Oooh...
As posted concurrently on the Fuckles Blog:
Come on with it, then!
Can't wait for April!
Friday, March 18, 2005
Thursday, March 17, 2005
The Night of the Sides '95.
So, in a fit of rage after work today, I decided to call Jules on the car ride home to vent. As always, our conversations start with a current event, and end up with a review of some of the ridiculousness we experienced at one point or another in college.
So, this time, the conversation started with my exasperation at the ignorance of general rules of consideration and politeness, and ended up with a discussion of the infamous late September, 1995 evening better known as "The Night of the Sides."
See, by September, 1995 was shaping up to be a pretty decent year. I successfully completed my first full year of college, and was almost two months into my sophomore year at UF when God decided to remind me that shit flows downwards. In what seemed like seconds, I lost a close, longtime friend (or maybe it would be more accurate to say that she lost me), and was on the verge of losing another person, who had not only been the sole object of my affection for over a year, but had also become one of my closest allies in the battle for self-discovery and growth known as undergrad.
The big blow up started on that horrible Saturday night that some of you may remember, where I sat in my beloved suitemates' room, listening to every possible thing I didn't want to hear at that time: all about my friend from home (who insisted that she was going to help me "land" my object of affection), actually going after said object after he admitted his feelings for her. This, of course, was coming from his mouth, and the torture seemed to go on forever. He insisted that he understood how I felt (which to this day, I find grossly impossible), and wanted us to "stay friends like we are, no matter what happens." His next request? "Please, be fair to her," he pleaded, "She feels horrible about this, and she doesn't know what to do. She really wants to talk to you and work things out." Although that cynical, angry, hurt part of me protested, I agreed to do my best.
The next two days were spent in a self-imposed silence, wrapped in a cocoon of agonizing solitude. My dearest roommates, even the skanky one with no conscience or soul whatsoever, did their best to keep me occupied and support me. I can honestly remember doing nothing for the next two days but staring at the sky while sitting out on the low wall behind Beaver West. I would even occasionally look to the little bridge that connected Beaty and Jennings, which was the hall my supposed friend lived in. I thought it was funny that for someone who was reportedly "torn up" about the situation, and who really wanted to talk to me and "work things out," and who lived a spit away from me, she had been glaringly scarce over those two days.
It was only by Monday, when I had been face-to-face with her in between classes, and she looked at me dumbly and said nothing, that I had seen just how "horrible" she felt. And in my need for release, that evening, I was going to call her and tell her exactly what I thought of her cowardice. But I got another phone call first.
It was the object of my affection, calling to check up on me. In his awkward attempts (and attempts at this point, by any one of us, would be nothing but awkward) to "keep our friendship the same," he offered to come over to cook me dinner. Stupidly and selfishly, I accepted. He came over with two boxes of macaroni and cheese, our staple food. I always found it idiotically impressive that he could make the mac and cheese without measuring instruments. He suggested having a side dish to go with it. The only thing I had was mashed potatoes.
Twenty minutes later, we both had two bowls in front of us, and ate mac and cheese and mashed potatoes in uncomfortable silence, both shoveling food into our mouths and looking down at the table so we couldn't look at or talk to each other. It was the most awkward dinner I've ever had, emotionally and content-wise. And I got terribly bloated afterwards.
And right after he left, good old what's-her-name called. Thus "The Night of Sides" became "The Night the Beaver West Girls Turned Off Melrose Place to Watch Something Else of Spelling Proportions Live." But that's another story, for another time. Suffice it to say, all that carbo-loading really got my Irish up.
Speaking of Irish, Happy Friggin' St. Patrick's Day, everybody!
If you'll excuse me, I think I need an extra helping of cabbage, an some more of those potatoes... Gotta fit the last bit of corned beef in before it turns midnight, and it becomes Friday, and I can't have any blasted meat...
Wednesday, March 16, 2005
"I told you, I barely have time to keep a journal, let alone breast feed an orphan!"
Ah, I tell you, I can't get enough of Confessions of a Sociopathic Social Climber these days. J.Co and I watched the first half hour of it during lunch today. If we hadn't, with the day I had today, I am quite sure my head would've exploded all over my paperwork. How in the hell would I bill for that?
Today is also the Patterson's birthday. I think his official age will heretofore be listed as "Methuselah" on his driver's license. Happy Birthday, Mark, and guess what? Dan will give you two and a half cents to jack an I35 off the lot and keep it in pristine condition by the time you get it to his place!
Tuesday, March 15, 2005
Best. Phone call. Ever.
It came sometime around eleven this morning, when I got a call from Jimmy's Mom's cell phone. It was Jimmy on the other line, calling to tell me that he had finally landed in Texas, and his year-long stay in Iraq was officially over!
At that point, a great load of weight was officially off my shoulders, and I could breathe a lot easier. Welcome Home, Jimmy. See you at Skippy Central soon!
Sunday, March 13, 2005
Right on!
Today, the Gator Men's Basketball Team beat the Kentucky Wildcats to win the SEC Championship, and now, I must celebrate!
Okay. Celebrating's done for now. More later after I recover from the ice cream-induced coma.
Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
I know this is relatively old news, but I recently saw this again, and am hard pressed to ignore it.
