It's all right. It's all wrong. It's all good. It's an entire blog of self-serving rantings about various mundane subjects of no redeeming value except a laugh or two along the way. Welcome to the Addiverse: 2005-2022.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
(Photo credit to floacist at www.juicy-flawless.org/gallery)
Update #1: Worms! More worms! Crunching under my feet! I am nauseous....damned worms. I'm walking and crunching and gagging. Back to walking on the grass....
Update #2: The wife has secured some pillows that we can both agree upon. This is almost as great of feat as ending the war in Iraq. I'm still sending her out with Ms. Keith Bischon to make sure all is well in the pillow world.
Update #2.5: What the hell happened to my iPod? I'm listening to my Shuffle yesterday and find that the wife's music has somehow "jumped" into my iPod. So, instead of hearing fun, upbeat things from this century, I find myself listening to Bread, the Carpenters, the Bee Gees and Abba. It was quite a shock to my system. I am embarassed to say that I caught myself singing along a few times. I need to do an iPod-intervention and save myself from this horror.
Update #3: Lucy, Lucy Lawless. Ah, those beautiful words. I noticed that Lucy Lawless is going to be with her co-star Renee O'Connor (duh! Xena Warrior Princess) in New York. So, I say to the wife, "would you rather I go to NYC and go to a Xena convention or get a tattoo?" unbelievably to me, she says she'd rather I get a tattoo. Who woulda thunk it? This leaves me in a quandry. Although I'd LOVE a new tattoo (and have paid for one through a bidding service in town--how's that for fun?), I would LOVE to see Lucy and Renee strutting their stuff across the stage. I suppose it's a win-win choice....
Speaking of Xena/Lucy, while I was watching a Xena episode on DVD (I'm serious about this), I received an posting from a blogger-type person whose screen names means "A word describe a lyricist that combines elements of rap and poetry." Heavy! Better yet, that person has a website called "Juicy Lawless." Now THAT'S my kind of website. Check out www.juicy-flawless.org/gallery for all the details....and, even better--photo upon photo of Lucy/ Juicy. Grrrrrrowl! How can you not love someone with a Juicy Lawless website? Why, here is what it looks like when you go to the website:
Like I said, what's not to like?
Tattoo, Lucy, Tattoo, Lucy? Maybe I should have a fundraiser for myself so I can do both....
Sunday, March 25, 2007
Mirrored
Alas, she was also so proud that she could not bear to be surpassed in beauty by anyone. No one. Not Angelina. Not Madonna. Not Miss America. Not anyone.
Now, this fly girl , the Queen, had a wonderful mirror of which answered all her questions....and so, when she asked who was the fairest of them all....the mirror would reply, "You got it going on--you're the bomb," and the Queen was contented, because she knew the mirror could speak nothing but the truth.
I hear that when you dislike something in someone, it usually means that the thing YOU like the least in that person is the thing YOU need to work on the most within yourself.
Damn that therapist speak.
I suppose it is not exactly peachy to harbor even a dollop of venom toward another human. It isn't what I'd like to attract to myself. I know I must need to work on about four billion things within myself, so I best keep lookig in the mirror and get on with it. After all, if I want to attract positive things, I must BE a positive thing.
I whisper to the mirror, "It's hard to be a positive person if you are always making fun of someone, no matter who they are or what they've done."
Perhaps this dedication to decency will lead to improved frequency of bowel movements; after all, I'll be letting go of my shallow dislike and naughtiness. I vow to never write about her in a blog from here on in....
....well, I won't speak of her unless she leaves a poop floating in the toilet...then, all bets are off. I will take pictures and write more blogs about her. Heck, I'd do that about anyone, so it's not like I'm being mean or anything.
An Oscar-winning performance, indeed.
Maybe it was trying to teach me that we are all Snow White AND the Queen.
I give a last glance at the mirror. "Perhaps we are all destined to not like some people and that's okay and that's just the way it is. We can't be everyone's cup of tea."
The mirror replies, "I prefer coffee. With cream. Get on it, Cinderalla."
Dammit! Not only do I have to reflect on myself, I must serve others. Coffee, with cream. Coffee with cream. So much to ponder....
Be nice to the dwarves,
leave the mirror where you can see it,
serve the coffee,
be the Queen,
be Snow White,
be the prince,
be Cinderella.....
and, be nice to the mice. Snow White and Cinderella loved mice.
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Friday, March 23, 2007
Earth Worms and Pillows and WOO WOOs, oh my!
