the cheese stands alone

Random Observation 51

One of the women at jury duty last week looked like the love child of Sarah Jessica Parker and Marilyn Manson.
And not in a good way, can you believe it?

He's Out There, Watching Me

I couldn't go out on the balcony all day yesterday. There was a giant grasshopper out there, just waiting for me to come outside so he could hop on me and chew his way through to my liver (because that's what grasshoppers do. Everybody knows that.)
Finally the suspense became unbearable and I dug through the cabinets to find the Raid and sprayed the beast for five minutes.
I still can't go out on the balcony.
There's a giant dead grasshopper out there.

My Dad Sends Me Jokes

San Carlos, AZ

During a campaign tour of the Apache Nation Wednesday, Democratic presidential candidate John Kerry said he had a plan to increase every Native American's income by $40,000 a year. Senator Kerry refused repeated requests for details of his plan, however. He also told the Apaches that during his Senate career, he has voted YES for every Indian issue ever introduced.

Before his departure, the Apache Tribe presented the Presidential candidate a plaque inscribed with his new Indian name, Running Eagle.

After Kerry left, tribal officials explained that Running Eagle is a bird so full of shit it can't fly.

Relax, Don't Do It

We had a substitute instructor in yoga class today.
He was..... different. Rather the way a one-legged stripper is different.... that little bit of missing part subtly affects the performance.
This guy's missing part was his verbal editor.
Things he said:

"Okay, close your eyes, visualize your center, energizing white light... yadda yadda yadda."

"Don't forget to breathe. Breathing is the key to good yoga. If you don't breathe, you die and I have to do paperwork."

"Okay, lift your leg and pull your knee toward your head, like a cat does. No licking."

"Who farted? It's okay, I'm sure the Buddha farted too..... man, that stinks."

Leaping Out Of the Cake As We Speak

Today is the GM1's birthday. He's out afloat in a great big boat, but not with a goat.
Or a stoat.
Sorry, too much Dr. Seuss earlier....
I was going to write a big mushy historical post on how we met, but realized that mushy is not my style, it certainly isn't the GM1's, and so I've got to just content myself with delayed spankings, the neato present I sent him, and hopes that you all will wish him Happy Birthday in the comments so he can see.
A big Thank You to my mom-in-law, for uncrossing her knees and letting that old water break so I could be as lucky as I am now.
Happy happy birthday, sweetie.

Recycled

Nostalgia.... it's what makes us call up old friends, linger with blurry photos, and plumb our archives for stuff to re-post because we have zero new content....
From last year, I give you.....

Doggy In The Window

*ring ring*
LeeAnn: Hello? *long pause* Hello? Hellooooo?
Male: Uh, yeah? Is this the people what's gots the dog for sale?
L: Sorry, you have the wrong number.
M: Huh?
L: We don't have a dog.
M: Your dog no for sale?
L: No, we don't even HAVE a dog.
M: Did you sell him already?
L: No, we didn't sell a dog.
M: So you still gots the dog, huh?
L: Do we "gots" the dog? Uh...*muffled laughter*
M: How much are you asking?
L: For what?
M: The dog, man. How much's the dog?
L: *sigh* Okay. Okay. How much is the dog? There is no dog. We don't have a dog.
M: So he's got sold already? Damn.
L: *giving up* Yeah. No dog. Dog gone. Bye bye dog.
M: What kinda dog was he?
L: A dead dog. He died.
M: Man, you sold a dead dog? Are you shittin' me?
L: No, it just died. Recently. Like just before you called recently.
M: Man. *stunned silence*
M: So.... what kinda dog was he, anyway?
L: Tasty, really tasty.
M: Tasty? Is that like one of them little Shit Zoo things?
L: Yeah. Oops, gotta go, something's burning on the stove. Bye!
*click*

I need caller I.D. I really do.

As If We Suspected Otherwise

Take the quiz: "Which Random Irish Gaelic Phrase Are You? "

Ta mo bhriste tri thine
Ta mo bhriste tri thine - "My trousers are on fire."
You're a few bricks short of a load, aren't you? You're probably not allowed to use sharp objects and you should be locked in a rubber room. With rubber rats. Rubber rats? I hate rubber rats. They drive me crazy. Crazy? I was crazy once. They put me in a rubber room. With rubber rats. Rubber rats? I hate rubber rats...

(my erin got braugh'd at It Tastes Like, Burning)

Visitation

99 Rooms reminds me of the backdrop for a lot of my weirder dreams.
Room 26 scared the beejeebers out of me.
Room 84 is the prettiest.

Eye See

44 Optical Illusions and Visual Phenomena.
The explanations were mostly beyond my comprehension, but me like the pretty pictures lots.
(from Bob, the finder of such neat things)

The Cure, Sans Vast Quantities of Eyeliner

I am in a Bad Mood. And when I get in a Bad Mood, I do several things:
I drink (this time margaritas because I wanted to play with the blender)
I clean (not as well as one could hope after several margaritas)
I write exacting, erudite letters of complaint to various agencies and/or people who have pissed me off, the text of which mostly consisting of "You suck! I hope all your children look like monkeys and that you are cursed with incurable crotch itch!"
I indulge my rebellious streak and do laundry without separating whites from colors.
I kibbitz the players on Jeopardy. "Who is Hunter S. Thompson, my ASS!"
And I blog incoherently.
Please note, that last should in no way be taken to mean exclusively at times like this.
PS.... if you make margaritas with 4 times the tequila listed on the back-of-mix-bottle recipe, they are so much better. I'm just sayin'.

Also

Those of you who are suitably impressed that, in the previous post, I spelled "triumvirate" correctly pre-coffee, raise your hands.
Thank you.

Not the Only One

Lee of Oh No The Blog has a new daughter, to round out the triumvirate began by Madison and DangerGirl. Her name is:
(insert incredibly loud drum roll and trumpet flourish here)

Get Yer Woo-Woos Out

I don't know exactly what kind of emergency vehicle it is, but there's one out there on the freeway near the apartment, wailing its siren off, and it's just.... pathetic.
"Woooooo" it says. "Woooo."
Just like that. No exclamation point.
It sounds like a cross between a very old rodeo clown and a tired old preacher who's just discovered the joys of a lapdance but wants to be discreet.
"Woooo."

It Doesn't Suck

You are Form 9, Vampire: The Undying.

"And The Vampire was all that remained on
the blood drowned creation. She attempted to
regrow life from the dead. But as she was
about to give the breath of life, she was
consumed in the flame of The Phoenix and the
cycle began again."

Some examples of the Vampire Form are Hades (Greek)
and Isis (Egyptian).
The Vampire is associated with the concept of
death, the number 9, and the element of fire.
Her sign is the eclipsed moon.

