Wednesday, April 30, 2003

There's nothing quite like watching the Jay Leno's "Jay Walk All-Stars" to make me feel better about myself while simultaneously groaning over the public education system in the United States...

Question: What are the people in Hong Kong called?
Answer: Hungarians

Question: Where do people speak Gaelic?
Answer: San Francisco.

(Having been shown a photo of Donald Rumsfield)
Question: Who is this man?
Answer 1: That looks like the younger Bush.
Answer 2: Isn't it Dana Carvey?

(Having been shown a photo of Fidel Castro)
Question: Who is this man?
Answer: Fidel Castro (audible gasp from the audience)
Question: Right, and what job does he hold?
Answer: He's President of Puerto Rico.
Question: Living or dead?
Answer: He died about five years ago...cuz he was, like, a Puerto Rican Hitler guy. An evil Puerto Rican.

Ah well - it's all prelude to Conan, anyway.

Late night-ingly,


Is it ever acceptable to scream, "My God, you'd better not dare touch me with your ketchup-soaked hands, you vile, disgusting creature!" to a three-year-old? Because that's what I just did and now I feel bad. Actually, I feel bad because I really don't feel all that bad. But at least she's not trying to hug me any more.



I don't usually write about "current events" and "things in the news" because they are "boring" but today I was going to write something that I'd seen mentioned on CNN the other night. I'd written this whole huge post about telemarketing but Nic kicked my keyboard and managed to lose it all for me again - thanks, ya little monster - so instead I'll link to this story about telemarketing scams and this cute thing that you can use against them. Beat them at their own game.

(Second link ripped right off from The Puppy Pile.)



Tuesday, April 29, 2003

You know, if there were one of these BlogCon things going on in Chicago or Minneapolis I think I would so totally go.

But I won't do a meetup, because they're too small. Something big and in the midwest.

That'd be schweeet.

Thinking outloud-ingly,


What's that quote, something like pointless nostalgia is a way to mask current unhappiness? Is that a quote? If not, it should be - but that's not my thing today. I'm not unhappy but I came across these pictures of the Hennepin Canal, literally a stone throw away from where I was raised in Illinois. I once caught a blue gill fish the size of my forearm over these locks. Sadly, the seem to have taken down the bridge...which is probably a good thing since it was simply a long wooden-plank type article with a couple of metal rails. It was probably a hazard for the dumb-ass kids today who do stupid crap like hang over bridge railings and can't handle metal slides.

But I digress.

Near the canal at sunset was a popular spot for smooching and hand-holding during the much simpler time of my childhood. I'm sure you can guess why.



In case you haven't heard...

Adolf Hitler is dead

Remember the days of old,
Consider the years of ages past;
Ask your father, he will inform you,
Your elders, they will tell you.

Deuteronomy 32:7

I debated for a long time what, if anything, I was going to do on here today for Yom HaShoah. Part of me feels hypocritical even addressing it as a Jew who doesn't practice Judaism but it's my blood and my family was directly affected so I feel like I own a small slice of the evil that was Nazi Germany.

My grandmother escaped Poland well before the shit hit the fan along with a few of her dozen siblings and their parents. Five of them stayed and the rest went back to live in Poland and Russia where my great-granparents were from. They all disappeared - my grandmother heard word about this sibling or that parent being seen at a certain concentration camp and then...nothing. There were ten immediate family members, and countless extended family, who knew where my grandmother and her other siblings were living in Chicago yet no one heard anything from them ever again. Two-thirds of my grandmother's family was wiped out in one fell swoop.

I didn't fully grasp this when I was young. I knew my grandmother was sort of a weird old bird but it's only through my adult eyes that I can understand.

She didn't talk about being Jewish - that's not to say she was self-hating, she simply hated the vulnerability that came with being Jewish. She changed the spelling of her maiden name from some mad thing like, "Tserotsky" to "Serocke" and always went by her married name, though she'd been divorced for many years before I was born. Her name at birth was Anna but she went by Ann and gave herself the middle name "Theresa". She kept a packed bag under her bed, "just in case" along with stores of food - again, "just in case". "Just in case of what?" I'd ask, and she'd say, "In case I have to leave." It's like she thought the Nazis would come for her there, in the middle of Illinois in 1984. I thought she was saying she might have to leave because she didn't get along with my father - I didn't know.

One brother of hers would only speak Russian or Polish - he didn't view America as his savior; instead, he was angry that America didn't step into the war effort early enough to save his family so he refused to learn the language. The only word I ever understood out of the man's mouth was, "Anna" but he pronounced it "HOHN-na".

I knew we were Jewish but I didn't know any of the customs. When I asked why we didn't eat pork grandma replied, "That's where the Devil lives" or, "Pork is from pigs - do you want to be like a pig?" Good enough for me! When we ate food that my friends had never heard of I chalked it down to my grandmother being an immigrant. I had a vague notion of what "kosher" was and my grandmother told me how the cows were blessed before getting their throats punctured but I didn't understand how that made the meat any different than the non-kosher stuff. And how did you end up with kosher salt? And kosher cream cheese? I entertained myself by picturing a rabbi poking each little salt granule in the side while saying some old prayer in a dead language. It was very mysterious to me. The only explanation for my grandmother keeping a kosher diet was that it kept her aware of what was giving her sustenance, but what's the point in that? All I knew is that when she cooked it pissed off my father something chronic.

My grandmother insisted that I be baptized and given the middle name of a saint, Kathleen. She didn't want the "stigma" of being Jewish to be evident by my name, I guess.

She sang strange songs and used strange words, things that have become muddled and mixed in my own mind. She pulled words from Russian, Polish, German and Romany and sprinkled them in with her English and I couldn't keep them a babushka a baby or a scarf? Isn't latke the guy from "Taxi"?

Both of my daughters carry her name, Ann and Theresa, which really isn't her name at all. This bothers me that I didn't "get it right" but I didn't know.

She died in 1990 when I was 13, at an age where I'd rather play with my friends than drive into Chicago to visit her because nobody that was cool hung out with their grandmother. I'm sorry about that now. Hell, I was sorry about that then, too.

I wish I'd have asked her more; I wish I knew more about the past than I do. On my father's side of the family I have our tree traced back to the Mayflower and then some...on my mother's side it ends with my grandmother and a few scribbled names of dead siblings. This has left a huge hole in my life, these missing memories. I'm jealous of Andy that he's constantly coming across new relatives, photos, birth certificates and details of his family. I don't have that and I most likely never will.

The Holocaust did that to me.

The Holocaust did that to a lot of people. Many, many of us were touched in some way by the Nazi Regime.

You didn't have to be Jewish. The Nazis were a lot of things, but they weren't particularly picky about who they killed. The Polish were targeted for extermination simply to make room for the new Aryan race - that's why the Nazis invaded Poland in the first place. The Poles were in the way, Jewish or not. Homosexuals were an abomination, so let's kill them, too.

The triangle symbol that homosexuals were branded with has now become a symbol of gay pride. Good for them. To find some way to empower yourself in the face of such slaughter is a beautiful thing, indeed.

So today just stop and think, okay? Remember what real evil looked liked but never forget,

In spite of everything I still believe that people are really good at heart. I simply can't build up my hopes on a foundation consisting of confusion, misery, and death. I see the world gradually being turned into a wilderness, I hear the ever-approaching thunder, which will destroy us too. I can feel the sufferings of millions and yet, if I look up into the heavens, I think that it will all come right, that this cruelty too will end, and that peace and tranquility will return again.
In the meantime, I must uphold my ideals, for perhaps the time will come when I shall be able to carry them out.

Anne Frank,
Diary of a Young Girl,
Saturday, July 15, 1944

(Thanks to Irish Girl and her anal-retentive nature for reminding me that this is a problem for people...there's no way I believe she scored a "low" on obsessive-compulsive but there ya go.)

This here be a public service announcement for all y'all who are complaining that the permalinks in Blog*Spot aren't working. Here's a little quick fix for ya.

The basic idea of a permalink is to link to the specific post you want while jumping over all the stuff you don't want. For example, here's a secret about me.

All you need to do is put a target to jump to by naming a specific part of your text. In this case, I named my target "pants". Just before the text down there I put in "< a name = "pants" >" To direct my link from up here to down there I put in "< a href = "#pants" > " (This, of course, without the outside quotations and spaces.) Then I reversed it to get you back to the top here.

Hence, when you want to permalink you simply view the source of the page and scroll down until you see the eight-digit number assigned to this post (in the link prior to the time stamp it's the number preceeded by the # sign). To permalink, simply do a " < a href = " http:// whatever whatever / # eight-digit-number " > " and you should be good. This circumvents Blog*Spot's stupid archiving url thing that's been broken since forever.

Easy peasy.

[/public service announcement]

Helping the masses-ly,


The previous posts were thrown onto here because I'm getting ticked off with linking to these externally.

That is all.

