Banana World Blog

Thursday, February 03, 2005

If I don't stop, the next one is gonna be me.

Alright, somebody tell me what song that's a lyric from, and I'll respect you thismuch more. Really, I will.

So, the Super Bowl is this weekend, and for some reason, I don't really care. Actually, not some reason; I think the main reason is that there just doesn't seem to be a reason to give a shit. Could have something to do with me not being a particular fan of either team, or it could just be that I view the Super Bowl as nothing more than an opportunity for me to go to J.R.'s to eat copious amounts of bad things and sit on my ass. Sure, I could do that on my own on any given day, but it's the SUPER BOWL! What am I talking about again? Oh, never mind.

And now, for some randomness:

Currently playing on the Juke: "Dance Like That," by Joe Mac. Hellz yeah. I said it. Hell, this is the same guy that told me to shower with a friend and piss in the sink because of the drought. He knows what he's talking about.
And now, for the exact opposite of people who know what they're talking about:

This is our serious picture.
On this guy's copy of The Tampa Tribune, the headline reads "Bush Touts New Deal To Fix Social Security." From this distance, I thought I could read the words, "Bush Toots." I almost pissed myself.
LoLo's hot. I mean, really hot. I'm almost uncomfortable saying it this fervently. I'm just glad I'm secure enough in my own sexuality to do so.
I'm going to get this on a t-shirt:

Simply classic. Marshall rules.
I'm still trying to erase that whole "Australian Kiss" shit out of my memory.
That Marble Slab is starting to sound really, really good right now.
"Tulsa" spelled backwards is "A Slut." That was my favorite one in the eighth grade.
Songs made up in the car about Amish people sung to the tune of Guns N' Roses songs = COMIC GENIUS!

Okay, off to the Slab. More later.

Family dinner.

I'm sitting here, less-than-enjoying this stale chocolate croissant, and I'm witnessing a family having dinner without killing each other. It's a wonderful damned thing. By far, more wonderful than this damned croissant.

There are three boys, a girl, and a mom, all sitting around two small tables, eating soup and sandwiches, and most of them are drinking green tea, rather than soda. Interesting. I've been watching them adjust their meals to their liking, one kid picking the tomatoes out of his sandwich and proclaiming, "Tomatoes for sale!" while one of his brothers puts them on his plate. The interactions are interesting to watch, despite the fact that I've been around rugrats all day, and you'd think the last thing I'd want to see at this point in my week would be little springoffs. Oh, well.

Eww, this croissant is deeply unsatisfying. I just reached the end of it, and it had this weird metallic taste to it. Shit. I'm going to have to do something to cleanse my palate, like go to Marble Slab. Ooh, what a good idea. I should go just as a reward for thinking about it.

Tuesday, February 01, 2005

A case of the Black Lung.

Ever since I've returned from the Great White North, I've been feeling under the weather. It could be that all that cold air is finally taking its toll, or my extreme fatigue from going balls-out all week, or it could be a strictly psychosomatic thing because I am dreading returning to work. Either way, I've called in sick for the past two days. Well, shit, I sure am sick. Don't get me started.

So yes, my mom's birthday, then my birthday, came and went. I went out with Perla to go see The Phantom of the Opera movie, because well, that's what Perla wanted to do on her birthday. I remember seeing Phantom back in college, but I really don't remember the details too much. Could've had something to do with being in college, but who knows. Anyway, the movie was good. It was just like the musical, but on film, and that allowed them to do a lot more with the visuals and the sound. And Patrick Wilson kinda sorta had some old-school French-style hockey hair going on. That was funny.

Ahoy, matey! I'm cute, but I look like a poofter in this shirt!

Right after my birthday, Grantasm and I headed up to Philadelphia, the day after a big-ass blizzard hit the region. Luckily enough, our flight wasn't cancelled, and we actually landed in Philly a few minutes early.

The rest of the week is a blur. We were in the car all the time, we were sitting around all the time, we were running all over the place all the time. It was crazy. We did everything and we did nothing, and it was freezing cold and I fucking loved it. So much to talk about, it's all running around in my head, can't get it organized. But I do know that I spent a whole week doing nothing but having fun and seeing people I love, and it was worth the money and the cold.

And now I'm back, I'm catching up on all the sleep I willingly gave up for a week, and work looms ahead of me. But it was all worth it and then some.

Perhaps I'll open up a new blog devoted simply to posting the pictures and comments from the trip. Yeah, I think I'll do that. Good idea. Wow, that was tiring.

Monday, January 31, 2005

Nothing but nonsense.

So, we've returned from our whirlwind tour of Northeastern Snowstorms, and I don't know about Grantasm, but I'm friggin' exhausted. There is much to say about this trip, but for now, I'm just going to post a picture summarizing our trip before heading back to this nap (as I said, I'm friggin' exhausted).

That's right, folks. This vacation was all about putting stuffed animals into compromising positions, and taking pictures.

A more detailed tale shall follow.

Monday, January 24, 2005

I miss The Boo.

I have been away from my house for approximately seven hours, in anticipation of spending the next week traipsing around the Eastern Seaboard, and I am already missing my poochie!

This picture was taken at one of those rare times Riley was actually interested in what I was doing. I bought this stool at a local Bargain Basement, and it already had her name on it. How could I not get it?

Thursday, January 20, 2005

Another reason to love Jimmy.

So, Jimmy posted a comment earlier here on the blog about my birthday. He's one of my oldest friends from the St. Cecelia's days (gah!), and he's currently in Iraq, doing very good things. He's supposed to be back soon, but we all know how these things work out...

As if it's not enough that he's halfway around the world, doing his best for his country, he took the time out to make a guest appearance on the silliness that is the Banana World Blog. This is the same man who went all the way to Boston to get my pink Red Sox cap. On the other hand, this is also the same self-proclaimed "fruitcake" with that horrific sausage/Viagra photoshoot...

But I do wonder about him. I believe he thinks I'm actually going to be a year younger than I really am. And he was so excited about posting to the Blog, he did it twice (I deleted the second entry for space's sake).

Nevertheless, he's a sweetheart. If you encounter him when he gets back from Iraq, buy him a Frappucino, give him a smack on the behind, and tell him his country loves him!
I still have to ask his mom for some incriminating photos of him from middle school. You know, to get him back for the Smoked Sausage Sham of 2004.

God, Jimmy, I hope your soldiers don't read this.

I miss you. Get back home so we can get to Vegas, already!

Wednesday, January 19, 2005

Some observations.

These are in no particular order, of course.

I hate my job. Particularly the fact that my supervisor has decided that she wants me to work on the Friday afternoon before I take off for vacation, and chose to let me know that three days beforehand. Never mind my constant protests of, "I don't work on Friday!" and "It's my birthday weekend!" Dirty bitches. How the hell am I going to get out of this one?
Australian teenage boys ask me far too many questions about sex.
I haven't been able to get "Sister Christian" by Night Ranger out of my head for the past week.
When one of my twelve-year-old clients asked me if Elektra was the comic book character "with the big ol' titties," I didn't know quite what to say.
Where the hell is Robbie Williams? I prefer his original version of "Angels" infinitely more than... that other one.
Catkins: The Atkins diet for pussies.
In the bathroom at Cheesecake Factory last week, "Insensitive" by Jann Arden was pumped over the speakers. I found it oddly ironic.
This is nice:

Mmm. Guns.
"When will you realize Vienna waits for you?"

Saturday, January 15, 2005

This kills me.

