March 31, 2005
Didn't Fall Far
Well, it had to happen sometime. Mom came home early to find her semi-pro daughter downstairs in the embrace of a customer young man. There was the typical yelling and cussing, and the john cause of it all tried to slink away in the melee.
He didn't make it.
Angry Mom stomped out into the parking lot, unintelligble words were exchanged, and after slapping him in the back of the head, Mom moved in for the kill.
She grabbed the stunned boy and held him in a hug. Then she held him at arm's length, shook him, and hugged him again. Turning him loose, she shoved him toward his car and shook her finger at him.
And as he bent over to reach into the car for something, she grabbed his ass with both hands. I think he got a concussion when he jerked upright and whanged his head off the car ceiling.
And I bet he'll be back, once he gets his allowance.
March 27, 2005
Today I Met Albert
A while back I posted some pictures I took down at Mission Beach, one of them of a monkey drawn in sand on the parking lot.
Today I met the man who drew it, and has been decorating the parking lot and boardwalk of Mission Beach for quite a while.
Albert is a cool dude with a mission... at the beach.
Forgot I Had This One, But Sometimes I Get A Little Behind
I know, I know... excuses make the Baby Easterbunny cry....
March 25, 2005
Press * To Go Mad
In my current incarnation as Temp Cheese, I transcribe the voicemails of people too damn busy to check them. I get to wear this little headset thingy and court my secret lover, Carpal Tunnel, all on company time. While I have no internet access, I do have the entertainment value of listening to increasingly irate or frustrated or flat-out psychopathic callers, as apparently those I am transcribing for couldn't give a good fuck-all if they ever talk to anyone on the phone again.
My Clue, O Clue, Wherefore Art Thou, My Clue?
It became clear after call three from the same gentleman that he had no idea of the difference between voicemail and On Hold.
Call One: "Hello, this is Dave Dimwit, and I need to talk to an associate about my account..... Hello?" *click*
Call Two: "Are you still there? My account number is 0000000, and I have this problem... hey? Helloooooo?"
*click*
Call Three: "Why is thing disconnecting on me? Every time I go on hold, it cuts off... what the hell?"
*click*
Call Four: "Goddamn phone tree. I'm still here, someone pick up!"
*click*
Call Five: "...... (television noise in the background) Shirley? Shirley? Is this you? "
*click*
Call Six: ".... (television still on in background, definitely the theme song to 'Gilligan's Island').... mmmm, mmm, mmmm.... with Gilligan! (shouting) THE SKIPPER TOO!....mmmm, mmmm.... fuck. "
*click*
Call Seven: "No, they aren't answering, the assholes.... what? Yeah, get me one too, the Coors..... ANSWER THE PHONE! ANSWER THE PHONE!"
*click*
Call Eight: "Don't think I won't keep calling. I got all day and a case of beer."
*click*
And that was the last we heard from him. Guess it was an episode of "Gilligan" he hadn't seen.
I Feel Your Pain
"Um... yeah... um... this is Sally Spacecase, and um.... I've been calling for a few days now and no one returns my calls and um..... I mean.... are you all okay? I get the feeling you're unhappy. Or maybe in some kind of emotional distress? ..... Yeah....I didn't get a feeling of warmth or caring or anything from your outgoing message... ummmmm.......Perhaps I could recommend a good spiritual advisor? Or some counseling? ..... Yeah. So, call me, 'kay? Buh-bye."
I have five more weeks scheduled for this... I feel like the Titanic, only scraping the tip of the iceburg so far. But without that sinking feeling.
March 24, 2005
Listing
23 Questions
1: Grab the book nearest to you, turn to page 18, find line 4. Write down what it says:
"Alliteration: The repetition of the same initial consonant sound in two or more words ina line of speech or writing for poetic or emphatic effect, as in 'When to the sessions of sweet silent thought.' (Shakespeare)"
The American Heritage Dictionary
2: Stretch your left arm out as far as you can. What do you touch first?
Desk #3, the non-computer desk.
3: What is the last thing you watched on TV?
History Channel: "Modern Marvels", something about the invention of kitchen appliances.
4: WITHOUT LOOKING, guess what the time is:
18:55
5: Now look at the clock; what is the actual time?
19:00
6: With the exception of the computer, what can you hear?
That same goddamn car alarm.
7: When did you last step outside? What were you doing?
About 15 minutes ago, standing on the balcony looking to see if it was the same bloody Explorer who was uselessly blaring the car alarm as it always is, so I'd know who to throw an egg at.
8: Before you came to this website, what did you look at?
My Gmail.
9: What are you wearing?
Ratty green painter's pants from Old Navy, with a ripped knee and a white t-shirt that says "My Other Tits Are In The Shop".
10: Did you dream last night?
Yes, and the Pope was still bogarting the beer.
11: When did you last laugh?
Last night around 10PM, watching this.
12: What is on the walls of the room you are in?
A picture of a sailing ship in outer space, nine masks, a picture of Elric and his sword, Stormbringer, a brass hanging sculpture of Ganesh, and several Navy citations from the GM1's career.
13: Seen anything weird lately?
I have a mirror, yes.
14: What do you think of this quiz?
I want a prize at the end.
