the cheese stands alone

Fiddle-fartin' Around, As My Papaw Used To Say

Everyone in the blogworld
has by now
diddled about
with pullquotes
and as usual
I'm a day late
and several IQ points short.
But still, doesn't it look so very... I dunno, peppy? If only this were actual content and not just stuff I'm typing so as to see what this looks like. Perhaps an amusing anecdote could be inserted here, or a pithy quote, or a witty saying.
Perhaps naked pictures of Bea Arthur.
Hmm, perhaps not.

Fashionista

(found in the jeep I swiped at Blather Review)

Memorial Day From My Perspective

Over the years of my marriage to the GM1, I've taken a bit of flak from those in my family who are lifelong civilians.

(Backstory: The GM1 entered the military at age 18, this having been his goal from childhood. Now, after 20-plus years, the GM1 is leaving on the final deployment of his career. He's going to the Persian Gulf, and other ports to and from, and his mission is as always- to serve his country, to maintain honor, and to protect the citizens of the United States of America.)

And yet there are those who delight in giving me shit about it. Please note, however, that they are not demented enough to give the GM1 shit.
Examples:
Cousin A: "So you keep saying he's been gone on deployments and assignments that add up to being away from home for about 1/3 of your marriage. So what? Travelling salemen are gone all the time!"
My answer: "Yes, but he's been gone protecting YOU. "
Aunt B: "Okay, he gets hurt from time to time at work, injuries that might aggravate him for years afterward. So what? Carpenters bang their thumbs all the time!"
My answer: "Yes, but he was hurt protecting YOU."
Uncle C: "He gets calls in the middle of the night about problems at work. He gets called in on his days off. He gives up his free time to help his shipmates. So what? Plumbers get midnight phone calls all the time!"
My answer: "Yes, but he gets calls and helps out to protect YOU."
Cousin D: "He makes less than most secretaries. He owns very little material wealth. Poor people scrape by all the time!"
My answer: "Yes, but he makes substandard wages for constant overtime work so he can protect YOU."

They don't get it. The GM1 has served his country for all of his adult life. He's given up personal goals and altered idealistic plans and devoted his life to protecting our country, our citizens, and our way of life. He's the biggest, brightest star on the flag- the man who didn't just talk about it.
He did it.

Memorial Day is the day we commonly remember and celebrate the lives given in service to our principles of freedom, democracy, and equality. Let's also remember and honor the lives given for this by those who are still with us.
There are millions and millions out there just like the GM1.
Let's remember all of them too.

This Worries Me

I admit it, okay, it wasn't sinuses at all. I was having some "quality" time in the "special" jacket.

Take the quiz: "Your Psych-Ward diagnosis"

Anxiety Disorder
Diagnosis: General Anxiety Disorder. Excessive anxiety or worry occurring more days than not over a significant period of time. These worries can be associated with a number of events or activities. In addition, the individual finds it difficult to control the worry. Can be marked by physical signs of tension, hyperactivity, and lack of ability to respond in a positive or productive manner to problems or difficulties as they arise.
(the voices in my head told me to find this at Emma's super place.)