For the upcoming episode of Alias, straight from the ABC website:

"Sydney goes undercover as an earthy social worker and Vaughn as a lascivious, semi-tipsy priest to track down a deadly new bio-weapon."

I don't know why, but it just does.

Friday, January 14, 2005

It starts TODAY, mofos!

It's a big day: Jeremy arrives in town tonight, Elektra premieres tonight, and things are going to get off the friggin' chain up in here!

Insert hip-hop/techno music appropriate to martial arts training montages here.

Today is already inherently better than the whole last week has been. I think it started with last night, when I was just about fed up with everything that happened during the day, then got a call from Jimmy's mom, inviting me to dinner. Hitting the Lucky Dill for a Reuben the size of my head was exactly what I needed at that moment. And I managed to find a kindred soul in Shan regarding the first thing that sucked from this week, and we talked about it some last night, too. That has been bothering me all week, but I suppose it's gotten progressively better.

Then, when I got home last night, having reached Critical Mass after the Reuben and complimentary cheesecake, my bro and I decided to watch Evil Alien Conquerors, which has a whole slew of actors that I dig, including a surprising, uncredited, and Oscar-worthy performance by Tori Spelling (did I mention that I'm wearing my "Sarcasm: One of the many services I provide" button today?). Seriously, it was dumb, but I was somewhat entertained.

Woke up this morning, and it was raining like a bitch. Riley and I ventured out, but she got soaked so fast that we didn't accomplish much. I figured it was just a nice pre-rinse before heading to the groomer's. I took her there, where it was bustling with pooches not quite as attractive as the Boodie, then headed out to run errands. Eventually, I ended up here, which started out the day as the Second Place Panera until a few moments ago, when I not only ordered my Asiago Cheese Bagel, but pleasantly discovered, upon reaching the beverage station, that they now have Splenda!

Choirs of angels, rejoice!

"And spend this cash like..."

...Nothing, because I have to squirrel away what little ducats I have for my trip in TEN days! Huzzah!

Again, I am at Panera. I tried the one near work, the one consistently acceptable in their accoutrements, and they were packed to the gills, not a place to sit. So, I decided to tool over to the runner-up location, and I ran into Melissa, who is apparently quite grateful to me for lending her my first season Alias, as she now has a new crush in Jennifer Garner.

I told her to get in line behind those of us with hetero-girl crushes on both her and Michael Vartan. She told me she was going to kick my ass, because she and Miss Garner "have something that you can't understand." I told her I could kick her ass because I had a lower center of gravity, and Erin taught me how to fight dirty. Then, of course, she went to the old standby: "Oh, yeah? Well, I'm a dike!"

She clearly thought she had the advantage, playing the ol' Rainbow Card. I had something, though.

"Oh, yeah?" I countered. "I'm a straight girl who hasn't had a date in months. Still think I can't beat your ass?"

She thought for a moment. "Yeah, I guess you could." End of argument. Advantage: Breeder.

Wednesday, January 12, 2005

"Nice touch, kid, but I work alone."

Watching the Girls Golden right now... the episode with George Clooney as the cop. He had so much hair then. Adorable. I bet when he got up in the morning back in the 80's, he had the cutest bed head. Kind of like Boo-Riffic:

Did I mention that ever since I've had Riley, I do that thing with my tongue all the time now? Weird.

Either way, I'm sure George's bed head during the Seth Gecko era, was, well, probably pretty close to how his hair normally looked at the time. Seth Gecko was harsh!

"I may be a bastard, but I'm not a fucking bastard."

Maybe I'll watch that after this episode is over.

Tuesday, January 11, 2005

Nice people.

My car managed to find its way back to what is quickly becoming my favorite Panera (save for the lack of available Splenda packets). My 2 o'clock rescheduled, I've got some time, and being away from the office for a bit is definitely a good thing. Chocolate croissant is currently in my possession, there's another damned married cute guy across from me, and I've got streaming radio going. Now playing: "Sussudio" by Phil Fucking Collins. Rich, just rich.

Okay, I've turned off the stream. Despite having a vision of Christian Bale discussing the ramifications of Phil Collins on 80's culture, it was just too much.

"Now, 'Sussudio'...."

Anyway, I just thought it was nice that the delivery driver trying to get in a quick lunch at the table next to me offered a complete stranger (me) his bag of chips. I politely declined, as the chocolate croissant is already doing its work, but it was still a pleasant gesture. Granted, he probably would've thrown his chips out anyway, but still. Hooray for delivery guys with bald heads and goatees who offer you their chips (full bags, no less)!

I know, I know. Shut up and get more soda.

Why the hell doesn't this joint provide Splenda?!?! For the love of the children (and the "tiny, tiny babies")!

And I'm not too sure. And I'm not too proud.

I am coming off of what I can only think of as the most trying 36-hour span I've lived through in a while. Suffice it to say, I've had a headache for two days, an extremely short fuse, and I've seriously been considering getting work as a car salesperson (I'm not even kidding).

But I have faith the week will get better, because as luck would have it, I managed to chat with a friend I haven't spoken to since my sophomore year in college, and we exchanged the customary "Whatever happened to...?" gossip. That, and my vacay is less than two weeks away. And, I have a Hallmark Hall of Fame tele-movie starring Jennifer Garner to look forward to.

I'm telling you, everything's coming up Millhouse!

Friday, January 07, 2005

Pray for our Troops!

Particularly for Jimmy... It seems in what little downtime he gets, he has way too much time on his hands. Por ejemplo, this is what we received via e-mail a couple of weeks ago:

This picture was labeled "Before,"

This one was labeled "After." Note the horrifyingly large Viagra. Must be government grade, or something.

Dammit, we've got to get that boy a hobby.

The wonderment that is the hands-free headset.

Once again, I'm at Panera. I think I found the one I like most. The good thing about it is that they have more booths with electrical outlets, and these booths are in the back, near both the soda fountain and the restroom facilities. The only thing is that it's kind of far from my house.

I'm currently riding out the tail end of the lunch rush. I've been here for quite a while, and managed to have a decent chocolate croissant and soda in the process. The overhead music here has become increasingly loud, so I'm blaring live internet feed on the headphones. I find just a little bit of irony in the fact that "Shout" by Tears for Fears is playing right now.

So, I'm looking across the way at a guy who's been here a bit longer than I have, also on his laptop. Earlier, he sounded like he was conducting a business call on his cell phone. The kicker was, he was sitting at his table, with his hands-free headset plugged into the phone, the earpiece in his ear, and the microphone in his hand, pulled up to his face so he could talk into it. Then, he got so in to his conversation, that he got up from his seat, cell phone in one hand, boom mic in the other and started pacing around in front of his table as he spoke, loud enough for everyone sitting in our end of the building, with the microphone so close to his mouth, it looked like he was going to eat it.

Now, tell me if this defeats the purpose of having a hands-free headset.

If you'll excuse me, I have to go shoot dirty looks at a trio of snotty rich girls who are loudly telling everyone their business in the booth next to me. Send for the Gendarmes if you hear a ruckus.

And now, a word from Natalie Portman.

"Great job, man. I mean, I thought you were really retarded. You're just as good as that Corky kid, and he's actually retarded. I mean, if there's some sort of Retarded Oscar, you would win, like, hands down, kick his ass!"

Thursday, January 06, 2005

"Alias" abounds!

Yes, this evening was good. I left work at 8PM and hauled ass home so that Riley and I could be ready for the 2-hour Alias extravaganza beginning at 9.

