Tuesday, August 31, 2004

Still promising myself not to cry. Getting increasingly more difficult.


So, yeah. I went down to PMI this morning, all chipper because I didn't have to run groups today, and even more chipper because I found out that my favorite hot-ass case manager was to be back from vacay today (apparently that's where he was when I came to work last week with my hair all good and wearing a skirt. Crap). Today I headed down on I-275 without caffeine (shocker) and wearing my new Steves (acquired at a greatly discounted price) matched with -
gasp!- a skirt.

I was out for blood, people. Plain and simple.
I got down there. I was impressed with my own ability to find something to wear that was nice, yet appropriate for being surrounded by delinquent teenage boys. Sure enough, Mr. Khaki Pants was at the front of the school, greeting all the kids as they got off the bus. I went up to greet the kids, and he turned to greet me. As he smiled widely with his perfect teeth and just-dimpled-enough smile, he extended his hand for me to shake as he said, "Hello, Sheila. How are you doing this morning?"

At that very moment, with my hand firm in his grip, I blinked twice... from the glint coming off of his wedding ring.
"Well, gee, Officer. I've never seen that before in my life!"
Honestly. It wasn't there the last time I saw him, nor was there a tan line indicating there had ever been one there. You may recall a few posts back that I did do the obligatory ring check. But it was there now. Clear as friggin' day. The damned thing wouldn't stop shining. It was like a pixie on crack.

And all that "blood" I was "out for" five seconds prior had suddenly drained from my face. Crap.

I find it strangely funny that Debbie Gibson's "Lost In Your Eyes" played as I pulled out of that parking lot. I had to laugh, just a little.

Man, was that a downer. I mean, I was thisclose to practicing writing my name with his last name. And it would have looked hella good!
I need something positive going into this new month. Something cheerful, inspirational, pure. Ah, I have it!

"When, Lord, when? When does Sheila get to see the sailboat?"


Yes, Danny does cheer me. Danny is pure and good. Cheerful as all get-out. Ahh. But wait. Danny's married, too! Sigh. In the words of Holden McNeil, "When's it gonna be my time?"

Oh, I so need to get over this. I'm going to have more Sierra Mist.

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I promised myself I wouldn't cry...

First, hats off to ESPN Page 2 poll participants who stated that Britney's 2004 was one of the worst seasons anyone's had out of the last 25 years. She is, of course, second only to Ryan Leaf according to the poll. Brit, take that, and Daria's impassioned plea in the comments section to heart, ! We want our girl back!

I promised myself I wouldn't rant about your current situation on here, because frankly, my eyes can't take much more bleeding. But we are worried. Why are you letting this happen? With that yutz? He makes Stan Szbornak look like Julian McMahon (or at least, Stan Szbornak is on more equal footing w/Julian than whatshisface). Do you not feel positive about yourself? You can get it from other, more appropriate channels!

Tyson Beckford himself said he'd gladly be your man, if you didn't want whatshiscrap anymore. Tyson Beckford! You got to feel all up on him when you guys were shooting the video for "Toxic"; you know what I'm talking about! He even admitted on camera that he has a picture of you on his fridge. Tyson Mother-Scratching Beckford! Come on, go get you some chocolate, girl! You could use it!
Are you lacking inspiration? Reminders of all that is good and right and happy in this world? Look no further! I shall provide, and thus, end my mini non-rant, and hope that you come to your senses before this shit goes down!


If ever there was a more inspirational image, I have yet to see it.

I need a drink.

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I can't leave it like this.

Sorry, I have to close out my evening on a more positive note than my last post. To wit:



Ah, that's much better. Goodnight.

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Monday, August 30, 2004

Let's play the quote game!

Here's a little challenge for you Banana World visitors: correctly identify the person I am speaking to in the below quote, and you get a prize! This offer, of course, does not apply to the person in question, since that would be absolutely unfair. And craptacular. Send me your answer by posting a comment. Here it is:

"Why does everything with you have to be about butt sex?"
I am going to keep this entry very short, as it has been a long day with delinquents, and I am still trying to forget the performance by Hoobastank at the VMAs last night, which, in my opinion, was one of the worst things I've ever heard in my vast memory of horrid things.

This ridiculously large bank of useless knowledge also includes moments such as the entire Fall 1995 Semester, culminating in the 1996 Fiesta Bowl, my second major knee injury in 1991, and the time I acquired that mysterious rash after watching Christina Aguilera's video for "Dirrty."

Add this to the friggin' list. I'm out!

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Sunday, August 29, 2004

Makes me want to scrap!

I don't know why I bothered switching back and forth between the VMA's and time spent doing productive things. Because for the portions of the evening that the tele was actually on MTV, things absolutely blew. Starts with J.Ho. Too much Beyonce. Way too much Usher (particularly him talking about how "there is no feud" between him and Justin Timberlake... either way, I think they should both go far, far away). No Britney anywhere. Makes me want to glove up and bust some ass.

