did you ever notice...

That nothing at all besides mail-order pornography is ever shipped in brown wrapping?

Makes me question the use of the word "discreet".

Moving on, from Hey Lisa! (I must confess, I always viewed the name "Lisa" as the ultimate slut name. Now I can't, because I know someone named Lisa. So I guess "Debbie" is the new ultimate slut name, because I don't know anyone named "Debbie".) we have this installment of Questions O' Thrice!

1) Why "Pickle Juice"?

Because I love it. It never loved me back. I can only drink an ounce or two at a time these days (as opposed to my pint at a time I used to consume) because it makes my gut rev like an outboard-motor. Also, I thought that there was no way that anyone would Google anything related to "pickle juice". I used to get pissed at finding websites wholly unrelated to my search. Except this one time where I stumbled upon an essay entitled something like, "Have It Your Way: The McDonalds/Burger King Dichotomy". That was actually a pretty good read. I can't find it anymore, though.

2) What do you like most about children (in general)?

The general sweetness:



Or the most lovely gal this side of the Mason Dixon:



Or maybe it's how many teeth my son has, thus ensuring his intelligence:



Or maybe it's the costume reveals:



3) What do you like least about children in general?

Everything else.

if this is how i treat my friends...

First batch o' questions from my bestest friend, Smegnacious. Enjoy.

1. Do I have to ask you 3 questions, when I know you're just going to
come up with some lame answer that won't make any sense?

Life is little more than a fatal sexually-transmitted disease. Well, okay, maybe not "little" more. But not a whole hell of a lot!

2. If I do, what would they be?

The other day in the car I heard The Music's "Breakin" and could have sworn it was Jane's Addiction. Then I heard Audioslave's "Like A Stone" and could have sworn it was Soundgarden! It was the one-two punch that really finished me off. It was brutal.

Sheesh, I'd be humiliated if anyone else ever found out about that. So keep it under your hat, yo.

3. Can you make sure my death is quick and painless, please?

My boss used to try to convince me to clean my office by telling me, "If you manage to even keep your inbox cleared, I'll buy you business cards." It never worked because I hate business cards. But then the admin ordered them for me anyway, so he had nothing to lord over me. The other day, after many, many months, I cleaned my office spotless. The next day I came in to find this taped to my door:

FANTASTIC!!

OUTSTANDING!!

OVERWHELMING!!

REVELATION!!

EARTH SHAKING!!

The admin told me that the boss had actually given her a tour of my clean office before I got to work. He said, "Look, here's her desk, and here's a table and...look at that, she had a second computer in here the whole time!" Then they laughed at me, so I emptied everyone's garbage on my floor. Who's laughing now, huh?

Who's laughing now?

it's a disturbing trend...no, wait. they're both disturbing trends.

There's an episode of "Family Guy" where Peter becomes some big ol' woman after being forced to attend some sensitivity-training camp. Lois is most displeased. At one point, Peter says something to Lois like, "I have to give myself a breast examination" or something, and into his shirt goes his hand. He gets alarmed and goes, "A lump? A lump? My God, I've found a lump! Nevermind, it's just a Cheeto." Then he eats the Cheeto.

My son mimes this scene perfectly. Right down to the look of horror on his face upon finding the lump, and the joy when he eats it.

"A lum! A lum! Blagrerol bagger...CHEESETOE!" Munch, munch, munch.

I had to draw the line when he tried reaching into Zoe's shirt to find her lump. Okay, I drew the line after he did it for, like, the fifth time and it started to not be as funny.

A mom's gotta have some principles, you see.

In other news, that asshole has nothing new or interesting to say. Which is a bit of a coincidence, because neither do I. Unlike me, he's shown some initiative and rekindled Ye Olde Sende Me Questions Thrice And They Shall Be Answerede Thusly On My Blogge. And I'm stealing his idea.

So if you wanna, mail me three questions and I will answer them.

Oooh, it's such a weak little device, isn't it? The meme, I mean.

A pox on your house, meme!

(Side note - do you want to know how stupid and culturally-unaware I am? I thought it was a ME ME, as in "all about me, but double the me!" Andy had to explain it. But I blow his tiny little mind with my theories of quantum physics, so I guess we're even.)

I think I'd actually enjoy this meme, if I get any questions. If I don't, I think I'll cry.

A pox on your house, those who make me cry!

Cheeto.

a few factlets and one big old factoid

I love Swedish Fish. Love, love, love Swedish Fish. But only the red ones. If they made a red Swedish Fish beverage I'd throw some vodka in there and drink it from a baby bottle.

I'm getting my hair cut like my favorite Sim. I saw a girl at the airport with a similar style and thought, "I'd look waaaay cuter with that cut than she does!" Thus my fate, and hair style, were sealed.

My husband is moving back to the UK in the near future. I will be moving back to Illinois. Odds are fairly good that blogging will be very light after that, as will most internet communication. I don't know about his arrangements in the UK but I know that I'll be staying with a mother who still seems to think that a local call on dial-up costs a lot of money.

I will miss Minnesota a lot. And I think there may even be a small part of me that just might miss Andy, too.

Or maybe I'm just gassy.

this post brought to you by my post nasal drip

I'm really sick so I left work early today. Now you make this face :( because you're sad that I'm sick.

That was lovely, thanks.

So in my congested-induced state I thought I'd bring these two items to your attention. Both of these situations are true and can be credited to CNN.

First. On Christmas they were showing the heart-warming video clips of soldiers in Iraq broadcasting their holiday wishes home to their families. Typically I cannot watch these - they break my heart. Especially when they have the video link-ups where one side of the screen is some harried-looking soldier younger than my paperboy and the other screen is his wife, inevitably holding a baby that was born while the husband was deployed. But this time I couldn't look away, for beneath this lovely holiday scene of love across the miles was the most horrifying soundtrack I'd ever heard.

Wait - I'm getting ahead of myself. Boys and girls, if you were in charge of the production of this segment of the news program, what message would you try to convey? Something somber, perhaps? A bit melancholy? Heart-warming?

Well, those would have all been fine choices, kiddies. You all get a gold star.

However, the person who chose a rag-time instrumental version of "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus"...big fat F and a whipping with a switch when he got home.