For the next two hours, we were immersed in espionage and pretty looking government agents. 'Twas great. This season is going to kick my ass!

Don't hate us because we're beautiful!

Oh, what I'd give to be Jennifer Garner's thigh. Wait, did that come out right? Crap.

And right before I started watching, I read an article regarding Love's upcoming sitcom on ABC, also starring Ed O'Neill. Cool thing number one: Love's going to have another show. Cool thing number two: Al Bundy is going to play her boss. Cool thing number three: the article mentioned that Alyson Hannigan, Willow on Buffy, is joining the cast.

Too. Much. Joy!

I told Danhole this news. Immediately, his only two questions were "When is this happening, and when can I join the cast?" Oh, silly, silly Quarterican!

After viewing the season premiere of Alias, my bro and I sat down to watch Shaun of the Dead (more hilarity). Now, before going off to bed, I've got Maury on in the background. What a triumverate of quality viewing! (Okay, maybe I meant "duo," or "tag team"... back again! Sorry.)

Now, here's what I don't get, as I hear Maury in the background. It's yet another paternity test episode, and they're talking about this guy getting his fiance's older sister pregnant (!!!shocker!!!). Now, the thing I don't get, is why most of these wannabe thuglifes have to refer to women as "females." Of course, there is nothing technically wrong with using the term, but it's like they can't mix up their vocabulary at all. I'll admit, it was cool when Ice Cube used it in Friday, but since then, it's lost its lustre somewhat. And they've got to put the extra emphasis on that first syllable, as if saying it as loud and harsh as possible will give them "street cred."

(Can't believe I just used the term "street cred." For shame!)

I guess that's what happens to you when your only exposure to the outside world is repeated viewings of Maury and Springer: you end up on one of said talk shows looking to prove/disprove paternity, and get into cat fights until someone's hairpiece comes off. Hey, at least I mix it up a bit: I also watch Cheaters. :)

Oh, wait, here's another nugget of joy from a Marshall Mathers stand-in on Maury:

"If I had a girl that fine alone in a hotel room, I guarantee you that her ass would be bouncing like a low rider in a Dr. Dre video."

Classy. I'd better shut this off and go to bed before my IQ plummets any further.

Sunday, January 02, 2005

I don't want to go to work!

There, I said it. After a week off and many mornings spent sleeping in, I find myself hard-pressed to find the motivation it takes to go to PMS tomorrow morning. Something tells me I will fall off the caffeine wagon sometime around 7:30AM tomorrow. You can pretty much set your watch to it.

My only hope is that tomorrow is a slow day. I know I only have a couple of kids to see at PMS, then I'll head into the office for the afternoon and evening. The only comfort I'll have is that nobody else will want to be back at the office, so hopefully everyone keeps their mouths shut and keeps to themselves. I, of course, will be spending a good amount of time trying to work LoLo's latest chestnut into regular conversation. This particular chestnut just makes me chuckle, and luckily, I've received her permission to post it here:

"[Dirty Dancing:] Havana Nights was awesome... Made me proud to be Cuban."

I kind of wanted to ask her if it made her proud to be Cuban in the same way Evita made Dan proud to not be Argentinian, but I didn't think it would play well.

Young Riley is making it very difficult for me to type, as it seems she has fallen asleep on my foot. I think this is my cue to retire for the evening. Hopefully more tomorrow, when I will do my best to avoid anything even remotely resembling my job.

"I wonder what happened to the Oneders."

I love that friggin' movie. It's on cable right now, and every time, I have to stop and watch it.

So, the first day of the new year went by with relatively little incident. I spent most of the morning dead to the world, then had lunch with the family, then puttered around the house until meeting up with Quincy and Ryan for drinks to celebrate Quincy's birthday. I managed to put away only one caramel appletini before we headed out so I could grab some dinner. There, I further punished my digestive system by not only ordering dinner, but some ridiculous dessert, to boot.

I sit here before this blog, feeling like a beached whale, waiting for a really good burp to release the evil within. Back tomorrow.

Saturday, January 01, 2005

Happy New Year, Mofos!

Once again, Kelly Marlene Taylor wishes you the best of the holiday season!

You think she has copies of this picture hidden somewhere in her house?

Back later with absolutely nothing!

Thursday, December 30, 2004

And things were going so well!

Today was another day, except for the fact that I capped it off with a trip to the cinema to catch Blade: Trinity with Patterson and one of his old friends from work, name withheld to help me preserve my own dignity.

Now, when I was on the phone with Mark and he told me that whatshisface was coming, I naturally assumed this was the whatshisface that I met who was a bit older, with salt-and-pepper hair, who insisted I say grace at the dinner we all had (WTF?), and who didn't necessarily leave me with the best of impressions. However, when I met up with them at the theater, this was an entirely different, younger, cuter whatshisface, so, well, game on!

I'm sure I was mighty impressive with my pigtails and ill-conceived outfit (hell, I thought it was the other dude so I didn't think I had to impress anyone). And my wit, as always, was rapier-sharp (when he handed me money to pay me back for purchasing the tickets, I exclaimed "Ooh! I didn't even have to dance for it!" Side note: he laughed heartily). Besides the smoking thing, he seemed like a nice enough person to talk to.

After the movie, the three of us walked to the parking lot, and we got to my car first. He did that little stretch thing where guys probably just stretch to show off their not-bellies. It was semi-acceptable (the stretch thing, that is... there was no detectable belly).

Now, as some of you know, my beloved brother affixed those vinyl Albert the Alligator stickers to my back passenger windows some time ago, and they have lasted for at least two or three years. Well, upon seeing the sticker on my car, this jackhole pulled out his lighter and put an open flame to Albert!

Needless to say, even though he was joking around, and I jokingly slapped at his wrist, yelling, "Cut it out!" this was a problem. Add to that, he started doing the fucking whorechant! I retaliated with "Uh, 20-13?" He came back with "The Choke at Doak." I quickly reminded him that was "ten friggin' years ago," and that 20-13 is "now," and "UF is undefeated at Booby Bow-down Field."

"Okay, who attempted to besmirch UF's good name? Who wants some?"

I clearly had accepted the gauntlet and thrown it back at him succesfully, but the damage was done. Before this guy could even garner enough interest from me to get on the short list, he was crossed off it.

And things were going so well. Crap!

I am off to the kitchen, ISO comfort food. And my eyelids burn.

"I will tell tales of your compassion!"

Earlier this evening, I headed to the Blockbuster closest to where I was at the time to go rent the third and fourth DVDs for the first season of Alias, as Dan and I kicked the first two DVDs in the ass yesterday (along with almost a whole tray of veggie lasagna, which tested my gastric fortitude later in the evening). The only reason I'm renting is because I lent my first season out a bit ago, and I didn't want to ask for it back, knowing the borrower hadn't finished it yet. Besides, it was free because of that whole "Blockbuster Rewards" deal. Sweetness.

Anyway, I was there, at a Blockbuster far from my home store, dealing with this rather eccentric cashier (he kept talking to himself, then asking me if I wanted to renew my "Rewards," then commenting on his register computer's idiosyncracies as if I gave a crap), when I heard my name being called quite loudly from the other register. It was one of my clients, with his entire family.

The thing is, I had spotted his folks in the aisles a few minutes previously, and managed to duck past them to avoid notice. I was a sitting duck at the register. Fahk.

