When all else fails...
stick a cigar up your nose...
take a nap.....
...find a friend and cuddle up.
Friday, September 29, 2006
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
M.I.A.
(MIA--Missing in action? Morons in the Addiverse? My intestines ache? More incredible acne? Maybe I'm an anteater?)
The photo above is of Terrell Owens, from the Washington Post, a guy who is ALL OVER the TV right now for a supposed suicide attempt. Um, people! Terrell LOVES himself way too much to try and kill himself. Now let's move on....
Maybe that Jesus-St.-Joseph thing befuckled me more than I realized…I’m sure behind in the blogging department. (I have seen Jesus, by the way. He’s small.) (Wait—that doesn’t sound right. I have seen the STATUE of Jesus buried by Blue Eyes and Master Reiki and it was a small statue. I was expecting something more monumental. He did have nice coloring, though.)
(This photo has nothing to do with anything. )
Maybe it was that terror of being unemployed that had me ‘missing in action.’ It’s been a tough few weeks—gotta up those antidepressants and/or chocolate consumption to keep up with the stress. I’m not even enjoying “Dancing with the Stars.”
Jesus, save me!
The wife is distracted, too—why, I am not sure—she put her pancakes in the toaster this morning. Me? I forgot to come home at lunch to let the dogs out. In the 6.5 years we’ve had dogs, I’ve NEVER done anything like that. Oh sure, they were fine—they can hold their pee from 5:30 AM-3:30 pm—but we never ‘ask’ them to do that, as we don’t want their little bladders to BURST all over the living room furniture. (We’ll leave the peeing on the carpet for Freckles to do when we are home and she just came in from peeing. That’s different.)
So, during all my worrying & distraction, I’ve been planning for what I will do if my employment should “dry up.” I’ve decided that if that day does come, I will become a “Freegan.” In order to truly grasp the meaning and lifestyle of the Freegan, you’ll have to go to http://www.freegan.info/. Now, it’s a bit scary out there—cuz this is dumpster diving at it’s finest. You belly up to your favorite eating establishment’s dumpster, wait for them to toss out their daily tidbits, jump on in and start eating:
[photo from www.art.com; words directly copied from www.freegan.info] “….Perhaps the most notorious freegan strategy is what is commonly called "urban foraging" or "dumpster diving". This technique involves rummaging through the garbage of retailers, residences, offices, and other facilities for useful goods. Despite our society's sterotypes about garbage, the goods recovered by freegans are safe, useable, clean, and in perfect or near-perfect condition, a symptom of a throwaway culture that encourages us to constantly replace our older goods with newer ones, and where retailers plan high-volume product disposal as part of their economic model. Some urban foragers go at it alone, others dive in groups, but we always share the discoveries openly with one another and with anyone along the way who wants them. Groups like Food Not Bombs recover foods that would otherwise go to waste and use them to prepare meals to share in public places with anyone who wishes to partake.”
Of course there is much more to this, but for those on the bubble of being broke, it sounds very appetizing (pun intended).
In an effort to educate you about my pending Freeganism, I’ve ripped this right off the Freegan.info site: [and, I copy] “What is a Freegan? Freegans are people who employ alternative strategies for living based on limited participation in the conventional economy and minimal consumption of resources. Freegans embrace community, generosity, social concern, freedom, cooperation, and sharing in opposition to a society based on materialism, moral apathy, competition, conformity, and greed. After years of trying to boycott products from egregious corporations responsible for human rights violations, environmental destruction, and animal abuse, many of us found that no matter what we bought we ended up supporting something deplorable. We came to realize that the problem isn't just a few bad corporations but the entire system itself. Freeganism is a total boycott of an economic system where the profit motive has eclipsed ethical considerations and where massively complex systems of productions ensure that all the products we buy will have detrimental impacts most of which we may never even consider. Thus, instead of avoiding the purchase of products from one bad company only to support another, we avoid buying anything to the greatest degree we are able.
The word freegan is derived from "free" and "vegan". Vegans are people who avoid products from animal sources or products tested on animals in an effort to avoid harming animals. Freegans take this a step further by recognizing that in a complex, industrial, mass-production economy driven by profit, abuses of humans, animals, and the earth abound at all levels of production (from acquisition to raw materials to production to transportation ) and in just about every product we buy. Sweatshop labor, rainforest destruction, global warming, displacement of indigenous communities, air and water pollution, eradication of wildlife on farmland as "pests", the violent overthrow of popularly elected governments to maintain puppet dictators compliant to big business interests, open-pit strip mining, oil drilling in environmentally sensitive areas, union busting, child slavery, and payoffs to repressive regimes are just some of the many impacts of the seemingly innocuous consumer products we consume every day.”
I’m going to stick with the dumpster diving part of Freeganism, although I could choose the “choose not to work” motto of some freegans. The wife would throw ME in the dumpster if I made that choice.
(MIA--Missing in action? Morons in the Addiverse? My intestines ache? More incredible acne? Maybe I'm an anteater?)
The photo above is of Terrell Owens, from the Washington Post, a guy who is ALL OVER the TV right now for a supposed suicide attempt. Um, people! Terrell LOVES himself way too much to try and kill himself. Now let's move on....
Maybe that Jesus-St.-Joseph thing befuckled me more than I realized…I’m sure behind in the blogging department. (I have seen Jesus, by the way. He’s small.) (Wait—that doesn’t sound right. I have seen the STATUE of Jesus buried by Blue Eyes and Master Reiki and it was a small statue. I was expecting something more monumental. He did have nice coloring, though.)
