the cheese stands alone

To Resolve, Don't You First Have To Solve?

Traditionally, as much as any fledgling such as blogging can be said to have a tradition, this is the time when we all post our New Year's Resolutions. Rather than scribbling them in our Dear Diary, or elegantly calligraphying them onto a sheet of parchment, all to be shoved into the sock drawer and completely ignored after the first week of rigorously righteous behavior modification, we now tippy-type them into our blog and hope the sight of them splayed across the monitor for all to see will make them more enduring.
Or is it just me?
Again?

My New Year's Resolutions That I Hope I Don't Break Embarassingly Early:

1. To not post so many quizzes. (we all know this one is right out the window, don't we?)

2. To lose weight. (a goal that would be so much easier if we could discover diet margaritas)

2a. To stop bullshitting ourselves that we will ever be as tiny as we were in '87. (and to stop singing "to dream the impossible dream" when we climb on the scales)

2b. To stop talking about ourself in the plural. We do not have a mouse in our pocket, you know.

3. To post more incisive, personal stuff like Helen does. Only without the sex. And the deep feelings. And the personal details. (because nobody does it like Helen and it would be a mad folly to try)

4. To avoid the cheese sandwiches over at the Offbrand Middle-Eastern mini-mart, becasue even if they are cheap and delicious, the EPA lawyers keep sending those cease and desist letters, and that's just no fun.

5. To watch less reality television.

5a. To quit lying like that. I'm going to watch as much reality television as I can possibly cram into my little eyeballs, because it is oxygen to my asphyxiated soul.

6. To stop secretly envying Paris Hilton, Anna Nicole Smith, and other trashy hot mamas because that way lies madness.

7. To openly envy Paris Hilton, Anna Nicole Smith and other trashy hot mamas because, baby, trashy and hot mamahood is where the money is.

8. To get a job, even if it is of the nametag variety. Stop thinking it's a waste of brainpower and education and console yourself it will be an unending source of bloggy bizarreness.

9. There you go with that talking to yourself thing again. I thought we decided to quit doing that.

10. No, we said no more pluralization, not the talking to ourselves part. It's not a crime.

11. But it makes us appear mentally unstable and unreliable and no one is going to hire us if we look like crackhead whacko-beans.

12. What the hell kind of phrase is "crackhead whacko-beans"?

13. It just popped into my head. Geez, lighten up.

14. Might have died of loneliness in there, you freak. Wind this thing up already.

15. What's your hurry? They've all clicked over to see what Glenn What's His Face had for lunch or something. It's just you and me, baby, and you know what that means.

16. Put that thing away, you know where it's been. You promised we didn't have to do that anymore. At least not on a weekday. Or in daylight.

17. No fun. You are no fun.

18. Shut up.

19. You shut up.

20. Alrighty, then. Be that way.

And Then, The Comfy Chair! **

Harvey over at Bad Money has a very nicely comprehensive list of ways to convince Saddam to give up some relevant info.
I vote we give them all a shot. Go down the list at least twice to make sure it's done properly.

** Don't make me explain this. Please. I'm still in pain from having actually met an adult male who had NEVER heard of Monty Python. Ever. I weep for the future at times like that.

We Can Learn From Cartoons

Having gorged on spinach salad at dinner last night, I can only conclude from personal experience that Popeye was one smelly, flatulent little sailor man.
Toot toot indeed.

Got An Hour Or Two To Spare?

I don't know if this is a game, or if it's art. All I know is, it was 5:00PM when I started, and suddenly it's 6:50PM.
Maybe I was abducted by aliens. That's how Mulder would explain it.

Tinygrow.
It will grow on you.
(with growing thanks to The Presurfer)

Duty

This lovely piece of eyecandy is for all to enjoy, but especially for Ralphie, who has no idea what I mean when I say....

Adrian Paul cheesecake pictures.

No one can say I don't take my commenting duties seriously.

You Don't Say

An interesting little article here, if a bit snarky, about the annual "Top Ten Word Lists of 2003 Announced by yourDictionary.com"

Part that made me make that face?

2. Blog Web logs have come of age and, regrettably, this lexical mutation with them.

Passing By

I don't do political. I do funny and bizarre and quizzes. I do silly and mundane and links.
I don't do controversy.

It's not because I don't like a good dust-up. I just don't like it on my turf where I have to clean up later.
And here's one of the biggest reasons I don't try to stretch my potential and get on the Cause Du Jour gymnastics team.... a week from now, who will even remember it all, let alone care?

Real life has a way of sucking up our free time that we don't sacrifice on the altar of blogging. A person could tell you what they did on Halloween, or where they went on Valentine's Day, or where they were when Kennedy was shot. (I still have grass stains.) But when Blogger X went toe-to-toe with Blogger Y over Hot Issue Z? Who? When? Huh? And are there any more Cheetos?

Latest big rattle and hum is concerning the recent horrific earthquake in Iran. Some bloggers have stated, if I follow all this correctly, that they will not be supporting any aid to the devastated victims on the grounds that they are Jewish and Iran is violently anti-Semitic. This catapulted everyone to one side of the fence or another. Michele at A Small Victory took issue, as did Ilyka Damen. Yourish restated her side of things, as did the Amish. Over at Dog Snot Diaries, Geoffrey has his own debate raging in the comments over a similar disagreement.

And in a week, no one will know what the hell you're talking about if you bring it up in bloggy conversation.

You didn't come here for insightful opinions or valiant against-the-tide revelations. You came here because sometimes the Cheese is a funny chick. So when I break out the cheesebox and climb up on it, like this, it's a novelty. That in itself is kind of funny, like when a dog wears a beret and walks on its hind legs.
So let me say my five cents worth (adjusted for inflation) and let it go.

I think anything based on religion is stupid. Note, please, I did not say belief. Believe whatever you want... God, Yahweh, Allah, Buddha, little green fairies.... But once a belief is franchised into a religion it takes on a life of its own, and rarely a benign one.
Shit happens, people. Earthquakes happen. Mudslide happen. Fires happen. As far back as history goes, someone somewhere got the pointy end of the stick. Everyone at some point has been persecuted, picked on, done wrong. Doesn't make it right, not by a long shot. But the past doesn't change just because you feel like someone crapped in your Cheerios.
You want to base your entire life on that? You want to pick and choose who you're going to be human to and who you're going to spit on by something that went on before you were born? That's entirely between you and your religion. Go to it.

But when it turns you into an "ist" (feminist, religionist, fascist, reparationist, historical victimist, et al), don't expect much support from this side of the fence.

As usual, I am speaking completely for myself. I know you all have your own opinions and your own moral compasses. I support you in that. I'm glad you're an individual, or at least I hope you are because those pod people creep me out. This is me, the Cheese, getting it off my chest. I don't throw my beliefs out there lightly, and I don't speak up often when a blogger or three makes me gag.
I just don't link to them.
Linking, to me, is an endorsement. It says this person made me laugh/cry/think in a good way. People I dislike for one reason or another I will never link to. Sort of the old saw about being judged by the company you keep.

This post has gone all over the place, hasn't it? Have I made any valid points or even a cohesive argument? Probably not. I kinda doubt many of you have stuck with me this far down the page, and I can't blame you one whit.
Can I sum up? Let's see......

Everything, every single thing we do, say, think, write... it's transitory. Shakespeare's still hanging in there. So are Grimm's Fairy Tales. Mozart is around, as is Michaelangelo. There will come a time when they aren't Well-Known Names. I imagine the Dead Sea scrolls were a hot commodity when they were written. But are they water-cooler material? Not any more.
So, if you want to get all involved in the latest scandalous online behavior, by all means get involved. It's your 15 kilobytes of fame.
But don't think it's forever.

Paris who?

Let's See A Show of Hands

How many of you have ever forgotten you have the sound turned up on the computer, and you get email and the email notification sound booms out suddenly and unexpectedly in a heretofore very quiet house, louder moreso because you mistakenly cranked up the volume and are sitting about 1 foot away from the speakers, so when your wav of Paul Harvey proclaiming "Gonads are useful for their purpose, but they are no substitute for brains" pops on you nearly shit yourself?

Or is it just me a friend of mine?

Weather Or Not

Bob has some weather tips for us whiners who have cold feet.

A furohsome wind blowed all over the jungkle sending avalunches of bananas tumpling head over peels threw the dense foilage. Nad ducked his way daftly ducking the streams of elongated yellow hail, except bigger. He was sunsetive to the abroaching darkfall, and the wind and sun goingdownage brought icey coldsomes to the air giving Nad geesebump.

"This sucks", saids Nad.

"Squid Pro Quo".... good readin'.

Sweet

You're bubblegum!!! You love to have a good time,
and enjoy being around others who feel the same
way. You tend to be the life of the party, and
people like to be around you as much as they
can.

Which kind of candy are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
I've always suspected as much, based on my tendency to get shoved under tables and to stick to peoples' shoes. My therapist says we're making progress, though.
(stolen from a baby at Random Thoughts From A Confused Mind)

Bitch Moan Whine Complain

I'd just like to point out that I live in Southern California.
Southern.
Meaning not Northern.
Why in the buggery heck is it only 37 degrees?
I know most of you live in the great frozen desolation the East or up North where you are up to your tushies in slush, snow, and other nasty weather byproducts and I have great sympathies for the wretched circumstances and obvious mental deviations that force you to live in an icy hell your weather travails, but I'm a taco's throw from the Mexican border. Cold weather here is supposed to mean I might have to wear socks with my sundress.
That's it, I'm writing an Official Letter Of Complaint. To someone. Somewhere.
Soon as my fingers thaw out.

Sign of the Time

You know it's holyshitwhatamIdoingupatthistimeofthemorning early when it takes you five attempts to merely spell your name properly to log in to your own damn blog.

Also a sign of the upcoming time.... I shall be tweaking, playing, fidgeting, abusing, and adjusting a lot of lovely visual elements here at the Cheese in the next couple of days. I have visual ADD or something and cannot look at the same scheme for long. Besides, Xmas is over, no need for a fat man banner anymore.
So please, if you come visit and things are an utter mess, please check back again before you call the Center For Diseased Controlling.
(Only the visuals will be improved, in case you wondered. The content will be the same old rattle and hum. )

Where Were You Going And What Did You Do When You Got There?