Clogging the blogging-ly,


100 Simpsons Quotes

In Your Face, Space Coyote! - and some other of my favorite quotes from The Simpsons


Homer: A gun isn't a weapon, it's a tool like a butcher knife, or a harpoon, or an, an alligator

Homer: But Marge, that gun had a hold on me! I had this enormous sense of power…like God must feel like when He holds a gun

Homer: Look, Marge, you don't know what it's like. I'm the one out there every day putting his ass on the line. And I'm not out of order! You're out of order. The whole freaking system is out of order. You want the truth? You want the truth?! You can't handle the truth! 'Cause when you reach over and put your hand into a pile of goo that was your best friend's face, you'll know what to do! Forget it, Marge, it's Chinatown.

[Bart and Milhouse jumping on a bed in dresses when Homer walks in]:
Homer: Argh!! What's going on? And I want a non-gay explanation
Milhouse: We're drunk...really drunk
Homer: Oh thank God

[On Jesus wearing sandals]
Homer: Well, maybe if he had had better arch support, they wouldn't have caught 'im.

Marge: Are you licking toads?
Homer: I'm not not licking toads.

Bart: There's no such thing as a soul. It's just something they made up to scare kids, like the boogeyman or Michael Jackson.

Disco Stu:
Disco Stu does not advertise

[Teaching Lisa how to reject boys]
Homer: Let me handle this, Marge, I've heard 'em all - I like you as a friend, I think we should see other people, I don't speak English, I'm married to the sea, I don't wanna kill you but I will, and six simple words : I'm not gay, but I'll learn.

Australian guy: That’s not a knife - this is a knife!
Bart: Um, that’s a spoon
Australian guy: Ah, I can see you’ve played knifey-spoony before!

[Homer’s stoned from medicinal marijuana]
Homer: Get out.
Otto: Remember when I dropped my keys, and you thought the phone was ringing?
Homer: *laughs* Get out.

Homer: I could walk up to the president and blow smoke in his stupid monkey face and he'd just have to sit there groovin off it

Marge: You know, Fox turned into a hard-core sex channel so gradually, I didn't even notice.

T.V.: Do you know where your children are?
Homer: I told you yesterday -- NO!

Homer (tearfully): I'm a rageoholic! I can't live without rage-o-hol!

Ralph: Oh, boy, sleep! That's where I'm a Viking!

Homer: …and the guy said not to press it, but me and my friend pressed it anyway, then me and my friend went and hid in the giant tire, and my other friend was already there, and…
Marge: Now Homer, you're over stimulated. Let’s get some beer into you and then it’s straight to bed.

Homer: Oooh, I loved your magazine, that one selection on how to increase your word power, that was really, really, really...good

Homer: Yeah, Moe, that team sure did suck last night. They just plain sucked. I've seen teams suck before, but they were the suckiest bunch of sucks that ever sucked. Whoops, gotta go, my damn weiner kids are listening.

Ralph: Hi, I’m Dr. Stupid and I’m going to take out your liver bones. Oops, you’re dead!
Mr. Burns: I never did like that Dr. Stupid

Apu: Please do not offer my god a peanut.

Comic Book Guy: Excuse me! Please do not bang your head on the display case. It contains a rare Mary Worth where she advises a friend to kill herself.

Homer: God bless those pagans.

Homer: Oh, everything's too damned expensive these days. This Bible cost 15 bucks! And talk about a preachy book! Everybody's a sinner! Except this guy.

Homer: America's health care system is second only to Japan... Canada, Sweden, Great Britain, ... well all of Europe. But you can thank your lucky stars we don't live in Paraguay!

Homer: Remember that postcard Grandpa sent us from Florida of that alligator biting that woman's bottom? That's right, we all thought it was hilarious. But it turns out we were wrong. That alligator was sexually harrassing that woman.

Homer: And how is education supposed to make me feel smarter? Besides, every time I learn something new, it pushes some old stuff out of my brain. Remember when I took that home winemaking course, and I forgot how to drive?

Homer: Lisa, if the Bible has taught us nothing else, and it hasn't, it's that girls should stick to girls sports, such as hot oil wrestling and foxy boxing and such and such.

Homer: If something goes wrong at the plant, blame the guy who can't speak English.

Mayor: Ich bin ein Springfielder.
Homer: Mmmmm. Jelly Donuts.

Fidel Castro: They named a street after me in San Fransisco... [whisper whisper] It's full of WHAT!?!?

Bodyguard coach: As a personal bodyguard, your only loyalty is to your protectee, not anything else, not even Muhammed.
Homer: Not even during Ramadan?

Lisa: Oedipus is the one who killed his father and married his mother
Homer: Argh! Who paid for that wedding?

Bruno, the Australian:
This is an outrage! I'm going to take this all the way to the Prime Minister! [Yells out window] Hey Mr. Prime Minister! Andy!

Grandpa [lying on the grass]: The grass is sharper than the grass in my day...

Lisa: Beautiful dinnerware, Mrs. Parkfield.
Mrs. Parkfield: Thank you, Lisa. They were made for the finest family in Britain.
Mr. Parkfield: I don't know how we ended up with them.
Lisa: [thinking] Uh oh. Should I laugh? Was that dry British wit, or subtle self-pity?

Mr. Burns: Family, religion, loyalty... these are the demons you must slay if you want to be successful.

Homer: And what if we picked the wrong religion? Every week, we're just making God madder and madder!

Kang [running for President]: Abortions for all! [crowd boos]
Very well, abortions for none! [crowd boos]
Abortions for some, miniature American flags for the others! [crowd cheers]

Grandma Simpson:[singing] How many roads must a man walk down before you call him a man?
Homer: Eight!
Lisa: That was a rhetorical question!
Homer: Oh. Then, seven!
Lisa: Do you even know what 'rhetorical' means?
Homer: Do I know what 'rhetorical' means?

Sideshow Bob: Hah! Attempted murder? Now honestly, what is that? Do they give a Nobel prize for attempted chemistry? Do they?

Homer: My dad never believed in me. I'm not going to make the same mistake; I'm going to be nicer to my son and meaner to my dad.

Carl [To the MENSA members]: Let’s make litter of the literati!
Lenny: That was too clever! You're one of them! [punches him]

Homer: You never know when an old calendar might come in handy. Sure, it's not 1985 right now, but who knows what tomorrow will bring!

Homer: Marge, I agree with you -- in theory. In theory, communism works. In theory.

Marge: And try to be nice to my sisters. It's very hard on me to have you fighting all the time.
Homer: Oh, OK Marge, I'll get along with them. Then, I will hug some snakes...yes! Then, I will hug and kiss some poisonous snakes. Now that's sarcasm.

Ralph: This is the sandbox....I'm not allowed in the deep end. And this is the rock where I met the Leprechaun....he tells me to burn things.

Homer's brain: Use reverse psychology.
Homer: Oh, that sounds too complicated.
Homer's brain: Okay, don't use reverse psychology.
Homer: Okay, I will!

Ralph: When I grow up, I want to be a principal, or a caterpillar.

Lisa: It is better to remain silent and be thought the fool, then to open your mouth and remove all doubt.
Homer's Brain: Uh-oh what did that mean. Better say something or they'll think you're stupid.
Homer: Takes one to know one!
Homer's Brain: Swish!

Grandpa: My Homer is not a communist. He may be a liar, a pig, an idiot, a communist, but he is not a porn star!

Homer: You can't keep blaming yourself. Just blame yourself once, and move on.

Leonard Nimoy: Hello, I'm Leonard Nimoy. The following tale of alien encounter is true and by true, I mean false. It’s all lies. But they're entertaining lies, and in the end isn't that the real truth? The answer is no.

Milhouse: Remember when he ate my fish and you said I didn't even have any fish, then why did I have the bowl, Bart? Why did I have the bowl?!?

Mr. Burns: This anonymous clan of slack-jawed troglodytes has cost me the election, and yet if I were to have them killed, I would be the one to go to jail. That's democracy for you.

Homer: Maybe, just once, someone will call me "sir" without adding, "You're making a scene."

Homer: Ah, Andy Capp, you wife-beating drunk.

Ralph: And I want a bike and a monkey and a friend for the monkey.

Barney: Hi, my name is Barney, and I'm an alcoholic.
Lisa: Mr. Gumble, this is a Girl Scout meeting.
Barney: Is it, or is it that you girl scouts can't admit that you have a problem?

Homer: Canada? Why should we leave America to visit America junior?

Grandpa: Now my story begins in 19-dickety-two. We had to say 'dickety' cause the Kaiser had stolen our word 'twenty'. I chased that rascal to get it back, but gave up after dickety-six miles.

Homer: Do you want to change your name to Homer Junior? The kids can call you Ho-Ju!

Mr. Burns: I think I know who Homer Simpson is. In ten short years, you've caused seventeen meltdowns. One is too many! You sold weapons-grade plutonium to the Iraqis ... with no markup! And worst of all, you took the Hamburgler's birthday off last Monday AND Wednesday. Which is it? Now my voice is giving out, so I'm just going to poke you for the next hour or so.