What the fuck were you thinking?!?

Second. Again, CNN. The segment was about Kwanzaa, the proud African holiday that was invented in the sixties by some dude in L.A. (Not that there's anything wrong with that!) But I digress. The segment was about breaking down black stereotypes and celebrating families and African traditions and what-not. Again, the musical director hit one out of the freaking park when he chose..."Pass The Dutchie" by Musical Youth.

In case you don't know, "dutchie" is a slang term used by Jamaicans (primarily) for marijuana wrapped as a cigar. I believe people also refer to them as "blunts" but, as I'm a white mom in Minnesota, I would know nothing about such things.

Further, the song has a refrain that goes "how does it feel when you have no food?"

A person could reasonably infer that the song in question is about poverty-stricken blacks in Jamaica who smoke pot because they have little else.

And it was used as the backdrop for a segment about how Americans misunderstand Kwanzaa.

Did I overexplain this? I may have, seeing as how half of my brain currently resides in a Kleenex in the garbage but...

What the fuck were you thinking?!?

Aren't you glad that Auntie Picklejuice gets sick and ponders such things, and is then generous enough to share?

Like hell you are.

warm and fuzzy christmas story

I have a friend who is completely incapable of bullshitting. Once, after having been asked if he liked an outfit he replied, "I don't know anything about clothes so I can't have an opinion."

And this just in - there is no snow in Minnesota. Repeat: no snow in Minnesota.

It's a Christmas miracle!

update: Bloody snow. Stupid non-miracle.

ho ho ho! wait - only three hoes? why, that's not a very merry christmas at all!

Sometimes I forget what a funny kid Samantha can be. On the way to the airport today she said these three things (of orient are...wait, sorry. Different song.)

"I just can't warm up to that lunch lady. You try to make a conversation with her but she always turns it into some bitter story. Do you think she's bitter because she doesn't have a husband, or that she doesn't have a husband because she's bitter?"

On hearing a commercial for a star registry (where you pay to have a star named in honor of a loved one):

"Pshaw. I bet you'd play with it once and then just throw it into the toybox. What a useless present - you can't even re-gift it or anything!"

When I asked her to count how much cash I had in my purse:

"One thousand two hundred. No, wait. Hang on - how did I mess that up? You have one hundred twenty-three dollars." (pause and a glare in my direction) "When are you going to admit that you did drugs when you were pregnant?"

You've got to see her delivery - it's hysterical. And she's only eleven! Ah, what a kid.

At the airport things were a mess but the gate agent was being really cool. Some woman had a dog in her lap and another woman came to the desk to inquire. "She's not taking that little mutt on the plane, is she? Or is it going underneath with the bags?" Gate agent said, "The dog has a kennel, so she probably paid extra to take it on." Bitchy woman glares. Gate agent goes, "Come on, dear, it's a short flight." Bitchy woman goes, "Oh, but what if I sparked up a cigarette? Would you say to the other passengers 'it's a short flight'?" Gate agent said, "No, but if you kept your cigarettes in a kennel I don't think I'd complain."

Again, delivery. Totally had to be there but it was cool.

Oh, and I saw someone I knew. I was looking at him going, "Wow, he looks like that total prick, whats-his-name." I saw that he was using his business card as a luggage tag and I peeked. It totally WAS the total prick! Just standing there in all his prickiness glory, without so much as an apology for being such a monumental prick!

He said to me, "Do I know you?" I said to him, "I don't think you want to."

Merry Christmas, motha fuggas!

to market, to market to buy a fat pig

I overheard this during my grocery shop tonight...

While standing next to the deli cooler I'd spied this "Minnesota Monster" sandwich. It was, like, four pounds of fresh deli "processed meat and obscure cheese" glory. All for the princely sum of $10 bucks. I was considering it for dinner because I'm very lazy when I heard two girls talking about said sandwich - "It's too big. You know what would be awesome? If they cut it in half and sold each half for, like, five bucks each! That'd make more sense."

I blinked really hard like I do when I hate someone and had to resist the urge to bludgeon them with a camembert - because it's a soft cheese. If there had been a block of parmasean around, however, she'd be dead. Both shes. Because the other she was guilty by association with Stupid She.

I encountered another pair of Stupid She. They were walking past me and one said, "But this is, like, totally only one net carb!" Other Stupid She crinkled her nose and said, "You need to learn balance."

Actually, thinking on it, that was probably the smartest thing any Stupid She has ever said in the history of all the Stupid Shes. I think I may be impressed.

Or perhaps I'm just bored.

stupid search engines

So I have a script that is supposed to stop search engines from loading my site. Sometimes it doesn't. Like today.

Someone found me by searching for "what's the plastic part of a shoelace called?"

I love how people ask the internet questions. Like you'll get a result like, "Indeed, grasshopper. What is the plastic part of a shoelace called? And, for that matter, what isn't it called? Let's ponder."

NO! No, you dumb mother fucker! It's called an aglet, got that? AG. LET. Man, are you stupid or freaking what?!?

You are now my mortal enemy. Go, and darken my doorstep no more.

cough

Boy, it's a bit cold out there, innit?

(Now do you see why I block search engines from getting here? It's just so much better for everyone involved.)

(Another parenthesis - funniest thing is that I'm the fourth result and the first relevant bit. No, wait - the funniest thing is that the answer to the question was clear in the search result, and yet, Genius Amongst Us clicked my link anyway. And was sore abused for their troubles. And now here is the second parenthesis in the set that closes this thought.)

Rock star!

sucks to be me, struth!

I'm trying to do a preliminary balance of the year-end numbers and I'm off by fourteen cents that I can't find anywhere. But you can't just go, "Screw it, I'll throw it in myself" - you have to find the freaking fourteen cents. Fourteen is now my least favorite number. How I loathe fourteen.

A Google search for "hooker with a heart of gold" returns about 6,430 results. A Google search for "that'd be cool" returns about 38,700 results. This leads me to believe that people think there are cool scenarios that don't involve hookers with hearts of gold.

Yesterday there was much freezing rain, and I was sore afraid. And really, really late to work. Two and a half hours late! And I'd even left on time for once - unlike today when I was late because I left the house late. Sometimes when I'm running behind schedule I get really angry at red lights. But today I simply did not care. Bring it on! Bring on the red lights! Marvel at my laid-back stature!

