Conspiracy Theories From the Reality Challenged

Stop Signs

2010-01-08T19:26:00.000-08:00

Ok, my Blogger account has been cranky again and wouldn't let me into my account so apologies once more for taking so long to post.

Today's rant is thanks to the moron in his Daddy's car that ran a stop sign and almost hit my car - with my children and myself in it, in case you're wondering why the pissed off rant - a while back.

“A stop sign is a traffic sign, usually erected at road junctions, that instructs drivers to stop and then to proceed only if the way ahead is clear.” --Wikipedia

stop sign
-noun
a traffic sign requiring a motorist to stop before continuing. --Dictionary.com

If you’re one of these people who speed through stop signs regardless of the possibility of other vehicles or, God forbid, pedestrians - I invite you to speed through the new stop sign I’m going to place right in front of a cliff that plummets 500 feet and ends in a deep river, filled with pirhanna and gaters, just waiting for a nice entrée of dee-dee-dee.

On the road, assume that all other vehicles contain small children, with mothers who are pre-menstrual and carrying baseball bats. Do you REALLY want to endanger our children and piss us off, incurring the wrath that is, without a doubt, the most horrifying and deadly thing you will ever see? No, I didn’t think so.

STOP. Not, “pause,” or “slow down and give the person you almost ran into a dirty look like THEY‘RE the stupid one.” STOP. Like red lights - STOP means STOP - in other words - you just might get plowed into a nice steaming pile of idiot, instead of being the walking, breathing idiot you are now.

So, today’s public service announcement: You know that little pedal to the left of the gas? It’s called a brake pedal. Say it with me - BRAKE PEDAL. Good. I’ll break it down for you (“brake” it down, for all you pun junkies). While pedal on right make car go, “Vroom Vroom,” pedal on left make car go “Erk.” Make car stop. Make smart, responsible drivers not beat you to bloody pulp on side of road for running stop sign and not having insurance to pay for damage your dee-dee-dee has just caused.

One more time - BRAKE PEDAL. USE IT.

Have a nice day :)

It's the end of the world as we know it....

2009-07-20T14:49:00.000-07:00

I'm serious people - I need an intervention, and I need it NOW.

Ok, not really, but I made a horrible discovery this morning, completely by accident.

So I was going through Yahoo! Music, listening to videos in the background just for something different. Started innocently enough right? But then I came across this one song that had a pretty good beat, and I wasn't really paying attention to the lyrics or the voice, and my foot started tapping. I decided I liked the song and wanted to know what it was.

To my horror - brace yourselves, people, and I mean it - it was Britney Spears.

WHAT!?!?! I know, right?

So out of morbid curiosity, I went on Youtube and searched that dreaded name for more videos.

I can't believe I'm saying this, but I totally thought about buying one of her albums. I KNOW RIGHT! The horror! The scandal! The hypocritical irony!

....truth be told, I have Circus going right now...

I'm so embarrassed....

What's the point? I don't know really. But, if the Heavens begin to unravel and the Earth implodes, I take full blame.

Apologies, in advance.

Later. If there is one.

Goodbye, Michael Jackson

2009-07-07T12:45:00.000-07:00

I'm not going to write a long post here about how much of an impact Michael had in my life, how wronged he was, or whatever typical RIP MJ banter is going around out there. We all know that Michael was a superstar, a trendsetter, a head turner and eyebrow raiser - leave the poor man alone already.

All I'm going to say is that I've watched the memorial, I've seen the tribute and I have to say, it's the most amazing thing I've ever seen. Michael Jackson was obviously a much loved man aside from his celebrity, and that speaks volumes as to what kind of person he was.

It's finally set in, and I've never been so saddened by the passing of someone I've never met before. To Michael's family, friends, and children - God bless you.

Michael, goodbye. I hope you can find some peace now.

That's all.

1958 - 2009

I'm getting really bad at this....

2009-07-06T12:44:00.000-07:00

Seriously. When was the last time I posted? Yea, I can't remember either, that's how bad it is.

So I have a question -
Have you ever accidentally tried to buy something that has been recalled?

Yes, of course I'm serious. It's the craziest damn thing I ever saw - the register locked up, alarms sounded, S.W.A.T. came down from the ceiling on those human fishing line thingies, Will Smith and Tommy Lee Jones showed up in their black suits and flashy thing'ed me. All for a 16 oz. box of nonfat dried milk. Generic, at that.

Okay, I made some of that up, but the register did lock up and it was a big stupid deal to get it overridden so I could finish checking out. So what I'm wondering, and just hear me out here:

Why is it still on the shelves?

They can't make money off of it even accidentally, and it just causes a whole mess of trouble for everyone involved. Are they afraid of having an empty spot on a shelf? Or are they worried that the condensed milk and goat's milk are going to join forces and take over dried's territory while it's away, leaving nowhere to put a product that MAYBE 1 in every 250 people even buys in the first place when it's deemed safe again?

Seriously, is it that hard to send someone to pull a few boxes off a shelf?

But then, it IS Walmart, and this IS Southeastern Oklahoma...

*sigh*

That's all for now.

Later : )

Re: FW: FW: FW: FW: FW: Crap

2009-04-15T06:44:00.001-07:00

**This post is closed-captioned for the thinking impaired**

I know, I know. One day I'm here, a month later I'm here again... What can I say? I work with kids, I have two of my own - let's just say my brain isn't exactly running in top form, people.

Still, I apologize.

So I've been getting an insane amount of crap forwards in my inbox. And by inbox, I mean every one in my ridiculously large collection of email accounts, plus my cell phone.
If any of you are confused, let me explain the nature of a Crap Forward.

Number of phone calls you will receive from the average person listed in your address book within 1 week: Zero. Number of Crap Forwards you will receive, repeatedly, from the same people within that same week: 148.

That's right - instead of a friendly "Hello, how are ya," you'll get, "I heard they're going to shoot all the retards, run little buddy, HAHA."

Yea, love you too guys.

Aside from lame retard/whore/asshole/lousy friend forwards, are the second most annoying of this species: the "Lost Child Alert." Okay, I know - if they're real, then by all means tell everyone you know. BUT - and I'm going to type this in all caps so it's easy to read (and yes, I AM yelling): 99% OF THE LOST CHILD ALERTS ARE TOTAL BULLSHIT. SAME AS THE "LITTLE STEPHANIE NEEDS A KIDNEY AND AOL WILL DONATE 5 CENTS FOR EVERY TIME THIS MESSAGE IS FORWARDED." SERIOUSLY, HOW THE HELL IS AOL GOING TO KNOW HOW MANY TIMES YOU FORWARDED THAT MESSAGE? WHO GIVES A SHIT? LITTLE STEPHANIE IS SITTING AT HOME EATING SNICKER DOODLES AND LAUGHING HER ASS OFF BECAUSE THE WORLD IS INHABITED BY MORONS.

Then there's the "bad luck chain letter" ones. Oh I know, I've written about this one before, and sent satirical emails and texts back to everyone who's sent me these, but no one seems to have gotten the hint. Caps lock goes back on.

FIRST OF ALL - THANKS FOR SHARING YOUR BAD LUCK WITH ME ASSHOLE, YOU KNOW I DON'T FORWARD CHAIN MAIL AND YET YOU SEND ME EVERY "SEND THIS TO TEN PEOPLE WITHIN 5 MINUTES OR EVERYONE IN YOUR IMMEDIATE FAMILY WILL DIE OF SPACE HERPES" MESSAGE.

I'M BLAMING YOU FOR THE LAST 26 YEARS OF MY LIFE.

SECONDLY - THERE ARE MURDEROUS PSYCHOPATHS EVERYWHERE. IF YOU'RE GOING TO FORWARD A MESSAGE BECAUSE YOU'RE AFRAID THEY'RE TRACKING YOUR EMAIL OR PHONE AND WILL SCALP/RAPE/MAIM/DISMEMBER YOU IF YOU DON'T SEND IT - YOU KNOW WHAT? NOT WORTH IT. DO YOU STILL STAND IN THE BATHROOM IN THE DARK AND CHANT "BLOODY MARY?" YEESH. ALL I CAN SAY IS, IF A MENTAL INSTITUTION ESCAPEE SHOWS UP AT MY DOOR WITH A DRIPPING HOOK FOR A HAND, I'M SENDING HIM TO YOUR HOUSE.

WHATEVER YOU DO, DON'T ACCEPT A JOB IN CONGRESS.

THIRD - IF YOU LOVE ME SO MUCH, QUIT SENDING ME GUARDIAN ANGELS (TAGGED ALONG WITH "SEND THIS OR BAD THINGS WILL HAPPEN"), VIRTUAL HUGS, SAPPY POEMS, BLAH, BLAH, BLAH - PICK UP THE DAMNED PHONE AND DIAL MY NUMBER. OR, TEXT A SIMPLE "Thinking of you," OR "Love ya."

THERE, WAS THAT SO HARD?

For anyone who's curious, I think I've forwarded MAYBE 5 messages my whole life. Why? Because logic dictates that even if it is important, there's only about 6 degrees of separation between all of us - which means, that even if I don't forward that message to everyone I know, everyone I know will get that message from at least 3 other people in their address books. This, people, is what you call REDUNDANCY. There's no point in wasting time, energy, brain cells, or anything else forwarding that message when it's completely clear that it will get there on its own.

I'd also like to point out that according to all my inbox clutter I've racked up about 3,897,456,215 years of bad luck. That's an estimate, but I'm sure it's close. What, like you're going to know if it is or not? Yea, go ask AOL or a random psychopath.

At any rate, I'm obviously still alive, I'm not dying from any random illness, all my body parts are in tact and functional, and the only psychopath that shows up at my door is the old guy that lives down the street who sometimes forgets his pants and where he lives.

So I'm begging you - please, please, please, PLEASE, think before you hit enter. My sanity and the average IQ of Americans depends on it.

Forward this to no one - I know where most of you live.

- I'm serious.

Until next time....

Freedom of Speech

2009-03-28T22:34:00.000-07:00

I'm a firm believer in the freedom of speech - as long as a person actually has something to say.

Who has the right to determine whether something someone says is really valid or not? Well, one could say that every opinion is valid and that everyone has a right to agree or disagree with said opinion.

Someone else could say that some people are just idiotic and should therefore be struck mute by God Himself, just so that they can't taint the world with their drivel and no one can be accused of violating their 1st Amendment rights by telling them to shut the [profane] up.

Alas, God has not yet heard my pleas on this one... That, or He thinks I'm an idiot and has been debating on whether or not to render ME mute and unable to use my fingers to operate a keyboard.

*shrug*

Anyway, I had to stop and think about the most commonly heard things that should not, under any circumstances, fall under 1st Amendment rights. For instance, those redundant and potentially disgusting things that people blurt out for no reason at all, except maybe just to get attention:

"My underwear are stuck up my butt" or any variation of such. No one cares about the state of your underwear unless they're trying to get in them - which I assure you is NOT as many as you may think - and will probably dwindle a whole lot further after THAT statement. The correct thing to do here is to politely excuse yourself, go to the bathroom, and adjust said underwear.
"I'm drunk." Again, unless they're trying to get in your pants, no one cares. Besides, it's probably pretty obvious to everyone in the place once you've displaced half your clothes and done the rump shaker on a table to a poorly sung karaoke version of "Cherry Pie."
Anything that has to do with your need to use the facilities. This one explains itself.

Then there are the things that come out in the middle of a conversation that make absolutely no sens and make the people you're talking to, as well as everyone within hearing range, wonder if you even realize you're still talking:

You can't put a porcupine in a barn and burn it and expect to get lime JELL-O. Wait. That was me... Next.
If it hadn't been for my horse, I never would have graduated college. I heard this one from a comedian (George Carlin I think, please feel free to correct me if I'm wrong), ironically, while I was flipping through cable stations. I didn't catch the rest of his joke until later, when he said that it's statements like this that plant themselves deep into your brain and make people have aneurysms later in life. Makes sense to me.

And yes, I know - I've written a few of these "Things that will kill our conversation" posts before - but damn it, how many times do I and people like me have to rant and rave about stupidity before someone wakes up and realizes that we just might be talking about them? I know they can read, they all manage to get through those scrolling Star Wars intros... (KIDDING! Don't sue me, George Lucas or hordes of obsessed fans!)

*sigh*

I'm going to pay for this one, I just know it.

Maybe my next post should be about knowing when to shut up...

I'm Baaack...

2009-03-15T11:04:00.000-07:00

So I had to get a whole new computer to make it work, but I got my Blogger back... for now, anyway.

Where to start... My divorce got finalized *happy dance* but that means I have to officially change the names on all my accounts. Which wouldn't be a problem, except that I have about a zillion accounts and can't even remember half of them. Yay me. But, once I get this post up, Conspiracy theories will no longer be at the web address http://www.sseigleconspiracies.blogspot.com/, it will be http://www.ctrcmain.blogpot.com/. I have no idea how I'm going to remember every search engine I ever entered this stupid thing into to change everything, but hey - I get rid of the name that is the bane of my existence, and hopefully it will be a little easier to remember.

I started working, at a Head Start here in town ( YIKES! She works with kids, what IS the world coming to???), but no worries - that's why I have blogs like this. I vent all my retarded, angry gibberish here so I don't unwittingly unleash it on an unsuspecting world in person. It's a beautiful thing, really.

That's about all for now, let's hope Blogger can stay functional this time...

Testing...

2009-01-21T05:44:00.000-08:00

Okay, either my Blogger or my computer is FUBARed, so I don't know if this will post properly or not...

I've been unable to access my Blogger account for a while - this is the closest I've gotten so far - so I apologize for the lack of posts. I'm trying to get this straightened out, so I'm hoping to get Conspiracy Theories back up soon.

Why I Hate Everything About Madonna

2008-10-12T17:21:00.000-07:00

Ok, I don't REALLY hate Madonna. I think she's a very talented, innovative attention whore. She's been a strong force in the music industry since before I was born, I get it - I respect her as a musician; I loathe her as an icon.

It all started my senior year in high school, when I and my fellow pageant contestants were subjected to months of brainwashing tactics aimed at learning ridiculously repetitive moves for our opening number - you guessed it - Vogue.

*Step, Step, turn, step, step, fan your butt like you just farted and don't want anyone to smell it, step, step, turn* (no joke)

I still can't hear that song without cringing and dying a little inside.

Then there's the whole thing of the former Ms. Cone Boobs (yea, like being bra less in an air conditioned place with half naked backup dancers running around isn't dangerous enough) finding religion. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for someone finding faith, but - Madonna + Koballa = Huh? Yea, I don't know.

The final straw however was the widely publicized gag-inducing tongue swap with Britney. WHAT THE HELL? Come on Madonna, really - if you were any more desperate to use Brit for media coverage, you'd be Kevin Federline.

Ugh, and that video with Justin Timberlake (I can't even remember what it was, I tried that hard to block it completely from my memory) - nevermind, I don't even want to think about it.

I have to go take a shower now, I feel icky.

Derailed Diet Excuses That Just Don't Work

2008-10-03T19:07:00.000-07:00

This had to pop up sooner or later, what with my making fun of whiny heavy people who are only heavy through their own lack of will power (and I can say that, as I've had to jump back on the diet bandwagon myself because of some poor diet choices - damn you, Hershey's Kisses in 5 billion flavors).

