the cheese stands alone

Tattletale

You're Lolita!

by Vladimir Nabokov

Considered by most to be depraved and immoral, you are obsessed with
sex. What really tantalizes you is that which deviates from societal standards in every
way, though you admit that this probably isn't the best and you're not sure what causes
this desire. Nonetheless, you've done some pretty nefarious things in your life, and
probably gotten caught for them. The names have been changed, but the problems are real.
Please stay away from children.

Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

Out On A Limb

I came this close to having the perfect excuse to miss work:
I had my hand stuck up a Christmas tree's ass.

We have one of those artficial trees with the little fiber-optic lights in the branches. Sure, it completely violates everything traditional about old tannenbaum, but it doesn't die.
(Side note: this is an important feature because your Cheesemistress gets irrationally attached to inanimate objects and the post-holiday routine with a natural tree contained copious weeping and mourning at the eventual demise and discardation of the tree, cast aside on the highway's edge like a forgotten prom date. It was determined that if we got an artificial tree, I could still go visit it when boxed in the closet.
The tree, I mean, not me.)
Also, the artificial tree is very pretty and hypnotizes me so I stay out of the kitchen and don't try to make peanut butter fudge anymore, much to the relief of the local fire department and the poison control center.
Since it's my day off, I planned to get the tree put up and decorated so that when the GM1 gets home (17 days and counting, for those of you keeping score) he won't have that chore on his plate.
Nor any evil fudge.
So I get yon tree out of yon box, and in the process drop the base, causing the little plug-this-in-here-for-lights widget to spontaneously recess itself a bit deeper. Okay, it fell down inside the base. Completely. I dropped it kind of hard, to be honest.
And tripped over it.
There is a little hatch on the base of the base. I opened this hatch, and being blessed with small hands (I could have been such a successful gynecologist, I really would have had a following because guys, size DOES matter.) I stuck my hand in the hatch and fished around for the widget so as to shove it back into place. I found it, and shoved, and hey presto, working widget.
Then I began to carefully retrieve my hand. Something inside the tree base said "Oh HELL no" and grabbed me, specifically attaching to my ring. I wiggled. It wiggled to compensate. I waggled. Tightening waggle, as it turns out.
I was stuck with my hand up a Christmas tree's ass.
This never happened to Jimmy Stewart, I bet.
After about a half hour of trying to find a slippery substance I could squirt into an electrical tree base and still use it later, suddenly the base decided it didn't need my jewelry that bad and turned me loose. Off fell the base.
Onto my foot.
Free, free, oh my god free at last.
But now if I call in to work, I have to claim a broken toe instead of...
And it's not nearly as compelling, you know?

Horseshoes and Hand Grenades

You know that old saying about duct tape being like the Force... it has a light side and a dark side and it binds the universe together?
My laundry hamper is just like that.
Except the part about the light side, and that binding stuff.

In My Spare Time

(flexed away from the ever-super New Revolutionist)

A Big Bag of Shh With Your Name On It

Because of my accent, one of my coworkers keeps insisting I sound like "that girl in 'Gone With The Wind' ". Every day she says it, every day we run down the list...
Scarlett? No.
Melanie? No.
Aunt Pittypat? No.
Belle Watling? No.
Finally, over the weekend, she watched the movie again and came to work with the answer.
I sound exactly like Butterfly McQueen.
(Scroll down a little, to the March 16, 1999 entry for GWTW.)
Oh lawdy.

Love At First Sight

A man is dining in a fancy restaurant and there is a gorgeous redhead sitting at the next table. He has been checking her out since he sat down, but lacks the nerve to talk with her.
Suddenly she sneezes, and her glass eye comes flying out of its socket towards the man.
He reflexively reaches out, grabs it out of the air, and hands it back.
"Oh my, I am so sorry," the woman says as she pops her eye back in place.
"Let me buy your dinner to make it up to you."
They enjoy a wonderful dinner together, and afterwards they go to the theater followed by drinks. They talk, they laugh, she shares her deepest dreams and he shares his.
After paying for everything, she asks him if he would like to come to her place for a nightcap and stay for breakfast.
They had a wonderful, wonderful time.
The next morning, she cooks a gourmet breakfast with all the trimmings. The guy is amazed! Everything had been SO incredible!
"You know," he said, "you are the perfect woman. Are you this nice to every guy you meet?"
"No," she replies.

"You just happened to catch my eye."

