Happy Birthday, Michael Vartan!

So, does this make it the first Unofficial Pocket Vaughn/Poche de Michaux/Michael Vartan Day? 'Cause I don't see any lengli Photoshop Goodness (TM) around here. I mean, hell, even Bateman got a border and some stars, no?


It appears okay with Michael. Hey, we're okay if you're okay. So long as you continue giving us beautific profile shots.

And so long as you stay just French enough to not be a sissy la-la. Hell, we may even forgive you for Monster In-Law. (I can just imagine how awkward that first conversation with J.Lo must have been... did you have some sort of ex-lovers pissing contest?)


Apparently, someone fights "On the 6" Style when discussing failed past relationships. She will cut you. And she will cut you deep.

Anyway, happy birthday, Mr. Vartan. Here's hoping for a successful post-Alias film and television career, not to mention your personal endorsement for Pocket Vaughn items, hopefully available for retail sometime before Christmas 2010.


I can't come up with a caption for this. Must... lie... down... Anyone see a bed nearby?

Read More...

Summary only...

A beautiful and wonderful thing.

I'm just going to post a picture today. Now, I have to warn you, some of you gentle readers may get emotional upon seeing this image, but fret not. Don't cry. It is moving, but it is wonderful, and we're all going to get through it.

Jim, you in particular, should sit down and have a Kleenex handy, okay? Here goes:


Sheer joy knows no bounds!

Read More...

Summary only...

Okay, so I've been horrible.

I mean, look. I've not touched B. World for two full weeks. I could give excuses, but comparatively speaking, mine are not as good as others'. I couldn't come up with good reasons, like teaching the masses by way of Nicollette Sheridan, or getting married (so, sorry, dear cousins, but your almost annual bloodlust for taffeta and similar atrocities must yet go unsatisfied).

Sure, a lot of my time has been occupied with surviving work on a daily basis, spending time with people I care about, and Gator football (the latter two mesh quite nicely, I've learned). But I haven't been saving orphans from fires, or helping little old ladies across the street (unless stopping in the middle of a green light because one of them decides it's as good a time as any to cross the street to hold off any and all vehicles traveling at 55 mph from hurtling the oldsters into the void counts). Oh, hell. I'm already tired.

Next up: I may finish a coherent thought. Stay tuned!

Read More...

Summary only...

OMG, Bateman!

There are many things to thank lengli for, not the least of which is this:

The Third Annual Unofficial Jason Bateman Day!

I've never participated in one of these (knowingly, anyway) before, so I'm quite excited. Nothing beats a Bateman! Well, maybe except for live-action Pocket Vaughn.

Hey, lengli, does Michaux de Poche have his own unofficial day? Because it' s definitely something to consider.

Nothing else can beat a Bateman. That is, except two of them!

"What would we do, baby, without a couple of silver spoons?" Oh, wait.

What about... a Bateman with a friendship bracelet and snazzy jacket, with Fozzie motherfuckin' Bear?!?

"How... do they... do it?"

I am clearly on sensory overload, here. I need to lie down.

Anyway, go vote tomorrow, and celeBateman! (I know, I know... that was horrible. Whatever. You'll get over it.)

Read More...

Summary only...

"But where is this all leading? We'll never know."

Yeah, I'm thinking of doing the lyrical blog title thing again. Humor me.

I have to share something really quick before I feast on a dinner of potato chips and onion dip something random from the fridge.

There are many reasons my brother, the Sideshow, is the bomb, not the least of which is his ability to suck down large portions of food at an impressive rate, then bitch about how he doesn't feel that good an hour or so later. But right now, I am briefly going to talk about one reason in particular.

I was on my second break of the workday this afternoon, when I decided to pop in on said broseph in his office. We chit-chatted for a few moments while I worked up a plan of how to tell him about my minty-fresh new boyfriend (still feels strange typing/saying/thinking that word, but in a good way). Eventually, after he showed me the pictures of young Alex dressing up as a Reaver for Halloween (that kid kicks my ass!), the following occurred:

Me: Yeah, I need to tell you something.
He: What?
Me: Well, uh, I have a boyfriend.
He: Yeah? Who?
Me: My friend Ben.
He: Really? (holds out his fist for me to bump with my fist, which I do). Cool.

I exhaled.

Then we continued to pore over the pictures he was loading onto his website.

It's just a testament to how awesome my bro is. Given my history of being quite overprotective of him, and being quite vocal in my opinions of the women he has dated, I was unsure whether I should brace myself for similar treatment.