(This photo has nothing to do with anything. )
Maybe it was that terror of being unemployed that had me ‘missing in action.’ It’s been a tough few weeks—gotta up those antidepressants and/or chocolate consumption to keep up with the stress. I’m not even enjoying “Dancing with the Stars.”
Jesus, save me!
The wife is distracted, too—why, I am not sure—she put her pancakes in the toaster this morning. Me? I forgot to come home at lunch to let the dogs out. In the 6.5 years we’ve had dogs, I’ve NEVER done anything like that. Oh sure, they were fine—they can hold their pee from 5:30 AM-3:30 pm—but we never ‘ask’ them to do that, as we don’t want their little bladders to BURST all over the living room furniture. (We’ll leave the peeing on the carpet for Freckles to do when we are home and she just came in from peeing. That’s different.)
So, during all my worrying & distraction, I’ve been planning for what I will do if my employment should “dry up.” I’ve decided that if that day does come, I will become a “Freegan.” In order to truly grasp the meaning and lifestyle of the Freegan, you’ll have to go to http://www.freegan.info/. Now, it’s a bit scary out there—cuz this is dumpster diving at it’s finest. You belly up to your favorite eating establishment’s dumpster, wait for them to toss out their daily tidbits, jump on in and start eating:
[photo from www.art.com; words directly copied from www.freegan.info] “….Perhaps the most notorious freegan strategy is what is commonly called "urban foraging" or "dumpster diving". This technique involves rummaging through the garbage of retailers, residences, offices, and other facilities for useful goods. Despite our society's sterotypes about garbage, the goods recovered by freegans are safe, useable, clean, and in perfect or near-perfect condition, a symptom of a throwaway culture that encourages us to constantly replace our older goods with newer ones, and where retailers plan high-volume product disposal as part of their economic model. Some urban foragers go at it alone, others dive in groups, but we always share the discoveries openly with one another and with anyone along the way who wants them. Groups like Food Not Bombs recover foods that would otherwise go to waste and use them to prepare meals to share in public places with anyone who wishes to partake.”
Of course there is much more to this, but for those on the bubble of being broke, it sounds very appetizing (pun intended).
In an effort to educate you about my pending Freeganism, I’ve ripped this right off the Freegan.info site: [and, I copy] “What is a Freegan? Freegans are people who employ alternative strategies for living based on limited participation in the conventional economy and minimal consumption of resources. Freegans embrace community, generosity, social concern, freedom, cooperation, and sharing in opposition to a society based on materialism, moral apathy, competition, conformity, and greed. After years of trying to boycott products from egregious corporations responsible for human rights violations, environmental destruction, and animal abuse, many of us found that no matter what we bought we ended up supporting something deplorable. We came to realize that the problem isn't just a few bad corporations but the entire system itself. Freeganism is a total boycott of an economic system where the profit motive has eclipsed ethical considerations and where massively complex systems of productions ensure that all the products we buy will have detrimental impacts most of which we may never even consider. Thus, instead of avoiding the purchase of products from one bad company only to support another, we avoid buying anything to the greatest degree we are able.
The word freegan is derived from "free" and "vegan". Vegans are people who avoid products from animal sources or products tested on animals in an effort to avoid harming animals. Freegans take this a step further by recognizing that in a complex, industrial, mass-production economy driven by profit, abuses of humans, animals, and the earth abound at all levels of production (from acquisition to raw materials to production to transportation ) and in just about every product we buy. Sweatshop labor, rainforest destruction, global warming, displacement of indigenous communities, air and water pollution, eradication of wildlife on farmland as "pests", the violent overthrow of popularly elected governments to maintain puppet dictators compliant to big business interests, open-pit strip mining, oil drilling in environmentally sensitive areas, union busting, child slavery, and payoffs to repressive regimes are just some of the many impacts of the seemingly innocuous consumer products we consume every day.”
I’m going to stick with the dumpster diving part of Freeganism, although I could choose the “choose not to work” motto of some freegans. The wife would throw ME in the dumpster if I made that choice.
Thursday, September 21, 2006
HE IS RISEN!!!
I'm happy to report St. Joseph arrived via UPS at the home of Master Reiki and Blue Eyes as scheduled on Monday.....
He's a little guy--only a few inches tall--comes in a green box, complete with prayers and helpful hints. Featured to the left is the actual box, prayer and saint.
I thought he'd be bigger, but after thinking about it, I guess it's good he's small--easier to bury. And, according to the directions, you don't HAVE to bury St. Joe upside-down, but I think I'd stick with all those Catholics who have gone with the head-down burial version. He's holding what I think is a loaf of bread and a jug of something (water? wine? whiskey?). He looks solemn but approachable.
As you can see on the box, he can get that house SOLD (as illustrated by the "sold" sticker on the for sale sign). We took St. Joseph to dinner with us--me, the wife and Blue Eyes (Master Reiki is out of town). We loved the Asian food--didn't ask him what he thought.....
As for Jesus, HE IS RISEN! (I am SO going to hell for this, aren't I?) Life is good, the planets are in alignment, the saints are marching. Let's get that house sold!
Friday, September 15, 2006
Burying St. Joseph in the Backyard: Amen!
