the cheese stands alone

The One True Religion

Sing with me....

"I don't care if it rains or freezes
Long as I got my cheedar Cheesus
Sitting on the table on my plate.
Put his head upon a cracker
That should please most any snacker.
Except them heretic lactose-intolerants. "

Delayed Satisfaction

There is a mockingbird outside in the tree directly next to my bedroom window who has learned how to chirp exactly like a cell phone ringing. Loudly. Repeatedly.
So now I have to get up, get dressed, go down to the car, drive to the gun shop, buy ammo, drive home, load the gun, and shoot the feathery little bastard.
I hate adding things to an already established "to do" list. Damn.

A Thought

I've been thinking about this whole bag of crapola re: gay and lesbian marriage and all the legal furor under the guise of religion, and it seems to boil down to this:
Doesn't it seem that probably long ago, another culture began to determine its laws and regulations based on what a particular religious group believed, and then years and years and years later wound up flying several aircraft in a very murderous manner, killing thousands of people because they refused to believe the same bullshit?
I'm not saying it's the same degree, but it certainly has the same odor about it. But then, you start flinging that godshite around and it's bound to stink.

Your Name Here- Now Even More Winnerishly Improved!

A contest! A contest!
That's right, the first ever caption contest here at The Cheese, and it's all because of my newfound complete and utter certainty that it's all bullshit understanding of our upcoming election....
I'll give you a lovely picture, crafted by our local photoshop artiste Bob, and you all have five days to give me a great caption. The winner will get... um.... whatever I found in the regifting box under the bed a wonderful prize.
So open the extended entry, take a gander, leave a goose, and put your caption in the comments.
This post will stay at the top until the contest is over, at which time it will sink back into the mists of obscurity, so if you want to be famous as a great wit, you'd best get to captioning pretty quick. Just remember the box under the bed filled with crap I get at Xmas that I had zero use for PRIZE!
UPDATE: Yes, I know, but better late than never, eh? But we have a winner, and that winner is........

I truly apologize for the delay, but our lovely munu server was being upgraded to heroic proportions and for a while no posting was available. Thank you to everyone who played along at home, and don't forget to tip your waitresses. Oh, and the new caption contest should be up shortly. Yes, I realize you've come to understand "shortly" to me means "within the next century."
Picky picky picky.

Just Stir It, the Lumps Will Dissolve

Because the beal still has me by the balls (beal balls, beal balls, I just like saying "beal balls") and because this sucks and because nature abhors a vacuum, I am going to be a bloggy tree-hugging granola-crunching freak environmentalist and recycle some old Cheese.
Don't say you weren't warned.

From May, 2003.....

Today's chores involved lots and lots of driving, back and forth, hither and yon, Getting Stuff Done. I saw a lot of weird things out there.

1. I saw a hugely obese woman in the back of a pickup truck, munching away on ribs and getting very messy with barbeque sauce. This was, I might add, at 65 mph. At six o'clock in the morning.
2. I watched two gentlemen have a vigorous argument in the car driving parallel to me, which culminated in the passenger snatching what appeared to be a toupee off the driver and flinging it out the window. The driver then grabbed his bald head as if to shield it, forcing me to swerve and spill some very nice Starbucks. Damn you, bald man of shame!
3. I witnessed a chihuahua in a Cadillac having a wonderful time romping as his owner drove on, unaware the pup had taken a huge dump in the back window.
4. I envied a man who was sitting beside his truck on the side of the road, obviously broken down and waiting for someone. He'd taken a chair, a potted palm, a side table, and a footstool out of the back of the truck and made himself right at home, reading his paper and sipping coffee while traffic whizzed by.
5. I saw the tiniest of sports cars (Alfa Romeo, perhaps? I'm bad with things like that) crammed with the largest couple I'd ever seen, both in height and girth. I wanted to stick around to see how they got into it in the first place (baby oil? giant shoehorn? reverse osmosis?) but I was already late to pick up the GM1.
And I'm sure a lot of people saw me, squirming around as I drove, as I tried in vain to de-wedgy myself. Some things just cannot wait.
(previously posted on Blogspot)

A Rose By Any Other...

