Saturday, August 30, 2008

Flamingo Friday

Let me tell you, the last twenty four hours gave me so much blog fodder that I will need weeks to write about all of it. Even the wife was like, "where are you going to start?" because it's been a busy, bizarre day.

Before I go further...a few disclaimers. (1) No flamingos were harmed on Flamingo Friday. (2) Master Reiki will be fine, albeit one hurting pup. (3) All parties are aware of the pending blog posts that are about to inundate the Internet. (4), Yes, we really do have the finger. Like, the missing finger--which isn't really missing if we know where it is--maybe I'll say detached finger....

And, an FYI for blog readers wondering about MJagger & her bat woes: (1) Round three of the Family Rabies shots went swimmingly. (2) The bats in her house WERE filled with rabies, so it is a very, very good thing they went through with the rabies shots.

So, there I was at Flamingo Friday at work, standing there in my pink pajamas, pink undies, pink socks, pink everything when I get a phone call alerting me that Master Reiki had been in a lawn mowing accident.

Hearing the words "lawn mowing accident" is never a good thing. I finished my work as fast as possible, skedaddled my sorry pink ass outta there and headed home to learn more. (I digress: Flamingo Friday was a special event for the seniors at the place I am now employed. The flamingo above was saved from certain doom at a recent garage sale by Chick-a-hello and DZ, god love 'em. After all that pink yesterday, I'm not sure I ever want to see a flamingo again.)

Back to the mower. Master Reiki managed to accidentally catch her gloved hand in the belt of her riding (and very fancy) John Deere riding lawn mower. She was home alone and had just finished mowing the very large yard. Like a good little mower, she was cleaning some grass on the mower deck.....when her garden glove got sucked in by this big belt and literally sucked her hand into the mower and promptly ripped off phlanges.

Ow. Ow. Ow.

Not the blade. A belt. The blade would have simply sliced off the fingers. This? this belt grabbed hold and ripped the fingers off.

As she was home alone, Master Reiki had to get to the phone.
Thankfully, she is not a very messy bleeder (which is of importance to this story as I was on "blood clean-up patrol later in the day) and was able to get to the phone and call 9-1-1.

Problem (well besides her ripped off fingers)? She had to call 9-1-1 FOUR TIMES and had to wait TWENTY FIVE minutes for the ambulance to arrive. Her fingers could have walked to the hospital faster than that. Thankfully, the mail lady and a neighbor came running and stayed with Master Reiki until the ambulance finally pulled up.

Imagine you are someone's neighbor and you go running up because you know something is very, very wrong....and, your neighbor says, "You've got to go find my fingers!" when you approach her.

That is exactly what happened. Master Reiki said this and the neighbor went and found her fingers. Literally.

Fingers and all were finally transported to the ER. God love the mail lady and neighbor. They put everything away in the garage, neatly parked and lined up. They locked up the house. They stayed with Master Reiki until she was finally able to get some real medical attention.

Side note to Master Reiki: Thank you for not driving yourself to the ER.

I am going to skip ahead and get to the fingers. I can go back and catch the rest of this unfolding story later.

Now, there is a really, really funny story about the fingers--although some of you will not find the story funny at all. You'll be the ones trying not to throw up.

See, the finger parts--of which were not salvageable in any capacity--were still in the garden glove. The hospital didn't need the phlange parts, so they were just going to throw them out. Well, thankfully one of our gang (whom shall remain anonymous lest she be asked to save other disconnected body parts from certain doom) secured the finger and glove and stuffed them into a Tupperware container. I kid you not. She thought that Master Reiki might want to do some ritual with the finger--a going away part of sorts--and that having the finger would mean a lot to MR. (You have to know Master Reiki to understand this and how much she will appreciate having that finger. )

Well, having a finger in a Tupperware container really isn't that shocking. Knowing that the phlange-freer put it IN HER CAR on a hot summer afternoon is rather shocking.

More shocking? Probably the smell when she opened the car door.

Here is a photo of Master Reiki's arm propped up & hanging in her hospital bed. This photo is NOTHING in comparison to the photos Chick-a-hello got--she got full view shots of the injured hand. It is grossly amazing. Various angles, various poses, various looks at the injuries. Can you say bone sticking out? WOW! She is offering to email me the photos for the blog but I'm not sure some people would live through it, so I may keep the photos for my own viewing pleasure and spare you readers. (Note to Grand Canyon Black Toes: I'll email you the photos. You'll love them!)

Back to the bloody house. Master Reiki had made it sound like there was blood everywhere. I went prepared for a "crime scene" looking blood bath. I pictured blood on the walls and having to call a professional company to come clean the disaster. I had extra clothes, gloves, bleach--the works. I told the wife stay in the car while I surveyed the damage....

....I hate to admit this, but I was SO disappointed when I got there. There were some drips of blood in the garage, obviously from Master Reiki walking from the house to the driveway. In the house, there were only a few drops of blood on the tile and on the phone. No bloody towels, no puddles of red goo, nothing. She is the neatest bleeder I have ever seen. She didn't even get any blood in the kitchen floor grout, so it was incredibly easy to clean up. I was so confused, I walked through the house several times and even went through the garbage, laundry and washer looking for evidence of blood. Nada.