15: What is the last film you saw?
"Grosse Pointe Blank" again.
16: If you became a multi-millionaire overnight, what would you buy first?
After I paid off all my bills, a house for the GM1, so he can have a puppy.
17: Tell me something about you that I don't know.
I could tell you, but I'd have to kill you. Seriously, I really would. Don't make me, because I hate the paperwork.
18: If you could change one thing about the world, regardless of guilt or politics, what would you do?
Abolish religion, PETA, and anti-choice idiots.
19: Do you like to dance?
Yes
20: George Bush: is he a power-crazy nutcase or some one who is finally doing something that has needed to be done for years?
He's our President, deserving of the respect that office endows, and I applaud him for trying to kick some asses that needed kicked years ago. He's much more restrained than I am... the words "glass lake" come to mind.
21: Imagine your first child is a girl, what do you call her?
My first child IS a girl, so it's a moot point, but if I had another her name would be Leeloo Margaret.
22: Imagine your first child is a boy, what do you call him?
He'd have the same name as the GM1, only with a IV instead of a III.
23: Would you ever consider living abroad?
If it were a country that banned car alarms and had decent pizza, sure.
March 21, 2005
A Lot Of P....
After a while, the sound just makes you insane... but you can't stop playing.
Stack The Cats.
March 20, 2005
Ain't That Just The Way?
Am I going to have to buy an entire soundtrack that sucks except for the ONE song I want? I expect so, but this is what I get for even liking "Eurotrip" and singing "Scotty Doesn't Know" until my oops-forgot-to-turn-down-the-burner spaghetti sauce became spaghetti crust.
And while Matt Damon did nothing for me as a Siamese twin, as a hardcore rocker he was one hot bit of tattoo'd nasty.
I'm just sayin'.
UPDATE: The most wonderful Nad creator in the world, Bob, found me a lovely mp3 of "Scotty Doesn't Know" and I am risking vertebra wellbeing doing some cheesy headbanging. BOB ROCKS!
March 19, 2005
Raise Your Hands
Perhaps it's age. Perhaps it's my current personal state of affairs. Or perhaps I'm just more confident in my identity less worried about superficial praise just don't give a good crap anymore drunk. But I find I'm blogging more and more "from the heart", i.e. without my mental editor. I thinking I'm opening up sharing the real me getting too damn lazy and not holding back as I normally do.
Honest. What, you thought I was just mentally circling the drain being colorful and impulsive? Darlings, everything I have said is carefully crafted and calculated to make full use of those tricky alliterative skills present a certain, light-hearted, good-natured, sweetness-and-light persona.
In reality, I am a brat. A self-centered meanie who revels in the disasters and foibles of others. A real person.
And that's okay. Really, it is. I used to be obsessed worried a bit concerned that if I didn't play nice, no one would want to play with me. (By play with me, let me clarify, I don't mean swap naked photos. Get your hand off the email button now.) I mean that if I'm really me, no one will want to comment, or email, or blogroll me, let alone every meet me in the flesh.
(Yes, I used the word flesh. It's not an invitation. Must I remove your email button entirely?)
But massive quantities of alcohol some deep thinking has made me realize a few things:
1. Only a few of you know me in (let me giggle on this phrase) "real life".
2. I have caller I.D.
3. The chance of me ever having the wherewithal to go to any blogmeetupthingy is very close to my bank balance, i.e. low to none.
4. Is "wherewithal" a real word, or did I dream it up during strip-Scrabble? It looks funny.
These conclusions, while saddening in the squashing of hopes and dreams (I really wanted to give Eric a noogie someday, because that's what you do to little brothers), are also very freeing. I can say anything I want. I can be as contrary as I want. I can have (dare I say it?) opinions.
Man.
The mind wobbles. Let me sit down.
Oh.
Okay then, onward.
So let's continue in this babbling vein and flatly state a confession:
I have a secret blogroll.
Go on, weep for my lost humanity, I've earned it.
Finished? Need a tissue? Used your sleeve? Ewww. Okay then, onward again.
I guess blogroll is technically a misnomer, since it's not on a blog. Or maybe it is correct, since it's a list of blogs. But more to the point, it's a compilation of blogs I read fairly regularly, but wouldn't put on my blogroll here at The Cheese because they are what are clinically known as Train Wrecks.
You know what I mean. Those blogs whose writers or subject matter is so off the charts downright Bad that you can't stop looking. You tell yourself that this has to be the worst thing you've ever read, the stupidest outlook you've ever heard, the worst bullshit you've ever witnessed... and yet you bookmark them and go back time and time again to see what else upliftingly ridiculous they've said, thus assuring you that no matter how bad you write, no matter how your life is going, no matter what petty crimes again humanity you commit, there is Someone Else out there who is a bigger waste of skin than you are.
It's the same theory behind the show "Cops". I love "Cops".
So that's my big confession for tonight. I hope it brought you joy and happiness and if nothing else made you feel like a better person, if for no other reason than you aren't me. And no, I won't share my secret list with you. I mean, what if you're on it? How embarassing would that be?
For you, I mean, not me. I gave up shame, remember?
Or *insert evil laugh here* have I?
No, that didn't make sense. I gave up making sense, too.