There's a lot going on in this blog. It's kind of discombobulated. I'm talking about three four different thing at one time. I guess that is because that's how my brain works. It's a real busy place in that brain of mine. Most people would be terrified if they had to live even a few minutes in that cranium of mine. It all blurs together. Perhaps I need more medication. Or, maybe some chocolate. Or, perhaps chocolate covered medication. I think that might fix whatever ails me.
Praise the Baby Jesus....a Throw-Pillow Intervention has been scheduled! Our dear friend, Miss Keith Bischon, has staged an all-out-war on our throw pillow problem. That's good because I'm telling ya, the store employees were staring with mouths open while me and the wife argued--passionately and rather loudly--over couch throw pillows for the new leather furniture. Who knew finding pillows would be so hard? So taxing? So aggrevating? So full of opportunity to argue? The perfect couch throw pillows have eluded us for weeks on end. I hate it. I'll find one I love and the wife will hate it. She finds one to her liking and I can't believe it, as it is the most hideous thing I've ever seen. You would think we were trying to buy a house or a new car.
Miss Keith is a true friend, willing to take one for the team, brave enough to stare at pillows until one is determined the winner. She understands that we need throw pillows and we need help and we are certainly incapable of picking out a pillow. She has good taste and an artistic eye, so this means much to us. It will truly be a happening more than a shopping trip. The wife thinks it will be fun. I'm not sure that's the word I would use to describe this most-decidedly painful and eye-poking event. I vote that Miss Keith is perfect for the mission; thus, I will be staying home while the puffs of pillows team transverses the Universe in search of the elusive perfect couch pillows.
I'll stay home and fix our computer. I'll take a computer woe over pillow-picking every time.
The flash player thingy has been fighting back and that means the wife can't watch Oprah's website. THAT is grounds for aggressive attention and is rated much more troublesome than any throw pillow could be ranked. Insult to injury...the computer in question is the one from the Oprah show give-a-way. As you can imagine, this has led to overwhelmingly Oprah-fied stress for the wife. Not being able to peruse the Oprah website has been crushing to the wife. Crushing.
Oprah is number one. I'm number two. I'm okay with that. As long as I stay in front of the dogs on the wife's list, it's all good.
I've tried bigger and better anti-virus programs. I've used two forms of spyware, I've de-fragmented twice. I've deleted and re-installed flash players a bazillion times. I purchased PC registry program to work on registry problems, I've installed the latest version of Internet Explorer and then uninstalled it and re-installed it. I've installed other browsers. I've re-booted that computer more in one week than I have in its tenure on earth. I've downloaded updates from the Microsoft site. I've patched this and that. I've un-patched this and that. I've cleaned and deleted and swept and searched…all to no avail. No Oprah.
The wife, losing her faith in my compter prowess, had the audacity to call a computer store. Cheater! Cheater! Doesn't she know that it's more fun to push buttons than to actually ask for help?
As you can imagine, she didn't say hello when the computer guy answered. She burst out with: "We have a computer that doesn't do the Oprah!"
The guy instictly understood that this issue could not continue. Besides, No Oprah equates opportunity....he wanted money to look at the computer. He must have mentioned a number becaue the wife's eyes widened....and...she was silent....and...
...she hung up.
I assured her I would give one last ditch effort to fix the problem. After that, the wife can address the mystery or go buy a new computer or give up on computer-ized Oprah and just watch Oprah on TV. After all, it's her Oprah, not mine.
Yesterday morning, the dogs and I went for our daily walk. It rained all night, so it smelled like worms when we went outside. Damn, I hate worms. It's dark out when we walk, so it's really tough to see the sidewalk....
Can I just say that there were FOUR MILLION earth worms on our driveway? Four million. Yes, I counted, their tiny little bodies shining in the street lights.
FORTY BILLION earth worms were hanging out on the sidewalks. There was no question that forty billions worms stood between me and completion of the half-mile walk. I don't know about you, but there aren't many grosser things than squishing-crunching worms while walking. The little ones aren't too bad, but those big ones CRUNCH and SQUISH when you step on them. It makes my toes curl just thinking about that. I try to avoid them but it's so dark that you really can't avoid all but the big ones (the ones bigger than the dogs, that it). I walked on the grass the entire way. It's hard on walk on the grass for the 1/2 mile jaunt and my shoes got soaked and I'm still walking on worms but I can't feel them squish and thus it's well worth the pain and wet shoes.