It's funny about the rules of confidentiality and whatnot. I can't tell anyone else personal details about my clients or their families as a general rule; however, clients have the choice to tell (or not) others anything and everything they choose. I've had several children, even parents, just out loud tell the general public about how I'm their therapist, and what they say in session, blah, blah, blah... Which I guess shouldn't really bother me, since it's not me breaking confidentiality, but sheesh, I have to stand there stupidly while they talk about deeply personal things in public for all to gawk at or ignore.

Anyway, there are some families that you don't have to worry about, because they seem to understand tact and diplomacy and all the other social graces. There are also those families that you pray to your higher power about, begging for the mercy to never encounter them in a non-work setting. The weird thing is that it's those families that always seem to like me the most. Dammit.

With this family I encountered this evening, the kid is socially competent. The bad thing is, his parents aren't so great with that. I'm glad the kid was the one to call out, and not the mom. He just looked generally startled to see his therapist out in the world, as if at the end of the day, we don't go home, but are put away in our hyperbaric chambers for the evening to recharge for the next day. It was kind of funny. The part that made me want to run was when the Mom came up to me to compare rentals, and suggested that I rent from their family, because they have over 350 DVDs now. This mom reminds me of the one that called me a couple of weeks ago to talk about how she thought of me often, and was hoping to run into me in a work capacity, and why is it unethical for us to hang out socially if her kid isn't my client anymore? Sheesh.

Anyway, I grabbed my Alias with Jennifer Garner-like stealth, wished them a Happy New Year, and high-tailed it out of there like... well, I can't think of something clever. Shit.

Speaking of Alias, I am geeked that the new season starts next week! I told Dan that he needs to catch up on the first three seasons before the premiere of the fourth season next Wednesday. He may have muttered something rude, but I probably chose to ignore it.

In preparation for next week's happiness, I have been updating Danhole on the series, walking everywhere in stealth mode, and watching the third Elektra trailer. That comes out on the 14th, and she hosts SNL on the 15th, so next month will be chock-full of Garner. But, what I'm really excited about is the return of my boys!

The future Mr. Julie M. Johnson. Or so she thinks!

I know it's small, but I thought it was hilarious.

"You want to go out sometime? No? Okay." Marshall's so awesome! I mean, do you know anyone else who can speak Endor?

Ah, Sark. You've been naughty. Which is why you can hang out after, if you want.

I know I promised someone that he could play the Messianic in the movie, but if he pisses me off with that Bridget Jones shit one more time...

Anyway, I think I am going to think up different designs to spray paint on my laptop. Suggestions welcome.

Wednesday, December 29, 2004

I need a new job.

I've been on vacay for three days now, and all I can think of is the next weeklong break I have, coming up at the end of January.

Mind you, I never take vacay, and it's about time I did, but just the fact that I have no desire left in me to go to work is a bit frightening. Never mind that someone who predicted I would get the job I am currently in said to me a couple of days ago that she didn't see me being at my present job for much longer; I am in need of newness.

Couple that need with the depressing thought that I slugged my way through grad school in one of the top programs in the nation for what I do, and slugged my way right into a lifetime of debt, just to realize that this line of work doesn't pay much more than peanuts, and you've got a delightful vacation, full of empty hours to think of such nonsense.

I need to get off the Depressio Train. This is too much.

Ah. That's much better.

Best three dollars I spent all day.

It's late, and I probably should be sleeping. But, I'm not, because I'm quite excited about the purchases I made this afternoon before heading to Danhole's for an Alias mini-marathon.

See, I made a pit stop at the Bargain Basement, where you are likely to find out-of-date over-the-counter medication and all kinds of other stuff. I was fully expecting to just get some hair elastics, and possibly a couple of Care Bears composition books, if I was lucky. I did manage to find a planner and a bandanna, but I was not prepared for what waited for me at the end of the last aisle before checkout.

Like a beacon in the middle of the afternoon, I saw it: the Care Bears Magic 8-Ball.

Best. Idea. Ever.

If there was ever a toy that sounded more like a street drug, I have yet to hear about it.

Of course, I had to get one. Problem was, I only had ten dollars until payday, which is this coming Friday. What a conundrum!

"What was I to do? How was I to proceed?"

I picked one up and looked at the price: THREE DOLLARS. Well, shit, in that case, I was buying one for me and Kris! Woot!

So now, I'm going to bed, with $3.58 to last me until Friday. Oh, hell. I'll be broke, but at least I'll be fuckin' entertained!

Sunday, December 26, 2004

How did this happen?

So, I'm sure most of you know the story of why I have "bananawhirled" instead of "bananaworld" in my blogspot address. For those of you who don't, let me give you a quick summary.

When I signed up for this blogspot loveliness, my first choice was obviously "bananaworld," shouting out to the old web page, the original computer, Bloom County and whatnot.

The most important men in my life, from the ages of seven to now.

Well, much to my chagrin, I discover that someone else already has http://bananaworld.blogspot.com. And according to the title of the page, that motherscratcher apparently has trademarked it (?!).

It doesn't look like this fellow, whose name is apparently Eustace, is going to be giving up his blog address any time soon. Apparently he's some kid from Singapore in some sort of Army officer training over there. Feel free to browse his site if you like, but here is an unedited excerpt from his thoughts on the movie Alexander:

Alexander. The flick was kindna er... Maybe it was too intellectual for me. But their English was super Power man... More Powderful than powerful man..

It shows how Alexander grew to his throne. His obession about his overloving Mom (Angelina Jolie), how he conquered Persia until India, his gay partners and straight partners and many others. Yup... He IS gay. Apparently i think its because of his obessive Mom, it makes him quite difficult to believe in women, so he turns to GAY! [So beware women! Don't LOVE your boy-children too much, otherwise they turn gay...] And the show actually shows a woman bearing her breasts!

*gasp*

I'm still quite immature at this. But apparently i'm not so comfortable watching nudity on movie screens just yet...

I have something to confess online now. I think i'm really man with no confidence.

Wait. Listen... Do you hear that? Somewhere, in the confines of this county and within viewership of this page, a gay man is fainting. Will someone please be kind enough to help him back to consciousness!

What would Opus say about this travesty? Better yet...

What would Oliver, original owner of the Banana Junior 2000 Computer, say?

I have so much to say on this, I just can't find a starting point, for fear a deluge will occur. I just wish I had the blog name I intended to have. Oh, well. Maybe this is better.

Accept no substitutes! For absolute mediocrity, this is the place to be!

Saturday, December 25, 2004

Nothin' says "Yuletide" quite like Jennie Garth!

Wouldn't you agree? I mean, for crying out loud, her middle name is, literally, "Eve"! Can you ask for a more seasonal blessing?

If I was a smarty, I'd post a picture of Shannen Doherty, circa 1991, and have the caption "Ho, Ho, Ho!" But, I'm not, so I didn't.

I think I'm a little slaphappy from all this Holiday Cheer. Just typing all that above has me thinking of rewriting the tale of the Christ Child's birth with Brandon, Dylan and Steve as the Three Wise Men, bringing gifts of Mustangs, Porsches, and Corvettes. Andrea would play the role of the Virgin Mother, while... So this is what eating too much good food at once does to you.

Just be glad that I didn't start thinking of the previous scenario with the cast of Alias. My head would have probably exploded.

Moving on. Please.

"Hey there, Mr. Hinduist, Merry f***ing Christmas!"

"In case you haven't noticed, it's Jesus' birthday. So get off your heathen Hindu ass, and fuckin' celebrate!"

