the cheese stands alone

All Blogged Down

As I said earlier (were you listening or were you just doing that thing where you nod your head and mutter "uh huh" at random while you daydream about what's for lunch or what the hell Courtney Cox was thinking, because David Arquette is about as toxically goofy as Carrottop and how in the name of holy nether bits can you roll over in bed and respond to someone like that? Inquiring minds might want to know.) I shouldn't be blogging, I gots chores, people...especially since I have A Vacation coming up.
Yes, I won't be blogging for a while after a while while I'm gone.
While-ing away the hours....
Sorry.
Now, of course I tangented off and thought "Hmm, I could call it a blogcation."
You can add the word "blog" to any word there is, and create a specific, contextually-useful meaning, infusing it with that whole super-legitimacy that blogging provides.
Blogiverse.
Blogworld.
Blogcation.
Blogaholic.
Blogpanties.
Okay, that one needs some work but it was mainly to see if you're paying attention.
Stop nodding, I'm on to you.

How do you use "blog"?
Discuss until I get back, which should be around the end of August.

And Harvey.... no parties in my comments unless you stand everyone a drink in my absent honor.
I mean, in honor of my absence. My honor, although a bit rumpled, is still around.
Somewhere.... hmm, last time I saw it, it was under the bed with the big box of batteries.....

See y'all later.

Gummy Bare

I survived.
I still retain whining rights for the rest of the day, but all my toofs (as I used to call 'em before I had most of 'em) are intact and for the most part, in dandy shape.
Dandy is techno-dental-speak for "not falling out anytime soon."

I also discovered my dentist is one of those cool guys who not only has the latest gizmos but will let me play with them too.
I spent quite a bit of time coordinating the thing-that-squirts with the thing-that-sucks.
Yes, I know how that sounds. Deal with it.

And now I'm going to go give my teeth a darn good workout on that lovely salad I picked up on the way home.

Kicking and Screaming

I have to go to the dentist pretty soon. Okay, I'm supposed to be there in like an hour. That counts as pretty soon. Too damn soon for me.
I got up extra early so I could brush my teeth every ten minutes until I walk out the door, and I have a travel toothbrush and the ever-present desire to spit on idiots in MY lane on the freeway, thus serving two masters right there.
I don't wanna go.
It's been four years since I last laid back, helpless, and opened wide for a strange man with a variety of implements with which to probe me. This time frame should tell you how much I wanted to rush right back into the same situation and experience the same gleeful abandon that makes me say things like "Sure, I'll take another fluoride rinse!" and "No, no, go right ahead, double-bill me for procedures I haven't ever had, it's all in good fun, right?"
Bastards.

So, I have to go to the dentist pretty soon. Very soon. Too damn soon for me.
The last dentist I went to was so diligent in his cleaning that I left his office packed to the jowls with cotton wads, to absorb the blood he'd gouged from my tender little gums, who'd never harmed anyone and were innocent of any crime warranting that sort of abuse. And as I left, doing my "Godfather" imitation, unable to move my entire lower half of my skull, the man offered me a lollypop.
I did the only thing I could do with my jaw botox/novacained into a block of throbbing granite... I glared.
Dr. Probemepokememakemebleed misinterpreted.
"It's okay" he smiled. "It's sugar free!"

Yeah, I have to go to the dentist very soon. And I'm not thrilled.
It doesn't exactly put me at complete ease that the current Mengele of the molars thinks he's a funny guy. At one point, in the last visit, he had both hands in my mouth, and was apparently looking for the crew of the Marie Celeste somewhere south of my tonsils. Suddenly he stopped, and stared fixedly into my eyes.
I got a bit worried. Dr. Olderthanmud was going to have his long-awaited stroke and fall forward, jamming both hands down my gullet so hard that once they pried him off with the jaws of life, I'd still be pooping latex gloves three weeks later.
But no... he was just winding up for the pitch....
"Is it....." he muttered. "Is it.... is it SAFE?"