An Emaily Explanation

Dear Goddess,
I am sneak-emailing. Don't tell the GM1, cos I'm not supposed to be up, let alone mucking about on the computer.
I think you gave me your sinus thingy. The doctors pulled it out of your dainty schnozz and using stealth alien abduction technology, implanted it in my head and made me dream I was having probe sex with an alien who looked a lot like Colin Farrell. Or the Farrelly brothers. I get confused.
Point is, I've been laid low (was that a pun? Must check rules...) by a "serious" sinus infection. My doc likes to say "serious" a lot, in case I think she means "comedic" sinus infection.
It probably does not help that I had a sinus headache for three weeks before it blossomed into screaming adulthood, so I guess I can be booked for negligence.
In any case, when my right maxilliary sinus exploded, it kicked off a migraine chain. Kind of like a daisy chain without all that gang-bangy goodness. But the meds I was on for the sinus disaster precluded the migraine meds. Ergo, I spent three days pogo-ing between "please, for the love of god, shoot me" to "give me the fucking gun, I'll do it myself."
I was, at one point, awake for 29 hours as the pain just wanted me to stay up and listen to bad late night television. At hour 27, the hallucinations kicked in and I was sure Suzanne Somers was at my thighs begging me to be the master. Or something like that.
At hour 29, the GM1 got a bit miffed that no one at the doctor's office had returned my calls and he proceeded to storm the Bastille. He called them three times then stomped down there in person to get answers as to What Can Be Done Until These Stupid So Far Non-Effective Antibiotics Kick In?
Finally they told him to have me take the Tylenol 3 they'd given me (so far useless in the fight against crime) two at a time instead of one. Now, before you write me off as all tits and no brain, let me assure you I'd thought of this many many times but had been lectured "seriously" on the dangers of doing such a thing. So I didn't.
I am such a good patient. Might die of the goodness, but I'm good nonetheless.
In the meanstwhile, during the worst of it, my eye swelled shut and my ear went dead and my jaw refused to let me talk or eat. It was just before the migraine grabbed me by the balls for a second attack that I had the GM1 post the notice, as I suspected I would be outta commission for a bit and didn't want a "she's run off to SF to do drugs with Courtney" scandal on the blog.
Cos I know that's what you all think when I don't post.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, the T3 times two did the trick and I fell asleep like a great huge falling asleep thing. I slept for almost 14 hours, got up to look at dinner and retch, and slept again.
The GM1 tippy-toed off to work this morning, with strict instructions regarding my behaviour, including "no drinky, no dancey, no bloggy". Apparently my one-eyed squinting at the monitor (and it would be my one good eye that goes astray, leaving the 20/150 one to carry the load) disturbs him, as does the subsequent gagging that follows once the nausea kicks in.
I am just one fucking barrel of fun lately.
So that's where I's been, missy and keep it on the QT, because the GM1 reads your blog and I don't need a spanking on top of everything else. I prefer to save that for when I can savor it.
And as I check this over for spelling flaws, ever perfectionist even on my deathbed, I realize it might make a sufficient post to explain Where The Hell I've been.
Forgive me if I pimp out our correspondence for my blog. :)
Yours in snot-hood,
LeeAnn

Only Mostly Dead

Put away those mourning rags and dust off the happy feet.... The Cheesemistress is back, evicted from the sickbed by her own ennui and resurrected as the New, Improved, 50% Less Bacterical Secretions Cheesemistress!
Okay, only the 50% less thing is actually true. Nope, there is no truth in advertising, Virginia.
I will be trying to catch up and resume my bloggy duties, particularly since I am on house arrest for almost another week. I bet the tourists are crying for their fairy floss even as we speak. Weep, tourists, weep, for the fairy floss floozie is fled the fair!
Yes, alliterative abuse is a side effect of the meds.
To all those who left me kind and thoughtful get-well comments, I gotta say I was pleasantly shocked that so many of you miss me and it was wonderful to read. I thank you all from the bottom of my heart.
Like the GM1 says, "Laugh and the world laughs with you. Snot up a lung and it's a comment bonanza."
I loves ya all like you were my very own.

Message

This is the GM1. LeeAnn is ill and won't be able to blog for a while. She asked me to tell you all this so you will not think she has quit and not said goodbye.
Thank you.
GM1

Yes, More

I know I told myself I wasn't going to blog about my ridiculous workplace anymore. "Self", I said in a rather scoldy way, "you know you're going to wind up one of those boring bloggers who does nothing but whine and complain about their job until readers are shrieking at their monitors for you to "JUST FUCKING QUIT WHINING AND COMPLAINING ABOUT YOUR JOB, ALREADY!" and they'll be right... abusive of the caps lock key, but right nonetheless."
As per usual, I have ignored the good advice of Self because, dammit, there's gold in them thar bloggy hills.
I also cannot believe I've used the word "blog" so many times in such a short space, but it's late and I'm on some lovely sinus medication so there ya go. Send in the redundancy police again.
So anyway.....
Where the hell was I?
Oh yeah....

