spanking Ron and Kelly's pansy-asses along the way.

In a non-elimination elimination leg, they were stripped of their money and belongings, and had a good Samaritan give them a ride to the airport so they could beg for money so they could afford a cab to take them to the first challenge. (Why they just didn't have him take them to the challenge, and skip the whole airport thing, I don't understand, but it still made for some good TV.) So, they're wandering around an airport, looking just slightly insane, at around 3 in the morning, asking strangers for money. Oddly enough, that didn't go very well. Business picked up later in the day, after they finished the challenge(s) and were back at the airport during daylight hours. Rawb and Ambuh got on the earliest flight, I can't remember what happened to Ron and Kelly (I can only assume she had to chew on her gum and be irritating, which can be quite time consuming), and Joyce and Uchenna begged and pleaded to get on the same flight as Rawb and Ambuh, and it WORKED. The attendant called the pilot, they wheeled the hallway-connector-thingy (that IS the technical term, I checked) back onto the airplane, and Rawb got his ass metaphorically spanked by Uchenna. That's some good TV, there.

At the very end, they were short maybe $50 for cab fare, and instead of shorting him and bolting through the gate to the finish, they ran around asking people for money till they collected enough. They ran up to the mat minutes before Rawb and Ambuh, reduced everyone to tears, and I want to have their baby. Ok, maybe not, but would love to have them over for dinner ... Naw, that's too much pressure, too, and I'd have to clean ... Fine, okay? I cried. I cried, my faith in humanity and cool people was temporarily restored, and I hope they have a very successful IVF and have lots and lots of bald babies, because they are just ... just ... well, they're millionaires, but very nice ones.

Now it's over, my Tuesdays are open again, Ron and Kelly can go off and be irritating in the privacy of their own homes, and raise your hand if you're planning on watching Rawb and Ambuh tie the knawt? Be honest, now ...

Everything Old is New Again ... What a Crock

2005-05-09T12:30:00.000-06:00

So, we're taking the leap, and in between figuratively screaming at people to validate me and alienating those same people by writing mopey and cryptic crap with absolutely no car chases or explosions, I've been packing up all the crap worth packing, and putting aside all the other crap we're going to charge way too much for at the upcoming garage sale.

I'm not liking this. Every other time, when we moved, there was the excitement and adventure associated with exploring the neighborhood, finding the parks and libraries and grocery stores. Moving back to our hometown, we already KNOW where everything is, our best discoveries will be finding the box that holds the bath towels and good sauce pans. Factor in the living situation (living with mom temporarily till we find suitable digs) and the fact that, as of yet, neither of us even has a JOB yet, and the stress factor goes up about 10 jillion points.

And, finally, here is the concluding statement, where I will use the words Abyss, Fear, Journey, Beer, and is so eloquent and timeless everyone will have no choice but to weep for me.

Sam-I-Am Can Kiss My Ass

2005-05-06T16:56:00.000-06:00

I am bloated. I am crampy. I am flat broke. I am blocked (literally and figuratively). I am well on my way to becoming quite unpleasant. I am alienating readers left and right. I am not caring much. I am sure I will regret those words. I am in awe of Amy Tan. I am fucking sick of living in a fucking fishbowl with fucking loud and obnoxious fish for neighbors. I am hoping to someday be in the same league as Amy Tan, but I would settle for being in the same rock band. I am not holding my breath. I am not fishing for compliments. I am blasting them out of the water with cannonballs. I am not sure I am making the right decisions. I am not sure that is grammatically correct. I am sure somebody will tell me. I am done.

1 Tequila, 2 Teq ... Oh, Forget It.

2005-05-04T23:47:00.000-06:00

Well, there's clearly no where else to go.

This is it, I have no more to give, my muse has drowned herself in the toilet, and I've resorted to encouraging bizarre and gratuitous wrestling matches among the lunatic fringe. I can't even develop a good old-fashioned drinking problem, I just don't have the necessary drive. You have to spend all that time coming up with excuses and lame-ass apologies, find places to hide your booze, devote so much time denying and keeping the truth from everyone, file for unemployment after punching your boss in the throat for taking your red Swingline ... It's such a bother, and I'd much rather take a nap.

So, since I obviously can't sink any lower, here's a picture of a really, really pissed off beaver.

The Amazing Race, We Hardly Knew Ye.

2005-05-04T14:05:00.000-06:00

First off, The Amazing Race. The little geriatrics that could, couldn't do it anymore. Alas and alack, Gretchen and Meredith were eliminated, but at least they made Rawb and Ambah shit themselves a little, first. Ron and Kelly have managed to become America's most hated couple, first with Kelly's dumbass remark re: POW's last week, and Ron's "It's like teaching a woman to drive!" comment when Kelly wasn't able to immediately maneuver a double decker bus around a series of traffic cones successfully.