I sat here, watching various flavors of Law & Order, and this Burger King commercial came on. You know the one: cowboy singing, dancers, Brooke Burke on a swing... anyway, long story short, the singing cowboy dude is Darius "My name isn't 'Hootie!'" Rucker. Good Lord.
I have nothing else to say about that.
Friday, March 11, 2005
"Who's ready to discharge?!"
I think Riley's going to start the local chapter of PFGDA (Parents and Friends of the Gay Dogs of America) after she finishes watching Legally Blonde 2: Red, White and Blonde.
She went to the groomer's today, and came back with green bows with white paw prints on them, just in time for St. Patrick's Day. Unfortunately, I don't think they're going to live to see St. Patrick's Day. To wit:
She's been home for only a matter of hours, and already the one bow is all cockeyed. I'm going to see how long it dangles by a hair until she goes nuts trying to remove it. Yeah, I think that's how the rest of my evening's going to go.
"I'm not Captain Save-a-Ho!"
See, this is what I get for staying up and catching HBO's "America Undercover" series. Damn, I'm dumb.
Another one of those "longer than anticipated" days at work today. We have someone who is new to the front desk staff, but has worked in our agency for quite a while. The thing is, this person is so incredibly sweet, and tries really hard, but damned if this person can do the job right. After making Swiss cheese out of my schedule today, and rescheduling people for me all over the place (which the front desk staff is not allowed to do, since I am in charge of my own schedule), there was little else anyone could do to keep me from snapping. Steve, of all people, the King of the Wig Out, was even telling me to keep my cool (which, as of late, has become more and more difficult given the current work environment climate).
Never mind that I had to play mind games with an eight-year-old in our waiting room tonight. As I was approaching one of our security doors to get into my office, he walked up to me.
"I know the code to get in there," he said, gesturing to the keypad. Great, I thought, another little shit who is going to broadcast our security code to all kids within earshot. "Yeah? Why don't you show me?" I said, allowing him to punch the keys. And son of a biscuit, the kid knew the code. He beamed at me when the light on the keypad turned green.
I jiggled the handle of the door, pretending that it wouldn't open. "Are you sure?" I asked. "Yeah. The light's green." Okay, so this was a smarter one. "All right. Try it again." He tried again, but punched in the wrong code, so the light stayed red. He looked perplexed.
"You know what?" I said, "When you punch in the keys on that keypad, it takes your fingerprints." Looking amazed, he turned back to the keypad, and punched in the code again, but this time used his thumb. The code was correct, and the light went green again. He turned to me, beaming from ear to ear. Damned clever little shits! I mean, even though my story was total bull, he believed it, and believed it enough that he thought switching fingers would help! Gah! My tactic wasn't working. I had to think of something else.
"Oh, I forgot," I said, leaning in a little closer. "Since the keypad takes your fingerprints, it can tell whose prints are supposed to be on it, and whose aren't. If your prints go on there, and they're not supposed to be, you could get in trouble." Absolutely mortified at the thought of getting "in trouble," this smart little dude jumped back about five feet, his mouth wide open. I leaned towards him again, whispering, "I don't think we want you to get in trouble, right?" He nodded solemnly, and went back to his seat. His mom, who was sitting ten feet away, chuckled to herself as I went back towards the front office to tell them what had just happened.
"Is what I said to that kid to get him to not blab to everyone the key code and stop fucking around with the keypad so terrible?" I asked. Nobody seemed to think so.
See, I don't even feel bad about lying to a kid about something like this. How messed up is that?
Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to get in a chat room and lie about being the winning bidder on Justin Timberlake's leftover French Toast. I mean, Freedom Toast. Damned frogs, making toast for a pansy-ass Mama's boy. Crikey.
Thursday, March 10, 2005
"Brand, what happened to your braces?"
That Mikey Walsh is a sly little character, isn't he? No wonder I still heart him so.
I'm getting ready for bed, and have caught myself watching yet another episode of Cheaters. It absolutely kills me that they have a half-hour nightly episode on the weekdays, and an hourlong weekend episode on Saturdays. This is why the DVR is such a wondrous instrument: I get to tape my daily dose of trash and play it in the background while I'm doing other stuff. Riley herself is, at present, quite intrigued with this episode. I think it's mostly due to the fact that the actual "case" they're featuring is over, and they're doing a follow-up interview with someone from a previous case. This particular follow-up is to that weird-ass episode Grant and I watched a couple of years ago when we were in Orlando. We ate that entire rotisserie chicken and left Marc a wing and a piece of skin (after all, it was his stupid ass who said "I'll just eat whatever you guys leave me" without looking away from his computer monitor).
Anyway, I remember the episode really well, because it was one of the first few episodes I'd seen (and at the time, I only seemed to catch Cheaters when both Grant and I were in Orlando), and it was freaky as hell. I shan't go into too much graphic detail here, but I will say that the "confrontation" for this episode included the boyfriend catching his girlfriend in their own apartment, strobe lights pulsing, and two other women running to hide in the bathroom wearing not much more than flourescent orange safety vests (one with her face painted to look like a cat, the other wearing an old-school type gas mask), various sex toys hanging from the bed canopy, and photos of Jesus Christ and the Virgin Mary with blinking LEDs in them, on the endtables next to the bed. Yeah, that kind of freaky.
Okay, I've revisited the whole situation in my head, and now I need to lie down. Maybe it will go away if I close my eyes.