Last night, I came out of work to discover someone had rearranged my car. To be specific, they'd managed to completely remove my passenger side mirror. I'd like to give them the benefit of the doubt and say maybe they didn't notice, what with the screaming toddlers and the pressing need to get back on the road to Bugfuck, Idaho before their tourist visa runs out, but they'd also taken the time to stop, pick up the amputated mirror, and lay it nicely in the center of my windshield.
Livid does not adequately describe my state of mind at finding this. I can firmly credit my continued devotion to "Deadwood" for my creative use of the word "cocksucker".
So I went and had it replaced (thank you, dealership, for the complete hoovering of my bank account) and like a good little worker bee, called the security office at work to file a report.

Me: "Uh, hi, yeah, my car was vandalized last night in the parking lot and I wondered if I should call in a report on it to you?"
Security Guy: "That is the proper procedure, sir or ma'am. What was the nature of the vandalization? Was it keyed? Spray painted? Broken into? Windows shattered?"
Me: " My passenger side mirror was knocked off and placed on my windshield."
SG: "Do what?"
Me: "Someone hit my passenger side mirror hard enough to break it completely off, then left it on my windshield."
SG: *assuming a very lecturey, "you-naughty-naughty-girl" tone* "That is NOT vandalism. That is what we in the business call 'simple damage'."
Me: "Simple damage."
SG: "Yes, simple damage."
Me: "So what counts as complex damage? Do they have to blow up the car, or can they just burn it to the ground?"
SG: *deep sigh of the Specialist In The Know When Dealing With The Poor Dumbass Civilians* "Well, if it would make you feel better I can write it up in The Notebook."
Me: " Uh huh. And what happens then?"
SG: "Then I put the notebook back under the wobbly leg of the desk. "
Me: "Okay..... well, let's go ahead and write it up anyway, just for fun."
SG: "But it's NOT vandalism. You can't go around saying stuff like that. It's not right. It makes us here at The Bigass Amusement Park Security Squad look bad."
Me: "Oh god."
SG: "Now, what kind of car is it?"
Me: "A Saturn."
SG: "How do you spell that?"

Blogmaze Time

A day late and a dollar short, but nevertheless and heretofore I give you this week's Blogmaze, version Cheese.0:

First, to " "N" Is For Neville, Who Died of Ennui", which attracted me at first because I am a sucker for all things Gorey. Then I discovered that while the authoress might not have as sucky a job as I do, she's most certainly more bored and not hesitant about detailing it.
I like that. I like it a lot.

From there I went to Upside-down Hippopotamus. Seduced by the name, because of my infinite adoration for hippos, I fell in love with this report of bug killing, a theme of which I approve 110%.
"Yesterday I went into my living room and found a hundred thousand million billion ants crawling by the back door. “How did they get in?” you may be wondering. “Why did they come in? What were they doing?”
Who do I look like, the Ant Whisperer? How the hell should I know? I was far more concerned about how I was going to get them out."

I went onward to visit Tuna Girl, who gets the Cheese's approval because she too is a military spouse and gord knows I love my own kind. (Those of you whispering in the back about how no one quite knows what my own kind exactly is can just stay after class and see Sister Mary Torturous for a special detention. You little brats.)

By now I was tired and shagged out following a prolonged squawk and felt the need to go find the proper refreshment to take my mind off my screaming sinus cavities, which will be seen to by a professional medical type tomorrow.
Proper refreshment, by the by, means beer.
For those of you taking notes for stuff to tattle on me to Sister M.T. later.
You know who you are.

Now With Amazing Archival Action!

The ever-so-talented Scott Matthews, about whom I've raved before, has improved his site to include nifty archives so as to increase your Clip Clop Comix viewing pleasure.
Go see, go see.

My Dad Sends Me Jokes

This one appeals to me.

A study conducted by UCLA's Department of Psychiatry has revealed that the kind of male face a woman finds attractive can differ depending on where she is in her menstrual cycle.
For instance, if she is ovulating, she's attracted to men with rugged and masculine features.
However, if she is menstruating or menopausal, she's more prone to be attracted to a man with scissors lodged in his temple and a baseball bat jammed up his ass while he's on fire.

I'm A Little Teapot

A challenge for you music lovers.... for each letter of the alphabet, list a band you truly like.
Since I have serious decision disorder, I cheated and put two or more if needed.