I'm Not Really A Joiner, But I Play One On TV

If I were the type to join something, it might be one of these....

Actual Organizations

1. The American Guild of English Handbell Ringers
2. Club of the Friends of Ancient Smoothing Irons
3. Committee for Immediate Nuclear War
4. Cookie Cutter Collectors Club
5. Flat Earth Research Society International
6. Flying Funeral Directors of America
7. Friends of the Tango
8. The Institute of Totally Useless Skills
9. The International Association of Sand Castle Builders
10. The International Connoisseurs of Green and Red Chile
11. The International Correspondence of Corkscrew Addicts
12. The International Petula Clark Society
13. The International Society of Animal License Collectors
14. The International Stop Continental Drift Society
15. Mikes of America
16. National Association of Mall Walkers
17. The National Pygmy Goat Association
18. The National Society for Prevention of Cruelty to Mushrooms
19. The Society of Earthbound Extraterrestrials
20. Spark Plug Collectors of America
21. The Witches Anti-Discrimination Lobby

Where'd The Cheese Go?

The most wonderful Markie has sent me a this cheesy video of a song by Ween. If Markie continues to send me such things, I will have no other choice but to leave the GM1 and have Markie's babies.
It's just a cheesemistress thing.

It Wasn't Me

Virgin Mary Cheese Sandwich Purchased For $28K.
No word yet on the Holy Tomato Soup of Antioch.

Desperate Measures

I hate when it gets so chilly that the only way I can get my hands warm is to wash dishes.
True, this makes the dishwasher run kind of funny, but at least I can feel my thumbs again.

Phylum, Order, Genus, Species

The Curious Georgettes at work had more questions yesterday.

Krissy: "So, uh, like... I heard something."
Me: "What would that be?"
Krissy: "I heard that uh... Ms. Ramada? You know, Ms. Ramada? I heard she's gay."
Me: "Really? You think so?"
Mary: "Lesbian. If it's a girl gay, it's lesbian."
Krissy: "Right.... lesbinian.
Mary: "We dunno. We thought we'd ask you."
Me: "Why ask me?"
Krissy: "Cos you're... you know? You're... gay, right?"
Mary: "Lesbian."

Well, color me rainbow....

Me: "So you think I'm a lesbian because....?"
Krissy: "Well, you never wear skirts."
Mary:" And you walk like a guy."
Krissy: "And you told Vonda you used to drive a truck."
Mary:"One of them big trucks."
Krissy: "Oh, and you don't talk about boys. "
Mary: "Right. And lesbians don't talk about boys. "
Krissy: "Ms. Ramada don't talk about boys."
Me: "Ms. Ramada is 60 years old, she probably is past talking about boys."
Mary:" Ewww, OLD lesbian!"
Krissy: "Ewwwww!"
Mary: "Ewwwwwwwwwww!
Me: "So who else is a lesbian? In case I need a date or something."
Mary: "Ellen Degenerate. And Rosie What's Her Face."
Krissy: "Oooh, and that guy on that old show, you know? "Frasier"?
Me: "Which one?"
Krissy: "Uh....both of 'em? Except they're men lesbinians."
Mary: "And that girl in that movie, you know? The one who don't shave her pits?"
Krissy:"Ewwwwww!"
Mary: "Ewwwwww!"
Me: "Ewwwwww!"
*long pause*
Mary: "So how do lesbians have sex and stuff?"
Me: "Uh-oh, there's Ms. Ramada... aren't you guys supposed to be over in Bed Linens?"
Mary and Krissy: "Eeep! Go! Go!"

I predict the next few weeks will be fun.
Especially once we get around to the concept of male lesbians.

Is It Too Early To Write To Santa?

Recommended

There is only one thing that qualifies Sunday to be included in the week:
Denny Crane and company.

Brad Chase: I outrank you.
Alan Shore: And I'm such a slut for authority.

Brian: Motion for continuance is denied.
Denny Crane: You know what I'm going to do, Brian, just to show you there are no hard feelings? I'm going to sleep with your wife.

More Than Meets The Eye

This put me in a much better mood.
PS... okay, now I'm a little less pleased, because I can't make it link directly to the movie, but just click on the linky bit where my linky bit takes you, and you can see it.
Man, disclaimers just suck the spontaneous joy out of discovery sometimes.