I like to imagine what some people were thinking when they came to The Cheese via a search request gone whacko:

slightest touch playboy
photographs of moldy cheese
The best doctorial regalia
gorgeous droopy breasts
"I am the cheese"
saloon barkeep costumes

and the first one I ever got:
pictures of whale feces.

No matter how you got here, thank you for flying CheeseAir.

Bobo's Musical Choice #B-flat

Watching Christopher Walken dance is better than sex.

I Can't Put My Arms Down

You are Randy! A bit withdrawn, but quite
adorable. People always want to pinch your
cheeks!

Which A Christmas Story Character Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
("Randy lay there like a slug. It was his only defense" at Freakgirl)

Holiday Note

If you give a chubby woman a white bathrobe and slippers for a gift, do not exclaim as she models them, "You look like a baby polar bear!"
You will soon find that "plum pudding" is an unpleasant euphemism.

Happy Holidays, everybody!

A Red Meat Christmas

"One of the best comics ever ever, really, we mean it." say the Carnivorous Cheesy Times Herald Weekly Gazette Chronicle Dispatch Review.

Currently The Best Sentence I've Ever Read

"But beyond Peterborough the coastal fens fell away and were replaced by pastures of radiant greenness, like stained-glass windows infested with sheep."
page 150 of "Quicksilver" by Neal Stephenson

That Package Comes With A Surprise

When I was two years old, I took to eating those silver icicles off the Christmas tree.
My mom said I had very festive poop.

Crack of What?

Sometime in the middle of the night, I hit my 10K visitor to this blog. I mean this incarnation, here on MuNu. That's been going on since September. The ur-Cheese began on blogspot in May.
Anyway, the point is.... um.... wait, let me think.
Obviously the point is I need more coffee.
Okay, the point is, I missed a big milestone moment because I wanted to cuddle up in bed with Neal Stephenson ("Quicksilver" is a great book, I kid you not, and it just might prove the adage that size DOES matter... it's over 900 pages and it's only volume one.... geez. I'm in reading heaven.) and now I think the only way to cure this neglect is for me to keep a sharp eye out for reader number 11,000.
If I get off my ever-so-very-early-in-the-morning babble-on-and-on-until-the-coffee-brews and-floods-my-brain-with-the-true-sentience-known-as-caffeine tush and get crafty, there might even be a prize in it. Maybe.
And maybe I'm just saying that so Santa will think I'm a good girl and bring that damn pony I've been waiting 40 30 a few years for.
But what I really want to say is: Happy Christmas Eve!!!
I hope I get an espresso machine with an I.V. attachment. And a heart defibrillator. And one of those Anne Geddes calendars.
UPDATE: Upon further exploration, complicated by the fact that I anal-retentive beast that I am placed two stat counters on this blog, I find maybe I haven't hit 10,000 after all. Or hit it last month. So now it's all a moo point (yes, I know it's really "moot" but on "Friends", Joey explained that a moo point is when something is like a cow's opinion.... doesn't matter. A moo point.) So anyway... kill the stopwatches, I'll think of something else.

"Free your mind, your ass will follow. "

What Classic Movie Are You?

It's Got Nigerian Spam Beat All To Hell

This is possibly the oddest spam I've ever gotten:

Avatar International CO.,LTD
Address:4/F Goldfield Hotel Building,Shazui Road Futian District,Shenzhen Guangdong China
Phone:+86-755-83413795
Fax:+86-755-83309302

Dear Sirs,
Marry Christmas and Happy New Year!
Do you remember me?We are footwear manufacturer and exporter.I will send some pictures of our products for you.If you are interested in it please contact us.And tell me your detailed address and phone and fax.We will send more and more pictures for you in the future. We want to get the shoes business relations with you.
Your prompt reply would be appreciated.
Regards!
Sincerely,
Sunny Ding

Just what I want in a international penpal- sincere concern about my footwear needs. "Shoes business relations".
Oh baby.

Distraction

I had a nice grumpy post all typed up about how the holidays were getting me down until I remembered the face I make every time I read one of those on someone else's blog, so here's a nice little movie instead:
O Come All Ye Faithful
Notice: kind of a slow load, but worthy of it. Be sure to turn on the speakers.
(cookies under the tree for Geisha asobi)

You'll Poke Your Eye Out

The same guy that wrote and directed that perennial holiday classic, "A Christmas Story" also wrote and directed "Porky's."

I need to lie down.

Net Worth

Thanks to Jeff at Side Salad, I've been playing Escape From Neverland all day.
I doubt I'd have gotten such a good score if I wore my one sequined glove on my mouse hand.

The Key

This is exactly the kind of quiz Lynn ought to be in charge of.

Cb major - life is full of complications,
commitments and organization. You love to make
sure everything is just perfect, but sometimes
this can cause you to fall over your own feet.
A slightly unsociable key: why Cb major when
you could be the identical Bmajor? It has less
accidentals.

what key signature are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

The GM1 Speaks Again

While watching a commercial where everyone runs in terror when Mom breaks out the Listerine: "Wimps. It's not like she's asking you to do shots. You'd need a good chaser for that."

Go Smeagol, It's Your Birthday

We all know what a bad case of the warm and fuzzies I have for Gollum. I really really do. More than for John Cusack, even.
So you can imagine how many times I've played this song since I found it.
"In Da Caveses".
(huge thanks to the picklely precioussssssness of Natalie)

If I Take Off My Shoes I Can Get To Twenty-One

Being the sheep that I am, I am thinking about doing the "100 Things About Me" meme-ishness that is floating around. Problem is, I have zero perspective. I can't see the cheesy forest for the lumps of limburger.
I have two ideas on how to go about it:
1. Plagerize several that I've seen, by just stealing their lists and adapting the data.
2. Ask all of you for help, for you to tell me (in the comments) what sort of things I should include.
3. Forget it entirely and assume you've all made up some kind of mythos to cover my existance.

Yeah, that wasn't two, was it? See, I'm lying already.

When I Grow Up

There was a promo running for "Queer Eye For The Straight Guy" featuring my very favorite, Carson, with a pink poofy feathery thing in his hair, asking Kyan "Am I a pretty, pretty princess?" And Kyan replies in the most soothing, reassuring voice, "You certainly are!"
It just makes me cry.

I want to be a pretty, pretty princess, goddammit!

I Am The Cookie Unpronounaceable

What Kind of Cookie Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
(nibbled away from Beth, who blogs nekkid.)

Bait

I have the noisiest pets in the world.
I do not have dogs.
I do not have cats.
I do not have parrots.

I have goldfish.
All through my apartment, there is a persistant "click click CLICK!"
It's the goldfish, pushing and shoving and apparently tossing around the gravel at the bottom of their aquarium.
For weeks, I've been hearing this, this "click click CLICK!", and I thought it was my ancient ugliest-clock-in-the-universe getting sporadic and ready to die.
Then it did die.
Quietly.
And the "click click CLICK!" continued.
After a little while, I spent some time playing Nancy Drew and tracked the sound to the tank. Lesley, Tallulah, Manny, Bruce, and Infomercial were having gravel-volleyball playoffs.

It's just as loud. It's just as constant. But it doesn't bother me now that I know what it is.
Now, this undertone of "moo moo SQUAWK!".... that's starting to bug me.

Unscrewed

Margi has the definitive list, when it comes to burned out bulbs and bloggers.

Shake It

A lovely, sentimental Christmas singing/greeting thingy.
I think J-Lo did the choreography.

Friday Five

This week's Friday Five seems kind of deja-vu-ish... wasn't the one about five favorite beverages used already?
Yeah, like I'm eligible to bitch about reusing post material... I've gone to the "posted it over a month ago so no one will ever remember this" well too many times to count.

1. List your five favorite beverages.
beer
beer
beer
vodka and diet root beer
beer

2. List your five favorite websites.
What a way to start a blogwar! Do you ask the night sky to list its five favorite stars? Can the beach name its five favorite grains of sand? Do you expect me to alienate everyone outside the five I name? Can you imagine that I'm not too damn lazy to have to do linkage with each of the five I'd name?
Didn't think so.
I submit to you that the Friday Five is an instigator!
I love you all equally, my darlings.

3. List your five favorite snack foods.
salt and vinegar potato chips
lime Tostitos chips
nacho cheese Doritos chips
cheesy Ruffles potato chips
Erik Estada

4. List your five favorite board and/or card games.
Scrabble
Trivial Pursuit
Blackjack
Cutthroat Monopoly
Friday Night Highly Intoxicated Truth Or Dare

5. List your five favorite computer and/or game system games.
I have one store-bought computer game on my machine.... SimCity 4. I have never learned to play it. I just build cities on the most impossible terrain I can create, then unleash all the disasters. I love the giant berserker robot the best.
Sometimes, however, I play these:
mahjong
Insanaquarium
Santa's Balls 2
Pass the Pigs
Twenty Questions

Lord of the Things

I have won a lovely Christmas tree ornament in Victor's recent caption contest.
I promise to use this power ornament for good, not evil, and to protect the kingdom and all my the serfs, orcs, and various hobbitry.
(I found out I won yesterday, then watched my "Lord of the Rings: Two Towers" dvd while drinking vodka and diet root beer floats, and consequently had very odd dreams in which I was Gandalf, ruling with an iron fist in a velvet gauntlet with my magical Christmas Tree Ornament of Power. Gollum was involved in some vaguely erotic way. My preciousssssssss....)

Unalienable Rights and Stuff

Eric, bless his patriotic little heart, has steered me to a petition that is going to change everyone's life for the better. So go sign it.
Right now.
I'll wait.......

Are you still here?
Don't you WANT a pony?
Or are you one of them pony-hatin' communists?
For shame.