Luckily, there isn't anything about Ben that warrants that treatment (I am quite confident that he is exponentially more sane than some of the chestnuts Sideshow used to bring by for the family to meet, which, whew. Relief!) My bro didn't jump on my ass about anything; he just gave me what is his Sideshow equivalent of a celebratory hug, then gave me some advice on how to break the news to the folks.

Which, strangely enough, was exactly what I needed.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go brush up on the list of Hoff Rules.

Read More...

Summary only...

"Bring me some fresh jam!"

So, this entry logging the sordid details of my banal life was originally a draft from the 23rd. And I was going to post all this random shit. But for some reason, all the random shit I listed wouldn't "auto-save" or whatever in Blogger, so whenever I'd log in to finish and finally post that entry from the 23rd, I'd always be shown nothing but the entry title. I took this, after the third time it happened, to mean that I was not meant to post an entry about random shit, and called it a week. I threw some clothes in a bag and headed to Jacksonville for the World's Largest Outdoor Cocktail Party (F them, I don't care if they don't want to call it that; it's what that weekend is, and what it will always be).

Now, when I say "I threw some clothes in a bag," you must realize that for a three day trip (really two and a half days), I managed to put together four complete, separate outfits, plus a pair of pajamas. Yes, I am the boss.

The point of all that build-up? Well, the point is that I'm incredibly tired from my four-day mini-vacay, and I thought I had it in me to post, but now I realize that I don't. So there. You just made me feel guilty about luring you in to reading this when there was really no point. Are you happy now?

Read More...

Summary only...

Sorry...

But it had to be done.

You are officially "On Notice":

Don't make the Colbert angry...

Read More...

Summary only...

The downward spiral.

It was another craptacular day at work. Even more calls today from irate people who will blame anyone who will listen for all that ails them. The main issue I found today was that most of the jackballs I spoke to today had problems answering simple and direct questions.

Me: Are you having problems with your system, sir?
He: The patient's number is 123-45-6789Y.
Me: Sir, did you try to use your system to check this information? You do have to try to access the system for the information you're looking for, since you need to print out your results. Were you able to log on to the system?
He: The patient's name is ... Date of birth ... gender...
Me: Sir? Do you have access to the system at all?
He: He says he has HMO.

This is the part where my head explodes.

It wouldn't be so bad if I only got characters like that some of the time. But, as it stands, every third call is someone trying to dodge the question of whether or not they are following the rules by avoiding the question, pretending they didn't hear me, getting indignant with me ("Well, we've been doing this for twenty years, and we've NEVER been told we had to do THAT!"), and just plain lying.

She: I'm calling to check eligibility for this client.
Me: I can help you with that. Are you having problems using the system to pull up that information?
She: Yeah. We had a lot of rain here this afternoon/Our system is down/Someone stole our computers (the list goes and goes and goes)...

My personal fave happened a couple of weeks ago. I answered my phone and was about to un-mute myself and give my greeting when I heard the person calling tell their co-worker, "Oh, I know we're supposed to use the system to check this. But when I call, I just lie to them and tell them our system is down." After a second or two of shock, I happily un-muted, gave the cheeriest greeting ever, then sat with three seconds of silence as the scoundrel, realizing I had heard everything she had just said, suddenly sucked in her breath, then slammed down the phone. Since the call came through on the Caller ID, I had half a notion to call her back and let her have it. I did jot down her number, and scrawled "Friggin' Idiot" on the Post-It. I think it gives me some comfort.

Whoever you are, liar/hanger-upper, I hope you are hanging your head down in shame for lying because you were too damned lazy to do your own work. I will not hesitate to point you out and laugh obnoxiously should I run into you in public and witness the deli worker give the very last stuffed potato balls you'd been thinking about all day to the person directly ahead of you in line. I will laugh even harder should that person in line right ahead of you be someone you were going to spend time with immediately after going to the store, and that person proceeds to eat those very stuffed potato balls right in front of your fucking face without offering you a bite.

See? This is what happens when I don't get enough rest. I get sidetracked and start talkin' potato balls.

Yikes, and it's only Tuesday.

Downward spiral, here I come!

Read More...

Summary only...

Terrible thoughts.

I thank the stars that I managed to make it through today at work. The workload has gotten crazier and crazier in the past few weeks, and I'm doing my best to look for opportunities in my chosen field again. This, of course, is unsurprisingly difficult (after all, why would something happen easily for me?), but, I do it nonetheless.