Wednesday, March 09, 2005
"Respect the cruller. But tame the donut!"
Oh, Jesus. I was planning on spending the evening catching up on paperwork, but that doesn't seem to be in the cards. After all, there was Alias to be had today, as well as making that Season Four tape I'm making to clear up space on the DVR, and my sudden need to have a hot fudge sundae. Yes, after almost thirteen hours at the House of Pain (also known as "work,") the last thing on my mind is actual labor.
Alias was damned good this evening. As per usual, somewhere between the seventh and ninth episode of the season, they really get into the swing of things and set the course for the rest of the year. This episode alone, I said "What the fuck?" at least five times more than usual. My favorite things about this episode? Weiss calling Sydney a "filthy American," Marshall proclaiming his DJ skills, and that Mustang crashing through the factory doors and emerging without a scratch. That's some kick-ass Turtle Wax, if you ask me.
Speaking of Turtle Wax, Jerminator has officially become a member of the Fuckles Blog Team. His most recent post has something to do with biscuits, gay cousins, and the General Lee. If you get the chance, go check it out to see what he has to say when he gets the chance to talk out of his ass!
Saturday, March 05, 2005
"You're driving me crazy. When are you coming home?"
According to an e-mail he sent me last night, Jimmy's answer to the above question is "sometime around March 8th." Unfortunately, that doesn't give me enough time to call off from work so I can take a few days to go with Mama Adkins on some crazy road trip to Texas. So, Jimmy, if you're reading this, get your happy ass back to the States, then get to Clearwater ASAP to get your truck so we can welcome you home properly. Capisci?
Goodness, I certainly hope I spelled that last word correctly. Heck, I should lay off the guy...after all, today is his birthday. (Psst: Happy Birthday, Jimmy!)
Friday, March 04, 2005
"That's right, it burns... 'Cause you're wicked!"
The Rock is on Conan right now, talking about how he noticed in publicity shots of him winning a championship belt that his ball popped out. That's friggin' hilarious.
Earlier this evening, Leviathan, Grantasm and myself were trying to open up a private chat room so we could chew the fat. Of course, I was put in charge of this, since I am the only one of the three of us running Trillian. And in Trillian (not sure if this applies to AIM as well), you can, space and allowable characters willing, name your chat whatever the hell you want. So, I decided to name our chat room "Chat, Bitches!" (without the punctuation marks).
Little did we know, upon entering "Chat Bitches," that the name was already taken. And there were already people in it. About six or seven. And they all seemed to be pre-teen girls with screen names that essentially bastardized anything and everything in the English language.
Knowing me and my stickler sensibilities regarding grammar and spelling, you know my eyes started to bleed just a little.
Of course, these kids were none too pleased that someone else invaded their chat space. After a number of "What the fuck?"s "Wutever"s, and "Who the hell are you?"s, we got out of that room into our own. But it was fun just sitting there, not saying anything while 69MrsChadMichaelMurray91 and her ilk got more and more perturbed at our presence. Squatter's rights, bitches!
Now, I'm going to take Conan's musical advice to Brittany Snow: "Button up your overcoat when the wind blows free!"
Nah, I'm just going to bed.
Thursday, March 03, 2005
In search of the peanut butter center.
I am, finally, thankfully, home. My last appointment today was supposed to end at six. My six cancelled, then my seven from yesterday who cancelled called, and I rescheduled them to three today. Then they called and rescheduled to five tonight. That appointment, with a very, very angry thirteen-year-old boy, lasted until seven, and I didn't get out of the office until right before eight. Gah. It was a very worthwhile, yet absolutely exhausting session. Stick a fork in me, I'm done.
I drove home in the pouring rain (I know, I thought I heard Sting singing in my head, too), listening to "Vienna," eagerly awaiting an evening of blogdoggery and relaxation. There were so many idiots on the road (because we all know rain + cars = idiots who think they can haul ass), but thankfully, I got home in one piece. I sat down with a huge iced tea and a half-empty bag of peanut butter M&M's, ready to create.
I proceeded to eat a few M&M's in my usual manner: for peanut butter and crispy, I eat the chocolate surrounding the center, then eat the center. For some reason, I find it important to clear the centers of any trace of chocolate before eating them. And I wouldn't eat the centers right away; I'd wait until I was almost finished with the chocolate, then eat the middles.
Well, I sat there, checking my e-mail and whatnot, with some peanut butter centers in one hand, then, *poof*... my hand was empty. And wet. I looked down at my hand, and saw, just behind it, the following:
Caught!
That little brat ate the peanut butter centers out of my friggin' hand. Then she tried to look cute. Even came up to lie down on the floor next to my chair and put her head on my foot. Funny, but it worked: I couldn't bring myself to scold her.
I know. I'm a pushover.
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
Taste the mother-f'ing rainbow!
Yet another long day in the world of meddling with children's minds. Nothing earth-shattering today, I think.
Yesterday was hilarious, though. I was running groups at one of the middle schools, and one of the eighth grade boys was running around the classroom, acting like an idiot to impress the girls, and as he was bounding around the place, his shorts fell down around his ankles.
The entire room erupted into hysterics. I put my head in my hands long enough for this kid to pull up his pants, and for me to pretend that I never saw it happen. Although I would've loved to laugh right along with the other kids, because this particular kid is an obnoxious little shit who likes to belittle others. Damned kids need to learn how to use belts. And by that, I mean as tools for both restraint and
punishment.