Roget Would Be Proud

True story.
A few years ago, I had a Christmas job courtesy of my temp agency of the moment, in the gift wrap booth at the mall.
Recipe for foolishness: very small booth, several giggling women with complete disdain for people who PAY to have their gifts wrappped, and a guaranteed paycheck no matter how poorly we did.

(A little background: I am NOT a good gift wrapper. My mom is the queen of gift wrappage. She can take piece of newspaper and some string and make it look like the Pope's bar mitzvah present.
I use grocery bags a lot. )

The price to have a gift wrapped, other than taking whispered abuse from us gifty elves in the booth, depended on the dimensions. A scarf was naturally less to wrap than a tricycle. So my first question, in answer to the customer's first question of "How much is it?" would be: "How big is your package?"
It took me three days to realize that I was consistently asking men how big their package was. Over and over and over.
Of course, once I noticed, I was incapable of saying it without going into a giggle fit.
"That's IT!" I told my coworkers, who found it as hilarious as I did. "I'm not saying that anymore."

And I kept my word. When our next customer, a novelty in herself, being a woman, and asked how much, I was ready:
"How big is your box?"

And I kept getting paid.

Clap Your Hands

Mia collects Tinkerbells. She also collects what she calls "FTs". I plan on stealing really like her F.T. list.
Go see Mia. You won't regret it.

How To Wash The Cat

1. Thoroughly clean the toilet.
2. Add the required amount of shampoo to the toilet water, and have both
lids lifted.
3. Obtain the cat and soothe him while you carry him towards the bathroom.
4. In one smooth movement, put the cat in the toilet and close both lids [you may need to stand on the lid so that he cannot escape]
CAUTION: Do not get any part of your body too close to the edge, as his paws will be reaching out for any purchase they can find. The cat will self-agitate and make ample suds. Never mind the noises that come from your toilet, the cat is actually enjoying this.
5. Flush the toilet three or four times. This provides a 'power wash and rinse' which I have found to be quite effective.
6. Have someone open the door to the outside and ensure that there are no people between the toilet and the outside door.
7. Stand behind the toilet as far as you can, and quickly lift both lids.
8. The now-clean cat will rocket out of the toilet, and run outside where he
will dry himself.
Sincerely,
The Dog

Dr. Evil Wants One

The first thing I thought when I read this about electrified platypuses was "sharks with frickin' laser beams on their heads."
I've obviously watched that movie way too many times.
I won't tell you what we've named "Mini Me".

If Vegetarians Eat Vegetables...

"I Eat People".

Flap

Today is the 100th anniversary of the Wright Brothers' historic flight. Normal people recognize this for the amazing accomplishment it was.
Abnormal people... well, Tim Blair has a flight report on them:

Just look at the sinister apparatus. Pity the victims fed through that double-bladed mincing device. The number on its side? Confirmed kills.

The comments, however, are very worthy of the price of admission.
(extra inflight peanuts to Triticale)

Phraseology

I guess every couple, be it a romantic pairing or just friends, develop their own shorthand. Seeing as how this tends to creep into my blogging, I thought I'd share a little glimpse into Cheese Lingo.
Besides, I'm coming up caboose on the creative train.

"Corndogs and accordians": This came from some kind of mental burp and has become the phrase the GM1 and I use instead of "apples and oranges".
"What do you want to watch, "Chicago" or "Moulin Rouge"?
"I don't care, it's all corndogs and accordians to me."

"Smell the toast": On a "Will and Grace" rerun, Will asked Grace when she had a bizarre idea if she were having a stroke..."do you smell the toast?" Apparently you smell toast when you stroke out. Now, I have used the stroke-out connection for years, ever since I developed this obsessive idea that it was destined for me to have a stroke. Every headache meant the Big One was on its way.
Whenever I come up with some hairbrained idea or nonsequitor, the GM1 will ask me if I smell the toast.

"The clam before the storm": Stolen from one of my mom's training-wheel era emails. She was the titan of typos for a while. Used mainly in place of the normal version.... "the shrimp scampi before the storm".

"Window-licker": My best friend Tonya once told me about a friend of hers back in the old country (Tennessee) who drove the short bus. The kids on it tended to express themselves by licking the windows, throwing shoes, and smacking each other (and often themselves) in the crotch. Rather like kids on the non-short bus, actually. Tonya and I determined that anyone who acted in a manner contrary to our strict standards (like the pathetic waste of skin who cut us off at the light, for example) was a "window-licking, shoe-throwing, peepee-smacking FOOL!"

"How long does canned ravioli last?" A friend who was addicted to Art Bell, the aliens/conspiracy/moonbat radio show host, emailed me in the middle of the night with a babbling, stream-of-consciousness panic fit brought on by Bell. She was convinced the world was ending at any moment. The hysteria just jumped off the screen. At the end, in what seemed very rational and calm (clam?) she non-capital-letter PS'd "how long does canned ravioli last?"
It's now the watchword around Chez Cheese for any spontaneous outburst of unwarranted hysterical behavior.

"Battle of the Network Vegans": Another Tonya and LeeAnn creation, born of our observation of Tim and Wendy and their kid Paige. (You might remember Paige from this.) Tim and Wendy had a constant competition to be the Better Parent, while in reality they worked furiously to shove the custodianship of Paige over to the other as much as possible. We also called it "Two Vegetarians Fighting Over The Cow".

"Give it a shimmy": Another steal from "Will and Grace". Karen, who is quite honestly the closest thing I have to a role model, gives a shimmy to whatever or whoever she wants to reward or coax.
A shimmy is performed thusly: Cleavage exposed, the shimmier bends over to enhance it and shakes her shoulders at the object of reward/coaxing. It works especially well at Mardi Gras situations to get beads when a full flash just won't do.

"Pull an Osten": Based on "Survivor:Pearl Islands" contestant Osten Taylor, a bodybuilder in peak condition who quit because he felt his "temple" was in danger. Synonymous with "to pussy out".

It Does A Body Good

To drink my weight, I would have to chug 201 bottles of beer!
How big is your beer belly?
Powered by the mighty Rum and Monkey.

Basically, I think by now I've populated a small country, beer-consumption-wise.
A small, staggering, piss-a-lot country.

Pre-Boxed

Anna of Primal Purge is sad. Sad sad sad.
Why is Anna sad?
Because Amazon doesn't deliver orgasms.

"Why is it people only put Amazon and Paypal on their sites? I want Babeland and/or Good Vibrations. If someone finds out they're set up for wish lists, let me know. I want all my readers to give me an orgasm. And if they can't do it directly, Fed Ex is the next best thing. Because I positively have to have one overnight."

So I did some *ahem* digging.....

I searched all over Amazon for things vibratory....
I found "quiver inserts", which is just a tease of missed marketing and are not as much fun as they sound. I found a "vibration stopper", which is exactly what we don't want.
There is a Hitachi Magic Wand Massager, which has a certain "look" about it, but the cord is awfully short. One decent wrist rotation and that's out of the wall socket. Nothing worse than electronius interruptus.
For those hard to reach spots, they recommend a 10 foot concrete vibrator. Taking the "hard as a rock" metaphor quite literally, I imagine.
There were quite a lot of books on the subject, but most of them are hardback, so rolling them into the proper shape is out of the question.

In the end, so to speak, you can always rely on traditional remedies.
And a pool boy named Ramon.
Did I say that out loud?

(please do not even in the leasty little bit take this as me making sport of Anna. I worship the keyboard Anna types upon. She's just a damn inspiration jubilee, is what that girl is. Homage this be. )

Twitch

It is quite literally impossible not to hear "Goodbye Goodbye" by Oingo Boingo and not go into very-embarassing-if-anyone-else-were-here-but-thank-god-I'm-alone chair dancing.
Really.
I've tried.
Excuse me whilst I bop.

I've Been A Good Girl, Really

So, now is the part where I ask you all your opinion on something:

What do you think about wish lists? Good? Bad? Ridiculously hopeful? Greedy?
Or just an amusing exercise in online window shopping when you set it up?
Because you know me. I'll trot out all the embarassing photos of me as a baby, but I want full and up to the minute input if I'm going to make a real idjit of myself.
Let me know, okay?

AC/DC

Eric originally wanted me to watch monkey-spanking, but I got more of a charge out of this little guy.

All She Wants For Christmas Is To Waltz With Matilda

Joanie, our own Goddess, has broken out in a fever of Oz dreamin'.
She's hoarding downunder gifties, and telling us walkabout tales, and I think she's stalking Steve Irwin.
Okay, on that last one... who isn't? The guy is a cutie.
(and if I'm a very good Cheese, maybe she'll take me with her when she finally gets to visit there. I bet I could fit in a carry-on.)

Pink Panties

My mom called me this weekend, in search of Christmas gift info.
It was way earlier than she usually calls, so I suspected disaster, as phone calls in odd times of the day usually harbinger.
What followed was a case of two women, both of whom don't hear so well, being.... weird.

Mom: "muttermuttermutter"
Me: "hmmmm?"
Mom: *louder* "I SAID muttermuttermutter!"
Me: "Pink panties. "
Mom: "WHAT?"
Me: "I thought you said what are you wearing?"
Mom: "Oh holy shit, no, I said 'what does your husband want for Christmas?' "
Me: "Oh.... uh, a bathrobe."
Mom: "A bathmutter? Don't you have one?"
Me: "He ruined it. It finally fell apart the last time he pulled it out."
Mom: "Pulled WHAT out? No, no, nevermind."
Me: "Who's blind?"
Mom: "How big muttermutter?"
Me: "How big is WHAT?"
Mom: "How big does he take it?"
Me: "Take WHAT? What are you talking about?"
Mom: "His muttermutter bathmutter."
Me: "It depends on what he ate the night before and what the hell are we talking about?"
Mom: "Muttermuttermutter."
Me: "WHY ARE YOU WHISPERING?!?"
Mom: "I don't want the GM1 to hear me."

I love my mommy.
But I am really curious as to what the GM1 is going to end up with for a gift.

Lawsy Me

THE LAW OF COMMON SENSE
Never accept a drink from a urologist.
THE LAW OF REALITY
Never get into fights with ugly people, they have nothing to lose.
THE LAW OF SELF SACRIFICE
When you starve with a tiger, the tiger starves last.