That's one of my favorite songs to play during Christmas dinner at my house.

This holiday is going quite swimmingly.

I've been excited all week because my Little Brat Sister is in town, and I've had a few opportunities to harrass her. Yesterday, we spent the afternoon snacking on some "whores do-overs" with family and friends (did I mention Kid Smartypants makes a mean peanut chutney?). Then, last night, my brother and I took shifts sleeping in the car before Midnight Mass. After Mass, we ate dinner and opened presents (Riley really cleaned up this year). Fabulously, DJ Rumpshaker and I got to sleep in longer than I anticipated. Right after I rolled out of bed and took her out for a quick constitutional in the rain, we ate a crazy-ass Christmas lunch, honey-baked meats courtesy of my Aunt in Jersey. Stocked for hibernation, we managed to catch a quick catnap before spending the rest of the afternoon watching movies.

Now, Perla is working on cooking up dinner, and I'm planning on opening up two of my other four stomachs to accomodate. And do you know what else just tickles me? It's Saturday night, and even though it's Christmas, they're still airing the weekly hourlong episode of Cheaters! Rock out with your cock out! 'Tis the season for yuletime WT! Woot!

Thursday, December 23, 2004

"I know they don't sound the way I planned them to be..."

Yet another long day full of nothing. I worked until eight tonight, and had nothing but four kids showing up. Wonderful. At least I got two intakes knocked out while I sat on my ass waiting for kids to not show up.

I knew from the go that it was going to be one of those days. I even stopped at Publix before getting to the office so I could grab some eats to last me through the day. I knew I was getting desperate when I saw the spray cheese on sale and thought it would be a good idea. I knew I was finally at desperate when I actually bought a can, along with a box of Ritz crackers. I knew I had to seek my own professional help when I sat at my desk ten minutes after getting to the office, bored to tears, and took out the crackers and cheese and spelled, with each letter getting its own cracker, the following:

I AM SURROUNDED BY A-HOLES!

I then proceeded to rearrange letters to spell silly things. I felt like I was doing the word games in the Sunday Parade or some shit ("How many words can you make with the letters in 'a-holes,' kids?"). And it took me a hell of a long time to finish eating those crackers, as they were surprisingly dry and I ran out of soda quickly.

All this happened in my first half-hour at work.

The rest of the day went similarly slow. My last client of the day, who I sometimes would like to smack with a raw fish, didn't bother showing up for her appointment, but somehow convinced her grandfather that she would "meet him there" after she left the house to meet up with her boyfriend. And since he showed up for the appointment, I had to wait at least twenty minutes to see if she showed up before I could send Grandpa back home. And of course, in that twenty minutes, Grandpa regaled me with tales of hand surgery and workman's comp woes whilst his punkass grandchild ran wild in the streets (note to J.Co: please refrain from singing Bon Jovi right now).

I felt like re-creating my Ritz cracker message at the front entrance to the building by the time 8:00 rolled around.

Maybe tomorrow I will post what happened after work. But for now, I am exhausted. I still have a few hours before I have to go at it again, so I'm going to spend them sleeping next to a snoring DJ Rumpshaker.

Sunday, December 19, 2004

Musical residue.

I have been sitting here at the domicile, doing anything that is the opposite of doing actual work. I decided to listen to some streaming audio whilst surfing the net. Usually, its' a nice distraction and easy way to fill up the quiet of a room that contains a dog napping next to her new Nylabones.

This evening, however, is a different story, as what only occasionally happens to me occurred again, but with much brute force: I got a song in my head, and am having a hell of a time getting rid of it.

Normally, I wouldn't sweat something like this, but the main problem here is that the song was Mr. Big's "Be With You." I will refrain from posting lyrics here, as I don't want you loyal viewers to suffer my same fate. Hell, some of you may already be singing the song in your head, and are thusly affected. My apologies.

The friggin' song won't go away, and I've tried all the usual tactics: playing a slew of other songs (I even played "Vienna" three times in a row, but that didn't work); I tried to distract myself with other things (hence I now have five new ringtones for my cell); I even scooped up the dog and drove over to PetSmart to finish up her Christmas shopping (resulting in previously mentioned Nylabones for her and a cone from Marble Slab for me). This can only mean one thing, my last resort:

Debbie Gibson's Greatest Hits Album!

As real as it may seem, it was only in my... oh, forget it.

Well, it's either that, or hunt down plugins for Trillian. Let me think on that one for a sec.

People are funny. Disgusting, and funny.

I think that my people-watching quotient has gone all kinds of wonky. I've been in situations in the past month that lend to nothing but watching others and not getting my work done. Even when my goal is to do non-work things, I can't help but find myself mired in the observation of fellow humans. This crap has got to stop.

This morning, I found myself at a Waffle House, trying to eat at least 70 percent of my All-Star Special, when I witnessed the lady seated next to me bitch at the server because she didn't hear the server order her "seven minute waffle," then proceed to pour about a cup of sugar and four coffee creamers into her bowl of grits. Eww. Eww. Eww.

It was all I could do to not throw chunks. I can't imagine how those grits tasted, but it looked horrible. I had to just keep downing glasses of water, not look at the lady, and remind myself of all the money and delicious food that would be going to waste if I spewed.

Fast forward to an undisclosed shopping location (kept secret so as not to give away the site where I might have purchased a certain anonymous someone's Christmas present,) where I witnessed some high-pitched woman screeching at her significant other that she needed "This, this, and this," all whilst piling very expensive accessories into his arms. He, of course, dumbly accepted the heap and paid for everything. I can't wait for the day I can be that scrawny, privileged, high-pitched woman doing the same thing (note intense sarcasm).

This is too much. I'm going to go and not have a bowl of grits right now.

Friday, December 17, 2004

"The sky is blue and all the leaves are green..."

"...Dan is as cheap as a baked potato!" Oh, wait. That's not how it goes. Sorry.

Dan is making me watch The Last Starfighter from somewhere in the middle of it. I could punch him in the eye.

We tried taking more Christmas pictures of DJ Rumpshaker today. She looks evil in almost all of them. There is no truer testament to her being mine.

Okay, back to the salt mines.

"That's the smartest thing that bitch has done all night!"

I'm telling you, that Hufflepuff is a damned riot. The above quote, of course, came as we watched the conclusion of Center Stage a couple of weeks ago. As a reward for her wit, I have not commented on the status of her turn-out since then (unfortunately, LoLo has taken the brunt of that).

Chocolate croissants are bad news. I mean it. I'm ensconced here at Panera again, but this time, I'm at one that has consistenly fresh-tasting chocolate croissants. One thing I still don't get, however, is why they insist on putting your napkin on the tray for your food, under the greasy/sticky/otherwise non-dry food itself. It's an enigma, and it's pissing me off.

It's slim pickings at Panera today, what with all the ladies with small children and the elderly couples. Looks like there will be no shit-starting today for me. Sigh.

DJ Rumpshaker went to the groomer's today, and came back with Christmas bows on her ears. She looks friggin' adorable. I'm supposed to go by Danhole's this afternoon so we can take some more pictures for Riley's Christmas cards. In fact, I just got an IM from him that simply said "you ready for doggy pics?" This, of course, coming from a man who sent me the first set via an e-mail entitled, I shit you not,

Pics (Doggy Style).

I mean, seriously.