As a member of Form 9, you are a very realistic
individual. You may be a little idealistic,
but you are very grounded and down to earth.
You realize that not everything lasts, but you
savor every minute of the good times. While
you may sometimes find yourself lonely, you
have strong ties with people that will never be
broken. Vampires are the best friends to have
because they are sensible.

Which Mythological Form Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Fritos Would Do, In a Pinch

Last night's dream consisted mainly of attempts to escape an exit-blocked military hospital full of zombies. I forced myself awake when I was faced with a charming blonde little girl in full curls and Alice-in-Wonderland garb, munching on her own ripped-from-the-shoulder arm and smiling at me with bloody teeth.
And as I sprang up in bed, successfully nightmare-free, I remember wondering aloud "Do we have any Cheetos?"

Pants Full of Embers

I previously set you, my loyal Cheesers, the challenge of determining which of many factoids were true and which were false.
To be fair, you all did extremely well considering how weird my life is and therefore context could not be met by any normal standards.
The answers:

1. I had lunch in the principal's office every single day of fourth grade because I would not stop punching the boy I had a devastating crush on in the face to get his attention.
This one is True. The principal, due to extreme luck and small-town genetics, was my aunt and took pity on me. The boy in question was one of the Rich Kids (meaning he had a new bike when the rest of us had hand-me-downs from older relatives) and refused to acknowledge me unless I was in his face.
I took that a bit literally.
2. I was in a beauty contest at age 25 and fell off the stage into a potted palm.
Again, True. The contest was sponsored by the local hard rock station, so big hair and bigger heels were encouraged. As we were using the Tiki Room at the local Holiday Inn for the contest, each of us had to step over a decorative styrofoam volcanic rock border to walk down the runway. As I attempted this, my heel plunged into the styrofoam and I did a forward roll right off the edge of the stage, crushing a potted palm on my way down.
I think it was my screams of "Fuck fuck fuckity FUCK!" that led the judges to disqualify me. Can't out-curse the emcee, it's just bad pageant form.
3. I sold my swim team trophies to finance my first tattoo.
Aha! False. I can't swim. I paid for my tattoos the old-fashioned way... I neglected the cable bill.
4. At age 22, I was the middle-weight mud-wrestling champion of my area for 3 months.
Another True statement. While these were supposed to be strictly-for-show tussles, designed to coax the male patrons to holler themselves hoarse and therefore buy more beer, I took it a bit too seriously and set out to whoop some hussy ass. I did too, several times. It was fun while it lasted, until the bar was closed for health code violations.
What, did you think I spent my youth teaching bible school or something?
5. One of my ex-mothers-in-law tried to run over me with a sky-blue 1973 Buick.
Yep, True. That woman hated me with a white-hot fury that was nearly admirable in focus. She died in a mental institution one year to the day after I divorced her darling baby boy. No lie.
6. I am allergic to oysters.
Absolutely False. I love them any way I can get them, except raw. I'm not quite that hardcore.
7. Ben Stein popped my bra strap once.
Oh my, Ben, you naughty boy. True and False. It was twice. I was on "Win Ben Stein's Money", where I failed to do so. Later on, however, the production company called me to come up to L.A. to be a pretend-contestant when they were auditioning replacements for Jimmy Kimmel. Both times Ben was extremely courtly and genteel, shaking my hand with a slight bow as if to kiss it.
But each time, as I'd turn away, he'd reach out and snap my bra strap. With the complete deadpan that he'd displayed when he asked "Bueller? Bueller? Bueller?"
8. I was asked to leave Mexico and never return.
Sadly, True. Because you can never get enough tacos-of-questionable-meat.
Seriously, I got deathly evil drunk, and stood in the middle of Revolucion Avenue and shrieked "I've never seen so many fucking Mexicans in my LIFE!" My escort was persuaded by the local cops to carry my limp ass across the border and encouraged to never return.
9. I am deathly afraid of chickens.
Okay.... True. I know they all want to just peck my eyes out. I just know it.
10. At age 4, inspired by a Wide World of Sports special on cliff divers, I tried to dive into the bathtub from a standing position on the top of the toilet. Two weeks after the stitches came out, I tried it the other way round. I still have the scars.
Trick question. False. I was 2 and a half. The scars on on my chin and my forehead, respectively.

I may have to do this one again, later on with entirely new oddments. If I do ten of them, wouldn't that qualify for the famous "100 Things" meme?

Hello Kitty Stress Test

According to the Hello Kitty Stress Test, I'm still reasonably safe for the general public.

"You Have A Fair Stress Level.
One of your reasons for this is your conscious awareness to release your stress before letting it get worst.
However when you come across many troubles at the same time, you might unable to handle it. There comes the problem. For this type you better enjoy the green and the wood.
As long as you are in the natural environment, you will be peaceful to resolve any problems. "

White Out

Your attention please.
For those of you who keep an address book and have room to alter the C page, let's have a little announcement:
The Cheese Stands Alone's email address will no longer be the hotmail one, but will be as follows:
cheesemistress at cox dot net
Those of you with important missives regarding financial woes in Nigeria, exotic computer virii, and annoying spammish advertising should send all mail to the following:
MichaelMoore@impotentfatassgasbag.com

That is all.

Designated

Philosophical conversation overheard at the gym, between two Upwardly Mobile Young Businesswomen about the show on the TV in the treadmill area, concerning Spring Break scandals and summer hijinks among college students.

UMYB 1: "Wonder what happens to them?"
UMYB 2: "Who?"
UMYB 1:"Those girls. The ones in the wet t-shirt contests and the sunlotion queen contests and mudwrestling and riding the mechanical bull and getting tattoos and all that."
UMYB 2: "Oh. Them." *said with as much certified class-distinction disdain as she could muster while sweating like a pig in a designer tracksuit*
UMYB 1:"Yeah... wonder what happens to them later in life? Where do they go? What do they become?"
UMYB 2: "No idea. Who cares?"

I can tell you, ladies... they become me.
And thank you for playing Who Spit In My Water Bottle When I Was Busy Being A Snob?
1. For the record, I did all those things in my youth, and more, and had as much fun as you could pack into the years before I grew up and became a Responsible Adult.
2. Which should be happening any time now.
3. Maybe.

Avoiding the Obvious

Jerry at Red Wheelbarrow has this report of an alleged PETA (spit spit) member who cons her way into a private home to "investigate" pet care.
I have no such problems round Maison Fromage. Number one, I don't let anyone in my door that I don't know. Number two, I have this sign in my front window:

Shake? More Like Shimmy

Marlon Perkins Would've Been Proud

I'm all nostalgic, in a very beastial way.
This post over at Publius & Co. got me thinking about my own pet rats from the past, and then I went wandering down memory lane and all my pets popped into my mind. And much in the way the cure for an earworm is to sing the entire song, the only way I can get my furry babies to rest and let me get some mental peace and quiet is to make a list...

