the cheese stands alone

Does This Button Make Me Look Fat?

Hey nonny nonny, looky here!
I got into the finalists for Most Humorous Blog at the Best of Blogs awards, which technically makes me better than Hitler and F. Scott Fitzgerald, who did not. And let me tell you, that "Mein Kampf" was one seriously funny bitch. As was Zelda, so I hear.
So it is with great pride and much megalomania that I hereby show you:
My Finalist Button.
No, Harvey, this is not an euphemism. Stop peeking between the lines.
Just kidding. Don't stop, any of you. Peek me, baby, peek me good.
But let me remind you, with all this peekage comes great responsibility. Come tomorrow, go forth and vote vote vote for your Cheesemistress, so she may continue to swell her head and stroke her ego and make you all sleep in the resulting wet spot.
It's said with love, I swear it.

Outside The Box It's Raining

We have to move.

"We have to move." I told the GM1 not 15 minutes ago.
GM1: "And exactly why do we have to move?"
Me: "Because I called Pizza Hut and complained about the pizza and you know they have some kind of stealth pizza nazi death squad that is so going to be after us from now on."
GM1: "And why did you complain about the pizza? It was fine."
Me: "YOURS was fine, mine was thin-crust-double-mushroom-and-pineapple, and I ordered thin-crust-double-mushroom-and-jalapenos."
GM1: "But you like pineapple."
Me: "Um, true. But..."
GM1: "And you pick off the jalapenos anyway."
Me: "Because I want just the essense of jalapenos, not the actual butt-burn later."
GM1: "So you think Pizza Hut is sending death squads after you..."
Me: "Us. They'll get us both. They're very thorough."
GM1: "Okay, us. They'll assassinate us because?"
Me: "I went ahead and ate some of the bogus pizza already."
GM1: "Huh."
Me: "Yeah."
GM1: "So they'll know this?"
Me: "Oh yeah, they have tiny microtransmitters in each and every savory slice. Savory slice. Ssssssavory sssssslice. Yeah."
GM1: "Babe? How much NyQuil have you had today? "
Me: "By itself or with the vodka?"
GM1: "Nevermind. "
Me: "So we're still moving to Albequerque?"
GM1: "Why Albequerque?"
Me: "I can spell it, and I can't spell Minninniapolitis."
GM1: "Go lie down, babe. It'll pass."
Me: "Okay. But wake me up when John Cusack gets here, 'kay?"
GM1: " 'kay."

Sledgehammer Betwixt The Eyes

Once again, the lightbulb finally clicked and A Thought occurred to me...
You see the little thingy on my sidebar, yes? About the BoB awards? Well, I was nominated for both Best Overall Blog and Best Humorous Blog, for which I thank all of you who did so kindly. It's nifty.
However... might I just inquire why I wasn't nominated for Snarkiest Blog? Are I not a snarkfest and a half? A grumbly, cranky, irritable Cheesemistress? Do I not serve up some quality whine with the cheese?
What gives, people? Must I put away the soft and fluffy and commence with 24/7 barbed tongue? My reputation as That Nasty Old Woman Who Flogs Foundling Frozen Turkeys In Her Spare Time is at stake here!
I mean, I feel snarky. I think snarky. I thought I wrote snarky. Perhaps my sub-sub-subconscious is worried about hurting your feelings and offending your delicate sensibilites and just alienating the fuck out of you all so that I wind up writing solely for myself and that ADD kid who emails me about the cultural validity of JarJar Binks all the time.
Or maybe.... please, Whatever Deity You Want, don't let it be true... maybe deep down I'm *chokewheezegag* a Nice Guy. Finishing Last.
Bugger.
I hereby resolve I'm going to put on the cruel shoes and rubber gloves and forthwith openly be the juvenile delinquent that my inner child secretly is. Look out, you lily-livered politically-correct puppy-cuddlers! The bitch is back... er, here!
If that's okay with you all, I mean.
Pretty please?