I guess the good thing about being busy at work is that I have time to do little else. I log in first thing in the morning, get up a few times during the day to take breaks and lunch, then watch the clock crawl forward whilst listening to some random chucklehead regale me with tales of their fuckedupedness. This kind of sucks, because I can't really always respond in the manner I'd prefer. At least as a therapist, I could interact in a number of different ways with those clients, and I didn't have as much of a chance of being fired for doing so.


How I felt after both the game on Saturday night and work today. That's right, my frustrations were "Cena strong." Leave me be.

Gah. Mark down another one in the "chosen profession" column.

So, with the exception of some good chocolate chip cookies on the Community Grazing Table in our department, today sucked. It made me miss my weekend, which, even with the horrid events of Saturday evening's ESPN Full Circle game, was wonderful, comparatively speaking.

Actually, other than the game (grr), my weekend was pretty darned good. I got to hang with some of my boys, learned something about myself (don't eat your teriyaki chicken wings and fried mushrooms too fast during a football game, especially if you haven't eaten all day, and if you feel sickly afterwards, you certainly should not celebrate feeling better with a strawberry cheesecake milkshake, you friggin' idiot!), and got to see Tasha and her family before they headed back up to the big D (I've offered to pay her a dollar if she pumped her fist in the air and yelled "Duluth, Represent!" on more than one occasion) today.

And the latter allowed me to eat at Cody's for the first time, since... well, since Tasha moved back to the D, which was almost four years ago. Sooo, steak and sweet potato and salad and bread with that crack-sprinkled cinnamon butter abounded.

Don't worry; I prepared myself earlier in the day for this bovine onslaught by actually eating something for breakfast, and by referring to my trusty beef-meeting guide, pictured above. I just love how they've chosen to put the spotlight on certain types of cows by giving them exclamation points. Oh, and those "chosen ones" are even allowed quasi-yearbook quotes! Lucky!

I think I'll try to survive the rest of this week by amusing myself by singing the "Taco Flavored Kisses" song (no idea why that's suddenly hilarious to me again) , watching all the AD I can in a single sitting (definitely), and "accidentally" hanging up on people that annoy me.

Yes, let's see how well that works.

Simmental, bitches!

Read More...

Summary only...

"I've got this pain in my heart, that's all."

So, football-wise, this weekend sucked for me. BIG TIME. But, we perservere, and hopefully, in two weeks, I will be posting about a resounding victory at The World's Largest Outdoor Cocktail Party(TM before they tried to wuss it down to sound less, well... alcoholic. But you get the idea).

For now, I am going to attempt to cheer myself with happier thoughts, as well as post the following, courtesy of Ben Folds Five. Just try to listen to this song without thinking of a bunch of muppets gleefully, spastically dancing around. Go ahead. I'll wait.



Oh, no, wait. I won't.

Now if you'll excuse me, I think I slept on my arm funny last night, so I'm going to remedy the soreness by sleeping on the other arm funny in order to even it out. Math is hard.

Read More...

Summary only...

A dedication.

Armsweat and Lengli, this is just for the two of you:

EDSBS Mustache Wednesday: Yet another reason to love college football.

Sorry, I just had to. Kisses!

Read More...

Summary only...

As strong as Cena.

So, there was this conversation the other day regarding the strength or intensity of... well, something. And the other participant in this conversation described something as "Cena strong," as in John Cena, the professional wrestler.

I know. Lots of wrasslin' in this blog as of late. Although, I have always preferred to refer to it as "homoerotic grappling," or "Danhole's soaps."

This got me to thinking: exactly how strong is "Cena strong?" Barring any further viewing of actual wrasslin' matches, I procured the following:



If the preceeding is any indication of the intensity of anything, I think I shall conclude that Cena strong, is indeed, pretty strong. And slightly comical. And worthy of carrying around a spinner-riffic championship belt. Perhaps I should rethink this.

Please excuse this entire post, as apparently, I have been sampling too many perfumes at once.

Read More...

Summary only...

"R-tards" and getting "pwned."

I hadn't watched an episode of South Park in quite a while, but yesterday, after watching the fine football stylings of the Gators beating LSU, Danhole played this week's "Make Love, Not Warcraft" episode for us. Yes, there were plenty of other football games to be had. But, in all fairness, one can only watch South Carolina play Kentucky for so long without wanting to stab themselves. Repeatedly.


See, even The Steve can barely handle it. And his team's playing!

Anyway, don't be an r-tard, and watch the link listed above.

So, another Sunday evening, another weekend gone by too fast. I honestly have no idea where the time goes. One moment, I'm watching quality football with the boys, and the next, I'm dreading the next morning, where the shit-ass work cycle begins all over again. I mean, I barely have enough time to ogle the eye-candy!