Middle schoolers are such odd, odd creatures. Not little babies anymore, not quite masters of their own awkward rebellion. It's a funny thing to watch, I tell you.
I talked to Keir earlier. We talked about our workdays. I told him a bit of what my day was like, and he imparted this upon me, which makes me want to get it printed out and keep it in my wallet:"See, this is why I could not do what you do. I would just give them weed and a shitload of Skittles."
Timeless. Utterly timeless.
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
"I'm going to paint your Porsche mint green so it looks like my van's baby!"
I actually caught Scrubs today. I never watch Scrubs, but I was typing, and it was on. I was actually amused.
I totally started this post off, planning to go into a lengthy discussion about something that happened to me today, but Levi had to get online and start some shit about never seeing The Godfather: Part II, which set me off totally. Then he had to go and refer to The Next Karate Kid as "Karate Kid Four," and my eyes are already bleeding. I've got to set this kid straight. Somebody bring me the ice bucket and rubber mallet!
"Give me a recharge, bitch!"
Nothing more amusing at one in the morning than Sarah Michelle Gellar and Maya Rudolph as the Ramada Sisters. And by the way, SMG as Christina Aguilera in a spoof of Making the Video: Dirrty is just... comic gold!
It's the first of the month (insert random Bone Thugz-N-Harmony lyrics here), and I find myself in front of the laptop, relishing in a fresh waffle bowl from the Slab. Yes, this addiction knows no limits.
This evening, I went to the Slab nearest to work, and for once, they had strawberries in the evening. This particular store never, ever has strawberries in the evening when I get out of work late. So, this has been a red-letter day. Or, at the very least, forty minutes.
More after I finish this. The dog is eyeing me with a nefarious plan to snatch my ice cream glistening in her eye. Tricky little minx!
Saturday, February 26, 2005
Right after the Pledge commercial.
See, I'm trying to get some sleep before tomorrow morning (daunting task, to be sure), and the episode of SNL hosted by Jason Priestley (sans Black Bart Mustache, I might add... after all this was back in the 9-0 days) is on E!. And right after signing off on the computer, and the Pledge commercial airs ("S.C. Johnson... a family company!"), I hear "Goodbye Girl" by Squeeze. But it sounds a little different. Then I see a familiar face on my screen:
Sweating to the Mittsy.
And I'm hearing Squeeze, and I'm grabbing for the remote to rewind what I am witnessing... Good Lord love the DVR, it's Heather in a friggin' commercial for Under Armour!
"Watch out for the guns. They'll get ya!"
The whole commercial is Heather waking up in her "apartment" (although I can't imagine Heather would decorate in that particular manner... and we all know she and AJ have a house). Then Heather's running with her iPod (sing that to the tune of "Running with the Devil"). Then she's pounding out 3 sets, ten reps each. Grr!
And we all know she ain't waking up alone. Shiiiit).
I've played the damn thing ten times, I'm that floored. And so vicariously proud!
So yeah. First national commercial I've seen Heather in. Good for her! Catch it, or go to the Under Armour website for more on it.
Now, I'm really going to bed.
Friday, February 25, 2005
Actually, bottom line, you tell the truth sometimes.
I have no idea where the hell my copy of Tails is, because the case is here, but the cd isn't. I'm getting pissed off. I'm talking to Leviathan, and we're discussing the album, and now I have a hankering for listening to a bespectacled folky singer, and I can't. Balls.
So tired.
I know I should be sleeping, but for some reason, I am drawn into this online conversation where Levi, with every shot of rum he ingests, is further butchering the English language. It's actually quite amusing. I'll get back to it, then.
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
"If you had a cat food, it would be called 'Fancy Bitch'!"
"...Or perhaps, Tender Bitches." Ah, Donatella (as portrayed by Maya Rudolph), you absolutely slay me!
Long days, both yesterday and today. As I feared, the dillholes at PMS held school yesterday, but most of the kids I was supposed to see didn't bother coming in, so I wasted a huge chunk of my day. Then, I got back to the office, managed to pound out another intake, and ended up leaving an hour later than I had planned to because I got all caught up in a session. Mother scratchers.
Today was equally interesting. I went down to the middle school to run groups, and for the first time this semester, I got hit on. By a sixth-grade girl. Well, at least they're keeping it interesting. Of course, the kid was just testing me; after all, last week was her first group meeting, and she loudly proclaimed a) that she was a lesbian, and b) that she had "a lot" of anal sex.
Oh, really?
She then spent a great deal of the rest of the group session trying to convince me that she was just kidding, and that she wasn't really gay. Yeah, like I care, kid.
So today, she walks into group, and proclaims that she isn't sure if she's a lesbian today or not. Then she looks me up and down says, "Ooh, Miss Sheila!" and gets all flirty. An uncomfortable position for any professional dealing with a child to be in, for sure. But I didn't miss a beat when replying to her.
"Sorry, hon," I said smiling, as I had the kids sign in, "You're not my type. Stick with what you know." She laughed, then I started group.
It's all I can do to bite my tongue and not go into my whole "bisexual is just another word for greedy" tirade. Maybe I'll save that for right before Spring Break.