Our friends Master Reiki and Blue eyes are selling their house. As they are good old-fashioned recovering Catholics, they subscribe to the tenet that if you bury St. Joseph upside-down in your back yard, your house will sell. As I was also raised in the fine Catholic tradition, I am quite familiar with ol' St. Joe in the backyard house-selling technique. Blue Eyes called to ask if I had a St. Joseph's statue or if I could secure one for their for-sale home. I only have St. Francis hanging around outside, so I couldn't immediately help them, but promised to go on a "find St. Joseph" mission. Next thing I know, the wife and I are hanging out in religious stores. Now, that's a good time. Did you can get really fancy, rhinestone-flashing bible covers? Jesus on a clock? Jesus on a cup? Jesus on just about anything? It was really an experience...but, no St. Joseph's were found. Those non-Catholic Christians just aren't big on the religious statues....
At work, while babbling to a co-worker, it was suggested I search on line to find St. Joe. Sure enough, she types in "ST. JOSEPH HOUSE SELLING" and all sorts of things pop up. I am drawn to the site called wwww.OurFather.com.How can you go wrong with a site called OurFather.com???!!What a GREAT name for a website. Incredibly, you can buy a St. Joseph Statue on line for only $5.95. Wow! I whipped out that check card and started typing. In only days, St. Joe would be ready for burying in their back yard.
In the meantime, the wife and I get a call from Master Reiki and Blue Eyes.... indicating that they were unable to find a St. Joseph so they decided to go with the "big guns," right "to the top."
They purchased a Jesus statue and decided to bury HIM upside down in the back yard.
Every thread of my recovering Catholic being shrieks in sheer terror.
YOU CAN'T BURY JESUS IN YOUR BACK YARD! YOU CAN'T BURY JESUS UPSIDE DOWN!!!! DEAR GOD! GET HIM OUT OF THERE!I am MORTIFIED! This is sacreligious!
Now, I suppose it is rather humorous that I would be mortified by anything related to a Jesus statue, but I was truly freaked out. Burying St. Joseph is one thing; Jesus is another. I called them and left a message begging them not to bury the Son of God statue and to instead wait for a St. Joseph dude. I then called them back, leaving a message from "God." As God, I alerted them that the 11th commandment is "Thou shall not bury my Son upside down in the backyard" and that burying Jesus won't help them sell their house.....
The wife tells me they called back, indicating that they laughed and laughed at my messages... adding that they already had buried the Big Guy's Son--upside down, but at least in a baggie.
OH MY GOD! The right hand man is in a BAGGIE in the ground and he's UPSIDE DOWN! I grab a paper bag to stop my hyperventilation.....
I challenged myself to breathe in a bag and soothed myself, knowing that St. Joseph will arrive at the Master Reiki-Blue Eyes household on Monday, September 18, 2006, just three days away. I will be able to sleep easier once I know he has arrived and they have unburied J.C. I promise myself to pray to St. Jude for hopeless causes and just say no to burying Jesus anywhere on your property....
Despite my dedication to St. Jude, I couldn't buried Jesus off my mind. I had to try. I had to try and save Jesus. After all, hasn't he tried to save us? I knew Jesus was buried in that baggy in their back yard and knew it was my Catholic duty to remove him from the ground....
(Question: Is it "worse" to bury Jesus in a baggy or to STEAL Jesus in a baggy from someone's back yard?)
I loaded Lucy and Freckles into the car and took them on the stealth "Saving Our Father's Son" mission. I packed the garden spade and put my favorite Xena doll in a baggy.
My mission: save Jesus and replace him with Xena.
I
thought my timing would be perfect, as it would have been three days
since Master Reiki and Blue Eyes buried him--it would be just like
the Gospel! He would "rise" after the third day. With Xena zip-locked
into her baggy and the dogs in the backseat, I was on my mission. I
figured using Xena as a replacement would be a good idea until St.
Joseph arrived on Monday, as she was crucified many a time during her
six year run on TV--those darn Romans were always crucifying someone.
Here's a photo of Xena for your viewing pleasure.I get to their house and don't see anyone around. Good! I leave the grrrlz in the car and head toward the mulch. Now, I figured that it would be easy to see where they had buried the big J.C., but I am here to tell you, I didn't see any moved mulch markings. I'm sneaking around but Lucy is barking and crying and howling so loudly, I'm sure even Jesus in that baggy could hear her. I'm yelling at her, pointing my garden spade toward the car, walking around the mulch and yelling at her some more.
No Jesus tell tale signs, no nothing--just Lucy causing a commotion. I dig around here and there, but nothing. I decide to move a rock--maybe they put a rock on top of him so they wouldn't "lose" him, when I hear,
"Hey! What are you doing?!!"
BUSTED! I am busted by Master Reiki. As I am holding a garden spade in one hand, a baggied Xena in the other and I am wandering on their property, it is easy to "guess" that I am there to 'save' Jesus. There is nothing to say and certainly nowhere to hide. Master Reiki says, "My child, my child." We both burst into laughter and I confess my sin.
I promise her I will leave Jesus alone until St. Joseph arrives on Monday. In return, she will replace Jesus--or, at least put St. Joseph next to him--when ol' St. Joe arrives. (Hey, two saints are better than one, in my book.) She does NOT show me where Jesus is buried--probably a good thing, as we do not want to tempt me further. And so, I get back in the car and drive off with Freckles, Lucy and the still-baggied Xena.....without Jesus......