I think I'll wait until the bill comes before I take care of him. Once I show them the balance due, no jury in the world will convict me.

I have to go to the dentist now.

Oh NO You Don't!

Let me make this absolutely crystal....
This is not the one true Cheese. In fact, I am planning a class action lawsuit on behalf of all cheeses, for defamation and general icky-feeling inducement by having to think of that steaming pile of cow poop Kerry in the same thought process at the sacred word "Cheese".

Let me also say it's silly to use the phrase "the cheese stands alone" with any connection to John Kerry.
Standing requires a backbone, you know.
(big hugs to John Jack of Random Fate for pointing out this heresy to me.)

Bus Tales

He was wearing a safety-pinned plaid blanket like a sari, he carried a ripped-off teddy bear head under one arm, and he could not, would not accept that "who put the bomp in the bomp bah bomp bah bomp" was just a rhetorical question.
Loudly. Very, very loudly.

Random Observation #68

Channel-flipping, landing on "Bridget Jones's Diary", seeing Hugh Grant, and thinking "Yeah. Yeah, I would. Oh yeah."

What star is doing it for you these days?

Taking the C-L Out of Class

So, I'm taking this Intro To Cycling class at the Y, because I am, as we all know, not an Outdoors Type Person and therefore don't normally have much truck with them bicycle things.
Fad. I'm telling you, it's just a fad.

The instructor, who is 6 feet tall and dared to complain that her body fat was a whopping 12%, had us each introduce ourselves and explain why we're interested in taking up cycling.
There were the expected answers, for the most part..."for my health".... "to get back into shape".... "to have a reason to go daily to the Pro Bike Shop and hit on the hot salesguy" (distrubing only because it was said by a 72 year old granny lady, who distinctly leered as she said it.)

When it was my turn, I said "To get rid of my enormous ass."
The instructor gasped. "You can't say "ass" here! This is the YMCA!"

Me: "I can't say 'ass'?"
Instructor: "No, you aren't supposed to say things like that at the Y. It's a family place!"
Me: "Say things like what?"
Instructor: "Like 'ass'. You can't say that."
Me: "So I can't use the word 'ass'. What if I fall off the bike and hurt my ass? What should I say?"
Instructor: "You could say 'bottom' or 'behind'. But not...you know."
Me: "I should say bottom or behind instead of 'ass', is that right?"
Instructor: "Yes, instead of ass."
Me: "Nobody can say 'ass' at the Y, then?"
Instructor: *very wearily* "Right."
Granny lady: "Even us older folk can't say 'ass'?"
Instructor: "NO! Nobody say 'ass'! Everybody, stop saying 'ass' right now!" *panting with frustration*
Entire class, suddenly rebellious: "ASS! ASS! ASS!"
Instructor: "Oh shit."
Granny lady: "You can't say 'shit'! This is the Y!"

I think we get a new instructor next week.

"The Peasants Are Revolting..."

You speak eloquently and have seemingly read every
book ever published. You are a fountain of
endless (sometimes useless) knowledge, and
never fail to impress at a party.
What people love: You can answer almost any
question people ask, and have thus been
nicknamed Jeeves.
What people hate: You constantly correct their
grammar and insult their paperbacks.

What Kind of Elitist Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
(snooted away from Xihn, who isn't nearly hoi enough to be polloi, as far as I can tell.)
PS... go on, finish the quote I used for the title.

Timeline

Overheard on the bus the other day....

Guy 1: "Dude, what's that thing?
Guy 2: "What thing?"
Guy 1: "On your face, right there.... the brown thing."
Guy 2: "Oh... that's a birthmark."
Guy 1: "Huh. Wow. How long have you had it?"

Famous Last Words

(found at The Tombstone Generator, via The Presurfer)

My second choice:

PS... anyone who uses anything from Monty Python is cheating!