1. My first pet was a dachshund named Alvin. No, that's not exactly true. I had some goldfish for nearly a week before my brother decided they needed to take a walk with him.
2. We had more cats than I can remember the names of when I was a child. Every time one of us would bring home a kitten, in all fairness the rest of us would get a kitten. Invariably every kitten we brought home was already pregnant. Some kind of spontaneous kitty mitosis or something.
3. We did have memorable dogs.... we had MickeyMichael (my mother had to double-name all our dogs), who'd had a high fever as a puppy and consequently was never a day over 3 months in his addled little dogbrain. There was MabelMichelle, who we adopted at a campsite as a ragged bag o'bones and who died so incredibly fat she could not lie on her side without the upper legs being unable to touch the ground, and who smelled like the diaper pile at the baby farm. (Yes, there is such a place as a baby farm, it's where babies come from, go ask my mom if you don't believe me. And if you kiss boys, you get warts. Everyone knows this.)
ToyToy was all boyboy and never stopped licking it. PepperPrettyPrincess was a butt-ugly semi-poodle who freaked out and PromptlyPiddled whenever you called her name.
4. I had a sweet cairn terrier named Conan, who my ex-may-she-rot-in-hell-mother-in-law promptly absconded with and refused to give back on the grounds she'd had him baptised and I was an atheist and unfit to raise him.
5. Then there was Caviar, the meanest ferret known to man. He'd take a finger off if you gave him lunging room. I gave him to my ex-may-she-rot-in-hell -mother-in-law with instructions that he liked to be petted.
6. I had a paraplegic guinea pig named Quatro, rescued from the pet shop where cruel previous owners had returned him damaged. He only lived another week, but he was a sweetheart, which led to my acquiring Stewart, an atypically anti-social guinea pig. He'd scream like a... well, like a pig, whenever you'd try to pet him. He lived for over 6 years, like a car alarm on a Ferrari in South Central.
7. Carlyle was my ball python, bought as a six week old bit of wiggly string and with me for over 12 years, when he retired to a career with a traveling animal show upon our disastrous move to Hawaii, whose short-sighted morons-in-charge would not allow him to come with us. Damn you, you spam-eating, hula-hula fascists! And your little poi too!
8. My rats started as rejected dinners for Carlyle (sorry, Victor!) and wound up as pets. Alan grew to the size of a soccer ball. Mr. Potatohead and Dionysus refused to be separated. Vlad bit everyone. Lump rarely moved.
9. However, in Hawaii, in addition to Squeeks, the neurotic cat who came to us from the inHumane Society, we cared for (in a three year period) over 55 stray cats. By the time we moved, we were going through 40 pounds of cat food a week.
10. Currently, I make do with my goldfish (Tallulah, Tammyfay, Leslie, Manny, and Bruce) and my betta (Carson). They're under the illusion that they're starving to death and beat themselves senseless on the front of the aquarium, begging to be fed five minutes after I've done just that.

I've left out the gerbils that my mother thought would be a good lesson in responsibility for us and which we all ignored, the five minute parakeet ("don't take it out of the cage, not with the cats in here... no, I said DON'T take... oh hell."), and the dog we fed for five years only to discover it belonged to the neighbor down the block who thought it was anorexic because she couldn't get it to eat.
I miss each and every (almost) every one of them, too.

Pants On Fire

Here's a nifty chance for me to increase my shady reputation by bleeps and pounds little game. I'll list ten "facts" about myself. You tell me which ones are true and which ones are false.
Ready? Then let's begin:

1. I had lunch in the principal's office every single day of fourth grade because I would not stop punching the boy I had a devastating crush on in the face to get his attention.
2. I was in a beauty contest at age 25 and fell off the stage into a potted palm.
3. I sold my swim team trophies to finance my first tattoo.
4. At age 22, I was the middle-weight mud-wrestling champion of my area for 3 months.
5. One of my ex-mothers-in-law tried to run over me with a sky-blue 1973 Buick.
6. I am allergic to oysters.
7. Ben Stein popped my bra strap once.
8. I was asked to leave Mexico and never return.
9. I am deathly afraid of chickens.
10. At age 4, inspired by a Wide World of Sports special on cliff divers, I tried to dive into the bathtub from a standing position on the top of the toilet. Two weeks after the stitches came out, I tried it the other way round. I still have the scars.

(once again, stolen from Lee at Oh No The Blog, although I know I've seen it somewhere else as well.... somebody will tell me, won't you?)

So It's Not Only Me

"What's up with my cat? She looks at me strangely when I sing and dance for her." – cat owner, New York, NY.
"I think if my dog received mail, it would build his character. Can I register him on your mailing list?" – dog owner, Richmond, VA.
"When my dog pees, he leaves brown patches all over the lawn. Is he peeing fire?" – dog owner, Covington, KY.

How About Them (Insert Random Sports Team Here)?

The GM1 has been out at sea a few days, and I find myself undergoing a sex change. To wit:
1. I hang about in my underwear, scratching freely at whatever parts I can reach, until I am forced by work circumstances to shower and dress.
2. I wear the same shirt until I can visually sense the scent patterns embedded in it.
3. The fridge has nothing in it but a half-empty pizza box, a crusty bottle of cocktail sauce lying on its side, and three cases of beer.
4. I kibbitz'd "The Matrix" last night... "You call that a kick? You only had both feet in the air for two minutes, dude! You kick like a GIRL, Neo!"
5. I fed the fish pizza crust to see if they'd eat it.
6. They did. I have some meanass goldfish.
7. I have emitted so many various gases that the EPA is crank calling me and the termite people want to hire me, if I come with my own big tent-thingy.
8. I told them I do, it's called my prom dress from high school.
9. I laid on the couch for four hours the other day watching porn until the wavy lines gave me a headache.
10. It would have been five hours but I found the remote... under a piece of pizza on the floor.
11. I have appointments with five prominent anthropologists who want to study the ratio of Time Spend On My Own to Distance Of Knuckles From Ground.

The GM1 returns relatively soon. I have to pull myself out of this and burn the entire apartment to the ground, which will be bad news for the people downstairs since I live on the second floor but hey, life's hard. Get a frickin' helmet tidy up a little.
I also need to shave my legs. Does anyone have a weedwhacker I can borrow?
(who am I kidding? I live like this all the time. I am a slobbalicious Cheese.)

Shut That Bloody Bazouki Up!

Jordana of Curmudgeonry points me to proof of The Rules of Going to Worship, a.k.a "How Not To Act In A Cheese Shop."