....well, without the buried Statue of Jesus. I'm sure the "real" JC remains my co-pilot.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Dancing Dental Slugs Poop for Ear Wax
Open wide and say, "AH!" Great news, chocolate lovers! Today, when I went to the dentist for my semi-annual cleaning, the hygienist actually had chocolate-latte-flavored tooth polish! That’s kind of weird—chocolate for cleaning your teeth. I give it two molars up. The aroma was delicious and the taste was pleasantly surprising. I already love going to the dentist (weird but true); this just added to my excitement. She had asked me if I cared what flavor polish she used; I shrugged and indicated not really. I then added, goofing around, "now, if you had chocolate flavor..." and stopped at that. She looked at me and said, "you know, I have some samples of choclate latte flavor. Do you want to try it?" Do I want to try it? Is the Pope Catholic? Of course I want to try it! Old tooth lady indicated she had never found any takers before me. I loved it and I know she was very entertained....maybe I can go back next week and get my teeth cleaned again.....
I had asked the wife to go to dinner tonight but I may have to cancel. Why? Because tonight is the opening night of DANCING WITH THE STARS! WOOWOO! I can’t be going on hot dinner dates when my favorite show is about to resume for the season….perhaps some take-out will suffice…
Here's my gal, Sara Evans, getting ready to take the dance floor.
On the poop front, I just wanted to make sure to share the following blurb from “The Poop Report:”
POOPREPORT EMAIL EXCLUSIVE 9.11.2006---------------------------------by Catfish
(Taken from the Poopreport.com) "About ten years ago, a couple of buddies called me up wanting to go getsome wings and oysters at Hooters. We had some wings and a bunch of beer.We were all feeling no pain, so we decided to go to this cheesy dance clubnext door. After a few drinks, we ended up talking to some ladies. I hit itoff real well -- surprisingly well -- with one girl in particular. We did afew shots and danced and did a few shots... etc. And then she mentionedthat her apartment is right around the corner. We headed over there andstarted messing around.In retrospect, I was having so much fun, I was unaware of the turmoil in mybowels being precipitated by the wings, oysters, beer and Jager. We endedup going into her bedroom; I immediately notice of the burgundy satinsheets. Very nice.So we are messing around and she gets up and says that she is going to puton something more comfortable and for me to do the same. I quickly disrobeand, while I'm laying on the satin sheets, I suddenly have to fart. I seeno real harm in this, so I let it fly. Much to my utter horror, the fart isaccompanied by a coiler -- a long string of poop, coiled like a fecalslinky.I looked at the poop for a second in complete disbelief (although I waskind of laughing a bit, too). Not having any better ideas (and being quitedrunk), I scooped the sheets off the bed and threw them in her closet. Ithen grabbed all my clothes and ran out the door before she got out of thebathroom. I have never seen her again, nor that club, nor Hooters."
With all the rain we’ve been having (it didn’t rain for weeks and weeks; now, it won’t stop), the worms and slugs are out of control. The poor dogs get wormy-sluggy feet when walking…then, once back in the house, they lick their paws for the next seven hours. The slugs must have been jumping last night, cuz I looked down at my shoe when we got in the house and on my shoelace was this big, ugly, slimy slug. How it got there, I don’t want to know….the wife's response: "No wonder you've been sluggish." Ha ha.
The wife says my ears smell like antifreeze. I’m not joking about this. The past couple of nights she has been complaining that something in the bedroom smelled like antifreeze. I never smell it and I’ve got one good sniffer, so I thought she was having olfactory hallucinations. Suddenly, last night she blurts out, “IT’S YOUR EARS!” This startled me—the yelling, that is—and confused me—how do ears smell like antifreeze? I guess it must be time to clean the earwax……
Finally, MJagger and her sister Bon Jovi are desperately trying to get tickets to see Bon Jovi on the Oprah show next week. Put out good thoughts for them. I've got Grover on it--he loves music & I figure he must have some connections. You think I love Madonna? You should see these two when it comes to Bon Jovi. They make me look like I think Madonna is "all right." I'll keep you posted....and, like the band Bon Jovi says, "HAVE A NICE DAY!"
Open wide and say, "AH!" Great news, chocolate lovers! Today, when I went to the dentist for my semi-annual cleaning, the hygienist actually had chocolate-latte-flavored tooth polish! That’s kind of weird—chocolate for cleaning your teeth. I give it two molars up. The aroma was delicious and the taste was pleasantly surprising. I already love going to the dentist (weird but true); this just added to my excitement. She had asked me if I cared what flavor polish she used; I shrugged and indicated not really. I then added, goofing around, "now, if you had chocolate flavor..." and stopped at that. She looked at me and said, "you know, I have some samples of choclate latte flavor. Do you want to try it?" Do I want to try it? Is the Pope Catholic? Of course I want to try it! Old tooth lady indicated she had never found any takers before me. I loved it and I know she was very entertained....maybe I can go back next week and get my teeth cleaned again.....I had asked the wife to go to dinner tonight but I may have to cancel. Why? Because tonight is the opening night of DANCING WITH THE STARS! WOOWOO! I can’t be going on hot dinner dates when my favorite show is about to resume for the season….perhaps some take-out will suffice…
Here's my gal, Sara Evans, getting ready to take the dance floor.