Bwahahahahahaha!
As long as I'm up.... refill, anyone?
Me Too
Best line from TV recently ("Point Pleasant"):
"I feel like something's moving in my head.
That's normal, right?"
Thoughts, Randomly
1. I heard the weirdest song lyric on the radio... "Your bone has a tiny machine." Now I'm wondering if you have to get a tiny mechanic to work on it if it dysfunctions.
2. I will stomp you to dust if you try to snatch my copy of "The Incredibles" out of my hand, child. Four years old ain't too young to learn the wisdom of keeping your hands to yourself.
3. Target will let anyone shop there. I think they should have a bouncer. Isn't Mr. T available? Or is he doing Grape Nuts commercials in Japan?
4. I watched a teensy tiny security guard stand quietly by as two all-but-flying-the-colors wannabe Blood-or-Crips kids threw gang signs and yelled "niggah!" at each other just inside the store. Then I saw the cell phone in her hand and understood her passivity when the four burly fellow guards she'd called stormed the building and taught the unruly brats what "full nelson" means.
5. Why in the HELL do I not carry my camera round with me?
6. I love snails. Snails are the only bug I tolerate... okay, butterflies and ladybugs...if you're cute, you can have extra legs. Or none. We have tons of snails around here, more numerous when it rains, and I set aside an extra five minutes on the way to anywhere so I can stop at each wandering snail and relocate him to a safe place off the sidewalk.
7. This is because, despite my best efforts, the sidewalks are littered with squished snails, trampled by barbarians. I watch the survivors creeping past the paste that was their friends and think it's like the Baatan Death Crawl.
8. Snails should come with a warranty. Or at least a spatula.
9. Easter means Cadbury caramel eggs round these parts.
10. There was a gorilla-suited sign twirler at the rental office today, with a sign begging people to take advantage of the "super rent specials". This is exactly why we have the high-quality neighbors we all enjoy.
11. Also why the bananas are missing.
12. Did I mention I bought "The Incredibles" today? Then what am I doing here?
13. Must make popcorn first.
March 18, 2005
The GM1 Is A DM, BTW (Vowels Upon Request)
In honor of all my supergeeky D&D friends, I present:
Which Polyhedral Are You?
Rolled away from Impenetrable Prose and Poesy
March 17, 2005
Gravity- 1; Rocky- 0
The enterprising young thing downstairs has branched out into prizefighting. I don't know if she recently saw "The Contender" or "Million Dollar Baby", but fists were flying.
As usual, the parking lot had a few carloads of her friends waiting for her, and apparently some words were exchanged between two "suitors". Maybe one of them owed the other for funds borrowed earlier... I dunno. There was the usual posturing and shouting and throwing of backwards-worn ballcaps to the ground. Could have been more than the usual, because there was a contingent of young skanks serving as audience.
One young stallion, bristling with bad Olde English font tattoos and a shaved head, finally advanced on the other combatant, took a few swings, which were avoided, and then hunched down into himself and moved in with purpose.
He looked good. He looked a bit dangerous and competent. He looked mean.
Up until the point his fashionably worn-dangling-down-to-crotch-level pants fell off.
It's hard to look lethal with your tidy whities out there for all to see. Particularly with that skidmark oh-so-evidently striping the backside.
There was no round two.
March 15, 2005
March 14, 2005
Compelled
I don't have this insurance. I don't need this insurance. I am not endorsing this or any insurance. I'm just not insured for that kind of thing. Endorsing, I mean.
But I cannot stop watching this man.
I CANNOT STOP.
Please send help. And coffee. Oh, and my blue blanket too, please.
Thank you.
Odysseus? What a Wuss.
Since I'm bussing it via an unfamiliar route to the new temp job beginning tomorrow, I decided to do a dry run this morning to make sure of no unpleasant surprises.
As a wise man once said, make plans and hear the gods laugh.
I bet they wet themselves this morning.
My morning travel plans began with riding as far toward my destination as the GM1 was going on his way to work. Then he and I went our separate ways, he to his own temp job and me to the bus stop.
First thing I did was go to the correct bus number stop, wrong side of the street. Fine, no real problem there, except for the driver snickering at me ("Foolish mortal! Didst thou think to begin thy journey so easily?" Yeah, screw you, Charon.), just dash across the street, splash through a puddle from last night's rain on the way, and drop my purse in another puddle at the bus stop. But the proper-directioned bus showed up on time, I climbed on... and discovered I didn't have the correct change. Let me rephrase: I did have the correct change... at home, sitting in a nice pile on the counter next to the door. Oh well, this is why they make the bill slots in the fare box able to accept fives as well as ones... can't cough up the change, though, can you, Ms. Swallow But No Spit Metropolitan Transit System? Ah well, tis but a mere scratch.
I changed buses at the right stop at the right time, only to discover after two buses came and went that I was in the wrong side of the street. Again.
Cross. Wait. Hope for public restroom to magically sprout from the ground like the dandelions that were being encouraged by the now-dampening drizzle.
The right bus shows up, I get on. Happy me.
Time to relax a bit and read.
I've left my book on the bench at the last stop. Sad me.
Oh well, sit back and watch the ever-quickening rain outside the window.