So I was lying on the couch in a semi-dozing state, half-watching "Cops" doing some very important work when my mom calls me.... she's just been to the post office....

Mom: Well, I just had to call and tell you about the most expensive box.
Me: Which box?
Mom: My box. I never thought any box of mine would cost so damn much!
Me: Uh... why's that?
Mom: Did I tell you how big that box is? And full? I told your Dad, I said "Can you believe how much this box holds? And he said "Tell me about it."
Me: "mmphm garble mmph snort"
Mom: What?
Me: Nothing. Nothing. Nuh uh, nothing.
Mom: I tell you, I can't remember the last time I had a box this stuffed!
Me: I can, you named it "Aaron".
Mom: What?
Me: Nothing. Nothing at all.

Bugger

I was going to try to write post something clever and fun, but apparently I have the beal, because I got nothing.
So just look at this picture of this morning's sunrise as seen from the dread Balcony of Death and be content with that.

Toob

I have become a regular viewer of MTV's "The Real World" for this season only, because it was filmed in San Diego. I love watching fools, drunks, and pervs go about their business.
I must, because I also watch CSPAN a lot.

Stopped the Itching and the Burning Immediately

Sing with me, won't you?
The Goldbond Remix.
(found by the expert ears of Bob)

As If There Were Any Doubt

Happy Valentine's Day to all my true bloggy loves, from the Cheese.
You know who you are.

Hello Dolly

Apparently I'm a little more butch than I realized.....

The Family Dollmaker.
(found at the home of the living doll, ScorpioGirl)

Update: hmm, doesn't seem to want to work with Mozilla... might just be me, but I had to paddle in the IE pool for this one.

Knock Wood

I wasn't going to do this week's Friday Five, until I saw it was about superstition. Then I had to... it would have been bad luck if I hadn't.

1. Are you superstitious?
Oh hell yeah. I don't have a choice. I was born and raised in West Virginny, and there isn't a hillbilly worth her salt who doesn't believe in the evil eye, birds in the house as harbingers of doom, and knocking wood. And don't think the GM1 was any kind of rational influence... he's from Louisiana, the child of swamp folk, land of voodoo and sacrificed chickens.
We fling salt more than we season with it.

2. What extremes have you heard of someone going to in the name of superstition?
I once had to change my hair color before I was allowed into a boyfriend's home.
He'd taken me home to meet his family, and I was going through my punk phase with copper-penny red hair. His ancient grandmother met us at the door, and immediately began screeching "Witch hair! Witch hair!" . She wouldn't let him bring me past the doorstep, claiming red hair was the sign of the devil.
I had to go home and dye my hair back to mousy-brown before I could cross the threshold.
Then I released my inner demons, possessed the house, and they made a movie of it, called it "Amityville Horror"... but that's another story.

3. Believer or not, what's your favorite superstition?
I've convinced the GM1 that leaving a hat on the bed is not only bad luck, but that the only way the luck can be corrected is to take me out to dinner.
The one that stays firmly with me, though, is the one about not mentioning something when it's going well, for fear of jinxing it. A lot of conversations are strangely altered by this....
Me: "Um... did you notice the you-know-what isn't very you-know-what today?"
Him: "What?"
Me: "The .... you know, the thing, it's not very... *ahem*.... you know."
Him: "Which thing?"
Me: *gesturing* "All the... out there... um, the stuff isn't too.... don'twannasay."
Him: "Don't make me stop this car."
Me: "Exactly!"
Him: "Oh! You mean the traffic isn't very bad today! I gotcha."
Two minutes later as we sit in the parking lot that I-8 has become......
Him: "Look what you did."
Me: "ME?"

4. Do you believe in luck? If yes, do you have a lucky number/article of clothing/ritual?
Absolutely. I have a special place in my heart (and down my spine) for the number eleven. This is why I have eleven piercings, eleven tattoos, and do all my banking on the eleventh. Otherwise, any odd number is preferable over an even one.