A Polite Request To Our Landscaping Team

Dear Jose you sadistic bastard,
Please for the love of whatever evil demon you worship postpone cease and fucking desist already your much-appreciated sorely resented when forced upon us at a significant rent increase for "maintenance", which is far as we can tell you and your buddies standing in the parking lot gossiping about the chicas landscape work chopping up random bits of ice plant and perfectly good shubbery until you hacked it to bits with an electric fork, particularly the leaf-blower the trees are all naked now, are you happy? Naked trees... in southern California... where impressionable young children can see them until after 9 10 11 noon just fuck off already, won't you? AM. Some of us me, it's all about me have nonstandard buggered beyond all belief working hours remember work, Jose? That thing you are supposed to be doing when you aren't playing Jedi knight with the rakes with Juan and would appreciate might not rise up en masse and shove your leaf blower directly up your ass if you just STOP IT RIGHT NOW the chance for a little extra sleep and a gallon of vodka, some tranquilizers, and the lottery in our favor
Sincerely don't fuck with me, I'm a cranky PMS-y little woman with a really nice gun I got for my birthday a few years back and I have no chocolate anywhere in the house so you can see, can't you, that your very existance is cause enough for me to get my ass OUT of this chair and play Dirty Harry.
LeeAnn psychotic bitch on a rampage and where the hell is my coffee?

Pretty Pictures

Our heroine, Blogeosis, soon to be known as Laid Off Support Rep, has kindly posted a photo-by-photo diary of her day. Please go see it and witness exemplary work, cool socks, and much coffee-drinking.
Oh, and quite a nifty post as well.
(I am not a technical person and cannot, after a few seconds extensive research, figure out how to link to the specific post, so look for the topmost entry for November 18th. If you can't figure out how to do that, please email me and I will call you mean names for being less technical than I am.
Neener in advance. )

4 For $1

I wish very much that the GM1 had returned from his deployment already.
I need someone to blame that smell in the bathroom on.
Note to self: "Discount" burritos are never really a good bargain.

Please Ignore That Birthdate Error

A Useful Earworm

Rather than having a bit of song stuck in my head, I have a quote from a movie.
It's from "Soapdish", during the scene where Kevin Kline's character is too vain to wear his glasses to read the teleprompter, and thus interpets the line "Her brain could literally explode within three hours." to "Her brain could laterally explore within three houses."
For some reason this never fails to giggle me up.

I've had this phrase pop up, on and off, ever since I saw the movie years ago. I wondered if there were any reason for it, and then I read "Pattern Recognition" by the greatest author of all time, William Gibson. The main character has a sort of phobia that causes anxiety attacks, and when she feels on coming on she repeats a seemingly-nonsensical phrase to herself, from an old family story..."He took a duck in the face at two hundred and fifty knots."
I've noticed I do the same thing.
Not take a duck in the face, that would be downright painful.
Downright.
Down...
Nevermind.
The point is, saying "Her brain could laterally explore within three houses" has become my anti-bad mantra. Stuck in an unpleasant crowd situation? "Her brain could...." Aggravated to the point of armed mayhem by coworkers and customers? "...laterally explore within..." Ritualistically buggered up the backside by both the cable company and your ex-relatives? "...three houses."

Do any of you have the more phrase-based version of counting to ten? What is it? Curious Cheeses want to know.

Things I Found During My Visit To Insomnialand

The prettiest bookstore ever.
Something that might help me sleep.
A reason I wish I worked in an office.
Maybe I should take up the Ebay habit.
And finally, the beautiful, hypnotic game that held me hostage.

Swivel

This will mean nothing to those of you who aren't familiar with the song "Stop The Rock" by Apollo Four Forty, but I am sore sore sore today.
Last night in aerobics class, the instructor played it and as the accompanying exercise, had us do hip circles and pelvic figure-eights, keeping time and rhythm, for the entire song.
It was like a roomful of wanna-be and retired strippers. Ah, fond memories.
But man, I am one sore-tummied Cheesemistress today.

PS... if anyone finds a link to an example or clip of the song, let me know and I'll attach for clarity's sake. Big cheesy hugs to kind reader Markie for finding the link, suitably attached above.

Speak Up

The little voices in my head and I are arguing.