No, it's not one of the hottest pictures of Chris, but all the "Leak for Heisman" love is certainly a turn-on. All appropriate parties, take note!

Okay. I am going to take some Tylenol now in anticipation of the headache that awaits me tomorrow. I'll let you know if it works.

Read More...

Summary only...

It's been so long...

Since I've posted a picture of Michael. How I have missed him!


Slightly maniacal grin; but somewhere, Benjamin Harrison is daubing his forehead.

Okay, now I feel slightly better.

Read More...

Summary only...

Mid-week bitchery.

Read More...

Summary only...

Little Asian dudes.

Today is my dear friend Timothy's birthday. It is also my little man Ryan's birthday. Tim, I think you are about twenty years older than Ryan. Does that make you feel exceptionally old?


Yes, that Ryan of "removable fingertip trick" fame!

Ah, probably not. I'll bet Tim is sitting somewhere in China, working and not giving a shit.

Anyway, I just wanted to show both birthday boys some love on their day. Not that I expect that Tim even bothers reading this anymore, nor do I expect Ryan to read this, because frankly, I'd kick his ass if I found him on the computer looking at this drivel. Shouldn't he be out in the pool, training to become a Navy SEAL? After all, isn't that what he said he wanted to be when he grew up? Of course, he said this three years ago, but who keeps track, really? I need to talk to his mother about this.


"Oooh...Navy SEALs!"

Sorry. But you knew I wouldn't be able to help myself!

Next up: Danhole explains to everyone what the hell he means when he talks about "sexlifting," and maybe, if you're all really lucky, I'll tell you about my awesome weekend.

Well, at least I can tell you it consisted of the following: football, stuff, and things.

Chris, showing off his "jazz hands" whilst being pursued by some dude who plays for a team named after a nickname for menstruation (I know, the pic just begs to be Photoshopped).

Good Lord, there is such a charge of estrogen in this part of the post!

Read More...

Summary only...

Dearest Q...

And L... and K... and, oh hell, myself:

Just wanted to share a special moment, is all.


"Oh, it's true. It's damned true!"

If you need me, I'll be quietly weeping tears of joy and shame in the corner. The joy: for the obvious reason posted above. The shame: for citing anything attributable to Kurt Angle.


I can't even bring myself to post a picture of Ric Flair in my defense.

I know, I know. Leave me alone.

I'm going to go mumble something about gift horses and mouths under my breath now.

Love ya lots,
S.

Read More...

Summary only...

So, what do you do...

When you're inexplicably roaming a Wal-Mart near York, PA, it's two in the morning on a Thursday/Friday/Saturday, and you've already stocked up on all the clearance item winter clothing and DVDs of The Golden Child you can find?


You take pictures of stuffed animals in sexually suggestive positions, apparently.

The above is a result of too much time, too much caffeine, and Grant's obsessive love of the term "daisy chain." It was taken during my vacay last winter to lovely Vineland and EHT, NJ, and York, PA. After a blizzard, of course (whatever... the tickets cost me about a hundred bucks, and we had a fucking blast).

The sad thing is, I think I actually have video of us doing this very thing somewhere...

Go about your daily.

Read More...

Summary only...

We now interrupt the regularly scheduled lyrical blog title...

For the best... song... ever.
Enjoy!



And don't say I never gave you anything!

Read More...

Summary only...

"It keeps me walking when I'm falling down."

You guessed it: I'm going to keep doing this lyrics-as-blog-titles shit until you say "uncle." Or some other word that makes me stop doing it.

Never mind that I've got all kinds of weird word association going on in my head when I think of the term "uncle" in relation to a plea for mercy or relief. Probably best not to go down that road.

I've got a lot of random stuff going through the cranium today. So, it's like every other day, but you, gentle reader, have just been unfortunate enough to catch me in a blog mood.

The weather is getting cooler, which is nice. Madame Armsweat mentioned how the weather's changing in her neck of the woods, and I'm glad the cool might be coming down our way, too. I actually went so far as to drive home from work with the windows down, and didn't pass out from the heat (somewhere, Patterson is muttering under his breath about gas mileage and driving over 35 miles per hour with the windows down).

See, when it gets to be 75 degrees and not muggy, I start to look forward to clear nights at 65-70 degrees. When it gets to that, I may be so inclined to camp out in Stanny with Riley. Sure, I'll be sleeping in my car in the driveway, but it won't be as vagabond as you may think. I'll have a DVD player, or something. Ooh... Alias Marathon Camp Out! Something to think about.

Read More...

Summary only...