Monday, July 31, 2006

"All they see is ass!"

"They don't care what's glued on to the other side; all they see is ass!"

That's what I get for flipping through the channels and passing Dog: The Bounty Hunter.

Speaking of dogs, I must tell you about the weirdest thing to happen in front of my house since Patterson turned into sales associate of the year at our garage sale.

Friday, the next door neighbor who has a spotty history of taking care of dogs happened to be dogsitting some little poodle-type job. Riley, aka DJ Rumpshaker, was at the front door to greet my mom. My mom stood at the front door to block Riley from running out, as she loves going to the neighbor to get petted. My father, the mischievous sonofabee that he is, decided to open the door wider and nudged Riley out the door, knowing there was another dog in the driveway.

The neighbor, not thinking, excitedly called Riley over to her. Riles obliged by running down the driveway, then stopping short at the sight of this other dog. She then went forward to do the obligatory sniffing, which the other dog wasn't into. The other dog started whining, and somehow Riles took offense and started growling and chasing after it.

By the time I got down the driveway, Riley and the other dog were running in circles around my neighbor, who stood dumbly at the center of the chaos. I then tried to reach into the middle of the fray to grab Riley, which was like trying to find the right moment to jump in between the ropes in double dutch.

Why, do you ask?

Well, at this point, my dumb-ass neighbor thought that the best way to extract her dog from the situation was to pull the leash up so that the dog was off the ground (thank goodness for small favors, as the dog was at least wearing a harness instead of a regular neck collar).

Think that's the worst of it? Think again!

Not only did she lift the dog off the ground by its leash, she started to spin around in a circle to get the dog away from the pursuant Riley. The dog swinging in the air only pissed Riley off more, as she growled louder and continued to chase.

I couldn't believe my neighbor was this dumb. I couldn't believe I was trying to extract my dog from this whole mess.

So here I was, trying to jump in, all the while dodging various dogs and stupid neighbors, dirt kicking up everywhere, dumb neighbor making useless screeching noises, when I get whacked in the ass by a swinging poodle. I lurched forward, grabbed a hold of Riley, then bugged out.

Once inside the house, I chastised the dog, and put her in time out for a bit. (That's right: I forced her to watch the commercial for Bring It On: All or Nothing. Yeah, I'm a cruel mom.)

I was pissed when I walked into the house. But, I soon realized that it was because I was astounded by the bullshit sideshow that happened outside.

After dinner, my mom and I cracked the hell up about it. Especially after my mom gave her interpretation of the swinging poodle by making a lasso motion over her head and adding some sort of a siren noise.

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Sunday, July 30, 2006

Because you asked for it...

Fraulein N was kind enough to remind me that I was going to write about the time I saw Brokeback Mountain. And, to be honest, it wasn't going to be so much of a review as an anecdote. So, Fraulein, I hope I don't disappoint.

(However, the likelihood is high that I have already, many times over and in many other situations, so... just chalk this up as another one of my things. Come on, you love me 'cause I'm cheeky and I flake out on shit like this at random, right? Right?)

And, if you haven't seen the movie, please don't give me the added guilt of ruining the story for you if you are going to see the movie. Even though I'm really not going to go into the detail of the movie, if you would, divert your eyes from this post. Maybe weave me something nice.

Memorial Day weekend was quite busy. Early on Saturday morning, the fam saw my Mom off to her flight to Connecticut, where she was going to spend a week tending to my sick uncle. Later that morning, I found myself in the middle of Hurricane Sarah (or, as Danhole simply calls her, Jibber-Jab Sarah), sitting at Kelly's, trying to eat brunch and comprehend everything she said. Hell, if you think I run the Tangent Marathon, this lady runs the Tangent Triathlon. Yowza.

After brunch, I headed over to Shannon's to witness the wonderment that is young Gavin, her newborn son, who at the time was a little over two weeks old. Now, the thing about Shan is that previous to her mommyhood (does using that word make me sound like an asshole?), she was the first person I'd think of as a supporting argument for not having children at my age. This was merely because she works quite successfully in our chosen profession, is a couple of years older than me, and had not yet spawned. (As it stands, I find it increasingly difficult to use other friends of mine as examples of non-parenthood in order to justify 1) my nonexistent dating life and 2) my stubborn insistence on not making my parents happy grandparents like all of my aunts and uncles are just yet.) My options for a supporting argument are dwindling down, as everyone seems to be blasting babies out of their hoo-hahs faster than you can get me to sing along to "Fire Water Burn." Not that there's anything wrong with blasting babies out of your hoo-hah. Not at all! Don't get it twisted, boo.