Yeah, she knows what I'm talking about. Bump Usher and his overrated and overplayed ass!

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What the hell am I seeing?

I'll tell you: Alicia Keys, Lenny Kravitz, and Stevie "Somebody Just Give Him A Peek!" Wonder are onstage, and they're busting their chops on a cover of Red Hot Chili Peppers' "Higher Ground." What the hell is going on?

Somebody get Abby up there to sing "The Star-Spangled Banner" later in the show. After all...

"I'm going to say I might have been the best singer out there," Wambach said. "I'm going to go out on a limb here. I might get a record deal after that performance."

Agh. Ashlee Simpson is on. My eyes are bleeding. Bleeding! The Tony Hawk is not making the bleeding stop.

Oh, but what is this? They just showed Mandy Moore saying that she's presenting an award with Marilyn Manson. Then they showed Manson being interviewed about how he got to the awards show, and he responded, "I rode in on Mandy Moore." I think the bleeding might stop just long enough for me to watch this.

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Friday, August 27, 2004

A very short list of my favorite things at this very moment.

  • Soccer Olympic Gold!

  • Ice cream, Jell-O, pudding, yogurt, various non-chunky soups, Propel and water (the least painful things to consume over the past few days).
  • "N****, who taught you 'octagon'???"
  • Blinky things, like this one I found as someone's avatar or something on the Gator Sports board:
  • "Easier," as sung live and highly buzzed by Joe Mac and Eman, played at and sung along to obnoxious levels.
  • Nick Pappagiorgio.
  • $6 desk fans.
  • Going to sleep early.
  • Impending football.
  • Singing along to "Better Man" by Robbie Williams in the car, with the windows up and air blasting, while nobody's looking.
  • Chaos ensuing.

  • Riley's ability to groan at the most inappropriate times.
  • Lips without big gaping holes in them.
  • Impending football...with Chris Leak.
  • Posting copious amounts of photos all willy-nilly in one entry.
  • Crazy-ass people posting comments on the blog! :)

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Thursday, August 26, 2004

Some words from Abby on winning the Gold.



"No words. This is for them. It is for these players going through their last world championship: Brandi Chastain, Kristine Lilly, Joy Fawcett, Julie Foudy, Briana Scurry, Mia Hamm ... all these players that have done so much for this team. This is for them."

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Wednesday, August 25, 2004

When my hair is good, I get all cocky.

This is something I have just come to discover in the past month or so. Thinking back to the conversation I had with Jaz this evening just drove the point home. See, as I was telling her, Keri, Marc, and I had a late lunch at Tia's Tex-Mex (where I successfully tossed Marc's salad in public in such a way that it miraculously did the old "up and under" to his shirt... oh, the conclusions you could draw! The explanatory diagrams I could draw! Alright, we draw the line here). On our way out the door, a employee of the establishment was walking towards us, and we happened to catch each other's line of vision.

Now, this fellow by far does not fit into the general "what Sheila finds attractive" file (look for it on the second floor of the Smathers Libraries under the title "Every Guy Sheila Ever Found Attractive. Ever." Make sure you bring a sweater and extra bottled water!). He was a big, beefy sort of fellow, with some sort of door stop facial hair (a big no-no), and we continued to hold each other's attention for a few seconds. In my uncharacteristically brazen form, I looked him dead in the eye, smiled, and winked at the sonovabee. He smiled a little back before I broke the gaze and headed out the door.

For heaven's sake, I winked at somebody. Who I really didn't find attractive (although I imagine Kris would bop me on the noggin in disagreement if she got a chance to see this fellow... I think he's more her type of "B&D" variety). And nobody seemed to notice, which is probably a blessing. But I think that the only reason I did it was because I was feeling slightly confident, because my hair was feeling fairly decent (I have no idea how it actually looked at this point in the day, but earlier in the morning, before I headed to work, it kicked my ass).

Jaz summed it up thusly: "Hey, you were slutty for a minute today, and it felt good."
I love how she can condense complex issues into simple statements. We should have a whole day named after her.


Anyway, yeah, that's what happens. I feel good about something, and it makes me get all cocky. This could potentially be troublesome. Might even result in a bar fight.

Speaking of bar fights, here are two of my favorite cuties, who I would vote Least Likely to Get in a Bar Fight:

These fine young men, of course, are Russ and his brother Alex. Russ recently swapped vows with Stephanie (another hottie) a few months ago, and I must say, I wish she'd clone him. And I regret that I didn't get to spend more time shooting the poo with Alex during the wedding weekend, because he is just fabulous (nor did I get to steal his awesome-ass hat! Gah!) I just want to bite a chunk out of these boys, I love them so much!