Me: And move this to here, that to there, add this.... hey presto!
LV: You gonna push that button?
Me: Yeah, I'm done.
LV: You sure you want to push that button?
Me: You sure you want to just climb down off my ass? Yeah, I wanna push that button.
(pause)
Me: Why? What's wrong with that button?
LV: *whistling an airy tune*
Me: C'mon, really... why not?
LV: Oh, you don't want to hear it from me.
Me: *banging head on desk* Pleeeeeeeeease... just tell me already.
LV: Well, I was just wondering... you want to save the changes or erase the entire template?
Me: Huh?
LV: You push that, you save. You push that, you erase. You drink coffee faster, you don't need me to remind you of this. Sheesh.
Me: Oh shut up. *push* There.
(very long pause)
Me: Oh hell no, I did NOT do that.
LV: *snicker*
Me: Shut up. And get me a quad espresso.

Holy Cheesus!

Sometimes we here at The Cheese get mail. Mostly it's a plea for Nigerian funding, or a demand that we acquire drugs to keep us big and hard forever, but once in a while a real person writes to us.
These moments, by the way, make us dance like schoolgirls with full bladders on a bouncy bus and speak of ourselves in the plural.
New reader Karla writes:
"Hi Lee Ann…
I’m a newbie to your site and I love it. I ran across this little tidbit while scanning the wires at work this afternoon. It had your name written all over it:

MIAMI (AP) - The Internet auction house eBay Inc. reversed itself Tuesday and is allowing bids for half of a 10-year-old grilled cheese sandwich that its owner says bears the image of the Virgin Mary.

Diana Duyser, of Hollywood, put the sandwich up for sale last week, drawing bids as high as $22,000 before eBay pulled the item Sunday night. The page was viewed almost 100,000 times before being taken down.

An e-mail Duyser received from eBay said the sandwich broke its policy, which "does not allow listings that are intended as jokes."

But Duyser, a work-from-home jewelry designer who has bought and sold items on eBay for two years, said the grilled cheese isn't a joke.
EBay spokesman Hani Durzy said that the listing was mistakenly pulled the first time because it was deemed questionable whether Duyser could deliver the product.

"After looking at it a second time, there's nothing to indicate that the seller isn't willing to give up this cheese sandwich to the highest bidder," he said. "We're going to allow it to stay up."

The auction was back on Tuesday afternoon with a top bid of $11,000. The winning bidder also has to pay $9.95 for shipping. In mocking response, two similar items were later posted - grilled cheese sandwiches said to be bearing the images of the Virgin Mary's used gum and Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen.

Duyser thought eBay would be the best place to show off the sandwich, made on plain white bread and American cheese and cooked with no oil or butter. She said she took a bite after making it 10 years ago and saw a face staring back at her from the bread.

Duyser, 52, put the sandwich in a clear plastic box with cotton balls and kept it on her night stand.

At first, she was scared by the image, "but now that I realize how unique it is, I wanted to share it with the world," Duyser told The Miami Herald.

She said the sandwich has never sprouted a spore of mold.

On the Net:
Virgin Mary sandwich auction: http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&category

I can't wait to see what shows up in the tomato soup.
Ewww, maybe I can.

Spice Girl

YOU ARE BASIL


What herb are you?
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(seasoned away from Drunken Wisdom)

All I Need In The Morning

....is some hot coffee, happy music, and an animation of desktop icons kicking the crap out of each other.

Oh, and someone who sounds convincingly like an E.R. doctor to call in sick for me. That would be really nice too.

PermaPress: Fact or Fiction?

Bob is not the only talented one in his family. His son Rob is a fledgling movie producer, and his latest effort is called "PermaPress: Fact or Fiction?"
I can't tell which part riveted me the most... the excellent production, the scientific approach to a newborn conspiracy theory, or the fact that most like Bob has nothing on under that trenchcoat.
Two thumbs up and some popcorn-tossage!
(And like all the best films, there are some interesting things going on during the credits, as all bonafide film buffs know.)

Formerly Known As

I think I've mentioned before that my place of retail employment is not only visited by customers mostly from south of the border, but that the staff is also 90% Latino. Thus, we are topheavy with Marias and Rositas.
I am the only LeeAnn.
Consequently, when something goes wrong and someone says "Well, Maria did it."... there are quite a few to chose from and chances are, the guilty Maria will get off scot-free.
I am the only LeeAnn.
So if a customer wants to needlessly bitch and moan about some trivial thing like accidentally getting charged three times the going rate for second-rate perfume complain, and she says "LeeAnn did it", guess whose going to take the fall?
I hate being the only LeeAnn.
Therefore, I'm changing my name so I'll blend in to the predominant culture and escape these petty tirades.
I am now going to be known as: Rico Suave.
And how nice it is I already have a theme song?