Moe: And I was a lot happier before I knew Dame Edna was a man, a lot happier.

Grandpa: She did things your mother would never do, like have sex for money.

Bart: That's right, I could suck up to him. Just like religious people suck up to god.

Chief Wiggum: Ok, you just bought yourself a 317: Pointing out police stupidity. Or is that a 314? No, no, 314 is a, hum, uh, in, no, is that a 315? ... You're in trouble pal!

Flanders: Dear God, thank you for Ziggy comics, little baby ducks, and 'Sweatin' to the Oldies', volumes one, two, and four.

Burns: Simpson, eh? Good man? Intelligent?
Smithers: Actually, sir, he was hired under Project Bootstrap.
Burns: Thank you, President Ford.

Comic Book Guy: Freakin' kids! I do not need this. I have a Master's degree in folklore and mythology.

Scientist 1: People, we're in danger of losing our funding. America isn't interested in space exploration any more.
Scientist 2: Maybe we should finally tell them the big secret - that all the chimps we sent into space came back super-intelligent.
Chimp: No, I don't think we'll be telling them that.

Skinner: I've always admired car owners and I hope to be one myself as soon as I finish paying off mother. She insists I pay her retroactively for the food I ate as a child.

Bart: What happened, Dad? Did you screw up like the Beatles and say you were bigger than Jesus?
Homer: All the time! It was the title of our second album!

Marge: I'm going out now, Homer.
Homer: But what about dessert?
Marge: Oh for God's sake Homer, you can take the lid off your own can of pudding!
(Homer breaks the pull-tab)
Homer: AHHHH!! Now my pudding is trapped forever! So, I can take the lid off my own can of pudding, can I?! Shows what you know!!

Smithers: Sir, there may be never be another time to say... I love you, Sir.
Burn: Oh, hot dog. Thank you for making my last few moments on earth socially awkward.

Lisa: I'll stop buying Malibu Stacey clothing.
Bart: And I'll take up smoking and give that up.
Homer: Good for you, son. Giving up smoking is one of the hardest things you'll ever have to do. Have a dollar.
Lisa: But he didn't do anything!
Homer: Didn't he, Lisa? Didn't he?

Lisa: Mom, you fuss over us way too much.
Marge: Enjoy it now, because when you're a grownup you'll have to take care of yourself!
Homer: Marge, there's a spider near my car keys.
Marge: You did the right thing by telling me. (to the spider) Shoo! Get out of here!

Homer: Yeah, sure, for you, a baby's all fun and games. For me, it's diaper changes and midnight feedings.
Lisa: Doesn't Mom do that stuff?
Homer: Yeah, but I have to hear about it.

Marge: I don't know... Bart's such a handful, and Maggie needs attention, but all the while, our little Lisa's becoming a young woman.
Homer: Oh, so that's it, this is some kind of underwear thing.

Marge: Homer, is this the way you pictured married life?
Homer: Yeah, pretty much. Except we drove around in a van solving mysteries.

Bart: Me and Santa's Little Helper used to be a team, but he never wants to play any more since his bitch moved in.
Marge: Bart, don't ever say that word again!
Bart: Well, that's what she is. I looked it up.
Marge: Well, I'm going to write the dictionary people and have that checked. Feels like a mistake to me.

Woman: This plant violates every labor law in the book. We found a missing Brazilian soccer team working in your reactor core!
Mr Burns: That plane crashed on my property.

Old Jew Guy in the nursing home: You know, the door was open, Chief Break Everything!

Chief Wiggum: All right, you scrawny beanpoles: becoming a cop is _not_ something that happens overnight. It takes one solid weekend of training to get that badge.
Man: Forget about the badge! When do we get the freakin' guns?!
Chief Wiggum: Hey, I told you, you don't get your gun until you tell me your name.
Man: I've have it up to here with your rules!

PBS Pledge Drive Host: It's easy to see why it's England's most long-running series -- and we're showing all of them, all 7 episodes

Willy: There's nary an animal alive that can outrun a greased Scotsman!

Marge: I think we're going to need a bigger place.
Homer: No, we don't. I've got it all figured out. The baby can have Bart's room and Bart can sleep with us until he's 21.
Marge: Won't that warp him?
Homer: My cousin Frank did it.
Marge: You don't have a cousin Frank.
Homer: He became Francine in '76. Then he joined that cult. I think his name is Mother Shabubu now.

Marge: [on radio] Husband on murderous rampage! Send help! Over.
Chief Wiggum: Whew, thank God that's over. I was worried for a little bit.

[Santa's Little Helper goes off running with George Bush]Homer: I guess you might say he's barking up the wrong Bush.
Homer's Brain: There it is, Homer. The cleverest thing you'll ever say and nobody heard it.
Homer: D'oh!

Homer: I can't live the button-down life like you. I want it all! The terrifying lows, the dizzying highs, the creamy middles! Sure, I might offend a few of the blue-noses with my cocky stride and musty odors -- oh, I'll never be the darling of the so-called City Fathers who cluck their tongues, stroke their beards, and talk about "What's to be done with this Homer Simpson?"

Reverend Lovejoy: This so-called new religion is nothing but a pack of weird rituals and chants, designed to take away the money of fools. Let us say the Lord's Prayer 40 times, but first, let's pass the collection plate!

Marge: Kids can be so cruel!
Bart: We can? Thanks, Mom!

Marge: Lisa, normally I'd support you for standing for what you believe in, but you've been doing that a lot lately.
Bart: Yeah, you made us march in that gay rights parade.
Homer: And we can't watch *Fox* 'cause they own those chemical weapons plants in Syria.

Homer: Two hours? Why'd they build this ghost town so far away?
Lisa: Because they discovered gold right over there!
Homer: It's because they're stupid, that's why. That's why everybody does everything.

Chief Wiggum: See ya in court, Simpson. Oh, and bring that evidence with ya; otherwise, I got no case and you'll go scot-free.

Bart: Milhouse, what happened?! You were supposed to be watching the factory!
Milhouse: I was watchin'. First it started to fall over, then it fell over.

Ned Flanders: Sorry to bother you, Reverend Lovejoy, but I'm kind of in a tizzy. My son Todd just told us he didn't want to eat his damn vegetables.
Rev. Lovejoy: Well, you know kids and vegetables. What was it? Asparagus?
Ned Flanders: No, no, Reverend. The point is, he said a bad word!
Rev. Lovejoy: Oh, oh, right, yeah. Well, kids usually pick these things up from someplace. Find out who's doing it and... direct them to the Bible.
Ned Flanders: Where in the Bible?
Rev. Lovejoy: Uh... page 900.
[quickly hangs up]

Marge: There's no shame in being a pariah.

The New 100 Things About Me:

1. At times I come across as grandiose or arrogant but I trust in the fact that anyone with half a brain will understand that what I say is delivered with a healthy dose of sarcasm. And those people who do not understand that are not people I am terribly interested in knowing.

2. I take great pleasure in the appreciation of unexpected, overlooked or seemingly useless things, like pickle juice. Ahem.

3. I love the color orange and will espouse the merits of this color whenever the opportunity presents itself.

4. If I didn’t give birth to you I will not wipe your ass, so don’t come looking to me to be coddled. I have my own crap to deal with.

5. I don’t eat fruit if I can help it, yet I cannot think of a single vegetable that I dislike.

6. As a young girl I once tried to enter an approaching tornado by jumping off a swing.

7. I can forgive a lot but if I am stepped on too often and snap there is no going back.

8. I am trying to quit drinking entirely.

9. I am severely reclusive – it often takes me hours to hype myself up enough to leave the house on even a routine errand.

10. At times I don’t realize my own limitations.

11. Other times I doubt my abilities.

12. These realizations always tend to come too late.

13. I drink a lot of water – literally a couple of gallons a day.

14. I have been fighting my circadian rhythms for as long as I can remember.

15. I don’t like having my picture taken, but I like it when people want to take my picture. I won’t let them, but it’s a nice feeling to know that someone wants a picture of me.

16. Nearly every day contains some sense of déjà vu.

17. I have no real idea of my height or weight. On any given day I’m between five foot nothing and five-seven and between 115 and 130 pounds. I have no idea, so I guess.

18. I still enjoy the “angry music” of my youth – Sam and Andy call my preferred music station “Angry FM”.

19. If you make a great salad I will love you forever.

20. My favorite comedians (in no particular order) are Mitch Hedberg, Steven Wright, Jon Stewart, Sabrina Matthews, Eddie Izzard, Margaret Cho, Paula Poundstone, and a boatload more that I’m forgetting.

21. Paula Poundstone was the first woman I ever had a crush on.

22. I stole a faux-pearl tie from Fashion Bug and wore it every day for a month after seeing “Cats, Cops & Stuff” for the first time on HBO.