And by the way, yes, I am the root of all that's evil. Yeah, and you can call me "Cookie."

Anyway, back to the 'back. I spent most of that day over at Shannon's. Her hubby, Cowboy Jesse, seemed relieved that I had shown up and thus prevented the whole family expedition to the Home Depot, and he happily went about his chores for the rest of that afternoon. The dogs were more than happy to get some more attention, Shan was glad that she didn't have to haul the baby out in the heat and humidity, and Gavin was happy to do the things two week old babies do best: poop and sleep.

And let me tell you, the young man is a champ at both. Oh, he's just like his daddy!

We spent a good amount of time just catching up on things, admiring the Coach diaper bag that the Cowboy, in a fit of uncharacteristic girliness, bought for Shannon, and lounging about. At one point, we figured we should watch a movie, so we went down the list of available movies to order "On Demand." We decided we were not in the mood for Narnia, or Jarhead (now, we both wanted to see Jarhead due to the whole Gyllenhaaliness of it, but decided that the Cowboy would want to see it too, and it was probably not a great movie to be watching with your slumbering tot only yards away from the speakers).

We settled on Brokeback, because we both wanted to see it, and we knew we couldn't get any of the straight guys we know to watch it with us. We would've asked our gay guy friends, but of course, you know by the time it hits "On Demand," they've all seen it in the theaters. Because they're good little gays, and we are horrible little heteros, of course. (Many apologies on behalf of myself and Shannon. You guys must be so disappointed.)

We managed to watch the whole movie, despite interruptions from our cells and some serious bouts of mid-movie snacking. And I think it was a wondrous movie, but I have a dilemma. I do have a positive opinion of the movie, but feel weird saying that I "enjoyed" it. As much as I was moved by the story and the acting, I was pretty depressed at the end. Love that you fight for, struggle with, wrap yourself in, but ultimately cannot have, and everything that goes with that, is not a theme that makes you want to go to all of your friends and say, "Hey, I've got an idea... we're bored, and want to have a good time; let's watch Brokeback!"

Nevertheless, I thought it was a very good movie. I washed a bit of that lingering Havoc aftertaste (so difficult to get rid of) away with Anne Hathaway's portrayal of Lureen (although, this is yet another movie where she gets all randy in the backseat of a car and rips her top off... I think she was a little amped to shrug off that Princess cape there for a while). For once, I didn't think of Michelle Williams as Slutty Jen from the Creek. Those ladies made me hurt a little for the both of them, not to mention their husbands. Heath Ledger and Jake Gyllenhaal looked so... tortured. So yeah, I was affected by the movie. And it made me angry that those themes, those taboos, persist to this day.

I don't expect to change it. I know that everyone is entitled to their opinion of what's right, what's wrong. Lisa went into great detail about this same theme a few weeks back. When I read that entry then, this movie immediately came to mind. As did every loving relationship I have ever been in, been aware of, or witnessed, gay or straight.

So yes, if "enjoyed" translates to "affected me," then I did enjoy this movie. Despite Heath Ledger mumbling every line so thickly that I thought Ennis Del Mar was a long lost relative of Karl Childers.

Oh, here comes my horrible stream-of-consciousness... I just thought of a great collaborative effort that could meld the worlds of Karl Childers and Ennis Del Mar! A work that would swirl together the themes of murder, love, passion, stigma, and the tenets and taboos of homosexuality! Ready to hear the title?

Slingback Mountain.

I know, I know. I'm probably going to hell.

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Gigolo Joe.

Ah, Joe, you ripe bastard, it's your birthday. And we're getting old. And you're probably not even going to this blog anymore, so I can say whatever the hell I want to. I can talk about all that embarrassing shit from back in the day. I can even make shit up.

But, I probably shouldn't, since most of that embarrassing stuff had to do with me. Come to think of it, most of that embarrassing stuff happened to me. Never mind, then.

Happy birthday to one of the best friends/brother-type creatures a little Asian girl with nothing but a pocket of moxie and a dream could ask for!

Love,
Me

p.s. Don't forget to eat your noodles, or else Perla will get pissed. And nothing's worse than an angry Filipino nurse. Well, almost nothing.

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Friday, July 28, 2006

Please, let it be a slow day.