Driving Miss Crazy

Remember my little coworker whose mother bought her an Escalade, and all your predictions it would be a wreck within a month?
You win.
She had a "disagreement" with another car and it resulted in a few dents and scrapes. It upset her so much that she can no longer bear to drive it, and so she and Mom are going car-shopping after work.
Coworker is talking, in all seriousness, about Hummers. (The car, boys, the car... calm down.)

Blow Me

It's rainy, very windy, and thunderstorms and flooding threaten.
I'm loving it.
Firstly, as other Southern Californians know, we don't have weather here. Sure, we have minute temperature fluctuations that masquerade as weather. But real, serious, kick-your-meteorlogical-ass weather, like Baltimore and Montreal or even Florida? Nope. So any signs that the forces of nature have come to visit aren't bad.
Let me amend and say this is all good from the viewpoint of my cozy pajamas and computer chair. The second I have to go out and drive to work in this among the massive demolition derby fools that California drivers become in real weather, it ceases to be amusing. I am nothing if not adaptable.
Nextly, "bad" weather tends to keep the muttering-to-themselves-and-various-deities, smelling-slightly-of-litterbox and old meat, mailing-address-"third-shrub-from-the-left-next-to-the-big-tree-at-Balboa-Park,-ask -for-Joe" types at bay. It's us newbies who are consistently sent to rout the nappers from the fitting rooms, and while the playing of Saint George to their whacked-out dragon is temporarily amusing, it's tedious after a while.
But most important of all, this weather gives us something to talk about. The lead story on local news, even besting the monster earthquake, is The! Weather! Hitting! San! Diego! Anchorpersons were fighting for the chance to be the one in the rain slicker on camera, bravely facing the elements. Interns stood on the sidelines with spray bottles and fans, just in case the natural drama level drops.
But the bottom line reason is that I love/lust/adore thunder and lightning. I once stood (yes, stupidly in retrospect but weather-worship knows no bounds) on a rooftop in south Florida to watch an incoming crash-flash-boom doozie of a storm. After all, I grew up before the wizards at Industrial Light and Magic could provide me with various feats of special effects... I had to get my amazements from more natural and chancy sources. I'm a thunderstorm junkie.
Gotta go... I've found the way up to the roof and I have an hour before work.

Collect Them For Valuable Prizes

Just another reason I want to own a video rental store someday.

Survival Is In The Eyes Of The Beholder

I worked on Christmas Eve.
Retail.
Worked on Christmas Eve.
I am not in jail for manslaughter or general mayhem and destruction, so this should tell you I utilized my own little bag of tricks to get through the evening.

Trick One:
Have you ever noticed when you say "Merry Christmas" to someone, you rarely consciously hear the reply? Armed with this observation, I amused myself by answering customer's holiday goodbyes with random greetings of my own.
"Merry Christmas!"
"Your shoe is untied."
"Merry Christmas!"
"I have a birthmark shaped like Texas on my labia."
"Merry Christmas!"
"Hail Satan!"

Trick Two:
Abandon all pretenses at tact. When a customer asks if Perfume X is a good gift, answer (with a big smile) "Only if you like the scent of monkey butt!"
Surprisingly, this actually convinced several men to buy aforementioned Eau De La Monkey Butt.

Trick Three:
When faced with intolerable cheer and sentiment, go for the Big Lie.
A huge brood mare of a woman customer with a litter of offspring the size of which not often seen outside of "101 Dalmations" several children came into the store and yelled above the roar of the horde of screaming tots asked "What time do you close?"
"In 15 minutes" I told her. Then trying to direct her to the proper area for promptness sake, I asked what exactly she was looking for.
"Oh, I'm not sure" she replied. "Just shopping around."
After nearly being physically ejected finally taking the hint that we were now 20 minutes after the fact indeed closed, she brought her purchases to me to be rung up.
"Don't you just LOVE Christmas?" she gushed. "There is NOTHING more fulfilling than shopping with your family, spending time with your loved ones, being with all your relatives! Don't you just LOVE IT?"
"I'm an orphan." I said blandly.
*dead silence*
"Oh."