Suzanne Is A People Person

Sometimes you look at your cellphone and see the little icon that means "Hey, schmuck, you paid all this moolah and you don't even turn the ringer on? What's up with THAT?", otherwise known as a Missed Call.
Now, if it's your mom or your sister or your friend, you smack your forehead and say "D'oh!" and call them back, apologizing for missing the call but you were busy taking Homer Simpson Elocution Lessons.
If it's work, you change your phone number immediately and claim temporary Van Gogh syndrome ("I was out giving my ear to a prostitute and forgot to listen with the other... sorry.")
And if it's a number unfamiliar to you, and if you're bored, you call back.
I called back.
I spoke to Suzanne.
Suzanne is a People Person.

Suzanne: "Hello, Suzanne Bitchpants, how may I help you?"
Me: "Um... sorry to disturb you, this number was left on my phone and I thought I should return the call...."
Suzanne: *very curt tone* "I didn't leave any number on your phone."
Me: "I have a missed call from this number... 858-658-****. That's this number, right?"
Suzanne: "That's MY number." (and how dare you speak the sacred numerals aloud, heathen scum!)
Me: "So someone at this number called me and it was left on my phone."
Suzanne: "That is MY number, my personal cellphone number, and I NEVER give it out. "
Me: "Then you called me about ten minutes ago."
Suzanne: "No, I certainly did NOT." (I rarely climb down off this pedestal to dial, I have minions and lackeys to do such menial tasks.)
Me: "Okay, then, it was a mistake, never mind."
Suzanne: "I made no such mistake. I have no idea who you are and I never called you."
Me: "Fine. Bye now."
Suzanne: "Do you still have this number in your call log?"
Me: "Uh, yeah, it's logged in."
Suzanne: "You need to erase that number immediately." (Or else I'll release the hounds!)
Me: "Do what?"
Suzanne: "Erase it. Right now. I can't have just anyone having access to my number. "
Me: "Are you a spy?"
Suzanne: "What?"
Me: "Or with the CIA? FBI? Interpol?"
Suzanne: "Um... I'm in real estate." (Although I'm just a receptionist, I plan to take over just as soon as the boss notices my incredibly business acumen, superhuman attention to detail, and professional-quality blowjobs.)
Me: "So this is a secret number, huh?"
Suzanne: "Yes. I mean, no. I mean, it's not secret, it's.... STOP CALLING ME!"
Me: "You called me first."
Suzanne: "I dialed the wrong number, okay!" (There, you made me admit to a mistake. My entire existence is now meaningless. Alas, I die, I die!)
Me: " Okay... talk to you later!"
Suzanne: "No! No! "
Me: "Buh-bye."
*click*

I might have to open an EBay account and auction her number off. It's not every day you have the cellphone number of a spy.

Random Observation #293

Through the miracle of reruns, I have discovered what probably most of America already knows, via "The Apprentice":
That Omarosa chick badly needed someone to attitude-adjust her with a baseball bat.
Holy crap.

Bio

It's exactly just like me!
Except I'm not a he and I have knees.
And the tree thing... that's not me either.

The Friendly Cheese Song!

The Fun Just Keeps On Comin'

You know you've reached that certain point in insomnia when you find yourself singing along with the commercials.
Loudly.
And before you notice, you wonder "What the HELL is that?"

Another couple of hours and I should have taught myself to tap dance.

Addicted Now. Go Away.

I thought moving over to the MuNuniverse would be a good influence on Gir, but apparently she's still determined to corrupt us all.

Must... not... click... again.....

Damn.
I do love it so.
*turning up the speakers*

My Other Car Is A Shopping Cart

Every now and then, my dad sends me something pretty good... here's his latest:

"This picture is real - not doctored in any way - and was taken by a Transportation Supervisor for a company that delivers building materials for 84 Lumber. When he saw it in the parking lot of IHOP, he went to buy a camera to take pictures."