On the poop front, I just wanted to make sure to share the following blurb from “The Poop Report:”
POOPREPORT EMAIL EXCLUSIVE 9.11.2006---------------------------------by Catfish
(Taken from the Poopreport.com) "About ten years ago, a couple of buddies called me up wanting to go getsome wings and oysters at Hooters. We had some wings and a bunch of beer.We were all feeling no pain, so we decided to go to this cheesy dance clubnext door. After a few drinks, we ended up talking to some ladies. I hit itoff real well -- surprisingly well -- with one girl in particular. We did afew shots and danced and did a few shots... etc. And then she mentionedthat her apartment is right around the corner. We headed over there andstarted messing around.In retrospect, I was having so much fun, I was unaware of the turmoil in mybowels being precipitated by the wings, oysters, beer and Jager. We endedup going into her bedroom; I immediately notice of the burgundy satinsheets. Very nice.So we are messing around and she gets up and says that she is going to puton something more comfortable and for me to do the same. I quickly disrobeand, while I'm laying on the satin sheets, I suddenly have to fart. I seeno real harm in this, so I let it fly. Much to my utter horror, the fart isaccompanied by a coiler -- a long string of poop, coiled like a fecalslinky.I looked at the poop for a second in complete disbelief (although I waskind of laughing a bit, too). Not having any better ideas (and being quitedrunk), I scooped the sheets off the bed and threw them in her closet. Ithen grabbed all my clothes and ran out the door before she got out of thebathroom. I have never seen her again, nor that club, nor Hooters."
With all the rain we’ve been having (it didn’t rain for weeks and weeks; now, it won’t stop), the worms and slugs are out of control. The poor dogs get wormy-sluggy feet when walking…then, once back in the house, they lick their paws for the next seven hours. The slugs must have been jumping last night, cuz I looked down at my shoe when we got in the house and on my shoelace was this big, ugly, slimy slug. How it got there, I don’t want to know….the wife's response: "No wonder you've been sluggish." Ha ha.
The wife says my ears smell like antifreeze. I’m not joking about this. The past couple of nights she has been complaining that something in the bedroom smelled like antifreeze. I never smell it and I’ve got one good sniffer, so I thought she was having olfactory hallucinations. Suddenly, last night she blurts out, “IT’S YOUR EARS!” This startled me—the yelling, that is—and confused me—how do ears smell like antifreeze? I guess it must be time to clean the earwax……
Finally, MJagger and her sister Bon Jovi are desperately trying to get tickets to see Bon Jovi on the Oprah show next week. Put out good thoughts for them. I've got Grover on it--he loves music & I figure he must have some connections. You think I love Madonna? You should see these two when it comes to Bon Jovi. They make me look like I think Madonna is "all right." I'll keep you posted....and, like the band Bon Jovi says, "HAVE A NICE DAY!"
Saturday, September 09, 2006
Crikey! Whiny MENSA Grrl still not Lisa Rinna
(Godspeed there, Steve Irwin. Who couldn't love the Crocodile Hunter?)
Since my mother told me she’s tired of hearing about my bodily functions (my thought is that we should ALL talk more about our bodily functions—the world would be a much better place) and the wife told me I’m boring (I like to think I’m content, not boring) and my co-worker said I was whiny (uh, well that’s true, but it's cheaper than therapy), I thought I best to get back to writing about fun things like working with the mentally ill, owning dogs and making fun of co-workers…
but, I got distracted by this MENSA test ol’ Einsteina Vagina emailed me and I haven’t been able to do anything since then, as I became obsessed with obtaining GENIUS status.
Part of the problem for me is that spelling counts—misspell a word and the entire answer is wrong. I admit I had to use the Internet dictionary on a few words—it took me several shots to finally spell “Fahrenheit” correctly. I didn’t give up until an hour later I finally crossed into the genius scoring & thus became a master of my own universe—an esteemed MENSA genius--a Nerd of unknown proportions. (Had I any coffee this AM, god only knows what my score might have been.) You should try the quiz, too—but, I couldn’t get the link to link (hence, I must be of lower genius status—a true genius could have gotten the test to link here). I’ll have to email it to you. Damn you, Einsteina!
So, while walking the dogs this morning, I contemplated the possibilities of blogdom that didn’t involve poop (mine or others’), menstruation, belly buttons, chin hairs and/or Madonna. This is almost as hard as that MENSA test. I have so many funny stories from work but many of them are “too recent” and thus inappropriate for general publication (I do have some ethics & like to keep my licensure, so the more recent stories have to wait). I have awesome hair stories (just saw my hair lady Harry lady this week, god love her), but I still don’t look like Lisa Rinna, so what's the point? (I CAN do this move at home, you know. Me and the wife strike this pose at least once a week. Thank you , McYoga! I do NOT, however, wear a dress like that.)
But, then I didn't feel so funny after thinking about the Crocodile Hunter being killed this week (I was dressed as Steve Irwin one Halloween, so you know he was one of my favorites--I couldn't let his passing go without mention), our rain-starved town was flooded—literally—with more rain than any basement or sewer system could handle (we’re thinking of you Janelle, Chip & Leslie!), and it’s the 9/11 anniversary. Sigh. Bodily functions are beginning to sound perky in comparison to all of this.....are you SURE you wouldn't rather hear about poop? (I do have a good toilet story from yesterday at work, but I'll keep it to myself for the moment.)
Anyways, I thought I'd take a moment to be serious. After all, I can still tell you where I was and who I was with when the 9/11 attack happened. (Can't we all?) So, here are the lyrics to Darryl Worley's song, "Have You Forgotten?" in honor of that day. He sang this at the recent concert I went to a week ago, so it's seems even more appropriate. I'm not usually the flag-waving-Toby-Keith-yipping-war-supporting-patriot, but there's a time for everything. Thanks for indulging my patriotic moment. I promise to be funny and less whiny next entry.....
Darryl Worley/Wynn Varble)
I hear people saying we don't need this war
I say there's some things worth fighting for
What about our freedom and this piece of ground
We didn't get to keep 'em by backing down
They say we don't realize the mess we're getting in
Before you start your preaching let me ask you this my friend
Have you forgotten how it felt that day?