No one was in the office when I got here but I got a phone call from my boss. He was all like, "I called at 8.30 and you weren't in!" I told him, "Yeah, I forgot that no one would be here when I arrived and I brought the wrong keychain. I had to go back for my office key." At least I have the decency to lie.

Today the freezing rain has turned to slush, which is quite nice. Yesterday the driving was brutal. I was tooling along behind this little S-10 pick-up that suddenly had the urge to test his off-road capabilities. S-10 pick-ups have very little off-road capability. The gentleman in question did not seem to care - or maybe he couldn't stop. We shall never know the truth.

I was at an intersection and I saw a truck blast into the back of a semi, which was interesting. That's what you get for calling your line of vehicles "Ram". What were they expecting? It's like, "Come, let us away for a nice Sunday drive in my new Volvo 'Children Are Speed Bumps'! Oh, you'd rather take the Ford 'Plows The Elderly'? Suit yourself!"

Another. An other. Some people split the word "another" and say things like, "A whole nother..." A whole nother ball game. A whole nother problem. A whole nother horse of a whole nother color. But it's stupid to do that. An other. Another. Be more responsible next time.

That reminds me of a Jack Handyism: Maybe in order to understand mankind, we have to look at the word itself: "Mankind". Basically, it's made up of two separate words - "mank" and "ind". What do these words mean ? It's a mystery, and that's why so is mankind.

A Google search for "Jack Handey mank ind" returns about 2,110 results. That's a bit too accurate to be considered an estimate, yet they include the word "about", which, in this context, could be replaced with the word "approximately". What ho!

I like how Michael Caine tells you what you are and then asks you what you are. You're a bastard. What are you?

I work with...well, not "with", I suppose - more like I work near a fellow who is rather protective of me. Something creepy happened at work the other day and now people are, like, paying an awful lot of attention to me. This guy keep checking on me. I mentioned it to Andy and this was thus spoken:

me: Dave the Asshole keeps checking on me.
andy: Who is he?
me: Mike, the dude from next door?
me: Mike is Dave the Asshole.
me: He's actually a very nice guy.
andy: You need your bumps felt, you know.
me: What?
andy: Your head examined.
me: Why?
andy: If the guy's name is Mike, why call him Dave?
me: Dunno.
me: He just looks like a Dave. Plus, I already know a Mike the Asshole.

I think I've met my asshole-knowing quota for the day.

Back to fourteen-cents hunting!

a series of random events

I was expecting a phone call but my phone was on the charger in the kitchen down the hall from me. I told Andy, "So lemme know, Joe, when my fricky fricky phone goes." When I said "fricky" I made it sound like a record scratch.

If I had ever managed to achieve my dream of being a rapper my name would have been "Pepperidge Farm" because I'm so white. But we'd have to rapifiy the name due to unnecessary syllables so I'd be called "Peppied F". Peppied F rocks the mic, y'all. Peppied F does, indeed, rock the mic.

Zoe said, "Hup, hup, liquid!" for no reason. I said, "Oh yeah? Well liquid you!" Her reply was, "Liquid eggs!" and she laughed like a maniac. The end.

We saw the Lemony Snicket movie tonight. It was cute, if a bit mergh. Jim Carrey totally overacted (big surprise - not really). Meryl Streep was freaking awesome (big surprise - no, really). Jude Law's narration wasn't featured heavily enough. Then again, I could listen to Jude Law read the freaking phone book and not get bored. Oh, and Billy Connolly? You so didn't want to be touching those snakes. I could totally tell. But you're great and from Glasgow and stuff so I'll overlook it.

I'm drinking beer out of a glass. I do not enjoy doing this when beer typically comes in perfectly adequate drinking vessel (unless it's a can of Guinness or Boddingtons, I mean). Drinking beer out of a glass when it's beer that came in a bottle is just so...so...ugh.

I feel like such a girl.

there happens to be no shame in my game, however, i quite obviously have guilt in my kilt

I had a big event at work today that I really did not want to be a part of. Thankfully I had a reason to leave work just as it began, and return to work just as it ended! So, that was nice.

I had to leave because my son was sick but then I saw that he wasn't that sick so I came back to work. I know you shouldn't wish illness on anyone, but come on...kid coulda puked or something to make it so I didn't have to feel all guilty about skipping out on all the stuff waiting for me at the office.

I heard the most baffling word in the world today. Seriously, when I heard it I said to myself, "My goodness, am I baffled!" I gave the radio a dumb-founded look.

"Semi-boneless".

Think about that for a minute.

You're baffled, too, now aren't ya? Admit it.

Here, let's look at that again:

Semi-boneless.
Semi...boneless.
Semi. Boneless.

Utterly baffling.

My mate Sandwich To The Head guy gave me a good metric for determing whether or not your pig is real: If it weighs more than you (me) then it's real. So the next time you're out buying a pig just gimme a ring and I'll give you my digits (digits from my scale, that is) so you can be sure you're not buying a fake pig.

He said some other stuff, too, but it was really odd and had no meaningful value. Unlike the pig thing, which makes perfect sense and has practical applications.

I have some of the best friends in all the world. Except for this one guy, who's a total asshole!

Speaking of assholes, there is no snow on the ground in Minnesota. What's the connection? Minnesota drivers are assholes at the best of times, but if you throw snow into the mix they become assholes of epic proportions. Any understanding of spatial relations, velocity or threat of impact between their Nissan Maxima and my big-ass Olds SUV fly straight out the window. But this shouldn't matter right now, as there's no snow on the ground, right?

Oh, how horribly wrong you are.

It seems that since there should be snow on the ground at this time of year the fine residents of Minnesota have gone into winter-driving mode. I know this because of the increased frequency of the word "cocksucker" in my vocabulary. Used to be I'd only scream it, what, four or five times a week, tops. Now it's four or five times per commute. One-way, too - that's not even for the round-trip.

No one ever thinks that they might be the bad driver in the equation, do they?

You think you know coffee? You don't know beans about coffee!