The man sitting in front of me has been hoarding farts since 1956 and has decided that now it's time to share.
The bus arrives at the mall where I catch the last leg of my travel, only due to all the wrong bus/wrong side of the street fiasco, I have to wait thirty minutes instead of ten. This works out well for my bladder, and off I go to find the restroom in the food court.
The food court is open, there is the restroom ahead. Happy me.
They are cleaning the restroom and don't have one shred of decent pity for my overtaxed bladder, even when I do an entertaining dance at the door. Sad me.
Finally in a cloud of bleach and babble they leave, and I pee and all is right with the world.
Look! Another silver lining! A Starbucks right there next to the foodcourt! Ignoring the fact that due to rain and puddles I look like a bag lady with a bad incontinence problem (it was NOT, it was a puddle splash, that's my story and I'm sticking to it, and it to me) I decide to go in and venti my troubles away.
Two young Up and Comings are behind me, in all their suited glory. They whisper and giggle about the ragbagged wretch in front of them.
That would be me. Thanks, guys.
I get my plasma and sweetener it up to the acceptable level and leave... and discover that the beautifully tiled concourse of the mall is one slippery-when-wet fucker.
There I lay, on my ass, in the same puddle that's followed me all morning, wearing my venti mocha.
I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry.
Especially when I hear the Young Up and Comings laughing their collective asses off at my graceful ass-over-teakettle.
Finally they approach, asking if I'm okay between stifled snorts of gaiety.
I answer them the only way I can think of....
(Sidenote: Everyone has a talent. Some people can wiggle their ears. Some can roll their tongue. Others can tap dance. I can throw up whenever I want. On command. A full out vomit call.)
Right on Up and Coming's shiny wingtip.
It was the first time I'd smiled all morning.
And then I went back to the bus stop, wet and stringy-haired and smudged, smelling of mocha and barf, and got on the first of my three buses home, and after an uneventful return trip, arrived here at Chez Cheese... to see the sun break through the clouds and light up my balcony in a lovely golden misty haze.
If I could do it all again, I wouldn't change a bit... except maybe to eat a little more breakfast beforehand.
It's better to give than receive, they say.
March 13, 2005
All This AND $7 An Hour? Where Do I Sign Up?
The temp agency might have come through at long last. I have a possible gig next week for a company that many many years ago I temped for via a different agency and was hired on permanently until I was laterally promoted to a division that was gobbled up by a bigger yet more tightfisted division and I was made redundant.
That is a longass sentence. Let's break for a rest and recovery and meet back here in ten.
.
.
.
.
So anyway, for a least a while I will be carefully edging back from the financial precipice. I hold no illusions that this will become a permanent job, as did it previously, as the assignment is the silliest second most unique I've ever been pitched: I am to retrieve the voicemails of execs who are travelling and email the transcriptions to them.
Seriously. These people are too busy to check voicemail but they can get to their email? I guess in between porn surfing during conference calls and sending each other the latest Dilbert, they find time to see if "You've got mail!" I know I do would.
I really shouldn't be surprised. During my permanent employment there, one of my regular duties was to white-out various items in documents that one of my execs wanted changed. Either he was too good to handle something as lowly as white-out, or he just didn't understand the process.
As you climb the ladder in this company, you lose both basic skills and personality points. I've seen a lowly graphics guy with a sweet disposition and great talent be advanced up the ranks until he was an assistant vice-prez with the attitude of a Mike Leavitt self-righteous know-it-all and the abilities of a PETA freak brain-damaged weasel. I've seen a department sub-manager blow make her way up to division office manager and forget how to push the elevator buttons (I'm dead serious here... she had to have someone press the buttons for her, as she'd acquired a killer set of nails and couldn't risk them.)
Big corporations have advantages for us transient scum temps, however. As long as I've temped, I've never wanted for home office supplies, and no one hits up the temp for contributions for birthdays, showers, or mitzvahs. I am the fly on the wall and the world (for the length of this assignent anyway) is my blog fodder.
No, I won't be blogging from work, because I remember that of all the divisions in this company, only the I.T. boys had any brains and don't hesitate to use them. Back in my first flush of new employee-ism with the corp, I wrote a scathing review of a coworker's fashion choices to a friend, and an I.T. nerd tried to blackmail me into a date with the scavenged evidence. (I bought him off with brownies and tales of my gun-toting very jealous husband.) But good old pen and paper is still a skill I possess and I'll be watching and paper-blogging until I get home to my own little piece of web.
Not to mention the two hour each way commute via our illegal alien and unwashed scum filled public transit system should be blog material for a while in itself. And a good reason for me to update my tetanus shot.
My loss of useful time and sanity is the blog's gain, I always say.
And yes, I do realize that just a few blogseconds ago I was whining about my lack of finances and job options, etc... I reserve the right, as owner and operator of this fine establishment, to babble as the winds of impulse move me and be as self-contradictory as the mood requires. As my mom says, I'd bitch if they hung me with a new rope.
March 12, 2005
Cake Day
It's She Who Will Be Obeyed's birthday... and her hubs has set up a comment party in her honor. Don't be shy, call up the strippers, grab some cake, and take yourself over there to give her some Happy Birthday greetings.