To see your homeland under fire
And her people blown away
Have you forgotten when those towers fell?
We had neighbors still inside going thru a living hell
And you say we shouldn't worry 'bout bin Laden
Have you forgotten?
They took all the footage off my T.V.
Said it's too disturbing for you and me
It'll just breed anger that's what the experts say
If it was up to me I'd show it everyday
Some say this country's just out looking for a fight
After 9/11 man I'd have to say that's right
I've been there with the soldiers
Who've gone away to war
And you can bet that they remember
Just what they're fighting for
Have you forgotten all the people killed?
Some went down like heros in that Pennsylvania field
Have you forgotten about our Pentagon?
All the loved ones that we lost and those left to carry on
Don't you tell me not to worry about bin Laden
Have you forgotten?
(Godspeed there, Steve Irwin. Who couldn't love the Crocodile Hunter?)
Since my mother told me she’s tired of hearing about my bodily functions (my thought is that we should ALL talk more about our bodily functions—the world would be a much better place) and the wife told me I’m boring (I like to think I’m content, not boring) and my co-worker said I was whiny (uh, well that’s true, but it's cheaper than therapy), I thought I best to get back to writing about fun things like working with the mentally ill, owning dogs and making fun of co-workers…
but, I got distracted by this MENSA test ol’ Einsteina Vagina emailed me and I haven’t been able to do anything since then, as I became obsessed with obtaining GENIUS status.
Part of the problem for me is that spelling counts—misspell a word and the entire answer is wrong. I admit I had to use the Internet dictionary on a few words—it took me several shots to finally spell “Fahrenheit” correctly. I didn’t give up until an hour later I finally crossed into the genius scoring & thus became a master of my own universe—an esteemed MENSA genius--a Nerd of unknown proportions. (Had I any coffee this AM, god only knows what my score might have been.) You should try the quiz, too—but, I couldn’t get the link to link (hence, I must be of lower genius status—a true genius could have gotten the test to link here). I’ll have to email it to you. Damn you, Einsteina!So, while walking the dogs this morning, I contemplated the possibilities of blogdom that didn’t involve poop (mine or others’), menstruation, belly buttons, chin hairs and/or Madonna. This is almost as hard as that MENSA test. I have so many funny stories from work but many of them are “too recent” and thus inappropriate for general publication (I do have some ethics & like to keep my licensure, so the more recent stories have to wait). I have awesome hair stories (just saw my hair lady Harry lady this week, god love her), but I still don’t look like Lisa Rinna, so what's the point? (I CAN do this move at home, you know. Me and the wife strike this pose at least once a week. Thank you , McYoga! I do NOT, however, wear a dress like that.)
But, then I didn't feel so funny after thinking about the Crocodile Hunter being killed this week (I was dressed as Steve Irwin one Halloween, so you know he was one of my favorites--I couldn't let his passing go without mention), our rain-starved town was flooded—literally—with more rain than any basement or sewer system could handle (we’re thinking of you Janelle, Chip & Leslie!), and it’s the 9/11 anniversary. Sigh. Bodily functions are beginning to sound perky in comparison to all of this.....are you SURE you wouldn't rather hear about poop? (I do have a good toilet story from yesterday at work, but I'll keep it to myself for the moment.)
Anyways, I thought I'd take a moment to be serious. After all, I can still tell you where I was and who I was with when the 9/11 attack happened. (Can't we all?) So, here are the lyrics to Darryl Worley's song, "Have You Forgotten?" in honor of that day. He sang this at the recent concert I went to a week ago, so it's seems even more appropriate. I'm not usually the flag-waving-Toby-Keith-yipping-war-supporting-patriot, but there's a time for everything. Thanks for indulging my patriotic moment. I promise to be funny and less whiny next entry.....
Darryl Worley/Wynn Varble)
I hear people saying we don't need this war
I say there's some things worth fighting for
What about our freedom and this piece of ground
We didn't get to keep 'em by backing down
They say we don't realize the mess we're getting in
Before you start your preaching let me ask you this my friend
Have you forgotten how it felt that day?
To see your homeland under fire
And her people blown away
Have you forgotten when those towers fell?
We had neighbors still inside going thru a living hell
And you say we shouldn't worry 'bout bin Laden
Have you forgotten?
They took all the footage off my T.V.
Said it's too disturbing for you and me
It'll just breed anger that's what the experts say
If it was up to me I'd show it everyday
Some say this country's just out looking for a fight
After 9/11 man I'd have to say that's right
I've been there with the soldiers
Who've gone away to war
And you can bet that they remember
Just what they're fighting for
Have you forgotten all the people killed?
Some went down like heros in that Pennsylvania field
Have you forgotten about our Pentagon?
All the loved ones that we lost and those left to carry on
Don't you tell me not to worry about bin Laden
Have you forgotten?
Sunday, September 03, 2006
And now, for some commerical messages
If Jerry Lewis can be on TV for 72 hours this weekend, I should be allowed one or two commerical messages. Besides, it's my blog and it would probably be a nice break from the whiny bodily function stories...why, look! There's one of my illustrations for a friend's volleyball book! I feel a commerical coming on....
...well, before I get to the commerical messages, let me say this: Peri-not-so-merry pal and I are on dueling menstrual cycles, which in my estimation is impossible as we are not related, don't work in the same building, we don't hang out, our hormones barely cross paths besides once a week in a conference rooms...yet, we are on the new six week-three-week-three week cycle, right down to the hour. What does this mean (besides that it sucks to be us and we are NO FUN to be around)? You may wonder how I know that Peri Mary and I are dueling--well, duh! We call each other. Don't you call your co-workers when you get your period?