Malfunction

I put the dirty dishes in a sinkful of nice hot soapy water last night, and when I got up this morning, they were still there.
What the hell is going on around here?
Must take another look at my house elf contract.

Belated Veteran's Day Post

By the time I remembered to post about Veteran's Day, it wasn't Veteran's Day anymore and I figured I'd go on to bed and post later. Good thing that I did, because when I got up, there was an email from the GM1 with this little tidbit:

"Happy Veteran's Day. I think of you as much of a veteran as any one here. After all you've gone through 16 years of Navy crap right along side me. So here's to you Little Miss Veteran."

It more than justifies the red, white, and blue thong I wore yesterday that kept creeping up on me.
Thank you, all you veterans out there, be you abroad or homefront. We all appreciate you mightily.

Darth Burrito

To pass the time at work, I've taken to quoting movies at random moments.
Me: "I sense a great disturbance in the Force."
Mary: "What did you have for lunch?"

The Planet, Not the Car Insurance Bunch, Thank You

You Are From Mercury

You are talkative, clever, and knowledgeable - and it shows. You probably never leave home without your cell phone! You're witty, expressive, and aware of everything going on around you. You love learning, playing, and taking in all of what life has to offer. Be careful not to talk your friends' ears off, and temper your need to know everything.

My "Neener Neener" Moment

Normally, in the course of my job, 90% of the customers don't speak English, and since I don't speak Spanish, I get the stink eye. The few customers that do have a command of the English language usually make it pretty clear they think that since I am blonde and a Mall Wench, I must have the mental capacity of a turnip.
Not to disparage turnips, by the way... many turnips are great philosophers and lead very productive lives.
Yesterday a mother and daughter team stops by the counter to purchase some frivolities. The mother starts to explain her purchases to me, this one needs a gift receipt, this one needs a box, etc... all in the slow, loud "speaking to those deaf or dimwitted" voice. Daughter, who is doing her homework as they shop (I have NO clue as to why, this may be a new trend I'm not aware of... Retail Homeworking or something) interrupts to ask Mom what "anthropomorphism" is.
Mom hmmms a bit, and says she has no idea, is that even a real word?
As I hand back their change, gift receipt, and box, I say "Anthropomorphism is the attribution of human characteristics to nonhuman things."
Dual jaw drop and bug-eyed stares, hasty scribbling, and they are gone, as if I'd revealed my grown horns and a tail.
I basked in that afterglow for a nice little while.
Until my manager sent me to clear up baby puke in the dressing room.
Let me just make clear, I'm not braggartly claiming to be a genius. I had to look up "anthropomorphism" to make sure I'd spelled it correctly. I just like my little moments of zen, you know?

Yesterday's Disturbing Bus Conversation

He: "Did you say 20 or 25?"
She: "25."
He: "Huh."
*long silence*
He: "Why do they call it a trick anyway?"
She: "Dunno."
*long silence*
She: "Maybe because there's a treat at the end."
He: *snicker*
*long silence*
He: "Ya know, you look kinda like my mom. "

Today's Oblique Comment

If I keep sneezing that hard, I may never have to buy batteries again.

Bugger

You are the Abuse Clerk! You dish out verbal (and
some physical!) abuse all day long...as long as
the customer keeps payin'! Aaah...such
satisfying work!


What Monty Python Sketch Character are you?
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(Joanie made me do it, with her grail shaped beacon.)

From the Department of WTF

The Childhood Goat Trauma Foundation.
No shit.
I'm really not sure if this is a mock site or if there are really people out there with this much free time to obsess on their hands. Either way, it's ridiculously funny.
My favorite part is "Suspicious Goats in Central Florida."
And now of course I want a goat for Christmas as well. A demonic, flesh-eating goat. With big red eyes and a supernatural intelligence, not to mention the capability to take care of my garbage.
Without that icky goat smell, please.

Today's Kitchen Note

Feeling very distracted and attention-deficit rather scientific this morning, I learned through patient trial and error (and three pair of pajamas) that I cannot pour coffee into a mug unless I am looking directly down into it.
If I ever go blind and have to do these things by feel, I will die of caffeine depravation, no question about it. Starbucks has no official policy on those of us who will insist upon a Chinese Crested Dog as a guide animal, but it's just a matter of time.
By the way, Santa, if you're listening, this is the dog I want for Christmas.
Stop making that face.