Nevertheless, a Merry Christmas was had by your Cheesemistress, and I hope you all had a jolly time too.
Unless you shopped at the last minute on Christmas Eve. Then you deserved those lumps of coal.

Connect The Dots

Shhh, I'm just now getting the hang of this.

Santa Baby

Santa baby, slip a sable under the tree, for me.
I've been an awful good girl,
Santa baby, and hurry down the chimney tonight.

Santa baby, an outer-space convertible too, light blue.
I'll wait up for you, dear
Santa baby, and hurry down the chimney tonight.

Think of all the fun I've missed.
Think of all the fellas that I haven't kissed.
Next year I could be oh so good
If you'd check off my Christmas list.
Boo doo bee doo

Santa honey, I want a yacht and really that's not a lot.
I've been an angel all year,
Santa baby, and hurry down the chimney tonight.

Santa cutie, there's one thing I really do need, the deed
To a platinum mine
Santa cutie, and hurry down the chimney tonight.

Santa baby, I'm filling my stocking with a duplex, and checks.
Sign your 'X' on the line
Santa baby, and hurry down the chimney tonight.

Come and trim my Christmas tree
With some decorations bought at Tiffany's.
I really do believe in you.
Let's see if you believe in me.
Boo doo bee doo

Santa baby, forgot to mention one little thing, a ring.
I don't mean a phone,
Santa baby, and hurry down the chimney tonight.

Hurry down the chimney tonight.
Hurry down the chimney tonight.

(to remain on top for a while, as my Christmas card to you all.)

Having No Chicken, We Made Partridge Soup

Never let it be said the GM1 did not give me something for Christmas Hannah'sKaka Kwaneria Supersale Saturday the holidays.
He gave me:
Twelve vertebra aching.
Eleven follicles throbbing.
Ten toes freezing.
Nine sneezes spewing.
Eight coughs a-rattling.
Seven twitches twitching.
Six senses failing.
Five rumbling intestinals!
Four sinuses pounding.
Three eyes watering
Two nostrils flowing.
And a head cold from hell.

Yes, I hear all of you, saying "well, at least he didn't bring you back one weener dripping." I hear you loud and clear, and yes, I am grateful. Now hush up and go back to wrapping my gifts.
Oh and, the GM1's cold was up and gone in one, count 'em, ONE day. Mine is enjyoing itself so very much it's decided to stay on and possibly enroll in the local community college. My only joy is sharing with my misbegotten mutants customers. I'm a giver.

Eric of Straight White Guy has discovered that Billy Joel's "Piano Man" is rather a bloggery tune, and has proven so. If you adore clever linkiness and just hearing a song in your head for the rest of the day, go forth and admire.
I've always thought (although I claimed "House of Fun" by Madness as my blog theme song over at Snoozebutton Dreams) that my life was very adequately summed up by "Army" via Ben Folds Five (lyrics and commentary in the extended bit), except for the part about the mustache. If you kind of metaphorize and generalize and stuff, I mean.

Army- Ben Folds Five (my commentary in italics)

Well I thought about the army (yep, and the Navy and Air Force too)
Dad said, son you’re fucking high (actually, he laughed like a hyena)
And I thought, yeah there’s a first for everything
So I took my old man’s advice (never thought about this before, but no one ever encouraged me to attend college... I was deemed too featherbrained)
Three sad semesters (six, and some more random than sad but I did learn how to make a bong out of a honey bear container)
It was only 15 grand spent in bed (give or take a grand)
I thought about the army
I dropped out and joined a band instead (sort of a band... a singing telegram and strip-o-gram company )

Grew a moustache and a mullet (sadly, the mullet part is true)
Got a job at Chick-fil-a (Burger King)
Citing artistic differences
The band broke up in May (went bankrupt when the gay owners snorted up the profits)
And in June reformed without me (became a flower shop)
And they’d got a different name
I nuked another grandma’s apple pie (burritos, 5 for a dollar)
And hung my head in shame

Been thinking a lot today (only leads to trouble)
Been thinking a lot today

Oh, I think I’ll write a screenplay (the perfect standup routine)
Oh, I think I’ll take it to L.A. (well, I'm just a tad south)
Oh, I think I’ll get it done yesterday (how many yesterdays do I get?)