Aerosmith
Bloodhound Gang and Blondie
Cheap Trick and Crystal Method and Cooper, Alice
Duran Duran (thanks for reminding me, Tonya!)
Elastica
Fatboy Slim and Flash & The Pan
Garbage and Guns & Roses
Hell if I know
Incubus
Jack Logan & the Liquor Cabinet, and J.Geils Band
KMFDM
Linkin Park
Mott the Hoople and Meatloaf
Nilsson and Nine Inch Nails
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark
Police and Palmer, Robert
Queen
Redneck Greece Delux and Rundgren, Todd
Squeeze and Soubel, Jill
T. Rex and Talking Heads
No U2 (bleh)
Van Halen
White Stripes
X
Yankovic, Weird Al
Zevon, the only one
(hummed away from Eric, my favorite source for all things Zevonish)

A Carnival of the Memes

What's that, bunky? You're tired of having to chase all over the web to find the latest meme, the newest carnival, the hottest stuff that's got everyone....er... hot, I guess.
Well, whine no more, my delicate and distressed friend! Now from the fine folks who gave you Munu, there's new Memeblog! Guaranteed to have to latest and greatest of all you could ever wish to find to keep the bloggy homefires burning when the inspiration woodpile is running low.
Go there, now, quick quick like a bunny, and see how you, yes YOU, can be a vital participant and beneficiary of the best thing to hit the blogosphere's collective consciousness since Friday Five and What Potato Are You combined!
It's not just a blog.... it's Memeblog.

Notes From the Shower

1. If you turn on the shower and step directly into it, it is guaranteed that:
a. You will have wet pajamas.
b. You find you really can hit high C, via the slowest water heater in creation.
2. Taking the coffee into the shower with you does save time... however....
3. Telling yourself the flung-off soap bubbles that land in it are just cappuchino froth is just a big fib, as you will soon discover.
4. Do not trim the timberline until you are fully awake, and can focus with both eyes, otherwise the pubic ranch will come to resemble a faux-Piccasso.
5. Did I just say "pubic ranch"? I did? How appalling.
6. "Appalling" cannot be spelled without two trips to the dictionary.
7. Singing in the shower is acceptable. Tapdancing in the shower is not, according to the people who live downstairs.
8. Subject A is left-handed. If Subject A, for a lark, tries to q-tip her ears with her right hand, how much brain damage will Subject A incur? Please show your work.
9. If you miss one little patch whilst shaving your legs, that little patch will stand out like a Ginsu knife salesman at a bar mitzvah bris. (correction courtesy of Jim the astute)
10. "Southern Peach Delight" might sound like a good fragrance for a body lotion, but it smells like canned butt.
11. These are not my panties.
12. I am the only female living here.
13. What the fuck?
14. Trying to comb your hair while you brush your teeth will only end in minty fresh follicles.
15. Yes, it does sound like a neat idea to have a gathering where everyone shows off movies of their tushes and call it the "Cans Film Festival", because the merchandise tie-ins are endless.
16. I should have said bottomless, huh?
17. The hair dryer is not a photon ray gun. Dammit.
18. Oh, wait... these ARE my panties.
19. I had them on backwards.

Flip That Coin

It's one of those mornings where I can't decide which would be easier: Go ahead and take a shower or just try to stay downwind of everyone the rest of the day.

Couch

Q: How many Freudians does it take to change a lightbulb?

A: Two... one to hold the lightbulb and one to hold my penis.... no, my mother!.... my father!.... NO! the ladder!

That Poor Horse

I hate to keep beating a dead horse, returning to the same well, dancing on the same lap harping on it, but I cannot understand my coworkers.
Yes, they speak English for the most part but its the context that confuses me. We are not only never on the same page, we're in entirely different books.

To whit: Yesterday I was asked to train a new worker in the vast intricacies of fairy floss cart. I gave him the physical basics..... ask the customer what they'd like, get the fairy floss, serve the fairy floss... we didn't even touch on the whole confusing cash register business.