I'm going to stop here and write more later today. There is a ton more to report but I must pace myself.......stay tuned and keep your fingers to yourself.

Thursday, August 28, 2008

History

I shall now take a moment to be serious. Do not be alarmed. It is not your computer. This seriousness will last only a moment or two and then we shall return you to normal programming.

I shall now take a moment to be opinionated. Oh wait--I am opinionated every blog entry. Never mind.

I shall now take a moment to speak of politics, of which I know can get ugly. I feel history in the making is worth any ugliness that might surface. I know that some are not ready for the change that has come to us on this historic night. Just keep telling yourself "it will be all right, it will be all right." Breathe, because it WILL be all right.

Tonight, Mr. Obama will be given the chance to be an American President.

Now, in many ways I find it absolutely disgusting that this event is historic--I see it as embarrassing. Why on earth--until the end of the first decade in the 21st century--did it take so long to get to this point? And why are so many people afraid of this historic event?

The rest of the world think we are morons...and, in many ways, they are right. Americans sure are stupid when it comes to some things.

For those of you who are concerned about the consequences of tonight's events--that a man of color is going to be named the Democratic candidate for the presidency--may I suggest to you that you instead focus on this man's message of change and hope. If you still have problems, say this mantra: "He was born in America. He is not Muslim. He is not another four years of George Bush."

If you are still having trouble with this whole thing, focus on John F. Kennedy while breathing and reminding yourself Obama does he want anything more than to be President and that if ending segregation was good enough for Lincoln, it's good enough for you.

(History Lesson: President Kennedy--the very beloved, white Catholic President Kennedy--started the ball rolling in regards to civil rights. The resulting Civil Rights Act of 1964 outlawed racial segregation in schools, public places, and employment. Conceived to help African Americans, the bill was amended prior to passage to protect women and created the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission. I think JFK would be disgusted it took this long to get to this point, but he's still dead so we can't ask.)

Tonight is a historic night and I am excited for such an event to come to America, better late than never.

In honor of history in the making, I end with words gleaned from Martin Luther King's "I have a Dream" speech, delivered on August 28, 1963. Over the top? Maybe. About time? Absolutely. With that, I say "let the campaign begin!"


.....Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksand of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood.


.....Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God's children.


Let freedom ring.

.........And when this happens, and when we allow freedom ring—when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children—black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics—will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual:

Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!






P.S. Al Gore, I still love you madly. I am sorry I voted for you and made you lose the race. I promise not to vote for Obama so he loses, too.

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

Click here for Michelle Obama's Speech 8.25.08

Pinch here to pinch my butt. Ha ha!

FYI all Obama Fans:
Do not worry. I won't vote for him, so in turn he will win the election. I promise to do my patriotic part for this country by not voting for him. Loyal blog readers know that I have only voted for losers, right down to the recent "I Voted for Hillary and she lost" vote. I will not stand in the way of change.

For non Obama fans: He is NOT Muslim, so STOP IT!


Dear Jillian,

You BITCH!

I am sending you the bill for the pants that no longer fit. Why don't they fit, you ask? Because I've been faithfully doing your workouts, that's why. While I may be able to kick anyone's ass, I'll have to do it in a new pair of pants.

Jillian, I have to break up with you.

I put a pair of jeans on last night and found myself thinking, "what is up with this--these pants don't fit! I look ridiculous." I go find the wife and show her how I look in the pants. Thankfully, she is brave enough not to lie and admits the pants do not look good. I thank her for this. Jillian, she spoke the truth. You? You let me do all those lunges and squats, laughing all the way to the bank.

I am leaving you and going back to Leslie Sansone.

Back off, Bitch.
Love, Addi




P.S.

Dear Madonna,


Please eat a sandwich.


Love, Addi



This photo is from judiciary.com. I thank them for not acting judiciously toward me for using this photo. How could I not use this photo? Obviously, Madge is doing some other form of exercise than I am doing. Yikes!

If this is what happens when you turn 50, I am SO going to spend the next four years eating ice cream and watching Xena Re-runs.

Dita, I am worried about you. Eat a sandwich. Go to McDonald's and super size it. Have a biscuit. Just eat something. I know you are busy dancing in a world tour and that takes a lot of calories, but really! Start an I.V. if you must. Eat something sticky and sweet. Find a funnel cake and inject it. Just do something before it's too late.....

.....remember, I am Jillian-fied and I can kick your ass. Don't MAKE me come to Europe and force feed you a fried Twinkie.....

Saturday, August 23, 2008

Status Report from the Addiverse

Welcome to new readers! (Like all two of you.)

Attention all "old" readers: Make sure you click on my Adsense thingies (to the right) after reading and digesting this blog entry. The more you click, the more pennies I can make. It's a start.