That's not my joke. That's a line from a spam email from "Coffee Time!" (please do make note of the inappropriate exclamation mark there. No one ever gets that excited about coffee time. It's more like, "Mlugh, glurgh, need to make coffee" time. If you're screaming about coffee time! then it's more likely to mean that it's stop drinking coffee time!)

I have a friend who sometimes lies on his blog but he always confesses to me and that's just swell.

free tibet!

With the purchase of a Tibet of equal or greater value.

My, what a lazy joke that was! I'm simply astonished at myself.

Sorry, folks - I got nuthin'.

i call rude people "rudy"

I was at the post office picking up a package (I like the letter P because I have a sPeech imPediment and always PoP my Plosives!) and this woman with two little angel-faced babies that I just wanted to num num nummy on was standing at the postage machine (sorry - Postage machine) just agonizing. I figured she probably had some phobia or something so I gave her some space...okay, am I the only one who's really, really conscious of every instance of the letter P now? Oh I am? Alright then, let's move on.

Where was I? Oh, yes, the woman with the kids was having a freak-out at the postage machine. She then looks at me with sheer agony in her eyes and practically wails, "Can I borrow 11 cents? I just gave all of my change to the Salvation Army!" Okay, here's 11 cents - whatever. She practically falls all over herself with gratitude to the point where I wanted to give her another 11 cents just to prove that it was no big deal. But I didn't.

Anyway, as she was walking out I looked at her kids, who were both giving me the hairy eye like, "Why is that woman making mommy all psycho?" and I said, "Oh, your babies are just adorable!" She gave me this really bitchy look and said, "It costs 11 cents to look at them." Then she practically stormed out of the post office.

'Twas rude, 'struth!

Tonight I was at a mandatory concert viewing at my daughter's school (seriously - if she didn't show up it was an instant two grade drop...right before midterm! Those Nazis!) and three very very large people sat down on the bleacher in front of me. I don't discriminate if you're fat - being an asshole trumps being a fatso any day of the week. I only mention their size as a literary device. So these three people spread all kinds of out to take up the whole bleacher (my bleacher comfortably fit five adults and four children). I heard the woman say to her husband, "Scoot down so we can save space for grammy and grampy." They were using their fat as a force field - for a moment I was envious. But grammy and grampy never showed and the bleachers filled up tighter and tighter around us all. Except for these behemoth people, who had a whole freaking bleacher to themselves. At one point, Grammy showed up to tell the woman that they were sitting over there! No, we don't want these seats because Grampy can't climb so good! We're staying over there! Guess what, broad? We're at a concert and my kid's doing a freaking solo, you hear me? A solo so just get your ass back over to grampy, okay?

Okay, so that's resolved, right? The Titanic Trio didn't need to save space for Grammy and Grampy anymore, so they could scootch together, right? But they so freaking didn't! They SO freaking didn't. In fact, it almost seemed as if their girth increased with the knowledge they didn't have to, ya know, skinny up for grammy and grampy.

'Twere assholes, they were!

Now, the third part is a story I'm reluctant to share, as it's what I used in my Christmas card story to my bestest friend but it rounds out the trilogy nicely so I'll share. (Smegnacious, don't read this or else you won't get a good Christmas story like you've come to expect from me. Are your eyes closed? Good, I'll continue.)

The local fire department was doing the Salvation Army bell ringing outside of my grocery store. They were all kitted out in their fire retardant uniforms despite the fact that it was, ya know, snowing. Last time I checked, snow is highly inflammable, but whatever. It was probably a marketing idea.

Anyway, these three dudes are standing around the kettle and, out of nowhere, this fourth fireman storms up and straight-arms the guy holding the bell. Dude goes absolutely flying into the wreathes. The aggressor shouts at him, in such the Minnesotan accent, "Hey, hoser, I can't hear your frickin' bell!"

'Twere uncalled-for, aye!

What do these three stories have in common? Apart from being intricately woven and flawlessly executed anecdotes?

Combine them all - the fireman, the titans on the bleacher, the crazy woman - and that does not even begin to approach the level of assholitry I've accomplished on this here blog.

I was informed last night that my entire family has read my entire blog. And I've said some less-than-flattering things about sisters that I otherwise quite like. But hey, cut me some slack - I thought you were too technically illiterate to find this page! Wait, no, that's not what I meant to say.

I meant to say, "I'm sorry" and "I won't do it again" and "I hope you don't hate me" and "Christmas is the time for forgiveness" and "Can I borrow fifty bucks?"

Seriously - dear, dear sisters, to whom I haven't spoken in months - lovely gals that I exaggerated for comedic effect - please don't be pissed.

But Stacy - honestly, what the hell was up with locking me in the closet and making me sing the state song? You were pretty brutal, man. I was just little!

Anyway, hope to hear from you all at Christmas. I love you loads and actually miss you guys. Thanks for reading - I promise you will no longer be blog fodder.

Much.

linktacular

I saw a sign today that said, "This sign cost $4.75". Such weak, miserable attempts at conspicuous consumption make me so mad!

Holy shit - now, how often do I get excited by movies? Last time was...what, never? Yeah, I think "never" is the correct answer here. But the preview for Tim Burton's remake of "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" (found via the stupidest evil bastard of all time) has me drooling. This has all of the ingredients of either a masterpiece or something that will make me mourn the selling off of yet another piece of nostalgia. Still, it looks pretty wicked. I may actually have to enter a cinema for this one.

How much does eternal love cost these days? 'Bout a hundred bucks, US. (found via totally awesome Gerard.) The funniest thing on that site, however, is a little quote waaaay at the bottom: "All you need in life is food, shelter and clothing...oh, and ladybugs and flowers."

I'm having a hard time today because I have to let go. I've been in denial for years but now it's time to face the facts: U2 has definitely and without remorse completely subscribed to their own hype. "How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb" is entirely unlistenable. There, I've said it. Do you hear me, Bono? Un. LISTENABLE! And the cover art, where you guys are all sitting around looking rock-star-surly but you have that little smug half-smile and your sunglasses on? Unlookable. Un. LOOKABLE.

It didn't have to be this way, guys. But you've just lost your last hold-out. I'm with them now and I can no longer defend you. Yes, I think you'd better go now - I don't want you to see my tears. Good-bye, Bono. Friends of my youth, at last adieu! Haply some day we meet again; Yet ne'er the self-same men shall meet; The years shall make us other men.