I'm getting tired of this Panera Holiday Music. There's never any words to the mofo's. I think I will surf around for a live feed, then get back to this. After a refill on my Diet Pepsi, that is.

"Oh my God, I'm gonna die. My cheeks hurt!"

That's what one of my favorite kids said to me today after we laughed hysterically for twenty minutes over stupid shit. It's rare moments like those that make me semi-quasi glad that I work for a non-profit organization. It was worth it for her to go from her cheeks hurting, to saying her lungs were going to pop, to saying her brain was going to erupt.

Luckily, none of the above happened. I could just imagine the look of disappointment on her Mom's face when I would have to tell her that I just broke her kid.

Balls.

I really should be getting to bed soon. I have to take DJ Rumpshaker to the groomer's tomorrow for her Holiday Hosedown, then have to finish some insane Christmas shopping. However, I still find myself in front of this blogdoggery, typing away and listening to the latest episode of Mauryplaying in the background.

I swear, if it wasn't for my DVR, I wouldn't watch even a fraction of all the WT glory that I do. Nor would I get to watch all those Golden Girls episodes in rapid succession. I heart my DVR.

Okay, I'm getting out of my tree now. Going to bed, and praying I don't wake up with a furry, slobbering canine hat in the morning.

Thursday, December 16, 2004

MORE "More than a Feeley."

More chuckles, from ESPN.com's Page 3:

A.J. FEELEY, Miami Dolphins
On occasion, I'll look to the sky and ask, "Why is it blue?" Or maybe I'll look wistfully up at a basketball rim and ask, "Why wasn't I born to dunk?" In sports bars, I frequently hear, "How the [expletive] is A.J. Feeley dating Heather Mitts?"
In the event you're out of the loop on women's soccer here's the skinny on Mitts: As a member of the U.S. National soccer team and Page 2's Hottest Female Athlete of '04, Heather Mitts is one of the most desirable female athletes on the planet (apologies to golf's Next Big Thing, Natalie Gulbis). Mitts, she of the cover-girl looks and disarming smile, has attracted many a suitor, namely ex-boyfriend, Pat Burrell (overrated Philadelphia Phillies outfielder) and actor John Cusack. A newspaper report in June of 2001 alleges Cusack attempted to kiss her after taking her to dinner in Manhattan, but she responded with the pullback. Ouch.

Feeley, 27, appears to have won her heart. Back in October of 2002, a newspaper spotted the couple cutting a rug on the dance floor at a club in Cherry Hill, New Jersey. Three months later, things got quasi-serious, as they attended the Super Bowl together in January of 2003. By March, they were Philadelphia's cutest couple (meanwhile, Burrell privately stewed and had the worst season of his young career).

Many predicted the relationship would go kaput when Feeley signed with Miami. Not quite. Word on the street is the 26-year-old Mitts has moved with him in Florida, and of all the quarterback couples, these two appear to have the greatest staying power.

Okay, some things:

Lately, when I see media coverage of the Heather/AJ machine, I hear Fozzy Bear in my head. I'm not even kidding.
In sports bars, I frequently hear, "How the [expletive] is A.J. Feeley dating Heather Mitts?" This statement can most clearly be heard at the Gator Goal Getters booth at the Beard, as well as at The Swamp Restaurant, the Gainesville Ale House, and walking towards Concordia Condominiums on a sunny, autumn Sunday afternoon.
A newspaper report in June of 2001 alleges Cusack attempted to kiss her after taking her to dinner in Manhattan, but she responded with the pullback. Ouch. Haven't I always told you Mittsy was a smart girl? And to think, back in 2001, she didn't even know about Cusack's personal odor or his traveling "herbologist." Smart like a Gator!

More on this later. Because of the Holiday Eats at work, I have reached Critical Mass.

Saturday, December 11, 2004

Always fun on a Saturday night.

In an effort to take a break from all the cleaning and chore-like things I've been doing all day, I decided to leave the domicile for a couple of hours. After a harrowing half hour at Wal-Mart (and don't worry, I will never need to be reminded to stay away from the WT Capital of the World during the Holiday Season ever again), I find myself at the Panera that I believe is closest to my domicile: the one in Oldsmar.

There seem to be a lot of families here this early evening. And since this area is ripe with young professionals and their SUV-inhabiting offspring, there seems to be an unusually pungent aroma of... dear God... is that Red I am actually smelling? Do they still make that stuff? The last time I smelled that perfume on purpose had to have been ninth grade, and even then, it had a negative connotation in my mind. I think I'm going to have a flashback!

Oh, never mind. A kid in the booth next to me just started crowing like a buzzard. I think I'm okay now.

This post brought to you (unwittingly) by The Man in White!

I call this one, "Buble in the Bubble."

There is nothing better than camping out on the bed with your favorite pooch, catching up on this season's episodes of Las Vegas. The only complaint I have so far is that they have one of those jackballs from 7th Heaven trying to woo the LV girls by telling them he's dying of cancer. And I think he's trying to do that whole slightly-scruffy-yet-clean-cut thing that Josh Duhamel already does so well. Sorry, Mr. WB Castoff, but there's only one Danny McCoy at the Montecito Hotel and Casino! That's right! Tad Hamilton's a-gonna kick your WB-lovin' ass!

Isn't he dreamy?

Sorry. Lost myself a bit there.

I've got a little one here to tuck in, but before I go, let me leave you with an exchange that just exemplifies why I love this show (and why I'm glad the first season is coming out on DVD in January):

Nessa (Watching Danny and Mike playing a fighting video game): Two men, fighting half-naked in a bathroom. That's not gay!
Mike (Never taking his eyes off his game): Gay like a fox, baby!

Comic gold, I tell you! Goodnight!

Friday, December 10, 2004

Grant tells the Best. Jokes. Ever.

I promised myself, after telling ten million people this joke that Grantasm made up a while back, that I wouldn't beat it to death, but I just have to post it:

Q: What happens when you combine Bilbo Baggins and Bruce Willis?
A: Old Hobbits Die Hard!

Will somebody Photoshop these mofo's already?

Thursday, December 09, 2004

A naked lady walks into a bar with a poodle under one hand, and a two-foot salami under the other.

Love that movie. And Judd Nelson is "fucking harsh!" in it.

So, I again find myself eating a French Toast bagel and pondering the possibilities of life. I was pretty productive at work today, except for that instance late this afternoon when I was so exasperated that I collapsed in a heap in the middle of the front office floor. I seriously wanted to scream at our newest clerical hire, but resisted great temptation and dropped to the ground instead. I don't think she realized I was upset with her, because she kept trying to joke around with me as I lay in said heap.

"When the front desk tries to get at you, drop it like it's hot, drop it like it's hot, drop it like it's hot... When the newbie cops an attitude..."

Sorry. Went away for a little bit. There is no "Roley" on my arm, and the only thing I'm pouring any time soon is another glass of root beer. Moving on.

Yeah, overall, productive day. I did spend most of it trying to keep my mouth shut in front of authority, and trying not to call my snottier teenaged clients jackballs to their faces. I also resisted the urge to yell at one of said snotty clients to get her shitty attitude and trashy self out of my Beastie Boys sweatjacket, even if she was "freezing." Little runts.

And I probably drove poor LoLo nuts when, after she would say something, anything at all, I would mutter, "You're not very turned out. And you don't have good feet. And although you are very pretty..." I'm probably going to pay for that in some karmic way in the near future. Possibly by having to call the Death Star using 1-800-CALL-ATT.

It's free for you, and cheap for Anakin!