The abysmally low high points of our time together:
1. He refused to tell me the proper pronounciation of his name (it was a very ethnic variant that I'd never seen before) yet would snap at me "That ain't it!" when I'd miss the target.
2. Whenever this particular sweet young newbie from another stand would wander by, he would disappear in that direction for at least a quarter of an hour.
3. He gave away fairy floss to any teenage girl who batted her lashes at him before I told him it was coming out of his check.
4. When I mentioned, as he stood in a pile of sugar sprinklings that nearly buried his sneakers, that when it gets that bad we sweep it up, as he'd seen me do several times previous, he replied, with open scorn, "Men don't sweep. That's women's work."
5. He had only three questions:
a: When did he get a raise?
b: When did he get to leave?
c: When could he "control" the cash register?

Yes, I can hear some of you.... he's just behaving like a typical teenager at a measly part-time job. And no, I didn't take his head off at the sweeping comment. I doubt if I had that he'd have missed it, as unused as it was.
But this is the stupidity of it all: as far as he knew, because he was never told differently, I was his manager, not another coworker.

I kind of doubt I'll be seeing Mr. Unpronouncable again anytime soon. The real manager asked me later for a precis of our time together. And I'm just too old to lie.

For those of you who think I'm just randomly bitching in these rants... okay, yeah, you got me. But it's not only bitchery. It's real and true amazement at the complete generational discrepancies. I feel like an anthropologist washed up on some exotic shore.... Teenybopper Isle.
And it's a scary place.

Thar's A New Meme In Town, Pilgrim

In the void left by the departed Friday Five rides a new champion on a bloggy horse, to give new hope, new meaning, to the heartfelt "TGIF!" that springs eternal on all lips.
That champion, my friends, is Blogmaze.
And as I am never one to eschew bandwagon-jumpage (or rampant metaphor-mixation), here is my very first Blogmaze.
(Yes, I know it's Sunday, not Friday.... shhhh, you're ruining the moment.)

Sweet Surprise
What's not to like? A nice aquarium pic at the top, a cute recent college graduate, and conversations like I have sometimes.

Saint Kellen
This is one of the prettiest templates I've seen, but then I used to want a stained glass window tattoo'd on my entire back, so there's some context for you. The fascinating thing for me is how normal and nice SK's life sounds, if life resembles art blog. (The GM1 just shoulder-peeked and said in my case, life resembles fart. Excuse me while I go pollute his airspace.)

cowdog
I have to stop going to blogs that are prettier than mine, I'm getting a complex. *sniffle*. In other news, Louise is a teacher in Halifax, which is one of my "can't use a real cuss word because Mom will shit" alternates.... as in "oh Halifax, the coffee has mouse piddle in it!".

Blogmaze says to keep going as long as you want.... three, five... seven hundred and twelve blogmazy linkedness if you have some kind of neat setup where you never have to leave the computer to eat or poo.... but it's Sunday morning and I have to go to work pretty soon and, let's face it, the Cheesemistress is a lazy sot. "The number is three, and three shall be the number."

Tingle

You Are a Peppermint Cappuccino You're fun, outgoing, and you love to try anything new. However, you tend to have strong opinions on what you like. You are a total girly girly at heart - and prefer your coffee with good conversation. You're the type that seems complex to outsiders, but in reality, you are easy to please What Kind Of Coffee Are You? Take This Quiz :-)

(percolated from Scribble Scrabble)

Confession Is Good For the Soul

I have to admit this: sometimes I post just to see the little numbers on the calendar change color.
Oh sure, like you never did, huh?

Perhaps Sleep Is Unnecessary

But what I really hate is when I'm lying in bed, in that hazy fog between dozing and totally awake, waiting for the energy to hit me so I can plummet to the floor get up, and I get the most wonderful, completely coherent vision of the Perfect Post, so I stumble partially-upright, stagger to the computer, and then realize I can't sit down because I have lost my pajama bottoms and everyone knows what happens to Good Girls who lounge about bare-assed, and by the time I've convinced myself it's okay because I'm the only one who sits in this chair and therefore it's only my own tush germs that would be moved from point A to point B, the muse has flown, possibly to some magic place where people don't stand around with full moon arguing with themselves about seat hygiene loud enough to wake up their spouse.
Or so the GM1 says.
So whatever really entertaining thing I was going to say here, fuhgeddaabodit.