Catching up all those weekly and not so weekly readers....here's your official summary what's up in the Addiverse.

Farve is still a Jet.

Wife is still in Misery.

Phone is re-connected.

Cat, Cat, Cat: it'll be okay after lots of therapy and a lot of beer. (We love you. Come back to Rockford and feel the love. Piss on international softball.)

Freckles is still smelly.

Lucy is still licking & keeping the wife up at night.

Joe Biden?

Bats still flitting around MJagger's house. Second round of rabies shots tomorrow. No one sleeping.

Re-pierced ears are healing. (Um, never did really talk about that. I got bored last Saturday and thought, "hey, why don't I ever wear earrings any more?" I then decided to use some old posts to re-pierce my ears. My advice to you is do not ever do this. It hurts like a bitch and it hurts like a bitch. Bad, bad, bad. I am now stuck wearing eighth-grade- looking-posts until the blood stops oozing out of my lobes.)

Butt still growing.

Jillian Michael's daily work out not shreddeding me. (Sigh. It's not that I'm not doing the workouts--it's age. If I were doing these workouts 20 years ago, I'd have a rockin' body thing going on. Since it's not 20 years ago, I'm in good shape but I'm never gonna be ripped or shredded or whatever; I am gonna be in good shape with cheesy wiblets and a great glute of which I did not want.)

Madonna tickets still secure.

Closet door still shut.

Friends laughing about this development.

Made a "Facebook" page update.

Only have three friends in "Facebook."

Wife Family reunion picnic tomorrow.

Favre still a Jet.

And thus, you are updated in the Addiverse.

Hope you have a great weekend! Kiss kiss.

Thursday, August 21, 2008

Quick, Robin! It's the Batphone!

I shall now speak of bats—the furry, mammal, flying, blind kind—and of phones—the landline kind. They don’t have anything to do with each other but both are happening at this exact moment and thus they are lumped together. I shall the two stories simultaneously. I think it will be easy to tell who has bragging rights—MJagger and her rabid bats or me and my lack of phone service. Other blog-worthy entries about work, beetles, Brett Favre, closeted work episodes , dropped batons in the Olympics & smelly yeasty dog will have to wait.

First, the phone. (I get to go first because it’s my blog. Artwork by Nataliedee.com. You should check out her artwork. Cracks. Me. Up.)

I get home and the wife is lamenting over the landline phone bill. It shows a charge for a three-way call, on a day neither of us was home, to a number we did not recognize. Um, we don’t even know how to make a three way call. Heck, we didn’t even know we could make such a call. So, I get on the phone—oh joy of joys—and find myself on hold trying to get ahold of the phone company, the ultimate professionals of putting you on hold til you give in and hang up. Surprisingly, it only took me 20 minutes to get a human on the line and the hold music was from the 1980’s, so that was good and as it was only 20 minutes, it wasn’t as bad as last time, when I gave up after 45 minutes. I explain to the guy that there is this charge and that we didn’t make the call, blah blah blah. He acknowledges he “sees” the charge and adds, “I’m going to have to look into this further; may I put you on hold?” I want to kill myself when he says this but I agree……

Click. Silence. Shit.

Now, to MJagger, who at the very moment is sitting at the emergency room with her entire family waiting to get rabies shots.

Yes, you read that right—rabies shots.

This is where the bats come in. Literally. It appears MJagger has a bat problem and a bad one at that (I’m not sure there is such a thing as a good bat problem but this is a really, really bad problem). Seems she’s seen a bat or two in the house over the past several months but nothing bad enough to even mention it to me--trust me, if the bats were a problem, I would have known. Her story from the past 24 hours is very traumatic and involves bats swooping down at various family members, bats in the night, bats chasing children….and…..a probable bat bite to Mini-MJagger. On the face.

EEEE-YEOW!

ON.

THE.

FACE.

(I wonder if this makes my sister have flashbacks of bats in her hair at girl scout camp???) If it’s any consultation, the child has no recollection of being attacked by a bat but so much has been going on and so many scary stories have been developing, anything is possible.

Back to the phone, or lack of it. I’m holding the phone, wondering about the silence, thinking, “sure sounds like he hung up on me.” I hold the handset to my ear for 20 more minutes, listening to what sounds like a dead line. One is never sure about hanging up because if I’m just on hold and hang up, I’ve just “given up my place” in the phone waiting line list. I decide piss on this, hang up and go to re-dial. Thing is, there is no dial tone.

NO. DIAL. TONE!

I go get a different landline handset. Nothing. I go use the phone on the wall. Nothing. The wife gets her cell phone and calls our land line. Nothing. I go get my cell phone—you know, the one I hate from the provider I hate. I use the cell phone—the one that will be sucking up my costly anytime minutes—and call the phone company back. When that stupid automated voice asks me what the problem is, I scream “I HATE BT &T!” Incredibly, the voice says, “It sounds like you said your service is disconnected. Is that right?”

This stops me from screaming. Gives me pause.