So, I've compiled a list of all the derailed diet excuses that I can and will laugh at if I hear you try to use them:

MY CLOTHES ARE SHRINKING. I'll admit, I've (half jokingly) used this one myself before - but - WHAT? Unless you stumbled across some miracle fabric in the "Beyond" section of Bed, Bath & Beyond - that's your ass growing - not your pants shrinking. Step away from the cheesecake.

I HAVE KIDS. So? So does most of the rest of the world population. If you're feeding your kids lard-slathered pastas and feel you need to sneak bites and finish their plates "so it doesn't go to waste," consult a family dietitian - NOW - or you can count on being recruited for the "families" season of The Biggest Loser a few years down the road.

I DON'T HAVE TIME TO WORK OUT. Sure, you have a job, kids, etc. - but if you can fit in an hour to bake a german chocolate cake, read the latest diva train wreck gossip, or jump in the car for a Big Mac, you have time to work out. Here's a simple 5 step workout anyone can do from the comfort of their own home:

Step 1: Stand up.

Step 2. Walk away from the tv/computer.

Step 3: Grab a trash bag.

Step 4: Open your refrigerator & cabinets.

Step 5: Put anything that looks like it might taste good in the bag; then tie the bag shut.

Congratulations, you've just burned thousands of calories before you even ingested them!

Tip: Make sure the bag makes it to the curb without being reopened or molested. It will be hard - you might even cry - but your pant seams will thank you later.

I HATE TO COUNT CALORIES. Yea, unless your name is Susan Powter or Jenny Craig, that's a big *DUH*. You don't have to count calories, but if you're in a buffet line and the other customers are looking at you all bulgy-eyed, there's a good chance you just might be over-doing it.

If you're reading this, you obviously have internet - so if you're at home and find yourself being seduced by the thought of twinkies and fried chicken, here are some helpful words you can Google beforehand to curb those thoughts:

Nude obese photos. 'Nuff said.
Richard Simmons. Yea, this is the guy you might have to consult to shed those twinkie deposits on your thighs and bum. Be afraid - be VERY afraid.
George W. bikini pics. Ugh, I just threw up in my mouth a little.
YouTube liposuction. That's what the cottage cheese looks like on the INSIDE. Not pretty.
Ali McBeal. I know, sickeningly anorexic looking waif - but looking at Ali would make even Kate Moss feel like Shamu and throw away her fork.
YouTube Salami packaging process. I saw this on the Discovery channel - haven't touched ANY deli meat since. /true story

I'VE TRIED EVERY DIET OUT THERE, NONE OF THEM WORK. Yea, that's because fad diets DON'T work, especially if you're a lazy dieter like most people out there. Drinking 3 Slim Fasts a day won't do you any good if you're still eating steak and potatos with OR in between them. Diet pills don't erase the calories you rack up stalking the donut shop, and pre-packaged diet meals and snack packs are pre-packaged for a reason - YOU'RE ONLY SUPPOSED TO EAT ONE AT A TIME.

That's my rant for the day, happy dieting to all.

Until next time...

If You Give a Mouse a Cookie...

2008-10-01T11:54:00.000-07:00

He'll eat it. That simple. He'll eat it, and poop it out in your pantry on top of something not well sealed a few hours later.

Both of my children have a Breakthrough to Literacy program going in each of their schools - which is great, don't get me wrong - but I've read the Cat in the Hat so many times this last week that in real life conversations I'm beginning to sound like I'm channeling Dr. Seuss.

"You should not be in here when your mother is not, quit trying to flush your shoe down the pot!"

I'm not proud of that one, but I did say it. Then there's the second bedtime favorite, called "Peekaboo, I love you!" It's a cute little story about a little bug-boy that gets a new kitten and hugs it too tight, then has to chase it down and find it in the house. By the time he finds it, he's so worn out from looking for it that he lays down with it for a nap (that's my favorite part).

Point is, I've been feeding my brain so many cutesy prose kids books that my ability to hold an adult conversation has almost completely gone out the window. Again.

This is a total digression, but I mentioned Stephen King in the last post - I've got Kingdom Hospital on my television at the moment and there's an injured man laying in a hospital bed being threatened by an anteater. It's not a possessed transsexual broomstick - but I rest my case, at any rate.

What would I do with fame like that, where when you have a lazy day you can just spin out nonsensical bs and people will read it anyway, just because it has your name on it?

.....I'd start a blog.

Until next time...

Life is a Lemon and I Want My Money Back

2008-09-29T11:21:00.001-07:00

Ah, Meatloaf.

You thought this was going to be some whiny emo post, didn't you? From me? Riiiight...

Who doesn't love Meatloaf? That is, anyone who's heard of him and doesn't think he's the gloppy red-sauced stuff they serve at nursing homes to people who've forgotten to put their pants on that morning.

Yipe.

It still amazes me, even at 26, how the next generation of kids think that Knockin' on Heaven's Door was a breakthrough Guns N' Roses creation (more recently an Avril Lavigne attempt at something palatable, for those too young to even know who Guns N' Roses is), Whip It was written by Disney, and Gene Simmons is that annoyingly gay Sweatin' to the Oldies dude.

Don't even get me started on Kid Bop. (I know, I know, but seriously - don't.) Or how many blatant Bob Dylan rip-offs there are running around there (besides Knockin' on Heaven's Door).

There's a new Metallica album out, Death Magnetic - and I have to place a disclaimer before I state my opinion of the one song I've heard off this thing (the Unforgiven III) - I love Metallica. L - O - V - E. With a capital *MUAH*.

.... but my God guys, are you even trying anymore? Metallica is to metal what Stephen King is to horror. King could write a crap novel in 10 seconds about a possessed transsexual broomstick that terrorizes people by rolling around goosing them in the bums, and still hit #1 on the bestseller list in a week - just like Metallica spun out this piece of crap, and will probably sell millions from the name alone. Does that make them any good? No.

James, Kirk, Lars, Robert - grow your hair back - it's been downhill ever since you lopped it off. Pleeeeaaase.... Just give it a try, what do ya say?

Until next time....

Here's a Bunny With a Pancake on its Head

2008-09-25T18:27:00.000-07:00

Yup, it's another round of deep thoughts.

Is it me, or are kids bigger than they used to be? Maybe the government should regulate the use of Miracle Grow on fruit and vegetable crops.

Does the Disney Channel have a secret laboratory somewhere where they create test-tube babies that are freakishly attractive, talented, bilingual, and marketable by the thousands?

Is George W.'s head lumpy from all those brain farts?

What's the deal with OLEO? Why the hell would someone actually market a product with a warning on the package containing the words "may cause anal leakage"? And who actually buys those products???

Speaking of anal leakage - if a gay man could fly, would his bum whistle?

Can you really see Russia from Alaska?

What were the Burger King ad execs smoking when they came up with the Burger King mascot?

Is it frightening that I'm 26 years old and enjoy watching Hannah Montana? Isn't it even weirder that I just posted that?

*shrug*

That's all for now.

Quick, Hide the Google AdSense, Part 2

2008-09-21T07:37:00.000-07:00

Where was I? Ah yes, porn.

Is there a factory somewhere deep in Arkansas that produces peroxide blond women with G-cup silicon boobs and too much lip liner, with their brains lobotomized so all they can say is "Ooooh," "Yeah," and, "Yes Mr. Johnson, I love pie."?

Yea, and plot lines. WHAT THE HELL? Did these people have to graduate from soap opera acting school before they were allowed to star in porn? Do they have one of Jerry's Kids back there writing scripts? It's PORN, people - plot lines in a porn is about as useful as a brain is to George W. Sure, it fills space - but does it really contribute to anything?

"Oh my, is there a fire?"
"Yes, there's a fire - it's in my pants."
Bow-chicka-wow-WHAT?

That's not sexy - it's retarded. If I were busty bimbo #72, I'd be too busy laughing to let Stripping Firefighter Guy into my house, let alone do things with him that might actually - for the love of God, no - produce offspring.

Forget watching this stuff for anything sexual - I want to see the bloopers. I want to see busty bimbo #72 get overzealous trying to put out the fire in Stripping Firefighter Guy's pants and get a black eye. Maybe even knock out a tooth. Or, "Mister Firefighter, your hose is SO bi - " *FART!* ...and you see footage of Iwogima getting nuked.

Now THAT'S entertainment.

...and that is also why I will never be allowed to be involved in any process of editing porn. Blue balls would abound - it would be total chaos.

Until next time...

Quick, Hide the Google AdSense, Part 1

2008-09-20T08:30:00.000-07:00

Anyone who's ever written online content knows that keywords are crucial. They help your content get listed in search engines, which brings traffic to your site. The more you use the same keyword in your post, the higher your ranking will be when someone googles that word.

Which brings me to my next subject - sex sells.

It's true! Mention the word "boobies" in one post and *BLAM!* - instant page views.

Granted, I think I may have disappointed a few people with that one, what with derailing their solo spank session and all - my bad.

....but - it made me think. Shaddup. Messing with people is a favorite hobby of mine, so let's go fishin'. *evil grin*

I learned first about sex from a series of uncomfortable conversations with my parents. For my own therapy's sake, I won't go into details. It's an unwritten rule of mental stability - parents and sex should never so much as be mentioned in the same sentence, let alone parents be allowed to mention sex - ever, under any circumstances - to their children.

Especially if any part of the conversation contains the phrase, "Your mother can be quite the wildcat."

@#$&%$$!!!??? OVERLOAD! OVERLOAD! GAG REFLEX ENGAGED, BRAIN TO SELF DESTRUCT IN T-MINUS 10 SECONDS......

This is the kind of thing that causes aneurysms later in life. You can try to suppress it, but it takes root somewhere in your brain and years later, when you least expect it -

*shudder*

Moving on.

I had Sex Ed in the 4th grade, and the only thing I can remember from that class was thinking,"How in the world can such an unattractive woman know so much about sex?"

XXX stores frighten me. All those battery-operated, smelly, vibrating things. So does porn. But that's a subject for the next post, since I've filled this one with traumatic anticdotes that will haunt me forever.

Yea, I'm not going to sleep tonight.

...to be continued....

...and I Shall Call Him George

2008-09-19T20:53:00.000-07:00

I've gone another week without posting - I know, I know, shame on me. I'm running out of excuses, so I'll just leave you with this:

...Congratulations, you've just been mooned.

And there, I have accomplished two tasks at once - I've created content for a blog, and I've incorporated pictures into my blog. I've also made you endure one of the lamest attempt-at-a-joke puns ever known to man - but isn't that part of my job?

I bet you're now wondering what the hell the title of this post means. Yea - I don't know either. I know some of you suspect that I keep random retarded lines in a hat somewhere for inspiration on the days I have nothing to ramble about. For the record, I don't. I'm just insane.

Until next time...

Conspiracy Theory #48 - Hereditary Insanity, part deux

2008-09-14T18:05:00.000-07:00

Anyone who knows me personally and has ever met my parents knows that my Mother is a packrat and my Dad was a neat freak. You could tell immediately which corner of each room was my Dad's, because amongst the piles of books, paperwork, chip bags, and junk mail, would be a small, spotless space, where "there was a place for everything, and everything was in its place."

What does that mean for me?

I'm a packrat with OCD.

I keep everything, but I have an insanely large file cabinet (ok, eBay box, at the moment), full of bills, receipts, junk mail, and things my children bring home from school. I have stacks of books everywhere, but they're all in alphabetical order by size - and God help you if you put a cd or dvd back in its case without the title being straight and at the top. All dvd's are also in alphabetical order, by genre.

If you attempt to put my canned or boxed groceries away for me, I will hurt you - I have a system, dammit, and that system is not to be tampered with. I'd explain what the system is, but you wouldn't understand.

I keep shoe boxes. Why? I have no idea. But I do know that if I threw them away, I would need them for something. They're in neat stacks of 3 in my bedroom closet underneath my clothes, which are arranged by sleeve length, material, and color - all facing the same way on the hangers.

My children can dump toys all over the floor and I can stand it long enough for them to come home from school to clean it up - but if there's a B dvd in the M section, I will twitch until it's fixed. (Ok, not really, but it drives me crazy, at any rate)

What does all this mean for my girls? I have no idea, but considering that their Dad is a typical male who is okay with throwing anything just about anywhere, it doesn't look good. Being that there are two of them, it's possible that one will be a neat freak and the other will be the packrat.

Let's just hope they won't have to room together for long.

Birthday Bliss

2008-09-11T20:07:00.000-07:00

First, my apologies for not posting more lately, but my house has been overrun with midgets and a satellite has intercepted my brain waves, making it painfully impossible to come up with anything original.

Yes, I'm reaching - sorry for that. Next.

Today's my birthday (thank you, thank you, hold your applause), and I'm now officially one year past a quarter of a century old.

Think it's time to start counting back yet? Or be 26 until I'm 80, riddled with Alzheimer's, and don't really give a shit if anyone knows how old I am (that is, if I an remember how old I am, what my name is, or if I put pants on that morning), as long as they're willing to cut up my nursing home meatloaf for me?

Ah, Alzheimer's. Oh come on - you know me, you can't say you really didn't see that one coming.

It's a horrible disease, but for the person who has it, it might actually be kind of cool.

Hear me out before you flag this blog, geez...

Every day is a brand new day.
When you see someone, it's like meeting them for the first time - and you can say something really, really tacky, and not have to feel bad about it later.
You can grab that hot mail person's bum and not get slapped in the face - every day.
You can forget your pants and no one can say a thing about it.
You can flip off little kids and get away with it, as long as you're smiling while you do it.
Even if you have to eat nursing home meatloaf every day for the rest of your life, you'll never get tired of it because you won't remember that you've had it every day for the last 3 years.
You can leave your house wearing nothing but a raincoat, a shower cap, a flip flop and a snow shoe, and just like the sans-pants thing - no one can say a word.
There's no endless guilt trip when you forget your anniversary or your wife's birthday.
If you get bored of a conversation you can just let your eyes wander into space and whoever is talking to you will leave you alone - no questions asked.
On the same note, you could interrupt them with,"Oh my, it's so nice to have company. My name is (insert name), what's your's?" or even just "Where the hell am I, who the hell are you, and where the hell are my pants?"

So, sick and demented as it may be, there are just a few of the things that might be great about memory loss. Of course, you wouldn't remember those experiences to be able to appreciate them... But the thought is a bit fun.

Until next time...

Deep Thoughts

2008-09-09T06:58:00.000-07:00

That’s right folks, it’s out with the mindless trash talking and in with this round of memorable quotes & conversations you really didn’t want to walk in on the middle of - Reality Challenged style.

**Writer cannot be held accountable for sudden bouts of nausea or sinus cavity damage from spewing carbonated beverages through your nose.

Memorable Quotes:
“Seriously - he could be in a dead sleep and I’d lay down in bed and he’d roll over and start humping my leg - that’s why I wouldn’t let the kids sleep between us.” -LM

“Momma, are squids those big pointy things with testicles?”
“No honey, that’s called a man.” -HL & NS

“She pays in pu**y - not to be confused with pesos.” -CC

“Don’t spew your coffee out your nose yet, let me get my camera first!” -LM

Conversations you really didn’t want to walk in on the middle of:
“…she sharted on herself, so she like yanks me behind her and tells me to stay right there, and I was on poop patrol and I was like, ‘It’s ok Mom, I got ya covered.’” *sings Mission Impossible theme* “I am the poop detective.” -JC

“…ain’t nothing’ comin’ near my face if it smells like pee - I’ll take a Q-tip to that phucker if I have to.” -LM

“…hold on, I got my mouth full of camel right now.” -SH

“…he just rolls it up, and it actually stays there.” - SC

I know, I know - it’s not the most impressive list this time, but I’ve been busy doing damage control and derailing imbeciles the last couple of months, so my time has been pretty much monopolized by that and my memory capacity for the redundant was pretty well filled up.