In this time of introspection (pretty much every time I run out of reading material in the bathroom)
On the eve of my election (election, bathroom deposits... same diff)
I say to my reflection
God please spare me more rejection (I really do talk to myself, and I say this often)
’cause my peers they criticize me (or giggle madly)
And my ex-wives all despise me (ex-husbands, ex-boyfriends, ex-sisters, ex-employers... the list accrues)
Try to put it all behind me
But my redneck past is nipping at my heels (truer words never sung, should be on my tombstone)

I’ve been thinking a lot today (this never leads to anything good)
I’ve been thinking a lot today (sometimes it even leads to evil, bwahahaha!)
I’ve been thinking a lot today (and sometimes it just makes me cry)
I thought about the army...

Three Is The Number, And The Number Shall Be Three

As seen virtually everywhere, the List of Threes....

THREE NAMES YOU GO BY:
LeeAnn
Lala
Cheesemistress

THREE SCREEN NAMES YOU HAVE HAD:
Molly
Cheesemistress
Cheerleader

THREE THINGS YOU LIKE ABOUT YOURSELF:
my boobs
my brain
my book-larnin'

THREE THINGS YOU DISLIKE ABOUT YOURSELF:
my obsession with my boobs
my brain doesn't like me
my book-larnin' was mainly Dr. Seuss

THREE PARTS OF YOUR HERITAGE:
lather
rinse
repeat

THREE THINGS THAT SCARE YOU:
bugs
undomesticated water
bugs in undomesticated water

THREE OF YOUR EVERYDAY ESSENTIALS:
blog
blog
"How To Stop Obsessing About Your Blog For Dummies"

THREE THINGS YOU ARE WEARING RIGHT NOW:
fluffy socks
corset
Spongebob pajama pants

THREE OF YOUR FAVORITE BANDS (or artists (at the moment)):
Garbage
Bond
Flogging Molly

THREE OF YOUR FAVORITE SONGS AT PRESENT:
Cowboy- Kid Rock
Bad Touch- Bloodhound Gang
Army- Ben Folds Five

THREE NEW THINGS YOU WANT TO TRY IN THE NEXT 12 MONTHS
Rock wall climbing
An unhated job
a new calendar

THREE THINGS YOU WANT IN A RELATIONSHIP (love is a given):
devotion
fun
lack of need for batteries

TWO TRUTHS AND A LIE
I lie almost all the time.
I tell the truth most of the time.
Neither of these is true.

THREE PHYSICAL THINGS ABOUT THE OPPOSITE SEX THAT APPEAL TO YOU:
the ability to kiss and follow the game on TV simultaneously
nice buns
good hand/eye coordination

THREE THINGS YOU JUST CAN’T DO WITHOUT:
the GM1
my computer
"Survivor"

THREE OF YOUR FAVORITE HOBBIES:
blogging
blogging about work
attending "Blogaholics Anonymous"

THREE THINGS YOU WANT TO DO REALLY BADLY RIGHT NOW:
become rich
become filthy rich
become too filthy rich to care if I'm rich

THREE CAREERS YOU ARE CONSIDERING:
free-lance coffee-drinking
mattress tester
brain surgeon

THREE PLACES YOU WANT TO GO ON VACATION:
Venice
the Rhine
Epcot

THREE THINGS YOU WANT TO DO BEFORE YOU DIE:
cure cancer
discover the secret to immortality
pay the cable bill

THREE THINGS YOU JUST CAN’T DO:
not open my yap as the mood dictates
not find the funny in nearly everything
stop doing weird lists like this
count

So I've Heard

You Are a Fruitcake!