Back to the bat attack. MJagger calls on my cell phone. Her description of her night from bat hell is enough to make anyone’s toes curl. I cannot do her justice in this blog; it is a story that needs to be verbally conveyed by the survivors. (By the way, did you know bats are on the protected list and so you just can’t shoot them or bash them with a bat? What is wrong with this world? Don’t give me crap about bats eating mosquitoes—if a bat is in the house, it’s fair game to whomp with a tennis racket. And, I am a tree hugging, bleeding liberal vegetarian and if I say you should whomp on bats, you should.) The bats—yes, more than one--managed to terrorize Mini-MJagger to the point her little voice squeaked out, “Mama, my knees are shaking and I’m not even making them do that.” As there is a small mark on Mini-MJagger’s face, right by the eye, and as it looks like a bite mark and as it is swollen and as there are no known reasons for said mark/bite, MJagger calls the doctor, who calls the health department, who calls MJagger, who gets the shit scared out of her.

Word of advice: do NOT go to the Internet for information on bat bites, as it will scare you half to death…which, of course, is what the Internet predicts for MJagger’s young bat-bitten daughter. Literally. Get rabies shots or die.

MJagger is told by various medical professionals as well as the Internet that not only will her daughter need the rabies shots series, the ENTIRE FAMILY will need the shots. NOW. (I told you MJagger’s story would put my phone woes to shame. But, you are my cheap therapy, so indulge me, will ya?)

Back at the ranch, I’m staring at my cell phone minutes rolling by, taking BT&T’s name in vain. I finally get to a human and she is brilliantly able to verify that I do not have phone service. DUH!

Thankfully, this human is able to take care of the three way calling bill. She also offers me all sorts of fabulous phone, internet and satellite services, of which I politely decline. When she says she is going to transfer me to the “Repair Department,” I balk loudly. I am NOT going to be cut off again. She agrees and takes my cell phone number. Good luck with that. Before she transfers me, I then tell her the original reason I had called a few weeks ago (the 45 minute on hold call) was to cancel my Linebacker coverage. As my phone no longer works and it could conceivably be a problem with my internal phone lines, I decide keeping this service is probably a good idea.

She laughs and indicates that it must be a sign that I most certainly should.

MJagger calls me on my cell phone—because she obviously STILL cannot call me on the landline—from the hospital. The family of four is waiting for their rabies shots to arrive from the Health Department. One would think that an ER would have rabies shots but they do not. I guess the emergency of the emergency does not warrant immediate access to the shots as long as someone can get them to the ER within some framework of time. As I have been on the Internet, I assure MJagger that the rabies shots are no longer given in the stomach and that it is nothing like “in the olden days” where the cure was probably just as bad as the bite.

This is not much consolation to someone waiting for rabies shots, in the stomach or not.

How do these stories end? The wife and I remain without phone service, but who cares? MJagger has just textedgrlz got 3 shots we r next it is in the butt.” She adds that she will get four shots and her hubby will get six. Thus, her story has not ended yet. Her night has not ended. Her bat issues have not ended. Hell, even her shots have not ended--they will be having a series of shots over the next 30 days.

That SO puts my phone problem into perspective. It puts just about everything into perspective, don't you think?

I'll let you know what happens. Just don't expect me to call.

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

Farewell to Arms...

Not much time to write, with it being back to school for the wife, Olympics on TV, smelly dog with yeasty bacterial infection in the house, paper cut on the tip my nose (yes, you read that right), Brett as a Jet, getting ready for Madonna, etc. So, I thought I'd post a quick tip and be done with it.

TIP FOR THE DAY
: If you are a bit chilly while enjoying some time at a picnic, at a park or some other unidentified outdoor event....
....AND you are using one of those folding chairs that comes in a bag.....
......... AND you forget to bring your sweatshirt or sweater,
NEVER FEAR: Just put the bags on your arms, as illustrated in this photo.

This will keep you warm and it will also keep you from getting mosquitoes bites on your arms AND it will keep people far away, so you'll have plenty of space for your picnic or whatnot.

Notice I have BOTH arms covered. This means I had to steal someone else's chair bag. Don't worry. Steal the bag and put it on. I guarantee no one will bother to ask you for it back.

Saturday, August 16, 2008

Who's that Girl?

Happy Fiftieth--yes, that's right-- Five-oh--birthday, Madonna Louise Veronica "Ester " "Madge" Ciccone Ritchie! I've been waiting for August 16th all year, as I knew this was the day the Material Girl would indeed turn 50 (which is, of course, the new 40).

Madonna, queen of pop since 1983 when she burst onto the scene via Solid Gold (anyone remember that show?) and via the glorious MTV (when they used to actually show music videos), is celebrating her half-century mark somewhere unbeknownst to me but hopefully known to her estranged husband.

I was there for the whole thing, people.