.23. Kurt Vonnegut is my all-time favorite author.

24. A dream of mine is to someday meet him but I know I won’t. Even if I do I’m sure I’d say something stupid and that’s worse than never meeting him at all.

25. When I was 17 I had a serving of the best god damn chicken salad ever – I don’t know what made it so great but the past decade has been spent (in vain) searching for another great chicken salad.

26. The song, “If” by Roy Harper sums up my views on religion far better than I ever could.

27. I prefer to eat chocolate after it’s been refrigerated.

28. Nearly every day contains some sense of déjà vu.

29. My five-year plan will result in a move to North Carolina but I’d rather burn my own eyeballs out than have my children adopt that accent.

30. I write very bad poetry – thankfully, I do not inflict it on anyone, not even myself.

31. The only poems I share are joke poems.

32. I cannot stand the four-letter C word…neither of them, as a matter of fact. I don’t much care for the four-letter T word, either.

33. I’m a Jew in name only – the only time I’ve been to Temple in the past decade was for Yom Hashoah.

34. I didn’t name any of my children.

35. The names I wanted for Samantha, Zoë and Nicholas were Gwendolyn, Fiona (or Isabella – they were tied) and Gunnar.

36. If I had another girl I would insist on naming her Pandora. Or perhaps Lucretia. No – definitely Pandora.

37. But I’m not having any more children.

38. When I want to type “crepuscular” I type “corpuscular” instead, every time. Thankfully, that word doesn’t pop up too often in correspondence.

39. I wish I could bottle the feelings of joy I get when I’m squeezing and loving on Nic. I would give it away for free to everyone and end all of the hatred in the world.

40. I once had a rather large comic book collection – Tales from the Crypt, mainly.

41. I used to be a horror-movie junkie.

42. The last horror movie I saw was “Candyman” April 9th, 1993.

43. “Madraven Stark” is only one of many pseudonyms I’ve published under.

44. I’m wondering why I decided to do a fresh list of 100 things about me – all these lists do is remind me of how uninteresting I am.

45. I’ve met a blogger in real life. She smells musky and has great hair.

46. I secretly love Tom Jones but don’t tell anybody. I’d just die if that info ever got into the general populace.

47. My favorite poem of all time is “Anyone Lived In A Pretty How Town” by ee cummings.

48. That’s not true – I think tied for first place is “Marriage” by Gregory Corso. That poem changed my perception completely.

49. I quite like the beat poets.

50. I’d like to learn to play “Canon in D Minor” on the piano because no one in the world has ever played it to my satisfaction.

51. I dig on really skinny guys. You have muscle? Keep moving.

52. It’s a cliché, but a good sense of humor is one of the most important things to me.

53. When Andy and I started getting serious we spent a week at a cabin in Wisconsin where I brought a load of films to gauge his sense of humor. He passed with flying colors.

54. I like giving unorthodox compliments, like, “Hey, great knees!” or “Those elbows look fantastic on you.”

55. I have a hard time keeping a secret, unless it’s a bad secret.

56. I’ve only ever had one serious boyfriend that wasn’t white. Our relationship primarily consisted of him walking past me with his friends asking, “Yo, Natalie, who’s yo man?” So I guess it wasn’t that serious after all. But it lasted a long time.

57. He was shot to death a couple years after graduation.

58. He was the second boyfriend I had that died.

59. I used to smoke a lot of pot.

60. The last time I smoked pot was four years ago when I found an old joint hidden in a Rolling Stones cd. It was bunk.

61. I’m surprisingly literate for one so uneducated.

62. I bounced around to a few colleges before dropping out completely.

63. If I went back to school now I’d probably do something in business and hate myself for it for the rest of my life.

64. I was once accused of plagiarism in a writing class. I had to sit in front of a disciplinary board and prove that I could write in the same style as I had on the assignment I’d turned in.

65. I did – and was promptly moved up to a higher level writing class. That ain’t braggin’.

66. When Samantha tells me that a teacher is gunning for her my inclination is to believe her until I see otherwise.

67. Though I’d never be one of those hard-core “My kid is right” people. I simply understand the madness of burned-out teachers.

68. If I could only watch one show for the rest of my life it would definitely be The Simpsons.

69. If I could only read one book for the rest of my life it would either be “Bluebeard”, “God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater” or “Cat’s Cradle” by Vonnegut, or perhaps “The Corrections” by Jonathan Franzen.

70. I visited La Pere Lachaise cemetery but only managed to visit the graves of Jim Morrison and Oscar Wilde. I wish I could get back to visit Edith Piaf, Gertrude Stein and Alice Toklas especially.

71. I use very foul language.

72. In England, a pub landlord once said to me, “Oy, America, keep it clean.” It’s pretty bad when your foul mouth gets attention from someone who was just seconds earlier using the C and T words.

73. I remember the first time I ever touched the ocean. By name, it was the Atlantic, but to me all water is water and prehistoric and powerful.

74. I am afraid of sheep, koalas and kangaroos.

75. And all manner of creepy-crawly things.

76. I want to be cremated when I die and have my ashes spread over the Mississippi River and the Irish Sea.

77. This is the year I was born and an age I’ll probably never reach

78. I am allergic to cats and dogs but that doesn’t stop me from keeping three mutts. I’m slowly getting over the allergy and it only flares up when their fur gets near my face.

79. I don’t believe that imitation is the highest form of flattery – when people imitate me in anything it pisses me off and tells me that the person isn’t very creative.

80. I make a better househusband than housewife. Repairs I can do; cleaning makes my ass tired.

81. Folding laundry is my most hated of all the chores.

82. I’m naturally suspicious of people who like me – I’ve been burned too often to not think, “They’re being nice to me; I wonder what they want?”

83. My first apartment was in a particularly nasty ghetto. On two separate occasions I witnessed people being shot.

84. This item intentionally left blank. Just because.

85. My second toe is longer than my big toe.

86. I call it my “balancing toe”.

87. I stub it a lot and when I do I scream things like, “Fuckety butt nugget” and “poop on a rope and a dog on a duck”.

88. In general, I’m not a conspiracy-theorist but I do not believe Kurt Cobain killed himself – I believe his skanky hose-bag of a wife had played a part in his death and no one will convince me otherwise.

89. Genealogy makes me hope there’s a heaven and that I’ll be welcome there.

90. I believe in ghosts. I saw two of them when I was giving birth to Nic.

91. The minute my grandmother died I saw a white gauze hanging in front of me and as it floated past it brushed against my face. I screamed, even though I wasn’t scared, and ran upstairs to tell my mother that my grandmother had just died. Minutes later we got the phone call telling us as much.

92. I usually react inappropriately when given bad news. I usually laugh hysterically.

93. At his mother’s funeral my father started barking. I’ll probably do that when my own mother dies.

94. Every day contains some sense of déjà vu.

95. Yeah, I know that joke is getting old.

96. Nearly every situation in real life has a “The Simpsons” counter-part. And I will quote it to you.

97. I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I will be a disappointment to most people.

98. I haven’t been out dancing in a very long time.

99. It tickles me to no end when I witness famous people in unlikely situations – namely, Carly Simon singing the theme song for Winnie the Pooh, or Robert DeNiro visiting the folks on Sesame Street.

100. I got dreams, baby, big dreams. I now need to learn how to make them a reality.

Sheesh – this is a lot harder the second time around.

The Old 100 Things About Me:

My favorite place in the world is Llandudno, Wales

My lifelong dream is to write a novel.

Secondary dream is to open an English-style pub, only with better food. I want to do this so I can import my own English beer.

I am one of seven children - I get along with exactly two of them.

My family is famous for being part of the founding of Milford, CT.

I’ve never been there.

I don’t like Florida but I have some great memories of visiting there.

Except for Disney.

I eat my steak bloody, bloody rare.

Except when meat disgusts me, then I become a reluctant vegetarian.

This usually passes within a few weeks.

Guns N Roses will always be my favorite band.

I once punched a boy who called Axl Rose a pussy.

I’ve punched a lot of boys.

I’ve never punched Andy.

Vodka can make anything taste better, any time of the day or night.

I have one living grandparent.

He’s my least favorite one.

I’ve been seriously bitten by dogs twice in my life.

They were both poodles.

I have a tattoo and plan to get another one.

I think things are funny when they’re not.

The most piercings I’ve ever had at one time is twenty.

All but six have closed up.

I did them myself.

I was bored – there’s no other reason for it, really.

My favorite food is greek chicken. Second favorite food is anything with a shitload of garlic.

Sometimes I think I have ADD, or ADHD.

Or maybe I have bipolar disorder.

I won’t see a doctor to find out which.

I never had a cavity until I went to England.

I am mechanically inclined.

I have a high tolerance for pain.

When I eat onions my skin smells like onions the next day - which is unfortunate because I eat a lot of onions.

I eat tomatoes like they’re apples.

I don’t eat apples.

My feet are huge for my height.