While you're there, look for my picture. I'm the one on the right.
A Counting List Thingy
10 happy thoughts:
1. "Carnivale"
2. "Deadwood"
3. "House"
4. "Lost"
5. "CSI"
6. "Monk"
7. Survivor"
8. "Battlestar Galactica"
8. sushi night at IHOP
8. my mad math skillz
9. I have beer handy.
10. And vodka too.
9 of your favorite things:
1. Television
2. Movies
3. Beer
4. More beer.
5. Manatees
6. Caramel
7. Did I mention beer?
8. Good coffee
9. Living 2500 miles from relatives.
8 reasons to not live in the South:
1. Heat rash
2. My ex-sisters live there.
3. Baptists
4. Giant cockroaches
5. Kudzu
6. Grits
7. Poison ivy
8. My ex-sisters' demonspawn live there.
7 things you would like to receive as gifts:
1. money
2. money
3. money
4. money
5. money
6. beer
7. money
6 people you know who would be interesting fictional characters:
1. the GM1
2. me
3. Tonya
4. Steve
5. Bill
6. Bob
5 addictions:
1. Coffee
2. Caramel
3. Television
4. Beer
5. McDonald's
4 dream jobs:
1. Stand up comedian
2. Hermit
3. Rich hermit
4. Funny rich hermit
3 wishes you would make if you found a magical genie in a lamp:
1. Enough money to never have to worry again
2. The body I had when I was 30.
3. That my enemies suffer, oh yea verily, a bigass lot.
2 places you would like to visit:
1. England
2. Disneyworld
1 memory that comes to mind when you read this:
1. The countless lists I've done before when I can't think of anything else to blog about.
March 11, 2005
The Devil Is In The Details
Technical difficulties of a sort are kicking my ass this afternoon. Possible a sign that I should be attending to neglected chores instead of blogging, but until the Clue Fairy hits me over the head with his wand, tough noogies.
One oddity today... I was trying to comment on a blogspot blog and got the tidy little message "The blog you were looking for was not found." Not once, but three times. Considering I got to this FROM the blog they claim not to find, I suggested loudly that if it were up their ass eating a ham sandwich, they'd know where it was. (This is the standard response around here if you ask the location of something... as is "time to get a watch" if you inquire of the time. We're a helpful lot.)
Okay, fine. Blogspot's got the rag on, I can deal with this.
Next I went to visit some LiveJournal folks.... who kept telling me the document contained no data. Fine. Be that way. Keep your stinky old data, I don't NEED your data. I got plenty data of my own. *sniffle* Data hogs.
This put me in the spirit of avoiding chores further improving my own little blog, so I set about reinstalling Sitemeter on The Cheese, since a while back I'd removed it in a fit of Bloody goddamn hell it won't LOAD, what's holding it up? Oh... you again. *rip rip rip* But somewhere down the line, Sitemeter has declared a jihad on me and declares "The connection was refused." Fine. Bet you didn't know the connection you're refusing was to those legendary skinny-dipping photos from my drunken orgiastic sot-fest vacation, did you, Sitemeter? Ha! Too bad for you.
So technical improvements will have to wait until the digital planets align or whatever the hell needs to happen. Maybe I can spend the time constructively anyway, like learning all the little bits of Movable Type that I never bothered to learn.... like what happens if I click on thi
There's Always Room For Cheese
Whilst having my breakfast, I received an email from the lovely Tiffani, alerting me to what I'm going to be doing for the next hour or so.... The Cheese Indigestion Puzzle.
Knowledge Is A Powerful Tool
Rant Morgan- Showing you how to do things you shouldn't do.
Excerpt from How To Go Cow Tipping:
Be sneaky and don't touch the cow before the actual tipping though. They're oblivious sometimes and may not catch on that you're there, but if they do, they’re not going to tip over. They’ll probably moo. Then you’ve just spent time touching a cow in a field for no reason.
I love to learn.
March 09, 2005
Won't You Take Me To... FunkyTOWN**
I like little Q and A things like this. It gives me a chance to stretch my fibbery muscles... but you'll never know which ones, will you? *insert evil laughter here*
1. IF YOU COULD BUILD A SECOND HOUSE ANYWHERE, WHERE WOULD IT BE?
Wait a second, where's my FIRST house? Damn you, black hole, damn you!
2. WHAT'S YOUR FAVORITE ARTICLE OF CLOTHING?
Ancient faded and tattered jeans I blatantly stole borrowed from the GM1 and embroidered all over with little random squiggles.
3. THE LAST CD YOU BOUGHT?
The soundtrack to "CSI".
4. WHAT TIME DO YOU WAKE UP IN THE MORNING?
4:30AM. Why yes, I am insane, why do you ask?
5. IF YOU COULD PLAY AN INSTRUMENT, WHAT WOULD IT BE?
Air triangle.
6. WHAT'S YOUR FAVORITE FLOWER?
Tulips for looks, gardenia for smell, pizza for taste... you say pizza isn't a flower? Ha! Try making pizza without flower and see how far you get!
Why no, I don't win spelling bees... why do you ask?