Speaking of, maybe I should take some time off during the kids' Spring Break. There's just been so much shit going on lately, that if I don't get a break, I might suffer a psychotic break. Yeah, like how I worked that one in?
Me, like, eight hours ago. That cow didn't stand a chance.
Alright, long day tomorrow. I'm out!
Monday, February 21, 2005
It's Love Day!
No, not Valentine's Day... Love Day! Yes, it's Love's birthday! Break out the heart-shaped cake!
Of course, those bitches at ABC decided not to pick up her sitcom, so that sucks. But there are rumblings going around that CBS is picking up a pilot for a series that stars Love as a newlywed who can talk to the dead... Ah... Medium... ah... Sixth Sense with... ah, never mind.
Okay, so, here's wishing her better luck and success this year, eh?
And now, for the gratuitous pics, courtesy of the March issue of Maxim:
You know, I wish I could fit one friggin' thigh in that outfit. Work it, sister!
Happy Birthday to... Uh, Dan? Sideshow? Did I forget to lay down the tarp again?
And now, for a nugget of joy from Love herself. Then it's off to bed:
"It's funny, I went to visit a bunch of troops at the Walter Reed Medical Center in Washington when they got back from Iraq, and over half of them had my first Maxim cover issue with them at their bedside. They said they were allowed to bring a certain number of things to Iraq, and so many of them felt the need to let me know that they had spent quite a few evenings with me. Under normal circumstances, I would've been like, 'OK, that's gross,' but I was, oddly, very touched."Right-o!
Sunday, February 20, 2005
Someone keeps moving my chair.
This weekend went by way too fast. Tomorrow is President's Day, and as usual, I don't have the day off on a national holiday. My only hope is that the jackals at PMS decide to not let the delinquents come in for school because of the holiday. Hey, it's happened before (and they forgot to tell me nobody would be there, no less, making me drive all the way down to St. Pete Beach to discover the empty parking lot).
I have had a series of adventures dealing with my jukebox this weekend. First off, let me give props to Sarah for bringing in her book o'cds for me on Friday morning. Thank God for that, because if she hadn't, the fact that I hadn't ripped the soundtrack for The Full Monty would've kept me awake at night (she knows I'm kidding!). I come away from the experience of ripping her various cds about 2 gigabytes richer.
Then, after having my jukebox, which I love dearly, for three weeks, I realized that the battery life on this particular unit was not up to the expected standards, so I decided to go back to Circuit City to exchange it for a new one. The folks there said that would be no problem, since I was still within my first thirty days; the only problem was that they didn't have any more of that particular model in stock. So, they gladly refunded my money, and I high-tailed it across the street to CompUSA, where they had the same model on a "Manager's Special" for $40 less than the price I originally paid for it.
The guy at CompUSA said that yes, they did have that model in stock, and went to go get me the last one. When I went up to the cashier, it rung up at a different price: one that was actually more than the original price I paid. The employee called a manager up, because he didn't understand why it was ringing up differently, and said that maybe "manager's special" meant that was the price for the display unit.
Then he argued (to himself, really, even though I agreed with him) that that wouldn't make any sense, because "Look at this display unit. Nobody would pay that much for something this damaged!" He went on to repeat this to his manager, who was a bit of a schlub. Schlub said that they were different items because one was a "newer" model of the same thing, and that's why there was the price difference. He was also kind of curt about it, and I wanted to punch him. I also got the sense that since his employees were being so cool to me, and admitted that trying to sell a damaged display unit was "stupid," they'd probably get ripped a new one after I left the store. I thanked the two employees who helped me, then high-tailed it out of there.
I then proceeded next door, to Staples. They had the juke for the same price I originally paid for it, and I was going to buy it right then and there. However, one of the employees pulled me aside and suggested that I wait until the next morning to come in to buy it. I took his advice and walked up to a small crowd gathered outside of Staples right before the doors opened. He was also there this morning when it opened, and I thanked him after getting a hold of the juke: it was $50 less than the price I originally paid for it!
I get it back home, and proceed to try to transfer the 20-plus gigs of songs I had on the old one. Apparently, somewhere around the 2000th song, the juke proclaimed a "firmware problem" and stopped transferring halfway through. So, I have some minor adjustments to make in the managing software before continuing with the next 2000-something songs and calling it a night.
Morals of the story:
- Back everything up.
- If someone's a schlub, don't take it out on his cute underlings, because they need the support, and every schlub gets his due.
- If something doesn't work out, that just means something else will.
- I have a whole lot of fucking music.
- If you see a 2004 Stanley Cup Commemorative Tampa Bay Lightning hockey puck on sale at Publix, by all means, get it! Then, use the other Lightning pucks you own as wrist rests for your laptop.
Wednesday, February 16, 2005
Jeremy is my hero today.
Because he sent this to me to post here.
Smack him on the ass to thank him when you see him!
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
How does SNL hosted by the lady from "Touched By An Angel" make any damned sense?
However, the line "I asked Darrell Hammond for an autograph, and he punched me!" is very amusing. Perhaps the best part of the show. Thank goodness I can delete this.
So, I found out that ESPN.com's Page 2 is having their annual "Hottest Female Athlete" contest again. The downer? They've changed the rules so that former winners cannot be eligible again. Therefore, Anna Kournikova, Jennie Finch, and Heather Mitts are ineligible. Fignuts!