...and yes, it's another lazy day....

Conspiracy Theory #982 - Useless Movie Quotes

2008-09-05T07:39:00.000-07:00

I don't know about you, but I can't remember half of what I learned in history class. I can't remember the passages from Romeo and Juliet, Ceasar, or Beowulf that we were forced to memorize in highschool. And I have no idea what our guest speakers were blabbing about at graduation.

I can, however, remember in great detail every movie quote that ever made me giggle. AND, I can annoy any unfortunate individual in my presence with them on cue.

You see this one coming already, don't you?

Don't sit there and pretend you don't do it too. Seriously, just who are you trying to fool?

Yes, it's another list. So sue me.

"I do have a test today. that wasn't bullshit. It's on European socialism. I mean, really, what's the point? I'm not European. I don't plan on being European. So who cares if they're socialists? They could be fascist anarchists. It still doesn't change the fact that I don't own a car. Not that I condone fascism, or any -ism for that matter. -Ism's in my opinion are not good. A person should not believe in an -ism, he should believe in himself. I quote John Lennon, "I don't believe in The Beatles, I just believe in me." Good point there. After all, he was the walrus. I could be the walrus. I'd still have to bum rides off people."

--- Ferris Beuller

....Hmm, I don't think he was bitter about not getting a car, do you?

"Men, you are about to embark on a great crusade to stamp-out runaway decency in the west. Now, you will only be risking your lives, whilst I will be risking an almost certain Academy Award nomination for Best Supporting Actor."

--- Hedley Lamar, Blazing Saddles

"I ran out of gas. I had a flat tire. I didn't have enough money for cab fare. My tux didn't come back from the cleaners. An old friend came in from out of town. Someone stole my car. There was an earthquake! A terrible flood! Locusts! It wasn't my fault, I swear to god!"

--- Jake Blues, the Blues Brothers

"DOG POO??? THAT'S AWESOME!"

--- Bubble Boy

Richard Vernon: False alarms are really funny, aren't they. What if your home, what if your family . . . what if your dope was on fire?
John Bender: Impossible, sir. It's in Johnson's underwear.

--- the Breakfast Club

"When you think of garbage, think of Akeem."

--- Prince Akeem, Coming to America

Buttercup: We'll never survive.
Westley: Nonsense, you're only saying that because no one ever has.

--- the Princess Bride

"We're in the middle of bumfudged nowhere and 'you shore do got a purdy mouth'."

--- Tom, Without a Paddle

"...so not only does he give us directions - my man drew us a MAP."

--- Keitz, Bulletproof

"Human thought is so primitive, it's looked upon as an infectious disease in some of the better galaxies. That kind of makes you proud, doesn't it?"

--- K, Men in Black

In case you were wondering, yes I am having a lazy day today - what of it? :)

Until next time...

Conspiracy Theory #331- "Poetic Liberties"

2008-09-04T17:34:00.001-07:00

In the world of fiction, generally a writer will create alter egos for themselves and do little more than change the names of their friends in their stories, and all are based (though sometimes very loosely) on actual events.

That disclaimer you see in front of movies and television shows that says all characters and situations are complete works of fiction and any similarities to real life people or events are merely coincidental - IT'S A LIE.

Don't believe me? Allow me to provide you with examples.

***All content herein is merely a reflection of insanity deep within the mind of the writer. Any statement that proves to be fact in the future cannot be held against said writer. But I will say I told you so.***

1. I agree with Dave Chapelle's theory about the Count on Sesame Street. Clearly someone had an uncle who was a pimp in the 70's - who else would wear a garish purple suit and rejoice over counting so much? The cape confuses me a little, unless said person's pimp uncle was also a cokehead and thought he could fly...

2. Mr. Clean. I'll just say someone had a crush on Ving Rhames.

3. The Wayans brothers in Hot Chicks. Hmmm, Dennis Rodman, anyone? Ok, minus the basketball. And the fact that the Wayans brothers are undercover agents in the movie and Dennis Rodman could never pull off anything undercover, considering he couldn't even pull off being in the closet.

Yipe.

Which brings me to another random thought - Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus - and Dennis Rodman is from Uranus.

Yea, moving on.

4. Ozzy Osbourne in Little Nicky. Er, Ozzy Osbourne. Ok I just had to mention Ozzy because he's awesome. Even when Sharon tries to desecrate his concerts with bubbles. "I'm the phucking Prince of Dahkness Sharon, and you want me to put BUBBLES in my CONCERT???"

Ahaha, good stuff.

5. Karen in Mean Girls. Sure, she was pretty, but dumb as a rock and so proud of herself for her ability to put her whole fist in her mouth. Shave her head and put an umbrella in her hand and she's Britney Spears. Next.

6. The Pillsbury Dough Boy. Marlon Brando? "I'll give you an offer you can't refuse.... You gonna eat that?"

7. Johnny Depp in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. I'm not sure who this character was modeled after (it's definitely a far cry from Gene Wilder's lovable character in the original), but it's just beyond creepy. He's like the 2nd cousin at family reunions that everyone avoids and hides their children from.

Johnny Depp dropped about 100 points on the hotness meter for women around the globe thanks to this character. Good job, Tim Burton.

That's all for now, but you can bet this one will be popping up again.

Until next time....

ConspiracyTheory #769 - Ninja Readers

2008-09-02T19:12:00.000-07:00

Ok, I've been paying close attention to my page views the last few weeks - and my page views are jumping, but I'm getting no comments.

Not even anonymous. Not even hate filled, misspelled pre-menstrual rants.

I began to wonder why no one was compelled to respond to my mindless posts anymore.

I know what you're thinking, "Oh God, not another list - PLEASE."

Yoink.

I've thought long and hard about this folks, and since I spend so much time mulling over it, I felt obligated to share with all of you.

Once again, if you hated it that much, you wouldn't still be here, now would you?

Theories as to why no one comments on my posts anymore:

Nobody loves me. I'm not Emo, and I'm just too darn likable. Scratch that one.

Everyone in the world has lost Internet access. Well, I live in BFE and I still have mine, plus online porn is still going strong, so that can't be it. No, I will not add a porn section to this blog. Perverts. You know who you are.

All my readers have found better things to do with their time. Ha ha, that's funny. Next.

I use too many big words and there are no illustrations to help along. Okay, except in reference to a couple of people, I'm just kidding on that one. Besides, do you REALLY want to see pictures pertaining to stupid people, Greenpeace advocates, and doggy potty training? Didn't think so. The bubble wrap could be fun, though - I'll have to work on that one.

My posts make no sense and my readers are too dumbfounded by the end of them to have anything to say. I'm not going to lie people, this is probably the most plausible of all of them.

My final theory, far-fetched as it may be:

I don't have a mascot. Seriously, if this is the reason, you the readers and I the writer will have some serious issues. Don't make me bring in Zed.

You see what you've done here? You've made me resort to blackmail. Leave comments or I will bring in the muse.

Be afraid, be very afraid.

Lol, I can't WAIT to see the Google ads that pop up for this one....

Conspiracy Theory #eleventy-seven - Evil Thoughts

2008-08-30T23:28:00.000-07:00

There comes a time in even the nicest person's life where someone pisses you off to the point where you spend ridiculous amounts of hours plotting revenge.

Myself, I have wonderful mental images that will pop up even when I'm talking to a person that annoys me. Sometimes they come at random times completely unannounced, and I float off into my happy place at very unfortunate times.

This is why I am not allowed to operate heavy machinery.

So, here are the top five diabolical scenarios that have popped into my head about people.

1. Driving off a cliff into a lake full of alligators. And pirhanna. And eels.

Think about it. More than likely they'll survive the crash. They'll crawl out of the car, thinking they're swimming to safety, when - *ZAP!*

*ZAP ZAP!*
*ZAP!*

Then the pirhanna - *nibble nibble nibble nibble nibble*

Then comes the alligator - *CRUNCH!*

*ZAP!*

*giggle*

2. The monster wedgie.

This could happen any number of ways. My favorite is a crane hook coming from a construction site while said irritating person in walking nonchalantly down the street. Perhaps they're whistling a nice little tune, thinking about little fairies and sunflowers.

*beep beep beep*
*hook*
*yank*
*AHHHH!*

*giggle*

3. Bob Saget/Full House marathons.

Sure, some people like the show. And it's ok, in small doses. But think about being tied to a chair for days on end with your eyes toothpicked open and your head secured to look only at a television screen showing nothing but that irritatingly syrupy sweet 80's hit show - commercial free.

*How wude!*
*you got it dude!*
*I love you Uncle Jesse!*
*NOOOOOOO*

*giggle*

4. Tom Jones.

Along the lines of that last one, I'm sure that there are people who love Tom Jones in all his innuendo laced disco glory. Do you know any of them? Yea, me either.

Picture the last one with the chair, without the toothpicks, and add very heavy headphones and a cd player stuck on repeat with no shut off button and no volume control.

*It's not unusual...*
*squirm*
*What's new pussy cat...*
*flinch*
*WHOA OOH WHOAH OOH WHOA OH OH*
*piercing scream*

*giggle*

5. Perfect Paranoia is perfect awareness.

I'm sure you have no clue as to the revenge plot behind this one - I'd be more than happy to explain.

First I would find a way to implant a tiny microphone into the collar of every shirt, jacket, and robe they owned. Maybe even going so far as to superglue one behind their ear while they slept.

Getting an idea here?

I'd whisper insane little nothings in their ear at all hours of the day and night, until they go so insane they subject themselves to Tom Jones and Full House marathons.

Whatcha doin?

"Who was that?"

This is your conscience.

"What the - "

If you build it, they will come.

"If I build what?"

Taste the rainbow.

*smacks themselves in the head a couple times* "What?"

Take me to your leader.

"Is this some kinda trick? Dude, this isn't funny."

So you like to see homos naked dude, that's cool, whatever.

"WTF??"

What's new pussycat? Whoa ooh whao oohwhoa oh...

"AAHHHHHH!"

I could go on for days, but I'll leave it at that.

So there you have it, number eleventy-seven. The sad thing about my being able to blog is that it opens the world up to the frightening way mind mind works.

What's even scarier - that ain't the half of it.

Until next time...

Hooray for Boobies

2008-08-27T09:00:00.000-07:00

Here's a fun fact: Aside from Oxygen, Silicon is the second most abundant element on Earth. 97% of it is in L.A. 38% of that is under Pam Anderson's shirt.

If I had a nickle for every time one of my guy friend told me they'd never leave the house if they had boobs - well, I'd have a ridiculously large piggy bank.

I don't get it. A good friend of mine nailed it right on the head when she said, "Seriously, boobs and butt are nothing more than selective fat placement."

...to which one of our male friends replied, "HOORAY SELECTIVE FAT PLACEMENT! WOO!" Accompanied by a strange little happy-dance hoe down.

You know why old women's boobs drag the ground as they get older? It's because the fat on their chest breaks down their backs and they can't stand upright. I'm serious - and it's worse the bigger they are. When I was in high school they didn't make bras any bigger than D's (and you were lucky to find those), so I had to have mine special ordered from NASA. When that got too expensive, I opened an account with Omar the Tent maker.

Let me tell you, if a bra strap breaks for an A cup, no one really notices - but if a DD comes loose - they have to evacuate 3 counties.

Think about that the next time you eyeball a big-breasted woman - one wrong move and *SNAP* - Death by Boobies.

Oh, I know what you're thinking guys - "Oh, but what a way to go!"

*rolls eyes*

...and your tombstone shall read: Thanks for the mammeries.

It's a 2 for 1 !!

2008-08-25T16:18:00.000-07:00

I know exactly what you're thinking - "Wtf... why didn't I think of that?"

...I wonder if he also dressed up like a construction worker...or an Indian... or Elvis?

I bet editors of the National Enquirer are kicking themselves in the butt right about now...

Talking in Your Sleep

2008-08-24T11:56:00.000-07:00

I remember my Dad telling me once when I was a kid that he held an entire conversation with me while I was asleep - about molecular physics and jelly sandwiches.

*shrug*

So, while I was thinking about the most redundant subject possible to blog about, I decided I'd share with you a few of the things I heard and seen people do in their sleep.

...scary, isn't it?

We'll start with the anonymous Dr. Phil, who has a bad habit of starting a completely intelligent sentence while awake and falling asleep, still talking, and integrating a true story with movie scenes, random jokes, and song lyrics. This isn't a direct quote - because what he actually said was too long winded and random to remember exactly - it's just to give you an idea.

"...so then little Johnny stood up in class and was like, 'You want the truth? You can't handle the truth!' and Greenpeace looked at me and was like, 'dude, I'm a fighter pilot!' So then Riddick walks up and knocks the dude on his ass, It was great. And I thought, I should buy a boat! I am the walrus, but even if I was the walrus I'd still have to bum rides from my friends. Coo coo cachoo..." ZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.................

Then we have my sister, with "Don't do that! They're only interested in the spaghetti straps on your carburetor..."

My friend *name removed in the interest of saving myself from being hunted down and beaten* , who didn't actually say anything - he just humped the couch.

My niece, "People. PEOPLE!" *wags her hand around like she's dribbling a basketball*

My daughter, "Give me the COOKIE!"

My friend T, "Oprah?"

My friend C, "I TOLD you it was a bad idea to poke the panda. I'm gonna kick your ass, Fozzy Bear."

...isn't insomnia great? If only I had owned a video camera all these years, I'd make a fortune on YouTube.

Hide and Seek

2008-08-21T19:34:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure if I'm the "cool aunt," or if I've unwittingly nominated myself family babysitter, but I've had a substantial rise in visits from my nieces and nephews in the past couple of weeks.

I'm not complaining - in fact, it gives me plenty of extra cannon fodder for my blogs...

I had my niece over today, since her brother and sister had band practice and she doesn't generally relish the thought of tagging along with her Daddy to domino tournaments while he waits for the other kids. Fortunately for me, she's old enough to entertain my girls without giving me another child to chase around trying to make sure nothing gets broken and nobody gets dismembered trying to execute WWE moves off the bunk beds.

She decided she wanted to get my girls together and play hide and seek with their Mommy - only, I'm pretty sure no one ever actually explained the concept of "hide and seek" to my oldest daughter.

The first couple of rounds went well, I found them quietly huddled up under the bottom bunk bed, then next to the couch. Then, probably due to the fact that our apartment doesn't have very many good hiding places, my niece sat me in the computer chair and ordered me to keep my eyes closed until she told me otherwise.

I did as told, sitting silent and completely still until I heard a door close quietly, and my niece's muffled voice telling me to "come find us!"

I played along, standing and walking around the room looking in silly places where they couldn't possibly be, musing aloud something to the effect of "Now WHERE could they BE?"

In response, came my oldest daughter's muffled voice - "WE'RE IN THE CLOSET!"