It Takes A Lot Of Balls To Play Music Like This

If I'm late for work today, this is going to be the reason... now at my 17th replay of it.
Animusic.
(tunefully found at Bifurcated Rivets)

Nail, Head of: Hit

I bow to the king of awesomely accurate eloquence...
Velociman speaks out on the latest murder.

To Go

The Coffee Achiever has some pithy words about who is to blame for our own fat asses.
She's entirely correct, too.

Just Don't Ask To See the Batcave

Best recently overheard curse:
"Holy ballsack, Batman!"

Tell Me A Story

Pam at Pamibe has written a lovely linky story for us, and subtly about us as well.
Or is it just that "it's all about me" thing I usually have going on?
"A Blogx Tale".

Because It's Saturday and Incredibly Early and I Don't Want To Watch Cartoons

Early Thematics

It ain't even 6 bloody AM and I sense a trend....
The first two songs on my randomized playlist were "Song of the Viking" by Todd Rundgren and "Birdhouse In My Soul" by They Might Be Giants (my favorite line in that one is the one that says:
"There’s a picture opposite me
Of my primitive ancestry
Which stood on rocky shores and kept the beaches shipwreck free
Though I respect that a lot
I’d be fired if that were my job
After killing Jason off and countless screaming Argonauts"....)
Which, after reinspection, I realize isn't about Vikings at all, but for some reason I always imagined it was so it stands.
BUT!
Then the first email I opened this morning had a link from my sister-in-law to the Viking kitten movie.
Thus I can safely say we have a Viking theme going on today, and it's only right and proper that I dig up my old helmet hat with the Viking horns on it to wear to work today.
Because their opinion of me just isn't high enough, really now.

Down In Front

Jordana at Curmudgeonry has a variation on the Book List meme.... it's the 100 top grossing movies of all time. Same basics, though... bold the ones you've seen. Since I've seen most of them, I took the extra step and strike-through'd (is that even a word?) the ones I wouldn't see if you held a gun to my head.
And I'm seeing "Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban" this weekend. That will tidy things up a bit.

1. Titanic (1997) $600,779,824
2. Star Wars (1977) $460,935,665
3. E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial (1982) $434,949,459
4. Star Wars: Episode I - The Phantom Menace (1999) $431,065,444
5. Spider-Man (2002) $403,706,375
6. Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King, The (2003) $377,019,252
7. Passion of the Christ, The (2004) $370,025,697
8. Jurassic Park (1993) $356,784,000
9. Shrek 2 (2004) $356,211,000
10. Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers, The (2002) $340,478,898
11. Finding Nemo (2003) $339,714,367
12. Forrest Gump (1994) $329,691,196
13. Lion King, The (1994) $328,423,001
14. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone (2001) $317,557,891
15. Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, The (2001) $313,837,577
16. Star Wars: Episode II - Attack of the Clones (2002) $310,675,583
17. Star Wars: Episode VI - Return of the Jedi (1983) $309,125,409
18. Independence Day (1996) $306,124,059
19. Pirates of the Caribbean (2003) $305,411,224
20. Sixth Sense, The (1999) $293,501,675
21. Star Wars: Episode V - The Empire Strikes Back (1980) $290,158,751
22. Home Alone (1990) $285,761,243
23. Matrix Reloaded, The (2003) $281,492,479
24. Shrek (2001) $267,652,016
25. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (2002) $261,970,615
26. How the Grinch Stole Christmas (2000) $260,031,035
27. Jaws (1975) $260,000,000
28. Monsters, Inc. (2001) $255,870,172
29. Batman (1989) $251,188,924
30. Men in Black (1997) $250,147,615
31. Toy Story 2 (1999) $245,823,397
32. Bruce Almighty (2003) $242,589,580
33. Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981) $242,374,454
34. Twister (1996) $241,700,000
35. My Big Fat Greek Wedding (2002) $241,437,427
36. Ghost Busters (1984) $238,600,000
37. Beverly Hills Cop (1984) $234,760,500
38. Cast Away (2000) $233,630,478
39. Lost World: Jurassic Park, The (1997) $229,074,524
40. Signs (2002) $227,965,690
41. Rush Hour 2 (2001) $226,138,454
42. Mrs. Doubtfire (1993) $219,200,000
43. Ghost (1990) $217,631,306
44. Aladdin (1992) $217,350,219
45. Saving Private Ryan (1998) $216,119,491
46. Mission: Impossible II (2000) $215,397,307
47. X2 (2003) $214,948,780
48. Austin Powers in Goldmember (2002) $213,079,163
49. Back to the Future (1985) $210,609,762
50. Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me (1999) $205,399,422
51. Terminator 2: Judgment Day (1991) $204,843,350
52. Exorcist, The (1973) $204,565,000
53. Mummy Returns, The (2001) $202,007,640
54. Armageddon (1998) $201,573,391
55. Gone with the Wind (1939) $198,655,278
56. Pearl Harbor (2001) $198,539,855
57. Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade (1989) $197,171,806
58. Toy Story (1995) $191,800,000
59. Men in Black II (2002) $190,418,803
60. Gladiator (2000) $187,670,866
61. Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937) $184,925,485
62. Dances with Wolves (1990) $184,208,848
63. Batman Forever (1995) $184,031,112
64. Fugitive, The (1993) $183,875,760
65. Ocean's Eleven (2001) $183,405,771
66. What Women Want (2000) $182,805,123
67. Perfect Storm, The (2000) $182,618,434
68. Liar Liar (1997) $181,395,380
69. Grease (1978) $181,360,000
70. Jurassic Park III (2001) $181,166,115
71. Mission: Impossible (1996) $180,965,237
72. Planet of the Apes (2001) $180,011,740
73. Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom (1984) $179,870,271
74. Pretty Woman (1990) $178,406,268
75. Tootsie (1982) $177,200,000
76. Top Gun (1986) $176,781,728
77. There's Something About Mary (1998) $176,483,808
78. Ice Age (2002) $176,387,405
79. Crocodile Dundee (1986) $174,635,000
80. Home Alone 2: Lost in New York (1992) $173,585,516
81. Elf (2003) $173,381,405
82. Air Force One (1997) $172,888,056
83. Rain Man (1988) $172,825,435
84. Apollo 13 (1995) $172,071,312
85. Matrix, The (1999) $171,383,253
86. Beauty and the Beast (1991) $171,301,428
87. Tarzan (1999) $171,085,177
88. Beautiful Mind, A (2001) $170,708,996
89. Chicago (2002) $170,684,505
90. Three Men and a Baby (1987) $167,780,960
91. Meet the Parents (2000) $166,225,040
92. Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves (1991) $165,500,000
93. Hannibal (2001) $165,091,464
94. Catch Me If You Can (2002) $164,435,221
95. Big Daddy (1999) $163,479,795
96. Sound of Music, The (1965) $163,214,286
97. Batman Returns (1992) $162,831,698
98. Bug's Life, A (1998) $162,792,677
99. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (2004) $161,963,000
100. Waterboy, The (1998) $161,487,252

Everybody Was Kung Fu Fighting*

I discovered why I've been feeling kind of blah in the mornings.
I was worried I was being courted by a relapse of the previous plague du sinus, but it turns out I had accidentally bought decaf.
Evidently I misread the label at the market.
I really really have to get my eyes checked.
*As you can tell, this title has nothing to do with the post. I just liked the way it sounds.