Yesterday was slow, but with the wicked thunderstorm swirling about, it didn't seem like it. The power went out twice (of course, the phones stayed on the entire time), and I could hear the crackling of thunder and lightning through my headset. I was almost hoping for a freak power problem so we could get off the phones or go home early.

No such luck. Fignuts.

Today I woke up with that strange combination of anticipation and dread that comes with knowing it's Friday, but that you also have to slog through that Friday at a job loaded with chuckleheads to get to the reward of having two days, chucklehead-free.

I really need to take a vacation.

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Tuesday, July 25, 2006

Brokeass molehill.

So, I don't find myself going to the cinema much these days, because I'm usually broke as shit and trying to do the whole "budgeting as part of a plan to keep my life in order" thing. Funny, since I generally find both of these things overrated from time to time.

Well, you know my happy ass couldn't stay away from Clerks II on opening weekend. And if I were still in college, this would've been a major group outing that would take up an entire management class lecture (always played those in the background of what I was really doing at the time, anyway) to organize.

As it happened, I only brought along one of the available boys to this screening, as the other one pansied out with a migraine.

As we waited in the roped off line for the movie (my heart cheered to see such an exclusive-looking line, and it wrapped around a few times, to boot), we discussed some upcoming movies. I figured that with my companion's affections for Sarah Michelle Gellar, coupled with his hetero man-crush on Dwayne Johnson, Southland Tales would be something he wouldn't mind watching.

"Buffy and the Rock in a movie together. I hear they even make out. That should be an interesting dynamic, huh?" I postulated.

"Are you kidding me?" he said, whipping around, looking bemused. "He would break her in half!"

I thought on this for a moment.

"I said they were 'making out,' I didn't say they were 'doing it,' dude," I told him, when I realized he heard me incorrectly.

This time, a slight look of shock on his face before the shoulder shrug.

"Unless, of course, you're doing it wrong, which I suspect may be at the root of your dating drought," I concluded.

So, now you see why we left names out of this anecdote. I mean, the poor guy has suffered enough.

Hey, did I ever tell you guys about the time Shan and I watched Brokeback Mountain? Well, remind me to do so later, as that was the original intent of this post, and I kind of got sidetracked with the whole "breaking people when you make out with them" thing. Shit, maybe I have it all wrong.

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Thursday, July 20, 2006

Cheap caffeine can be very, very bad.

I get the distinct notion that I may have difficulty sleeping tonight.

Since I've been at this dread job, I have tried to curb my caffeine intake for a number of reasons; most notably, the fact that I have less freedom to roam and pee when necessary as I had at my previous employment (mark yet another one down for the "why being a therapist kicks the living shit out of this job/oh dear God, have I taken enough of a sabbatical from my chosen life's work by suffering with these chuckleheads to go back?" column).

Oh yeah, and I've tried this whole "sleep like normal people" thing (grossly overrated, although handy when you work normal people hours).

And after the initial caffeine withdrawal headaches, and re-learning how to nap with my eyes open, I could safely say that I had done pretty well with the whole thing, maybe drinking a can of Diet Dr. P. once or twice a week, and avoiding anything Dew-y unless absolutely necessary.

Alas, my run of good behavior was utterly demolished today.

It started out innocently enough. Knowing I had a crap-ass staff meeting this morning for two hours, and knowing that a bullshit initiative was going to be "presented" to us at said meeting (meaning yet another proposition to exploit our already thinly-stretched resources so that someone else can ride our coattails and claim all the credit was going to be jammed up our arses), I got a can out of the soda machine. Then, one of our trainers, who is easily one of the sweetest ladies in the whole world, and is known to bring us goodies (I like to see it as comfort food), brought us some bruschetta (home made!). Of course, I had to get another can of Diet Dr. P. to complement the perfect combination of mozzarella, tomato, and garlic that was happening.

By this time, it was only 9:45 in the morning. My pregnant co-worker (of Reese's Pieces in the Cleavage Game fame), starts to chastise me for drinking soda so early in the morning. This is rich coming from the girl who is under medical order to not have caffeine, yet used to get Venti Tazo Chai Frappucino Blended Creme, thinking there was no caffeine in it ("Because it's tea," you see,) on a daily basis. She only to realized a few weeks ago that it was loaded with it (according to a helpful Starbucks employee), made me swear not to tell her boyfriend (not for fear of being found dishonest, but more out of a need to not let him know he was right), then came to work the next morning with another one. Sweet. Can't wait 'til the kid comes!