Have any of you purchased a mini horse yet? (See most recent previous blog) Einsteina Vagina expressed interest only if the mini horses could jump off her pier into Lake Velveeta. (Her dogs can do it; why not mini horses?) The minis would also have to be able to ride a pontoon boat or there would be no point in owning them.
Since I advertised for mini horses, it is only fair I give time to Dr. DeVries Volleyball book...the one I had the honor of illustrating. The more you buy, the more profits I stand to make, the more the world will be filled with important volleyball information AND the more my friend Dr. DeVries will will smile. I'm working toward an Olivia Cruise from my profits, so start spreading the word!!! I'll autograph any books and so will Dr. DeVries. If you know any volleyball coaches--any level, but especially those in the 6-12 grades--or, if you know people who have a hankering to learn more about the fun you can have while playing and coaching volleyball, go to www.drdevries.com and order a copy or ten. (Shameless advertising. I am SO about this! I only advertise things I know are good. This is good.)
And, if you know someone looking for a classy older home in the Rockford area (with original black and white checkered tile in the bathroom--a real find these days--and a terra cotta roof, for Pete's sake), check out this lovely home for sale at www.gambinorealtors.com (MLS 80415). Here's a photo of it. Pretty! The wife and I already have a house, but if you know someone in the suburbs looking to move here, tell them to click on the link and start writing out that down payment check.
Well, piss--since I'm already like a bad infomercial, I might as well ask if any of you wanna buy some Campbells soupr figurines or some spaghetti poodles. The wife's mom has me on an Ebay mission but there haven't been many bites. I"ll hand deliver them to you, if you are so moved to purchase these diddies. Hey, Christmas is just around the corner....
Good news that "Grey's Anatomy" resumes this week and that "Dancing with the Stars"
Season III is just around the corner. Who needs a life when you can stare at the boob tube? Besides, TV gives me a lot more to talk about than my uterus...
P.S. If Freckles doesn't stop peeing on the new carpeting, she too will be for sale....
If Jerry Lewis can be on TV for 72 hours this weekend, I should be allowed one or two commerical messages. Besides, it's my blog and it would probably be a nice break from the whiny bodily function stories...why, look! There's one of my illustrations for a friend's volleyball book! I feel a commerical coming on....
...well, before I get to the commerical messages, let me say this: Peri-not-so-merry pal and I are on dueling menstrual cycles, which in my estimation is impossible as we are not related, don't work in the same building, we don't hang out, our hormones barely cross paths besides once a week in a conference rooms...yet, we are on the new six week-three-week-three week cycle, right down to the hour. What does this mean (besides that it sucks to be us and we are NO FUN to be around)? You may wonder how I know that Peri Mary and I are dueling--well, duh! We call each other. Don't you call your co-workers when you get your period?
Have any of you purchased a mini horse yet? (See most recent previous blog) Einsteina Vagina expressed interest only if the mini horses could jump off her pier into Lake Velveeta. (Her dogs can do it; why not mini horses?) The minis would also have to be able to ride a pontoon boat or there would be no point in owning them.
Since I advertised for mini horses, it is only fair I give time to Dr. DeVries Volleyball book...the one I had the honor of illustrating. The more you buy, the more profits I stand to make, the more the world will be filled with important volleyball information AND the more my friend Dr. DeVries will will smile. I'm working toward an Olivia Cruise from my profits, so start spreading the word!!! I'll autograph any books and so will Dr. DeVries. If you know any volleyball coaches--any level, but especially those in the 6-12 grades--or, if you know people who have a hankering to learn more about the fun you can have while playing and coaching volleyball, go to www.drdevries.com and order a copy or ten. (Shameless advertising. I am SO about this! I only advertise things I know are good. This is good.)
And, if you know someone looking for a classy older home in the Rockford area (with original black and white checkered tile in the bathroom--a real find these days--and a terra cotta roof, for Pete's sake), check out this lovely home for sale at www.gambinorealtors.com (MLS 80415). Here's a photo of it. Pretty! The wife and I already have a house, but if you know someone in the suburbs looking to move here, tell them to click on the link and start writing out that down payment check.
Well, piss--since I'm already like a bad infomercial, I might as well ask if any of you wanna buy some Campbells soupr figurines or some spaghetti poodles. The wife's mom has me on an Ebay mission but there haven't been many bites. I"ll hand deliver them to you, if you are so moved to purchase these diddies. Hey, Christmas is just around the corner....
Good news that "Grey's Anatomy" resumes this week and that "Dancing with the Stars"
Season III is just around the corner. Who needs a life when you can stare at the boob tube? Besides, TV gives me a lot more to talk about than my uterus...
P.S. If Freckles doesn't stop peeing on the new carpeting, she too will be for sale....
Friday, September 01, 2006
Laboring for Labor Day
Okay boys & girls, moms and dads. This may end up sounding more like "Welcome to the Whiney-verse" than the Addiverse, but do read on for fabulous bits and pieces of profound information.
First of all--are you looking to own two pretty ponies? Like real, live mini horses? My co-worker, who I shall now call Flicka, is selling her two mini horses. Please go to http://jminis.blogspot.com for info and PHOTOS. I promise you won't be disapp0inted, as they are really cute critters.