The Benefits of Exercise

0verheard at the YMCA yesterday:

Yoga Girl 1: "So are you getting a lot of flexiblity these days?"
Yoga Girl 2: "Oh yes, and it's done wonders for my sex life."
Yoga Girl 1: "Really? How so?"
Yoga Girl 2: "I can stretch around enough to see the TV over his shoulder now."

A Note For Those Of You Who Think I'm Posting Quite A Bit Today

Why yes, this is excellent coffee.

That Certain Something

My mutant magnet is still working, apparently. Yesterday at work, not one but THREE looneys decided I was the right and proper person with whom to air their oddness.
Loon one was a very disheveled man, the third pair of trousers in an obvious layering-scheme-gone-wrong drooping around his knees, who stood distrubingly close to me as he muttered "They took my church and moved my bell. Sonsabitches sonsabitches sonasabitches. My bell. It moved to Minnesota. Sonsabitches." He finally decided I wasn't the one in charge of bell displacement and moved on.
Loons two and three came as a package deal, in the form of a wizened elderly couple with matching sombreros and lipstick covering their teeth, as though they'd been chewing on it. (Yes, male and female couple, although without a closer examination I'd be hard pressed to say which was which.) After determining from thorough investigation, i.e. questioning me at personal-space-invasion levels for over fifteen minutes, that we did NOT carry bananas, nor had any tropical fruit of any kind, one of the pair decided to lecture me on the dangers of building a clock tower in the middle of the highway.
I guess I just put out that random-clock-tower-constructionist vibe and people respond.
I can't wait to see what I attract today. Cross-dressing bible-thumpers? Midgets in feathered spandex? Unintelligible babblers in bad shoes?
Wait, aren't those my coworkers?

Let's Have A Ball!

If you decide to follow the recommendation of the esteemed Doctor Evil and experience the effects of shaving for yourself, ("At the age of fourteen a Zoroastrian named Vilma ritualistically shaved my testicles. There really is nothing like a shorn scrotum... it's breathtaking- I highly suggest you try it. ") remember to have a steady hand.
So properly protect your twig and berries, and check out the Scrotal Safety Commission.
The next-to-last safety tip is my personal favorite.

To Absent Friends

Here's a site that must have been made with Eric, Johnny-Oh, Madfish Willie, and especially the comment party going on over at Harvey's in mind.
And me too.
(a toast to The Presurfer for finding this one)

Cue The Horse's Head

I'm sorry, but I have to put a contract out on my brother. He's the only sibling who hasn't disowned me following this summer's Visit To Hell, but he's dipped into the uh-oh pool in a bad way, and I have to take action.
I am The Responsible One at Christmas. I am the US Postal Service's poster child for early mailing. To that effect, I've sent several family members and loved ones their Christmas parcels already, with HUGE warnings on the outside to NOT open the CONTENTS until Christmas.
My nephew left a message for me yesterday thanking me for the "cool toys."
I left a message for Brother Dearest. It warn't nearly that sweet.
*grumble*now I have to find MORE perfect toys *grumble*
(Yeah, I know, like shopping is a chore... g'wan away with yez.)

I'm Only The Trotting Gourmet

A note from the kitchen:
A watched pot DOES boil... but it takes a lot less time if you remember to turn the damn burner on.

Gratuitous Post-Election Post

A lot of bloggers went above and beyond the call of bloggery to blog about whatever was bloggable concerning the election. No matter where a blogger stood on the issues, there was blogging being done.
All well and good.
Now it's all over, the fat lady sang, and still bloggers are blogging about post-election bloggables.
Also well and good. Because it's a given fact, like the sky is blue and cheese is wonderful, that if you can find anything at all to blog about, it's a good day to be a blogger.
But now some bloggers are blogging about what other bloggers blogged in the political kind of blogging, and how it affected their blogging.
Let me just say this about that:
I like using the word "blog" in as many permutations as possible.
I've also learned that every single one of you is a freaking moonbat.
Yep, all of you.
Why?
Because you don't think exactly like me. You have entirely different opinions. You think things are important that I think are silly. You trivialize issues that I think are relevant. You believe the polar opposite of what I believe, and you are grounded in a reality that has nothing to do with the world as I see it.
You all failed to think with my brain, to feel with my heart, and to see with my eyes. This makes you all mad as the proverbial hatter, in my book.
And that's why I love you all.
Think as you want, believe as you must, blog as the mood moves you.
Blog.
Blog.
Bloggity blog blogged blog.
Man, I love that word.