...followed by a very distinct "ARGH!" from my niece.

So, they piled out of the closet and my niece, looking obviously irritated, ordered me to close my eyes again. They tried hiding behind the chair I was sitting in, but I heard them and they had shuffled enough to bump into the chair, so I guess she decided that was a bust - and moved them back to the side of the couch, where she encountered a spider and came out as quickly as she had gone in, lunging for a shoe.

A few minutes passed, and I guess she figured enough time had gone by that I would forget all about the closet hiding place. I was again ordered to close my eyes, and again I heard them pile into the closet and shut the door as quietly as they could, after a whispered, "DON'T tell her where we're at".

"Come find us!"

Again, I made the mistake of asking where they could possibly be.

"WE'RE IN THE CLOSET!"

"ARGH!"

They all came piling out again, and my niece decided she was done with hide and seek.

So the moral of this story is: if you ever want an honest answer, just ask your kid. Oh, and don't play hide and seek with my daughter. :)

...and if I ever can't find my daughter in the apartment, I'll know exactly where to look.

Until next time...

Conspiracy Theory #34 - Contamination in the Gene Pool

2008-08-19T12:59:00.000-07:00

Yea, I might already have a Conspiracy Theory #34, I don't care.

God help me if I ever try to compile my ramblings and put them in numerical order. *shudder*

Today's subject of my senseless rambling, in case you didn't already tell from the title, has to do with the genes our children inevitably inherit that you really sometimes wish you could just suck out and inject into the children of someone you really don't like.

Damn! I'm too nice... I wouldn't REALLY punish a child for their parent's stupidity, but the thought of the irritation inflicted on the parent definitely brightens my day.

WHAT??? Oh, like you've never considered it. Pfft, whatever.

Anyway, there are definitely traits you sometimes see in your children, that you know COULDN'T have come from you, that sneak up and shock you so badly that you're too busy wondering wtf to even correct them on what they're doing.

Still confused? Ever had your child suddenly run down the hallway - for no reason whatsoever and without any provocation - and run smack into the opposite wall, ON PURPOSE? Then, as if that wasn't enough, they pick themselves out of the floor giggling, and run back to do it again. THEN, to add insult to injury, they proclaim loud and clear - usually to a house full of visitors - "HEY!!! WATCH ME!"

*Run, zoom, SMACK!*

*giggle*

Then they sit in the floor gazing at their audience as though they're awaiting applause for their obvious need for a helmet.

You might as well wipe that perplexed look off your face, you're not fooling anyone. Every parent has had this - or something like this - type of scenario with their children. The type of scenario that has you online after your kids go to bed looking up your family tree to make sure your grandparents weren't cousins and there were no documented cases of botched lobotomies or mental illness.

Don't try to point out that a botched lobotomy would have been a surgical procedure and therefore incapable of being hereditary, I'm fully aware of this fact. I'm not referring to the procedure itself, I'm referring to the fact that a lobotomy is the removal of parts of the brain - and people do really, really dumb stuff when their brain isn't fully functional. Like mate with the first medical experiment reject they come across, or drink the water in Mexico. Hand someone a few beers if you don't believe me.

At any rate, I'll spare you the gory details of my own children's' "der der der" moments (save the smacking into a wall thing), but I will say that I seriously hope all that wall smacking knocks something back into place, because if my 6 year old tells me one more time the exact number of bubbles in her head, I'm going to scream.

Until next time...

testing 1-2

2008-08-18T09:09:00.000-07:00

myLot User Profile

Why I Will Never be able to Work in Customer Service

2008-08-17T16:33:00.000-07:00

I'm the type of person who can work with people, if I absolutely have to, but for the most part I am better suited working in a dark, quiet corner all by my little lonesome. Why? I'm not sure really, but I know that generally if it came down to a choice between a series of painful shots in the kneecaps and dealing with the average customer, I'd inquire as to the exact number of shots.

Kidding! Well, sort of...

But the reasoning behind my inability to work effectively with the general public is that I'm violently allergic to stupidity (seriously - I swell up, start breathing heavily, and occasionally develop a momentary case of Tourette's Syndrome - among other unattractive, unfortunate side effects).

Here's a scenerio: I once worked in the shoe department of the local Walmart. As innocent and monotonous as this may sound, I promise you it wasn't a job for anyone with an IQ above 45 to expect to be able walk away at the end of the day without having lost a few brain cells.

Here's something that actually happened that proves my theory of my inability to cope with most of my fellow human beings:

Customer: "I'm looking for some shoes."

What I say: "You're in the right place," flashing that million dollar "I work at Walmart and I hate my job but I have to smile because I don't want to wind up in the unemployment line" smile, "How can I help you?"

What I'm thinking: No, really? I figured you were in the shoe department because you needed cat food.

Customer: "I'm not really sure what I want... But I want something cute... and comfortable...and not too expensive... that's going to last a while..."

What I say: "Well, let's take a look."

What I'm thinking: ...and you're shopping at Walmart? Still holding that pasted on smile, hmm, I should have brought my Vaseline...

What I Say: "Alright, what kind of shoes are you looking for? Sneakers, boots, dress...? Any particular color?"

What I'm thinking: Please don't say something stupid please don't say something stupid please don't say something stupid....

Customer: "I like pink!"

What I say: "Alright, let's see what we have here... What size?"

What I'm thinking: AARRGH!!!

Customer: "Size 10." Giggling like she's embarasssed, "Okay, 12."

What I'm thinking as I'm smiling politely and trying not to look at her feet: WTF? You're like, 5 foot nothing and can't weigh more than 110 soaking wet... I wonder if she would be offended if I asked her to wear a red nose and make balloon animal's at my neice's birthday party...

Customer: "But not like, hot pink, more of a pastel or rosey color... Ooooh my God I found the CUTEST pair of pink and white tennis shoes at Stage but they didn't have any in my size and they were like, 100 dollars! *ramble ramble blah, like, blah, blah, totally, blah blah blah blah shoes at blah blah blabbity bloo-blah blah blah, so... yea."

(It was at this point that I realized why my Dad's eyes would suddenly glaze over and he'd begin to drool during our conversations once I hit puberty.)

What I'm thinking while pretending to look for a color of shoe I already know I won't find but can't tell the customer because she won't believe me and will make me look anyway: You do know you're not supposed to DRINK the bongwater, right?

What I say: "Well, I don't see anything pink, would there be another color you might be interested in?"

What I'm thinking: There's about 3 pairs of women's shoes in the entire store that are size 12, can't you look for yourself?

Customer: *Heavy sigh* "I was really hoping for pink..."

What I said: "Well, I can look in stock and see if we have something there, but I can't promise anything..." I really did try to look as disappointed as she was.

What I was thinking while I eyeballed a pink highlighter: I wonder if she'd notice if I snuck back a pair of white ones and colored them? *Reaching for highlighter*

...This is where I had that moment where the little devil me popped up on one shoulder and the little angel me popped up on the other...

Devil: She won't notice.
Angel: Doesn't matter.
Devil: Not until she gets home.
Angel: It's not right.
Devil: By then you'll be gone.
Angel: Uh-uh
Devil: C'mon, you know you want to.
Angel: Nope.
Devil: She'll go away.
Angel: She'll be back, and unhappy.
Devil: Come to the dark side.
Angel: It wouldn't be moral.
Devil: We have cookies.
Angel: They'll go straight to your hips.
Devil: Chocolate chip...
Angel: Really?

Ah, crap...

So to make a long story short, I can play nice with the best of them, but if I work in a customer service industry for too long, I'll get fat and go to Hell for making fun of innocent people and plotting to deface store property just to get rid of them.

I will, however, refrain from mentioning all that in my future resumes....

Conspiracy Theory #11 - 5 Things That Will Kill our Conversation

2008-08-17T11:00:00.000-07:00

You all know there are plenty of things that annoy me, or just plain piss me off due to the sheer stupidity of the matter.

...and yes, I know that I spend WAY too much time blogging about things that annoy me and piss me off due to the sheer stupidity of the matter.

But guess what? Look to the left of your screen. See the name there? SANDRA. Sandra's blog. I have an insane amount of opinionated aggression, a keyboard, a Blogger account, and a Publish button - and while I may not possess the ability to use them tactfully, I do have the ability to use them - and giggle about it later, while still being able to sleep like a baby at night.

...It's sad that I'm so proud of my authority over a blog that lives in a minuscule corner of the internet, but humor me, will ya?

I've already been over the retarded cliches that, if used, will irritate me enough to either walk away from the person using them or chase them down the road pelting them with random sticky pastries - so I won't go back over those, but if you missed them, you can find them here.

No, what we're covering today are subject matters (different thing, I swear!) that will make my eyes glaze over and roll into the back of my head (picture Dan Ackroyd in Coneheads after his daughter has told him that she's in love with her boyfriend Ronnie).

WOMEN, DON'T COMPLAIN ABOUT YOUR WEIGHT. I know, I know - it's that time of the month, your jeans feel 3 sizes too small and you're retaining more water than Niagara Falls. I'm not talking about general conversation or genuinely looking for weight loss advice, I'm talking about women that fall into 2 categories - the skinny heifers fishing for compliments, and the all-you-can-eat buffet preferred customers. Don't aim your hate-mail trigger finger just yet - I fully realize there are people that can't help their weight due to a medical condition, and women who've just had babies (been there, nothing makes you want to cry about your body like 3 feet of loose skin and your intestines feeling like they're going to fall out your bum) - this one doesn't apply to you.

Skinny heifers - if you fumble with the half a millimeter of "fat" on your side, trying to pull it out to illustrate how disgustingly obese you are, I will slap you. Just for general purposes. Then I will tackle you, hold you down, shove a funnel in your mouth, and force-feed you pasta, milk shakes, and croutons.

Buffeters - if your weight bothers you so much, STEP AWAY FROM THE FORK. Simple as that. Don't gripe about how big you are while you're stuffing cheesecake down your throat - try this amazing aerobic move I like to call "PUSHING YOUR CHAIR AWAY FROM THE TABLE." If you like food too much and can't do either of these, then try being comfortable with who you are and not worrying about what anyone else thinks - because if I see you mouth the words "God I'm so fat, I shouldn't be eating this" around a mouthful of masticated chocolate cake, I will take you seriously, and I will steal your fork and make you cry.

MEN, NO ONE CARES ABOUT THE SIZE OF YOUR TROUSER SNAKE, OR YOUR PAYCHECK. Same difference, in my book. I shouldn't have to explain this one, but for some of you out there - I don't just mean literally. Anything that refers to the amount of Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders you can bench press, the amount of phone numbers you can collect in any amount of time, what kind of car you have parked in the parking lot (imaginary or not) - all amounts to a giant, testosterone-driven, ego flexing pissing contest. I may be a chick, but that doesn't make me a bimbo - and despite popular belief, a woman's clothes won't magically fall off if you mention a 7-digit salary. Well... mine won't, anyway.
If you're over the age of 15, don't gossip about celebrities. Especially if you're a guy - and DEFINITELY if you're a straight guy. Seriously. Do you golf on the weekends with Sean Connery? Do you go on umbrella bashing marathons with Britney? Odds are, no. If you don't know the person, and I don't know the person, I really couldn't care less who's dating, who just had a baby, or whose newly released controversial sex video you just downloaded.
It's one thing to talk about some icky oozing disease you caught from a public toilet, but please don't try to show it to anyone. I don't know why on Earth one person would want to tell another person that they have some icky, oozing disease in the first place, complete with exactly how many salves and creams they require and how many times a day, and how itchy and burny it is (and yes, believe it or not, I have had a few people who, for some ungodly reason, thought they needed to tell me these things) - but rest assured, the mental image is disgusting and nightmare-inflicting enough. DO NOT, under ANY circumstances, think that it's even close to okay to disrobe any article of clothing - and don't be too surprised if I just quietly walk away as soon as you tell me that little tidbit of information, pouring sanitizing hand cream on myself from head to toe as I go.

On the same note, no one needs or wants to know too much about any of your bodily functions. If you have Irritable Bowel Syndrome and fart like a howitzer, I'm pretty sure everyone already knows. Don't bring attention to it - let's try to keep the friends you have, shall we?

Last but definately not least -

Don't be a kiss ass. I know, you're thinking, "WHAT???" Seriously. If I look like shit, I KNOW I look like shit - so don't insult my intelligence and tell me how great I look. I also have a pretty highly tuned bullshit radar - I'll know if you're lying to me, and I'll probably have a pretty evil double-edged response waiting, complete with a syrupy sweet smile.

Hey - roundabout's fair play.

Until next time...

My Blogger's on Crack

2008-08-17T09:36:00.000-07:00

Yea... So now my Blog is telling me I need to put up new posts or it's going to do it for me, apparently. I was finishing up moderating my comments when I got to a screen that said, "Your blog has been published successfully!"

Wtf?

Now if only I could get it to do that and publish more than just a couple nonsensical symbols, my job would be a whole lot easier.

I'll have to come up with a disclaimer though, just in case my automated Blogger decides to get all opinionated and nasty...

**All views posted herein are the result of a pissed off Blogger account and do not represent the views of the writer.

Think anyone would believe that? Didn't think so.

Time for Plan B.

I Think I might be Psychic

2008-08-10T13:51:00.000-07:00

No, really.

That's not a typo, I really meant "psychic," not "psychotic."

Why? Allow me to explain.

It could be the psychosis of parenthood or sleep deprivation, but I get Deja vu constantly. For instance, the other day my youngest daughter refused to stay in her bed at nap time. She came out into the living room and stood in the same spot at least 7 different times, each time with the same excuse - and the kicker? I knew she was going to do it. I know, right - freaky stuff.

The other night I had a dream I was being dismantled by a pack of ravenous wolves. The next day, the phone rang - it was a bill collector. The next night, I had a dream about being lost in Lilliput, with midgets frolicking crazily all around - that next day, my sis asked me to watch her kids so she could run some errands. Then I had a really weird dream about being chased by a giant rear-end trying to eat me alive - and of course, the next night my soon to be ex husband showed up to pick up my girls for his weekend.

Ok, I lied about that last one and, inappropriate as it may be, it's funny and I really don't care.

At any rate, there's a series of weird things too strange and numerous to mention here - and I don't even want to get into the whole pudding thing.

You can chock it up to coincidence or power of suggestion, but I'm calling the Sci-Fi Channel. Maybe I can get my own series.

I see a lot of rolling eyes and hate mail in my future...

Nautical Nonsense and Other Time-Waste Worthy Rants

2008-08-05T20:29:00.000-07:00

I hate cartoons. I loathe Nickelodeon, the Disney Channel, and Cartoon Network.

It's not the stream of redundant cartoons that my children insist that HAVE to watch 24 hours a day, no matter how many times I tell them no or try to lure them away with crayons, swimming, or a semi-educational game of Candyland. It's not even the increasingly obnoxious theme songs that get stuck in your head after your children run screaming them through the house for hours (F is for FRIENDS who do stuff toGETHer, U is for YOU and ME... N is for ANYWHERE and ANY TIME AT ALL, DOWN HERE IN THE DEEP BLUE SEA...HA HA HA HA HA, HA HA HA HA HA, HA HA HA HA HA HAAAAA....).

CURSE YOU, SPONGEBOB SQUAREPANTS!!!