My feet are huge for anyone's height.

I proposed to Andy.

We got married because we were bored.

We were happy enough either way.

I will forget your birthday.

I forget everyone’s birthday.

Even my own.

I grew up very poor.

I didn’t know that until much later.

I'm not afraid of getting old. However, I am afraid of having to live in a nursing home.

If I were going to kill myself I'd do it in a closed garage with the car running.

I love the smell of gasoline.

Beef with cream cheese is a great snack. So is A1 sauce on celery.

I thought my father was Willie Nelson – he sings like him.

When I was in kindergarten I told my best friend that I was really a thirty-year-old midget.

She still teases me about that.

I have nothing but respect for the power of water – I’m in awe of the ocean.

I’m awful at photography. Andy’s not, and I’m so jealous of him that I could spit.

I’m banned for life from visiting the home where Ronald Regan grew up but it’s not my fault. My grandmother peed on the lawn. All I did was laugh.

I want to meet Kurt Vonnegut, thank him for using the word "motherfucker" and let him pat my butt.

I once saw John Denver at a haunted house in Wisconsin Dells. I called him Ronnie Milsap. He laughed.

I can't stand it when my feet get water-logged.

My favorite piece of classical music is Pachelbel’s “Canon” but only when it’s played on the piano – I don’t like harpsichords.

My lasagna is the cheesiest damn thing you'll ever eat in your life.

My earliest memory is of my sister being born when I was two and a half. She claims to remember it, too.

My second memory is of learning to disco in my basement to “Benny and the Jets”.

I’ve seen “Three Dog Night” in concert twice before I was ten years old. They weren’t very good.

The best concert I’ve ever seen was The Verve in Chicago.

I got into a fight in Chinatown with a guy from London.

I have arthritis in my left shoulder.

Sometimes I feel older than I am.

Sometimes I forget my real age.

I hide when people knock on my door.

My mother does, too, but she laughs at me for doing it.

I was once tied up and robbed at gunpoint. I don’t really like to talk about that.

I’d like to be reincarnated as the stereotypical “kindly old black man”. I’d call white people “crackers” behind their backs.

I’ve never owned a scale.

I can't whistle.

I haven't paid off my student loan but I didn't actually get a degree so I call it even.

My favorite song of all time is “American Pie”

I think there should be a special section of hell for anyone who dares to cover this song, especially Madonna.

I like Zydeco music and Cajun food.

I could never live too far from the Mississippi River. It runs in my veins.

I want to be cremated when I die and have my ashes scattered in that river.

I can eat Tabasco sauce straight from the bottle.

I’m a pretty good cook if given the right tools.

Nothing makes me happier than to compare pictures of Andy when we first met to him now – he’s a lot healthier-looking and I take full credit for that.

I don’t really like Paris but I’d like to go back to France.

I am equal parts Russian, Polish, Norwegian and Irish but I don’t really identify with any of them.

I’ve never been hugged by a fat black woman, but I think I’d like to be. I imagine it’d be like a little piece of heaven on earth.

I once joined a cult of Pentecostals. I did it for the music.

My favorite car was my Prelude. I gave it away and it died the next day. I feel guilty about this – I think it died from a broken heart.

My second favorite car was my Jimmy. I had to sell it to pay for a huge phone bill.

I fell asleep a couple of times while on the phone to Andy in the UK. He couldn’t disconnect the call. My phone bill was over $3,000. Now I freak out if my phone bill hits $100.

I never use the phone except to call my mother. I call my mother a lot.

The rest of the time, the phone makes me paranoid.

Sometimes I let myself get buried in thoughts of all the injustice, hatred, pain and suffering in the world and get so upset and frustrated that I just shut down and can no longer
function as a person.

Then I realize I still have to be a mother and it snaps me back to reality.

So in a way, my kids save me from myself.

I am addicted to stand-up comedy.

I’m always surprised when other people aren’t. Andy isn’t.

I was 21 when I touched a horse for the first time. I was scared.

The horse lived in Andy’s back yard. He let it live there because it ate the grass so he didn’t have to cut it.

Monday, April 28, 2003

Oh, and thanks to Ocean Guy here is the link to the google thing I was talking about: TouchGraph Google Browser.

Thank Jebus that someone was able to follow my train of thought.



Oh man - this is sweet. Ripped right off from promoguy...

404 - File Not Found - But the gay Spiderman doesn't care!

Poor depressed little web server.



In your face, space coyote!

I'm not doing anything, really - I just threw up a page with some of my favorite quotes from The Simpsons, that's about it. Oh, and I found this cool thing, it's a google thing that does this...this thing...where it takes your url and it, like, um...makes a kind of spider web out of it, like with links and stuff? And you click, and then it moves, but it only moves if you've downloaded this one other thing with it that's kinda like shockwave but it's not shockwave, it's just some weird old javascript thing?

But I can't find it now. I'm sure I will again - if you know what I'm talking about then point me in the right direction, cuz I was really digging on the swirls and stuff. Only it wasn't swirly, it was all straight, but it moved around and around and was kind of swirly.

No beer and no tv make Homer...something something. Go crazy? Don't mind if I do!

I'm not even sure if I'm awake, to be honest with you. Normal programming will resume shortly. I hope.



Sunday, April 27, 2003

My goodness, I feel all MJ today - I found another cool little link, Geocaching. It's like a treasure hunt-type thing...I only briefly glanced at it to get the scope of the thing and it's pretty wide-spread.

Now I just need to get my stupid hotsync thing working for my Palm so I can get a gps thingymabob on there.

Oh...and I found someone who knows cows. I'm going to send an email to see if some of my burning questions can be answered. I've learned a lot already - some of which makes me feel pretty bad for cows - but I'll let you know what I find out.



I love this thing. I don't know what you would call it - they call it "The World as a Blog" but what it does is shows you a little flashy thing whenever a blog is updated and where in the world it is, along with a snippet of their rss feed.

It's so fantastically perfect - it's like sitting in front of the television set just flipping through the channels.

If you're as phenomenally lazy as I am, this thing will quickly become your new best friend.

(You need to have your georul and your rss tag in your header and ping Weblogs for you to show up...but you should have/be doing that anyway, now shouldn't you?)

Now this is surfing!




(That really is proper binary code for saying, "I can speak in binary code.")

Heh. Okay, so shoot me - I'm still decompressing from the kid factor.



(Note: This goes hand-in-hand with a little Jack Handey-ism I wrote, something along the lines of, "If I could have any superpower in the world I would speak in binary code. But I would hope that I didn't meet someone else who spoke binary code because I don't really have an ear for foreign languages - we'd have to communicate by writing messages on a white board or something, and I just don't have that kind of time.")

Again, decompression, blah blah blah...

I was probably five, maybe six years old...I was in kindergarten, I remember that much, when I went to my first birthday party. I still remember it all these years later for a few reasons, the largest reason being The Uncle.

The birthday girl had a funny uncle (not funny ha-ha) that was there...just looking at him gave me the creeps. During the party I went to the bathroom and he was waiting when I came out. I don't remember exactly how it happened, but he convinced me to use potty words. I wasn't familiar with a lot of them so there was a lot of, "Now say..." type of guidance from him. I remember getting a head rush from saying the words but I was confused - why was this adult wanting me to say this? The girl's mother came looking for me and yelled at the uncle and asked me what had happened - I didn't understand any of this. Why was she relieved that I was using bad words? I was crying, expecting to get my mouth washed out with soap and here I was getting a hug from my friend's mom. Totally weird.

If that sad man got some kind of gratification from hearing me use bad language...well, I just feel sorry for him, to be honest, and I don't think I was scarred by it, especially when you consider the alternative of what might have happened.

When I take Samantha to a birthday party I go inside, meet the parents if I don't know them already, ask who is going to be there and get a general "vibe" from people. The parents usually give me funny looks with I give them my phone number "in case of emergencies". I am not an overprotective parent but I'm an aware parent.

Yesterday, only one parent actually came into the house when they dropped off their kid. And this parent only came in to tell me that her daughter couldn't actually spend the night since she had plans for early morning the next day - but I know the mom of this girl, anyway. Besides her, out of the entire group I only really knew one other girl's parents...the rest of them were strangers to me, and I to them.

They pulled in the driveway and left their kids there, often driving away before their girl reached my front door.

What if I had a large, unlocked gun cabinet in my front room? What if I had a couple of blood-thirsty looking pit bull dogs? What if I was in here smoking pot or drinking, or having a little party of my own with weird-vibe guys? These are things parents need to be aware of and to check on. I don't want them to blindly trust me...check me out, ask me questions - care about who is watching your children.

No one left emergency contact information. No one warned me that their daughter was allergic to cats, or peanuts, or had a lactose intolerance, or didn't eat meat...nothing. Dump your kids and run, because whoo hoo! You have a free babysitter this Saturday night.

This is why I have a hard time believing parents of injured, missing or killed kids when they get on the news and sob, "We did everything we could to protect our child." Did you?