The cheesball neighbors had a party last night. I hobbled over on my sprained ankle (probably sprained from avoiding worms), wife in tow. The guest of honor, Coach Bandit, led the debauchery and seemed quite in her element. The wife and I were standing there, watching this drunken brawl of a party when Bandit yells,
"WHO'S READY FOR SOME WOO WOOS?"
If you're like me, you're asking yourself, "What the hell is a woo woo?"
Bandit pulls out this huge pitcher of red stuff and starts pouring liquid into the dozens of shot glasses lined up on the kitchen counter. It looks like Kool-Aid but from the response, I'm guess that Woo Woos do not involve such a mundane liquid. Everyone is going on and on about Woo Woos. Everyone seems to know what a Woo Woo is. Everyone is sucking down Woo Woos like there is no tomorrow.
These Woo Woos seem to be a really big hit. The more Woo Woos, the merrier.
I finally ask, "What's a woo woo?"
And, Bandit, never missing a beat says,
"It's Whatever you Want it to be."
I shoud have known. My bad. I had to ask. This means what's in a Woo Woo is what's in a Woo Woo. That bottle over there? It's in the Woo Woo. That bottle found under the sink? That's been Woo Woo-fied, too. That unidentified bottle of alcohol brought in by the party goer? That's Woo Woo material.
I am WAY TOO old for Woo Woos.I am way too sober for Woo Woos. I am way too old to watch people drink Woo Woos.
I looked at the wife. She too is beyond her woo woo years. We may argue about pillows but we don't argue about woo woos. I'd rather hang out with a pillowless couch and a broken computer and a pack of worms than be surrounded by Woo Woos. We returned to our pillow-free abode, woo-woo free.
There weren't any worms on the short walk home. To that I say Woo. Woo.
*****************************************************************************************************
Saturday, March 17, 2007
"You...
Our "biggest" home improvement fighting revolved around installation of three ceiling fans on the same day. What WERE we thinking?
Finally, here's a diddy I got via email from Little Debbie Sneezeclumper....
Q. My pharmacy plan only covers generic drugs, but I need the name brand. I tried the generic medication, but it gave me a stomachache. What should I do?
Q: I've heard that cardiovascular exercise can prolong life; is this true?
Q: Should I cut down on meat and eat more fruits and vegetables?
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
This week featured a trip to the dentist for that semi-annual check and cleaning. I must be one sick puppy--I LIKE going to the dentist; in fact, it borders on LOVE for those dental trips. It is no mistake that I worked as an orthodontist assistant for five years. I have an affinity for teeth, even those covered with last night's food caught in the braces. This trip to the dentist--and the fact that I dropped my toothbrush on the floor in my workplace bathroom--inspire me to write about my love of teeth. (I had wanted to be a dentist when I was growing up. I gave up that idea when I learned that dentists had one of the highest rates of suicides of professionals....makes sense, as almost no one likes the dentist.)
My love of the dental world all started so innocently enough. I was in first grade and I noticed that my "big" teeth were coming in behind my "baby" teeth. You know that song, "All I want for Christmas is My Two Front Teeth?" Well, I was singing how I wanted those two front teeth to fall out so I could make room for those new ones popping in. I tried to explain this problem to my mother but as a first grader, this is a difficult thing to do. The baby teeth looked fine--it was just that I could feel the ridges of the adult tooth peeking out behind those cemented-in-the-gums front baby teeth. A trip to the dentist confirmed my thoughts--those teeth were going to have to be pulled out. Before I knew it, those two teeth were in my hand and under my pillow. That was COOL.
I had some ugly teeth. I mean major ugly. They were not placed in a way that could in any way be considered attractive. Thank god for braces (more about that in a minute). Before I could get braces, I had to have all remaining baby teeth and four adult bicuspids extracted. Suffice it to say that I was in my glory when I was told I would need THIRTEEN teeth pulled out in fifth grade. THIRTEEN! I had this problem with ankylose teeth: meaning, the roots of many teeth were bascially part of the surrounding jawbone. THAT'S a problem requiring an oral surgeon. They gotta saw those baby teeth out, as there is no way they would ever fall out on their own. Heaven!
I went to the oral surgeon and asked to watch as they extracted those thirteen teeth. For some reason, they obliged me. Twelve injections of novacaine later, I was good to go. I hate to admit how much I liked watching the oral surgeon & learning about the procedure. With thirteen extracted teeth in hand, I headed home to make a killing from the Tooth Fairy.