No, it's the endless advertisements that are thrown unmercifully throughout each and every program, chock-full of "OOH SHINY"'s and "Tell Momma, 'I WANT THAT!'"

...and of course, they do.

The problem is, they don't just tell Momma they want that. And that. And that. And that... First they tell me. Then they tell me again. Then they argue with me when I say "no," or "not right now."

As if that weren't enough, my children have become walking ad agents for product slogans everywhere. I made waffles the other morning for breakfast - when I went to serve them, my oldest daughter said, "Momma, leggo my Eggo!" We made a trip to McDonald's a couple days later and she proclaimed to the cashier, "I'm lovin' it!"- complete with the "Duh Duh Duh Da Duh..."

Who lives in a pineapple under the sea? My television, after I shove it up Spongebob's absorbent, yellow, porous, nautical nonsensical bum. Why just Spongebob (and yes, I do realize that Spongebob is just a cartoon character plucked out of some sicko's depraved mind)?

I don't know exactly, but something about that squeaky machine gun laughing little fool just pisses me off.

Okay, not really - but you didn't really expect a grown woman to publicly admit that she actually LIKES watching Spongebob, did you?

Oh, crap......

This Week's WTF?? - Alabama Voters Barking up ANY Tree, Apparently...

2008-08-03T19:09:00.000-07:00

I think it's great that we've reached a point as a society where a woman, a racially mixed man, and a mentally challanged person can run for president without upheaval from closed minded bigots -

What's that? George W. isn't mentally challenged? My bad.

*dials lawyer & readies auto-respond system on comments*

But I must say, the world of politics is becoming a little too lax in their standards if we're nominating canines for the role of mayor. If I were Hillary or Barrack, I'd be pissed. In fact, I think if I were a resident of Fairhope, Alabama, I'd be dumbfounded at the very least. Then I'd move.

As it is, I'm a bit frightened.

Fairhope, Alabama - you should be ashamed. Or should I say, "Woof woof, woo rawr woof." Timmy's stuck in the well and he's too embarassed to come out.

I think I'll adopt a chihuahua. If a good trainer can make one talk and land a deal with Taco Bell, surely I could get my lil' pooch into politics, right? Might as well take my own slice of the insanity pie.

Until next time...

No Update Needed

2008-07-28T19:49:00.000-07:00

So my apologies to everyone for being gone so long, been a lot of bs going on and no internet acces to be able to vent about it. I got my girls back, that's all that matters - pretty funny, considering what a "crappy mother" I am and all.

Anyway, I'm done with the useless name calling and nonsense, so let's move on, shall we?

Where to start... I got into a fight with a chair in my girls' room and lost - landed the stinking thing onmy big toe, so now my toe is reminding me by the second what a dingbat I am for picking up the chair instead of sliding it.

On a grosser but wierdly funny note, my 3 year old serenaded me with "wipe my butt" to the tune of "Brother John" earlier. I'm standing there in stunned WTF mode, and she's just singing away, "Wipe my bu-utt, wipe my bu-utt, wipe my butt..." and THEN proceeds to shake her nekkid little booty to the tune of it.

This is only hours after her trying to redecorate my tile floors with crayons and me making that wierd Mom noise to make her stop - her response? "MOMMA... we already played Babble Like an Idiot."

Yes, yes we did. And here I've done it again...

It's good to be back. Until next time...

My Apologies

2008-07-10T07:57:00.000-07:00

In my attempt to satisfy those that write to Sandra via comment, I, Levi, have published comments that she was wanting to comment on before publishing them. I apologize whole heartedly to anyone who is waiting for a response. But she will be back online shortly and I'm sure that she will have responses to all comments so please wait until she comments back before sending her more.

Sincerely,
Jonathan Levi Matthews

Your Village Called

2008-04-28T14:25:00.000-07:00

So I officially have an anti-fan, who seems to have nothing better to do than post hateful comments about my parenting skills.

I find it hilarious that this person has never met me, has never seen me with my children, and has never even met my ex, except through an online video game. I'll admit I was angry with the first couple comments both on my blog and my ex's, but when it came down to it I had to laugh at the stupidity of this person thinking they actually had a right to jump in and start waving their opinion around like it actually mattered.

I'd actually enjoy it if this person had something valid to say, but it's a little difficult to have a battle of wits with the unarmed. I know they're going to read this, and I'm going to have to publish yet another "you're a worthless waste of space and I'm superior because I say I am" comment.

It's okay buddy, you want attention, you got it. Keep flaming and I'll keep publishing and responding, and you'll eat your words somewhere down the road when you figure out I'm not the person you seem to think I am and your verbal diarrhea is floating all over the internet to show what a nosy dumbass you are. It's obvious you have inferiority issues and like to throw your weight around, but hey - whatever floats your boat, not my problem.

I'll be anxiously awaiting my next piece of lovely fanmail.

Theoretically Speaking

2008-04-24T11:45:00.000-07:00

I love people who think they're smarter than everyone around them.
It amuses me to watch them jump through hoops trying to prove their superiority, when in reality it would be much easier for them to come down off their high-horses and join the people they call friends, instead of proclaiming thier perfection and humility all in the same breath.

Oh, and people who leave three seperate hateful comments on blogs, pretending they're from three different people - when each has the exact same grammatical and punctuational errors - grow some balls and attach your name to them; then they'll actually be published so the world can see what an ass you are. Just because you suddenly start using big words like "furthermore," doesn't mean I'm too slow to know it's you, AND - you might want to learn how to use Spell Check - it gives hatemail that extra bit of impact if the person you're sending it to actually knows what the hell it's saying.

People who jump on one side of a conflict without having the slightest clue of the entire story - I bet you're the type of people who go to church and confess everyone else's sins, hoping God will be too distracted to see what a hopeless jackass you are. Good job, hope that works out for ya.

Lastly, if you have no sense of humor - either grow one, or don't bother to come near me - because if you do, I will bitch slap you with a banana peel, and laugh all the way back up my soapbox.

Have a nice day :)

Humor in Irony

2008-04-17T12:47:00.000-07:00

I lied... edited for the sake of keeping the peace... again.
It occured to me that maybe I'd gone a little too far.
However, comments remain.
How ironic.

Deep Thought for the Day

2008-04-02T15:38:00.000-07:00

I've written 2 very, very funny posts offline since I last had Internet access, and I plan to share them with you.

Unfortunately, I forgot them at my sister's house, so you'll just have to settle for second-rate idle babble until I can actually remember to bring them with me the next time I have Internet access.

Not that that's anything NEW or anything, but still.

They say laughter is the best medicine - and that's a LIE! Laughter's great, don't get me wrong - but if it were a medicine at all, the medical community would have already seized it and figured out a way to tax the shit out of it.

/true story.

...and that's my deep thought for the day. I never said it would be intelligent or insightful, just deep.

So yea, from now on when you see a post titled "Deep Thought for the Day," you might want to roll up your pants legs. ; )

Conspiracy Theory #12 - That Damn Lack of Internet Access

2008-03-12T09:22:00.000-07:00

I know, I know, I said something about withdrawal in the last post... but dammit, I'm having some major issues here.

No comments from the peanut gallery, thank you.

I got some really cool messages and stuff while I was away though. Special thanks to my bro for the voodoo doll, it might come in pretty handy - you wouldn't happen to have any Super Glue, would ya? And Doctor, I'm glad you're in, because I need a lot of anger management therapy right about now. Damn all that pent up aggression....

((I had to retract this paragraph. If that's upsetting, forward all your hatemail to Chris.))

So I started my new job on Monday, doing housekeeping at a local motel. To anyone who lives in this area - YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED OF YOURSELVES. Seriously. That's all.

Conspiracy Theory #723 - Text Messaging Wars

2008-03-06T13:19:00.000-08:00

Once upon a time, in a galaxy very, very near, a lone band of intelligent people fought in a war for sanity via the wonderful advancements in telecommunications we know as *DA DA DAAAA* TEXT MESSAGING (Sorry I can‘t give you streams of rogue paragraphs floating through space, Blogger’s broadband width couldn’t handle the HTML).

I lost my access to Internet, so excuse the extraordinary amount of stupidity. As it is, I had to hijack my sister’s computer and save this in Microsoft Word, just to get it out of my head. I’m suffering some major internet withdrawals - I tried creating a “patch” for myself by duct taping a router to my arm - not only did it not work, but now I have a giant, bald, red spot on my arm because I misgauged the amount of space between myself and a door jam in my sister’s house.

You don‘t even want to know how I short-circuited the monitor cable.

Speaking of saving this on my sister’s computer - I know you’re reading this while I’m gone Sis, regardless of the fact that I stuck it into a folder clearly labeled SANDRA’S. Get back to your Canasta and quit being so damned nosy, gawd. (KIDDING! :))

I know I’m going to get short-sheeted tonight for that, but hey, it was worth it.

Back to the subject at hand, I want to point out to a certain 2 foot tall Atheist dwarf brother of ours that “I’d love to, but I’m building a pig from a kit” is NOT a proper response to “Sorry I won’t be at school today.” Seriously dude, Dave’s not here, and if you can’t find the 11 on the phone to dial “911” because you somehow managed to get your goofy butt stuck in the phone, maybe we should buy you some pudding. Don’t you know you can’t put a porcupine in a barn and burn it, and expect to get lime JELL-O? GEEZ.

While I’m on the subject of snowshoes - somehow I missed National Take your Gerbil to Work Day. I took my hamster instead, and boy, was THAT a disaster. I’ll spare you the gory details, but let me tell you - they should put a warning label on stuffed monkeys. Poor Hammy’s never going to be the same…

Until next time, live long and perspire. Or something like that.

Later :)

Quick Thought for the Day - the Phuckitol Pill

2008-02-27T14:50:00.000-08:00

Ever have those days when you want to beat the crap out of someone (or ANYONE), smack your head against a wall, or wrap people in bubble wrap and poke them with sticks? Forget Prozac and the "chill pills" or "happy pills" - give me a Phukitol.

What's that? There's no such thing? No freaking way!

I think I'll create one. I'll keep a good stock for myself, and sell the rest on eBay. Oh, and they'll be free to friends and family - double priced for exes and midgets.

Yea, that's all for now, have a great day all... and when life gets rough, Phuckitol.

Conspiracy Theory #401 - the Twilight Zone

2008-02-27T09:06:00.000-08:00

I REALLY need to start keeping track of my own Conspiracy Theories - I'm running out of numbers.

I found out that I have fans. They leave me comments telling me how funny I am, and sometimes giving me ammo to write about. It's great, but everyone leaves comments as "Anonymous." So, what does that mean?

"I love reading your mindless banter, and I care enough to comment on it, but I'm not going to let you know who I am or where you might find me, crazy lady." /runs away

And, you know, I can't really blame them.

I just found out that my "adopted brother" is a 2 foot tall Dwarf atheist (swear to God). When exactly did I get sucked into the vortex that transferred me from regular life to Lilliput? Is that even a word or a place? I have no idea, but it's in print, so you as the reader have to believe that I might actually know what I'm talking about.

*YOINK*

Also, I have to place a disclaimer - I marked "Bless you" as one of the top phrases that annoy me... and then was reminded repeatedly by several choice smart-alecky people of that fact EVERY TIME I slipped up and said it. Never mind that it was a JOKE, people, let's hang Sandra on a technicality. That, and the fact that I remembered that not everyone believes in God, or the same God, so it gets a little tiring trying to figure out the proper deity to use in that statement. So, because of those simple facts, I will forgive you for that one little offense if you make it.

You're welcome, I knew you'd be so incredibly grateful.

Speaking of using terms that annoy me, "don't even get me started" on how my divorce is going and how it fits into my Twilight Zone state of mind. It's not pretty, so I'll spare you the gory details. All I have to say on that subject is: I like toast. I think that sums it up quite nicely, don't you? Thanks to my nephew for that one.

Apparently insanity is very, very contagious.

Ah, bullbutter - I think I'll go make some pudding.

Conspiracy Theory #'s 42 & 43 - the Junior WWE and YAHOO! Messenger

2008-02-22T10:11:00.000-08:00

In the land of Parenthood, you would think it would be safer to have girls than to have boys.

...but you'd be wrong.

Aside from the endless excuses and weepy kissy faces, nap time in my house also marks the beginning of our own little sports show, the Junior WWE. If this sounds a bit far-fetched to you, let me illustrate what I hear every day, much like an episode of the old Batman tv show:

*WHAM!*
*giggle*
*BOOF!*
*giggle*
*SMACK!*
*giggle*
"GET ON YOUR BEDS!"
"Yes, Momma (or Daddy)."
*shuffle shuffle shuffle*
*giggle*
*WHAM!*

We've removed all folding chairs and toys, and pretty much everything but the beds from their rooms. We've padded the floor, and short of dressing them in helmets and body armor before bed, there's not a whole lot more we can do on this one.

Maybe we should just give up and sell tickets.

As for the YAHOO! Messenger thing, I just want to say that it's great for people like me who loathe telephones, but I still hate it. Why? It's retarded. It also removes any chance of really knowing if that smart ass remark your friend has just made was a joke, or if they're really trying to piss you off so you log out and leave them alone.

Also take into account that I am the Queen of Sarcasm and making stupid remarks without thinking, and there's a huge potential for arguments or the silent treatment (which I have to admit, in some cases, isn't really so bad). Example:

Friend: hey, u there?
Me: No, I implemented a new program on my messenger that auto responds to messages.
Friend: lol
Me: lol
Friend: so what's up?
Me: not much, you?
Friend: OOH I just got a new cover for my XBox 360
Me: woot
Friend: yea, *bunch of tech nerd stuff* it's great :)
Me: nice. OOH I got new socks.
Friend: um...woot?
Me: yea, they've got stitches and cotton and that new sock smell, it's great :)
Friend: lol?
Me: lol.
Friend: I need to buy new socks, one of each pair keeps disappearing.
Me: lol I just got a mental image of a cranked out cousin of the Cookie Monster. "ME WANT SOCKIE! NUM NUM NUM NUM NUM!"
Friend: WTF?
Me: what wtf?
Friend: you went off on this weird thing about a sock monster
Me: what? no I didn't.
Friend: Yea you did, scroll up
Me: wth are you talking about?
Friend: SCROLL UP.
Me: you've smoked yourself retarded.
Friend: (copy/paste) Sandra: lol I just got the mental image of a cranked out cousin of the Cookie Monster. "ME WANT SOCKIE! NUM NUM NUM NUM NUM!"
Me: lol, wtf
Friend: wtf?
Me: yea, you just went on this wierd thing about a sock monster.
Friend: no I didn't.
Me: yea you did, scroll up.
Friend: that was u
Me: the prime rib minister spoke at the Vatican today, and my tiny little nipples went to France
Friend: WTF???
Me: ?
Friend: WTF HAVE YOU BEEN SMOKING?
Me: wtf is wrong with you? you've been going on and on about nonsense this whole time
Friend: you're crazy
Me: No I'm not. But I was Crazy once
Me: locked me in this little tiny room
Me: it had rats, I hate rats
Me: rats are crazy
Me: I was crazy once
Me: locked me in this little tiny room....
Friend has just logged out.

Works every time.

Conspiracy Theory #90 - General Stupidity

2008-02-18T10:25:00.000-08:00

Why does Blogger send me an email when I respond to a comment on one of my own posts? Does it think I don't know that I've posted a response? Is it checking to make sure I've thought through my responses so as not to make an ass of myself?