THE LAW OF VOLUNTEERING
If you dance with a grizzly bear, you had better let him lead.
THE LAW OF AVOIDING OVERSELL
When putting cheese in a mousetrap, always leave room for the mouse.
THE LAW OF MOTIVATION
Creativity is great, but plagiarism is faster.
BOOB'S LAW
You always find something in the last place you look.
WAILER'S LAW
Nothing is impossible for the man who doesn't have to do it himself.
THE LAW OF PROBABLE DISPERSAL
Whatever hits the fan will not be evenly distributed.
THE LAW OF VOLUNTEER LABOR
People are always available for work in the past tense.
CONWAY'S LAW
In any organization there is one person who knows what is going on. That person must be fired.
IRON LAW OF DISTRIBUTION
Them that has, gets.
THE LAW OF CYBERNETIC ENTOMOLOGY
There is always one more bug.
THE LAW OF DRUNKENESS
You can't fall off the floor.
HEELER'S LAW
The first myth of management is that it exists.
OSBORNE'S LAW
Variables won't; constants aren't.
MAIN'S LAW
For every action there is an equal and opposite government program.
WEINBERG'S SECOND LAW
If builders built buildings the way programmers wrote programs, then the first woodpecker that came along would have destroyed civilization.

Because It's Been Almost Ten Minutes Since The Last One

You are Rizzo the Rat.
You have few friends, but are loyal to those you do
have. Maybe if you didn't smell like sewage
you would have more.

SPECIES:
Rodentia Digesta Lotta Grub
HOMETOWN:
Brooklyn, USA (Cheese note: no way in hell)
FAVORITE MOVIE:
"Rat On A Hot Tin Roof"
FAVORITE SONG:
"The Pest Is Yet To Come"
FAVORITE FOOD:
You got it, I'll eat it.
HOBBIES:
See "Favorite Food".
QUOTE:
"When do we eat?"

What Muppet are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
(bjorn bjorndee blip blipped from margi.)

So I Don't Have To

This is why I have smart friends... so they can say things like this and make me smile and nod and say "Go look at this right now. It's GOOD. "
Serenity is today's Smart Friend.

UPDATE: Jeff is also a Smart Friend, particularly because he understands early morning for the Cheese is best with few words.... and this is worth 1000.

I'm Not Hungry Anymore

An interesting little movie that proves drugs, Krispy Kreme, and animation skills don't always lead to love.

Singalong

The latest Bestofme Symphony is up at Snoozebutton Dreams.
Go take a look before your boss finds out you're just surfing and gives you a pile of crap to do.

There Are Beans On The Ceiling and Rice In My Hair

Why, you might ask?
Well, I was making beans and rice, and as usual, I got absorbed in the online world, while in the real world the beans and rice were conspiring to stick to the bottom of the pan.
Oh ho, says I. Not today. And I took my all purpose rubber stirry thing and began to unstick the beans and rice before they became a permanent part of the pan, which has happened more times than I can count once or twice before.
Beans and rice are very determined things, and the all purpose rubber stirry thing began to bend... and bend... and BEND....
Until it snapped and beans and rice flew.
And that's why.

I am putting Pizza Hut on speed-dial.... right after I get the beans off the ceiling and the rice out of my hair.

Because Sometimes Things Are A Big Deal

I'm not political. C'mon, if you've been here before, you know I'm not political. Look at the picture of the little girl eating a drumstick, for heavens sake. Does this LOOK like a political blog to you?
Nevertheless, I feel it necessary to say this: I don't know all the ramifications of Saddam's capture. I don't know what, if any, use he is to us, or to anyone. I don't know how this advances us strategically or politically in the war in Iraq.
I don't care so much about things I don't understand.
What I do care about is, the bastard is CAUGHT. No longer free. Not at large. Cap-friggin'-tured.
And that makes me happy.
just for the record, I am a conservative Republican for the most part, pro-choice, pro-capital punishment, pro-NRA, and very very very pro-military. And I'd be even happier if some huge syphllitic biker makes Saddam his bitch in prison, where the shaggy bastard dies a slow, painful death of anal fistulas. In case you wondered and stuff.

You Can Love Your Pet, And Then You Can Love Your Pet

So you've found your partner for life, the only thing is - he's an animal. Not just that he leaves hair in the bath and has abominable table manners, but that he really is an animal, e.g. with feathers, scales or whatnot.

No matter. What's important is that you're happy, not their facial hair or how many legs he's got. So go on, if you really love him and you're in this for life, isn't it time you married your pet?

Marry Your Pet.
I've had worse, I suppose.
(The GM1 would like me to emphasize I don't mean him.)

Enlightening Eric

A joke for Eric, because he hasn't heard this one:

An understudy of a successful Broadway show is finally getting his big break. He's told one of the minor actors is ill, and while it's only one line, there was going to be lots of big producers and directors in the audience that night.
The understudy takes it to heart, and practices his line all day, in every way... "HARK! I hear the cannons roar!" "Hark! I hear the CANNONS roar!" "Hark, I hear the cannons ROAR!"
Finally the big night arrives. The understudy strides onstage and waits for his cue. Soon it comes, a deafening sound effect of cannons firing.
The understudy jumps in the air and screams "What the FUCK was that?"

Da

The Commissar at The Politburo Diktat has a wonderful post on the different types of blogs and bloggers, as seen from the impending revolution.

Bloggers are bloggers. Like The Commissar. Since most of The Commissar's readers (I suspect) are bloggers, probably like you --- the person reading this now. People who for whatever narcissistic or other reason are inspired or compelled to share their views and news with the world. We write, we read, maybe we watch our sub-500 Sitemeters. We are the proletariat.

Despite, or maybe because of, my tendency to read his blog aloud with a Boris Badenov accent, it lays out a lot of what I've been thinking but lacked sufficient savvy to say.
Mmmm, alliteration.
(and a big cup of "good morning!" to The Captain's Quarters for steering me in this direction.)

Yum

My mom's Christmas care package just came.... three pounds of homemade peanut butter fudge for the GM1, and three pounds of homemade Chexmix for me.

If you'll excuse me, I have some wallowing to do.

I Was Cutting Edge And Didn't Know It (or, Everything Old Is New Again)

I took this little quizzy-listy thing back in June, way before Jane and Stevie discovered it.... and I took it uphill, both ways, in the snow, without all these newfangled....
/old broad rant