7. WHICH DO YOU PREFER, SPORTS CAR OR SUV?
My dream car is and has always been a plaid VW Bug. Or a Sherman tank... those babies are nifty. Crappy mileage, though.
8. DO YOU BELIEVE IN AFTERLIFE?
Wait, where my FIRST life? Damn you, reality, damn you!
9. FAVORITE CHILDREN'S BOOK?
"Where The Wild Things Are"
10. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE SEASON?
"We had joy, we had fun. We had seasons in the sun...."
Shit, I hate that song. Now it's stuck in my head. Damn you, Terry Jacks, damn you!
11. IF YOU HAD ONE SUPER POWER, WHAT WOULD IT BE?
Teleportation, with a side of telepathy.
12. IF YOU HAVE A TATTOO, WHAT IS IT? Which one? I have ten... one on the ankle and nine in a tidy row down my back. The ankle one is a vaguely Celtic symbol of unknown meaning. Down my back are:
the eye of Horus
a computer
a vampire bat
a yinyang
a lemur
the symbol for alchemy (so I was told)
an alien
a reel of film
a dancing man in the moon
13. CAN YOU JUGGLE?
Numbers, jobs, time, chores, opinions... yes.
Cats... nope.
Balls... nope.
14. THE ONE PERSON FROM YOUR PAST YOU WISH YOU COULD GO BACK AND TALK TO?
Oh HELL no. Talk? Not a word. Sic the ninja wizards and laser-eyed bears on? Absolutely.
15. WHAT'S YOUR FAVORITE DAY?
Payday.
16. WHAT'S IN THE TRUNK OF YOUR CAR?
Library books, a yoga mat, a rubber tub full of various car cleaning supplies, and that dinky spare tire that comes with the car. And the requisite "liberated" garden gnome, of course.
17. WHICH DO YOU PREFER, SUSHI OR HAMBURGER?
Sushi. Always and forever, sushi. Yummy be thy name.
18. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM?
Caramel.
19. DO YOU BELIEVE IN LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT?
I believe in the power of good kissing and good dental hygiene, so I'd have to say "love at first taste".
20. WHAT WOULD BE YOUR DREAM JOB?
Professional lottery winner/hermit.
21. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE MEAL?
Sushi. Didn't I say it loud enough before?
22. WHAT ARE YOUR TWO FAVORITE MOVIES?
"Grosse Pointe Blank" and "Paint Your Wagon".
23. WHAT'S THE MOST ENJOYABLE THING YOU WILL DO TODAY?
Watch "Lost".
24. WHAT'S YOUR FAVORITE HOLIDAY?
My birthday. What's that you say, it's not a holiday? Get the hell out of my world, blasphemer.
25. IF YOU COULD HAVE JUST TWO HOURS TO YOURSELF, WHAT WOULD YOU DO WITH YOUR TIME?
Get a boob job.
Not really. I just like saying "boob job." Makes it sound like my nipples should form a union.
26. FAVORITE SOUND?
Silence.
Damn you, super-ghetto-bass-stereo owners! Damn you!
Lustily list-lifted from Impenetrable Prose and Poesy
**The title has nothing to do with the subject. I just liked the sound of it.
Oregon- The New Berkeley
Surely this has to be a joke site: Ocean Haven.
FOR REASONS OF HEALTH & SAFETYOkay, I don't have pets or a Hummer, but I'm very tempted to take up cigars, buy a pit bull, rent the HumVee, slap a big "Bush Won, Get The Fuck OVER IT Already" bumpersticker on it, and drive on up there. Maybe use my NRA membership card as I.D. for the room.OCEAN HAVEN CANNOT ACCOMMODATE SMOKERS,
PETS, FOLKS TRAVELING IN A HUMMER, OR
FOLKS WHO VOTED FOR BUSH & HIS NATURE DESTRUCTIVE POLICIES
Holy crap. Resorts for complete moonbats, what will they think of next?
Cheesy thanks to Cerebus Blog for finding this originally.
PS... apparently the Ocean Haven folk got a little upset about the attention and have pulled the Voters caveat from the front page of the site. However, you can find it under "Nature Friendly" in the "Practices" section, or for the original front page, here's the Google cached version. "We Welcome Diversity", my ass.
Thank you to commenter Fripp over at Wizbang for finding this.
Memories of Thighs Past
The youngster downstairs (shall we name her? How about a contest?) isn't my first time of having Love For Sale neighbors. When I lived in Hawaii, I saw how the pros do it.
I lived in military housing in Hawaii, before the recent privatization wave. Our housing was out in the boonies, at Barber's Point, a closed Air Naval base. The living quarters weren't apartments per se, they were semi-detached houses. Not very old, good sized yards, and full of madness. Apparently due to drive time to the base from there, this was not the popular housing, and those who wound up in it were either insane, disreputable, or didn't really care.
(Coming from the hours-long traffic jams of San Diego, we didn't really care. My lack of sanity and rep have never really been in question, have they?)
I met my best friend Tonya while I lived there, and spent a lot of time over at her house, since she had two daughters and liked to stay nearby so they could play around the neighborhood. They were allowed to go almost anywhere, it was that safe... except near the house across the street.