You taste like nothing else in this world. And get ready, you're about to get tossed!

The Wages of Suspicion Are Cake

They had the traditional Gift Drawing at work, with some surprisingly nice gifty prizes.... a small television, an Xbox game system, a DVD player, and the usual filler things like table centerpieces and $5 gift cards.
Not so surprisingly, the upper level gifts were won, one and all, by members of management. Those below the salt got the rest.
As a newbie, I expressed suspicion surprise interest in this and was promptly bundled into a stock room by one of the senior managers.

SM: "So, you doan like the gift grab?"
Me: "What's not to like? No, it's fine."
SM: "So, you doan like dat you dint win nothing?"
Me: "Would have been nice to win, but I really don't care."
SM: "So, you chust makin' trooble for no good reason?"
Me: "I'm not making 'trooble', I just thought the way it went was kind of funny."
SM: "So, you doan think it go that way by accident, the way it has since we done it years and years and a long time?"
Me: *silence*
SM: "Not dat it goed dat way all da time... uh, no, not all da time."
Me:*silence*
SM: "Go get some punch, why doncha?"

Later on in the day, I was notified I'd "won" a fruitcake. Thank you, Big Mall!

Except For That Whole Virgin Thing

You are 87% Virgo

Necessities of Life

Today's conversation with the freshly-returned GM1, while shopping at Sav-On:
Me: "Look, this aisle is practically empty, how weird is that?"
GM1: "Yep, you can tell when a ship gets in, huh?"
Me: *snicker* "All the condoms and KY are gone."
GM1: "And the pudding too."

Getting the Bum's Rush

Have you ever been so far behind (sorry) you begrudge the time it takes you to make an average poo?
"Will you C'MON already? Traffic's gonna be murder! Let's go, let's GO!"
Yes, I not only talk to myself, I nag my bodily functions.

My New Work Name

Never ever tell the very-flaming perfume-demonstrator in your store that you can't accept his kind offer of services from his freelance employment as a bikini-waxer because you can't imagine looking him in the face again once he's seen the Heart of Darkness.
It will get around, oh yes it will.

One Reason I'll Be Busy In July

Hmph. Hmph, I Say.

My mom, bless her little mommy heart, cannot help being a mom. Even when she knows she's just shoveling water uphill, carrying coals to Newcastle, beating that poor dead horse, the mommyness erupts.
I got caught in the lava flow.

You all remember the Great Battle of the Summer of 2004, don't you? The one where my ex-sister lost her mind and threw me out in the middle of suburbian North Carolina? Well, it took me a while, but I got over it.
By "got over it", I mean I quit having dreams, both sleeping and waking, of fire, flood, famine, death, destruction and stealthy cessation of cable television, visited upon said ex-sister. I managed to miss the near-ulcer teased by daily bile churned from rememberance, and I dodged the karmic bullet by not posting seriously photoshopped images of her and a donkey round the internet.
I Let It Go.
Then, during a routine phone call to Mom, she decides to play that most devilish of all Mom cards.... the Guilt Card.
"Gee" says Mommy innocently, "I was talking to Mike (ex-sister's husband) the other day, and he says Lynn has been blue about the... ahem... disagreement for a long time now, especially since you didn't send her a birthday card."
Btw, did she send ME one? Nope.
"He said it might be nice," she continued, "if since you're the oldest, you apologized to her. "
My mom is a very smart lady. She told me this when she knew I was calling from a public place, so I couldn't shriek in shock and then laugh hysterically until they carted me away to the Loony Bin.
I am a Good Daughter. I really am.
I didn't puncture my mom's little happy balloon of illusion and tell her outright that Satan would be ice-skating in his own backyard before any sort of apology would pass my lips to ex-sister's ear. I hedged and mmm-hmm'd and told her I'd think about it.
Then Mom pulled out the sharpest card of all the guilt deck and drew it slowly across my jugular.... she said it would surely make her so happy to know her girls were getting along.
I would rather eat broken glass than make my mother unhappy, and I'd rather eat broken glass than speak to Lynn. Either way, I'm toast. Bloody, lacerated, mumbling toast.
(How's that for a mixed metaphor? Wait until I break out the ones about whales and grass is greener.)
I managed to leave it ambiguous with Mom. And I'll probably send ex-sister a holiday card, very impersonally signed.
Milk of human kindness my ass. It's the milk of Mommy-ness that will drown you in the end.
I know I'll get comments and emails encouraging me to be the bigger person and apologize, etc... and if you feel the urge to say such things, please get it off your chest by all means. But know that the wheels of time and cheese move exceeding slow... it might be decades from now, when we're getting blogs beamed straight into our cerebellums and keyboards are just a quaint antique bit of wall art, before I take any action on your advice. Just so y'all know.