Yea, little late for that.

At any rate, there are countless things in life that never cease to amaze me - America's obsession with spoiled, crazy, rich people; the fact that George W. was actually able to father children; and Will Ferrell's ability to keep making movies - and actually sell them.

What gets me the most though, is the never ending cycle of stupidity I see spewing from everywhere. It's like a bad B horror movie, just when you think you're safe - *WHAM* - Stupid pops up and gives you a big, fat, mental wedgie.

"I see dumb people. They're everywhere - and they don't know they're dumb..."

*shudder*

You guessed it - I've compiled a list of some of the sayings that annoy me most. Why? Because I can.

"The proof's in the pudding." - What the -??? I don't even know what that means. I've been subjected to marathons of Law & Order, and never once have I seen a DA pull a box of instant pudding mix from their little black briefcase and parade it in front of a panel of stunned jurors as Exhibit A - "Here's all the proof you need - PUDDING!" *gasp* *DUH DUH DAAAAH*. "The counsel rests."

I guess there really IS always room for J-E-L-L-O.

"Two wrongs don't make a right." - Umm... DUH. I'm not even going to go into this one. Two wrongs may not make a right, but 3 lefts do. Put that in your bad cliche pipe and smoke it.

"It was in the last place I looked." - Yea, I'm going to take a Carlos Mencia stance here and say, "DEE DEE DEE." Of course it was in the last place you looked, you phucktard, or you'd still be looking. Next time, try looking in the pudding.

"There's more than one way to skin a cat." - Who the *profane* came up with THIS little gem? Was there some crazy person running around at some point skinning cats, eagerly trying new methods, who suddenly had an epiphany that, "Hey, my psychotic habit could be a source of inspiration for people who find a task difficult! If one method doesn't work, never fear - there's more than one way to skin a cat!" If I hear you use this statement, I can and will call PETA on your crazy ass - after I smack you in the head.

"The exception proves the rule." WHAT? No it doesn't, that's why they call it an exception. Are you still scratching your head? Here, let me clarify:

ex·cep·tion [ik-sep-shuhn] noun - something excepted; an instance or case not conforming to the general rule.

You really shouldn't try to use words you can't spell, anyway.

"Don't even get me started." - Thanks for the warning, I won't. Now take your pointless pre-menstrual rant elsewhere, please.

"I could care less." - Really? Then why are you even mentioning it at all? The correct sentiment here is, "I couldn't care less," you mook.

"nucular" - I know, it's not a sentence, but it's one of those mispronunciations that twists my panties so far in a knot that I want to strangle the person that said it with their own stupid shoelaces. Yes, I did just refer to my unmentionables in print, what of it? It's nuclear. NU-KLEE-ER. I'd stock up on dictionaries for Christmas if I thought anyone would actually use them.

"Over yonder" - Before anyone gets their hate mail trigger finger aimed, I want to point out that I live in the South and I fully realize this is a very common colloquialism*, but this term doesn't annoy me as much as it eludes me. It's the descriptive for the location of everything from Bubba's house to the nearest EZ Mart - "It's over yonder, cain't miss it." (Yes, I misspelled that on purpose.) How, for the love of God and all that is Holy, is that going to help ANYONE know any better where something is? Is "yonder" a unit of measurement? Perhaps somewhere between "everwhichaways" and "ovair"? *sigh* I just don't get it.

*I provided a link to the meaning of the word colloquialism, just in case. See? My posts aren't just ramblings of my insanity and annoyances, they also provide valid information. You're welcome.

ANY "PC" Term - By "PC," of course, I mean "politically correct." "So-and-so is 'African American/Italian American/Asian American, blah frickity blah blah-" they're AMERICAN, you closet bigot, get it right. "So-and-so has an 'alternative lifestyle.'" So? So-and-so is GAY - if they can say it, why does it make YOU so stinking uncomfortable? If you're looking for a descriptive, try using their name. You'd be surprised how well that works. If you must bring up their race, sexual preference, religion, or whatever else secretly makes you nervous in each and every conversation to or about them to broadcast how "okay" you are with "their differences," maybe they don't need you as a friend anyway. Go toot your horn elsewhere, you weekend Nazi.

"Bless you." - You're not God, stop running around "blessing" people. The proper statement here would be, "God bless you." Although, I'm not sure God takes too kindly to orders either, but at least you're giving Him credit for the blessing.

"Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies." - So...you're a liar. Thanks for getting that out of the way up front, now I know where we stand.

"Better late than never." - Oh, really? Adopt that attitude at work, I'll be the one laughing at you when you're standing at a stop light with a squeegee and a bucket of water, you lazy, unimaginative bum.

My biggest pet peeve, the thing that makes me grit my teeth and flare my nostrils unattractively, is people who use words completely out of context. Don't laugh, I'm serious. If you don't know what a word means, don't attempt to use it - it just makes you look like an uneducated clod.

...and for any of you smart-alecks out there who think it will be funny to use any or all of these phrases in my presence just to annoy me, I have one thing to say to you - I have bubble wrap, don't make me use it.

Have a nice day : )

The Cat's on the Roof

2008-02-17T14:48:00.000-08:00

These last couple of weeks have been full of drama and overall strange occurances, and being the realist that I am (no comments from the Peanut Gallery, thank you), I have to take time out to take a step back and look at both sides of every situation in order to fully appreciate the Big Picture.

Okay, I seriously have nothing better to do, humor me, ok?

So, here are the highlights of the past couple of weeks, condensed into Good News/Bad News format:

GOOD NEWS: I haven't been beaten to death or wrapped in bubble wrap and poked with a stick.
BAD NEWS: While that certain friend managed to escape captivity, he's emerged in shock, traumatized, and obviously delerious, which is why I was laughed at instead of being beaten or wrapped in bubble wrap and poked with a stick.

GOOD NEWS: We have our own Dr. Phil at our disposal to help rehabilitate our delerious friend.
BAD NEWS: He's so brilliant he got into a fight with a shovel and smashed his thumb, did something to his back, AND he knows where the bubble wrap is... Hopefully there's no "anger management" therapy for Mr. Greenpeace in the future, or I'm in trouble.

GOOD NEWS: My girls are getting over whatever monster virus they caught out of nowhere.
BAD NEWS: It took 3 days of head-spinning and pea soup spewing to get there.

GOOD NEWS: The puppy's actually grasping the concept of pottying OUTSIDE.
BAD NEWS: He's retarded, so he'll forget by tomorrow. Three cheers for Special Ed.

GOOD NEWS: My ex and I are actually getting along.
BAD NEWS: One or both of us has either been sick or sleeping the last few days.

GOOD NEWS: I'm losing weight.
BAD NEWS: It's all in my bra. *CENSORED* you, Estrogen.

GOOD NEWS: Mr. Greenpeace survived the flood.
BAD NEWS: It wasn't a flood, Einstein drove into a creek.

GOOD NEWS: I get away with surprising amounts of harassment and just plain meanness, all for the sake of entertainment.
BAD NEWS: I'm a firm believer in Karma. Do I really have to say more?

I think I'll start my little yellow list now, while I'm thinking about it.

Long Time No Pointless Rant

2008-02-13T11:59:00.000-08:00

Believe it or not, there comes a time even in my life where I have absolutely nothing to talk about.

I'll give you a couple seconds to recover from that bombshell.

Better? Ok, I'll continue.

It's not like my girls, family, or friends don't give me enough ammo - I mean, *inspiration*- for things to write about, it's just that sometimes all that useless information gets jammed together and scrambles itself into kind of a redundant, amorphous, pulsing blob somewhere deep within the proverbial silly putty that is my brain. Suffice to say that whatever does manage to seep out of it is, at best, short of any real substance or meaning, and might actually be a bit smelly.

I got a suggestion for writing about "stupid tendencies," and while I appreciate input, I do apologize but - it's just too easy. Seriously.

Although, speaking of amorphous blobs and stupid tendencies, I will say - if you're drinking and you're given money for no reason by someone who looks like they should be rolled back into the ocean by Greenpeace - RUN.

Don't argue, don't ask questions, don't look back - just run.

In case you're wondering, yes I am referring to someone I know, and while I won't mention names, I will mention that we are all very worried for this person's safety and well-being. Was he smothered? Was he eaten? Is he scared and alone, lost in the caverns of the Land of Long Forgotten Big Macs and Curly Fries, sending smoke signals in vain for help?

I warned you that this post might be smelly.

At any rate, I just want to say to that long lost friend that we're praying for your safe return.

Oh, and if you're wondering if this post might get me killed, severely beaten, or wrapped in bubble wrap and poked with a stick, the answer is most likely yes.

...but it's funny, so I don't care.

/runs away

Conspiracy Theory #301 - Bedtime Resistance

2008-02-07T12:36:00.000-08:00

Anyone who has kids knows that you need major reinforcements (or a rubber mallet?) to get them down for a nap - and my girls are definately no exception.

There's the standard "I have to go potty," every 5 seconds; the "I'm thirsty;" and the "Read me the story again," even when you've read it so many times you're sure they should have it memorized by now. Recently however, my girls have resorted to a dirtier tactic - the sobbing "I want a hug and kiss, Momma," even though I've not only hugged and kissed them, but also tucked them in - 20 times.

My oldest daughter was so distraught yesterday over nap time that she sent her sister into the hallway repeatedly, just so I'd have to chase her back into her room, tuck her back in, and be assaulted by my oldest daughter's pitiful, strangely hilarious weeping kissy face. I really wish I had taken a picture, because there is no possible way for me to accurately describe the face she was making.

Picture a cross between Marylin Monroe's trademark pouty kiss and a blowfish, all wrapped up in a very upset, red-faced, blond haired, blue eyed 5 year old - and you might have a slight idea.

Of course, as painful as it was, I still had to remain straight-faced and steadfast with her that it was nap time and there was going to be no more using her sister as a decoy or pulling of heart strings to get her way.

This only resulted in an even poutier kissy face.

I was brave, I held my ground, tucked her in, told her I loved her, and walked away... and burst into laughter as soon as I hit the hallway.

...and this, my friends, is why parents have the best poker faces of anyone on Earth. If you don't have kids yet, practice now - because trust me, you're going to need it.

Philisophical Nonsense

2008-02-02T22:09:00.000-08:00

A good friend of mine once told me to always remember that sometimes the light at the end of the tunnel was nothing more than an oncoming train.

With that in mind, I'm also reminded of a wise little tidbit my Dad shared, as he barged in on my friends and me with his pockets pulled out of his shorts -

"I'm an elephant, wanna see my trunk?"

Wait... that can't be right....

I guess the "wise quotes" folder in my brain got a little scrambled over the last few weeks, I'll have to get back to you on that....

So since I don't have anything to share that is deep or meaningful, I guess I'll have to fill some space with nonsense. What's new about that, you ask? Nothing - but you're still reading, so it appears that it may not be that big of a problem. It's kinda my thing... like smart-aleck remarks and raising tolerance of all that encompasses harmless stupidity and makes absolutely no sense whatsoever.

See what I did there? I just use big words to make it look and seem more impressive. :)

In closing, I'll give you my own little tidbit of wisdom - I guess when life hands you lemons, don't just make lemonade - peel the suckers back and squirt them into the eye of whoever pissed you off. It might not make the situation better, but it will make you feel better... and while you're running away, you can laugh at their futile attempts to see straight enough to catch you.

Conspiracy Theory #652 - Writer on the Loose

2008-01-30T15:00:00.000-08:00

Alright, for all my conspiracy theories regarding everything and everyone else in the world, I thought it might finally be time to turn my highly-tuned *cough* insight on myself.

Anyone who knows me knows that I have too good a memory for the retarded, redundant, or just plain insane - even though I'd forget my own name if it wasn't embroidered in my underwear.

Okay, I made that up, but it made you wonder for a second there, didn't it?

So, just for the sake of playing fair and proving that it's all in good fun, here are the top 3 reasons why it's dangerous to spend much time with or around a writer.

1. Have you ever read a blog, story, blurb, or anything else and wondered, "...are they talking about me...?" Odds are, if you know the writer and the shoe fits - YES.

2. It should go without saying that if you drunkenly (or otherwise):

miss your chair (and by "you" I mean "I"),
state matter-of-factly that your butt is "too big to miss your chair",
dirty dance with an appliance,
sneak up on a fly just to shoo it away,
use air freshener as a deodorant and feminine spray,
engage in insightful conversation with your table (not the people AT the table - the actual table),
wear someone else's boxers on your head and strike superhero poses for the camera as "Captain Underpants",
crawl in from the front porch and stuff your face in a butter dish,
pick a carburetor up out of the floor and seriously ask who "dropped this",
drive 90 miles an hour down the wrong side of the road,
piss off a cop so badly that you wind up with your faceprint permanently embedded in your car hood,
get hit on by someone (or several someone's) of the same sex - even though you're not gay,
attract every midget in a tri-state area,
steal your sister's car but only make it 3 feet from where the car was originally parked,
adopt a gay man's cat and rename it "Pookie",
make a 500 gallon cup of lemonade and expect no one to say anything,
tape spiders into holes in the wall,
offer someone else's wife money every 5 minutes to see her boobs, then give her the money even though she won't,
hit on a dog because it's the only female in the place who's paying attention to you,
mushroom stamp bald guys "just because it's funny", even though you're the most homophobic person on Earth,
slap your testicles in another guy's hand on a dare,
make me biscuits and mustard AND blueberry waffles just because I drunkenly (and jokingly) ask for them - and THEN pose for pictures with them,
make out with a stuffed California Raisin,
pee outside even though an indoor bathroom is readily available,
try to start serious debates about the nature of the orgasm (and not making any sense whatsoever),
are unable to stand in one place even though your feet aren't actually moving,
go on a boobie grabbing spree and then swear it never happened,
offer to be "a prop" in someone else's *cough* home movies,
trust me with a pool stick even though I've made it clear that things get broken when I play pool (surprisingly, several people are guilty of this one),
tell me you can't feel your nose while you're touching mine,
blatantly make fun of a complete stranger in the middle of the ghetto,
fart on random animals,
fart on my daughter's head and then laugh hysterically when she says "EWWW YOU POOPED!",
spear houseflies with paperclips and perform a puppet show with them,
tap dance down the walkway into a hospital,
make cat-hissing noises when someone enters the room and then spontaneously and creepily ask "GOT MILK?",
flash people, even though they really, really, don't care to see it,
ask me every 5 seconds if you're "cute yet," or if you can "take advantage of me yet,"
tell me (and every other attractive female in the place) that you'd "run through hell with gasoline soaked boxers" just to get close to us - and then expect us not to laugh at the thought of you naked and on fire,

do or say pretty much anything that I think is funny, stupid, embarrassing, or incriminating -

...you will more than likely hear or read about it later. Repeatedly.

3. I'm generally a nice person, hard to make angry, who doesn't usually believe in grudges or getting even - but if you piss me off - I mean really, really, do something above and beyond all concept of indecent or horrid, don't be surprised if you play a staring role as the deformed, evil-yet-stupid villain in a blog or story. At the very least, expect an unflattering caricature with certain body parts reversed.

So there you have it - the frightening truth of the Internet revolution, where unknown amounts of people can be held captive to anyone's mindless banter, and just think - they could be reading about you....