We never did figure out when The Sisters moved in across the street. Technically, of course, it would have been one of them and a spouse. But Spouse was off on deployment, and Sister One must have moved Sister Two in to keep her company.
We discovered that was "Company" as in "open for business".
Our first clue was the day that six motorcycles roared up and parked on the front lawn of The Sisters' place. If you went to central casting and asked for the stereoptypical biker, these guys would have shown up. Almost immediately, the noise level started climbing and the stereo beat out any planes that would have ever been on the runway down the street. Almost as immediately was the appearance of the base police, as the one thing our military housing was excellent at was idiot and noise control.
The decibels dropped, the cops left, and The Sisters must have decided the party was best left to continue elsewhere. So they left with the bikers, dressed to impress. I think the definition of "impress" here is "display the sale items."
All the times we ever saw The Sisters, they dressed identical, like twins, and they looked enough alike that they could have been so. This time they wore those short-shorts that are cut high enough to leave a lot of cheek exposed, and hang low enough that their thongs looped high and proud up over their pelvic bones. They wore tiny bikini tops, triangles no bigger than a nipple, strung together with the thinnest of ribbons. They wore the entire makeup counter of a drugstore, complete with 2 inch dragon lady nails.
Now, to be fair, we could say they were just wearing their bikinis to take the party down to the beach... except it's a rare thing to wear over-the-thigh spike-heeled fuck-me boots in the sand.
They scampered up on the back of a motorcycle each and vroomed off.
Tonya and I then made a mistake... we told the horndogs men about it.
Tonya's house was the gathering place for our group of friends, and every weekend there would be 3 or 4 couples and their kids there. (Btw, I realize now that Tonya was a saint.) At the next gathering after we'd seen The Sisters in action, we told the group, and the party decamped to the living room to keep watch... after all, it was the weekend.
Sure enough, a few hours later, several motorcycles and a car or two came calling, and out ran The Sisters, wearing tiny lycra dresses and, as we found when they climbed up on the bikes, going commando.
We started a pool for the next customer count. Tim usually won, damn him.
And Tonya added an extra bottle of Windex to her grocery list, to take care of the smushed-up-against-the-glass nose prints from all the guys.
Unfortunately for us, we never got to see the excitement that would have happened if Husband of Sister had returned from deployment and walked in on commerce. As mysteriously as they appeared, one day The Sisters were gone, leaving a tire-tracked front yard, a broken screen door, and (as we heard later), a backyard full of condoms thrown used from the upstairs bedroom window.
March 08, 2005
After School Special: Two For One
I've always suspected something was up with the girl downstairs. Most teenagers will take full advantage of the fact that Mom is working.... have a few friends over after school, maybe a boyfriend, have a bit of a party.
Apparently Girl Downstairs is a member of the Future Business Leaders of America or something. No mere babysitting or job at McDonald's for this chick.
She's a member of the oldest profession.
No, she's not a farmer.
This was all, up until this afternoon, pure speculation on my part. I don't like her, never have, and as long as she has that damnable stereo system with the speakers she obviously stole from Spinal Tap ("they go all the way to 11") I never will. So perhaps my labeling of her as "That Little Whore", as I fondly refer to her, might have been just rhetoric on my part.
This afternoon, one two three four FIVE teenage boys came out of her apartment. I know this not because I keep that strict of tabs on her, but because teenage boys have two tones of voice... mumble and LOUD AS HELL. These guys were stumbling out to their car, high-fiving and shoving each other as boys will do, and as they were getting into the car, one boy stopped and looked back at the apartment. The kid driving got out to see what the hold up was.
Pausing Boy, after another glance back: "Dude... loan me ten?"
Driver Boy: *lauging* "Going back for seconds?"
*long pause*
Pausing Boy: "Uh... yeah."
Driver Boy, handing over money collected from the others in the car: "Dude, pace yourself. Shit."
And Pausing Boy dashed back into the apartment building.
Spring break should be interesting around here.
Sticky Like A Copy Of "My Little Puppy" After Lollipop Day
The ever-wonderful foot-flushy Scooterdeb has passed this stick to me, and I shall do my best to fulfill. (Except for the Scooterdeb part, that sentence sounds strangely like my honeymoon.)
You're stuck inside Farenheit 451, which book do you want to be?
The Stand by Stephen King.
Have you ever had a crush on a fictional character?
Molly, from "Neuromancer" by William Gibson.
The last book you bought is:
"The Haunted Air: A Repairman Jack Novel" by F. Paul Wilson.
The last book you read:
"Motley Crue: The Dirt"
What are you currently reading?
"Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell" by Susanna Clarke
Five books you would take to a deserted island.
"Neuromancer" by William Gibson
"Cryptonomicon" by Neal Stephenson
"The Stand" by Stephen King
"History of the World" by J. M. Roberts
"Holidays In Hell" by P. J. O'Rourke
Who are you going to pass this stick to (3 persons) and why?
Zonker, because his mind works in extra special ways.
Velociman, because his mind works in extra twisted ways.
Janet, because her mind works in extra learned ways.
Never Marry A Fried Fruit Pie
The Snack Food Chinese Zodiac.
I am Bubblegum.