Everything Old Is New Again

Sure, you can play the same old Rock, Paper, Scissors.
Or you can play Rock, Paper, Scissors, Spock, Lizard.

I Only Have Ears For You

I just noticed how, totally at random, a certain section of my playlist evolves...
"Good Person Inside"
"I Kissed a Girl"
"Detachable Penis"
"New Toy"
"Paradise City"

Hmmmm.

Number One? Too Late

"How To Seem Smarter."
(cleverly filched from Frank Showalter)

Just Another Reason Dave Barry Should Rule the World

The Rules....

10. (This rule was suggested by our Research Department, Judi Smith, who one day will open fire with a machine gun in a public restroom:) If you're a woman using a toilet, and, because you are dainty and fastidious, you elect not to sit on the seat, but instead hover over it like a UFO from the Planet Weewee, and as a result you spatter the seat, do NOT just leave your mess, as if no human will ever use this toilet again. CLEAN UP AFTER YOURSELF.

Note To Self: Must Get Ammo

What kind of moron rides a mini-scooter (one of those little clown ones that sounds like a lawnmower on steriods and speed) to work at 6 bloody 30 in the damnable AM?
Dead man riding, that's all I'm sayin'.

Snip

What happens when bad scissoring meets good television?
TopDawg at Dogwood knows.
It's must-see (writing about) TV... but for the love of monitor, finish your coffee first.

Well, Read

There is a new gigantic meme going around, one that you bold or italicize the titles of books you've finished or started but not quite done with. Robert at Xset has the current list, counting out at 438.

I'm going to go at this in a roundabout fashion.... I'm just going to tell you about my personal book collection....

I finally caved in to unceasing insurance agent nagging common sense and arranged for us to have renter's insurance. Consequently, for the privilege of paying a pile of cash so that in event of flood, fire or famine (but not earthquake, because this is California and by god, a little 8.5 ain't gonna slow us down) we lose all our earthly goods, we will be reimbursed at a basic exchange rate of three cents on the dollar.
(I'm sure it must be more than that, but being the cynic I am, I know some insurance bigwig is even now lighting his cigars with my premiums, muttering "Dey doan need dat stuff. Big Tony, he need da Hummah!" and come the day after a disaster, I shall be in the second cardboard box from the right under the freeway overpass.)
But I digress.....

Basically, my math indicates:
Our clothing cash value was so low it appears we're nudists.
Our furniture cash value was low enough that my niece's Barbie's Dream House has higher resale value.
Our kitchen stuff cash value was in the negative numbers.
But our book collection cash value was over $20,000.

Ergo, we are basically naked savages squatting on scraps of cardboard and eating out of our hands... but we're very well-read savages.

All amounts based on very scientific guesstimation. Book count was around 1,900, having been interrupted several times by unhelpful pains in the tush the GM1 standing behind me randomly chanting numbers to throw me off kibbitzing. Aforementioned book collection is 80% paperback, 18% hardback, and 2% good porn. Tax, title and license not included. Your mileage may vary. She sells sea shells by the sea shore.

For Those Of You Keeping Score

I arrived at work today to find Blondie had quit. Wait, no, she was fired. Well, not really fired, since she kind of just stopped showing up and was released for "job abandonment".
There were a dozen variations on this theme, but it all came down to the sad conclusion that she was gone, never to darken my fairy floss'd little world again.
Now I have to find a new debate partner.

Two For One Deal

Gentlemen, start your engines.

Yesterday Mary Kate and Ashley turned 18.

Wet

Yesterday the GM1 and I went to Seaworld, because I got free tickets, which is always cool. I'd go to a dogfight in a garbage scow if I had free tickets, it's just the cheapass way I am. Which is, of course, not to say that Seaworld is anything like a dogfight, nor a garbage scow.
Unless you could the plethora of discarded baby diapers in the ladies' room or the two Asian women arguing loudly all through the Clyde and Seamore Sea Lion Show.
But wait... there's MORE!
The rapidly decaying piece of pseudo-technology shit trusty Cheesecam managed to work at least 1/5 of the time, and so I have pictures for a change!

This is the GM1 with his newfound friends from the show "Cirque de la Mer", which means "guys in tights doing amazing stuff without a visible package anywhere".



A swarm of jellyfish, with attractive lighting. No peanutbutter fish to be found.



My toes enjoyed the clean bathroom floors over next to the snowcone stand, just left of the shark exhibit. Now with improved toilet paper supplyage.



A starfish, from the tidal pool where they actually let you pick stuff up. Unless they don't, in which case I was never there and you can't prove a thing.



Your Cheesemistress, risking life and limb to show you her amazing sea creature rapport. And a wee bit of cleavage.

Much Talky, Talky

Vocab quiz.
Got 164 out of 200.
Pre-coffee.
I'm a great guesser.
(syllabussed at Blown Fuse, who got it from Snoozebutton Dreams)

Dexterity R Not Us

A new game.
Type your name using your....

nose: lann
elbow: ;lpreresajmnnmj
chin: ,leddeaznn
feet: leedann
eyes closed and one finger: lrrann
back of my hand: leenn
palm: lkeeanbnb
mouse: lpreerdnjn
wrist: l.ererasnmbnmb
boob: . RESa k
(tenderly fingertipped from The City Could Not Stop>

"Deadwood" Notes

Offhand, I'd say that as soon as the first season is out on DVD, it's mine.
Other thoughts:
1. As Bullock beat the so-very-deserved-everloving-daylights out of Alma Garret's daughter-extorting dad, I made the mental note to buy a Father's Day card.
2. The GM1, upon Alma's disrobing: "My, Alma's rather.... pert."
3. Best line: Doc to God, upon hearing Al Swearengen at his door, - "That'll be your competition."
4. Second best line, by Al of course: "Saying your plans out loud is a good way to make God laugh."
5. The Reverend, a.k.a. the retarded stork, finally was mercifully ended in his suffering. I cried like someone had barbequed my puppy.
6. Everyone needs a Dan Dority from time to time.

I'm so going to miss that show. Even the return of "Six Feet Under", while a mild consolation, isn't going to do it.
At least I've still got "Reno 911".