Hey, if you guys have any ideas on who you think would best portray these boys should I write a movie about my life, post your ideas in the comments section of this entry, or e-mail me at bananajr2k@gmail.com. Send me a message if you have suggestions on who you'd like to play you, if you want. Always looking for ideas and inspiration. However, I have to warn you in advance: Dan is already laying claim to Matt Damon playing him, so you'll have to work it out amongst yourselves, preferably in a mature and nonviolent fashion.

But that, of course, is just my preference.

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"Psychos do not explode when sunlight hits them; I don't care how crazy they are!"

So yeah, last night I went to sleep as From Dusk 'Till Dawn played softly from my tele. It's a miracle I didn't have any nightmares. But damn if I don't love that movie!

This hole in my lip is more like a pain in my ass. Some of you may already know that trying to eat out of one side of your mouth is one of the most ridiculous and futile things you can try. I am just stupid enough to continue attempting this at every meal. What's the definition of insanity again?

I was at the Dollar Tree earlier this evening, looking for toys and games for the kiddies at work to play with (the little ones that don't make me think of tubal ligation, those kiddies). I was on the phone with Jaz during our three-hour-long conversation that was occasionally paused for bad reception areas and her battery dying (or so she says), and on the overhead speaker, I hear one of my favorite songs from high school: Veronica, by Elvis Costello. Don't know why it's one of my favorites, but it just is. And it cheered me.

What song did Dollar Tree Radio elect to play right after that? Pretty In Pink. Swear to God, it must have been my evening. I think the Powers that Be felt bad about the fact that I had to hear two different Wilson Phillips songs on two different stations at the same in the car this afternoon before eating Mexican food. What? Did that just make any sense?

Anyway, it was a red-letter evening, as far as Dollar Tree Radio was concerned.

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Monday, August 23, 2004

BQ or Plain?

So, I came across this picture on my computer, and it had me thinking: How does Jason Priestley just show up in the weirdest of places?

First he's in a Britney video. Then he shows up in some highly lauded indie film that I want to see. Then he's suddenly on the cast of Tru Calling (minus the Black Bart mustache, thank goodness). It's like Jason Priestley is the Hollywood equivalent of "Where's Waldo?" or something. Moving on.

I'm starting to wonder when these dissolving stitches will actually dissolve. I've had them in since Saturday afternoon, and ever since then, I've been fiddling with them and trying to eat out of one side of my mouth. It's starting to become bothersome.

Hell, I think we're half past bothersome. I'm going to go try to drink out of one side of my mouth now.

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"You all ready to bust some ass?"

Sorry. Kris and I were discussing that movie earlier, and it's making me want to watch it again. Maybe I'll reward myself with doing so this evening if I can make it through the day without kicking too many kids out of group. Little smartasses think they can get me to be angry in anger management group, huh? Well, they've got another thing coming!

I'll do a current status update, then I'm off to bed. Yeah, like you guys really care what the hell is going on over here!

Currently playing: "Breezy," by Jojo. Yeah, I said it. Hey, five minutes ago it was "Tambourine" by Wild Orchid. Don't judge me!

Last thing I saw on TV:
Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle. They've been playing it on HBO every three hours. "I've got to go take a shower, because I am just covered in... well, you can only imagine!" Classic.

Last thing I ingested: the antibiotic I have to take every six hours, chased with some water. My life is fun!

Last person I talked to on the phone: Kris. Hence the movie nostalgia mentioned above. Anybody want to wager a guess as to what movie that is (besides Kris, of course)?

Last person I talked to at my house: My bro. We were watching a DVD and kept saying "Do it, do it!" like in Starsky & Hutch until he decided to let one rip in my room; then I kicked him out. Breaking wind was decidedly what I was talking about when we were quoting Ben Stiller. Gah.

Last words before retiring to the bed: "Who let the psycho in?" I think it was Dan. Dammit.

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The stinging sensation lets you know it's working!

I'm waiting up to take my next scheduled dose of antibiotic. Then, I shall go to sleep, highly anticipating the day ahead, chock-full of delinquents and migraines. I just can't wait!

So yeah, I had high hopes for getting things done this evening. I was going to do my laundry, try to avoid the hole in my lip getting noticed, and generally relax. I never did get custody of the laundry room today (something about the dryer not being "done,") I got a big break with the whole lip thing when I was informed the folks already ate and it would just be me and my bro eating dinner (he knows the whole debacle, so no need to hide it from him,) and I spent the rest of the evening waiting for the laundry room to become available (it never did) and fiddling with my computer while the Court TV Cops marathon played in the background. Riley did her part by lying around on the bed or floor and looking pretty. And it was another successful "tucking in" at bedtime!

Overall, it was a good, albeit unproductive, evening.

Sorry. When Kitty skips, I am just cheered.

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Sunday, August 22, 2004

Ludicrous gibs.