Who can forget the "Boy Toy" belt, the black rubber bracelets (all five zillion of them), the pointy bras, the Vogue-ing, the acting (do you remember her in "Vision Quest?"), the terrorizing of the Catholic Church, the fake accents (of which I'm not sure were ever intentional but just rather bizarre--and, I'm not even talking about "Santa Baby"), the Playboy Photos (shave your armpits!), Truth or Dare, the "Sex" book (can I sell that thing on e-Bay?), Sean Penn (remember that marriage?), Warren Beatty, Sandra Bernhard, the David Letterman visit, Rosie O'Donnell in general, Evita (and the Golden Globe), the authoring of children books, the arrival of Kabbalah (and the name Ester and the omnipresent red string on the wrist), the new re-development of playing the guitar, the hair-dos, the videos, the Brittney kiss (what about poor Christina?), the Mrs. Ritchie coat? None of which could ever outdo her concerts.

Madonna at 50 gives me hope. For crying out loud, look at her muscles. She can dance and sing at the same time for two hours and not once sit down and take a nap.

You DO know she was inducted into the Rock and Roll hall of Fame this year, don't you?

My first Madonna siting was in 1987 when I dragged the wife to Soldier Field in Chicago for the Blond Ambition Tour. As our seats were in the ozone as far as one can get from the stage, Madonna looked like an ant. A little, bitty ant, at that. But, there was no mistaking it was her and there was no lack of fun. We danced with all the gay guys sitting by us and didn't bother sitting down for the entire show. I can tell you what I wore, I can tell you where we parked, I can tell you about the weather, I can tell you about the opening band, I can tell you what two t-shirts I purchased at the concert. (Trivia: the band "Level 42" opened for Madonna. Anyone remember them? I didn't think so.) It was so fun that I went and saw the same show when visiting my parents in Dallas, this time dragging friend TV Magpies along for the ride. Our seats were still in the ozone but right by the stage, so Madonna was a bigger ant and we could actually see her in person instead of just on a jumbo-tron. I do believe I owe my mother BIG TIME for that one, as I'm thinking she's the one that got the tickets. What a wild mama! (Trivia trivia: Level 42 didn't open for her in Dallas; it was Technotronic that opened the concert--pump up that jam!) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1K7fL5s_1ac

From there, it was no more opening acts for the queen of pop. Who needs an opening act when you are Madonna? The Girlie Show, Drowned World Tour, Re-invention Tour, Confessions Tour (two times) and soon-to-be the Sticky and Sweet Tour, all with MJagger in tow. We ARE Madonna Whores!

Side note: Just so you don't think I am excessive in the Madonna concert department, let me just tell you that I'm guessing MJagger has seen the Rolling Stones about ten times and Bon Jovi like 20 times in concert, so she is SO much more a concert whore than I am. I am just a Madonna Whore.

Dancing to Madonna music is a wonderful thing, as any gay boy can tell you. "Get Into the Groove" was a fun one until "Vogue" came along. I hate to admit that I spent many a night vogue-ing with friends (at the Travler....but, that's a whole 'nother story--the wife would have to admit she liked to vogue at the Travler). I EARNED my nickname of "Madonna" and I am proud of it. Hello, it wasn't because I like Madonna. It's all about the dancing. Well, that and the bra spinning on the ceiling fan at the Ace of Diamonds, but that's REALLY a whole 'nother story.

I will not even try to calculate on the money I have spent on Madonna. She and her kingdom have a lot of my money: concert tickets, t-shirts, concert parking, albums, cassettes, videos, DVDs, children's books, Sex book and CDs. I really can't brag about all the expenditures lest the wife once again say to me, "You have selective saving. If you really want something, you can save for it."

Um, yeah, that is true. Kind of like my selective hearing.

Did you just say something?

Now, I like all my Madonna paraphernalia and I love her videos and I'm all about her music...but there is nothing like seeing Madonna in concert because she knows how to put on a performance. Actually, it's more like a happening than a concert. It's an event. One must prepare for such an event, as you know from my previous blog entries.....

....One must be ready to sacrifice hard earned money and pride. One must be willing to face the ridicule from loved ones in regards to the time, effort and cold, hard cash that is spent in order to be part of the blessed event. One must be willing to abdicate his/her faith to truly experience the Madonnaverse. One must figure out what the hell to wear to the concert because all that dancing makes you sweaty and if it's cold out you can't NOT wear clothes and a coat.....one must have the perfect outfit and the perfect hairdo, despite the fact that all that dancing will make your hair look like shit and your clothes all drippy smelly. One must have a major credit card to buy a t-shirt at the concert (because they ain't $35.00--you need plastic to buy one of those things). One must work out vigilantly so one is in shape for all the dancing, hopping and singing that will occur during the concert.

As I am just a few years younger than Ms. Thang, I understand how working out is vital at this point in our lives.....although she works out for seven or eight hours a day and I do my twenty minute Jillian Michaels video. I may have to step it up a notch--maybe a Jillian Video and then a 2 mile Leslie Sansone Walking Tape. Maybe I can get MJagger to walk a few times a week so I can get in even better shape. I hate to admit it, but maybe if I ate less ice cream and more leafy vegetables, I'd lower my cholesterol AND be in an improved, awesome Madonna-concert shape.