Ten Layers Of Me
LAYER ONE
-- Name: LeeAnn
-- Birth date: September 6
-- Birthplace: West Virginia
-- Current Location: Pearl Harbor, Hawaii California
-- Eye Color: green
-- Hair Color: light brown
-- Height: 5'2"
-- Righty or Lefty: lefty
-- Zodiac Sign: Virgo
LAYER TWO:
-- Your heritage: Irishy, with a splash of Dutch/German. This explains the beer fixation and the anal-retentiveness.
-- The shoes you wore today: ancient black Converse high-tops.
-- Your weakness: cheese, cheese, sushi, cheese. Possibly cheese sushi.
-- Your fears: too damn many to list, but a sampling would include swimming in opaque water, bugs, crowds, boredom......
-- Your perfect pizza: thin crust with mushrooms and jalapenos
-- Goal you'd like to achieve: transform my pudgy self back into the nice size 6 I used to be (and world domination, of course)
LAYER THREE:
-- Your most overused phrase on IM: I don't have IM. I get enough randomization in my social life just living in military housing the apartment complex that rents to Bellvue escapees.
-- Your thoughts first waking up: "What, again?"
-- Your best physical feature: nice chewy bottom lip, and my lovely tattoos.
-- Your most missed memory: If it's a memory, then that means I remember it, right? So if I miss it, that means it's gone so I don't remember it, so it can't be a memory.... Do not fuck me around with this Catch-22 bullshit.
LAYER FOUR:
-- Pepsi or Coke: diet Pepsi, with a shot of citron vodka if the sun is past the yardarm
-- McDonald's or Burger King: mmmm, McDonald's, and screw the bad press they've been getting.
-- Single or group dates: neither. The GM1 prefers that I don't date. He's funny that way.
-- Adidas or Nike: Nike for serious workouts, Addidas for retro-style.
-- Lipton Ice Tea or Nestea: Lipton iced tea, but I make it myself. Canned tea tastes oddly metallic, which I prefer to taste only after blowing robots (just checking to see if anyone's read this far.)
-- Chocolate or vanilla: vanilla, because you can tart it up with chocolate or caramel sauce.
-- Cappuccino or coffee: coffee. Lots and lots of coffee if I'm expected to function and not immediately slaughter innocents when I wake up.
LAYER FIVE:
-- Smoke: Never have. I don't think I've ever dated or married anyone who did. It must gross me out deeper than I realized. Dr. Freud? Would you like to discuss this?
-- Cuss: all the fucking time, you great wanking dickface.
-- Sing: in the car or in the shower, but never where anyone can hear me and report animal cruelty.
-- Take a shower everyday: sometimes twice. Sometimes three times. If I'm short on laundry, I showered fully-dressed. Hooray for efficiency!
-- Do you think you've been in love: many more times than was good for me, except this last one, which is still ongoing.
-- Want to go to college: have gone, on and off. I might like to continue just to finish my degree, but from what I read lately, college professors tend to be overly-liberal, PC nazis who I'd most likely walk out on. Plus, what does it say about the worth of a college diploma if you need one to be a bloody receptionist? What's next, requiring a Ph.D to deliver a pizza? Kind of cheapens it, to make it needed to get a basic entry-level minimum wage job. /rant
-- Like(d) high school: Oh hell no! I was a geek, and worse, a girl geek, which was like having two heads in the 70s. Some of my fondest fantasies are going back to a reunion and doing a Carrie to them.
-- Want to get married: I've done it four times, and only this last time was worth a shit. The first three were complete wastes of skin. I think I fancied myself a matrimonial Mother Theresa.
-- Believe in yourself: see-saw on that one. It often depends on if the day is a good hair day.
-- Get motion sickness: only on boats.
-- Think you're attractive: I don't scare small children (too bad) but I don't make grown men trip over their hard-ons either.
-- Think you're a health freak: I drink light beer, does that count? Oh, and I put the calcium-enriched orange juice in my screwdrivers.
-- Get along with your parent(s): I adore my mother. Let's stop there.
-- Like thunderstorms: as long as I don't have to drive in them, yes.
-- Play an instrument: I'd love to play the piano. (I was very tempted to insert a low, gutter-mouthed "skin flute" joke here, but I didn't. Classy points for me!)
LAYER SIX:
In the past month...
-- Drank alcohol: Who do you think you're talking to? Have you never read my blog before?
-- Smoked: no.
-- Done a drug: I went to high school in the 70s. If you didn't partake of something at least once, you were obviously not human.
-- Made Out: yepper. The GM1 is a great kisser.
-- Gone on a date: We don't have dates. We have "episodes of social wandering".
-- Gone to the mall?: yes
-- Eaten an entire box of Oreos?: no, but I did hoover down an entire container of Pringles.
-- Eaten sushi: as much as I can get.
-- Been on stage: no
-- Been dumped: only by the deity of Common Sense. Don't get me started.
-- Gone skating: I wish.
-- Made homemade cookies: no. I don't cook/bake/prepare if I can avoid it.
-- Gone skinny dipping: does the bathtub count?
-- Dyed your hair: just a tiny bit
-- Stolen anything: I confess... the bank is less a pen because of me. Damn my thieving ways!
-- You sound boring: I prefer "uninstitutionalized". Okay, boring is accurate too.
LAYER SEVEN
Ever...
-- Played a game that required removal of clothing: back in the olden days when removal of my knee socks didn't expose my nipples.
-- If so, was it mixed company: yes, but they were not only mixed, they were mixed up, confused about their sexuality, and decided halfway into the game to go out for pizza and not return. Except for the one who passed out under the beanbag chair.
-- Been trashed or extremely intoxicated: see beanbag chair entry above.
-- Been caught "doing something": amazingly, never. Quite a few near-misses, though.
-- Been called a tease: yes, and damn proud of it.
-- Gotten beaten up: yep. Told you some of my ex-husbands were bastards, didn't I? There you go.
-- Shoplifted: junior high was like a Winona Ryder training film.
-- Changed who you were to fit in: yes, but was aware of it, like putting on a costume and giggling under the mask.
LAYER EIGHT:--
--Age you hope to be married: Oh, for the love of...
-- Numbers and Names of Children: I havehad a cat. I havehad a lot of cats. Too numerous and flaky to name or number.
-- Describe your Dream Wedding: any one that didn't involve the first three losers. If I could re-wedding the one I had with the GM1, I'd change quite a few things (venue, reception, guest list, dress) but leave the best part alone (the GM1).
-- How do you want to die: painlessly, in my sleep, after making the Guiness Book of Records for Oldest Person Ever Ever That Wasn't Monkey-butt Senile.
-- Where you want to go to college: somewhere without political correctness or liberal bullshit.
-- What do you want to be when you grow up: day late and a dollar short on that question.
-- What country would you most like to visit: Australia.
Layer Nine -
--Opposite sex (or the same?) both. I'm greedy.
-- Best eye color? brown
-- Best hair color? brown
-- Short or long hair: doesn't matter as long as it's nice and clean.
-- Best Height? medium or shortish
-- Best weight: for me 110 lbs., for a man 160ish
-- Best articles of clothing: jeans. Gotta go with the classics
-- Best first date location: zoo.
-- Best first kiss location: at the front door, after the goodbye and before the "what would you like for breakfast?"
LAYER TEN:
-- Number of drugs taken illegally: I grew up in the 70s. I stopped counting during freshman year.
-- Number of people I could trust with my life: two- the GM1 and my mom.
-- Number of CDs that I own: without an accurate count, about 200.
-- Number of piercings: twelve. (eleven in the ears and one lovely bellybutton ring.)
-- Number of tattoos: ten currently, two more planned.
-- Number of times my name has appeared in the newspaper?: a couple of community theater reviews.
-- Number of scars on my body: tons. But as the old saying goes, "Pain heals. Chicks dig scars. Glory is forever."
-- Number of things in my past that I regret: did I mention my exes? Let's just say the first 29 years of my life. But oh, the revenge is sweet.

Pixy's Stealing My Schtick!

Is This The End Of Doing It By Hand?**

Let me tell you, weekends are very non-productive in the blog world.
You all have your little "lives" and "outside activities" and then there's this "family" thing..... where's the dedication? Where's the love?
To keeping me entertained, I mean. Of course.

To that end, I click on each and every one of you on my blogroll... *click*- read that already.... *click* - took the quiz, yeah..... *click*- saw that..... *click*- oh thank gods, a new post: "no blogging this weekend because I'm off to go Christmas caroling and one-horse-sleighing with my loved ones"..... BAH!

I think, despite my fierce rabid fear of new technology that means possibly buggering up my template beyond all human comprehension disdain for doing anything other than updating my blogroll by hand, I might have to drink the kool-aid get into the 00's and get Blogrolling, as I understand it puts a little starry thing or whatever next to a blog title when it updates.

Or maybe I'll ask Santa for a special Linkage Fairy, whose sole job it is to check the blogs for me to find new stuff.
Or, in an entirely new direction, I could become one of those people who has a "real life" and goes off on "outside activities" with "family".

Nah.
**(I was going to title this "The End of Hand Jobs", but got all squeamed-out in the end. I suck. Wait, I don't mean I suck as opposed to hand jobs.... okay, now, that didn't come out right at all. I should just stop now.)

Built For Comfort, Not For Speed

In case you're wondering how Tuesday's aerobics adventure went, I've made a list:

1. There are places on the human body you weren't even aware of until you try to get out of bed the next day.
2. The less body fat an instructor has, the less soul, human compassion, pity, or likelihood of giving you another free bottle of water.
3. Little old Asian men giggle like schoolgirls when women in spandex bark orders at them.
4. Step, Forrest, step.
5. People who design bicycle seats have no nerves in their asses.
6. If you fall down, stay down. You can squeeze in a 10 second nap before they nag you to your feet.
7. "Low impact" means merely heart attack level as opposed to aneurysm.
8. Tying your shoes will buy you some rest, but you can only do it so many times before they duct-tape your laces.
9. Spandex and an associates' degree in physical fitness makes a person MEAN.
10. Eventually you will become so exhausted you will blatantly fix your wedgie in full view of the entire room and just DARE anyone to say something.

But hey, I got a free t-shirt.

Snowglobe Of Mass Destruction

Better stress relief than bubblewrap, even.
Turn up your speakers for added holiday cheer.
(shaken, not stirred at Reflections in D Minor and popped off at Xset)

I Have To Do This

You are an enzyme. You are powerful, dark,
variable, and can change many things at your
whim...even when they're not supposed to be
changed. Bad you. You can be dangerous or
wonderful; it's your choice.

Which Biological Molecule Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Warts and All

Jennifer, the History and Interview Goddess, has posted my interview! Full of answers! From all the questions you sent her! Could this BE any niftier?!!!
No, it's not decaf, why do you ask?
Go look, go look NOW!

Nicely Naughty

I had to check the list twice: Santa's Naughty or Nice O' Meter.

the cheese
Much more nice than naughty. Can be very thoughtful. Has improved cleanliness, which I like. Could take better care of toys. Says "thank you" often, but still not as much as I would like. Good mood often spreads to others. Hopefully, will keep up the good work!

LeeAnn
Nice, but a few naughty marks. Good sense of humor helps others to laugh. Manners show improvement, though must keep working on being polite. "Please" and "thank you" go a long way!!

(sneaked out of Mamageek's stocking, who is always on the "nice" list)

Spirit Was Willing But The Cable Was Weak

Got up bright and early (thank you, Insomnia Fairy) to catch up on my blogging, and lo and behold, the cable was out. For a while I thought I'd been targetted by SBC terrorists because I'd fired off a virulent letter to them yesterday (call me once, call me twice, but call me every freekin' day and I'll get nasty). After spending some quality time with a lovely techie named Jeff on the phone, we decided it was a hardware problem somewhere on my block that would be fixed around Saturday afternoon.
Two minutes later, the cable came back.
I don't even have SBC.
Anyway, let's get started.....

Pissed

Whoever you are, 66.9.106.146, thanks a lot. You stuffed the ballot box at 2003 Weblog Awards last night, to the tune of 35 votes that are going to be taken from me at the end of this. You cheated, and you made me look bad in the process.
I got up this morning, and after I checked the news as usual, and the obits to make sure I wasn't listed, I checked the polls at Wizbang's. Lo and behold, I was at the top! Last night I'd been a far-behind #4, and there I was, Queen Cheese. The bad sleep full of horrid dreams and anxieties about how the hell am I going to get a job today were shoved to the background for a little while. I did a crack-of-dawn happy dance.
Then I checked my email, saw a letter from Kevin nicely explaining that there was a problem with my votes.... checked the link to the explanation on his page. I am to be docked 35 votes because whoever you are at 66.9.106.146 got clever last night and voted and voted and revoted for me.
This is not right. I know I'm supposed to take it as a compliment. I know these awards aren't supposed to mean anything. I know it's just an exercise in vanity/ ratings game/ super-link enhancement fest.
I don't fucking care.
If I win anything, ANYTHING, I want it to be rightfully mine. I don't want anyone's finger in the pie. I don't want my rich daddy calling in favors or my good-lookin' mama flirt-lobbying with obese congressmen. It means nothing otherwise.
Am I taking this too seriously? Most likely. It makes ME look bad too, not just you, whoever you are. It makes me look like some pitiful whiner who had nothing going for her except that her friends are techno-capable of getting around the rules. It's embarassing.
Goddammit, people, I had some nice posts planned for today. I have a Santa's list thing and a post about my sister and now I'm just so disheartened, I could unplug the cable and go watch shitty daytime TV all day.
Shame on you, 66.9.106.146. Shame.