Anyway, I dispatch the two cans over the two hour meeting. Bruschetta and Diet Dr. P. were happily coexisting in my Botanicus by the time we have to get back on the phones. That's when the dicketry started.

Every call I got was from someone whose sole purpose in calling me was to get me to do something they were too lazy to do themselves. And you should have heard all the excuses they were giving me for not doing their own jobs! They ranged from "Our computer isn't working," to "That system is in our office across the street," (I've heard that excuse too many times for it to even be plausible anymore... I mean, how many of these retreads have separate offices "across the street"?) to "Well, can't you just do this for me, or do I have to hang up and have someone else save my lazy ass and do my fucking job do it for me?"

All the idiots called, in rapid succession. I barely hung up with one before the next was ringing in. And all of us were getting hit at the same time.

By lunchtime, my Botanicus had no recollection of the wondrous foodstuffs in it earlier in the day. I managed to eat a sandwich and wash it down with Propel, stuff of the gods (and the occasional Pino Libre, but don't mention that Jaz, or she'll start wondering out loud where the F the Malibu went). This would be my first (and last) non-caffeinated beverage of my workday.

Halfway through my lunch half-hour, who should come into the break room (thankfully, not littered with religious propaganda or Fingerhut catalogs... heh heh, "Fingerhut") but Le Douchebag, herself! No doubt she is here to not only heat her pot pie, but regale me with stories about her wonderful son who I just have to meet because we would "get along so well" (who I have already met briefly, and who has the charm of a bucket of no, which leads me to believe that Le Douchebag a) is really so out of touch with reality that she thinks her boy's a prince, or b) really fucking hates me and wants me to perish). Again.

In my mind, my day was going down the toilet, but fast. And of course, it has to be one of the company toilets with the low pressure. Bull!

But hold the phone, gentle readers! She's come into the break room to not only microwave her pot pie, but to inform me that she is making a quick run to Dunkin' Donuts for iced coffee, and did I want some?

Well...

Twenty minutes later, I had a large iced coffee on my desk. I was halfway through my day. By 2:30, my eyelashes were vibrating. By 4:00, I was doing crappy pirouettes next to Cleavage Game and discussing possible names for the baby. I was supporting her choice for "Adriana" for a girl for the very reason everyone else seemed to be against it: the name reminded me of Adriana from The Sopranos.


"This isn't the way I thought it would turn out, Christofuh!"

Oh, only time will tell if this child should be so lucky!

Of course, this being the height of my caffeine-induced lunacy, I started rattling on about how if she named the baby Adriana, we could call her "Ade," like on the show. That morphed into calling her "Baby Ade," and "First Ade," and "Rite Ade," and "Lemon Ade" if she turned out to be blonde. And of course, in my excited baby-nicknaming fervor, this gem was revealed:

"Hey! If she grows up to go to UF, I can call her Gator Ade!"

Strangely enough, the crickets only lasted for a split second before she bust out laughing and called me a weirdo. I think she knew I had too much caffeine today.

And now it's almost bed time, and my eyes are very wide open, and I'm still talking nothing but bullshit and craziness. I've tried to drink copious amounts of water to flush this caffeine out of my system so I can get some fucking rest.

If tomorrow you see I've blogged at 3 A.M., you'll know it didn't work.

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Tuesday, July 18, 2006

Please, give me another reason to post the picture of the impeccable hair!

I mean, I just found the original picture, and as grainy as it is (thanks, Patterson) , I am so itching to post it in all its glory.

But until that time, let me entertain you with another fabulous YouTube gem: the video for JJS's favorite song to sing along to in the car whilst the landscapers eyeball her semi-lewdly: JC's All Day Long I Dream About Sex.


Not to be confused with ADIDAS, as the comparison may be likely to make Mr. Davis' head explode. Or not.

Try to find the subtle innuendo!

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Carbo load in my shorts.

Ugh. I made the mistake of eating breadsticks with my slice of pseudo-pizza, then washing it down with a vat of diet goodness. Now, I feel absolutely beached.

Add to that the fact that I've spent literally the last half hour trying to explain the concept of the scroll bar to a client, and I'm ready to 'splode.

Just thought I'd share.

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Monday, July 17, 2006

Two miles an hour, so everybody sees you.