"The car is still running, as can be witnessed by the exhaust. A woman is either asleep or otherwise out in the front seat passenger side. The driver was jogging up and down on Rt. 925. (in the background) Witnesses said their physical/mental state was OTHER than normal. The driver finally came back after the police were called, and was found crouched behind the rear of the car, attempting to cut the twine around the load! Luckily, the police stopped him and had the load removed.
The materials were loaded at Home Depot. Their store manager said they made the customer sign a waiver. While the plywood and 2X4s are fairly obvious, what you can't see is the back seat, which contains -- are you ready for this? --10 bags of concrete @ 80 lbs. each. They estimated the load weight at 3000 lbs. Both back tires exploded, the wheels bent and the back shocks were driven through the floorboard. The car, with FLA (naturally) plates, was headed for Clanton, ALA. where the couple presumably planned to build a new house in which to smoke their crack. "

(I checked Snopes and Google, and I can't find anything pointing at this as a fake. If it is, mea culpa. If not... holy crap.)
(Note number 2: I did find other reports of this, but with the main details the same... some with different destinations, but the same basic stupidity.)

You Can't Win If You Don't Play

Yes, of course, we believe you. When you win the lotto, you're not going to change. You're going to be the same old regular Joe or Jane (or both, but I don't like to pry) you always were. You're going to keep your job, and you're going to put a ton of money in trust funds and savings, and you're going to give a hefty amount to charity, and build that park on the vacant lot where the tweakers shoot up.... because, you know, it's all about the children.

C'mere. Over here, where it's private, just you and me.

Bullshit time over. You've got a ton of money. And I know you've got that secret list.
What are you gonna do with all that moolah?
(leave your list in the comments.... mine is in the extended entry doowally.)

Stuff LeeAnn Is Going To Spend A Pile On, Because I'm Good Enough, I'm Smart Enough, and Doggone It, the People Like Me.

1. New digital camera, with a bigger memory capacity than 12meg, because that's all this old p.o.s. I got scammed by my own father purchased used from a close family member will bear. It's so freakin' old, the pictures are chisled on tiny peebles by gnomes and excreted through an apeture in the rear.
Heh, she said excreted.
And I want to be able to post entries like this.

2. Yeah, a house. Yeah, a car. Yeah, a vacation home in the tropics with poolboys and faucets that run with icy margaritas 24/7. But what I really want is one of these cuties:

3. And so I have something to use that fancy-schmancy digital camera on,
beside pictures of my new dog Jesus (I have always always wanted a Chinese
Crested puppy named Jesus. Pronounced the non-Mexican way. Humor me.) driving my new car (yes, Jesus will drive my car. My plaid new VW Bug. Again, humor me.) to my tastefully-decorated home out in the hills away from the hoi-polloi, I will have the exclusive services on tap of the best plastic surgeon I can find. I'm not just getting new boobs and a lift kit. Oh no, I'm getting it all. New arse, new eyebrows, new toes. Fluff and fold, baby, fluff and fold.

4. And of course, being the sweetheart I am, I'll get a little something for the GM1.

So, just between me, you, and the gatepost... what's on your list?

Told You

Ooooh, something shiny!

It's the American Way

I have approximately a million and twelve things to do today, all of them equal priority and very very time-dependent.... make that a million and thirteen, to include counting all the things I need to do, in the holy name of accuracy.
So, since I am so scheduled-up and penciled-in, I am going to do the proper thing: I'm going to blog about every little passing distraction, every other minute and a half (that's ninety seconds for those of you with that accuracy fetish), and brush aside my legitimate responsibilities with the time-honored cry: "Just one more! Just one more post, I swear!"
Because it's right, and it's proper, and gawdamn it, it's the American way.
And because this coffee is STRONG.

I'm Psychopathic Because My Penis Is Small?