Since the events of this weekend (which I may describe in better detail at a later date) have left me with a bump on my head and a hole in my lip, I find myself very tired and, although hungry, quite unwilling to eat anything that would irritate said hole (which is basically everything ever). Nonetheless, my dear mother, who has no knowledge of the injuries I've sustained (and, God willing, shall never have knowledge of them), has lovingly cooked one of my favorite stews for dinner. This would be the one that has the garbanzo beans, cabbage, potatoes, and occasional plantains thrown in (if she's feeling spry). My mission now is to go out to the kitchen and eat dinner with the family, and not have my Mom, who will be sitting five feet away from me, notice me gingerly spooning hot liquid and food into the good side of my mouth. Because, if she does notice my pain, or the huge knot on my head, or the chunk missing from my face, there will indeed be hell to pay. And the last time I checked, they were not amused when I tried to pay with I.O.U.s.

Wish me luck.

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Thursday, August 19, 2004

Sweet Tomatoes has kicked my ass, yet again!

Sadly, it's true. I am just stupid enough to reason that I can go to Sweet Tomatoes and not overload on goodies. But when it comes down to the wire, and I've made twelve trips back for chocolate chip muffins or bruschetta focaccia bread, not to mention twenty-three glasses of Diet Coke (the last twenty of which are actually caffeine free), and ignoring the ridiculousness of bothering to drink a diet soda with that insane an amount of food... Well, I just end up disappointing myself again and again.

Maybe I should stop going there with enablers.


This young man stood at the soup and pasta bar for two whole hours, debating on whether or not he should eat the ping pong ball "because it's there."

Ooh, feeling bloated. Think I'll go drink something.

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"Did I fall in love, or did I find disaster?"

Undoubtedly both.

I am idiotically tired, yet I insist on sitting here to post. I spent some time after dinner making a bracelet for the very nice person who invited me to try out GMail. So far, the account is working well. After I've used it for a week, I'll post the address for you guys so you can use that as an alternate address for me (or maybe I'll send you a mass GMail... Hah!). I know, I know: shut the hell up.

Riley, being the good girl she can be on special occasions, is sleeping peacefully in her "room" (i.e., her kennel). She's getting really good at going to bed when I tell her to. She used to make her way from my room to the hallway, then would sit near her food bowl, foolishly thinking I'd just forget I told her to go to bed. Now, she just trots her happy ass to her room. I'm such a proud mom. I even have her picture on my desk at work, not to mention another one in my mailbox in the front office. But hell, I even have a picture of Grantasm.org.net.fm on my desk, so I don't know what that says.

I do not, however, have what Hufflepuff refers to as "the engagement/wedding announcement photo" on my desk (it's on the corkboard, silly!). To wit:

This is, of course, how it appears in the Sunday paper. No, I just couldn't scan the original, and this was my idea of a quick fix. Surely, I will post the proper scan ASAP. After all, you can't really see how impeccable my hair was in this one.

Anyway, back to Riley Boogie: I guess I should formally train her. Unless you've got something she perceives as a treat in your hand, she doesn't often come when called (I guess she's on to that whole "Let me call you so I can put you in your crate" thing. Damned smartass.). But she is generally a good dog. She gets all excited when she hears someone getting ice from the freezer, because more than likely, if it's her gramps, he'll give her a cube. And some days, I think she's pissed at me when I come home from work late. When I make my way to my room, she's right behind me, smacking me in the ass with her front paws. Must've learned that from her Uncle Ross. Saucy bastard.

She did the damndest thing the other day. I spent most of the weekend totally cleaning out my closet (no Eminem, please) and put the rug that was in my room in the closet, instead. Riley's used to lying on it where it used to lie, in front of the hope chest. Well, the other day, she jumped up on the bed via her usual route, floor to hope chest to bed. When it was time for her to get back on the floor, I nudged her towards the top of the hope chest, where she just stood there. I pushed her butt to encourage her forward to the floor, but that just resulted in her butt somehow sticking up in the air. She wouldn't disembark the hope chest, just stared at the floor. I couldn't figure out why she wouldn't jump down, since she'd done it about a thousand times before this day.

She stood there for a solid ten minutes. There was a towel on the floor from when I moved my dresser into the closet, and for some reason, I decided to place it in front of the hope chest. Sure enough, that rascally little shit finally jumped off the chest, landed on the floor, and sauntered to a cool spot on the floor. I can't believe she was waiting for someone to roll the carpet out for her. Amazing.

Yes, folks, Amazing Pet Stories, right here in the Banana World Blog. The fun, it doesn't end!

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Wednesday, August 18, 2004

Twelve hour workday = Non-stop fun.

Not really. But I believed it for a second.

It was another fabulous day at the office. This was the first day they opened up the new waiting area for Children's Outpatient. It was a little confusing for everyone involved, because the clients have to come through a different side of the building, and they are all discombobulated when they reach their therapist's office. What's more, it was somehow decided that they were going to move the old front office to the new location this morning, while everyone was there, as opposed to during the evening, when everyone's routine wouldn't be disrupted. Needless to say, the word "clusterfuck" was tossed around like a beach ball.