UPDATE: I've calmed down, had some coffee, took a nice shower, shot a few neighbors, and read all the input I've received, for which I thank all of you.
I realize I'm probably taking it too hard, too seriously, too much to heart, and that in the big scheme of it, it's all x's and o's and pooftah gone with the wind.
It's not like there's a prize waiting at the end, you know?
Thanks, y'all.

Yes, I'm One Of "Those" People

You are a Defiant-class Escort, the Federation's
muscleman. People trust their safety onto you,
and you deliver. You're not about to let your
small-profile go un-noticed. People who think
you're an easy target will be sorely mistaken.

Which Class of Federation Starship are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
(beamed up from Xset)

The Gospel According To Some Guy

The Ten Best Tools of All Time
Forget the Snap-On Tools truck; it's never there when you need it.
Besides, there are only ten things in this world you need to fix any car,
any place, any time.

1. DUCT TAPE: Not just a tool, a veritable Swiss Army knife in stickum and plastic. It's safety wire, body material, radiator hose, upholstery, insulation, tow rope, and more in one easy-to-carry package. Sure, there's a prejudice surrounding duct tape in concourse competitions, but in the real world everything from LeMans - winning Porsches to Atlas rockets - uses it by the yard. The only thing that can get you out of more scrapes is two quarters and a phone booth.
2. VICE-GRIPS: Equally adept as a wrench, hammer, pliers, baling wire twister, breaker-off of frozen bolts, and wiggle-it-till-it-falls-off tool. The heavy artillery of your toolbox, Vice Grips are the only tool designedexpressly to fix things screwed up beyond repair.
3. SPRAY LUBRICANTS: A considerably cheaper alternative to new doors, alternators, and other squeaky items. Slicker than pig phlegm. Repeated soakings of WD-40 will allow the main hull bolts of the Andrea Dora to be removed by hand. Strangely enough, an integral part of these sprays is the infamous little red tube that flies out of the nozzle if you look at it cross-eyed, one of the ten worst tools of all time.
4. MARGARINE TUBS WITH CLEAR LIDS: If you spend all your time under the hood looking for a left-handed frendle pin that caromed off the peedle valve when you knocked both off the air cleaner, it's because you eat butter. Real mechanics consume pounds of tasteless vegetable oil replicas, just so they can use the empty tubs for parts containers afterward. (Some, of course, chuck the butter-colored goo altogether or use it to repack wheel bearings.) Unlike air cleaners and radiator lips, margarine tubs aren't connected by a time/space wormhole to the Parallel Universe of Lost Frendle Pins.
5. BIG ROCK AT THE SIDE OF THE ROAD: Block up a tire. Smack corroded battery terminals. Pound out a dent. Bop nosy know-it-all types on the noodle. Scientists have yet to develop a hammer that packs the raw banging power of granite or limestone. This is the only tool with which a "made in India" emblem is not synonymous with the user's maiming.
6. PLASTIC ZIP TIES: After twenty years of lashing down stray hoses and wired with old bread ties, some genius brought a slightly slicked up version to the auto parts market. Fifteen zip ties can transform a hulking mass of amateur-quality rewiring from a working model of the Brazilian rain forest into something remotely resembling a wiring harness. Of course, it works both ways. When buying used cars, subtract $100.00 for each zip tie under the hood.
7. RIDICULOUSLY LARGE STANDARD SCREWDRIVER WITH LIFETIME GUARANTEE: Let's admit it. There's nothing better for prying, chiseling, lifting, breaking, splitting, or mutilating than a huge flat-bladed screwdriver, particularly when wielded with gusto and a big hammer. This is also the tool ofc choice for oil filters so insanely located they can only be removed by ddriving a stake in one side and out the other. If you break the screwdriver - and you will, just like Dad or your shop teacher said - who cares? It's guaranteed.
8. BAILING WIRE: Commonly known as MG muffler brackets, bailing wire holds anything that's too hot for tape or ties. Like duct tape, it's not recommended for concourse contenders since it works so well you'll never replace it with the right thing again. Bailing wire is a sentimental favorite in some circles, particularly with MG, Triumph, and flathead Ford set.
9. BONKING STICK: This monstrous tuning fork with devilishly pointy ends is technically known as a tie-rod-end separator, but how often do you separate tie-ends? Once every decade, if you're lucky. Other than medieval combat, its real use is the all purpose application of undue force, not unlike that of the huge flat-bladed screwdriver. Nature doesn't know the bent metal panel or frozen exhaust pipe that can stand up to a good bonking stick.
(Can also be used to separate tie-rod ends in a pinch, of course, but does a
lousy job of it).
10. TWO QUARTERS AND A 'PHONE BOOTH: (See #1 above.)

I feel honorbound to say that I understand very little of this, and imagine this is why I was given hooters and a credit card.

Underneath That Leaf Is A Mess

Okay, some serious decisions have been made here at Chez Cheese.

(not the least of which is I should stop saying "Chez Cheese")

Quite frankly, the job search isn't going well. I've been out of the market for so long my skills, once considered adequate, are now in the area of "ding fries are done ". Since it's the holiday season and most retail establishments have already trapped, skinned, and mounted hired their extra staff, they aren't in a hurry to take on another mouth to .... let's not go there.

'S okay. The GM1 and I will not starve, move to a van down by the river and eat government cheese, nor sell body parts on Ebay. Just a little belt tightening, that's all.

To that very end, I have a new goal: recover from the mists of time and cheddar gone by my size 6 ass.

(insert pause while waiting for roar of the crowd to subside)

I spend most, yea verily, ALL my time not wasted spent on public humiliation the job search here in front of the computer, mentally masturbating and finding myself impotent slaving away to bring you, my fair and glorious unconscious slaves of the coming revolution readers as much filler as I can without getting graphic about my sex life good quality writing.

Needless to say, while the statmeter loves me a little more lately, my ass is the size of Oklahoma.

Oh crap, now that damn song is earwormed in my head.... "OOOOOOKlahoma, where the wind da da da da da da..." That's all I know of it, and it's enough.
So taking into account my "free" time (it must be free because sure as hell no one is paying me for it) and the dismaying increase in my fat layer (rumor is getting around that I was the stunt double for that bag of liposuctioned glop in "Fight Club"), I have A PLAN.

The gym on the Naval Base is free to active duty and dependents. That's me, a dependent. Some of my parts depend a lot farther than I'd like.

So I'm going to devote myself to sucking up every single bit of dependent benefits I can before the GM1 retires getting myself whipped back into shape. To that end, I have signed up for something today called Jinglebell Jump, which is the we need to justify this huge flyer-printing budget annual Aerobics Marathon.

I will be out there, jumping and jingling and stepping and kickboxing and cycling and dropping dead and being trampled by younger women who already have tiny asses and lesser squeamishness about stomping the dead body of an overly ambitious middle-aged chunky in their rampant pursuit of the perfect abs and my god people don't you have any idea of what my innards are going to do to your designer aerobic shoes? You'll never get those stains off.

Yep, I am Getting In Shape. Working It Off. Just Saying No. Taking Back The Tights. I'm going to become the Number One Gym Hound in the county.

Right after I finish this beer.

My Precious

Congratulations! You're Pippin!

Which Lord of the Rings character and personality problem are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
( Gollumed away from Blown Fuse)

I have to say I'm a little disappointed. While certainly Pippin is as cute as a warm puppy belly, I wanted to be Gollum.

A Joke To Cheer Eric Up

Eric at Straight White Guy is feeling less than springtime fresh, so I thought I'd find something to make him laugh.

A blonde lives way out at the end of a unmarked country road in a big house. One day the house catches fire and the blonde frantically dials 911 (after looking it up, of course)
Blonde: "Help! My house is on fire! "
Operator: "Calm down, miss. Where is your house?"
Blonde: "Out at the end of that road? Where you turn after you pass the pretty tree? The white house with blue shutters? You know?"
Operator: "Um.... we need a little more direction than that, miss. How do we get there?"
Blonde: "Well, duh! Big red truck!"

Monday Memory (yep, I'm late)

Today's Monday Memory question is:
What did your parents tell you that Santa brought naughty children?

I was told he would bring me dead goat bones if I weren't good.
I've never met anyone else who was told this.
Morbid child that I was, I secretly wanted to get some dead goat bones, just to see what they looked like.

A Little Tinsel

The guy who sings my favorite Christmas song, "You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch" in the original television animated version, is the same man who does the voice for Tony the Tiger, the Frosted Flakes furball.
Thank you, Thurl Ravenscroft!

Spare Parts

Bob, of Mindfolly And Stuff, might branch out into the wide world of Ebay....

"So I dunno if you heard this story where this guy, he's like 49 yrs old, put one of his livers or somethin like that up for auction on eBay...

and his auction listing was all he's a non smoker
who smoked 4 to 6 packs a day for 35 years
but how he had the good sense to quit
before listin one of his livers on eBay
and he don't drink alkohall unless he's awake
so he's in excellent health..."

Bring your own onions.

Standard

Yesterday's traditional Sunday dinner, a lovely roast with potatoes and carrots, was preceded by the equally tradtional bashing-of-the-smoke-alarm-until-the-damn-annoying-noise-stops with the traditional baseball bat.
Because, after all, I am an old-fashioned girl.

That's Queen Cheese To You

After a completely pathetic showing during immunity competitons, by coming in dead last in each and every one, it turns out I have flown under the radar to become the Sole Bloggy Survivor!
No, there's no prize.
Oooh, did you ever see an entourage scatter so fast?

I think everyone should send out a big round of applause to everyone who participated, such as Jeff, Jim, Pylorns, Helen, and Emily..... and a hug of gratitude to the man who conceived it, Don, with special thanks to the man who caught the squalling bundle when it looked like it was dropping to the floor, Pylorns in his second role.
To Pixy Misa for all hosting goodness, to Jennifer for logo wonderfulness, to Madfish Willie for design yummies, and to Robert for code fixer-upping, another pitcher of pina coladas, on me.

And Pylorns says there's another one coming in January. Set your calendars!