I'm debating whether or not I should try to post the song lyrics as titles (since it went so fabulously the last time I did it... I know, crickets chirping like the night they debuted Teen Witch in the theaters).

(Actually, I don't know why I made that comparison. And I don't know if Teen Witch ever did present in the cinemas. How dare I besmirch the name of Dan Gauthier?)

"OMG, Smackadocious, I can't believe you just did that. That was some of my best work next to playing a frat boy who dies of a heroin overdose on 90210, you douche nozzle!"

Anyway, I found it very hard to stay focused at work today. I think it may have to do with my increasing distate for any and all things having to do with my current job, with the exception of being able to freely bounce Reese's Pieces off of my co-worker's desk so they land in her cleavage. Boy, messing with pregnant people sure is fun!

I suppose that now I must make it my mission to preserve my sanity by yet again finding employment in my chosen career field (because what I do now certainly does not meet the criteria).

To put it nicely, events at this job have often resulted in self-administered metopic inflammation (I know, I really should stop slapping myself).

My mission for the week? Get my resume (I hate not knowing how to do that accented-e thing!) spiffed, and sent out to at least one agency. That's what I'm-a-gonna do.

After all, you know that when the little things send you into crying jags, or you think you're going to 'roid rage on someone over something dumb (especially if you haven't taken said anabolics), it's time to reassess.

But I did find something to cheer me this afternoon. I actually paid attention to my environs when I was in the loo at work, and took a picture of this sign taped to the door of the stall:

"That is, unless you plan on flushing just once. Then, you've got a shitload of pressure from the rest of us!" (Yikes, horrible pun not intended. Much.)

I found it oddly fitting, since I had just read about a tiny adventure regarding a toilet.

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Wednesday, July 12, 2006

Nootch!

Yes, I may be getting a tad excited about Clerks II coming out in a little more than a week. I just saw some pictures from the premiere and all the old favorites showed, of course, including the cast and crew of the film. I saw Eliza attended, as well. It always warms the cockles of my heart to see her anywhere (or does it warm the Dushkockles of my heart? Only your bartender knows for sure).


No, this is not an image from the Clerks II premiere. I just enjoy a good picture of Eliza, and any picture where Jason Priestley looks like Black Bart. The semi-porn star 'stache earns extra amusement points. On Jason, of course. Don't ever make a joke about Eliza like that again!

Moving on...

There are some people I just enjoy looking at. Two of these people are brothers Andy and Bruce Irons, professional surfers:

Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting
Of course, they look like a couple of frat boys holding, uh, math awards(?!) here, but that's beside the point.

Anyway, upon my web travels today, I came upon a picture of Andy, the elder Irons, with a PSA-type banner above it.
Drugs are bad, mmmkay?
Is he brushing his teeth, or something? And he looks really tired, too. I don't get it.

I have no idea why this picture almost made me piss myself. Any ideas?

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Tuesday, July 11, 2006

"Don't yell at me, because I'm handling this very well right now!"

Sorry. I just saw part of an episode of RW/RR Challenge: Fresh Meat, and Tonya (a.k.a. "Walla Walla Kidney Stones/Walla Walla Can't Go To Work!") says the above while looking like she's about to cry/stab a large piece of fruit, repeatedly. I just thought it was funny. I know it's useless without a picture, but damned if I'm posting a picture of Walla Walla and sullying the ambience of Banana World.

Besides, it's only Tuesday.

We need to class up the joint.

An exact replica of one of the magazine pages I had posted up on my closet door in the sixth grade. So, I read Tiger Beat. Shut up.

Yeah, that's much better.

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Hot like fire.

Since the air conditioning is shot in our office this morning, I am sitting in a sweatlodge of epic proportions right now. This would not be so bad if it weren't already as humid as a a bag of asses straight out of the sauna, and I didn't have all these old codgers sucking up my air and exhaling their putrid melancholy (which smells oddly of coffee and Benson & Hedges).

(I'm telling you, this heat is doing something to my similes and metaphors this morning. Watch out!)

Off to make like I'm working and enjoying it. Oh, this is going to be difficult...

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Sunday, July 09, 2006

Tots and other things I am quite fond of.

I got a lot done this morning. After the post, I did go shopping for outfits to bring my cousins' kids when I wing my way to the E.H.T. ("Egg Harbor Township in the house"?) late next month. I would post pics of the outfits (which totally rule, by the by) here, but 1)I don't want to ruin the surprise, and 2)I know that 75% percent of the people reading this don't give a shit about baby/kid clothes. For those of you who do care, I'll have you know that the outfits are adorable, but not pukey. And for those of you who care in this vein, I am so jealous of the little Gator jersey I got for my boy Sean, I am thisclose to writing a strongly worded letter to Starter.