Fie, fie! You visionary things. (Sorry, Sir Richard F. Burton. I know not of why I speak your divine words of wit and wisdom - you sure as shit didn't have no freaking U2 in mind when you wrote that, but it kinda works, doesn't it?)

(Sir Richard F. Burton is dead but I just pretended like he was alive and would read this. And then I told you what I've clearly just done. I don't know why.)

Zoe: "I thought that was my muse but it was really just a precursor orb."

It's been months since my last mania, but I think I'm feeling one coming on. The increased posting is one sign. I posted once a long time ago how helpful it is to have a blog when you suffer manic depression because you can kind of tell when things are going to shift by plotting your posts. There are a lot of other signs I've noticed...small things that don't seem significant out of context, like tapping my thumbs when I'm listening to music. But if I'm tapping my thumbs and have to fight the urge to scream lyrics I kind of go, "Aha!" Oh, and the range of my peripheral vision increases. No lie. And I kind of feel like I have a happy little bunny sitting on my stomach. Not on the outside of my tummy - I mean I feel like I have a happy little bunny sitting on top of my stomach organ on the inside of my body.

So, yeah, that's a bit interesting in a less-than-interesting way.

I prefer to say, "None of my friends live in Minneapolis" rather than "I don't have any friends in Minneapolis." I even have a boyfriend in Texas, which I was not aware of. I went to bed early last night and when I checked my phone today I saw that someone had nosed around in my call log. I asked him why and he said, "You missed a call last night and I was checking to see if it was your boyfriend." Who's my boyfriend? Why, it's none other than Alfie! But it wasn't his call that I missed - it was my other boyfriend. Who is also in Texas.

Andy called Alfie my boyfriend because he caught me talking to him on the phone at five in the morning about civil unrest in Bolivia and American imperialism. Apparently, that's the language of love. I usually talk to my other boyfriend about sex and poop and getting drunk and similar. Slightly different relationships, see.

It's funny that the Alfie thing makes him jealous, as it's probably the most platonic friendship I've ever had. I'm more romantically-inclined toward my mailwoman. (Oh, Brenda, your blue-eyeshadow renders me weak as a kitten! Your surly nature and resentment of having to walk into the building rather than throwing mail into the slot gives me jelly knees!) Plus, Andy spends most of his day chatting with a Scottish lesbian...and playing Scrabble...and I don't get jealous. It's all in your perspective, I guess.

At any rate, this is my perfect man, anyway. I've taken that quiz multiple times (the questions change) but the only difference is that sometimes he has glasses or a thinner chin. So if you look like that guy you obviously possess all of the personality traits that I find appealing. Call me.

Asymmetry leaves me feeling terribly unbalanced. I'm not saying that to be clever - I'm serious. I just happened to say it in a clever way.

Andy once complimented my singing really hard-core by asking if I'd ever had any formal training. Since then, it's impossible for me to shut the hell up, except now I sing everything in a Pete Murphy voice, which is way better than Andy's Pete Murphy voice.

We're listening to Dalis Car and Andy screamed, "Get that fretless bass! It's orgasmic!"

Not the word I'd have used, but anyway.

dude. seriously, bro.

I just both "duded" and "broed" you, yo. It's just the kinda guy I am.

Today I walked around for hours with my pants unzipped and I didn't notice. When I did notice I said, "I've been walking around for hours with my pants unzipped and I didn't notice!" Telling you thus ends the cycle.

I've had a shite week at work and an even shiter day today. Not shittier - "shiter" is "shittier" to the fourth power. I just made that up.

Instead of saying "lol" I say this: haec jocatus sum, per jocum dixi. When I'm trying to be mysterious or elusive I say this: Non sempre ea sunt quae videntur.

Nah, just kidding - the only time I use those two phrases is in the context of that very paragraph. Like when I tell people that I get "corpuscular" and "crepuscular" confused, that's a lie. The only time I even use those words is when I tell people that I get them confused. I don't know that I've ever confused the two, but hey, it's a talking point, right?

I was looking up the movie "Baadasssss!" so that I could mention it and spell it with the requisite number of the letter s (how do you pluralize "s"?) and came across this line on a message board: I thought that Mario has a smaller but more attractive naked ass than his dad. The most disturbing thing about this statement is the glaring lack of commas.

My boss is totally and embarrassingly in love with my crazy mad marketing skills. This afternoon he said of my latest campaign, "Your message is going to change the world! Just like Jesus!" So I guess I can safely predict how my employment will end. And the Jews will be at fault.

Avenge my death, if you would be so kind. Ya know, if you're not otherwise engaged. Thanks a bunch.

I lost my glasses but I keep reaching up to adjust them. Now I know what it must be like for people who have lost a limb or their pancreas. You reach to adjust it and go, "Oh crap, that's right - I no longer have my pancreas!" Everyone will give a good belly laugh at that one. If I were missing my pancreas I don't think the lack of glasses would bother me nearly as much as it does. But I still have a pancreas, as far as I'm aware, so I have the right to bitch about not having my glasses.

Confusing the Coldplay "Amsterdam" with the Guster "Amsterdam" is just...oh man, it's just so no, ya know?

I thought the line was "bass guitar and Shaq cd". I was like, "Whoa, that's pretty brave of him to admit his ex-girlfriend had a Shaq cd." It was only today that I went, "Oh wait - he said Shaggs - holy crap, is that an obscure reference!"

Not one person in a thousand will know who I'm talking about and that's just swell. Just proves how retro I am - as retro as the dude from Guster.

Can you really call it "retro" if your taste simply hasn't evolved since 1977?

Let's ponder.

thursday can never be friday no matter how much you offer him

Whenever I'm being pitched to buy into a product or service I always ask, "What are some reasons why others have rejected what you're offering?" It's a pretty standard "now tell me about your weaknesses and don't be all stupid and say something like 'I work too hard' or something" interview question but you'd be surprised at how often this throws off the entire sales pitch. Today was just such a day.

I posed my typical query and the salesperson in question kind of squirmed and said, "Well, some people don't want to use our service because they think it's kind of...illegal."

Well that doesn't sound like a deal-breaker to me! Not at all. Now get out.