5. Do you believe in astrology? Why or why not?
Nope. Astrology is always describing me, based on star sign, as the exact opposite of what I am. For example, as a Virgo I'm supposed to be shy, modest, reliable, and practical.
I'll wait while those of you who know me go clean your keyboards.

Lord of the Java

In the past two weeks, I've seen "Return of the King" twice. I've watched the DVDs of "Fellowship of the Rings" and "The Two Towers" back to back.
The influence is beginning to show.

This morning, I hung around the coffee maker, hunched over caressing my cup, muttering "It wants its precious, yes, it wants it now."

Count On It

Lawren finds the coolest stuff.
The Fido Number Guessing Puzzle Thingy.
I did this for an hour and it was always dead-on.
I don't wanna know how, I just want to bask in the mystery that is math.

Don't Ask About the Cream Cheese

According to the GM1, I sat straight up in bed last night, pointed at the closet door, and yelled "Bagels! Big horny bagels!" Then, as I laid back down, I muttered, "Oh, this can't be good."
I was probably right. Engorged pastry is never a good thing.

Swish

I shouldn't listen to Squirrel Nut Zippers early in the day when I'm easily influenced. It makes me want to wear things with lots of flappy fringe... and that's never good unless you're Louise Brooks or a gay cowboy.

Amongst

The GM1 just commented on how lengthy my blogroll has become. I explained to him that some people were Associates, because we're in a sort of Group Set, like the Munuvians, or the Bloggers With Boobies or the Pre10tious Twits. Some are Reciprocal, meaning that since they were kind and generous enough to include me on their roll I should be the nice polite Southern girl my mother finally gave up hope of ever raising and give tit for tat.
Please hold all Janet jokes until the end of our segment. Thank you, the Management.
And some don't even know I exist, yet I blogroll them anyways because they are just so damn good.
The GM1 thinks this is bad strategy.
He thinks I should adopt the Fat Friend policy.
Que? I asked.
The Fat Friend policy, he says, is one by which one surrounds oneself with only obese companions, in the hopes of looking slim by comparison.
Then he got That Look, the look that means Thinking, which never leads to good.
Maybe, he says, the reason you've got such a long reciprocating section is you're the Fat Friend.
Services will be held at Our Lady Of Eliminated Testicles Memorial Chapel.

Chum

In a recent case, Haitian defendant Emmanuel Etienne claimed that his deceased victim had the power to turn himself into a headless donkey by "expelling three flatulents." [Daily Telegraph (London)]( from News of the Weird.)

Fresh from the Spring Collection at Maison du Fromage

art by Bob, title by Pixy

Music To My Ears

I am so technologically retarded that only recently have I started using the CD drive on my computer to play music CDs while I muck about here.
I'll wait while you tell me what an idjit I am.
The computer I had before this one (his name was Fred) was a 486. Yes, that was the speed. Four Eight Six. I have been told this is akin to riding a donkey down the I-5 and expecting to get in the fast lane. If you even tried to take your eyes from one section of the screen to another while typing, Fred would sense it and become insulted, freezing any and all functions and going off to his room to pout and watch Van Halen videos.
So last year the tax refund came and the GM1 gave in to my endless bitching and whining felt sorry for me and we got the current machine, which was on sale but is a very serviceable machine.
And faster than Fred, needless to say. This one was on sale because it was one of the demo models, meaning several hundred grubby young fingers banged on the keyboard trying to get around the store-set password while it was on display. Fine by me.
And it's faster, did I mention that?
So yesterday, I was dicking about and trying to get the boombox that is our stereo positioned so I could listen to it while blogging without having to crank it up to irresponsible decibel levels (like some braindead, screendoor-coveting downstairs arse-nuggets we know) and I thought... Hmmm, look, a lovely little CD thingy and speakers, what are the chances? Hmmmm.....
I'll be damned.
And here I sit, listening to Squeeze while I typo and re-type, and I am one happy Cheesemistress.
If I ever learn how to download music or use the DVD function, I'll probably have to buy a new chair. They'll never wring this one out.
(This computer's name, by the way, is Jean-Baptiste Emmanuel. Wonder if any of you know where that comes from?)