Add the craziness of the move, along with movers who don't know shit (they forgot to bring tools... thus tempting me to say "I'll see you with my tools, fuckface!" while Randal expounded on their levels of genius,) to a full day of clients, capped off with one of your favorite bi-polar clients informing his mother that he was walking home, and I'm ready to fall asleep in my dinner. I'll be back in a few.


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Problems.

So, it seems as if we are having some problems with the comments people post not showing up on the blog. I don't know what's going on since I just started using this foolishness a few days ago, but hopefully it will be resolved.

I'm going to sign off for now, as I have a rather disgusting day ahead of me tomorrow. Pray I make it back in the evening to share my pain.

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icanbeatit.com

Marc's new website. Check it out.

(No, not really.)

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More Than A Feeley.

Sorry, I just had to say it.

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I Think I Am Going to Cry.

From The Hollywood Reporter. Oh, the possibilities!

The Vine: Freddy, Jason aren't dead yet

Even before 20th Century Fox's "Alien vs. Predator" captured the top spot at the boxoffice over the weekend, New Line Cinema began plotting a new face-off for its horror favorites, Freddy Krueger and Jason Voorhees, who had their own moment at the top of the boxoffice in August 2003 with "Freddy vs. Jason." Sources said the studio is in negotiations with director-producer Sam Raimi for a project titled "Freddy vs. Jason vs. Ash." In the proposed sequel, Freddy (the "A Nightmare on Elm Street" films) and Jason (the "Friday the 13th" pics) would go up against Ash, the cynical anti-hero survivor of Raimi's "Evil Dead" trilogy, which also includes "Army of Darkness." Bruce Campbell played the character in the trilogy and would play him again if the deal were to close. Although Raimi would not direct, he holds rights to the "Evil Dead" franchise. "Freddy vs. Jason" grossed more than $74 million, so even if a deal with Raimi can't be reached, New Line is determined to find a way to extend the franchise by introducing a new character or just pitting Freddy and Jason against each other one more time. (Borys Kit)

Somewhere on Jax Beach, Levi is curled up in the fetal position, alternately crying tears of joy and soiling himself.

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Tuesday, August 17, 2004

I just can't place it...

See, on ESPN.com's "Here's Looking at You" section, they have this posted:

I can kind of see the resemblance, but looking at the picture of Heather and A.J. previously posted here, there's someone else he reminds me of...

I just can't quite picture exactly who it is.

This is going to bug me for at least the next ten minutes.

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"The brother in the red shot me dead."

On my errands jaunt this afternoon, I purchased some goods for use in a little care package type basket I'm making. When I got home, I noticed this on the side of a pair of plastic baskets I bought:

I'm telling you, he's still with us! I didn't see that when I bought it! And it's on a red basket! Good Lord! Tupac is calling out to us! Chris Rock was right! Justice! I demand justice!

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Never again.

I can tell you one thing: I'm never going to eat Jell-O while watching Nip/Tuck agan. No, sir! Just not a good idea.

Today was pretty good. I got a lot of errands done after going down to Delinquent Central. Spent a bit more money than I intended, but got things done.

PMI wasn't too bad this morning. I didn't have to run any groups (thankfully) but I did talk to some of the staff down there so they get used to having a presence from my agency. There is this new case manager there, who is, unusually, 1) a man; and 2) hot as hell. Yes, unusual for the situation on both counts. Hot, male case manager. Woot!

Anyway, I formally met the guy yesterday while I was talking to the program director. He came in to the PD's office, looked at me, offered me his hand to shake and said, "Hi, I'm John."

And, of course, I replied, "And I am so fucking yours!"

Oh, wait. That was my internal fantasy dialogue. What I meant to say was that I replied in kind, joked around for ten seconds, then that was basically it.

Today, I returned to PMS, er, PMI, and stood outside with the staff as the students came in on their respective buses. John was making it a point to shake every student's hand as they got off the bus (something I think the new PD started). It was almost funny, like the kids were boarding a cruise or some shit. Except it was some sort of prison cruise where you got frisked before you boarded.

I stood out there, shaking hands with a boatload of delinquents who would probably shiv me if they had the chance, chatting about marine institute teaching methods and making references to good old Billy Glasser (he brought up Glasser, not me). Made me feel right educated. Sure did! I even did the obligatory visual scan (for the second time in two days, mind you), and yet again, found no ring. Not even a tan line where a ring would be. The plot thickens. Here's to hoping that I don't continue to make an ass of myself in front of him, or that he's not gay, or that he doesn't fall for some silly intern. I'd just die.

Oh, yeah. Nip/Tuck. Soooo good tonight.

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He works hard for the money, so you'd better treat him like crap!