I don't think Madonna eats ice cream. Not even on her 50th birthday.

Not even for a tour named "Sticky and Sweet." I'm thinking she's not eating any candy for the big five-oh.

But, then again, I don't think she was talking about candy when she wrote those songs.

Whatever--I'll eat the ice cream in her honor and she can go dance seven or eight more hours in preparation for her pending world tour. Happy 50th Birthday, Madonna! See you in Chicago.....

....and remember, instead of singing Happy Birthday, just sing the diddy, "if you want it, you already got it; if you thought it, it better be what you want."

I want to have biceps like Madonna when I'm 50. And her money. I'd like her money. Well, just a little of it. I don't need to get greedy. And, ice cream. I'd like to have some ice cream with that money.....

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

Get Into the Groove!

This Madonna Whore SWEARS to the Gods of pop music that every word of this blog entry is absolutely true. 

When it comes to Madonna, I don't lie. You don't mess with Madonna. 

I was driving to work today when I started thinking about the upcoming Madonna concert (end of October)....you know, the one I don't have tickets to. Loyal readers know I have been to Madonna Hell and back. (Non loyal readers, suffice it to say: had ticket, lost ticket, got two tickets for second row, sold tickets, lost lot of money on the deal, no tickets). 

I'm driving along and I start thinking, "hey, why not use the power of attraction to draw Madonna Tickets to me?" I've been working with a vision board and that's going swimmingly, so why not imagine Madonna tickets?
I visualize Madonna tickets coming to me easily for face value.
I envision good tickets, on the floor, nothing greedy--just face value floor seats.
For a millisecond, I toy with visualizing FREE tickets coming to me but I decide not to be greedy and settle for paying face value for my tickets that will soon be coming to me.
I'm smiling to myself and enjoying my thoughts of Her Madge-esty and I am saying, "I am enjoying myself at the Madonna Concert with my face value floor seats that have come to me."

Some of you are thinking there is NO way I did that. But, I did. I got to work, got out of the car, and thought no more about Madonna, her concert or the tickets. 

I'm in a meeting and my phone buzzes--it's a text message. As I am in a meeting and as I actually pay attention and behave in these meetings, I am unable to check the message but know it will wait for me until after the meeting. I peek at who it is from--it's from a number I don't recognize. I figure, "wrong number" and forget about the text message. 

Once out of the meeting and back in my car, I take a moment to check the text. It's from Cheeseball neighbor's girlfriend, ChiSkyGrrrl. 
The text indicates she has Madonna tickets for me if I am interested. IF I am interested? 

IF?

ARE YOU FRIGGIN' KIDDING ME?!!! I text her right back, shaking as I type. ChiSkyGrrrl has concert ticket connnections and I had asked her way back when to watch for Madonna tickets. We're talking months ago--I had totally forgotten about this possibility.....and, I certainly wasn't thinking about ChiSkyGrrrl when visualizing tickets coming to me. Turns out she has tickets for either Chicago date, on the floor...... .
.....these are exactly like the tickets I was visualizing. My jaw drops open. 

I tell her I am so thankful and so excited that if she were standing there, I would literally lick her face! Praise the 8 lb, 6 ounce baby Jesus!! 

I explain to ChiSkyGrrrl that I will call MJagger and see what she thinks and then call right back. (What I am really thinking is that I don't really care what MJagger says--I am buying these tickets and I am going to this concert, hoping MJagger will decide to come with me, as we are both Madonna Whores and I can't imagine going to a Madonna concert without her.) 

***Flashback for non-loyal readers or those who were drunk during my time of Madonna Hell and no longer remember what that was all about: After the sales of our $1000 tickets, MJagger announced she wanted to wait to right before the concert date, as she felt we could get really, really good tickets for cheap. She may be right. She may not be right. I am in no mood to stand around and find out if she is right. I've been watching the tickets on e-bay, Tickets-now, Stubhub, etc. and I am here to tell you those prices aren't going down; in fact, they have gone up. I don't want to pay what they are asking. No, wait--I won't pay what they are asking. If I were willing to pay that, I wouldn't have sold the $1000 tickets.*** 

But, back to now. Back to me and my visualized tickets. While MJagger didn't sound exactly orgasmic about the whole thing, she was agreeable to going in on the tickets. I explain to her that since the seats are on the floor, we can always sneak forward and eke our way into the stage. (She is a professional at doing this--so, I have complete faith she will continue her streak.) I explain that we will not be able to get tickets for face value via bidding or the internet. I do not want to pay any more than face value, as that is ridiculously expensive enough. I explain that I am going no matter what her decision and add that I hope she will go with me. MJagger says yes. I am happy she has agreed to go, despite these not being the tickets of her dreams. 

I call ChiSkyGrrrl and giddily agree to buying the tickets. I profess my love for her. I text message Cheeseball neighbor and tell her I am professing my love for her girlfriend. 