Being at Panera at this time of the evening sure is interesting. After I finish this update, I'll pack up and head home, but the eye candy this evening is too startling to deny. I've always found powder blue dress shirts interesting, but this time, I am having an even harder time looking away. This gentleman is pleasant to look at, all right.

Wait, overhead call for an order pickup... He got up to get it. Now I know his first name is Stephen.

Wow. I should probably be rapped about the knuckles for that last one. If anyone wants to identify the pop culture reference used above, be my guest, and get a prize!

Wednesday, December 08, 2004

"So what are you waiting for, America? Someone to hold YOUR boobs?"

It's been a long day in the world of not-for-profit mental health, and I am just happy to be sitting here with my playful little pup at my feet, updating the old Blog.

For the past few minutes, I have been checking my e-mail, trying to convince someone that they shouldn't be drunk dialing anyone on this evening, and trying to pick the burrs out of Riley's coat (her foolish-ass grandfather let her frolic in the brush this evening, then dumped her in my lap and said, "Here," before rushing off to the other end of the house).

Oh yeah, and I've also been trying to download that episode of Saturday Night Live with the skit where Britney plays Barbie's kid sis, Skipper, and finds out that Barbie really isn't her older sister, but her Mom. One of the best parts of that skit was when Barbie reveals that Skipper's father isn't Ken, but a Han Solo action figure, and an incredulous Skipper says:

"He's not even our scale; what kind of slut are you?"

Ah, good times, good times!

Today, kids were just getting to me. They've changed the code on the security doors in the building, and the miserable little buggers were spending all day trying to figure out the new code. This would be no problem for me, of course, if the friggin' keypad didn't beep nonstop from their incessant attempts and codebreaking.

By early evening, the codebreaking responsibilities fell to a trio of towheaded boys who reminded me of The Village of the Damned. There are two security doors that one can go through to get to the therapists' offices, and every time an adult walked up to one of those doors, these boys would be close behind, trying to catch a glimpse of the code.

LoLo and I got so sick of it when they were practically climbing on our backs to see the code, that we told them to go back to their seats and wait for their parents (who, ironically, were nowhere to be found when all these shenanigans were going on).

They asked us if we could tell them the code. We told them that of course, we couldn't. They then proceeded to stand at the noisy keypad and hammered away every code they could think of for a few minutes. Lori told them to go sit down again. They pointed at each other, blaming each other for touching the keypad. I threatened to call Santa a couple of times. I seriously thought of taking out my cell phone and pretending to put in a call to the North Pole, when I realized that it would be much, much better to rat the little hellions out to their mother.

So that's what I did. I asked them where their Mom was. They all froze.

Those little crappers couldn't escape my wrath!

"Uh, she's not here. Uh, I don't know." Suddenly, the little shits didn't know anything.

"That's okay. I'll find her." Total silence. Those kids were shitting themselves. Luckily, I knew their Mom was talking to Randal, and let her know what was going on. Randal didn't seem at all surprised. Mom looked like fire was going to shoot out of her eyeballs. She had that low, controlled voice when she laid eyes on them after I narc'ed. Oh, to be a fly on the wall of that mini-van on the ride home!

Sorry, but if I've had a crap day, sometimes making children miserable is the only way to right things.

Oh. My. God.

I'm coming off an Urban High, and then I have to come across this:
Karate Kid, The Musical

Take a moment to view it, then cry, just a little.

"Must be my birthday!"

Okay, so two jackelopes have a birthday today. Let's get this knocked out before I head to bed, shall we?

Happy Birthday to Jaz and Grantasm!

Old Jackball Number One.

Old Jackball Number Two.

I shall not divulge ages here, as that would probably result in my sound thrashing and utter humiliation. Oh, wait; that would happen anyway. Damn.

If you see either of them, wish them well, and don't forget to give them their birthday whacks. Okay, more later. I have to sleep. Kisses!

Saturday, December 04, 2004

Passed out flat on my ass in Pinacoladaburg.

I'm sitting here at Dan's House of Pain, updating the Blog from my brand-spanking "New To Me" laptop. Yes, folks, you heard right. My dear family decided to surprise me with it today, and I tell you, I'm loving the hell out of it. It's not a brand new machine by any stretch of the imagination, but it works, and it's mine, dammit!

So, I've already come up with a name for it: Urban Sprawl. Yeah, you know what I mean. If you come up with anything more genius, let me know.

And now, for something that makes absolutely no sense:

Right-o. Moving on.

Monday, November 29, 2004

The Edge of Reason. Reasonably, schmeasonably!

Just thought you folks would like to see the President of the Festively Plump: the Unofficial Bridget Jones Fan Club, Oviedo Chapter:

"I mean, I fucking LOVED the first one! I heart Colin Firth. What a hottie!"

You may now go about your daily business.

Monday, November 22, 2004

"I let the melody shine, let it cleanse my mind. I feel free now. "

So much to write about today.
I realize that I haven’t written much lately… I got hit with this cold/congestion/feels a little like consumption thing, and I’ve been pretty much OOC for two weeks (Out Of Commission in this case, as opposed to the usual Out Of Control).

And so much has been happening!

Take for instance, the fact that I’ve been drowning in a sea of intakes, and I think that as of this afternoon, right here, from Borders, wedged between an old dude browsing The Drudge Report while bitching on his cell phone to his invisible friend about the NBA melee last Friday, and what I can only presume is a college student doing a current events report (fifth grade, anyone?) on a laptop with a National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacationdesktop image, I’m beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

Yes, my happy ass is back at Borders, the Mecca of my work-related productivity. And yes, I am still using the sad work laptop, since I still do not have my own (sigh). And no, I am not going to use this opportunity to scope out available dudes... Aw, hell. Scratch that last one. I’m not a very good liar.

Moving on. Anyway, yes, I’ve been sick for over a week, and have nothing to show for it but a great tolerance for all sorts of cough and cold medicines. I’m at the end of the cold medicine spectrum where I’m actively seeking out stuff that “makes coughs more productive." Productive? Like what, a six-figure annual income and 3.2 children productive? Maybe I should stay away from taking the night-time stuff during the day. Wait. I can hear the old guy’s tunes through his headphones. Must crank my own up a few notches.

I keep jumping off topic. Ah yes... THIS WEEKEND. I’ll admit openly that a good bulk of it was dedicated to two things: THE GAME, and RECOVERING FROM THE GAME. Oh, it was a beaut! There was action, there was drama, there was a spattering of crappy calls, but overall, I found the whole experience WHOLLY SATISFYING. Satisfying in that Route 44 size Orange Slush from Sonic way. Satisfying in that “I’m going to remind Jaz every time I hear “Toxic” that she bitched “My God, I can’t believe I’m dancing to a Britney Spears song for you!” way. Oh, yeah. Like that.

And like this:

Caption: Looking downfield for an open man, Chris Leak feels the impending pressure from Dicks... hee hee... bearing down on him. Wait, I can't do this! I know it's Dickson, but still!

Oh, and there's this:

Caption: Zook pulled out all the stops for what was probably his final game as head coach. This "fly by the seat of your pants" coaching style culminated in the fourth quarter, when he finished off the Seminoles' defensive line with his "Big Daddy Crane" Style.

Man, I should write caption for a living. I'm having too much fun by myself in public!

Now I'm tired, and people are looking at me funny. Screw you guys, I'm going home!

Tuesday, November 16, 2004

DJ Rumpshaker can't stop sneezing.