Signs of the Apocalypse, Part Two

I have learned that I am to be The Trainer at work, specifically for the Fairy Floss cart but also employee procedure in general for my department.
This, after complaints of intellectual elitism, malingering, and general floss abuse.
I will be training the latest hire crop of America's Youth... a pack of 16-19 year olds just begging for the Fairy Floss Floozie (patent pending) treatment. Luckily, it's a one-on-one deal so I don't have to worry about a mutiny.

Upon first learning this, I screamed like a sharp stick was being poked into my eyeball vaguely protested, as I myself have been on the job (does that sound so very "Cops" or what?) a scant three months. I then was told I'd set a record of sorts by not bringing small weaponry to work and working out my complaints in an explosive fashion staying in my position for so long. (It's also what made me so popular at the Bunny Ranch, but that's a tail for another day.)
This all came from my failure to kill the appropriate person in the chain of management recent training of young Allen, an event I thought was just a one-off. Young Allen is barely 16 and his first question was "how old are you?" I told him that asking women their age would not advance his. Then I told him, and watched as he turned pale and examined me surreptitiously for signs of senility and hip-breakage.
I then discovered the joyous part of Training America's Youth.... they will believe anything.
Anything.
I taught Young Allen the following things:
1. It is possible to lick your eyebrows if you train your tongue by regularly tugging on it.
2. Women like it immensely when you open doors for them.
3. Fairy floss was invented in Russia by a monk named Rasputin.
4. Xbox is vastly superior to PS2 and is used by the CIA to train deep cover operatives.
5. I once owned a mountain lion named Percy who ate twinkies.
6. If you make a joke and the tourist doesn't get it, be sure to wink. They will either then be signaled that it was a joke, or they'll think you're coming on to them. Fun either way.
7. The whiter the tourist, the colder the clime they come from. (This had to be explained with diagrams and a brief lecture on Mr. Sun and the reason for the seasons.)
8. Fairy floss has crack in it, but only random batches. This is why people will pay $3 for a small bit of it.
9. The louder a child screams, the more likely the parents will buy it anything to shut it up.
10. The louder a child screams near you, the more likely you will "accidentally" throw things at it when the parent isn't looking.
11. Don't throw anything away. Someone will buy it. Even with a shoe print on it.
12. Never, ever answer the phone on your day off.

I think Young Allen will do well.
If only he'd quit bringing his friends by, pointing at me and saying "Guess how old she is?"

(Yes, this is a roundabout but rather blatant rip-off of the celebrated "What I Learned" Friday, pioneered by blogger extraordinaire Lee of Oh No The Blog. When I pirate, I pirate the best.)

Partnership

Sometimes you wake up, and your brain says "Good morning, world!" and your body says "Bugger off."
Sometimes you wake up, and your body says "Lemme at it! It's all mine!" and your brain says "Are you insane, Waldo? We need coffee first."
Sometimes you wake up and discovered your brain has gone to that alternate universe where you have the really great haircut and look hot enough that Gina Gershon is hitting on you, only to have your body be a killjoy and remain in its pre-sleep condition.
And sometimes you don't wake up until your brain and body have conspired to sleepwalk you out to the parking lot in your pajamas, still in the midst of the dream you are Horton looking for your Who.
Thank goodness you remembered to wear pajamas last night, huh?

She Couldn't Sing Without Moving Her Lips

I discovered, to my vast increasing minute by minute wish that I would suffer a seizure, a complete blackout, or that the roof would cave in agony disappointment that "An Entertaining and Enlightening Evening of Original Tunes By The Area's Most Celebrated Feminist" means two hours of song in three varying chords, all about the overwhelmingly detailed and graphically described joys of her all in her head kinky sex life.
Oh, and the also described to within an inch of its wrinkled, "glowing sunset vibrant rose petalled" self glories of her vagina. You can't forget that.
I mean it, you really really can't. She handed out business cards afterward with a full color photographic close-up of it.
First impressions are still important, obviously.

Play With Me So I Don't Have To Play With Myself

You're a Speak & Spell!! You nerd, you. Just
because you were disguised as a toy doesn't
mean you weren't educational, you sneaky
bastard.

What childhood toy from the 80s are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
(taken because it's MINE MINE MINE from Froggie's Lilypad)

Deficit

The GM1, on learning that TBS will be showing reruns of the HBO-departed "Sex and the City": "Well, that'll be ten minutes well spent."

I mean, c'mon, this is the station that censors "Grease".
I can't wait to see what they do if they get hold of "The Sopranos". I've got three minutes to kill.
Pfffttt.

I'm a Doctor, Jim, Not a Floozie

I'm "on call" today. That means if something goes awry at work they'll call me and I'll have to go in and man (floozie?) the fairy floss cart. Which beggars an interesting question: what the hell could possibly be so bloody urgent about fairy floss that they'd have to send out for help? Not like there could be a shortage... the workplace is chock-full of fairy floss, popcorn, and Big Honking Pretzel carts, like mines in a battlefield, tucked behind bushes and plopped in the middle of walkways.
It's just another way of upper management saying "We have you now. We control the horizontal. We control the vertical. We say frog and you jump. We fantasize a lot, too."

But on a tangent.... what other jobs is it silly to think they have "emergencies"?
Such as....
Ice cream truck: "Look, the baby's been peacefully napping for over 15 minutes.. where is that damn ice cream truck with its annoyingly piercing music?"
Convenience store clerk: "Oh my god, we're out of Slurpee Starter (patent pending) and Akmed is the only one who knows how to make it! Lock the doors! LOCK THE DOORS!"
Air conditioner repairman at the North Pole: "No ma'am, we don't make weekend calls. Open a freekin' window, why doncha?"
Pool cleaner: this only happens in letters to Penthouse

Is your job "emergency-ible"?

Well, D'uh

The Dante's Inferno Test has banished you to the Sixth Level of Hell - The City of Dis!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:

A Polite Discourse

Comment made by me to the GM1 as a political discussion threatened to go nuclear:
"Look, you're a bleeding-heart liberal pussy, and I'm a warmongering semiconservative bitch.... let's just leave it at that."
Comment from eavesdropping salesclerk:
"Bandaids are in aisle nine, just in case."

Poems About Cheese

Michael at Chasing the Wind has culturally enlightened us with Poems About Cheese. I particularly liked this part:

We have seen the Queen of cheese,
Laying quietly at your ease,
Gently fanned by evening breeze –
Thy fair form no flies dare seize.

Beats all that mushy "love, dove, June, spoon" crap, I can tell you.

Cartoon Cartoon

Yet another avatar creator, found at Mamageek's and at My Monkey Mind.
To be honest, I looked more like the Mini-Mizer one than this.