My Favorite Color, Other Than Paisley

What Pattern Are You?

Bestofme Symphony Debut!

Jim of Snooze Button Dreams has created a new linkylove fest, the Bestofme Symphony. It's all about the best of the past, baby, the stuff you wrote months, years even, ago and think everyone forgot or missed.

Go over and see what goodies crept up out of the files. And if you missed this edition, you can submit something for the next time.

Thus are new traditions born. But without all that butt-slapping.

Even When I'm Famous, I'll Still Eat Beans on Toast

As you know unless you've been abducted by aliens (and even then you'd probably know, because I'm sure aliens have internet access, c'mon, they're ALIENS, they most likely have Steven Spielberg on speed-dial) the 2003 Weblog Awards are going on right this very minute! as we speak! CAN YOU FEEEEEL THE EXCITEMENT? over at Wizbang's.
I, your humble Cheese, am nominated in this category and would certainly appreciate if you would go over there and validate my very existance.

I'd like to also say that I expected a much catchier name for these awards, like "Biggest Thing Since Perforated Toilet Paper Blog Awards 2 Double Ought 3!" or "Wizbangy Award Love" or "2003 Means A Mule in Every Field and a Blog Award in Every Pot!" But I don't really want to say much on this, because it seems ungrateful to criticize an event I'm quite frankly shocked I am even allowed to be in. You like me, you really really like me!

And in keeping with providing you with current affairs and ongoing drama, I will make sure this post stays up at the top of the heap.... until I publish something else, then it moves down.
That's progress, people, get with it already.

UPDATE: I'd like to say, in case you'd think voting for me would be like voting for Gary Coleman or something, just throwing away your vote and making a mockery of the entire democratic process, that for a split second last night, while everyone was asleep, I was at the TOP of the pile, with the most votes. It was one of those times I sorely wished I had a peeny, because I would have had a hard-on you could hang wet towels on. Oh yeah, baby.
UPDATE #2: I was going to copy off the little banner/button dealio for the Awards, but then I found a couple of other quizzes I need to post about, and my jpg jar is nearly full... you understand, right?

No Wonder

Cmonks at Utter Wonder has invented the Blogvent Calendar for this holiday season, with a nifty new Blogvent picture at the end of each day's post, which I would really like to be all snarky about, because it's a nifty thing that I wish I'd thought of first.
But I didn't.
So go enjoy it anyway.
Ingrates.

For All My Friends Who Are Stressed By The Season

Put some happy in your holiday.

Bobo's Choice #1+1

Adam.

Because it all had to start somewhere.

Why Not Zippers?

I've been on a kind of button craze lately. Almost all blogs have a little "link to me" button you can put on your page. I've been picking and choosing my way through them, and down at the bottom you can see which ones I decided to go with.

This, however, is the coolest one I've found that I can't use, due to size constraints.

Just thought I'd say.

Balance

My little login screen just informed me I have had 300 posts, with 900 comments (Susie, you were #900.)
I realize this probably means nothing in the great cosmic scheme of things, but I'm going to go buy a lotto ticket anyway.

You Do Not Talk About Fight Club

They might have been a match made in heaven, but it was the relationship from hell.
(warning: in order to preserve historical accuracy, the "fuck" word is used here. Often. A lot, in fact. Real life sometimes needs emphasis.)

From the minute the overly-chromed, lowriding Toyota pulled into the parking lot, still covered in shaving cream and "Just Married!" signs, and the happy couple piled out screaming at each other, we all knew we'd best set our VCRs, because the main show was going to be over in apartment 2D.

She had one tone of voice: shrieking.
He had one response: "Fuck you, bitch!" followed by a squealed-tire exit.

So when the shouting out on the street started up this afternoon, I really didn't pay much attention. It was just the usual foreplay.

"Yo! Yo! *honk honk honk* YO, BITCH!"
*balcony door slamming open* What you screamin' at ME for, muthafucka?"
"Yo, bitch, bring me my jacket."
"Jacket this, dickhead. I ain't your slave."
*balcony door slams closed*
*extended honking* "BITCH! I'M TALKIN' TO YOU, BITCH! "
*balcony door slams open* "Shut up, asshole, you makin' a scene."
"I want my fuckin' jacket! Fuck your scene, you get me my fuckin' jacket NOW!"
"Oh, you want your jacket? Mr. Dickhead wants his jacket? Okay, boy, I give you your fuckin' jacket."
*pause*
"HERE your jacket, asshole."

And from the balcony flew a very nice jacket.... on fire. It landed in the parking lot in a smoldering pile. The Groom ran over and did a little dance on it.

"BITCH, YOU CRAZY?"
*balcony door slams shut, slams open*
Then the rain of belongings began. Shirts, shoes, pants, CD player, CDs, a toaster still in the box with a pretty silver bow on it, a clock radio....
The Bride was cleaning house. She had a pretty good pitching arm, too. Everytime the Groom would dash in to grab something, she'd nail him with a shoe or a picture frame.

Finally she got tired, and went back in the house, oddly quiet. The Groom stood on the sidewalk, looking at his stuff, and after gathering it all up and depositing it in the car, he stood underneath the balcony like Romeo without a clue.

"Baby? Yo, baby?"
*balcony door slams open* "Uh huh, babe?"
"I bet home 'bout 6, you want some Mickey D?"
"Yeah, baby, get me Big Mac and fries, okay?"
"Okay."
*balcony door slams shut*

Ain't love grand?

Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny Little Fossilized Peenie

My good friend and mentor Bob reports:

"a co-worker sent me this link. I moved my desk farther away."

One For Helen

Which John Cusack Are You?

(found at Jay Solo's place, which makes him an enabler of the nicest sort.)

Dear Santa

Dear Santa,
I rarely ask for much. This year is no exception. I don't need diamond earrings, handy slicer-dicers or comfy slippers. I only want one little thing, and I want it deeply. I want to slap Martha Stewart.

Now, hear me out, Santa. I won't scar her or draw blood or anything. Just one good smack, right across her smug little cheek. I get all cozy inside just thinking about it. Don't grant this wish just for me, do it for thousands of women across the country.

Through sheer vicarious satisfaction, you'll be giving a gift to us all.
Those of us leading average, garden variety lives aren't concerned with gracious living. We feel pretty good about ourselves if our paper plates match when we stack them on the counter, buffet-style for dinner. We're tired of Martha showing us how to make centerpieces from hollyhock dipped in 18 carat gold. We're plumb out of liquid gold. Unless it's of the furniture polish variety. We can't whip up Martha's creamy holiday sauce, spiced with turmeric. Most of us can't even say turmeric, let alone figure out what to do with it. OK, Santa, maybe you think I'm being a little harsh.

But I'll bet with all the holiday rush you didn't catch that interview with Martha in last week's USA Weekend. I'm surprised there was enough room on the page for her ego. We discovered that not only does Martha avoid take-out pizza (she's only ordered it once), she refuses to eat it cold (No cold pizza? Is Martha Stewart Living?) When it was pointed out that she could microwave it, she replied, "I don't have a microwave." The reporter, Jeffrey Zaslow, noted that she said this "in a tone that suggests you shouldn't either." Well lah-dee-dah. Imagine that, Santa! That lovely microwave you brought me years ago, in which I've learned to make complicated dishes like popcorn and hot chocolate, has been declared undesirable by Queen Martha. What next? The coffee maker?

In the article, we learned that Martha has 40 sets of dishes adorning an entire wall in her home. Forty sets. Can you spell "overkill"? And neatly put away, no less. If my dishes make it to the dishwasher, that qualifies as "put away" in my house!

Martha tells us she's already making homemade holiday gifts for friends. "Last year, I made amazing silk-lined scarves for everyone," she boasts. Not just scarves, mind you. Amazing scarves. Martha's obviously not shy about giving herself a little pat on the back. In fact, she does so with such frequency that one has to wonder if her back is black and blue. She goes on to tell us that "homemaking is glamour for the 90s," and says her most glamorous friends are "interested in stain removal, how to iron a monogram, and how to fold a towel." I have one piece of advice, Martha: "Get new friends." Glamorous friends fly to Paris on a whim. They drift past the Greek Islands on yachts, sipping champagne from crystal goblets. They step out for the evening in shimmering satin gowns, whisked away by tuxedoed chauffeurs. They do not spend their days pondering the finer art of toilet bowl sanitation.

Zaslow notes that Martha was named one of America's 25 most influential people by Time magazine (nosing out Mother Theresa, Madeline Albright and Maya Angelou, no doubt). The proof of Martha's influence: after she bought white-fleshed peaches in the supermarket, Martha says, "People saw me buy them. In an instant, they were all gone." I hope Martha never decides to jump off a bridge.

A guest in Martha's home told Zaslow how Martha gets up early to rollerblade with her dogs to pick fresh wild blackberries for breakfast. This confirms what I've suspected about Martha all along: She's obviously got too much time on her hands. Teaching the dogs to rollerblade. What a show off. If you think the dogs are spoiled, listen to how Martha treats her friends: She gave one friend all 272 books from the Knopf Everyman Library. It didn't cost much. Pocket change, really. Just $5,000. But what price is friendship, right?

When asked if others should envy her, Martha replies, "Don't envy me. I'm doing this because I'm a natural teacher. You shouldn't envy teachers. You should listen to them." Zaslow must have slit a seam in Martha's ego at this point, because once the hot air came hissing out, it couldn't be held back. "Being an overachiever is nothing despicable. It is only admirable. Never lower your standards," says Martha. And of her Web Page on the Internet, Martha declares herself an "important presence" as she graciously helps people organize their sad, tacky little lives.

There you have it, Santa. If there was ever someone who deserved a good smack, it's Martha Stewart. But I bet I won't get my gift this year. You probably want to smack her yourself.

(I must admit, I didn't write this. My mom forwarded it to me two years ago. But it still holds eggnog, huh?)

Q and A

JenLars, of the world famous JenLars interview and Jennifer's History and Stuff, tied Tim of Stranger in a Strange Land down and gave him noogies until he answered all our questions. You did email her your questions, right?