Secondly, a new "Poop Report" has come out. Copied directly from my poop email:
"For over three years, PoopReporters have been waiting for the second issueof The Journal of Ass Production. And now it's finally here.Professionally printed and book bound, the Journal of Ass Production #2 issixty pages that explore how humanity copes with its worst nightmare:feeling the urge to poop when there isn't a toilet to poop in.Now it's finally here -- almost. I am awaiting one more proof beforeputting in the final order with the printer. I expect them to arrive inthe second week of September. In the meantime, you can reserve a steamingcopy hot off the presses by preordering today -- and save $1 off the coverprice when you do!It's 60 pages of the finest literary poop humor the world has ever seen.Learn more, preorder, and save $1 -- visithttp://www.poopreport.com/Journal/index.html today!'
Next, I shall whine. I broke my glasses yesterday while providing counseling to some poor soul. I was rubbing my eyes (in empathy) when the client says, "Did something just fall off your face?" Sure enough, I had broken my trifocals right before my very eyes--literally. This, of course, pissed me off and counseling was SO over. I kicked her out so I could have a pity party. As I am so blind, I always carry a spare pair of glasses in my better-than-a-baggie purse.....but the spares I have are NOT trifocals...not even bifocals. I am here to tell you that I can no longer see without those extra parts to the lenses. I tried to type on my computer but things looked fuzzy. I couldn't read the tiny font of a document I had printed. I began to whine to co-workers around the building.
So I go home with my old-can't-see glasses, whine to the wife and eat copious amounts of chocolate in a mode of coping. Despite my whining and inability to see, the wife and I go to the James Ingram-Darryl Worley- SheDaisy concert as scheduled.
Okay, so we are old. SheDaisy didn't take the stage until 10:15 PM, on a "school night!" Right before they started their portion of the concert, I looked at the wife and whined about how tired I was. She looked right at me and said, "you wouldn't be complaining if this were a Madonna concert."
Ouch! Point taken.
(Photo of Madonna to remind me how much I love her and how much the wife is right...)
So, we made it until 11 PM and then I begged my way out of there. It was easier to convince the wife to do this as I thought it would be, as the sound system was having major problems and it was sucky to be sitting where we were sitting (the third row but in a bad no-speaker-cuz-it's-broken location).
This morning, I get up and bend over to say hello to the dogs....when out pops this giant fart from hell. Old, old, old! What the hell is this all about? Can't see without my trifocals, can't stay awake at night, farting when bending over. My god, someone get me a cane!
I'm done whining now. You readers are SO much cheaper than therapy. Now, don't just sit there--click on the http://jminis.blogspot.com link and buy a pony or two. Happy Labor Day!
Okay boys & girls, moms and dads. This may end up sounding more like "Welcome to the Whiney-verse" than the Addiverse, but do read on for fabulous bits and pieces of profound information.
First of all--are you looking to own two pretty ponies? Like real, live mini horses? My co-worker, who I shall now call Flicka, is selling her two mini horses. Please go to http://jminis.blogspot.com for info and PHOTOS. I promise you won't be disapp0inted, as they are really cute critters.
Secondly, a new "Poop Report" has come out. Copied directly from my poop email:
"For over three years, PoopReporters have been waiting for the second issueof The Journal of Ass Production. And now it's finally here.Professionally printed and book bound, the Journal of Ass Production #2 issixty pages that explore how humanity copes with its worst nightmare:feeling the urge to poop when there isn't a toilet to poop in.Now it's finally here -- almost. I am awaiting one more proof beforeputting in the final order with the printer. I expect them to arrive inthe second week of September. In the meantime, you can reserve a steamingcopy hot off the presses by preordering today -- and save $1 off the coverprice when you do!It's 60 pages of the finest literary poop humor the world has ever seen.Learn more, preorder, and save $1 -- visithttp://www.poopreport.com/Journal/index.html today!'
Next, I shall whine. I broke my glasses yesterday while providing counseling to some poor soul. I was rubbing my eyes (in empathy) when the client says, "Did something just fall off your face?" Sure enough, I had broken my trifocals right before my very eyes--literally. This, of course, pissed me off and counseling was SO over. I kicked her out so I could have a pity party. As I am so blind, I always carry a spare pair of glasses in my better-than-a-baggie purse.....but the spares I have are NOT trifocals...not even bifocals. I am here to tell you that I can no longer see without those extra parts to the lenses. I tried to type on my computer but things looked fuzzy. I couldn't read the tiny font of a document I had printed. I began to whine to co-workers around the building.
So I go home with my old-can't-see glasses, whine to the wife and eat copious amounts of chocolate in a mode of coping. Despite my whining and inability to see, the wife and I go to the James Ingram-Darryl Worley- SheDaisy concert as scheduled.
Okay, so we are old. SheDaisy didn't take the stage until 10:15 PM, on a "school night!" Right before they started their portion of the concert, I looked at the wife and whined about how tired I was. She looked right at me and said, "you wouldn't be complaining if this were a Madonna concert."
Ouch! Point taken.
(Photo of Madonna to remind me how much I love her and how much the wife is right...)
So, we made it until 11 PM and then I begged my way out of there. It was easier to convince the wife to do this as I thought it would be, as the sound system was having major problems and it was sucky to be sitting where we were sitting (the third row but in a bad no-speaker-cuz-it's-broken location).
This morning, I get up and bend over to say hello to the dogs....when out pops this giant fart from hell. Old, old, old! What the hell is this all about? Can't see without my trifocals, can't stay awake at night, farting when bending over. My god, someone get me a cane!
I'm done whining now. You readers are SO much cheaper than therapy. Now, don't just sit there--click on the http://jminis.blogspot.com link and buy a pony or two. Happy Labor Day!
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