Heal Thyself Indeed

Down in the parking lot, I can see the locksmith's van, a regular sight around here what with people moving in and out all the livelong day.
I can also hear the locksmith's van, more accurately its alarm, screaming like a stepped-on cat.
And I can see the locksmith and his trusty apprentice, plus several "helpful" bystanders, all trying to get his keys out of the van where they've been locked in.

I Have A Lightning Bolt Scar Too, But It's Elsewhere

be sorted @ nimbo.net

You Don't Get A Little Sticker, But The Candidates Are Cooler

Have you voted over at Survivor Blogosphere yet?
You haven't? Why the hell not? Put down that coffee, pick up that mouse, and start dialling.... er, clicking. Lives hang in the balance!
Okay, maybe not lives but....
Just go vote. Please?
Do it for the children.

Tattletale

Yet a new memey thing rears its head, and this time I saw the rear at Oh No The Blog!.
And promptly snatched it up to be my very own.

Answer the following questions in the comment box:
1. Who are you?
2. Have we ever met?
3. Give me a nickname and explain why you picked it.
4. Describe me in one word.
5. What reminds you of me?
6. If you could give me anything, what would it be?
7. Ever wanted to tell me something but couldn't?
8. Are you going to put this on your weblog and see what I say about you?
9. What do you love like a fat kid loves cake?
10. What makes you come back here?

And feel free to snake it away for your very own so we can play in your sandbox too.

However Did They Find Out?

you are LORD FARQUAAD! you are conceited and
inconsiderate. perhaps because you're actually
insecure about yourself....?

what shrek character are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
(a big green guy brought this to me from Genuine)

Some Of You Will Understand This

Regarding tonight's season's finale of "Deadwood", specifically Al Swearengen's soliloquy on love, betrayal, and commerce vis a vis his childhood:
Shakespeare, you scribbling cocksucker, bow down.
Al is in the fucking house.

Damn, I love that show.

Delayed Reaction

Whilst in the throes of the recent plague, I took to describing my ongoing symptoms to the GM1, graphic detail by excruciating graphic detail. He said I must have been the type of child who pulled the wings off flies.
I then began to refer to him as "Angel Crotch."

He just got it.

The Floozie Returns For the Nonce

Well, the party's over. Granted, it was a party born of bodily functions gone awry, but I wasn't at work.... we all know any day not at work is a day at party.
Party... party... party... my girl wants to party all the time, party all the time, party all the tiiiiiiiii-ime!
Sorry, was channeling Eddie "I Want To Be Michael Jackson" Murphy for a second there.
And as ever, if something blogworthy happens, rest assured you'll hear about it.

In other work (ha! I never get tired of snickering when I say that!) related news, I received a jury duty notice in the mail last week. Unfortunately, because I love jury duty, it's not guaranteed that I'll be required to serve, or to even go to the courthouse. The system here is that you call a Special Phone Number the weekend before your stated Monday date, and a recording tells you if you're needed to go in on Monday. If you aren't, that's the end of it and you're thrown back in the pool for next year. If you are, you show up Monday and (if you're me) hope you get picked for a trial sometime during the day while you wait in a room full of people who mostly don't want to be there and who, unaware of their great blogging fodder value, do some great Silly Courthouse Monkey tricks.
One of the reasons I love jury duty is I am, like most bloggers, fascinated by the oddities of other lives. And where better to study how off-track some people have gone than the judicial system? The yelling, the lies, the conflicting facts, the badly-acted drama.... and not just the lawyers, either.
So I'll be practicing my "Impartial Open-Minded Look" (patent pending) for jury selection for the next couple of weeks, and keeping my fingers crossed.
Because you've already figured out the biggest bonus of this, haven't you?
It will drive them simply insane at work.

New At World Of Soil

Jeremy over at World of Soil has a new woman in his life.
Go on over and give him some fine new-father-congratulations!

Visiting the Attic

On this, the wedding anniversary of GM1 and I (16 years ago, thank you thank you), I notice that I've been blogging for over a year. My blogaversery came and went during the season of plague and I didn't feel the breeze.
So let's play a little catch-up and see how the Cheese began, starting with a post from exactly one year ago today......

Cactus Joe and Other Prick-ly Things

Today sucks and it's not even 6:00AM here. I call that efficient.
It sucks for two reasons.

Reason one: It's our anniversary, the GM1 and I. Fifteen years together in a state of matrimonial splendor, as they say on the Lifetime channel. We also have another anniversary, in November, commemorating the day we met, which is coming up on seventeen years ago. And today the GM1 is all the way over in San Diego. The only one who will benefit from this will be the phone company.
We'll celebrate when he gets back, but for now it sucks.

Reason two: Today is our Pre-Inspection prior to moving out. Pre-Inspection is the torture routine where Housing sends the Physical Housing Manager (wonder if there's a Metaphysical one? A guy that come to inspect your aura before you leave, perhaps?) to tell you all the little nitpicky things you have to fix up before the military will "release" you from your assigned Housing. I always get this image of being handcuffed to a mop, with a prison matron standing over me barking orders to swab the deck or NOBODY'S GOIN' NOWHERE.

Our PHM is Cactus Joe. Joe has the reputation of being the biggest jerk anyone has dealt with. Joe is such a royal pain in the ass that the other people in Housing are actively campaigning for him to take early retirement. Everyone I've talked to despises Cactus Joe.

He's called Cactus Joe because he hates "unauthorized" plants or shrubbery in the yards. During one family's check-in, he discovered the previous tenants had left a cactus growing in a corner of the back yard, a nice large one. He went berserk, shrieking about "dirty trash left behind" and ripped it out of the ground with his bare hands and flung it over the fence. Then he danced around screaming at the family to "get the goddamn pricks out" of his hands.

I've had my run-ins with Cactus Joe before. There is a young tree growing just past our fence that developed a severe break in the trunk, from the neighborhood hellions climbing on it. I called Housing to say it needed cut back or whatever tree guys do when trees go bad. They transfered me to Cactus Joe, who stopped me in mid-sentence to snap "I know all about it. It's taken care of." Then he hung up in my ear.

That was in December. The tree droops in three pieces just past the fence. I have several bets out that he'll try to tell me it's my responsibility to take care of it. Sorry, Joe, I have the official word from Housing... it's your baby.

Today is also Kitten Camouflage Day. It's part of CJ's rep that he also hates cats and will try to push through paperwork to make cat owners pay for an exterminator to come dust the house for fleas, even though there are only tile floors and the cat is perfectly clean. He also allegedly rounds up any friendly strays and takes them to the "Humane" Society... which in this area is a strict "kill everything stray" facility. So before he shows up, I have to try to round up all the strays I can and hide them in my neighbor's garage, along with my indoor cat, Squeeks. As far as Cactus Joe knows, there hasn't been a cat in any of his realm since 1976. This is because everyone is in on the concealment procedure.