During my shopping excursion, I did manage to find an orange and blue jersey-type shirt with the number 12 on it. I will have to get Lisa G. on the horn and request her to work her magic in time for Riley to sport it during football season.


No, I don't have a problem or anything.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to look on the Web to see if I can find a way to get that Countdown to Kickoff on the GatorZone site on here.

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Messing with my head.

After reading about Chicago's influence on Lisa's Friday, I went down the short list of memories I have related to Chicago (that of "Hard to Say I'm Sorry," "If You Leave Me Now," and "You're the Inspiration" fame, not the town). To wit:

  • Grantasm, the Messianic, and I scream-singing NFG's cover of "Glory of Love" (which, technically, was Peter Cetera, and not all of Chicago, but why split hairs here?); and,
  • the little anecdote I'm about to tell you.
A couple of years ago, back when I still drove Xander (R.I.P., dear friend!), I was having trouble with the alternator. On one such occasion, I had to leave Xander in a parking lot overnight until my bro and I could get it towed the next morning. We woke up early so that Sideshow could get a look at it, then contacted AAA to get the tow truck.

The truck pulled in, and from across the lot, you could hear the muffled sound of music being blasted in the cab. The driver emerged: a tall, lanky fellow with a 'stache and a formidable mullet, who, upon his exit from the cab, looked absolutely perturbed. Upon seeing this, my bro advised me to hang back so he could deal with Mullet on a Mission. I happily obliged.

Mullet on a Mission barely talked, but when he did, every statement he made was preceded by an impatient sigh. He just sounded plain angry. He barely masked any eyerolls. I stayed away from the whole ordeal, although I really wanted to ask this guy what was up his ass so much that he had to act like a toolbox. When he found out we were getting the car towed to a mechanic in St. Pete, he huffed and puffed even more, and even almost smashed into my car when lining up the tow truck to get my car on the ramp.

Now, by this point, you're wondering what this story, although assholeriffic, has to do with anything, ever. Ready? Here it comes!

The entire time Mullet on a Mission was in our presence, from when he stepped out of the truck cab to when he pulled away from the mechanic's, we heard only one song blaring:

This one:

Luckily for me, this video had not yet been singed into my cranium. I have saved that honor for you, my dear friends! Kisses!

I am not kidding. I don't know if he might have played anything else from Chicago: 18, or any other songs from the Chicago catalog, for that matter, between picking up my car and bringing it to the misogynist mechanic (another story for story for another time, trust). All I know is that the whole time we saw him, "Love Me Tomorrow" blared from Mullet on a Mission's cab.

I found it more than a little odd. But it made a little bit of sense. Perhaps he was saddened by a relationship recently gone sour. Maybe it was melancholy reminiscing. When I heard it was still playing when he pulled in to the shop, I started to feel sorry for him. I also started to wonder why the hell someone would be playing that particular song continuously for half an hour.

Of course, after he brought the car down, Sideshow talked to him for a bit. After he simmered down, he admitted that he was upset because he wasn't scheduled to work that morning, and the guy who was didn't show. So, he had to cancel a fishing outing he planned with his little boy. He said he realized he was "out of line" with us, and apologized for being a tool because of that. We told him we understood, and wished him well for the rest of the day. He drove off, still blasting Peter Cetera's plea to love him tomorrow.

I wondered aloud whether that song had any special meaning for Mullet and his son. Sideshow told me to shut the fuck up.

Out to go shopping for little ones (not my own). Back in a bit.

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Thursday, July 06, 2006

commenting and trackback have been added to this blog.

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Wednesday, July 05, 2006

100 Things About Me. Almost.

I've had this blog for almost two years, and I haven't done one of those "100 Things About Me" lists yet, so what the hell, right?

However, because I am feeling just that spry, I will be presenting you with 77 Things About Me instead. Why? Because I can. And I'm asserting my independence.

(Yeah, didn't think I could find a shitty transition in time for the holiday, did you?)