Okay, so I updated the new/old/whatever page for about two months this summer. Click here to go to it. I'm still planning on Marc's generous design sometime in the future, so hold that link close to your heart. Any suggestions on what to do with the site are welcome.

Apparently, Marc is off on some sort of arboreal sabbatical.

Of course, I've taken the liberty of cropping out that big-ass fallen oak off to the side. But hey, it was too big. And it made it look like they were actually doing something beforehand. Bump that.

I'm off to eat some chow. Back in two and two.

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Monday, August 16, 2004

Advice from Mr. T.

"Be the ball. And throw yourself!"

I'll say one thing: The man knows his shit!

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Sunday, August 15, 2004

My laziness knows no bounds.

Put it this way: instead of sitting down at my desk to type this, I've dragged the keyboard and mouse to my bed and am lying here, posting. Oh yeah, and since I can't see so well at far distances, I've put on my prescription sunglasses in order to be able to get an idea of whether or not I'm typing correctly. So, I may be committing some gross typographical errors, but I may or may not be aware of it. I know, I know. don't push further on the subject.

Oh, wait. Why don't I just make the text super huge while I type so I can read it better? Why didn't I think of that earlier? Huzzah!

Tomorrow, I've promised the delinquents that after a good portion of anger management group, we will take a breather and play a rousing round of Password. Yes. Picture it: myself, in a roomful of adolescents with anger issues, in an anger management class, in a program that everyone, including the kids, thinks is "bullshit," trying to get said adolescents to play a game where they have to get their teammates to not only participate, but use and/or develop verbal communication skills that may or may not be there? Tell me this isn't going to be fun!

Bend It Like Beckham was on again this evening. That movie was made two or three years ago, and it just kills me that a main point they try to get across in the movie is that there are plenty of opportunities in the United States for female soccer players. They especially paint the WUSA as the ultimate goal for post-collegiate women's soccer. I just feel terrible that all of that was indeed true...until the WUSA folded this past year, just months after BILB became a successful movie. Crap.

Another one of my favorite lines in the movie is this:
"Lesbian? Her birthday's in March. I thought she was a Pisces!"

Anyway, the women won again at the Olympics, this time against Brazil. The bad news is (and don't say we didn't see this one coming) is that Abby got another card and has to sit out the next game. Which, I think, could potentially suck for us, since she is the hot scorer on the team, Mia notwithstanding.

Speaking of Mia, I wonder if she ever points to the back of her jersey and yells, "Nomar!" Just a side thought. Okay, moving on.

I'd like to see Heather get some playing time during these Games. Maybe the coach just doesn't like UF alums in general. I mean, the Danielle snubbiing, great players like Baxter and Sarah not even getting a second look, Heather not getting much playing time... I would say that Abby would be a great argument for the coach not having a bias, but, well, Abby could just kick the crap out of anyone standing in her way, so that's not really an argument. Ah, maybe I just have something stuck in my craw about it.

Also, the media is nuts. A while back, someone wrote that Heather is considered "the Anna Kournikova of soccer." Well, I guess I could see that, except for one thing:

HEATHER DOESN'T SUCK AT HER SPORT!


Note the placement of the ball in this picture of Heather taking on the number one icon in women's professional soccer. Looks like you got sizzerved, Mrs. Garciaparra!

Holy crap, did I just say that? I'm going to pretend I didn't.

See, these are the same kinds of analogies that make my eyes bleed at night. Like the one about A.J. and her being "the Ben and J.Lo of Philly." You've got to be friggin' kidding me! Statements like that probably made A.J.'s trade to Miami that much easier. Besides, we all know how that Ben and J.Lo thing turned out. I'm not going to even justify the comparison with an argument. Eyes bleeding to much, blurring my vision.

The "Heather and A.J. of Miami," by way of Philly.

Okay, before I get any more worked up, I'm just going to ask this one last question:

Why the hell can't she just marry Anson? Oh, wait. He's already married. Never mind. Dammit!

The search for a more suitable mate (for Britney and myself) continues...

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Too. Much. Chicken. Soup.

After copious amounts of my mother's homemade chicken macaroni soup, I am feeling extremely bloated. Of course, said chicken macaroni soup was consumed during the latest episode of Six Feet Under, which was brilliant, as usual. It was made doubly brilliant by another guest appearance by Peter "Mr. Asscrack in Leather Pants" Facinelli, in his recurring role as Claire's art school classmate, Jimmy. Heh. Jimmy. Peter. Anyway, he talks about "grinding the corn" with Claire. Classic. Grinding the corn. This season is turning out to be so good!

Heh heh. He said "grind."

I'm happy to say that I got just about all my laundry done. You know when you think you've gotten it all accomplished, then you find two or three items that were hiding at the bottom of the hamper, or in the corner of the closet, and by then, you have to just wait until your next load, because it's not worth it to start a whole other load for just those few items? Yeah, that's what happened to me earlier this evening. Gah. It just drives me crazy to know that everything's been washed... except those three things. Absolutely batty!