I will soon have Madonna tickets in my hands, just as I visualized!!! The wife says I need to start visualizing money...... ....money coming easily to me, money without strings attached.....hmmm, she may have a point. Maybe I could envision Madonna handing me money. She's got enough to spare..... 

I'll get back to you on what I decide to visualize, but until then, visualize me at the 10/27/08 Madonna concert!!!

Saturday, August 09, 2008

Leaving on a JET plane...

For the record, the wife is no longer speaking. She sulks around in this sad, angry funk.

She.

Is.

Miserable.

She's not even muttering anymore. There is only silence. A cold, hard, bleak silence. It scares me.

The reason? See for yourself:








This photo and the information below is from the New York Times. Yes, that's Brett Favre's name and number on a New York Jets uniform. It is sacreligious in many ways. It borders on blasphemy. It is pain beyond compair.

Hence, the wife is no longer speaking.

I don't think there is anything that we can do to help her. I'm not sure if she'd prefer Brett fall off the face of the earth or if he'd be mangled during the first Jets game and never play again, just so she can say, "I TOLD YOU TO STAY RETIRED! YOU SHOULD HAVE BEEN LOYAL!"

She won't be watching the Jets play football...and, I'm not too sure she'll be watching the Packers, either. In the Packers' case, my guess is she's hoping Aaron Rogers gets hurt within the first three minutes of the first game (as he always gets hurt, in season-ending ways) and then she can scream at the Packers because they were so STUPID to trade Favre--kind of poetic justice, if you will.

But, until one of these things transpires, she will remain in her silent funk.

The New York Times writes,

"The Jersey has landed, and it's flying off the racks. After an excrutiating one-day wait for Brett Favre's new Jets jersey, fans finally got their hands on the icon's $80 shirt Friday. The green-and-white tops arrived at the Modell's in Times Square at 10 a.m. .....The race to don Favre's new No. 4 began before even he sported the jersey. So many fans flooded the Jets online store Thursday that it briefly crashed.......For some die-hard fans, the beleaguered Jets' acquisition of Favre still didn't seem real, even after holding the shirt in their hands....."I'm a very happy guy right now," said Yoni Erlich, 22, a gift shop employee from Tenafly who picked up a jersey on his lunch break. "I feel like I'm still dreaming." (cmelago@nydailynews.com)

I do NOT think I will buy the wife a Brett Favre Jets Jersey for her upcoming birthday....

Thursday, August 07, 2008

A Day at the Fair
Some of you may be so distraught about the events related to Brett Favre (example: the wife) that you may not have notice that I have been hanging out at the County Fair.

Yes, for all you Chicagoans, I have been fair-ified.

Here's my newest friend, Mr. Cow. See that look on his face? He just learned he's what's for dinner tomorrow. Holy cow!

I didn't go for poops and giggles or because I am a big fair fan--I went for work. I'm out recruiting and the best place to find certain people in certain counties of this great State is indeed at the County Fair.
I know, I know--going to the fair is a hard day's work and I know you are all feeling pain for me. Let me clarify--that's not pain...that's my arteries hardening from all the fat I have ingested. My poor, poor cholesterol....

I spent two days at the fair, seated in an un-airconditioned metal barn on an old, broken folding chair in front of an old, crooked table. Talk about sweating. My underwear became one with me in all that heat. Not that I'm complaining. A hot day at the county fair is better than a cool day in an office any day.

Being from "the city," there are some things at the county fair that mystify me.
For one, why do the sheep wear clothes? I've heard people say there are wolves in sheeps clothing, but this is different. Do the sheep know they are wearing pillow cases? Do they care? I'm sure the outfit is designed to keep their wool clean and dry but I'm wondering if 4-H kids just thought it would be fun to dress up Mr. Sheep (or Ms. Sheep, as the case may be). I liked the dressed up sheep so much that I took several pictures of them. I think the sheep in the close up is smiling but you can't really tell.














My second question is: does this pig in this photo know that he is in a building marked "chop shop" and that he is soon to be "the other white meat?"
















By the way, the county fair ALWAYS confirms my choice of vegetarianism. I want to open all the pens and yell RUN! BE FREE! YOU ARE ABOUT TO BE DINNER! I don't know how those 4-H kids do it. They spend all their time raising these animals and then are proud and excited when they win a ribbon because that means their pet is about to become butchered and that is a very good thing. Dear god--run, piggy, run!


My third question is: do you know how many grams of fat are in a funnel cake? I hope not or you won't eat one. (The answer is 44 grams. Woof. That is a LOT of fat. I'm guessing that's fried in beef fat, not trans free fat. And, that's the PLAIN funnel cake, not the topped with something even worse for you.) I love a good, hot, gooey funnel cake but it is not something you should eat by yourself--you should find someone to share it with so you can share the fat AND share the problem of getting powdered sugar all over your shirt. Dr. Dean Ornish does NOT approve of funnel cakes when trying to lower cholesterol. I bet Dr. Ornish never hung out at the fair with the smell of funnel cakes wafting in the breeze.