  1. I'm right-handed.
  2. Gatorade counts as comfort food to me.
  3. Most of my closest friends are guys.
  4. My psychic friend hasn't been wrong yet. Dionne Warwick should've talked to her ass back in the day.
  5. I love clean-cut do-gooders.
  6. The above is both a blessing and a curse.
  7. I love any and all Gator Sports.
  8. I still have two screws in the bone below my left knee.
  9. I had a hot pink skateboard when I was seven. I used it to sit on and scoot around our driveway.
  10. My best guy friend in my neighborhood when I was five was a kid named Dante.
  11. My best girl friend in my neighborhood when I was six was a kid named Julia. Thinking back on her behavior now, I believe she was probably an exhibitionist.
  12. My brother and I used to have "Stink Bomb Wars" in our living room with balled up socks. Dirty or clean, but mostly clean.
  13. My first album: The Bangles, A Different Light. On tape. Bought by my Mom at K-Mart when I was in the fifth grade. Until that point, I listened to all of my brother's music collection.
  14. Because of that, I was the only ten-year-old I knew who heard Depeche Mode's Black Celebration album and the Descendents' I Don't Want to Grow Up!
  15. My first teen idol: Molly Ringwald.
  16. First celebrity crush: Sean Astin, when I was in the sixth grade.
  17. Coincidentally, my first serious real-life crush happened around the same time, and his name was Sean, too.
  18. I highly doubt this crush ever knew I had one on him. (Boy, I hope he isn't reading this.)
  19. This crush was also the beginning of a template I would follow for years to come (see #5).
  20. Moving to Florida was an absolute culture shock for me.
  21. My first school in Florida was the first (and only) one I'd ever attended where the only non-white kids were me and two black kids.
  22. I can sometimes shop in the kids' shoes section.
  23. When I sing along to the stereo in the car, I also sing with my hands.
  24. When I was in the third grade, we could earn extra credit by picking any word we wanted and spelling it correctly on our test paper. The word I chose was "antidisestablishmentarianism."
  25. The above got me a trip upstairs to the eighth-grade classroom to take one of their spelling tests with them. That'll learn me for showing off.
  26. I took three months' worth of piano lessons when I was seven.
  27. I yearn to be able to read music again.
  28. I tend to procrastinate.
  29. I have a short attention span when it comes to listening to music on a mix cd or on a playlist.
  30. I can be quite tactile.
  31. I think I bruised my ribs last week.
  32. I was born in Hackensack, New Jersey. I always thought that "Hackensack" would be the ideal name for a fictional town full of serial killers.
  33. I am a snob about flip-flops.
  34. When I die, I want to be buried wearing my Reefs.
  35. I like things that are not good for me.
  36. I broke my pinky finger in the sixth grade after a battle between my bike and a parked car.
  37. For my twentieth birthday, Less than Jake offered to train spank me on stage. I politely declined.
  38. I regret that now.
  39. I never owned a Barbie.
  40. I'm okay with that.
  41. I've only really liked two of the girlfriends my brother ever brought home. Coincidentally, their names rhymed.
  42. My best friend in the fifth grade told everyone on the bus ride home from our field trip about the boy I liked. This audience included said boy and my mother.
  43. I was put in speech classes in the first grade because they thought I had speech problems. Turns out I was just mimicking my parents' accents.
  44. Going to McDonald's was a treat to me as a kid, since we had to drive to the one next to Brunswick Lanes, which was the closest.
  45. I hated having to use the erasers on the caps of my erasable pens. Currently, it bothers me to use the erasers on mechanical pencils.
  46. In high school, four of us decided to fashion ourselves after the girls in Heathers. I, of course, was always Veronica.
  47. My mom and I wore matching outfits as recently as today.
  48. Patterson's dad always asks me when I'm "going to write the Great American Novel." I have no idea where he got this notion.
  49. First concert during college: Violent Femmes with G. Love and Special Sauce.
  50. I had difficulty adjusting when Jennie Garth cut her hair short.
  51. I tend to overdose when my mom makes chicken macaroni soup.
  52. Song lyrics pop into my head at the strangest times.
  53. I can say the word "douchebag" in front of my boss.
  54. I have inspired my boss to use the word "douchebag" more often.
  55. In college, Daria and I were going to start a band named Orifice, because we were "better than Hole." She was just crazy enough to assign me the role of lead singer. We were going to start by doing nothing but Green Day covers.
  56. I tend to watch whole seasons of shows I like in one sitting.
  57. I have started to write a "story" at least five times.
  58. At most, I complete one chapter before giving up on it because I thought it sucked.
  59. Long ago, I stopped referring to anyone as my "best friend," as it tends to jinx the situation altogether.
  60. Fruit Juicy Red Hawaiian Punch gives me nightmares. Orange Ocean does not.
  61. My favorite professor beat me up with a yardstick on my birthday because I was falling asleep in his class. But, to be fair, it was a three-hour block class.
  62. Once they got to college, I was given the unenviable task of teaching some of my guy friends how to dress.
  63. I loved being a Safety Patrol in middle school.
  64. I have rules for eating M&M's. Orange and blue ones should always be eaten together, or one after the other. The following color combinations cannot be eaten at the same time, or one after the other: red and yellow, green and yellow, and green and orange. An M&M of another color not listed in these pairs must be eaten between these colors. I'm so not kidding.
  65. My dog's middle name is Wooderson, in honor of David Wooderson from Dazed and Confused.
  66. One of my prouder moments was when I got my co-worker to use "Balls!" as an expression of disgust and frustration.
  67. I am easily entertained.
  68. Making someone snort when they laugh is like the Holy Grail to me.
  69. I thought Smurfette might have become a bit of a whore after she went blonde.
  70. I'm the only one in my family who cannot sing.
  71. When I was very, very young, my dad's complexion was so much darker than anyone else in our family's, that I though he was black.
  72. I used to love Rollergames when it aired on TV in 1990.
  73. When I was little, I wanted to be a judge. From what I could tell by watching TV, being a judge entailed sitting at a big desk and pointing at people and telling them what to do. This was an appealing notion.
  74. I encountered my first gay couple at my aunt's grocery store/restaurant when I was six. I helped her bag groceries at the time. They came in wearing makeup and bought a pack of Newports. They were very nice.
  75. The last time I laughed so hard I started crying was when my brother and I drove up to South Carolina for Stumpy's wedding.
  76. I think my future abilities as a parent may be related to my current abilities as a dog owner. This frightens me slightly more than a little.
  77. I tend to be wordy.
If you want to know more, you're probably really bored. If this is indeed the case, don't tell me, because it will only bruise my already fragile ego. But you can tell me if any of the above also pertain to you. 'Cause it's nice, the familiarity. Don't you think?