I can't believe it's already Sunday night. Even with Friday off because of the hurricane, it feels like there wasn't any weekend at all. I think I'm going to demand a refund of some sort.

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Sunday catch-up.

Just got back from a day of shopping at Costco with the matriarch. We went for the sole purpose of buying goods to send to the islands, but came back with a hell of a lot more stuff. Now, I'm attempting to do some laundry so I don't have to go deal with delinquents in St. Pete Beach tomorrow wearing my one of the shirts from my "Great Frat Shirts of the Southeast" collection.

I just watched the end of US/Italy Men's Volleyball prelim, where Lloyd Ball was getting all hot and bothered after losing to Italy. I think I even heard him say something like "Fuck you! Good win!" before he asked the I-talians if they wanted some. Now, I don't know how the entire game went, but that was a hell of a segment to catch! Americans, all sweaty, hot, and bothered! Hell, at least they weren't wearing those damned sailor suits. GO USA!


Darth encourages all US olympians to call home using 1-800-GO-VADER.

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Saturday, August 14, 2004

Charleycansuckit.com

Well, I think I've heard from just about everyone I was worried the storm would hit. Marc and his mom sent some digitals of his house and her backyard. Here, I'll post these three of his house:

Note the tree on the roof, right over the master bathroom he just had remodeled a little while ago. Bastards.

The other big-ass tree that got uprooted. I'm sure Marc is glad he got that grass mowed, huh? :)

This is the closest to a "full frontal shot" having to do with Marc that I ever want to get. Note the missing shingles, leaning street sign, and other hints at backalley tomfoolery.

Luckily, Oviedo Mess reports that other than a bunch of crap flying everywhere and missing fences and holes in the roof, nobody seemed to have too much terrible damage. However, Marc did say he was going to put pictures of the damage around his neighborhood on a webpage. All he has to do is acquire the rights to Charleycansuckit.com.

At least he seems to be doing well with it.

After an entire evening of trying to get in contact with her via cell phone or text message, I finally got to speak with Kris just a few moments ago. She said that she and Randal and the kids are fine, and there's nothing wrong with her folks' house, which is lucky, since the hurricane made landfall exactly where they were (and to think that they went down there to avoid Charley! Sheesh. Damned fickle hurricanes!). She did report, however, that other houses in the neighborhood were decimated, and a house three down from them was "basically a skeleton." Shit. Talk about dumb luck or divine intervention. I'm not sure which one was at work here. Regardless, I am breathing easier now, knowing they're alright. With the bad cell reception, however, I didn't get a chance to find out if they would have an easy route to come back home.

Whoops, duty calls. BRB.

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Almost a decent bedtime.

Not quite. I am actually thinking of going to bed now. It's been a day full of hurricane prep, no rest, no hurricane, the prodigal son coming home for a day, then leaving for another two, and Riley sleeping all day in the bed like a bum. Hell, she's even sleeping now. Either she's really lazy, or I'm just not as smart as she is.

Bump this. Goodnight.

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Friday, August 13, 2004

Olympics Fever Has Begun... (Part 2)

What the shit is this? They just showed the US delegation, and we look like a bunch of pansy sailors. I mean, I know that Katie sure does love those Roots hats, but the rest? And why did the cameras not bother to seek out some of the soccer players? Going to lie down for a while now.

Where's my 1998 championship tape? This is a travesty.

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Olympics Fever Has Begun...

Yeah, about two days ago, when the girls batted Greece about gently on the pitch. Still don't understand why prelim play started two days before the opening ceremonies. And I think they could've shown more spirited play for their first time out. Well, at least they won, and Abby scored. Maybe Heather will pull a similar "Oops, Must be Da Bus Mix!" move like the one she pulled last month and get a goal. That would be cool. Can't wait to see it.

Right now, I'm watching the opening ceremonies. Katie Couric just accused Bob Costas of being "a bit slow on the uptake." It's take no prisoners time, I suppose!

Hold on... are those hot Bosnians I see? I'm going to need a minute. After all, I've got to get torqued up for Brazil, too. No comments about "Brazilians," please. Riley's been through enough mockery.

Damned Frenchies. Wearing olive leaves on their heads and waving flags that are France on one side, Greece on the other. Froggy ass-kissers! I'm not going to even look for a hot Frenchman... they're all imported from other countries, if I am to believe that episode of Sex and the City where Carrie dates the French architect who leaves her money on the bedside table after their date. And that guy also does the commercials for Rooms To Go. So, yes, I am inclined to believe that there are no natural-born hot Frenchmen, if SATC had to recruit a very American furniture hocker to slap on a cheesy Frog accent to convince me that there were. Whew! That was a lot.

Heh heh. Bob just said, "It's Denmark that rules the shuttlecock in Europe!"