Of course, why waste your time on a funnel cake if you can be eating a home-made cream puff:

I won BIG points for bringing a cream puff home to the wife. Let me tell you, it is VERY hard to drive and hold a cream puff at the same time. For some reason, the cream puff line wasn't very long today, so it was easier to get the cream puff than to transport the cream puff. I certainly have NOT researched how much fat is in a cream puff but I'm sure it's more than in a funnel cake.

Me? I stuck to ice cream today. Home made ice cream. Yum!

How can you not love fair food? Oooh, fresh corn on the cob--one of my favorites--right off the grill. Yum Yum! There is something delightfully wonderful about the sinful fair food in the world.

The fair is a really big deal in these parts; in fact, I was stunned to learn how many people actually take the week of the county fair off from work--literally the whole week--so they can go to the fair every day.

That's a lot of cream puffs.

The nicest surprise at the fair? The clean bathrooms. I kid you not. There's this lady in there cleaning like there is no tomorrow. She's got this incense burning and she's got lotion and candy and she's shining and wiping everything in sight. She also has this big tip jar right in the middle of the bathroom. Trust me, I gave her a big tip every time, as I was VERY grateful for the clean toilets.

The second biggest surprise: it's a dry event; meaning, no booze. No booze equals no dumb drunks. No dumb drunks equals no one dropping funnel cake on your feet.

I am glad I don't have to go back to the fair tomorrow, as my sinuses are killing me. The fair is a VERY dusty place and I am here to tell you that my sinuses are caked in dust. Even my teeth hurt from all the dust in there. I bet anyone who heard me complaining about my head hurt from it being dusty outside would just scoff and call me a "city slicker." In case you think I'm exaggerating about the dust, come write your name in the dust on the car. (Speaking of which, it is very hard to find your car in the parking lot at the fair. Nothing is marked, there are four zillion cars and they are all dust-colored.)

Good thing I have to be in the office tomorrow: if I went back to the fair, I'd probably try to eat a funnel cake on my own and keel over from cholesterol hell overload while wearing blobs of white powdered sugar all over my shirt and dust falling out of my sinuses. That, or I'd let all the animals run free. Either way, it wouldn't be a good thing. You don't want to be messing with these people's fair.......and you certainly don't want to be messing with their livestock. That would be like Brett Favre playing on a team other than the Packers.....

.....oh, wait! That's IS what he's doing...........

I better go get the wife another cream puff to put her out of her misery......

Sunday, August 03, 2008

Weekend Weeding Warrior....not!

This is a true story of my weekend gardening activities. Not one word of it has been exaggerated, as the wife will attest.

I went out to do some weeding and pruning this weekend as I have neglected my "hour a day" duties in the yard (mainly due to those stinkin' Japanese Beetles). I find weeding and pruning quite relaxing, so I was looking forward to a few minutes in the sun. I get my loppers out and find an unsuspecting tree with a wild branch needing to be pruned. Ready. Aim......Sure enough--I make one snip of a tree branch and literally Japanese Beetles RAIN DOWN on my head. Pour down. It was disgusting. I'm shaking bugs out of my hair and they're buzzing around me and falling down my shirt and getting all over the place. The dogs are watching me do a crazed bug dance. I survive, getting every last beetle out of my hair and out of my bra. I think to myself, "next time, wear a baseball hat." Maybe I should have been thinking, "DUH! Look at the tree leaves before pruning and see if the leaves are infested with those damned beetles."

So much for pruning the trees.

I move on to my "back woods garden," a small stretch of land on the city's property, way in the back yard--my own little tacky weed-o-torium. I've basically got a billion day lillies, some ferns, a plethora of hostas, some Autum Joy Sedum back there--nothing fancy but all mine. I've neglected this garden mainly due to the mosquitoes. Unfortunately, the neighbors behind the area have a standing pool of gross water, which probably is the breeding ground for the main population of mosquitoes in the area. I haven't been able to get back to my little plot of land due to the skeeters. I figured it was hot and sunny and during the day and that the mosquitoes wouldn't be out yet, so I left Beetlemania and went to the backwoods....

....no sooner did I get there, mosquitoes are DIVE BOMBING my very being--buzzing in my ear, landing on my arms, getting all over me. I'm swatting and swearing and ducking and yelling and the dogs are just staring at me, wondering what the hell is now the matter. Here is a photo of Freckles staring out at me, wondering what the fuss is all about. I give up and run for cover, leaving the weeds to fend for themselves.....

I decide to pull weeds growing under the maple tree, as no one and nothing (including us) like the maple tree--no beetles, no mosquitoes, no nothing hanging around there. I bend down and start plucking out the stray strands of grass now popping up threw the mulch, happy as a clam, enjoying myself, humming along....when.....
......PLOP!

SPLAT!


I am not one bit kidding when I say a BIRD SHIT ON ME. Really.

First Japanese Beetles, then misquitoes, then bird shit.

I went in the house.