Anyway, in order to appease Mittsy fans, I suppose, they posted an interview with Heather for Valentine's Day. In it, she talks about how she is still in deep smit with AJ, and mentions they'll be in the SI Swimsuit Issue. Here is a photo that might be included:
What, is this going on their engagement announcement? How cute!
Again, AJ reminds me of someone, but I just can't place whom...
That Roma Downey episode of SNL just ended. And it sucked. Delete, delete, delete! Back to the business at hand.
Speaking of athletes, The Bad News Bears is on right now. It was on cable a few months ago, and at the time, I hadn't seen it in years. When it aired, I'd just finished reading Tatum O'Neal's autobiography (in one sitting at B&N, no less, when I was supposed to be doing paperwork) and I couldn't believe half of the stuff she had written about regarding her messed up family.
Tatum O'Neal during a time where she didn't have to deal with her family's craziness... Just Walter Matthau's.
Yeah, I would've done tons of drugs if I had even imagined living through the stuff she said she did. Oh, and speaking of tons of drugs, as I flip the channels, I see...
"Flash! (dramatic drumming) Ah-aaah!"
Absolute genius! I could insert the little story about the queens listening to Queen, but I'll save that for later.
I'm trying to convince Danhole that we need to go to MegaCon because Harmony and Darla from Buffy and Angel will be signing autographs. But another big reason that I want to go is because Sam J. Jones and Melody Anderson, Flash and Dale from the 1980 movie, are going to be there, too!
Flash and Dale, circa twenty-five fucking years ago.
I'd be extremely happy if I could get to meet Flash and Dale... but I'd die of geeker joy if I also met Brian Blessed, that jolly bastard Prince Vultan!
"Flying blind on a rocket cycle???"
By far, my favorite exchange in the whole movie was during the scene where Flash tries to help Barin, even after defeating him, and Vultan is incredulous:
Vultan: "What is this?"
Zarkov: "Humanity."
Vultan: "Madness!"
Anyway, I hope to at least be able to meet Flash and Dale. Hopefully I won't piss myself with excitement.
Wait, here's a thought: Flash Gordon is a quarterback. Dale Arden is in journalism/media. AJ Feeley is a quarterback. Heather is in the media as a sports commentator... Is it entirely possible that AJ and Heather are the new Flash and Dale?
Let's do a side-by-side, shall we?
????
Oh my God, the possibilities! If this is true, does that mean it's up to AJ to save the Earth and Heather from Ming the Merciless? And this time around, is it Yao Ming? Who's going to be Professor Zarkov (pray it's not Freddie Mitchell!)? Ooh, and if we have to re-cast Vultan, can we just use Brian Blessed again? I mean, sure he's gotta be sixty-eight, but he can still do it! I mean, the guy was in Alexander for goodness sake, and that wasn't too long ago! If not, can we just get the guy who plays Gimli?
I mean, he could totally pull it off!
Jesus, I am thinking way too much. I think I've had too much caffeine today. I'd better end this missive now, while I still have some (albeit not much) dignity.
Monday, February 14, 2005
"Who needs love like that?"
Oh, I love EuroPop. I sure do!
So, today is Valentine's Day, and I plan on spending the evening with my favorite pooch, as it should be. Dan may be spending the evening in Jacksonville, either sacrificing goats or screaming Grant's name in the rain outside of his window. Or not.
Either way, I found the picture for today on my South Park Desk Calendar strangely appropriate:
I guess Valentine's Day really is like that: awkward, cute, sweet, and one-dimensional. Wait. Let me think that one over for a bit.
Sunday, February 13, 2005
BREAKING NEWS: CANNONBALL!
No, really, there is some breaking news: Britney just won her first Grammy!
What's up, bitches? I just won a Grammy!
My faith in humankind and general craziness hath been restored. Now, it's time for iced tea.
Rooftop scraping and other maladies.
This weekend was incredibly uneventful. So much so that the highlight of it was my effort to stay away from sodas and drink strictly juices and tea. Don't ask me how it started, it just did. Anyway, late this afternoon, I had a hankering for some cereal, and I was totally out of my Florida Gators Cereal, so I hopped in the car and went down to my local Kash N' Karry. There, it was extremely busy for a Sunday afternoon, and the parking lot was teeming with overpriced SUVs.
(Speaking of SUVs, just a minor segue: Remind me to avoid any and all airings of any episode of MTV's My Super Sweet 16, because all those snotty kids with all that access to their parents' grossly high disposable income just make me want to go postal. The fact that these parents drop about a quarter of a million in the blink of an eye for ungrateful, whiny little assholes, compared to the fact that they could drop that same money over a matter of years and fund the higher education of a number of eager, hard working, grateful "less than" kids and still have money left over just makes my eyes burn with fiery hot injustice. Okay, moving on...)
So, I get to the store, after fishing around for a parking space for ten minutes, and the inside of the store is as busy as the parking lot. I procured four boxes of cereal (I had a hankering for Peanut Butter Crunch, as it seems I haven't had any in about a year), and went back out to the parking lot, where since everybody else in their overpriced SUVs decided the traffic laws didn't apply to them, I sat in my parking spot for TEN MINUTES until I had an open shot to back out of my space. I'm not kidding. I was halfway out of my spot during my first attempt to leave when a stupid Escalade decided they were going to block the rest of my exit so that they could wait on another space opening, further down in the lot. Then come the people walking from their cars to the store, who see you're already halfway out of your space, then decide to stand directly behind your car because they want to stop to answer their cell phone and obviously can't walk and talk at the same time (see, because that would be dangerous!).