Some nights, Brandy isn't a fine girl at all. Don't know why I did it but I don't think I'll ever do it again. Until next time.

Funny joke: Knock knock.
Who's there?
Control freak - now you say "control freak who?"

Most days I get sad when I read "there are no new messages on the server". Other days I get emails with the subject line "Haitian Intifada - please reply" and I wish there were no new messages on the server.

I love how Alfie starts a conversation by saying, "Okay, six things. One..." and then just kind of goes through his list. I also love how Andy just freaks the hell right out about Argentina. It's like the first time I met an Austrian person and I kind of threw all of my pent-up Jewish hostility at her.

I thought it was less-than-awesome, however, how Andy totally busted me out for buying all them cookies. I tried being bulemic for a while but I kept forgetting to purge - maybe it's time to try that hat on once again.

It's not that I dislike the umblemished that walk amongst us - their easy breezy fresh Noxema faces, lives younger than my water heater, just lovin' that Jesus - it's that's I'm afraid for them. Sometimes I can't even be in the same room as these people because I'm afraid that my dark will rub off on them and instantly transform them into the portrait that Dorian Grey kept so fiercly hidden. I like fractured people. I gravitate toward fractured people. Not because damage makes you interesting but it is a tie that binds. I've been beaten to within an inch of my life by virtual strangers on two non-consecutive occasions, but I don't fear the thugs that did it. I fear the sweet kids who, thankfully, are so protected from life that they could never comprehend what it's like to really hurt in any meaningful way. And hey, that's probably one of the least funny things I've ever said, but it was on my mind, so you can just suck on it, yo.

If I were a little bit cooler, a little bit more gangsta, I could get away with calling someone a "trickin' fat ghetto rat". But alas, that day is not today, my friends. That day is not today.

Why Not Matt has the single best holiday skin (skin? HA!) that I've ever seen. It's nice to see that there are still "butt men" out there (or as my mate Paul would say, "badonkadonk") because I'm packing a bit of what you might call "junk" in my so-called "trunk". I hates me some scrolling but with Matt (is Matt a woman or a man? Who knows, as I've yet to absorb any, ya know, content or anything) I found myself not so objectionable when it comes to using the mouse ball, nor, indeed, the scrolling shortcut keys. God bless you and keep you, Matt.

I remember an old love letter from an ex-boyfriend that said, "I'll love you forever, or until which time you become utterly intolerable." Joke's on him, though, as I found him utterly intolerable waaaaay sooner than he found the same of me.

I brought home a big old box of busy work that I didn't get finished today and Zoe told me, "I'll help you until it's time for me to lay my eggs."

That's all I've ever asked.

here i was, thinking it's tuesday but it's actually wednesday so i'm all like "whoa...bonus!"

I wish I had the power of the Pied Piper only, instead of rats, I'd run stupid people out of my office.

I used to get the Pied Piper, Nero and St. Patrick confused so I thought that someone burned down Ireland because the rats were eating the snakes. True story.

My special needs kid is now obsessed with finding out what my blog is. He told me that I could search for his blog because he told a joke on it yesterday. "You might be a redneck if...um...you might have a dirty truck and you reverse...no, ah...reverse your dirty truck. BEAVER!"

I think all jokes should have word "beaver" added to the punch line. It's just good livin'.

I kind of miss my special needs kid from last year, Gordie. Remember Gordie? He ended up punching out his coach so he's not allowed to come back anymore, so now I have a beaver-joke-telling kid instead. Who blogs. Just like me.

Speaking of punching, I punched someone today. Right in the gut! I was loading up a container for Honduras and the truck driver was a "prevert", as I used to pronounce it when I was a kid. He just stood there watching me instead of, ya know, helping. He was an older guy and he said - I'm not making this up - "In awl mah yearsa drivin' a truck, I ain't never seen no woman on a fawklift, and sointly none as bootiful as y'all."

I gotta admit, I swooned a little. And by "swooned" I, of course, mean, "threw up in my mouth".

He asked, "Do you have a boyfriend or a husband?" and I said "yes". Didn't want him to think there were any vacancies in my life that he might fill. He also sat like a lump while I ran myself ragged shrink-wrapping the pallets and said, "I could watch you all day. I love to see a purdy girl work." It was so annoying.

Then he stood close. Again, I "swooned" - I was thinking, "Okay, you're all pumped up from manual labor - don't go off. Just ignore him." Until I was bending over and was grabbed from behind. You know that thing where a guy will grab your sides and give you a squeeze? Yeah, that thing. I couldn't help myself - I swung around and socked him as hard as I could right in the gut.

But it wasn't him. It was my friend, Sandwich To The Head Guy, and he's built like two small ponies so it didn't hurt him. I did, however, knock the wind out of him, which pleased me for some reason.

So the upshot of my day is that I have aid going to Honduras. The bad part of my day came when Sandwich To The Head Guy accidentally stepped on my toe. The end.

this doesn't bode well

I'm five minutes in the door and already co-workers 1 & 2 and Boss Man are worried...

CW1: Uh-oh. Natalie's whistling.
me: What?
CW2: That's not good.
me: Why? I know I'm crap, but...
CW1: I wonder who she's going to blow up on today?
CW2: I'm leaving early so it's going to be you.
CW1: Maybe not.
me: What are you talking about?
CW2: Whenever you whistle, you snap at someone.
CW1: Like you're trying to let some insanity out a little at a time but it doesn't work.
me: Really? No way. I've never noticed that.
BMan: Good morning!
CW1: She's whistling.
BMan: Uh-oh.

So apparently they've all had a conversation about how I snap on days that I whistle. I find that oddly curious. But it's kind of nice to know that I'm destined to go off on someone - relieves some of the pressure.

Now I just get to sit back and see who it is. Glad I don't have any meetings with anyone important today - I'd hate for my whistling to be the cause of an international incident.

Toot toot!

---------
update - I just heard word that my buddy Rick a.k.a. Achmed the Deaf Mute has made it safely into Baghdad but that "it's pretty intense with the daily bombings and gunfights...still, could be worse. I could be in Minnesota!"

Ah, you're a funny one.