You know why I HAD to become an orthodontic assistant? It was fate and payback. See, when I had braces, I didn't do very well with those impressions they would take. In fact, one time I projectile VOMITED when they were trying to take the impression--puke hit the wall. I'm not kidding. I can attest to the possibility of this happening, as while an orthodontic assistant, I witnessed many impression-related pukings and even saw my coworker literally get puke in her hair. There was a lot of vomit involved in that job. I also deserved a stay in the world of orthodontia because I literally RIPPED my braces off the front four teeth when eating Ju-Ju-Bees in Sixth Grade music class. NEVER bite into ju-ju-bees when wearing braces. I wish you could have seen those four bands dangling from the wire. THAT was a hard one to explain to the orthodontist. Or, maybe it was the fact that my dog ate my retainer in eighth grade. Really. I learned as an orthodontic assistant that dogs indeed love retainers and that this problem is quite common. Go figure.
I loved being an orthodontic assistant but the pay sucked and there was no ladder to climb--once an assistant, always an assistant. I moved on to torturing mentally ill people instead. More money, less puke. (It's a sad statement on my earning potential when I say that working in the mental health field pays better than my dental job as it is a well known fact that mental health professional pay sucks, too. Ah well, who said I was in it for the money, anyway? Besides, there seems to be a lot of poop in mental health and that makes up for any lack of salary.)
Then, there were the wisdom teeth in college. Ooooooooh! I asked to stay awake for that, too. Four impacted wisdom teeth--how could I miss that? Removing those crusty crabs wasn't easy--I swear that at one point the oral surgeon had his foot on my face as he was trying to rip that wisdom tooth out. Man, those babies had some roots on them. Four more teeth for the tooth fairy-- rock on!
Back to this week's visit to the dentist. I go in the bathroom at work (for those of you who don't know about the work bathroom, suffice it to say that nothing that hits that floor should EVER be used again--it should be incinerated). I get ready to brush my teeth so they are fresh and pretty for the appointment when I drop the toothbrush on the floor. I look at the floor, I look at the toothbrush, I look in the mirror. What the hell am I supposed to do now? Ugh. The horror--I have to go to the dentist without a last minute brush. (I did throw away the toothbrush, for you sick souls that are wondering about that.) I don't know why this inability to brush my teeth would worry me after living through all those dirty braces I wallowed through while an orthodontic assistant...there were days I literally could not see the braces due to all the food and goop from lack of brushing. I'm worried about this lack of a last minute brushing? Side note: I was in the dental field BEFORE the advent of rubber gloves. Yes, my hands were in people's mouths, digging through that leftover food. Mmmm Mmmm. Almost impossible to believe we didn't use to wear gloves. I was in the group that had to "learn" how to use gloves after not ever having to using gloves. While it seemed less gross to dig in people's mouths with gloves on, it was quite an adjustment. I was also in the era of "HIV just coming to town." Before that event, you'd poke yourself with a wire and think nothing of it--just swear, wash it off, go on with life. After that, poking yourself with a wire scared the shit out of you. Trust me, I went and had HIV blood tests done after that and I did everything in my power NOT poke myself again.
Back to this week. I'm at the dentist, loving every minute of it, relaxing in the chair, thinking about what a wonderful way this is to start the day, hoping that my coffee breath isn't too overwhelming for the hygienist. I would tell you what the hygienist looks like but she's hidden behind a layer of dental armor including mask, glasses, plastic sheild and gloves. My, how the world has changed! Maybe my love of the dentist will change when I finally need a root canal or some gross kind of gum surgery or a cap on some unsuspecting molar. Until then, I am going to floss my teeth with reckless abandon and and remember the good old days of pre-gloved orthodontia.........tasty treat, anyone?
Sunday, March 11, 2007
The wife wakes me up last night and says,
"Do you hear that?"
Me, being the well-medicated one, take a half-hearted listen and try to scrape some cobwebs out of my brain so I can actually process what I'm supposed to be hearing. Sure enough, there is this yippy-howly-singy-barking noise--like two wild animals howling at the moon. I recognize it's not that scary cats-mating-scrrrreeching noise (a noise never to be forgotten once heard) and it's not someone's pet.....it's a coyote! One eye pops open, as this IS something to wake up about. It's TWO coyotes! Well, at least two....one can never tell without seeing them, as far as I'm concerned. Okay, so that was fun. I fall right back asleep.