I wonder, can dogs get colds? And if so, is there some sort of Cocker Spaniel Sudafed I can give her?

By the way, click here to view something totally, totally wrong.

Monday, November 15, 2004

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to introduce... the high hat!"

This is what I get for listening to "Buffalo Stance" in the car five times today!

I feel like hell. That sore throat that went away, then came back with a vengeance so powerful, it rendered me speechless (!) has turned into a certifiable pain in my tuckus. I've spent most of the day chugging beverages and trying not to yell at children... a formidable task, to say the least.

The good thing is, I managed to sequester myself at Borders all afternoon and got almost all the way caught up with my paperwork. Hooray for me! At 8 tonight, I decided to call it a day and return home to the loving paws of my pooch, whose latest nickname is "DJ Rumpshaker."

Funny how a sense of accomplishment in the little things can change your mood entirely, huh?

The cover image for DJ Rumpshaker's latest album, Hue of Danforth

Anyway, I hope to keep this streak of industriousness going for the rest of the week. I got access to one of the work laptops (which is, btw, old like Methuselah), so I managed to take it on an extended break and hammer out today's paperwork. It just reminded me how much more motivated I'll be to do my work on time on that sweet day I'll have my own laptop.

Which is probably about as motivated as I am at the present to do my work: not a hell of a lot.

Thursday, November 11, 2004

"I'm sorry, but I'm a comic book hero that wears panties."

Preach on, sister. Preach on!
I think that I am going to do my best to not lose my mind this evening. Granted, I probably have to get up really early tomorrow to get the car towed down to the garage in St. Petersburg (I would love to see Mr. "Women Belong in the Kitchen!" Mechanic's face when he's told that the starter that he put in started burning up under the hood,) but for now, I want to be stress free.

"I'm sorry. I shall choose 'Balloons' for five hundred, Alex."

Sorry. Had a moment.

Anyway, my evening of mirth begins after publishing this post. I'm going to sprawl on the bed and watch the half-hour weeknight editions of Cheaters (and if I thought Tommy Grand was a dork before, this Joey Greco joker with his flavor saver mustache is a total yutz), and fall asleep before the dog does. Oh yeah, and I'm going to post this picture in anticipation of the movie that comes out in 60-some odd days. Mark your calendars, bee-yatches!

"I'm gonna jam this stick... up his butthole! Crikey, he's really pissed now!"

This week needs "to be over like Rover the Casanova!"

At least that's how I remember the quote. I can't even remember what show I remember the quote from. I could have sworn I heard it on "In Living Color." Then again, I could've sworn I heard the term "Funky butt-loving" in Little Monsters, and we all remember how many years it took for me and Danhole to figure out that we were indeed incorrect in that assumption. Plus, so much swearing. Goodness.

Strangely enough, on my longest work day of the week, I had somewhat of a reprieve from the stresses of the week. That reprieve ended this evening, when the starter in my car decided to go wonky in the Costco parking lot, then wouldn't stop whirring, then started emitting foul smoke that engulfed the hood. Now, mind you, I just got a new starter less than a month ago, so I am none too pleased. The hits just keep coming. So now, I have to cancel the estimate I have an appointment for in the morning (the result of the fender-bender that happened over the weekend) since, well, shit, I can't exactly move the car.

I so seriously need a vacation.

La Resistance lives on.

It's been another long day, and I am heading to bed. I will probably post the story about the lazy retail worker later. For now, let us enjoy a little picture from the Halloween phone cam. Riley wore the ladybug outfit for a short while, but the cap just didn't fit right, and ended up looking like a red beret.

I think she hated me just a little that day.

Tuesday, November 09, 2004

The DarkChild Remix.

So, I'm feeling a little better than last night. I took some time to vent out with some of my girls (shouts out to Stumpy, Jaz and Ris-K for holding me down! Okay, no more DJ slang. For now). After sufficient bitching and constant reassurance from said girls, I think I'm okay for right now. I'm just going to concentrate on the little things that make me happy, like my unbelievable tolerance for schmaltz. To wit, my favorite audio tape purchased in 1990:

That's right, amigos: Paintings in My Mind, by fellow Jersey native, Thomas Alden Page!

I just heard a collective "WTF?" Hey, I was thirteen, and just coming off the whole New Kids/Joey phase, and the NKOTB did backing vocals on two songs on the album, which, btw, was wonderfully sappy. There were all sorts of cheesy pictures of him in the cassette (!) insert, walking on the beach and whatnot. In fact, I do believe that I can trace my extreme attraction to men in khakis to this very album. Wow, I just realized that. I need to sit down. Oh, wait.

Fine, I'll move on.

No, wait. I just found a more recent picture of Tommy, circa 2000:

It's nice to see that he's keeping up with his craft. Or whatever you call it. And he still appears to have all of his hair!

Okay. Now, I'm moving on.

Monday, November 08, 2004

Yeah, so today sucked.

It wasn't one of my better days. Work was fine, except for the fact that I didn't get nearly as much as I wanted done. The suck started when I was essentially told that it's my fault that someone backed into the side of my car because I apparently think I know everything, and continued when I couldn't find chocolate in the house to complement the non-dinner I had, on through the great debate over whether or not eating marshmallows was such a healthy idea (I reasoned that it was, because the package clearly states that they are "a fat-free food," so whoever wants to quibble with it can f off).

The Circle of Suckitude ceases as of right now, because five minutes ago, I went to the fridge in desperate need of the last caramel apple, only to find that it had either rotted or, more likely, been bitten and put back in the container. I kept asking my mother whether or not she thought it looked rotten or bitten, and she kept replying "I really don't know anything about that," as if I were asking questions with the intent to pin the blame. Well, shit, my whole line of questioning wasn't aimed at blaming, it was aimed at finding out whether or not I could eat the fucking thing. I ended up throwing it out (better safe than sorry and puking, I always say). And I am determined to end this crap by falling asleep to the dulcet tones of my dog gnawing on her chew toy.

Wednesday, November 03, 2004

Tired.

It's been a long day at work. I am mentally and physically exhausted from a day full of talking to children about all kinds of crazy things. I need a moment, a focal point, to help me unwind before taking to the bed. Ah, I know:

Yes. Now, I definitely feel better.

Monday, November 01, 2004

"I can roll if you can; don't be a punk!"

Okay. So, two critical comments in a week, huh? This better not become habit:

Ok, perhaps I missed something but the only update I saw was her tongue hanging out... :p Where's the scandal!?

My bad, but in many cultures around the world, I would think her tongue hanging out counted as scandal!?

Fine, fine. Here's the Britney Scandal Report of the Week, brought to you in part by Suzanne "Thank God She's Pretty" Bourne Reyenga*:

There is no scandal this week. Other than the fact that Britney is still married to that idiot. I seriously think that if he stopped dressing like a prison bitch and shaved his facial once in a while, he could be passably attractive.

Oh, my kingdom for Anson Mount!

Rrrow.

Double rrrow.

Or even that French guy in the "Don't Let Me Be The Last To Know" video. He was hot to trot (ass tan lines and all).

Heh heh. Frenchy. Heh heh.

Wait, wait! I found something scandalous!
A picture from the "Outrageous" video shoot (remember, the one where Brit busted her knee again and had to cancel the rest of her tour?).

Now, if this doesn't say, "Holy Shizzle," I don't know what does! I hope they finish that video. That'd rule.

*Oh, hush. She knows I love her. :)

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