I'm not perfect and sometimes I'm not as vigilant as I should be but damn. I'd consider this negligence on the part of these parents, I seriously would.

Knowing who is watching your child is not being overprotective. I'd feel so much better if these parents had checked me out - their kids all made it home safely today but what about next time? Don't implicitly trust me, don't implicitly trust anyone when it concerns the welfare of your children.

If these parents are this lax with regards to their own children...well, I can't see myself letting Samantha attend any sleepovers at their homes any time soon.



Yeah, it was bad, but it wasn't all bad.

Things overheard at last night's sleepover:

Your mom is so cool.

I love your mom's hair.

Andy is so cute.

I wish I lived here.

Let's get your mom to play.

Your mom is so pretty.

I have a crush on Andy.

I have brothers and sisters older than your mom.

I bet my dad picks me up - he likes your mom.

Your mom is so much younger than my mom.

I'm going to name my stuffed elephant Andy. I used to call him Timberlake but now he's going to be called Andy.

I love your mom.

Yet, I did hear a chilling phrase within all this praise, and that was...

...we have to do this again, really soon.



Saturday, April 26, 2003

He managed to get away without a kiss, or even a hug.

Andy had an English friend over last night - which is something he rarely does because his friends tend to be rather good-looking and I tend to get crushes on them - but last night Andy took a chance. It's weird - the English aren't exactly famous for being attractive, and I think there are probably twenty guys (tops) in the whole country that are pleasing to the eye but for some strange reason Andy knows all of them. Funny, innit?

And they're all huggers and kissers. I bet you didn't know that about the English, did you? Every single one of them I've met has hugged and kissed me, which is unexpected in a "reserved" English fellow. Hell, one of them even grabbed my ass! Yes, I've had my butt squeezed by an Englishman, and a rather wealthy one at that. Oh hell, I'm so stupid - I forgot my number one rule here...when your butt is grabbed by a good-looking guy, that's flirting, but when it's grabbed by a wealthy guy it's sexual harassment. Should have sued the bastard.

Anyway, we had a fun time...English Guy (EG) laughed at all my jokes, complimented my cooking, and was generally a captive and receptive audience. I like to think he learned a little something, too...

me: You should call white people "crackers"
EG: Cragga...?
me: Crackers.
EG: Crackgers?
me: Crack...uuuurs.
EG: Did you just make that word up?
me: No, crackers. You know, crackers.
EG: (blank look)
me: Crackers, crackers, crackers. Like the food!
EG: As in "cheese and..."
me: Exactly! When you go to Chicago, call every white person you see a cracker.
EG: (dubious look)

He doesn't read my blog so it's safe to say he really didn't know what to expect - I found myself biting my tongue on a number of occassions, lest I frighten the poor little bunny. Everyone sat down to eat and I scooped Nic to take him in the back room to feed him...EG gave me a questioning look and I nearly blurted out, "Boobs - it's what's for dinner." I didn't, though; not because I was pretty sure the Beef Council didn't run that ad in England, so he wouldn't get the joke, but because he's English and I don't think he's aware that women have breasts. (English guys are sort-of disarming, in that they look you in the eyes when you're in conversation with them. They look you in the eyes. How am I supposed to handle that?)

It was fun having him around, though I was a bit nervous initially as his mom knows my mother-in-law so I had to set the ground rules. "Don't go back to England and talk any shit about me to your mom, okay? Because it'll get back to my mother-in-law, and at the moment she likes me."

So yeah, it was a laugh. After he left Andy and I sat around talking about blogs...because that's what we do when no one else is around...and managed to stay awake until our anniversary. Yep, today's the old wedding anniversary - two years ago today the sun was shining and I was in a pretty good mood so I said to Andy, "Hey, you wanna go downtown and get married?" He said, "Sure, why not. Can you find a judge?" Two hours later we were wed and enjoying (sic) a meal at Brit's Pub in Minneapolis where Andy shamelessly flirted with a waitress.

Our marriage is built on a solid foundation of alcohol and sarcasm. We're gonna last, baby, to the bitter end.

Five years together, two years married, two kids together, four in total, three dogs, a 30-year mortgage and a future of nothing but the same man for the rest of my freaking life.

This is why I'm pissed EG didn't kiss me before he left. How's that for hospitality, eh?

(I'm kidding, of course.) So happy anniversary to me! And Andy, of course. To celebrate, tonight will find our house filled to the breaking point with ten 10-year-old girls. (For a sleepover of Samantha', it's not some weird English anniversary, first anniversary is paper and the second anniversary is ten adolescent children.)

Love you, Andy. And I can honestly say that if I had to do it all over again I would. Two years with you feels like two minutes...(under water...). Ah, I never get sick of that joke.



Friday, April 25, 2003

Okay, I sort-of cheated on this.

1.) This is absolutely true. I was born dead (what?) and remained that way so long that the doctors gave up trying to resuscitate me. Then, poof, I was there, with my eyes open. The doctors told my parents that I was most likely severely retarded and they'd begun making plans to send me to a "home" (which is what many parents did back in the day) until my grandmother convinced them that I was simply waiting on a soul. So the story goes, the baby soul I was meant to get got scared and left my body so an old soul entered me instead. Which explains why, even at the tender age of five, I used to yell at the damn neighbor kids to get offa my lawn.

2.) This is sort-of true...once I was told that I was meant to be "taken care of" by a thug working for my boss. My boss, incidentially, was a pretty big shot coke dealer and had all sorts of dodgy stuff going on with the Unions. This time in my life was scary enough that I'd given my mother a list of names and said, "If anything happens to me, if I disappear or anything, give these names to the Chicago PD." Thankfully it didn't come to that - I had to move and change jobs, but there you go.

The second time this happened I got the ever-loving shit kicked out of me. I don't think he wanted me dead, either, just wanted to "send a message". This was a straight-up street gang, though, but I consider this to fall under the blanket of "organized crime".

3.) This one is the lie. Though that's not to say I didn't used to do this...I did, all the time. But "blackmail" is a pretty strong was more like, "Hey, I know such and such about you really want to kick my underaged ass out of your bar? Thought not."

But see, doing this is what got me in trouble with my boss from number two. They thought I saw and knew a whole lot of things I hadn't seen and didn't know. Well, I did know something wasn't right, but I didn't know exactly what was wrong with the scenario. Ignorance is no excuse, however, and I was stalked and threatened for a while before they figured out I was not the formidable foe they'd initially thought me to be.

Wow - we're learing a lot about each other, aren't we? This is fun.



This sounds fun - ripped right off from MJ, who ripped it right off from Decaf Veni No-Whip Mocha.

Two Truths and a Lie!

So here are three statements about me - two are true and one is a lie. Can you guess which is which?

  • I was still-born and remained dead for many minutes before "coming to" without so much as a peep.

  • On two separate occassions there has been a bounty on my head - one was a misunderstanding but you just can't reason with organized crime.

  • I keep extesnive files on people and often use it to blackmail them.

Okay - guess which one isn't true.

Not much of a choice-ingly,


Well my goodness, wasn't last night illuminating?

I don't know how I got started on the whole thing but once I started I couldn't stop, and couldn't avoid clicking through page after page. After page...after page. I was watching a soap opera unfold right before my very eyes...granted, I'm like a week late to consider myself "in the loop" but I got the gist of it.

Here's the scoop - and forgive me if you have a hard time following this but a lot of details aren't known to me. Okay, so someone said something bad about someone and it somehow has something to do with Blogshares. There was something racist but I don't know what it could be, as I don't know what ethnicity any of the key players are, but I guess it wasn't so nice. Let's just imagine someone said that Puerto Ricans smell like candy apples.

So we have some guy who said, "Yeah, well, he's a Puerto Rican so you just know he smells like candy apples." And the Puerto Rican guy was pissed - he was all, "Why does he say that? We don't ALL smell like candy apples...that just shows what a bigoted redneck he is." Now the redneck guy is pissed. "You just call me a bigoted redneck because I'm intolerant of other people for no reason and have a red neck. There's no other basis for your comment, you candy-apple smelling bastard." Now it's become personal. "Bastard? You're just calling me a bastard because I don't know who my father is - if I knew who he was you wouldn't be calling me a bastard, now would you?" Then the Eskimo got into the picture and both parties turned against him. Because there was blood in the water. Blood from the baby seal that the Eskimo had just killed. He should have stayed well enough alone.