So, this morning, we are walking the dogs to get the Sunday paper. It's embarrassing but true--whenever we cross paths with another dog, I make a beeline for the nearest house and pretend like we live there--this distracts Freckles and Lucy enough that they don't notice the dog walking by. The wife is very embarrassed by my behavior but it works like a charm. Today, I pull the dogs towards this empty field and say, "Look!" to distract them even further.....but, when the three of us look, we see......
....DEAR GOD! It's a WOLF COYOTE! STANDING RIGHT THERE!
I call it a wolf coyote as I am not well-enough versed on the difference; hence, I posted a photo of a wolf and a coyote above (wolf in the top photo). I thought it looked more like a wolf than a coyote, but the wife says coyotes have been spotted in the area. It was big and brown-grey and it SAW US. Thankfully, it scooted off across the tundra instead of towards us. Of course, Lucy wants to be its friend and is literally standing on her back to legs trying to get a closer look. I yell out to the wife, "Hey! It's a wolf!" She sees it and is NOT entertained that I am distracted the dogs from a dog by pointing out a wild animal. She's no fun, is she? I'll have to get back to you on the status of these animals once I learn of their actual type....wolf or coyote, it's all good.
********
Who's this bald man, you ask?
No, he has nothing to do with the wolf-coyote--he has to do with the brother-in-law Tommy Hilfiger. A few months ago, Tommy handed me Dave's book, "The Total Money Makeover: A Proven Plan for Financial Fitness. In fact, Tommy had a pile of FIFTEEN of these books and was passing them out to family members. I took my copy and flipped through a few pages. Looked like common sense-Oprah-Debt-Diet-Suzi-Orman- type of ordeal. I took the book home and read it over the next few days.
******
(We saw Tommy and the wife's family yesterday--this will figure in to the story in a few minutes...)
A quick reminder of who Tommy Hilfter the brother in law is---for those of you who don't remember, he's the one who surprised his parents by giving them a new car last year. I believe that if Jesus is walking the earth right now, he is Tommy Hilfiger. I am serious. This guy is loving, giving, humble and he's a man of the faith. True faith. Deep, serious-god-loving-What-would-Jesus-do faith. I'm not big on most not-really-very-christian Christians. This guy gives Christians a good name. He is so non-judgmental, it is almost frightening. After all, how many really religious religous people do you know that wouldn't be judging me and the wife?
Back to Dave Ramsey. I read the book and think how I've heard this all before but what the heck, I'll give it the ol' college try. Okay, so I have to pay off my debts, smallest to biggest. I need to save $500 pronto (Dave says $1000 but I figure the wife will provide her half.) Dave's a religious kind of guy, but the book is simple and not heavy on the religion, so I remain intrigued.
I can't see the light at the end of the tunnel--Dave says he can help me get there.
I wasn't happy when I read the part about Lotto players. He says: "Lotto and Power Ball are a tax on the poor and people who can't do math." Ouch. He adds, "look at the people in the line (for lottery tickets)." Oh dear. "Lotto is a rip-off instituted by our government." So much for winning the Lotto.
(Side note: that $500 has mocked me. I save it, then I need $500 to pay my license fee for being a counselor and an art therapist and for a training. I save it, then I need four new tires. Ugh. But, at least I had the $500 to use. I am back to saving for it again. It's always something, isn't it?)
Fast forward a few months. I pay off my loan for our house improvement. I am tickled pink. Tommy sends me a congratulations email and gives me a big hug when he sees me. The wife's family gets in on the fun and also give me oodles of Dave-Ramsey-filled love. This warms my little heart. Fast forward another two months: I am literally holding the title to my car. Most of you won't find this to be a victory of any sort. To me, this IS like winning the Olympics. I do a happy title dance. Really. In the living room. I can SO see the light at the end of the tunnel. Now, it's off to credit card hell land.....
.....Back to yesterday. We're at a wife-family gathering and Tommy is there. I announce to the world of the wife that I have paid of my car and that I have the title and that I did the happy title dance. They all praise Dave Ramsey (and Oprah, of course, because they know I know "The Secret" and that Oprah has embraced the Secret). I'm feeling good and I'm washing the dishes and Tommy is praising me like there is no tomorrow. I thank him again for the Dave Ramsey book. He smiles knowingly and non-judgmentally.
A few minutes later, Tommy's eight-year-old daughter walks up to me and says, "Here, take this." I'm thinking she's playing a joke on me and handing me a crumpled piece of paper. I put my hands out and take the garbage. Only, it isn't garbage. I look and see it is a ONE HUNDRED DOLLAR bill. I look again. Yup. It's a Benjamin.