I had not one problem with an elderly person today, as the elderly were the only ones observing general traffic and courtesy rules, waiting on the sidewalks and looking both ways, and showing thanks when I let them cross or go ahead of me (and I let each and every one go, because damned if Billy BigBucks in his godforsaken Hummer with no true utilitarian purpose was going to get to his dinner at Burns any faster by running Gramps over!).
It seems I am quite angry today. Grr.
Anyway, I made it home, and had myself a big, heaping bowl of Peanut Butter Crunch. In my excitement, I didn't let the milk soak in for the standard softening time, and, as can be expected, it tore up the roof of my mouth. This, of course, could not be felt until after I finished the bowl and tried to drink my iced tea half an hour later. Man, I just can't win.
Friday, February 11, 2005
I'm sure you have some sort of cosmic rationale.
Billy, sometimes you scare me when you're sober and intense. Yikes.
I have established this particular Panera as my favorite, I think. Electrical outlets everywhere, booths in the back, and now, new and improved with Splenda. And the chocolate croissants are actually fresh here! Can't beat it. It's just not terribly close to the house, but I guess a reasonable distance from work. Also, I may have a greater chance of running into people from work (clients and co-workers alike, unfortunately) so this probably won't become my usual roost. Damnation!
I'm sitting here, ripping some of Sarah's cds for inclusion on the juke. I actually stopped into the office earlier this morning to procure said cds. See, Sarah has this ridiculous book of over 200 cds that she keeps at all times in her car, so I figured I'd have a few hours of ripping madness ahead of me.
She more than willingly offered me her cds, then handed me this tiny, little case.
"What's this?" I asked.
"My cds," she said cheerfully.
"Where are the rest of them?" Mind you, I was expecting to have to bring out the hand cart to transport them to my car.
"Well, I still have them, but since I got that multi-disc changer at my place, most of them are there." Then she proceeded to give me the precautionary mini-lecture regarding the safety of her Josh Groban cds (I muttered something about my surprise that she didn't take out an insurance policy on them and having to teach her the value of ripping mp3 cds) before heading back into the office.
So, I came here, and opened up this case of cds that made it to the "can't do without them so they're in the car" list.
Inside: Now, That's What I Call Music! Volumes 1 to 234, said Josh Groban cds, Elton John's Greatest Hits 1970-2002, Garth Brooks, Martina McBride's Greatest Hits, and a bunch of soundtracks for animated movies. What the hell?
Somewhere in Jacksonville, DotOrg's head is exploding. Sigh.
I'm going to have to fish through these to find some archive-worthy stuff, but at least it won't take as long as I thought it would. I'm going to have to raid her place at some point to get the necessities. I have half a mind to sneak Debbie Gibson's Greatest Hits into her car when she isn't looking today. That'll teach her!
Here's something that's always amusing:
Can the man not get rid of his Black Bart 'Stache? Maybe he doesn't know how to shave. Maybe he'll do a guest spot on Alias this season! Ha!
Maybe I'll just start watching my Tru Calling dvds when I get home. Gah.
I can't believe I'm about to quote Bender.
I never watch Futurama. I mean, never. Not ever. The only time I actually had the tele on for an entire episode was on vacay a couple of weeks ago, when Grant and I were playing (no lie) Phase 10 in my cousin's living room, and it was on as background noise. So, for me to quote it is rather phenomenal, since I never watch the damned show, and probably won't get into the habit of doing so, either.
But today, I find myself so compelled.
I DVR'ed a few episodes of SNL on E! this week, because there were some choice ones to view (I wanted to see the second Britney one again, and I never did catch that Jennifer Aniston one when it originally aired, and figured, what the hey, it was a couple of hours of my time). So, this evening, I decided I'd play that Jennifer Aniston episode, and got through the lead-off Donald Trump skit. At that point, I decided I'd fast-forward past the credits to get to the rest of the show.
Works in theory, right?
Well, I hit the fast forward button, and the screen freezes. Hit another button, nothing works. Tried turning the cable box off, and nothing. Well, shit. The last time something like this happened, the cable company "reset" my cable box and summarily deleted everything I had on there with it (the last five episodes of Angel ever, to give you an idea). Needless to say, as this started to happen, I became less and less amused.
The last time I had an issue with the cable box, it had to do with the sound being crappy for a few days at a time. The cable company told me I could reset the box myself in a way that would only reboot the system, and wouldn't erase any of my saved programs. Overjoyed, I did it at the time, and it fixed my sound. Since this was something I thought a safe reboot might be able to fix, I gave it a try.
I managed to reboot the cable box four times. And after every time, when I tried to fast forward, the fucker froze. This happened over the course of an hour and a half. And now, I'm tired. So, for now, as Bender would say, the cable box "can kiss my glorious, golden ass!" I'll just fall asleep watching infomercials or Cheaters or something.
Oh, and another thing:
Any guy whose last name is pronounced "brewski" is alright by me.
And before I forget...