There are rules that have purpose, there are rules that were made to be broken, and then there's Joe.

He's so lucky it's not a pms day.

And just for fun, I have three friends lined up to come back to my ex-back yard once we move... and plant a huge, nasty cactus. Have fun, Joe.
(previously posted on Blogspot)

Pigeon-Holed

I have just learned while visiting the Soggy Pigeon, that there are five types of blogs....

1. The WBC Blog
These blogs are the Whine-Bitch-Complain blogs. They are a source of outgoing steam or stress, and provide a substantial amount of relief for the writers...
2. The Zine Blog
These kinds of blogs attempt to create diversity in their subject content. They may be witty, sarcastic, mockingly ridiculous, or scathingly cynical in their writing....
3. The Personal Blog
Like its name suggests, this blog has a few readers limited to their close friends or family only, or would preferrably not have readers at all....
4. The Non-Serious Blog
These blogs belong to those who have trouble commiting themselves to blogging. They may write about a few, trivial matters, or their posting frequency may be sporadic, or they may be both....
5. The Linking Blog
The writers of these blogs are more avid readers than they are writers. They'll find an abundant amount of intriguing, upsetting, or humorous links on the web, and cannot wait to share it with others....

I guess, by this criteria, that The Cheese Stands Alone fits nicely into category 2, with certains aspects of category 3, drifting at times into category 1, with spontaneous category 5 outbursts after a short period of category 4 behaviour.
Or is it the other way round?
Go read the whole thing, it's here.

Consolation

Well, I just found out yesterday what everyone else who watches "Oz" on HBO knows... that the last show was the end of the series. I had to call my mom and tell her, since she is a serious "Oz" fan.
That in itself gives me pause, imagining my very proper mother enthralled by shankings, prison rape, and the Aryan brotherhood vs. the black drug dealers political machinations that "Oz" is famous for. Oh, and full-frontal male nudity.
She was such a fierce proponent of the show she got me hooked on it.
So when I called her, my poor little mommy actually got weepy. And I can understand it... she's retired, she got no one but my monosyllabic-grunt-as-conversation dad for company, and she can only potter about in the garden so long, you know. She needs the vicarious thrills that a manipulative hot murderer can give.
God knows I do.
And therein lies my errand goal for the day.... go out and get my mom all the seasons of "Oz" that are available on DVD. Because her birthday is on Saturday, and what's a birthday without a little tattoo'd criminal tushie?

Put Da Lime In Da Coconut And Call Me In Da Morning

10 Signs You've Joined a Cheap HMO:

1. Annual breast exam conducted at Hooters.

2. Directions to your doctor's office include, "take a left when you enter the trailer park."

3. Tongue depressors taste faintly of Fudgesicles.

4. Only proctologist in the plan is "Gus" from Roto-Rooter.

5. Only item listed under Preventive Care coverage is "an apple a day."

6. Your "primary care physician" is wearing the pants you gave to Goodwill last month.

7. Patient responsible for "200% of out-of-network charges" is not a typo.

8. The only expense covered 100% is embalming.

9. With your last HMO, your Prozac didn't come in different colors with little "m"s on them.

10. You ask for Viagra and get a popsicle stick and duct tape.

(From Tonya, who sent me the coolest card ever.)

Tommy, Can You See Me?

I think it's time for my every ten years whether I need it or not annual eye exam.
I just spent ten minutes out in the parking lot cooing and talking baby talk to a very shy, very still kitten who turned out to be a wet spot on the apartment stairs.
And yes, for those of you with keen survival instincts, they let me drive.

Please Send Lube

Which Extremity of the World Are You?
From the towering colossi at Rum and Monkey.

Deadwoodian Influences

From what I can hear, the woman downstairs is bludgeoning her vacuum cleaner to death with a chainsaw while trying to force it into a running dishwasher.
I think it's a full-on case of Rampantly Rabid Spring Cleaning.... mainly because I heard her shriek at her Tart-in-Training teenage daughter "Laurel, so help me god, if you don't take the trash out right now I'm going to feed you to Wu's pigs!"
Yes, it's that good.

The Fairy Floss Floozie Fails To Fulfill

"dire-rear
the mad poops
the skitters
the Hershey squirts
spontaneous high colonic
diarrhea
got it?"
Yes, I am on the mend and progressing toward a goop-free sinusy lifestyle, thanks to modern medicine and lying about like a discarded sock plenty of rest. Since one of the side effects of the current antibiotic is dire-rear (say it fast, it sounds just like what causes it), I had the most recent doc write me a Note For Work, more accurately a note to not have to go to work until Day X.
Now, ever since I got the plague was taken ill, I have been entirely By The Book as far as work is concerned. I called in sick every morning within the appropriate time window to the correct office. I turned in the appropriate notes and the appropriate forms to continue to be ill. I have been textbook appropriate.
And, appropriately enough, the department manager has called me every morning to tell me what time to be at work that day.

DM: "Um.... you know you're scheduled to work the fairy floss cart today at 10 AM, right? You'll be there, right?"
Me: "DM, I told you this yesterday, and the day before.... I filled out the forms and stuff, my return-to-work date is the 5th."
DM: "The what? The 5th? The 5th of what? What?"
Me: "Check the paperwork, it's all there. She made six copies. They can't all be lost."
DM: "Oh... here it is. The 5th? Are you sure? This shows a rather disrespectful attitude, to be absent so long, you know...."
Me: "DM, the medication gives me diarrhea."
DM: "Um.... what?"
Me: "It gives me diarrhea. The mad poops. The skitters. The Hershey squirts. Spontaneous high colonic. Diarrhea."
DM: "Ummmmm.... oh, and this should keep you from working your shift?"
Me: "I'd think it would be more of a disrespectful attitude to be unable to control my bodily functions in front of the tourists, don't you?"
DM: "Um.... what?"
Me: "See you on the 5th, DM."

PS... he called me again this morning. We had almost exactly the same conversation.... again.
I can't wait for tomorrow. I'm going to take the phone into the bathroom with me and give him a play-by-play.

Come Hell Or High... Too Late

Scooterdeb left the bathtub running again and this is just the sort of thing that happens.

Let the Games Begin!

Survivor Blogosphere has announced the six victims players who will be giving their sanity all to challenge themselves, to entertain us, and most importantly, to win.
I'll be checking it out on a steady basis mainly to see who's gonna get naked for peanut butter.
I'm all about culture and stuff.

If Only

Which Office Moron Are You?
Rum and Monkey: jamming your photocopier one tray at a time.