I tell her I CANNOT take this and try to get her to take it back. I chase her around the living room but she's not taking it back. I demand to know where her father is but she's not telling. Rotten kid! I search the house looking for Tommy. I find him and say that I cannot accept this money. He answers that he didn't give it to me--his daughter did. We have a silent argument. Tommy finally says that he is so proud of my accomplishments that I should go out and buy something nice for myself.
I finally end up taking the money, although it takes everything in me to take it. I get teary-eyed, he's crying (he cries A LOT--about happy things, god-thankful things) and his wife is demanding to know what her husband has done to me to make me cry. "Why is he crying? Why are you crying? He didn't make you cry, did he? He can make me cry? Are these tears of joy or what?" I assure Mrs. Hilfiger that all is well and although her husband DID make me cry, it is all good.
On the way home, I decide that I am NOT going to spend the money--I am going to do something that would make Dave Ramsey and Tommy Hilfiger proud--I am going to use that bill to open a savings account. Oh, stop being judgmental--at least I'm willing to admit I don't have a savings account. I will now. And, with two of three of my debts now paid off, I'll actually be able to put money into a savings account. The wife is orgasmic. This is what she has waited for. So, thank you Dave Ramsey and Tommy Hilfiger. I look forward to debt-free living.....
....as long as those wolf-coyotes stay away from the dogs and I don't order any more credit cards and as long as the chocolate keeps on flowing, we will truly live in bliss.
Brings a Tommy Hilfiger tear to your eye, doesn't it?
Friday, March 09, 2007
Terabithia and Me
Well, I suppose I should have read additional reviews review BEFORE going to the movie. See that line in the review that says "appeal more to adults than their offspring?" That would have been a big clue that this movie might not appeal to the clients as much as me. (They would be more inclined to see that Ninga Turtle movie coming out.) Suffice it to say they didn't "get" a lot of the movie while I sat there sobbing. Geez. I didn't see it coming. (I say no more for those of you who haven't read the book and still will see the movie.) Worse, I kept dreaming about the movie all night last night. I kept waking up saying "Terabithia." I'm serious. Then, at 3:30 AM, I literally woke up thinking, "DUH! THAT's why they named it Bridge to Terabithia." I finally was able to sleep soundly after that. (Too bad that was only 1.5 hours...but, it still counts.)
ZOOEY DESCHANEL (Miss Edmunds) is one of Hollywood’s most sought-after young actresses. Most recently, she displayed her charismatic screen presence in the comedy “Failure to Launch” with Matthew McConaughey and Sarah Jessica Parker; in the sci-fi classic “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy,” with Sam Rockwell, Mos Def and John Malkovich; and opposite Will Ferrell in “Elf,” directed by Jon Favreau, for which she received critical acclaim for her engaging performance and remarkable singing voice.
Deschanel made her feature-film debut in 1999 in Lawrence Kasdan’s ensemble drama “Mumford.” She then co-starred with Billy Crudup, Kate Hudson and Frances McDormand in Cameron Crowe’s “Almost Famous.” Other films include: “All the Real Girls,” for which she received an Independent Spirit Award nomination for Lead Actress, “Abandon” for director Stephen Gaghan, “Big Trouble” for director Barry Sonnenfeld, “The Good Girl” with Jennifer Aniston and “Eulogy,” alongside Debra Winger.
I KNEW it! Failure to Launch! ELF! Damn, I have a short memory......but, I will now sleep better at night knowing this information....
As for the snowshoes, the wife's shoes FINALLY arrived....but now, the snow has melted and it's going to be 50 degrees today. I think she's ready to wear them around the house. I hope Keith Bischon, professional snowshoer and friend of the wife, can help the wife keep her spirits up. After all, it's bound to snow sometime next year....
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
For the Record...
....my dogs live a better life than most people.
1. Save the whales. Collect the whole set.
Thursday, March 01, 2007
In Like a Lion....
Well, here we are, March 1st. It's raining, snowing, thundering, lightning, monsooning, flooding, sleeting. In like a lion, indeed! (I have two things to say about March 1st: Happy Birthday, Ms. Swamptour Sunburn Lady and Congrats, Sober-no-more-throwing-up-tacos-and-chocolate-cake-1987-girl.)
Here are two photos I received via email, both of which made me laugh and thus I want you to feel the love. "The Ass Family" would be the perfect addition to any car; and, the monkey tattoo is one of the best uses of a belly button I've seen in a long time:
...