Ron and Kelly, after being stripped of their money and belongings last week, (Kelly: "But ... what about my gum?") were forced to go begging for money, and Meredith stepped up and gave Kelly some cash, in that oh-so-endearing "Here, I'm giving you some money, 'cause you need it, but we won't TELL anybody, mmm-kay?" older gent type of way. Joyce, cool, collected and biggest whupass bald female since Ripley and Vasquez from the Aliens franchise (NO, Demi Moore in G.I. Jane doesn't count, because she's Demi Moore. Ick.), went apeshit and started screaming at Uchenna, who was yelling directions to her during the driving challenge: "I can't understand anything YOU'RE SAYING!!!" Rough translation: "I'm bald, I'm driving a double decker bus, and just shut the hell up because YOU'RE BUGGING ME, ALREADY!" Or that's what I understood, my Bald-Whupass-Femalese is a little rusty. Kelly, in a move that can be filed under the 'Oh, no she DI'INT!" category, asked the woman at the ticket counter if she could borrow her lipstick. And she DID. She took a strange woman's lipstick, and rubbed this lipstick all over her mouth. Her mouth, the thing she EATS with. (OK, so she just throws it right back up, but still.) Do other women really do this? If so, I'm really going to have to rethink this whole 'being a girl' thing, because that's just nasty. Rawb and Ambah yielded Ron and Kelly, Kelly drew horns and moustaches on Rawb and Ambah's picture, and Guess Who Won't Be Coming to Dinner?

Next week is the season finale. (I'm assuming it's going to be 2 hours?) As an AR neophyte, I'm not sure how it's decided who wins, but I can only hope that it will involve Ron and Kelly, a pack of angry, incontinent beavers, and a large bottle of Tabasco sauce.

Things I'm Doing/Not Doing

2005-04-30T00:42:00.000-06:00

Doing: Writing a post to make up for the crap I've been writing lately.
Not Doing: Succeeding.
Doing:Watching Becker on TV.
Not Doing:Enjoying it.
Doing: Wondering if I can touch my big toe to the top of my head.
Not Doing (but seriously considering): Sending Larry Jones the medical bills resulting from trying to touch my big toe to the top of my head.
Doing: Wondering if this person found what she's looking for.
Not Doing (but, again, seriously considering, if I had a way to contact the above person): Sending her this link as inspiration.
Doing: Wondering if the owner of that site will leave me another nice comment, thanking me for the free publicity.
Not Doing: Counting on any sort of financial compensation for this publicity.
Doing: Staying up way later than I should/need be.
Not Doing: Continuing to write this drivel.

Caveat Mother-Fucker

2005-04-27T13:32:00.000-06:00

Open Letter to the Judgemental, Pushy and Rude Fucker Who Called Me Today to Strong-Arm Me Out of Money:

Dear Judgemental, Pushy and Rude Fucker:

Thank you for your insincere attempts to engage me with small talk. Thank you also for your irritating and pointless (not to mention unfunny) attempts at humor. I do this for a 'living', and I just have to say: Damn, but you SUCK at it.

However, I would most like to thank you for your use of scare tactics, and attempts to shame and humilate me, and most importantly, when I expressed that I believed it to already have been paid, your blatant refusal to provide me with any proof that this is still a valid debt. It was this statement, especially: "If you want proof, then take us to court!" that prompted me to call the original company to whom I owed this money, to validate that the debt still stands. By doing this, I was able to make arrangements to pay them directly, therefore making your involvement (I'd say your entire existence, but I don't like to brag), totally and completely unnecessary.

In summary: The original company gets their money, we save $30.00, and you get to take your fee/bonus/generally-being-a-pushy-prick kickback, (or whatever it is called in your office), and SHOVE IT UP YOUR ASS.

I love win/win situations.

Go Fuck Yourself Sincerely,

The Little Guy

I Got Yer 15 ... No, 30 Minutes Right Here, Pal!

2005-04-26T12:39:00.000-06:00

Here's the second installment of Plagiarism, American Style, where I have absolutely nothing to say, so I go around and rip off snippets from other blogs I link to. (Note: not all are linked on this site, some I just read and am too damn lazy or insensitive to add their links.) Enjoy, anyway.

Like all the best whores, I'm complete without conscience or dignity, incapable of being embarrassed. I was reminded of this strange phenomenon when I glanced over at the donut that had been sitting next to me for well over an hour. All I tasted was banana and water. Why, God, why!? It doesn't do to make pregnant people cry. Keep it up and the next hooker you buy will be loaded with the clap.

Tell me, where are all the Kelsey Grammer pin-up magazines? From now on I think we should re-shape our world to where reality matches porn. I'm game, but I need a video camera. If you enjoy it, I might just make this a new feature. I totally turn into a gawker - you know, slow way down and hang open the mouth. Then I needed to wash my corneas.

We got to sample the famous Korean Airlines bibimbap lunch, and it was surprisingly good! Two fucking armadillos in a cream cheese sauce. You see where this is going, don't you? Until it was washed, it would sit around and stink, or perhaps get moldy. Not exactly the best marketing tactic I've ever seen.

Is this or is this not SEX ON WHEELS? There were some slow places, but overall a cute "date" kind of movie. It was the 1998 made-for-tv version, not the 1980 made-for-tv version, if you're interested. Explosions make great TV. And with some work - the Slinky was born. Fuck, that was insightful.

Did you know if Ernest Borgnine drowns in his hot tub I get a toaster? I don't know how such a small amount of hair can be made to stick out so forcefully in all directions. That's probably another reason why it's a good idea I'm not a mom. Then again, I'd be a hollow shell of a man without my Mickey Mouse waffle iron. We'll need it, as we have a full day today as well.