Another Hero

Which Eddie Izzard line are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
(Izzard'd away from Tabatha at Me, Myself, and I, who would never suck the juice out of a tractor.)

A quick note to the woman in the white Lexus who tailgated me for over 5 miles, then cut around me on the shoulder, almost making me miss my exit:
If you ever do this to me on a day when I'm not almost late for work, I will most certainly follow you home and eat your poodle.
This is not an euphemism. Women like that always have yappy little poodles. Nor is it an idle threat. I have access to barbeque sauce.

Not Even In A Bucket

Bob the uber-tunester has found a way to let me participate in the world of music, although I cannot carry a tune and dogs three states away have public-singing-restraining-orders out on me.
Create A Band.

I Blame Network Television

My goldfish have the farts.
I think this is the funniest thing I've ever seen, and can't seem to stop watching.

Put A Lantern In the Old North Church Tower!

The BoBs are coming, the BoBs are coming!
(Don't mind me, I just like galloping around wearing this hat.)
But really, the BoBs....Best Of Blog Awards, are upon us. With a list of categories in which to nominate your friends, Romans, and countrymen that would choke a horse. Nominations are open until Christmas Eve.
Santa would probably look kindly on those good little children who go nominate a deserving blog for an award, you know.
I realize I've managed to cram in Paul Revere references, Shakespeare, and Santa into one small post, but I had your best interests at heart. Really I did. What doesn't kill us makes us stronger.

Sure, I Cure Warts, But I'd Rather Have The Tantric Sex

You are fresh-ground coffee, black, first thing
in the morning.

You are a life-giving substance. The US government
has secret stockpiles of you hidden in caverns
under the Rockies. When for some reason you
are late to a meeting, world financial markets
are thrown into chaos. Your presence can cure
warts and mild depression, and when you enter a
room, you diffuse a gentle fragrance that
reminds people of the happiest moment of their
childhoods. Cats and children adore you; they
curl up at your feet, where they torment small
crawling things and occasionally lick your
toes.


What kind of coffee are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

Ms. Montague Reviews Her Prenup

Once again, proof I live amongst loons.

Last night, a bit past midnight, I was woken by screaming and shrieking. No, it wasn't a car alarm (for a change). No, it wasn't a baby (although my neighbors all seem to have rabbit tendencies in that regard... every day I see a new baby being paraded around. They're either extremely fertile Catholics or cannibal ranchers.) No, it wasn't even a murder (although if they'd kept me awake much longer it would have been.)
It was Valerie.
I knew it was Valerie because as she chased the big guy down the sidewalk, howling in her dismay, he'd stop every now and then, holding out his palms in a crossing-guard gesture, and rumble in a Barry White voice, "Now, Valerie, stop it."
Valerie was apparently upset because Eric (big Barry White clone) was leaving.
We know this because Valerie was moaning, "Eric! ERIC!! Doan LEEEEEEAVE ME!"
Eric was leaving, need we mention? Eric was full-steam headed for his ride. Eric was out of here.
"Eric! ERIC!! Doan leave me! You gots me ver' vulnerable rye now!"
This slowed Eric.
"Vul-nur-bull? Whatchoo mean, vulnurbull?"
Valerie suddenly lost every stitch of accent and became Miss Vocab 2004.
"Vulnerable: to be open and exposed, weak, made available by emotional upset. Vulnerable."
Eric: "Uh huh."
And Eric moved on.
Valerie whipped back into "vulnerable" mode and threw herself down full length on the sidewalk beside Eric's car.
"Eric! ERIC!! Doan GO!!!!!"
Eric goed.... er, went, like the proverbial bat out of hell, while Valerie goed... er, went completely kindergarten mental and had a temper tantrum, kicking her feet and beating her fists on the sidewalk, wailing in her abandoned misery until Eric's taillights disappeared down the block.
Immediately Valerie sat up and perched on the curb, pulling her cell phone from her jacket and dialling....
"Girl? You doan even wan' know what dat bastard done now."