Get Your Goggles

Yes, it's Valentine's Day in less than a week.
No, this is not a warning for those in loverly relationships to get yer shopping pants on. It's just me being a kind and thoughtful blog hostess in alerting my fallen under the spell of the super-secret stealth hypnotic device disguised as a cute baby picture victims compelled to return again and again yet never knowing why guests that once the holiday has passed, thus too will pass the reason for keeping the look of The Cheese (and doesn't that sound so very designer clothing collection? "The Look of The Cheese, now at Fromage House!") as is and yet again will morph into jeebus only knows what another stylish design concept.
Or plaid.
I'm kind of leaning toward plaid.
Because nothing says "former hot mama with lightning comedic reflexes and the balls to back 'em up" like plaid.
Belay that snickering, mister.

But He Never Yells Back "What, Keisha?"

The people next door have an 18 year old son.
The 18 year old son has a new girlfriend.
And from what I hear coming through the walls, the new girlfriend is really really religious.

UPDATE: This afternoon, the son was "entertaining" his girlfriend again, and as she hit a particularly high note, the GM1 and I both burst into "The Hallelujah Chorus".
It got vewwy vewwy quiet on the other side of the wall.

Unbalanced Monkey

This is a very cool game that unfortunately I can't tell you anything about due to the fact I can't get past two seconds before I lose. I was behind the door the day they handed out hand/eye coordination.
sent to me by Da Goddess, who has much more faith in my skills than I do... and she likes the whole monkey thing too.

More Toys

The Magic Eight Ball

I-Ching

Morgan's Tarot

The Psychic Compass.(intuited from Candy Universe)

Real Cheese of Genius

The endlessly talented Tuning Spork has focused the spotlight on your Cheese and turned out a glorious version of the Best Commercials Ever in her honor.
I must go enlarge my doorways, since my head is swelling as we speak.

Daredevilish

Dare you take this week's Friday Five?

1. What's the most daring thing you've ever done?
In 1986, having discovered that the best job I could get with my almost-associates-degree in my hometown was part-time cage-cleaner at a pet shop, I swallowed my pride, packed up my p.o.s. Datsun and headed west, to resume putting up with more shit than any one woman should have to put up with from an estranged alcoholic near-ex husband reunite with my then-spouse, who had fled my wrath previously moved to California in hopes of escaping creditors bettering his future.
My mom, hoping to convince me not to go, told me she'd lied about my date of birth and that I was really only 16 and was therefore grounded. Nice try, Mom.
And off I went, driving alone across the continent, with only an AM radio and a small amount of speed (thanks, Tammy). No air conditioning, of course, and it being late June, I found my left arm was nice and crackly-burnt within two days while my right was swaddled in sweat. No matter, I was outta there.
Further adventures to be pimped out for later posts related at a future date. Suffice it to say, it was the longest five days of my life. And in some ways, the most interesting.

2. What one thing would you like to try that your mother/friend/significant other would never approve of?
I want plastic surgery. I want to cut off my nose to spite my face. I want a face lift so tight that when I cross my legs my head snaps back. I want a boob lift and a tummy tuck and an ass restructuring and a knee-ectomy.
I want to go in looking like me and come out looking like Lucy Lui.

3. On a scale of 1-10, what's your risk factor? (1=never take risks, 10=it's a lifestyle)
When I was a tadpole, I was a 24/7 10. If it was tall, I climbed it and jumped off. If it were wet, I dove into it. If it moved, I wrestled it.
These days, I have an unlisted phone number, I research everything I do until it's dissected to the nth degree, and I've been mostly agoraphobic for the past seven years.
Here's the thing about risk.... when we're young, and have our entire lives ahead of us, we do every stupid and dangerous thing that we can. As we get old, and have little to look forward to except older age, illness and death, we bundle up in protectiveness and see demons everywhere.
Funny, huh?

4. What's the best thing that's ever happened to you as a result of being bold/risky?
As a result of #1, I met the GM1. It was the best thing that's happened to me since I scampered out of the womb. Including becoming addicted to oxygen.
I'd grow gills for the GM1. Oh yes I would.