Where They Come From

Jim over at Snooze Button Dreams has a lovely story about the neighborhood dog, a sweet creature but shy as the sun on a cloudy day. Apparently someone in pup's mysterious past was cruel enough to the poor thing that it became chronically timid.
And thus was I reminded of Pepper.

Dad brought home Pepper, a confused mix of poodle and old floor mop, to comfort Mom in the recent loss of fantastic puppy ToyToy. Pepper was a loving, gentle girl who had come from a redefined version of a broken home... everytime something went wrong, they'd tried to break that something over Pepper's curly little head. After Animal Control rescued her, she'd spent a year getting used to being around people who didn't want to kick her to Cleveland everytime they got cranky. She retained only one trait of her former abuse... if you spoke around her in any tone other than sweet and kind, she peed.
I don't mean a little piddle. A minute squirt. A quick dribble.
Pepper tried to top off the reservoir if I yelled at my brother. She pissed the Yellow River if my dad hollered about a hammer/thumb issue. She nearly drowned herself when my mom got upset at her soaps one afternoon.
Pepper became a de facto outdoor dog.
But Pepper wasn't the neighborhood dog, like Jim's Nine-eye. Pepper was the mother of the neighborhood dog.

Fred was undoubtedly the ugliest dog in the neighborhood, as far as anyone could remember. He was short and squart and yellow and had that lovely underslung lower jaw that looks so good on bulldogs and Winston Churchill. Fred, like most "shave him and walk him backwards" types, had an overactive libido. Most people didn't like to visit Fred's owners, who kept him inside, because Fred would immediately hump their leg when they entered. Not just once.
Throughout the entire visit.
Visiting Fred's owners today meant laundry day tomorrow

Pepper went into surprise heat one week, just before she was scheduled to be fixed. She acquired lots of beaux, but it was Fred who fell madly in love. One day, as Pepper pranced past Fred's house, Fred's owner noticed some unusual canine behavior. Fred would trot into the back of the house to the kitchen, and stand gazing into the living room. Then he'd run and jump up on the sofa, barking madly at the picture window, on the other side of which was Pepper, striking hoochie poses on the lawn.
You see it coming, don't you? Fred's owner didn't.
On Fred's last run from kitchen to sofa, he didn't stop. He threw himself through the picture window like a shedding bullet and landed directly on Pepper.
The coitus that ensued lasted at least three hours and took two neighbors with hoses, a boy with an old rake, and the combined advice of the crowd that gathered to create interruptus.
It was like the doggy version of Jerry Springer.

Some time later, after Fred's owners had tried and failed in their lawsuit against my parents for having a "wanton pet" (which was the main reason I wanted to become a stripper, just so I could have Wanton Pet as my stripper name.), Pepper gave us a litter of pups.
One of them was the ugliest dog on the planet, making daddy Fred look like a pedigreed stud.
The boy across the street adopted him, haphazardly cared for him, and when they moved, abandoned him. Schnooter, as he was called, happily became the one-eyed, multi-colored, long fur here short fur there, fugly neighborhood dog.
He ate like a king at everyone's back door and slept like a baby on a multitude of blanketed garage floors.
I don't know what happened to Schnooter in the end. One day he was there, rooting through a pile of fresh frog parts on the riverbank, the next he was gone. I like to think he ran off to become a circus dog, or the mascot for Jerry Springer's show.

Your Grandmother Was a Hamster Too

You are a French Guard! You love nothing better
than to torment the silly English
Knnnniggits...even if your insults don't make
much sense--You tiny brained wiper of other
people's bottoms!

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In On the Ding

Upon hearing that her elderly grandfather had just passed away, Katie went straight to her grandparent's house to visit her 95-year-old grandmother and comfort her. When she asked how her grandfather had died, her grandmother replied, "He had a heart attack while we were making love on Sunday morning."
Horrified, Katie told her grandmother that 2 people nearly 100 years old having sex would surely be asking for trouble.
"Oh no, my dear," replied granny. "Many years ago, realizing our advanced age, we figured out the best time to do it was when the church bells would start to ring. It was just the right rhythm. Nice and slow and even. Nothing too strenuous, simply in on the Ding and out on the Dong."
She paused to wipe away a tear, and continued, "He'd still be alive if the damn ice cream truck hadn't come along."