We have a "differently abled" kid come in every day to do basic cleaning and whatnot to prepare him for having a real job someday and he saw me typing as he emptied my garbage. He said, "You have a blog? I have a blog, too! What's yours called?"

I didn't tell him. I pretended like no, he did NOT recognize the Blogger interface and that, hey, this is something totally different and REALLY IMPORTANT!

He totally didn't buy it, so now I'm whistling really, really hard.

tooooooot. (that was an ominous whistle, by the way.)

it's no wonder i don't have any friends

Making a new friend is nice, isn't it? Unless your new friend happens to be me, in which case I'll jack with your head.

I was texting with Alfie last night about the Julian and Gregorian calendars (because we're not geeks at all, you see) when he calls me. It was like something out of a John Hughes movie - he was walking home, he sounded a little breathy and he started off by saying, "There's something I wanted to tell you that I couldn't properly convey in a text." I thought, "Ah, here it is. Poor kid's in love with me. Well, it happens - I'll just have to let him down gently." He said, "I just wanted you to know that I was hanging out with some of my friends last night and they were 26 and 27. And I didn't think they were old."

You charmer, you!

It would seem that I made him think that he'd once insulted my age and then I made him feel bad about it. He was shocked (shocked!) that I would do such a thing. That should set the tone for how I like to jack with people. He should have known.

But there's really no excuse for me to pretend like I didn't see anything wrong with digging up bodies to dissect them, even if it is for the sake of art. Sorry 'bout that, Alfie. I was just jacking with ya.

Mike once said something to me about how he'd like to be there to watch me "fuck up people's heads". With me, it's a spectator sport!

I bought polyurethane pants just so that I could tell people that I bought polyurethane pants. I melted them and made them even more wicked bad ass than before. When I wear them I say, "Have you noticed my pants? They're polyurethane. And what are yours made of? Hmmm. Not polyurethane. I see."

I saw Zoe, who is four, on the floor writing something in the rug with her finger. She was very engrossed so I asked her what she was doing. She very darkly replied, "I'm making an anti-zero" and waved me off. It's pretty important work, that. If she's creating an anti-zero now, anti-matter can't be too far behind. I asked her how it was going and she sighed and said, "Not very well". Poor thing.


And one soggy piece of chicken!

There's nothing quite like the thought of sharing your music with someone to throw you taste into a tail spin. It's shit, it's all shit! I'm not cool! Damn you Gordon Lightfoot and your soothing, dulcet tones! Damn you for making me love you so! And where the hell did all this Justin Timberlake come from? I'm like the dude who went on eBay drunk and bought the whole series of "Mama's Family". Don't drink and Kazaa, kiddies. Just don't.

Nothing at all phases my family any more. Nothing I say, that is. When asked what I want for Christmas I rattled off a short list and Samantha took it seriously.



A kiss, a donkey and bubble bath. Merry Christmas to me!

At dinner my broccoli touched my ketchup. I think that's a sign that I need to call in sick to work tomorrow. (Just kidding, work mates! I'll be in with freaking bells on, ready to tackle the challenges, fulfilling though they are, that are to face me. No, seriously. Stop laughing! That's it - you're fired.)

On IM tonight with Smegtacular - "My father was emotionally distant and I don't like muffins."

Let's call that a break-through, folks.

hmmm

I have so few blog readers anymore that I could invite you all to my wedding and it still wouldn't be considered an ostentatious affair.

I sat through a technical demo for mumble mumble that was given by one of the least technical people I've ever met. "I don't know why everything keeps crashing like that! I don't know computers stuff!" she wailed, like, seven times. I looked at the machine thoughtfully and said, "Was your html properly lubricated with visual basic fluid before you tried launching your embedded table?" Blank look. "I think you should call your tech support and ask them exactly what I just asked you."

Deliciously wicked, or wickedly delicious? You decide!

I was at the shop last night and the woman in front of me put her stuff on the counter, like ya do. The clerk says, "Nineteen fifty-four. No, wait. Seven ten." Just like that. So this woman looks at me like, "Isn't this kid a doofus?" and rolls her eyes. I'm thinking, okay, you just pulled me into the game on your side, but I'm really not interested. So I say, "Boy, they discounted that quickly!" Lame, I know, but I wasn't ready. She then looks at me like I'm an idiot and goes, "...sure...did." Then she gives the clerk the same look that she'd given me a moment before and then he rolls his eyes at ME. He said, "I forgot to void out the last sale" or something like that and the woman nods her head sagely. But of course!

Okay, so now I'm the idiot. I'm stewing while she's making correct change. I'm getting mad. So I blurt out, "You tricked me!" Needless to say, this did little to improve my standing with the clerk and the Mistress of Trickery, aka the woman in front of me in line at the shop last night. The end.

I'm listed somewhere as being the "official blog of Dame Edna" and I've gotten hits from it. I hope She sees that (Dame Edna is a saint so everything in reference to Her needs to be capitalized) and sends me a terse email where She insults my clothing and calls me "poppet". That'd be so boss.

I'm no Dame Edna, but I am, apparently, funny. An online quiz told me so.

You are Thalia, the muse of comedy. You are constantly finding the humor in every situation. However, you are a gossip, and you love to revel in other people's torrid affairs.

I found that via The Drool Factory but I was actually supposed to be taking the "Which of the seven deadly sins are you?" quiz. I saw her result (lust) and was like, "Wait a second - lust wasn't a muse!" And I was sore afraid, and sore confused. And then I got a little hungry. But I kept on taking the quiz, because that's just the kind of "suck it up, soldier!" kinda guy I am.

I think I'm going to start a blog called "My Sim is a Dirty Filthy Whore" and post pictures of all the times she's woo-hooed with people. She's a little slut, that Sim of mine. She hasn't gotten knocked up by an alien yet like my other dude Sim has, but then again she's too busy knockin' das boots (that's German for "gettin' it on") to look through a telescope long enough to even be abducted.