When the GM1 Gets It Up, People Take Notice

For those of you who wonder what exactly the GM1 does, he's provided a visual aid.

I'm suitably impressed, myself. And perhaps just a little turned on.
I'm just glad he doesn't bring his work home with him.
(He tells me this was taken during a telemetry shoot of anti-aircraft missles off San Clemente Island and not, as I alleged, a failed attempt to toast marshmallows.)

I Sense A Distrubing Congruence In the Force

I'm sure this is a vas deferens vast relief to those of you who like to keep a tidy pantry.

And Speaking of Mind Games

A nifty word association game.
My only fear is they'll save these and use them for my commitment hearing.

MK Ultra, the Home Version

I woke up this morning with the entire lyircs of "Every Sperm Is Sacred" firmly lodged in my head.
I can't find the tape record, but the GM1 looks a bit too innocent.

Incentive

Blogger Survivor:2 now has a prize listed. Go see, go drool, and then go enter!

Today's Riddle

Q: What's a Yankee?

A: The same as a quickie, only you have to do it by yourself.

Neither Rain, Nor Snow, Nor Neighborly Wrath....

The couple across the hall are calling it quits, after ten years of marriage. Fortunately for the entertainment quotient around here, they're doing it in a very loud and public way.
We now know, for example, that Mr. has uncontrollable gas and a very unreliable erection. We've also learned that Mrs. will do it with basically any delivery person and/or census taker and has a resistant toenail fungus that she disguises with designer nail polish.
Mr. stuffs his undies. Mrs. stuffs her face.
No one is really sure who the father of the teenage son is. Mr. says he can't even be sure that Mrs. is the mother.
(I'm still puzzling that one out. )
On the downside of this ongoing demonstation of how lawyers make buckets of money, Mr. and Mrs. are dying to recruit bystanders to their individual causes and you have to move fast to avoid the "he said she said" buttonholing that results if you're caught.
I've set my alarm for 2:00AM. I need to go get my mail.

Outwit Outpost Outlast

Blogger Survivor, Season Two, is now officially commenced!
Those of you who want to follow in my illustrious and yet strangely humble footsteps as the Big Winner should immediately apply to Pylorns, who will be our host.

All those who wish to participate must email their name/blog/email address to me (pylorns at wetwired dot org) by the assigned deadline (see schedule). Please use the subject line: "Count me in."

Rules, regulations, and titillating tease of current and future prizes are here at Blogger Survivor.
And don't forget to check the Survivor blog often... there are challenges, votes, and lots of trash-talking. (Last season, I called Pylorns a doody-head.)
The possibility of someone getting naked for peanut butter is, of course, a given.

Sorry, You Forgot To Give Me A Lobotomy With My Nametag

Just got home from work. Am purple with aggravation, frustration, and disbelief. Cannot possibly speak rationally right now. Also apparently have lost all my pronouns somewhere between the car and here.

Breathe deep. Calm blue ocean, calm blue ocean.......
Okay, I'm better now.
Here's the thing... I was called into the HR office today, because one of my coworkers (let's call her Blondie) wanted to file a complaint against me. The complaint stated that I made her feel "threatened".
I was slightly reassured, however, that they'd given the problem to the Intern. This bodes well in favor of this being silly enough to count as training for her, apprently. The Intern is approximately 12 years old and has not blood but political correctness flowing in her pre-pubescent veins.
"How" I asked the Intern, "in the world does she think I've threatened her?"
Intern: "You've made no overt action. She feels intimidated by you, however, and wished to make an official complaint. We felt it was better to discuss the matter with you before taking any action, if necessary."
Me: "Exactly what did I do?"
Intern: "Er... nothing, really.... she said she's intimidated by you, because you talk about people and events that she knows nothing about, and she said it makes her feel stupid."
Me: "You're kidding, right?"
Intern: "We have to take it seriously, it's in the manual. "
Me: "Exactly what was it I said that got her upset?"
Intern: "She mentioned something about medical references, and once you talked about Henry VIII.... it bothers her that she doesn't understand what you're talking about most of the time. Oh, and McGuyver. "
Me: "She's upset because she doesn't know who McGuyver is?"
Intern: "We're not writing a complaint on this. We just wanted you to be aware of her feelings and be more sensitive to her cultural framework."
Me: "Oh, you did NOT just say that."
Intern: "Beg pardon?"
Me: "Nothing, nothing.... okay, so basically if I have to talk to her, I should talk slow, use small words, and mention nothing that happened before last Tuesday?"
Intern: "Did you know sarcasm is considered a form of aggression?"
Me: *backing slowly out of the room* "Uh... okay, gotta go, late for my shift... buh-bye now."