Bubblegum - You have an expansive personality but are easily deflated. However, everyone admires your flexibility and resiliance. Resist your tendency toward clinginess. Your ideal job: Actuary. Marry a Twinkie or Bridge Mix, but never a Fried Fruit Pie.
Hadn't planned to, actually, but it seems good advice anyway.
March 07, 2005
Poking Through The Ashes
If the founding father of blogging can finally burn out, what hope can be held for the rest of us? This article about Jason Hall, and other blogging pioneers says "Blogs, to some extent, have built-in expiration dates." And we all know someone from our blogroll like our sorely-missed Primal Purge, who hung up the gloves and retired from the ring.
But this video, made by Hall as his closing online declaration, is both the scariest and yet the most satisfying thing I've seen in a long time. Because who hasn't felt like this at one time or another? Yep, lots of times.
I particularly liked John Walkenbach of J-Walk Blog's comment about the decent time to stay away if you make the break (toward the end of the article) because how many times have we seen that sort of thing happen and thought pretty much the same thing? Yep, lots.
March 06, 2005
March 05, 2005
Brush Off
Sherwin-Williams "Burnt Steer Manure" exterior semi-gloss enamel Suitable for window frames on a stained wood or shingle building. |
Which house paint are you?
March 04, 2005
Nevermind
Please disregard previous wailing and gnashing of teeth... apparently (well, duh!) my computer is smarter than I am and tucked my addresses and such away for a rainy day. I have email again. For the nonce, anyway.
And now I am going to go soothe my worries with trashy television (America's Next Top Model Season Four is encoring tonight!) and sale beer.
Perhaps more blogging when I am in a better mood.
Bad
Does any one have a knife handy? I need to stab myself in the head, badly. Wait, does that make sense? If I stab myself in the head, it WOULD be bad, therefore it would be done "badly". Or maybe I mean the consequences of such stabbing would be utterly horrendous and it would be "bad". And I mean bad as in awful, not bad as in fat. Or is it phat?
Damn stupid language.
Anyway.... what the hell was I talking about? Oh yeah.
I have buggered up but good. Good, meaning badly.
Ah fuck.
What I did was this... I thought hey, it's rainy and the GM1 is at his buddy's for the evening, why don't I jack up my computer and finally get that nice Firefox everyone says is so lovely to replace this antique Mozilla 1.5.
So I did. And it's pretty. (Yes, of course I got the extra themes, I'm such a girl.)
But then comes the hand is quicker and yet far stupider than the eye part: I thought (it's that thinking thing that will be the fucking death of me, no good has ever come of such) I don't need you anymore, Mr. Mozilla 1.5, so I'm just *clickity click click* uninstalling your butt.
My brain muttered "Uh, isn't there something we want off there first?" as my mouse said "CLICK" and Mr. Mozilla 1.5 went buh-bye.
And took my mail client with it.
I have NO way to get my email, it's all gone. GONE.
Yeah, yeah, I know, panicking is undue here, because I can download that Thunderbird doowilly, and I did, and will install in toot sweet... but what if I can't get it to work? What if I've permanently buggered up my email capacity for life?
Breathing..... breathing.... drinking...
I'll let you know.
Oh, and the job I was hoping so bad to get? Didn't. And the temp agency call I've been waiting for? Didn't get it either. And even after cancelling my YMCA membership and cutting budget items to the bone and sweet-talking the apartment manager into postponing my rent increase for another month, we still might have to cancel the cable, and with it, my internet access so I guess in a while this email situation might just sort of be moot. And mute too. I shouldn't have told you all this, because it's embarassing to be sliding slowly down that slippery slope to living in a cardboard box under the freeway. But you know me. I had to tell you all this because what goes better with cheese than whine?
March 03, 2005
Let He Who Is Without Clothes Cast The First Nacho
The Great Naked Cheese Bandit of Tennessee has confessed to his crimes.
Michael David Monn was nabbed by Marysville, Tenn., police last July while he was running around in the buff, stinking drunk and covered in nacho cheese.(Cheese-covered thanks to Tiffani for reminding of my wilder youth.)
Monn "was highly intoxicated, broke into the John Sevier Pool (search) snack bar area, stole some snacks and did some damage and was caught naked," the prosecutor at Monn's trial told the court, according to the Marysville Daily Times.
March 02, 2005
Because You Are What You Eat
 I tashte like Alcohol.Heh. Heh. I taste like beer. I like beer. Buy me a beer. I'm not drunk, I can drink plenty without... What was I saying? Beer. What Flavour Are You? |
(tastefully sampled from the sweetest Liv, who is Not A Shrinking Violet)
And I've Never Been To Spain
From Bubblehead, I find a new meme: Ten Things I've Done That You Probably Have Not
1. Been on a game show ("Win Ben Stein's Money").
2. Had an extremely large goldfish named Tallulah.
3. Thrown up off the top of Diamondhead Crater.
4. Eaten sea urchin.
5. And liked it.
6. Worn my thong around my neck on a public bus.
7. Never listened to Celine Dion willingly.
8. Had my (now ex-) husband commited to a looney bin so I could have the car for the weekend.
9. Gotten one tattoo a week for two months.
10. Had my hand stepped on by Peter Wolf of J.Geils Band