Scared? You should be. *evil laugh*

If I don't hear from some of you for a while, I understand.

Until next time...

Oooh, Bubble Wrap

2008-01-28T19:15:00.000-08:00

A good friend of mine once told me that showers were the cure-all for just about anything.

Got a headache? Take a shower. Stressed? Take a shower. Got mid-terms? Take a shower. Diagnosed with some foreign, icky, incurable disease? Take a shower.

Showers are wonderful, but in the case where a shower isn't immediately available, I'm partial to bubble wrap.

Oooh, bubble wrap... Takes me to my happy place.

Seriously. You can squeeze it and it makes that awesome popping noise. If someone makes you mad, you can wrap them in it and poke them with a stick. You can lay it in the floor and jump on it, or twist it up, or sneak up and scare the crap out of someone....

Plain old plastic wrap is great too, minus that great popping noise. If someone makes you mad, you can use that to cover the toilet seat, or you can use it to cover the top of a shot glass while they're not looking and laugh at them when they repeatedly miss their shot and can't figure out why... but I still like the poking with a stick idea better. It's cleaner.

*sigh*

I have entirely too much time on my hands, obviously.

I'm off to my happy place...

Conspiracy Theory #71

2008-01-23T08:58:00.000-08:00

*Removed for the sake of keeping the peace*

...and the Drama Award goes to...

2008-01-15T14:23:00.000-08:00

I'd like to thank my husband, my sister, my children, and a certain friend, for making this the most incredibly stressful and confusing week ever. There have been ups and downs, misunderstandings, death threats, and a few extra holes and dents in my house, but we made it, and we're all better for it - so I propose a toast -

Testosterone, anyone?

What is it about men that makes them raise their guard at the sight of another man, pounding their chests and grunting incoherent things that are supposed to assert their alpha-maleness, frighten potential threats and make females swoon? I get that there's a caveman deep in the heart of every man, but I draw the line at poo flinging.

And what is it about women that makes them think they have to fix everything, play middle man without permission, all the while stressing themselves out a billion times worse - unneccesarily, at that - than the original people involved? Don't get me wrong, I'm a female and I know how much it sucks to see people you care about fighting or hurt, but from a logical standpoint, does it not seem just a bit counter-productive?

While I'm at it, what the hell is the deal with the toilet seat issue? Is it really that hard for a woman to remember to put it back down if a man has to remember to put it up?

I guess that's yet another unanswerable question of the universe, like "what is the meaning of life," "why is the sky blue," and "who the hell does Tom Cruise think he is, anyway?"

So in closing I just want to say that I love you all, but dammit, you make me crazy. I accept this Darwin award with much adoration and respect for each of you - but next time, keep the chest pounding, poo flinging, and overprotective interventions to a bare minimum.

There's only so much Dr. Phil and drywall putty can do.

What if Aliens were Monitoring our Media?

2008-01-05T09:12:00.000-08:00

First of all, I want to make it clear that I didn't sleep well last night, so if this post is a little...strange...it's not my fault. If I offend or make anyone question my sanity, I assure you it's the insomnia talking.

I don't know if I believe in aliens. There's been no proof that there are, but there's also been no proof that there aren't either - so I'm keeping an open mind on the subject. What frightens me is that if there are in fact beings from another world, they may be curious about us, and may have decided to research us... The problem, however, is that it makes sense that they would most likely be intercepting radio waves (or whatever they use these days) from our media...

It's bad enough that we have "Bob," the creepily happy guy that represents Enzyte and *ahem* male enhancement. We have brightly colored bears that cuddle toilet paper, drunks that believe they're pirates, and tv shows where idiots give their permission for their arrests, accidents, and random stupidity to be broadcasted to the public.

What scares me most however, the most heinous of heinous, is the trainwreck we all know as - Britney Spears. Aha, you saw that coming, didn't you?

I don't have anything personal against Britney, I really don't - in fact, where I once loathed the very thought of her existence, I really just feel sorry for her now. The thing is, if we needed a representative for Earth, is she really what we want the universe to think we are? For that matter, even if they expand their research to the rest of our media coverage, what have we got? Paris, Lindsay, Nichole... so now our planetary neighbors think we're a bunch of rich, horny, cosmetically and herbally enhanced alcoholic party girls who cuddle toilet paper and think it's great when our 15 minutes of fame involves a drag queen and a bag of "oregano". That, and if we fall in love, we use forgotten words like "glib" and scare the hell out of Oprah by jumping up and down on her couch and screaming like a banshee.

And don't even get me started on YouTube.

Come on, people! We drink, we light ourselves on fire, we shave our heads and beat defenseless cars with umbrellas (ok, that's just Britney). Nevermind the kind, intelligent people out there who are actually doing something with their lives, we'd much rather keep tabs on the rich and aimless, as if watching them go down in flames somehow makes our boring minimum wage lives seem more valid. Bitter? Not at all. Frightened? Absolutely - if I were the Ambassador of Zergon I'd just blow the Earth up and be done with it.

Let's just hope that if we aren't alone out there, aliens are as captivated by trainwrecks as we are.

'Tis the Season

2008-01-01T20:37:00.000-08:00

Wow, it's been a while since I last wasted your valuable time with my rambling... I'm hoping everyone had a great holiday season.

So, just as the title says, 'tis the season, although I think "to be jolly" is a dated term these days. Seems to me a more accurate slogan would be, "'Tis the season to be hungover, bloated, broke, and 'regifting' all the things you've received in the past but didn't want."

...fa la la la la, la la la OWNED. True, it's not as catchy, but I think it works well, no?

No worries, I'm actually in a great mood and my Christmas and New Years were great (and I actually don't mind receiving "regifts," that just means I have a head start on my gifts for next year), it's just that when I watch everyone scrambling for the "perfect" gifts they can't afford (including me)and throwing their scales out the window because they've scarfed too many egg nogs and holiday cookies, I have to laugh. I'm not really sure why, I just know I'd love to own stock in the diet & fitness industry this time of year.

On a different note, I made the mistake of putting gummy bears in the fridge - so now they're more like shoe-leather bears. I know, random thought, just wanted to share.

So, that's about all the catching up I have to do for now, so until next time...

Wishing Everyone a safe and prosporous holiday season!

2007-12-23T20:57:00.001-08:00

So Long, and Thanks for all the Fish

2007-12-17T10:13:00.000-08:00

First of all, I bet you're wondering what the title of this post has to do with karaoke. Simple - absolutely nothing, I just think it's funny.

I once heard that the word “karaoke” was Japanese for “tone deaf.” I’ve since learned that it actually means “drunk people singing horribly.” (okay, okay - it REALLY means "empty orchestra," but that's not as funny, now is it?).

My sister is a karaoke jockey at a local small bar, and I’ve been recruited on many occasions to accompany her. I discovered that drunk people LOVE to sing, and the more drinks they’ve had, the less discriminative they are with their selections.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m as addicted as the next person to the ability to hold an audience captive despite the quality (or coherentness) of the song, but I seriously think that there should be some strict rules enforced.

To any jockeys or bar owners who may be reading, I propose the following list of rules for your karaoke patrons:

1. Singing “I’m Too Sexy” does not give you license to start taking off articles of clothing;

2. Unless you’re Bobcat Goldthwait, if you don’t know the words and can’t see the screen, PLEASE do not attempt to sing;

3. Under no circumstances should the microphones or microphone cords be held or placed anywhere besides in your hands - oh, and I'd like to propose a 3-inch rule in regards to the distance between the microphone and a person's mouth (and maybe a spit guard?);

4. In the event that you cannot stand on your own, a stool will be provided – USE IT (I know personally that this rule is important, and implement it often);

5. Unless your name is Steve, I will personally, brutally, hurt you if you so much as hum the tune to "Mambo Number Five;"

6. Except in special cases, drinking more than 3 beers should automatically disqualify you from being allowed to sing "The Devil went down to Georgia;"

7. If your sister can't find her chair, please refrain from making her sing anything more complicated than "the Hokey Pokey;"

8. In relation to #7, it's mean to kick a chair out from under someone, even if you catch them. No, it has nothing to do with karaoke, it's just mean. Don't do it.

9. It takes a lot of guts to get up in front of a bar full of people and sing badly. Please be courteous and clap, even if it is a little creepy to hear a muffled "WOO!" from the bathroom.

and lastly:

10. Tip jars aren't just there to contain your gum wrappers, random pocket lint, and beer bottle labels. Tip your DJ's. They're not just there to look pretty and prop up drunks.

In regards to rule number 2, I’ll understand if you don’t use it, because singers that make your ears bleed sell more alcohol. Other than that, I think my list is reasonable.

Thanks for your time. So long, and thanks for all the fish.

**DISCLAIMER: Not all karaoke singers are bad, in fact, I know several who are vey good. It's just funnier to make karaoke out to be a tone-deaf circus of drunks balancing half-hazardly between a wobbly mic stand and a bar stool. Think about it.

Paris Hilton Rescues Oompa Loompa

2007-12-11T12:33:00.000-08:00

There's a joke in there somewhere, I just know it.

Give Me Some Milk, or the Puppy Gets It

2007-12-05T07:27:00.000-08:00

Aside from my children now thinking that using the potty is a team sport, my youngest daughter has decided that she should get what she wants, when she wants it - or else.

This isn't entirely uncommon, but let me point out for anyone who doesn't already know that she's 3. She doesn't normally whine or throw a fit, but now that we have a puppy, she's upped her game in a hysterically disturbing way.

I was taking a phone call the other day, convinced (though I should have known better) that my girls were occupied eating their lunches. My youngest daughter very politely asked for some more milk; I told her, in an equally polite way, to wait a minute. She asked again, I told her again to wait; Mommy was on the phone.

After a few more times of her asking (less and less politely each time, I might add), I hear the familiar yelp of the puppy when my daughters try to bear hug him - a big no no both for the puppy's sake, and the fact that they know not to play with the puppy while they're eating - so I tell her to put the dog down.

I don't get the common "Okay, Momma," or the sweet sounding but obviously a lie, "I am, Momma," instead I get, "GIVE ME SOME MILK!"

Apparently now I can add hostage negotiator to my list of personal achievements. I'll just say that my phone call was cut short and I saved the puppy - and my daughter didn't get any more milk for that meal.

Guess Daddy will have to save his action movies for when the girls are sleeping from now on.

Dude, Where's my Pot?

2007-11-29T16:20:00.000-08:00

I don't really think this needs any commentary, though I'd love to add it... Nah, I'll leave this one alone.

Everyday Solutions

2007-11-26T08:29:00.001-08:00

My phone rings literally about every ten minutes, all calls from bill collectors and telemarketers. We thought screening calls would be enough, but from 8 a.m. to 11 p.m. (I know right, how incredibly rude), our phone rings non-stop - and if we're on the phone, we get interrupted calls from the call-waiting beeps because the bill collectors and telemarketers know someone's there, so they seem to hang up and call right back.

I've figured this one out - either I'm going to throw the phone out the window, or I'm going to get ahold of all these people's personal home phone numbers and start calling THEM every ten minutes. I think the high phone bill would be worth it.

I made oatmeal for my girls this morning - well, it LOOKED like oatmeal, but really it was glue masquerading as oatmeal. I think I'll stick with cold cereal from now on.

Both my girls caught some type of bug, so I'm shoveling herbal teas and the occasional dose of Motrin in them. They're tired and cranky, and I hate seeing them not feel good, but doggone it, that Motrin is potent stuff, because as soon as it kicks in they're as energetic and obnoxious as ever. I like that it makes them feel better, of course, but where's MY fix-all energy booster? Eh, I'll stick with my vitamins and green tea.

Our puppy is chewing on EVERYTHING, and with two small children it's impossible to put things up, because as soon as I do, they pull it right back down because they thin it's funny when the puppy growls and does that head shake thing he does when he chews on my hubby's belt or shoes. You'd think the dog would be afraid of something 4 times bigger than he is - apparently not, shoes are the first thing he goes after. I think I'll get one of those remote control buzzer things, maybe a loud noise from an inanimate object will quell the fascination.

That's all for today, I'm off to go shopping.

Catching Up

2007-11-23T08:00:00.000-08:00

Day before yesterday I thought I'd put our puppy to good use by giving him my girls' lunch leftovers of chicken tenders and french fries, with ketchup. I have to wonder what I've been feeding my children, since the puppy immediately went past the chicken and straight to the ketchup.

Thanksgiving was a total blast (note the dripping sarcasm here). Nobody showed up, so I had way too much food for a family of 4, plus I'd spent the entire morning tripping over two children and a dog, trying to keep them AND myself from falling head-first into the oven. I finally got dinner done, just to have my typically picky girls turn their noses up to everything but the sweet potatoes. So now, we have more leftovers than we'll EVER know what to do with, and 2 children that refuse to help eat it.

I see about 60 pounds and a broken scale in my near future.

To make things even better, my children have decided to start building complex climbing devices out of small furniture and large toys. The effort on my part to put a latch hook on their playroom closet door was futile - 5 minutes with a small shelf and Dora chair and they were in.

I'm starting to think that toddlers should be employed by the CIA.

My husband is still in the habit of sleeping until noon, and my girls's energy levels are rising by the day, as is my blood pressure. He sleeps through the alarm, despite my multiple, "accidental" kicks and nudges to make him get out of bed first.

Anyone know where to buy a good bull horn?

2007-11-21T11:30:00.000-08:00

Too Much Coffee, So Little Time

2007-11-20T08:53:00.000-08:00

I've had about 3 pots of coffee between 2 a.m. this morning and now (10:57 a.m. my time), and haven't been to bed yet.

Still, I've managed to get absolutely nothing done. Aside from the fact that my eyes are glued wide open and my fingers are trying to move faster than my brain will allow, I'm okay - except that I'm beginning to think it was futile to stop drinking the coffee to quell such frequent trips to the potty, which also drastically cut into my productivity.

Sad, but I actually do this often. I think Gevalia should make me a preferred customer.

Do they make such a thing as a caffeine patch? I'm not looking to wean myself from coffee completely, but if I'm working it would save a great amount of time to not have to pick up a cup every few minutes, would it not?

I'll have to look into that...

In the meantime, it looks like trying to write anything that actually makes sense at this point in time is pretty much pointless. I think I'll go re-alphabetize my DVDs.

Censoring Santa?

2007-11-15T09:12:00.000-08:00

I came across an article on the Yahoo! front page about Santas in Australia being asked to not use the phrase "ho ho ho," and to instead say, "ha ha ha."

Why? "Because it scares children and offends women."

Um...WHAT?

Okay, Santas have only been placed in every department store for the past, oh, I don't know, 50 YEARS, and someone is just now saying that a traditional saying is offensive?

Let's take a look at this. We take our children to a public place and tell them to sit in a complete strager's lap - a complete stranger who's donning a fluffly red suit and asks our children if they've been naughty or nice. Then we take a picture of it. I know, I know, it's all in good fun, right?

But if THAT alone doesn't scare children, and there haven't been any complaints about this whole ritual being somewhat perverse, why in the WORLD would Santa's typical, jolly "HO HO HO" suddenly be frightening and offensive?

I'm just wondering who actually came forward with this complaint, and who was dumb enough to take it seriously.

I'm all for Women's Lib, but come on - someone needs to find more important things to complain about.