I might as well declare this the Joe Pesci blog from now on. All Joe, all the time.
We know what you need.
(beaten away from Jeff at Side Salad)

In Response To A Response To the Previous Post

A kind and thoughtful reader has emailed me with a suggestion on how to alleviate my boredom:

"Why don't you go outside and get a life and think about nature for a change, you stupid bitch?"- Mike Hunt

I'm not a big fan of the Great Outdoors, Mr. Hunt. I get all the communing with nature I want just by cleaning my toilet. I get my tan the old-fashioned way, by standing in front of the microwave while nuking my frozen, 4-for-a-dollar burrito with the door open. I explore this vast and glorious country of ours by slowing down while channel-flipping at the Travel Channel. I rejoice in the organic potential by only putting ONE artificial sweetner in my canned ice tea. I evoke the inner gardener by dusting the plastic palm tree out on the balcony.
I might not be your idea of Mother Nature's Favorite Stepchild, Mr. Hunt, but I'm on a first name basis with most of the presenters on QVC.
And in my world, that counts a lot.

Random Observation #12

I am consistently fascinated by a very basic fact:
My feet just look so very weird.
A pair of flat, chubby, blob-ish structures that erupt suddenly into toes.

No, there's not a gawdamn thing on tv, why do you ask?

Leo Getz Was Right

Bob, of "I Ain't Got No Journal" fame, is having a little trouble at the drive-through.
Now the drive-through is going to have a little trouble with Bob.

ME: I want to know how I can order a DOUBLE CHEESBURGER MUSTARD ONLY, have you repeat my order back to me, listen to you tell Captain Fries DOUBLE CHEESBURGER MUSTARD ONLY, watch as he hands you the burger and says again DOUBLE CHEESBURGER MUSTARD ONLY and I get this! I spose I'm sort of loud cause the Captain Fries leans down and thru the pass the shit through thing and says "Oh man - I dunno what happened! I just heard 'EVERYTHING BUT MUSTARD'".

So I get my re-made and drive back to work all pissed off thinking ya know it sucks when all you wanna do is relax and eat yer plain old double cheeseburger mustard only like you do day in and day out who needs to gett all pissed off just before you freekin eat that can't be healthy. And coke.

I Was Hoping For X, Of Course

My life is rated R.
What is your life rated?

Random Observation #771

As soon as you log out of your blog, you invariably think of just one more thing you absolutely must get posted before you forget.
Relatedly, if you think of a very witty, creative, and devastatingly clever post while lying in bed or while in the shower and you don't rush right to the computer to at least make a note about it, it will disappear from your head before you can dry off.

And why you need to dry off when you get out of bed, I really don't want to know.

Move Along, Nothing To See Here

Overheard from my balcony:
Mom, literally dragging her child up the sidewalk: "But it's Show and Tell Day. Don't you want to go to Show and Tell Day?"
Child, wailing: "I don't wanna Show! I don't got no Show! I can't Tell if I don't got a Show!"

About Damn Time

I finally cleaned out my purse.
I'd say it was due.

Now maybe the EPA will stop calling me.

Resumed

Looks like Greeblie went tits up, as we say here at Chez Cheese, and it left some good people out in the cold.
One of them is Jordana, of Curmudgeonry, a blog I never have pronounced properly but that I never fail read. I'm happy to say she's back up with her... uh, back up plan, returning to her old blogspot place.
Go give the lady some support, will ya already?

Tangentally

I saw "Shrek 2" this weekend, and while it was extremely good and I am in love with Puss in Boots, it stuck a song in my head. Damn you, Shrek.
I have "I Need A Hero" earwormed and must find a way to purge it. Perhaps if I list my personal heroes list.....

In no particular order (after the first two):
1. The GM1
2. United States military
3. Tyler Durden
4. Chuck Yeager
5. Ellen Ripley
6. Patton
7. Al Swearengen
8. William Gibson
9. Miles Vorkosigan
10. Bobby Shaftoe
11. William the Bloody
12. Henry VIII
13. Leonardo da Vinci

Who are your heroes?