These three guys were scrapping and someone else got pissed because, I don't know, the fight wasn't about them, so he screamed really loudly. "Look at me!" Everyone did, and then this guy had to say something - after all, he'd gotten all this attention - so he screamed "Blogshares!" Everyone went, "Oh, yeah...Blogshares." They all turned as one - the Puerto Rican, the redneck, the Eskimo, and the attention-seeking guy (let's call him Steve Martin) - and stormed the gates at Blogshares. The Blogshares guy is all, "Dude, what's the deal? I was, like, playing Grand Theft Auto 3. My bud Kev got me some sweet cheats." Only he said the word "sweet" like "schweeeet". The Puerto Rican, the redneck, the Eskimo and Steve Martin all began talking at once and the Blogshares guy's eyes glazed over. He was all like, "Dude...dude...chill, okay? Everyone needs to calm down. You don't wanna play then don't play - what's the diff?" "What's the diff? What's the diff?" Steve Martin shouted. "Puerto Rican guy, tell him what's the diff." The Puerto Rican guy was like, "Uh...yeah, go ahead, redneck, tell him." The redneck looked around and said, "Hey, where did the Eskimo go?" The Eskimo was over at the side of Blogshares, pulling his url from the game. In all honesty, he thought his url was a baby seal that would make a tasty treat for dinner, but no one else knew that and tried pulling their blogs, too.

Mob mentality, you see.

But this wasn't a good thing, because some players had bought a lot of shares in Steve Martin, the redneck, the Eskimo and the Puerto Rican. "What will happen to our portfolios if you guys pull out? Do we lose our shares? I'm taking this game very seriously and you're not going to screw this up!" They then all went away to their own blogs and said bad things about everyone else. The "pull my blog" crowd was getting larger while the "leave your blog in there" crowd was getting louder. The frenzy grew and grew and got to the point where someone actually bit themselves in the arm.

It got much uglier...I'm assuming here, because by this point I was too bored with the back-biting and in-fighting going on so I watched a little Insomniac instead (Andy, you were right - drinking all of that Coke did keep me up - who'd'a thunk it?) but my point is this:

Grow up, and

You want my Blogshares?

I was trying to gift them in secret but many people's emails on their blogs aren't the emails that they're registered under in the game. I'm not quitting the game because of all of the above crapola but because I haven't been playing and don't feel like putting the energy into it. Perhaps if the game had been started in the fall I would have more time for it, but there you go.

And in case you didn't realize it, I honestly don't know what went on with the fight or even the people involved so if you're the Puerto Rican, the redneck, the Eskimo, Steve Martin, the Blogshares guy or his friend Kev with the sweet cheats please don't take offense cuz I'm just guessing here.

But yeah, if you're playing the game leave a comment using your Blogshares email and I'll be gifting while the gifting's good.

Daddy Warbucks-ingly,


Thursday, April 24, 2003

Oh, am I injured or what?

I haven't been drinking lately but for some reason last night I decided it would be a Really Good Idea and a Nice Change of Pace to have a beer outside on the porch. Then I had another. Then the Johnny Cash cd came out. I don't much remember what happened after that.

I'm pretty sure that I told Erica she could move in with me but I don't see a signed lease lying around anywhere so I'm clear on that score.

At some point last night I composed a fifteen-hundred word essay on what an idiot Rick Santorum is, and I think I may have made some good points, but when I did an edit to remove the word "fuck" (and variations, like "fucker", "fuckwad", "fucktard" and "fucking idiot") it was reduced to around half that length. I wasn't simply leaning on the "f-word" for effect - that was my staple content. I'll have to revisit that topic at some point but now is definitely not the time.

Today is "Take Your Daughter To Work Day" but Andy's day consisted of very little that was "kid friendly" so he didn't take Samantha. Which means she's working for me at work with me today. Sammy, would you make Mommy a cup of tea, please? Sam, could you close the blinds - the sun is a little loud.

Yeah, and she has to write a report on what she'd done today. This ought to be fun.

Ugh. No more alcohol for me, ever. I'm sticking with pills from now on.

Substance abuse-ingly,


Wednesday, April 23, 2003

Perspective really is everything, isn't it?

This is a picture of my beautiful little guy before... and this is my little guy after I found a rather disturbing photo effect.

Yep. Still not doing anything worthwhile. But this is a fun little way to waste time.



My new favorite picture of Zoe and Nic: (click for larger version)

I should really be cleaning the house because Andy's bringing home some fresh meat a friend this evening but I'm beyond trying to impress people with a so-called "clean house" and "properly cooked food", or indeed, "a hostess wearing pants".

Isn't it enough that I don't pick my nose in the presence of others? Since when do people require more from me than that? Sigh.



(link ripped right off from Nikkirae)

I think the online quiz is out to get me...

Paranoid:Very High
Schizotypal:Very High
Borderline:Very High
Narcissistic:Very High

-- Personality Disorder Test - Take It! --

Because I am so incredibly narcissistic I am having Andy take the quiz as me to compare his perception of me versus my own perception of myself.

Stupid quiz.



Update: This is what Andy came up with as me:

Paranoid:Very High
Schizotypal:Very High

-- Personality Disorder Test - Take It! --

Allow me to reiterate - the quiz is out to get me.



Tuesday, April 22, 2003

Tube tops. As far as the eye can see. Tube tops on big gals, on small gals. Shirtless, man-boob afflicted men.

All playing volleyball. In the next yard.

Sweet jeebus I hate these neighbors.

I'm going out to clean the hot tub and I wouldn't be surprised in the slightest if one (or more) of them should say, "Lookie 'ere, maw - they got demselves one uh dem dere outdoorsy-type warshin' tubs. I'm a-guessin' it be time fer their monfly baf. Hey! Hey you, purty gal, y'all gonna need hosin'? Cuz I gots me a hose out back t'shed iffin you want it."

I sometimes wonder what the neighbors would do if they came across this blog...but I's a-willin' ta betcha they's don't go on the innernet, in case someone be tryin' to steal the nummer offa their secure Masse-card.

Waiting for the neighbors to R-U-N-N-O-F-T-ingly,


Hence, Demonthighs.

In peeking at my comments I've noticed I have mulitples. Multiple Simons, multiple Nicoles, multiple Steves...I had no idea. Cuz if I see the name Simon in the comments box I instantly think Big Simon. But guess what? It could just as easily be Stephen Simon. Who knew?

This is why I tend to sign comments with Natalie Demonthighs. There's no mistake then.

I'm not saying anyone should adopt a nickname if they don't want to - I guess I'm just saying, "Sorry I got all y'all confused."

Funny, though, I only have one Irk and I've yet to see a duplicate mopsa. Funny, that.



Just checking that the new version of w.Bloggar is functioning properly.



I'd written this huge post about religion but Nic rolled over on my keyboard and managed to delete the whole thing, the little bastard. Meh - guess it was God's will or something.

So in protest of my lost content I'm flittering through my comments archives and I realize - there are a lot of people I should be mad at. This whole time they were off being ignorant and I hadn't even noticed. (Steve, I'll deal with you personally...)

It's kinda fun - if you have messages archived I suggest you float around in there for a while. You literally don't know what you're missing.



This'll open your eyes...

The first blog I read this morning informed me that Vicky of Liquid Courage is currently recovering from being viciously attacked by a neighbor's Rott. Please take a moment to visit her husband's blog and leave a message for her.

Even if you hated her politics please send your well-wishes. She's a beautiful woman who's currently sporting a faceful of stitches and is most likely having a rough time right now.

Sending good vibes-ingly,


Monday, April 21, 2003

A couple of quick notes to slap down on everyone's happy ass, then I'm outta here (Samantha comes home today from her father's house so the Easter Bunny is making a visit this afternoon - Zoe's too young to know any better but I think this is the last year we can delay this kind of stuff so all the kids are here. I don't want Zoe going to school telling kids that the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus make special trips to her house...don't want to arouse the suspicions of the other children, you see.)

Okay, we've covered the template change last week, but a couple of things you may have noticed are different. Namely, the pictures. I have the pictures of myself set in a random array so that a different one loads on each page visit. Some are of me as a child, some are more recent and none of them are naked.

The pictures under "Not My Husband" are also set in a random array but here's something...some of them are my husband, some of them are not my husband. Ahhh, tricky, eh?

Yes, I am lame, I know this. Yesterday found me on my computer with Andy on his, a few feet away, and we were doing silly things to amuse ourselves. Like when I acted all bitchy and told Andy I was going to IM him a bad letter - the letter I sent him was Q. Har, har! Oh, that's not funny. Not even slightly.

We didn't even remember it was Easter. I realized it around three or so and said, "Yo, G, Merry Easter" and we punched fists. He said, "Back atcha, cuz."

Don't get me wrong, I like Easter - hell, I like any holiday that revolves around giving gifts of candy. You know why? Because the day after there's discount candy. And nothing tastes sweeter than chocolate you bought for cheap.

Where was I? Oh yeah, template shemplate. The last thing I wanted to point out is that my blogroll(s) don't show up in their entirety. I just have too damn many people I link to for them to all be splayed across my sidebar so I've limited their number. They all list in order of most recently updated, except for those nasty non-pingers, which show up in random order in chunks of five at a time.

I think that's it. Happy Monday and what not...not happy for me, as we totally lazed out all weekend and didn't get anything done around this house so I'm up to my eyeballs in cleaning and crap. But there you go. I'm going to go slap on an Eddie Izzard cd and get my ass in gear - hope your day is a small slice of heaven on earth.