Riley loves to contemplate serious subjects such as the meaning of life and why things that taste so good at the time always seem to make you chuck. She especially likes doing this while napping on my clothing.
Now, I'm going to fall asleep, thinking about how I can't do jack shit for entertainment anymore since my rebudgeting efforts have translated into negative money for hijinx. Crap. Good night.
Thursday, February 10, 2005
Charley Horse and the Banana Conundrum.
I'm so glad this week is almost over. I think stress is catching up with me. Every morning this week, I've driven to work, gotten two-thirds of the way there, and discovered that I was clenching my jaw like mad. I also woke up this morning to the unsettling feeling that I was about to get a full-blown charley horse. I lay there in bed for what seemed like forever, with my leg suspended in the air, waiting for the sharp pain to subside enough so that I could fully extend my leg, put it back down, and go back to sleep. Riley was all excited that I was awake, thinking it was play time, and I had to try to calm her down while temporarily disabled. Later on, ten minutes before my alarm was scheduled to go off, I awoke to the sound of her retching. Because my calf was still smarting, I couldn't quite get to her to pick her up in time, and she puked on the bed.
Poor thing felt so bad. She put her head on my lap to tell me she was sorry. I pulled the messy section of the sheets off the mattress, and lay there petting her head until my alarm went off. Wonderful start to my day. And although my charley horse wasn't full-blown, it still bothered me for the rest of the day. J.Co even called me "Gimpy McGimperson" when we went to lunch. It bugged me, because I haven't had one of those in over a year, and I've had a decent amount of potassium this week (all those bananas will do that to you). What a conundrum. Hence, the title of this post (See, I had a point to make, after all!).
I just think it would make a great album title, is all. Kind of in the way Grantasm feels that Hue of Danforth would be an awesome album title. We all have our things.
Or maybe it would be a great title for a children's mystery book. Yeah, that's it. A children's mystery novel that could be made into a movie adaptation... Starring Love and Bill Murray as the voice of our favorite fat cat! With soundtrack by BabyFace (or not)! No, soundtrack by Love herself! That's what we want!
Levi, prepare the vocal arrangements! We have to zussamen!
Having said that, I am now heading home to a sheetless bed and the paws of my loving pooch. Life is good.
Wednesday, February 09, 2005
Heh heh. "Dope Show."
I'm watching my weekly dose of Alias right now, and I'm cracking up. They've got one of the guys that played one of Julia's ex-boyfriends on Party of Five playing some foreign dude. And this episode has something to do with Syd being exposed to some sort of drug, and they've got her walking through this club in Bucharest with "Dope Show" playing in the background. Fabulous.
As I watch this episode, I can't help but marvel at the fact that even in Season Four, most of these blokes have no idea how to shave. Except for Dixon, of course. That guy is fucking harsh!
This man could tear you apart. "And your friend, too."
I just recently saw the commercial for the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show. It shows all these different dogs in profile and stuff, and Europe's "The Final Countdown" plays in the background. I'm going to piss myself; everything is damned hilarious tonight!
Tuesday, February 08, 2005
Tossers!
These people are pissing me off:
Tossers.
Maybe you can't see them to well, but there's a guy and a girl hogging the couch with the coffee table at Panera Numero Uno. They've been sitting there for the last two hours, blathering sweet nothings to each other incessantly, all the while pretending to study. It wouldn't be so bad if they would have sat at a table or booth that was not next to the only easily accessible electrical outlet in the whole fucking restaurant. Earlier, I was forced to sit at a table and stretch the power cord to ridiculous, not to mention dangerous, lengths across the floor just to get some juice while the dude seemed put off by having to temporarily pick up his stupid coffee so it wouldn't get dumped on him while I tried to plug in. Later, after a busser almost ate it because he tripped on said power cord (in front of this fantastic couple, no less, who just looked at him dumbly), I managed to get to a table closer to the same outlet, and that is where I sit now. Also, this stupid girl is grossing me out because she is putting her BARE FEET on the coffee table in front of her (acceptable at home, but at Panera? Ooh, no, no, noooo.)
A few moments ago, both of them got up to talk to some people passing by. They left all their crap (cell phones, keys, JuCo syllabi and handouts) on the tables around them. I had half a mind to swipe them, or hide the phones in the couch cushions. Too bad I'm a nice person.
Am I becoming one of those bitter beings who snarls at any sort of PDA? No, I just hate these two. They're pissing me off. They've been loudly not studying and taking up valuable couch space. And they could've been nicer about things. They didn't need the outlet, yet gave me attitude when I asked them if I could use it. They almost laughed at the busser when he almost ate it. I don't know. They're just touching a nerve today.
Maybe I should go listen to Cutting Crew and The Cover Girls for a few moments and forget all about it. Maybe Marble Slab is in order (again). I so badly want to believe in a karmic juggernaut.
Saturday, February 05, 2005
"How can it hurt you when it looks so good?"
Here are some props and a little respect for Danhole, who correctly identified the song lyric posted in the last entry. He asked for a cookie, and since by the next time I see him, said cookie will have been either eaten or stale, I present the following as compensation instead:
I don't know quite what to say about this, other than I think you know who that little girl is. What a trooper!
Well, I guess if you can survive being on the L.A. Gear concert tour, as well as a coordinated stonewash denim outfit, you can pretty much take anything that comes your way. Spot on!
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!
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!
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