I haven't quite decided how to handle this yet. Part of me wants to completely and utterly ignore Blondie and speak nary one more word to her... ever.
And the other part of me wants to start a discussion about quantum physics and watch her head explode.
I'm probably going with the third path.... I'm going to laugh my ass off.

Those of you who've been Cheesy for a while will note this is an attempt to repost what I once took off the blog when rumors started at work that such things could get us canned. So I stored it away and only just remembered, months after I've shuffled off that mortal coil (well, concerning that job anyway) that I could put the bloody thing back up. So there ya go.

Happy Feet

One of you has reached out and touched someone. Okay, touched me... I mean, touched my feet.
What I mean is, after babbling with happy, is one of you kind people has sneaked onto my wish list and gifted me with a gorgeous pair of Converse high-top sneakers, with pretty pretty comics on them.
Whoever you are, my toes and those who gaze in rapture upon them thank you!!

This is so very much the kind of thing I need after a long day of insulting and corrupting the youth of America.
You guys are the best.

A Moment UnCheeselike

Yes, we're supposed to be above all that. We're supposed to be the Good Example, the Right Way, the Caesar's Wife. And yet there we are on film, making fun of prisoners and allegedly tormenting them.
No, it wasn't right, nor proper, nor acceptable. Yes, the wrongdoers should be censured.
But this apology business....
No, we should NOT have apologized. Have any of the Iraqi or Arab world apologized for capering in the streets when US military were killed? Has anyone come forth and apologized for Jessica Lynch? Thomas Hamilll? Pat Tillman?
For 9/11?
I'm sure we were listening, and not one word arrived.

I don't care if we're supposed to be Better Than That.
We shouldn't have apologized.

Department of the Obvious

You are an quiz-taker Find out what kind of quiz-taker you are

Stop The Presses!

Apparently the big story in the blogsphere today is that a blogger quit blogging!
Then after a few friends emailed a bit, began blogging again!!
This has caused blogworldwide excitement!!!
...because no one ever does this.
EVER!!!!

Stay tuned!!! Breaking details as they happen!!!!

My Calendar Is Slow

Having a mild case of the beal, I went in search of the Friday Five so I could write a post without actually having to come up with original content or clever opinions.
Except.... no Friday Five. They said "back in May", and it's May, and where the bloody hell is my Friday Five?
When I slammed the refridgerator door in a fit of pique, it knocked off a few of the little magnets and my calendar came fluttering down. It was then I realized it's only Thursday.
Could be worse. Could be Saturday, in which case I am going to get severely bitched at for missing work Friday. Which I didn't, because it's not.
Friday, I mean. Not Saturday.
Which, by the way, it isn't either.
But it IS Thursday.
I'm pretty sure, anyways, that it's Thursday.
Ah hell.... no I'm not.

Calling In Sick

So yesterday I had a little headache when I went in to work. One of my coworkers asked why I looked so un-cheerful.
"Oh" I said. "Got a bit of a headache."
Then, as I do everything, I decided to turn it into a joke....

"Or maybe" I continued, "I have Ebola."
Dead silence all around.
"Uh...." spoke up one bright young hope for our future. "What's Ebola?"
Me: "It's that disease, the one that started with monkeys, that's very very deadly... makes all your organs turn to mush and your blood just explode out of you."
More dead silence.
Coworker:"You're makin' that up."
Me: "No, I'm NOT. There was even a movie about it. With Dustin Hoffman."
Coworker:"Who?"
Me: "Dustin Hoffman. He was in "Tootsie"..... "Rain Man"... oh c'mon. "
Coworker:"He's that retarded guy, right?"
Other coworker: "Maybe that earbowl-ah made him retarded. "
Coworker: "Ooooh, yeah dawg, disease can do that."
Other coworker: "Yeah, cos my cousin had a real high temp and it cooked his brain and now he's all special."
Me: "Only your cousin?"