She is now taking questions for upcoming interviews with world-famous bloggers such as Silverblue, Tiger, and oh yeah.... me!

Go on, ask anything. I promise to tell tales on myself that would make a sailor blush.

Shimmy

Dana at NoteItPosts, a great blog I've just discovered by stalking visiting Harvey at Bad Money, has a new group for those of us lucky enough to be women.
It's Bloggers With Boobies.

"It's not a cult; you won't be asked to vote in a bloc or wage war on the Bloggers With Pee-Pees or anything; it's just a badge of pride for all strong, self-assured female bloggers (like me) who refuse to be ashamed about their femininity. We're the anti-feminists."

Bloggers With Boobies are:
Da Goddess
Blown Fuse
aethele
homicidal Maniak
The Cheese Stands Alone
Pamibe
Margi Lowry
Squishy Bear
Practical Penumbra
Dizzy Girl
Note-It Posts

Shake 'em if you got 'em.

Let The Punishment Fit the Crime

The latest Survivor Immunity Challenge is up and available for voting.
I can't swim.

The Real Me

( because everyone else is doing it, that's why.)

Good, Because I Hate To Move

California is where you should live. Unless of
course you lied on the quiz which would be
stupid. It's crowded as balls there but the
weather is perfect, except for the occasional
earth quake.

What State Is Perfect For You?
brought to you by Quizilla
(found on Candy Universe, where the stars are Sweet Tarts and the moon's made of gummy bears)

Turn Left At Albuquerque

It looks like Munuvia is on the map. And there I am, Cheeseli, just west of Penumbri and directly north of Spork.
I think this would be a good time to mention it's considered bad form to try to look up my dress from down there.

Ethical Dilemmas Solved

It's important to know the difference between rat and wong.

It's Like A Plate of Cookies In Front of The Fireplace, Sans Mousetracks

Jeff of Side Salad is celebrating by bring us more disturbing variations of Old Saint Nick than you can shake a stick at. He's promised us one every day until Christmas.
And we know what Santa brings to naughty boys who don't keep their promises.
Bupkiss. That's what.

All Lost Socks Go To Hell

I would link this site solely based on cool name alone, but happy luck has it that it's a very cool photo trove.
Satan's Laundromat.
via Bifurcated Rivets (another cool name)

Crayola-la-la-de-da

(discovered on both Mamageek and Carol's Chaotic Collection, both of whom are lovely colors in their own rights.)

Luuk Where We'd Go

Seeing as how I am running late on this extra-points assignment for our Survivor, let me just be as quick as possible:
Here is what Luuk and I will do when he comes to visit:

Hooters. Football. Buffalo wings and beer. Lots of bosomy hugging.
San Diego Zoo. See the pandas. See the sunbears. See the polar bears. See how the other half lives.
Navy Base. Tour the big boat. Look at the missiles. Touch the five-inches. Wash paws.
Watch TV show "Survivor". Rejoice that we don't have to eat bugs or sleep in crab-infested sand. Eat pizza in their honor.

Mr. Helpful Sure Gets Around

It looks like Marie at Welcome To Bitch Country is getting the same kind of email I got yesterday.

Soon To Be Deleted

I am so incredibly annoyed right now. Annoyed is not a violent enough word.
I'm so angry, so irritated, so enraged, that I WANT a telemarketer to call me right now, so I can unleash the demon. Do I want to change my long-distance carrier? Oh, assnugget, you have no idea the beatdown you're begging for.

The most aggravating part about being this aggravated is I'm not very good at being aggravated. Okay, not good at being publicly aggravated. Wroth with wrath in the sight of others. I was raised to keep it under control, that to let anyone else see a deeper emotion was the very faux of pas. As I grew up, I realized it wasn't the public's embarrassment I was worried about, it was that paranoid little voice saying "Now that they know what pisses you off, they'll use it."
So I count to ten. I breathe deep. I go to my happy place.
Today my happy place is full of assault rifles and bell towers and laser sights.

The second most aggravating thing is that my ire has no one single target. There isn't one big thorn in my paw. There are, however, a lot of little pricks.

1. My car insurance company, who has for the fifth time in as many months completely fucked up my billing, making my payments either late, or (now, due to their accounting error from AUGUST that they are just now catching and demanding correction of) doubled. Yeah, like I have money just whizzing out the yin-yang, it being the one Christmas I am so incredibly broke that not only are the GM1 and I not getting gifts for each other, we are unable to get anyone in our families gifts, even the little kids who want only shiny trinkets, because even if I made them all homemade cookies or crafty little things that I don't have a clue of how to make, I can't afford to mail them. Thank you, SmallState!

2. The GM1, who proverbially slit his own throat by saying, when I told him happily that Jennifer was going to interview me next in her famous series of interviews, "you ought to love that, because you're such a ham."
Learn to pee sitting down, honey, unless you sleep with one eye open.

3.The "helpful" reader who sent me the long list of things I ought to do to "increase my status" in the blog community. I wish, oh how I wish, I had saved the thing itself so I could fisk it to within an inch of its condescending life. (In between screaming "MOTHRAFUCKER!" at the computer and trying to reply to it, I miskeyed and deleted. Better to cut off the head or something, I believe I was thinking.)
Let me just try to cover a few points from what little memory my rage-induced mini-stroke didn't erase....
a. If I have not linked to Ms. A, or Mr. B, or Opinionated SuperAssNugget C, it is because I don't like them. If I thoroughly loathe a blog, I do not read the loathed blog. I do not name the loathed blog. And I certainly do not give up personal feelings to be some kind of link-whore by linking to a blogger I wouldn't cross the street to piss on were they on fire. I don't care how many other bloggers think this one or that one is "incisive" and "witty" and "a really softie underneath". If I don't like, I don't link.
b. I do not think getting on my bloggy soapbox about subjects I know very little about, such as politics, is a smart way to increase my readers' respect where I got this illusion I have no idea but it's my illusion so bugger off for me when it turns out I don't know a Democrat from a donut. I remember some English instructor telling us the big rule was to "write what you know." I know horrible neighbors and strange things I see and what makes me giggle. I do not know legislation or how many licks it takes to get to the center of a congressman.
c. I don't link to current event articles because quite frankly, unless they are episodes of people getting into the Darwin Awards or involve cute kittens being rescued, I could care less.
d. I do not hate Britney Spears. Would you please shut the hell up about Britney Spears? I would give 5 years off the back end of my life if I could look like Britney Spears. I truly do not care if she is single-handedly bringing about rampant perversion in pre-teen girls' wardrobe choices. Don't these kids have parents? Then let them worry about their kid and get off my ass about why I don't hate Britney Spears.
e. I do not have pictures of myself on my blog because I think I'm "all that." What the fuck does that mean anyway, "all that"?
f. And does it not show a certain hypocrisy, Mr. Helpful Emailer, that right after you upbraid me for having photos of myself on the sidebar, you say my readership would skyrocket if I break out the boobie pics?

4. I was rejected at one job interview for being underqualified. I was rejected at the second for being overqualified.
They were at two different branches of the same crappy retail outlet.

5. My Christmas tree fell over and I have nothing but light beer in the house.

To my three loyal readers, I will apologize properly, in time, for all this whining and moaning, I am sure, because I just can't maintain the focus to stay pissy for very long. In fact, were it not for my constant growing irritation at my own typos, I would have calmed down by now.
Damn you, Microsoft ergonomic keyboard! You plastic rage-enabler, you!

GPS

They've made a map of the Commonwealth of Blogosphere States over at the Politburo Diktat. It's very impressive, even though the Cheese isn't represented, possibly because we are just a tiny village on the outskirts of Barryus.
Interestingly, or possibly inevitably, someone has gotten all snarky about it, and claimed that it's only warbloggers' view of the world, including themselves exclusively. (and yes, I know I should link to this person, but why give them more press?) Funny, the snarker has a noticeable geographical spot on the map.
Yep, when I think warblogger I always think of Dave Barry and the Presurfer.
(cookies are on their way to Tom McMahon, where I found all this.)

Query Eye On Three Guys

Jennifer of Jennifer's History and Stuff is still accepting questions for her next three interviewees- Ted, Tim, and Don.
Think of something good and juicy you've always wanted to ask, and email her ASAP.... deadline is Tuesday night.

Where Nostalgia Comes Alive

Jim over at Snooze Button Dreams has a fantastic new way to share your best posts of the past with people who love the whole Linkfest thing but are too lazy to cruise the archives. It's called Bestofme Symphony.

This post compilation meme is structured like the Carnival of the Vanities but concentrates on the best posts from the history of weblogs. Post submission criteria are very simple. The post must be at least 2 months old and the submitter must think it is a very good post. How easy is that?

jrpeacock@charter.net is the address for submissions.
Submissions should include the following:

* Post Title
* Post Permalink
* Author's Name (or handle)
* Weblog Name (if not obvious from the link)
* Submitter's Name/Handle (if different from Author)
* Description of post and/or why this post is being submitted (That is, what about this post makes you think it is one of the best from the weblog).

The only absolutely required item is the permalink. Other items may be left blank on the Bestofme Symphony post if they aren't provided with the submission. That could mean less people will go to read the post so submitters are encouraged to include as much of the info as possible.

Note that submissions do not have to come from the author so readers and lurkers with or without their own weblogs may contribute.

Deadline for submissions for each week's Symphony are Sunday at midnight (Eastern Standard Time) and a new Symphony will be posted each Monday. Submissions are accepted 24 x 7 so any that come in after the cutoff will appear in the next week's symphony.

Vote Early and Often

Kevin of Wizbang has a new award available- The 2003 Weblog Awards.

Get on over there, peruse the nominations, and perhaps make a few of your own Cheesy suggestions.

The Congress of Nekkid Bloggers

Argghhh!!!
Chaos Central
Cheeky Squirrel
Pamibe
Everyday Stranger
Madfish Willie
Random Fate
She Who Will Be Obeyed!!
Snooze Button Dreams
Straight White Guy
The Cheese Stands Alone
Triticale