Definite article-ly,


Sunday, April 20, 2003

It's you ever get a thought in your head that you absolutely must investigate and research? I do this quite frequently and today I'm stuck on wild cows. Are cows docile because they've been in captivity for so many centuries or were they put into captivity for our use because they were so docile? Were cows always the "stand around chewing cud" creatures we see today? Can they run? Can they jump? You'd assume so, right? Then why don't they? Camels run - I've seen it (and laughed my ass off; it's a funny sight to behold). Moose can swim - can cows swim? Who first milked a cow and what the hell was he trying to do?

Cows aren't indigenous to North America - they were brought over by the Pilgrims, like horses. But we have wild horses, right? Where are the wild cows?

If there is any information about this, it's well-hidden. I've been searching for the history of the cow for a solid half-hour now...maybe more. And I haven't come up with anything.

Sure, I've found information on the wild cow of the Serengeti who travel in herds, hunt at night, have claws for hooves, eat lions and can run at speeds of 70 mph - but is that really a relative of the cows we know today? Do species go from being carnivores to herbivores? If they were wild like that how the hell did people capture them in the first place?

There are so many mysteries surrounding the humble cow - I'm beginning to think the truth is being kept from us for some reason.

I own the Time Life book series, "Mysteries of the Unknown" - but cows? They don't warrant a mention, even in passing.

I can't be the only person that's wondered about this. The lack of readily available information on the internet leads me to believe I'm on to something.

I'll keep you posted, until The Man determines my quest for truth to be a hazard and shuts me down.

Searching for the truth about cows-ingly,


You know who I really love? You. That's right - you. Surprised? You shouldn't be. I think you rock.

Daily affirmation-ly,


Saturday, April 19, 2003

This is weird - Google will let you search their site using your phone (don't ask me why - you still have to be at your computer) at this link.

You call their number, say your search term, click the window and et viola - your search results pop up.

Only, when I searched (twice) for "pickle juice blog" the results shown were for "Millwall Snowball". Hell, even Marlon Brando wouldn't fudge up "pickle juice blog" that badly.

Could someone please explain the importance of this new feature of Google? Shouldn't they be making improvements on Blogger instead of worrying about pointless technology?

They probably make money on the phone call, who knows.



This made me laugh this morning...(ripped right off from Yorkshire Soul - I don't know if it's his original creation or what but it's pretty funny.)



So Irish Girl is having a spring time hair dilemma (I think it's something in the Minnesota water, I don't know) and the sultry MJ provided this link where you upload your picture and give yourself a little makeover. It's fun, though the hairstyles are limited.

I've come up with my alter-ego, Natasha. This is what I'd look like if I were an international spy, or the disguise I'd wear if I ever found myself in the uncomfortable position of co-starring in movie featuring Matt Damon.

Yes, I'm lame. I'm still awake and looking for something to do, alright, just gimme a break, okay?

Ugh - I shouldn't have eaten so much sugar.



Friday, April 18, 2003

To Andy, on his return from a run to the store...

me: Did you remember my candy bar?
andy: Damn, no I forgot.
me: Groan - I am so jonesing for some candy.
andy: I would have remembered if I'd have gone to the gas station, but I went to the grocery store.
me: Oh, and lordy knows they have no candy at the grocery store.
andy: You want me to go back out? I'll go back out.
me: Sigh. No, I'll just eat frozen Cool Whip from the freezer.
andy: Seriously, it'll take two minutes.
me: No, it's fine, don't worry about it.
andy: No! I'm going - I'm not having you lay a guilt trip on me.
me: (gritting my teeth) Listen, buddy, I've been looking for an excuse to eat that frozen Cool Whip for a week now - you'd better not stand in my way.
andy: If you wanted to eat the Cool Whip, why even ask me for a candy bar?
me: grmupma wrrrgh. (mouth full of Cool Whip)


me: Groan, I have a tummy ache from eating too much Cool Whip.
andy: You're a damn idiot.



I think I'm ascending into a pretty hard-core manic spell - it's usually marked by a desire to consume. Not just eating, but consuming everything. Sensory overload, I guess is a good way to put it. Like, I have two computers going on different things, I have a television in this room tuned to a different channel than the television in the next room, while the cd player is going in the kitchen while the radio is going in the bedroom. In between gulps of water and caffeine-free Mountain Dew (yes, caffeine-free) I'm smoking, chewing my nails and snacking on croutons - and somehow I still manage to belt out show tunes. While wandering from room to room I'm skipping, or hopping, or twirling, or doing the German Dance (don't ask). Zoe is scooped up and danced around, Nic is scooped up and danced around, and I'm not even dizzy yet. I'm making up words that make me giggle and trying to flip my eyelids inside out (I could do it when I was a kid).

It's times like this that I need to lay low and avoid others because in this mood I can consume people. Whole people. I will completely drain you of energy if you come within five feet of me right now. My appetites are absolutely out of control.

Moods like this make me think, "Does the insulation in the dryer need to be replaced? I should really check out our attic to see what's going on up there. Do we need an irrigation ditch?"

Moods like this can claim the credit for, what, ten rooms being redecorated. And the crash from this mood can claim the little bits of each room that remain incomplete.

But at the moment I'm on the upswing, and that's a good thing. This much I can handle.

Wild mood swings-ingly,


Link ripped off from Fact or Fiction, who swiped it from Suck is Life, who lifted it straight from Bizarro Girl, who ganked it from Hippy Critical. Wow, that was fun.

My goddamn rock solid ghetto shiznit name is Wankmaster Teapot, Yo.

What's yours?

It's weird, because if I plug in Irish Girl as one name it comes back Slimmy Dawg Wack but if I put in Irish as the first name and Girl as the last name it's Vivacious Shizzlemah...hmmm, that sounds Jewish.

Just a little fun for Friday, yo.



My daughter has a fascination with "big, big bandages". No matter how large or small her perceived injury may be she requires more bandages than most mummies.

Case in point, while in the shower she decided to change the bandage on a rather small scratch she has on her leg. The actual injury has been circled.

I don't know what she has going on up by her knee.

And as promised, the pic of my new know, nothing makes you feel quite so lame as taking a picture of yourself in the mirror. I think my disgust with myself is evident on my face.

So what do you think? Keep it or go brown and treat my grey hair as they spring up?



I mentioned once how my favorite comedy schtick is the thing where I pretend like I don't notice the obvious...lame, yes, but it cracks me up. Yesterday I got the chance to use it on my evil neighbor. (This isn't the "I'm ignoring the Santa in my yard until March" neighbor; this one is the "I leave 'Get Your Freak On' playing on repeat at an eardrum-shattering volume at four in the morning" neighbor, by the way.)

Yesterday my orange idiot (aka Stella Ciao Bella, Weapon of Mass Destruction) was out and barking her head off because said neighbor was in his yard playing with his own dogs. Stella didn't want to come in so I grabbed Nic and walked over to pull her into the house. The neighbor said, "Hey, what's his name?" (Nic was dressed all in blue - I have to do the sexist "girl in pink, boy in blue" thing with my children because people who ask, "What is it?" in regards to the gender of my baby inspire me to poke their eyes out with something sharp, so it's really for their own safety.) So he asks, "Hey, what's his name?" and I give him a confused look and say, "Stella Ciao Bella, Weapon of Mass Destruction." He gives me a confused look back and said, "The baby?" I laughed and said, "Baby? She's two years old!" and walked away, shaking my head.

Oh man, I love that gag.

At least it stopped him from commenting on my hair. The last time he saw me was, again, when I was bringing Stella in from the yard and he said, "Hey, your hair matches your dog!" Again, it inspired me to poke his eyes out with something sharp. Get off my hair, you yokel! Nice bib overalls, Farmer Joe. Ma and Ella May be wantin' 'em some squirrels for that there stew, so you'd best get to shootin' boy, if you want them vittles. Ew, shudder.

I don't know which is worse - having the neighbor say my hair matched my dog or having Andy scream, "That's you!" during the Outback Steak House commercial. You know the one with the old lady crying in the bathroom, moaning, "I got the wrong color, I can't go out like this!" and the husband says, "I guess we're not going to Outback then" and she emerges from the bathroom saying, "I'll get my coat" with the most horrible shade of pink hair. Andy sees this, points and yells like he's just seen a murder and screams, "That's you!" There was no bald man on television for me to do the same thing back to him so I sulked instead.

That's not entirely true - I did snap, "Why don't I just buy a brown dye and go normal?" but I said it all sarcastic-like. Unfortunately, he brightened at the suggestion, sigh.

I'm NOT too old for pink hair, damn it.

I'll take a picture after I get my fat butt into the shower and let you decide. Yeah, that's exactly what I'll do - put the decision in the hands of the people. I'm nothing if not democratic.

Pictures of me-ingly,