Don't Tease Me, You Know What I Do For A Living

At what point does something become an obsession?
For the past week, I've watched at least part of "Grosse Pointe Blank" twice a day. Before work and after work. While doing chores and while sitting having coffee. While fully dressed and while... not so fully dressed.
While it hasn't increased my lust for John Cusack, because that was at stratospheric heights to begin with and you cannot increase perfection, it has made me reaffirm my dream career.
Now all I need is a great weapon, a black suit, and some relevant networking.
"I killed the president of Paraguay with a fork. How've you been?"

Unmaking Strange Bedfellows

I live in the kind of neighborhood where you hear couples screaming at each other all the time. Usually it's in a language I don't understand, so I miss the full drama of the situation and have to amuse myself doing commentary on their interesting fashion choices.
But just after dark, I heard the screeching on the sidewalk that means some woman has decided her man needs killin'. All that's left is the laundry list of why.
"YOU BASTARD!" she shrieked as she stormed to her car. "YOU FUCKING BASTARD! I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU'D DO THAT TO ME!"
Fucking Bastard followed her, but kept his distance, saying nothing.
"I HOPE YOU ROT IN HELL! YOU COCKSUCKER YOU!"
The Cocksucker formerly known as Fucking Bastard began softly banging his head on a tree trunk.
"I THOUGHT YOU'D GROW UP! I THOUGHT YOU'D BE A DECENT GUY! I WANTED TO HAVE BABIES WITH YOU! YOU PATHETIC ASSHOLE! HOW COULD YOU?"
Pathetic Asshole stopped banging his head and grabbed her car door as she started to slam it shut.
"Listen," he said, almost pleading, "It was just this once. I had to. I just had to. Can't you just let it go? It was only one time."
"FUCK YOU, YOU BASTARD!" she howled just before she burned rubber down the street.
"YOU VOTED FOR BUSH!"

He's better off without her.

Not Your Average Schwinn

I just found out one of my coworkers at The Mall is working to pay for the car her mom paid the downpayment for, incentive to get better grades this year as a senior in high school.
She got a Cadillac Escalade, fully loaded. We're talking about over $53K of auto, and a seventeen year old. Sure, Mom paid the lion's share in down payment, but still....
A Cadillac Escalade.
If I'd had incentive like that when I was in high school, I would have become Albert Einstein.
I must go sooth my stunned brain with medicinal martinis and South Park reruns.
Escalade.
Damn.

Once The Standards Are Lowered

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Who Else Can't Wait For November 3rd?

If I never have to watch six gazillion political advertisments just to get through an episode of my beloved "Boston Practice", it will be too soon. (Don't start that Tivo nonsense with me, I'm but a poorly paid mall wench.)
Yet friendship, loyalty, and a decent bribe in the universal currency (chocolate) compels me to push one final political hurrah on behalf of my artsy friend Bob.
Little buddy indeed.

Curious George Has Sisters

I dearly love the innocence and guilelessness of youth. It's so rare these days, so fragile and elusive. That's why when I find it in a young person, I make sure to take full advantage of it.
The mall store where I'm working has hired a crop of high school students to pad the ranks during the holidays. (I realize I'm probably just padding too, but I'm trying that glass-half-full thing and hoping to be kept on afterward.) I'd thought that the stagnation of political correctness would have kicked the expression of curiousity out of today's kids, but nope... once these girls (they are girls, for the most part, although there is a boy on the fringe sometimes) get hold of someone who never shuts up is willing to talk, they will question that person to death, as if they were doing a paper for school on them.
Or maybe they were just bored.
In any case, that person is me. I. Whatever.
(It's not like they were doing a grammar paper, you know.)

Mary: "So like, uh, you've had a bunch of jobs, huh?"
Me: "Oh yeah, lots. About 30 years worth of different jobs."
Mary: "Wow.... so, you're really kind of old, right?"
Me: ".... Uh, yes, really old. Ancient. Probably going to die soon. Stand back."
Mary: "Cool."
*pause*
Mary: "What are you, like 35?"
Me: "Yep, that's it exactly, 35." (in my dreams)
Mary: "So did you vote when you were young?"
Me: "Sure... in World War II, for example, I voted for Truman."
Mary: "Truman who?"

My little monkeys are curious, and I am a banana tree.
This is going to be fun.