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to find bootleg Rollergames tapes after I hang up my favorite picture of Sean Astin, circa 1988.

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Sunday, July 02, 2006

I got yer balls, RIGHT HERE!

I spent a lot of time today running around like an idiot. Then I didn't. Then when it came time for me to leave the house again, it started raining like crazy, so I couldn't get out. And the lightning spooked my dog a bit, but not nearly as much as the fireworks that shook the house a few hours later. I just got done calming the poor little one down.

Of course, that usually entails watching some Gator Football to take her mind off things. I'm not kidding. You may or may not already know that Riley enjoys L&O:SVU and Mississippi Burning (an odd combination, to be sure). And after the operation that allowed her to slut it up around town if she wanted to, we stayed in and she thoroughly enjoyed watching Crossroads (Britney, not Macchio).

Questionable choices aside, though, she does love her Gator Sports. So, to stop her from quivering with nervousness at the explosions, I turned on the replay of last year's UF vs. Kentucky game.

After a wondrous offensive show, there was a play where a young man named Eric Wilbur lowered his shoulder to stop an oncoming opponent. Nothing new to football, of course. But it reminded me of this particular moment with the same young man, almost two years ago:


"I break your back like so!"

Again, those of you unfamiliar with the Gator Nation say, nothing unusual for football. Lots of big hits, takedowns, crazy plays, what do you want us to do, give him a cookie?

Yes, because of all things, this dude is our punter!

(Cue Sandler's "The Lonesome Kicker.")

Granted, he's no Petro...

Hi, that would be me!

But he's taken a class or two in the Petro School of Special Teams Play. The kid's just got some balls, is all.

And speaking of, look what I found!

Surprisingly enough, not ball bearings. Those might be a tad more difficult to ingest.

Can't find the damned things at the grocery, but of course, the shit is all over the Internet (cue Jay saying "What the fuck is the Internet?" right now).

That's right. I'm all about Segue City right now.

And for the record, since viewing some football, Riley is no longer shivering nervously. She is shivering with excitement over kickoff coming in only a couple of months. Woot!

This concludes my crazy college football rant for the day. You may now go about your business. I, on the other hand, am off to search eBay for matching #12 jerseys for Riley and myself.

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