5. ... and what's the worst?
Being wild and crazy enough at 18 to run off with the complete loser pothead then-love-of-my soon to be fucked up near-irreparably life. It took me 12 years to adjust to the damage done in that one short afternoon of hurried packing and zipping off into the sunset.
Man, was I a dumbass or what?

You know, usually the Five cheers me up a little. As I come to the end of this week's, I find it's done the opposite. Sucks, huh? Children, do as I say, and please for the love of all that's good and true, not as I do.
Like they say, if you can't be a good example, you'll just have to be a horrible warning.
I'm going back to bed for the weekend.

th3 ch33s3 st4nds 4alon3

And out of the vast reaches of pseudo-intellectual wastelands whined a voice. Lo, long whined the voice and thus did he piss and moan mightily about the fact that everyone did not behave exactly as he thought they must. And the voice whimpered "I must have a name, yea, a mighty name, one that will display not only my cutting-edge technological grasp of idealism, but will also represent my I.Q. and my penis size in centimeters!"
And thus the rock was lifted and Kuro5hit emerged.

You are all pretentious twats. Every last one of you. You're all latte-sipping, iMac-using, suburban-living tertiary-industry-working WASPs who offer absolutely no new insights on anything whatsoever .....

Let me start with this one.... I admit it, I sip lattes. I gulp espressos. I slam back a few Keith Richards and I guzzle frappaccinos. I am the Coffee Generation, and I love my dark brew.
But that's the only thing that I mix and match up with in the celebrated accusation. I have an ancient HP machine, I live in the City That Freakshows Shun Because They Don't Like Competition, and I work in a very primary way.
Oh, and I have a very humble twat.

You make up irritating jargon for the sake of it
I am sure we never meant to tread on the toes of such scholars as Willy Shakespeare, Danny Webster, and Monsieur Roget. If only time had stopped back when Real Men spoke Real Words, like "prithee" and "forsooth".
Sorry, shouldn I have said "5hake5peare"?
What bull5shit.

All of your blogs talk about the same crap
This explains why I get all that fan mail calling me "Frank". (Btw, Frank's got some nice knockers, doesn't he?)

Movable Type is badly designed
As is, of course, any piece of software not personally designed and vetted by the center of the technological bloggyverse, Senor Kuro5shit.

Movable Type's bad design makes it easier to DoS you
It's nice to finally have one person to blame for any and all DoS attacks, isn't it? I'm sure prosecuting and jailing him for all offenses in the past ten years should stop all computer-related crimes, shouldn't it? And isn't it at least worth a try?

You are fucking stupid
The sheer eloquence of this guy never stops, does it?

You are all sheep
And you're a goat man yourself, right? We've all seen the pictures, don't deny it.

Your blog is fucking up Google
Let me get this straight... we are meaningless, stupid sheep with nothing important to share with the blogworld, no technical abilities, and zero real-world effect. Goggle is a bigass online superstar with programming gurus up the payroll yinyang. And yet we fucked this monster of the internet up.
Go us!

I'd just like to say I sincerely apologize for having a common, run of the mill, non-techie blog with way too little numerically-invoked words.
Must be the sheep.
Too baaaaaa-ad.

with deepest thanks to the Commissar for the nudge.

Destiny Rides Again

Your cheese rating is: Leerdammer
Leerdammer is a semi-hard Dutch cheese, made from cow's milk. It has a smooth, polished, natural rind, and is sometimes waxed.
What's your cheese rating?

I'd just like to say that while I am partially Dutch, I have rarely been called semi-hard. I hear "squishy" quite often. Nor am I smooth or polished, although I do boast a natural rind. Yes, the carpet matches the drapes.
I thoroughly regret the waxing, though. Makes me walk funny.
(called to my attention by the most cultured Robert)

Drive By

One of my relatives is working her way through college as a pizza delivery driver...

"Something they never mention in training... when you deliver to some guys, penises just pop out of boxers. "

and

"I have a 200K volt taser, just in case. It's fun to play with. I paid a guy $5 to test it on. He was a really big guy, but I made him cry. So I figure it ought to do the trick."

My family is meeting all my expectations nicely.