And That's Pork LOIN, By the Way...

Tonya and I have this special greeting that is a bit different.
When we answer phone calls from each other, or meet up somewhere, we roar "Smells lahk AAAASSSSSSSSSSS!"
This has a perfectly rational backstory, if you'll just bear with me.
It really does.
And it doesn't even have anything to do with farts.
Really.

Quite a long time ago, I was shopping in the commissary at Pearl Harbor, and since it was before I had blogging for a creative outlet, I was entertaining Tonya via cellphone about the many oddments I'd seen there. The man in the toga, the lady with the mismatched shoes, the children who climbed completely into the ice cream freezer and stuffed their faces until their very bored mom pulled them out, covered in sticky.
At the meat department, one of the butcheresses butcherettes Lorena Bobbits in training butcher ladies, a tiny little Asian woman, was instructing an obviously new bride in the fine points of meat selection.
"Now, dis, dis is da steak," she explained, holding up a package of meat. "An dis, dis is da stew meat. An dis here, dis is da rump roast..... But doan worry, it doan smell lahk ass."
And thusly, a Phrase Is Born.

Now, the fart story....
Maybe later.

I'll Be That Last Twinkie

Cunning. Through use of many of life's faculties,
you've managed to suceed greatly. It may not
seem so to many, but isn't the the point most
times? It's only a matter of knowing more then
the others, right? I'm scared of people like
you, but in the same time, admire the ability
to see more then just the big picture; you see
yourself in it every time. You survived the end
by knowing who to knock down so you got that
last spot in the bunker... nicely done.

How would you survive the end of the world?
brought to you by Quizilla

This Explains John Kerry

There's a fungus amongus.

"In other research, scientists have determined that fungi are more closely related to human beings and animals than to other plants."

update

Currently not blogging.
Not sick, just tired.
And no one is off the roll, stop worrying.

Plop

When it comes to my blog, I'm so elementary school I damn near eat paste.
In elementary school (or grade school, as we called it.... that must be a regional thing...anybody?) when someone pisses you off to the point you throw a screaming tantrum at their very existance offends you, they are Banished. They're Dead To You. Cut Out of the Circle.
At least until they bring cookies to class or have a new swingset... then it's all aboard the best friend express again.

Blogging is a lot like elementary grade school. If someone writes a post that makes my eyes cross with annoyance or my gorge rise offends me, I can't remove them from my blogroll fast enough. Then, of course following the formula, if somewhere down the line they write a post that compliments something I've scribbled, or something I was thinking about writing and they saved me the trouble admire, wham bam thank you MT, they're back on the roll.

This, while somewhat satisfying in a visceral way, is very tiring on days when political and belief pollen are floating through the blogworld in a cloud of bold-font sneezery and you can't mop up the blogsnot fast enough.
And as the GM1 pointed out, when I tried to explain it to him in our latest email, "If you delete everyone who pisses you off sometime, you're going to have no blogroll at all. And you'll miss Reno 911 again from being on the damn computer all the time, and when are you sending me those CDs I forgot to pack? Damn, woman, I need my Linkin Park!"
Elementary Grade school doesn't last forever. You grow up, you learn the finer niceties of dealing with conflict (like TP-ing someone's house, or cow-tipping). If you have a connection, it's not an on/off switch.
I'm not doing anything with my blogroll. I'm not trying to make a Big Policy Statement or stir the pot to see what bubbles to the top, because we all know I don't cook. (At least not so there are survivors.)
I'm just doing what I always do here.... I'm just talkin'.
And if you come out someday and your cow is tipped, it wasn't me.
(note to self: no more existential musing until after first cup of plasma coffee.... after, do ya ken wot I mean?)

How About "Hound Dog"?

I'd say the naming theme was the least of their problems....
Sixteen? Six-freeking-teen? Do these people not have cable TV?