Last night on my drive home I got a call from work because dude couldn't figure out how to move the forklift. In a bid to be "helpful" I'd carefully arranged the mechanical animal such that it was, ya know, directly in his way. I thought it would be funny to pretend that he was some rookie cop that found a bomb and I was the wizened leader of the bomb squad who was unavailable to lend my expertise so I had to talk him through it over the phone. "Do you see those two large plastic things on your left? Carefully, now, careful - don't do it until I say, okay? Carefully connect them. But not too quickly! Are they connected? Good. But you're not out of the woods yet, Jim." (His name is Kyle, but I have an inability to take anyone named "Kyle" seriously.) I dragged that out for, like, ten minutes, at which time Kyle/Jim sighed and said, "I'm seriously beginning to think there's something wrong with you, ya know." To which I replied, "Well, Jim, you have to be a little bit crazy to do what I do. Dismantling bombs for a living is - " He hung up on me.

Once, in high school, I referred to Oscar Wilde as a "shameless pederast". A girl who didn't belong in my class said, "Why should he be ashamed of having to walk everywhere?" This girl also once loudly complained that she was sick of the music director insisting they play, "Stars and Bars Forever". Ah, Jenny - you were so ignorant! How we all laughed at you!

It used to be that every time I took a shower, the sound of the water hitting the tub would make me launch into the first verse of "Purple People Eater". Listen closely the next time you take a shower and you'll see what I mean. But now my detachable shower head is broken so it just hangs there and it's not the same. I haven't felt the urge to sing "Purple People Eater" in weeks, and I'm strangely at peace with that.

When I was about six my sister locked me in a closet and made me sing the state song of Illinois while she taped it. I don't know why, and I don't know how I came to know the song at such a tender age. I also don't know where the tape is now, but it's somewhere in my childhood home, presumably hidden for strategic blackmail purposes.

Illinois

words by C.H. Chamberlain and music by Archibald Johnston

By thy rivers gently flowing, Illinois, Illinois,
O'er thy prairies verdant growing, Illinois, Illinois,
Comes an echo on the breeze.
Rustling through the leafy trees, and its mellow tones are these, Illinois, Illinois,
And its mellow tones are these, Illinois.

From a wilderness of prairies, Illinois, Illinois,
Straight thy way and never varies, Illinois, Illinois,
Till upon the inland sea,
Stands thy great commercial tree, turning all the world to thee, Illinois, Illinois,
Turning all the world to thee, Illinois.

When you heard your country calling, Illinois, Illinois,
Where the shot and shell were falling, Illinois, Illinois,
When the Southern host withdrew,
Pitting Gray against the Blue, There were none more brave than you, Illinois, Illinois,
There were none more brave than you, Illinois.

Not without thy wondrous story, Illinois, Illinois,
Can be writ the nation's glory, Illinois, Illinois,
On the record of thy years,
Abraham Lincoln's name appears, Grant and Logan, and our tears, Illinois, Illinois,
Grant and Logan, and our tears, Illinois.

At the end of it I got really snazzy and belted it out like, "IllinOOOOOOYYY-ah!"

Jazz hands!

it'd be nice if i could even get into the fecking thing to post

Wait - I'm in?

Cool.

'Bout bloody time.

So anyway - linear thought's for chumps, as I say quite too often far too oftenly.

So is proper grammar and, indeed, real words.

So feck 'em!

I've not really cared for blogging for some time now and I honestly don't know why I suddenly do once again, but I do. Trouble is I seem to have lost The Funny somewhere along the way so now I'm simply all about keepin' it real. Yo.

On relating my home-life to a co-worker the other day: "I have three kids who have the tendency to be total monsters. Then I have Andy, who is like a giant kid who smokes and curses alot. Then there are my three dogs, which are really like hairy stupid kids who could kill me if they were smart enough to realize it."

I'm not necessarily a selfish person, nor am I ungrateful. I just have a block in my brain that makes me not acknowledge when someone does something nice for me. I have to block it because otherwise my brain would overheat while trying to process each and every ulterior motive of said niceness. I have a hypersensitivity to any overt sign of kindness and I tend to dislike people who like me. This is typical. It's also Vonnegut. So I'm in good company.

That said, there is absolutely no excuse for not acknowledging the uber-bad-ass necklace that TQ made for me...by hand...that I so totally and righteously love. I didn't thank you in private because I am, how you say, an asshole, but I'll do it now and in public. Because I'm shite at sending emails and even being a decent human being.

But that was so cool, TQ. Thank you. And I ain't even looking for an ulterior motive or nuthin! I do sincerely apologize for not saying "thank you" before. I'm asstacular and I'm sorry.

TQ can be deep and he kind of scares me. TQ is a vortex. Get thee to a nunnery, post haste! "The plebeian, like me, will be thrown out as salt without flavor, salt without function." Swish, motha fuggah. Swish.

Ah, it's nice not being constricted nor conscripted by linear thought.

Smegnacious and me's gonna do us a song together. You should listen to his cover of "Surrender". It's the most bad ass asstacious baddy song to date. Anyway, we're going to do a song if I can figure out a way to record without it sounding like shit. (Step one - find someone else to sing it, ba dum dum.)

"Anhedonia" is the word you use to describe when you no longer find pleasure in things you otherwise should/did. "Parerethesis" is an excitement for abnormal reasons.

There's a company called "Document Destruction" and I really want to work there. They don't just get rid of your documents - they destroy them. If I worked there I'd totally get all dojo master on those documents.

It's the name I find so funny, like there's some dude in an office somewhere glaring at a pile of paper going, "Yes, I have shredded my documents to be sure. And yet, their essence...it remains! They must be destroyed!" Then he'd call me up and I'd show up all in a robe and bow at him, then destroy the very essence of the documents with my wild dojo ways.

I still mourn the break-up of Guns N Roses because, in all of their years together, they failed to produce a single Christmas album. There will always be a void.

Dear Green Day: The cliche of a fabulously well-to-do rock star talking about walking alone down boulevards of broken dreams is, in and of itself, a cliche. And not a good cliche, like how all hot blonds with big boobs are easy. I mean a bad cliche, like how a once angst-ridden neo-punk singer, now grown fat on domesticity and dividends, has the nerve to whine about how lonely and misunderstood he is. On a boulevard, surrounded by those broken dreams. And loads of cash. Hey, how about you try being a cowboy and riding on a steel horse? Maybe then I'll take you more seriously. Or perhaps I won't.

I brought home one of those great big Christmas tins of multiflavored popcorn last night and convinced Zoe that there were puppies inside.

Go me!