Aren't you glad I can keep focus?

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Mmm. Catfish.

The post hurricane blog post has officially begun. I am sitting here, after a quite satisfying dinner of fried catfish, courtesy of a mother who, thankfully, no longer was hysterical about impending weather doom. I managed to wake Boogie from her slumber enough to get her to stop drooling on my pillow and stick her in her hallway so she could have dinner, too.

After dinner, (read: now) I have been able to establish contact w/some of my area cohorts to confirm their safety in all this non-storm we're having. Dan is feeling the fury of the gift shop. Patterson is calling Dan a homo and telling him to IM him. And Marc is either taking a nap or fielding questions from the press. We're not too sure.

I'm just worried about Kris and Randy. I hope they are getting through the storm okay. I just saw some footage from areas near to where they are. I'm turning the channel.

Starting to wonder if this blog would be a good idea to keep up as a supplemental to the page. Replacement? I don't know. There's no substitute (No substitute!) for quality Banana World Goodness. Outside opinions welcomed.

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My dog is a lazy whippersnapper.

I'm still getting used to this whole bloggery business. For instance, I'm finding out that the whole "Save as Draft" option probably should be put to more use; this is my third attempt to post this in the past half hour. Rat bastards.

And this whole time, Riley has been snoozing on my pillow, possibly drooling on it, too. Dammit.



See, Boogie and I were moved to take a little dognap after lunch this afternoon (during which, my mother's level of hurricane hysteria swelled when she spent the entire meal quoting coworkers and the news reports in regards to the storm), which lasted about an hour. During that nap, Hurricane Charley apparently shifted course somewhat, heading for landfall south of us, in the Ft. Myers/Port Charlotte area.

(Wait a minute... isn't that the exact area that Kris and Randal Al-El drove to last night to avoid the hurricane? Balls. Those kids just can't win!)

Anyway, that nap took place around two hours ago. And this lazy pooch is still on my pillow. Oh, wait, she's shifted somewhat in her sleep. Maybe I should go take a picture and wake her ass up with the flash. Or, maybe I should just watch Bend It Like Beckham. It's on cable for the fiftieth time this week. However, I just can't tear myself away. One of my favorite lines is still this:

"All I'm saying is that there is a reason that Sporty Spice is the only one of them without a fellow."

Gotta love those Limeys. Ooh, lemon-lime soda. I think I'll have that. But none for lazy beggars who drool on Mommy's pillow.

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Hiatus.

Signing off for now, until things are all clear and accessible again. Hope everyone is safe. The fam is now going to try to spend the next few hours entertaining each other. This should be interesting.

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There's a hurricane a-comin'!

Nothing says "family bonding time" like a category 3 hurricane bringing impending doom to your house, let me tell you! I am ensconced in my home with my folks, my brother, and Rileymatic, and everyone's already getting on each other's nerves, and the power hasn't even gone out yet.

I'm trying my hardest not to panic, which is becoming increasingly difficult in my observation of my mother's worry and my dad's snitty demeanor. Also, the Prodigal Son actually managed to use what little common sense he still has left and figured out that maybe, just maybe, he should be at the house to help out and weather the storm. Frankly, I'm surprised he even bothered showing up today.

Riley hasn't really eaten very much yet today, and that's normal, b/c I believe that she usually eats more during the afternoon hours. However, I'm trying to figure out if I should even have her eat much at all, considering Hurricane Charley is supposed to hit our area this afternoon, and that's her prime time for deuce dropping. Gah. Maybe I should go remove the bowl.

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Bedtime for Boodie!

So friggin' cute!



Actually, it was a long time ago. She's been in bed for a few hours now. Time for me to do the same. But this blog business is certainly easy. Now I'm in a turmoil. Back later after I awaken, so long as I'm not in the middle of the friggin' hurricane when it happens.

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Photo posting, take one.

Let's try an oldie but goody, shall we?



Got to love the classics!

Why do "oldie" and "goody" end in the same sound, but with different spellings? Am I a moron? Don't answer that.

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Wheel in the sky keeps on turning.

This is what I've been reduced to. I'm trying to think of anything else but my roof tearing clean off my house because of a hurricane (thanks so much, Jules. God bless your home and family!).

So, this bloggery is new business to me. I'm so used to posting on my web page, but apparently, this is something simple that scores of people have been doing for years, whilst I've been toiling away on free web space site, cursing the bane of my existence that is Front Page.

Do you mean to tell me that instead of doing my page, I can just post on this here blog? Is that possible? Is that something I should even consider doing? What is to become of my dreams of Web Page Goodness?

IS THIS WHAT I GET FROM SUFFERING THROUGH MONTHS OF NO WEB DESIGN?

Damn you, Salazar!

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I finally did it.

I went on blogspot. Got a blog. Named it bananawhirled because some jackhole already took bananaworld. This is just too much.

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