Terms, Defining of:

I don't want to rule the world. I just want things the way I want them, when I want them. What's so difficult about that?

2000 Words

Harvey said once, in a fit of commenting madness, that "This place needs more LeeAnn pics." I imagine he means pics of me, but being the stubbornly obtuse cheesemistress that I am, I choose to believe he means pics belonging to me.
And with that, I give you a picture of a minor miracle....
My daughter, Kelly.

She's not only gorgeous, she has the gift of phrase-turnage.
This is her dog, Endo Beaner Bagby, of whom she says:
"He has little bumps all over him and his breath smells like a bucket of sea shells that has been left in the hot car after a day on the beach. "

I guess technically, he's my granddog. I can see how he takes after my side of the family. The little bumps part, I mean. And the glazed look. That's vintage Cheesemistress.

Told You So

I knew it wasn't my fault, I knew it I knew it I knew it!
The modem had gone completely ka-ka-licious.
So the repair guy, who was a very nice man despite the fact I had no Mt. Dew in the house and he was forced to drink Diet Pepsi, swapped it out with a new one and zing zam zoom, I have internet again.

Of course, I have nothing to blog about NOW.
Time to stand out on the balcony and wait for the neighborhood to provide.....

Update On My Woes

Neither rain nor snow nor gloom of computer bugger-ups can slow the Cheesemistress from her appointed damn near obsessive-compulsive template changes. Although I have to admit, what with technical difficulties, it took me over 4 hours. Now, that's true lunatic behavior dedication.
And in a related item, the ISP has admitted maybe there's a problem and are sending a guy out to "look at it". From the tone of their voice, they think I've driven a railroad spike through the cable somewhere.
Huh. Shows what they know.... it was a fondue fork.

Miffed (And Really, Is A Miff As Good As A Mile?)

My computer is constipated. Rather, let's be clear and restate: my internet connection is constipated. Let's be even more needlessly graphic clear: my ISP appears to have taken a tremendous, diarrhetic dump into my modem.
What I'm trying oh so delicately to say is, things are pretty shitty, computer-wise.

Most every page I've tried to access, both in IE6 and Mozilla 1.5, times out. Reloading sometimes works, but not always. Pictures come through about 1/10 of the time. Some pages just look extremely off, like something stripped all the prettiness code out.
Why, yes, it does sound like a virus... but...
(And how could I have a post about how shitty things are without having a "but"?)
I have run Norton, with updated virus definitions, several times. I have run AdAware, Spybot Blaster, and Clean Center. I tried to run the Symantec online check but that's kind of futile when the main problem is nothing will load.
I've downloaded nothing new prior to all this poopla. I've deleted nothing.
And naturally, when I called the ISP, they said why, of course there's nothing untoward going on in your area, you are just inept and cootie-ridden.... but
(see? another "but"!) we are having just a tad bit of trouble determining that your cable modem is functioning, so we'll send a guy to check it out.
So here I am, stalled on the side of the information highway, which has become an information dirt path through the woods, littered with trodden-upon poo.
Until later tomorrow, when allegedly the cable guy will come and fix everything all better.

Yes, as I re-read this I realize it is possibly the most boring, self-serving, whiny post but yet I feel compelled nonetheless to share with you this dark side of the Cheese.
Sorry. Smart-assery and tarded neighborhood tales will resume once I can face the keyboard and not cry in frustration.
I bet I hit "save" and it times out and I lose all this.
Damn.

My Dad Sends Me Jokes

A car hit a 10 year old boy and drove off.
The boy was lying injured in the road.
A passerby ran up and asked the boy, "do you want me to find a priest?"
The boy replied, "How can you think of sex at a time like this?"

I don't write 'em, folks, I just report 'em.