I think she heard me laughing by then, because she looked around and moved off down the block, chatting happily.
Why in the world did I bother to get cable?

A Note On How My Job Is Going, With Tangents

In cycling class this morning, the instructor told us to stand up and then slide back, pushing our tushes out to the back.
"Imagine your boss is standing behind you wearing chapstick."
I fell off the back of my bike, I pushed so hard.

In other cycling news...
1. A woman in my class looks exactly like Lyle Lovett.
2. If you have the desired 12% body fat, you can still have a really bad haircut.
3. No matter how many cool points you get as an instructor by playing lots of Aerosmith, it can all be negated by one Celine Dion song.
4. However, playing "Werewolves of London" as the final uphill song will salvage your reputation.
5. I am the only one in class who knows all the words to "Werewolves of London" and will sing them... loudly.
6. Stop staring at me, all of you. At least I don't look like Lyle Lovett.

Viscous Cycle

Bob made me dizzy. Or else it was the several Irish coffee s I had for breakfast.
Nevertheless, go see.

Classy

You scored as Lower Class. You're stressed over money and unfortunately you're 'maid' to work hard for little money. The only wealthy people you know are the ones who make you clean their floors. Just like the upper class, the government doesn't listen to you either. Lower Class 79% Luxurious Upper Class 71% Upper middle Class 62% alternative 54% Middle Class 42% What Social Status are you? created with QuizFarm.com

Drama Over Easy, Side of Bacon

I took advantage of my day off by going to my favorite breakfast diner, Perry's. Perry's is owned by a squat little man who looks like nothing moreso than an attempt to do that "The Fly" mixing chamber thing with a man and a frog. They serve huge frittatas and the best hash browns in the universe. And the waitresses take zero crap and give 110% personality.
The clientele does not disappoint, providing some nice bloggy material:

Table 2B:
Old Man and Older Lady arguing over bacon vs. ham....
OL: "Goddamn it, Murray, it's all pig, just EAT it!"

Table 8D:
*scantily-clad nubile young thing leaves for the restroom*
Smug Bikerguy: "Can I get some more coffee, sweetheart?"
Waitress: "Is that your girlfriend or a rental?"
Smug Bikerguy *looking less smug*: "Uh.... sort of rental, I guess."
Waitress: "Then get your own fucking coffee, sweetheart."

Counter seat:
Organic Hippy seated next to me: "Is that sour cream?"
Me: "Uh... yeah."
Organic Hippy: "You're putting it on your omlet? And what is that in there, bacon?"
Me: "And double cheese."
Organic Hippy: "That shit will KILL you, man. I mean, KILL you. Like, dead and stuff."
Me: "I'm gonna die soon, what does it matter?"
Organic Hippy *stunned pause* "Oh shit, man, I'm sorry.... how long have you got?"
Me: "About five or six *mutter* decades.

Santa Is Coming, Look Busy

This new form of torture job leaves me very little time for actual important activities, like having any sort of life or free will shopping.
Thank goodness Bob found the Giftmixer 3000 for me.

The Tracks Of My Tears

I just discovered the coffee I bought last week is *gaspshudderwhine* decaf.
Now I have to get dressed, on my day off (a day normally set aside for bathrobe lounging, idle beer inventory, and self abuse), and go down to 7-11 for some high octane.
Santa needs to bring me a serf.

Louisville Makes The Best Ones

Blogging may be constrained for a few days while I try valiantly not to kill my new coworker.
She's not a bitch. She's not a liberal. She's not even a bit of a snot.
She's filthy rich.
Turns out one of her relatives won the lotto, not a huge one but enough to buy a few houses and some beach propery, not to mention six cars and some sizable banks accounts... died and left it ALL to her. She's working "because I'm bored."
No, of course I'm not *gritting teeth* jealous.
Did I mention she's not quite 20 yet? And is quite pretty?
Youth, beauty, and cash out the wazoo.....

Ah the hell with it, I look good in green anyway.

But What About the Piccolo?

Now available for weddings, birthdays, and bar mitzvahs.
Actually, I'm impressed. I've known people who've been playing with themselves for years and never really done it this well.

Scooped Again

I've had one of these as long as I've been taking off my clothes.
Freelance, I mean.

From the Department of D'uh

(skanked away from that tart over at Froggie's Lilypad who knows I mean tart in the good way.)

Additionally

I've noticed a lot of blogs have their Best Of on their sidebar, and being the sheep that I am, I'm thinking of doing the same. Problem is, I am not objective. I love all my children.
So I put it to you, my loyal cheesy readers... what should I put there?
Nominations will remain open until I forget that I posted this.

I'm Not The Only One

I tell you, how can I resist a man who ends his emails like this?

And Bartlett's ass just exploded. The entire shop now has to evacuate. So I'll talk to you later.

Socked In, Spiritually

There is a vast misconception going around about me. Those of you who actually know me (all three of you) think I am A Fantastic Housekeeper. That you can eat dinner off my floors and have to wear sunglasses to pee because my toilet fixtures are just that damn polished.
I'm sorry.
You are all laboring under what is known in the trade as A Misapprehension.
I am not A Fantastic Housekeeper. I am not even A Good Tidier.
What I am, is slow but unstoppable. Like the mighty Mississippi, I just keep on keeping on, albeit without all those floods and pesky double consonants.
This could be mistaken for laziness in some circles, the way I clean house. Let me assure you, gentle (3) readers, it is not.
It is kindness and consideration.
Granted, it is kindness and consideration toward inanimate objects, but every journey starts with a small step and perhaps some day I'll progress to the spiritual level where I think of, say, my coworkers, in as kindly and considerate terms as I do my dirty socks.
Unlikely, but you never know, right?
Speaking of socks, let's examine why my approach to housekeeping is one of delicacy and tact. Let's say you are a sock, lying happily where you have been stripped off, on the kitchen floor. The Hand swoops down from the heavens, picks you up, and carefully deposits you three feet closer to the bedroom laundry hamper. After you've acclimated to your new surroundings, once more The Hand descends, attains, and gently deposits, again a tad nearer the legendary BLH, where all Good Socks go when they're removed. After several days of travel, you arrive at the BLH, and meet your friends, all of you soon to go to that Big Washing Machine in the sky.
Now, isn't this much less stressful on a poor hosery element than to be rudely grabbed up and dumped unceremoniously into a dark, smelly container? Although for some (Mr. Thong, I'm talking about you) it's not so much of a difference. But I digress...
We're talking avoiding systemic shock, people. We're talking a Kinder and Gentler tidying regime. We're talking Cleaning Outside the Box.
We're talking shite, yes, but remember, it's me.
I am the tectonic plates of housekeeping.
I am not ashamed.

Tis the Season

Since it's allegedly better to give than receive, a phrase I've never really been a fan of except in cases of sexually transmitted diseases with bizarro side effects*, I would like to offer up this very entertaining site to my friend Mo, of Froggie's Lilypad.
*I would like to say I've NEVER had an STD, bizarre effects or not, because the Cheesemistress believes in safe sex and also loves to go "HA! Made you look!"