Potty Training the Puppy

2007-11-12T10:17:00.000-08:00

I've mentioned in previous posts that my hubby got duped into adopting a new puppy, and that we're in the process of potty training him AND my daughter at the same time.

When my youngest daughter came to me this morning telling me she had to go potty, I had no idea of the events that were about to unfold.

"Well, go potty, honey." I told her.

She shook her head. "Uh-uh. Outside."

"What?"

"I go potty outside." This took a minute to sink in. When it did, I couldn't help but giggle - apparently she'd been observing my husband and I taking the puppy outside to potty, and scolding him if he went in the floor, telling him, "You go potty outside."

I told her that only the puppy goes potty outside. This seemed to perplex her a little. "Why?"

...and here's where I made my mistake. Instead of giving her a straight answer, I thought I'd be funny, and told her, "because he's not tall enough to reach the potty."

Fast forward to lunch time. I'm preparing a meal fit for finicky toddlers, and thinking that all was well with my children, considering I wasn't hearing any whining, screaming, banging, smashing, or puppy yelps.

Then my oldest daughter's voice floats in, "Mommaaaaaaa......"

*sigh*

She's standing in the hallway pointing into the bathroom, a deadpan "someone's gonna GET IT" look on her face. Suddenly there's a huge SPLASH followed by a few smaller splashes, and my oldest daughter's eyes growing to the size of saucers.

I get to the bathroom, to find my youngest daughter guiltily standing next to the toilet, and the puppy splashing away - and I'm not really sure if he was playing, or trying to get out of the toilet (he loves to jump in the shower with us, strange dog).

My youngest daughter grins at me and says, "Look, Momma - I help Chopper go potty."

So, the lesson here today is: Don't tell your children that your pet doesn't use the potty "because they're not tall enough," or you'll wind up with a soaking wet pet and mess you REALLY don't want to clean up.

I'm just glad it wasn't a cat.

Conspiracy Theory #122 - The Link Between Parenting & Tourette's Syndrome

2007-11-09T14:23:00.000-08:00

We all know that Tourette's is an inherited neurological disorder that can cause tics, even to the point of blurting otherwise inappropriate and vulgar language.

What I bet you didn't know though, is that, just like insanity, you inherit it not from your parents - but from your children. And let me tell you, if it's not Tourette's, we're in trouble - because if it's NOT Tourette's then all our children have the telekinetic ability to locate and tweak the crap out of any and all "angry" buttons.

Before you say anything, yes, I am well aware that Bill Cosby has already covered this topic (brilliantly, I might add) in a stand-up routine circa mid-eighties - but the bursts of profanity and incoherent babble that Mr. Cosby mentioned aren't all that's involved with parental Tourette's.

There are tics. Endless amounts of tics. For those of you out there who don't have children, let me explain. My youngest daughter can reach a pitch with her voice that sends my foot into a furious tap that takes at least five minutes to slow down well enough to stop it. My oldest daughter has this run-on inquiry thing she does that causes my eyes to roll back into my head and a low, guttural noise to creep eerily from my throat. (picture Stewie on Family Guy - "Mom. Mum. Lois. Mom. Mommy. Mum...."; that's my daughter, minus the 'Lois' part.)

And yes, there are plenty of fragmented sentences (and words), blurted curse-words (much as I hate to admit it), and that weird "EH!" noise all parents make when their children are reaching for something they're not supposed to. If you don't understand that part, my apologies...I'm usually pretty good at onomatopoeia's (words that are spelled the way they sound, like *whack* - strange that a word meant to make communication simpler should be so difficult to spell), but that one is a little difficult.

There's also a few strange noises that erupt for no aparent reason, except to get my childrens' attention.

At any rate, I'm pretty sure my neighbors think I'm certifiably insane and, being a parent, I'm not really sure they'd be wrong if they did.

Potty Training at Grand Central Station and a new "child"

2007-11-07T06:47:00.000-08:00

Was it enough work for me to potty train my youngest daughter, home-school my oldest (technically both of them), clean, cook, and feed every relative and friend that came wandering in off the street?

Oh, no. My hubby thinks I have so much extra time, we could take in a new family member - a puppy.

Before I go any further, I'd like to point out that despite his insistence of the contrary, my husband might as well have a giant "SUCKER" emblazoned on his forehead.

This isn't JUST a puppy. Oh yes, he's cute, he's small, he's mild-mannered, and he's actually potty training better than my 3 year old (who I've been TRYING to potty train between working, moving, and endless company/house guests for the last year and a half). He's a wrinkly, grunting, waddling poop factory with a face that only a mother (or my husband) could love. No joke - this puppy poops 5 times his own body weight in a day - and usually in my house.

I realize that there are several parents out there who are single and/or raising multiple children, and my parenting woes pale in comparison - but I'm willing to bet that my two girls could give any set of sextuplets a run for their money, both mess-wise and in the art of stress-inducing. Add to that the new puppy and the fact that my husband often reverts into pre-teen boy with a love of all things Star Trek and Star Wars mentality, and I've got the equivalent of a daycare in my house.

Picture if you will, (which I've mentioned before) my oldest child grinning in my face when I wake up, or standing at the side of my bed staring at me in a silent, somber "Children of the Damned" manner (blond hair, blue eyes, and all). That's IF either of them comes to get me when they wake up.

Then, take into account that we have tile floors with a few throw rugs, and my hubby thinks he's secretly a polar bear, so I'm lucky if the thermostat creeps any higher than 71 degrees (not so bad in the summer, but come on - you can't tell me he doesn't know it's NOVEMBER) - so add the shivers of a creepy awakening to the tremble of my feet being wrenched from a nice warm bed onto a cold, hard floor.

I'll make breakfast (which is a chore unto itself, considering my children are so entranced by the new puppy that no amount of threats can stop them from picking him up or trying to feed him my shoes), and then fight with my girls to eat instead of arguing over whether we should be watching Spongebob or Dora. Without fail, I'll step in a puddle during breakfast clean-up, and the only way I know if it was my daughter or the puppy will be the tell-tale wet spot that may or may not be on my sofa under her bum (God bless the makers of Febreeze and those shampooer attachments for upholstery).

I vainly try to keep my children from screaming at the top of their lungs while they're chasing each other (and the puppy) up and down the hall, despite the fact that I honestly think my hubby could sleep through an atom bomb, as long as it doesn't tickle his feet as it lands. To add insult to injury, my hubby actually told me the other day, "Just make sure I'm up when you get up." Riiight.

Cue the knock on the door, and the entry of either my cousin or one of my husband's friends, looking for food and company until they either have to go to work or meet someone elsewhere.

My phone rings every 5 minutes from a telemarketer or bill collector, so despite the fact that we have an answering machine and screen our calls, the phone is always at the opposite end of the house from where I am, so picture me, running back and forth searching for the phone to make sure it isn't someone I know before the 3rd ring - all the time ONE of my girls being Captain Obvious and repeatedly telling me, "Momma, the phone". If it's someone I know and I actually try to hold a phone conversation, my girls take it as their cue to pump up their vocal volume to sonic decibels (is that even a proper use of that term? I assure you, in my house it is). This sets the usually quiet puppy off, who barks and charges at either of the girls, sending them screaming yet again through the house.

That's all within the first hour or two from the time we get up.

It's not so bad, I can actually calm them down long enough to get something semi-educational done, and the puppy eventually takes a nap. When I finally get my girls down for THEIR nap (which is a totally different battle, trust me) and I flop onto the nearest soft surface to rest my aching back and throbbing head, my hubby will come wandering from the bedroom, grinning sleepily and rubbing his eyes. "So how was your morning?" he'll ask. Hmph.

I'm wondering how effective it would be to put my knee in his back and "accidentally, in my sleep," push him out of bed when my girls get up.

Conspiracy Theory #587 - "Alone Time"

2007-11-05T14:18:00.000-08:00

I often feel a bit like a mouse in a maze, being observed by men in white coats with their pocket protectors and clipboards. I can see it now:

"Let's introduce the subject to the idea of 'alone time,' and see how frazzled she gets trying to actually get any."

Alright, I figured out a long time ago that when you have kids, you forfeit having so much as potty time to yourself.

...and that's why Moms, in all their infinate wisdom, came up with NAP TIME.

Right?

Wrong.

My girls can be sound asleep, and I'll fool myself into actually thinking I might have an hour or so to myself, to read, or write, or (joy of all joys) clean - but I always manage to forget that one little factor that always robs me of any chance of time to myself.

My husband.

He can be occupied all day long with his job or games or sports - that is, until I try to do anything that doesn't involve meal preparation, scrubbing finger paint out of carpet, or potty training. Now, what is it exactly about men and children, that keeps them from understanding that a closed door means "stay out," or even "I'm busy, please knock first, and maybe wait at least 5 minutes in between interruptions to tell me how funny Stewie was trying to get the cookies off the counter, or how the Colts were totally cheated by their 4 point loss"?

At the risk of sounding bitter here, I must say I had another wrench thrown into my gears when we moved into a house with no locks on the doors - not like they ever stopped my husband before, but at least they slowed everyone down a few seconds.

I've even gone so far as to spend the extra few minutes gathering heavy objects to form barricades - only to have my husband and children work that much harder and longer to get through them.

I'm at a loss here. Am I doomed to a future of having the bejeezus scared out of me, when I'm taking a calming shower and turn around to find a tiny face peeping around the curtain at me? To waking to a child thisclose to my face grinning widely at 6 a.m. every morning? To the revolving doors on my bathroom and bedroom, and the faces that pop in at the worst times proclaiming, "Hiiiiiii Momma!" just long enough to derail whatever I'm doing?

*sigh*

And these are the times, I'm told, that I'll look back on and smile at. I know it's true, but come on - I could look back and smile on peaceful times, too.

Life After Harry Potter?

2007-11-01T17:27:00.000-07:00

So J.K. Rowling has just finished her first book after the phenomenal Harry Potter series, "The Tales of Beedle the Bard" - but only 7 copies were made.

One is to be auctioned for a children's chairty next month - "bound in brown morocco leather and mounted with silver and semiprecious stones, auctioned at Sotheby's with a starting price of $62,000." Kudos to J.K. for giving back.

The other 6 are supposed to be given as gifts. Geez, how do I get on that lady's Christmas list?

Yea, look forward to thousands of forgeries and fan fictions on this book in the very, very near future.

I'm curious as to why she's only making 7 copies though? Does it suck? Is she worried that only this one will make it to the top selling list because of her Harry Potter fame, only for her to disappear into obscurity after writing a few more, not so popular books? Or does she watch eBay, drinking her Earl Grey and laughing at the people scrambling and pilfering their children's college funds for but a glimpse of this elusive work of literature?

Which brings be to my next question - how many licks does it take to get to the Tootsie Roll center of a Tootsie Pop?

The world may never know.

I have to admire J.K. Rowling for her somewhat eclectic strategies. Genius, J.K., absolutely genius.

Dog the Bounty Hunter Gets Cancelled

2007-11-01T17:01:00.000-07:00

"I did not mean to add yet another slap in the face to an entire race of people who have brought so many gifts to this world."

Wait, I'm confused. He tells his son that he has no problem with the fact that his girlfriend is black, yet calls her the N word 6 times in a phone conversation? Okay, he says he's not referring to her color, but her character - which is somewhat understandable - but why did he automatically call her the N word, instead of any number of other, not as racist but just as illustrative, words?

I enjoy (or should I say enjoyED) watching Dog the Bounty Hunter, but for someone who has so much Ohana for everyone, I have to say I'm more than disappointed.

I'm aware that this conversation with his son was (and should have stayed) personal between the two of them, and that the media takes anything they can find and blows it to epic proportions. I get it. But I'm tired of hearing all these people who seem wonderful spout off racist and sexist slurs. Just like Mel Gibson, a self-professed Christian, making anti-Semetic statements after too many drinks.

At least Halle Berry's comment about "her Jewish cousin" was an innocent repeat of what her friend - who is Jewish - had said. It may not have been appropriate, but it's not her fault no one knew the whole story behind it.

But wait - there's more! Here's part of what Duane "Dog the Bounty Hunter" Chapman said to his son:

"I'm not taking a chance...not because she's black but because we use the word n---er sometimes here. I'm not going to take any chance ever in life of losing everything I've worked for 30 years because some drunken n---er heard us say n---er and turned us into the Enquirer magazine...I'm not taking that chance at all never in life. Never..."

Uh, yea. *Irony* Didn't this story break in the Enquirer? "Never." Riiiight.

Sorry Dog, you shouldn't be using the word in the first place.

So again, we have a person who thoughlessly let their mouth override their brain, and will have "Bigot" tattood on their forehead for all eternity. Thanks for the apologies, but I don't think this will go away so easily.

Conspiracy Theory #273 - Pogo Games and the Procrastination Bug

2007-10-31T17:09:00.000-07:00

I'll admit it.

My name is Sandra, and I'm addicted to Pogo Games.

It all started a few months ago when I was sitting at my computer mulling over what to write about, that dreaded Writer's Block taunting me with bits of information I had absolutely nothing I could do with.

I thought, maybe if I don't think about it for a while, I can get past it.

So, I did a search on "free online games," and here I am now.

Now, before you point out that I'm writing now, let me tell you that I have Word Whomp minimized in another window.

I'm so ashamed.

I tried justifying it by telling myself that if it's a word game, I'm not procrasintaing, I'm simply stirring the creative juices (boy, what a gross mental image - but I digress). Then I started getting that look from my husband every time I told him I was *ahem* working, and he'd look over my shoulder and see Bookworm flashing on my screen. "What?" I'd say. "I'm just taking a break."

...and then 2 hours later - "What? I'm brainstorming. What do you mean Hog Heaven Slots has nothing to do with writing? Pffft."

And yes, you guessed it - I got duped into the "Free Trial Club Membership." Twice. If my credit cards actually had anything on them, I'd be in trouble.

Curse you, Pogo Games, for making procrastination so darn easy.

Ah, Football

2007-10-22T16:00:00.000-07:00

I've been enduring Sundays of my husband taking over the television for weeks now. It seems that it's football season, and the world will come to a cataclysmic end if all men are not glued to their televisions all day every Sunday to watch it.

Now, I don't dislike football, I just can't stand to watch it on tv. Don't ask me why, just quirky I guess. Maybe if I got a giant foam finger for home use and a screaming hot dog vendor to stand at the door, I might be a little more apt to perch myself on the couch and cheer for whatever team I dislike the least.

That's the other thing. Men will watch a football game regardless of whether their favorite team is playing. In fact, I've seen my husband growl over the remote just so he can watch a game involving two teams that he HATES. Why? I have no idea. Is there testosterone seeping from the screen, sending our men into virtual Nirvana with every touchdown?

I guess that's one of the mysteries of the Universe that women will never know.

Myself, I'll tolerate a day of football. I secretly don't loathe it as much as my husband may think, I just like watching him foam at the mouth when I pretend to reach for the remote. Honestly, I wouldn't know a legendary coach if I saw one. I don't know who won Super Bowl XVI, and I'm not really sure what a Nickel Defense is.

Me, I'm in it for the tight ends.

Conspiracy Theory #25 - Inherited Insanity

2007-09-29T21:45:00.000-07:00

My Mom used to tell me that insanity was inherited - you get it from your children.

And to think I didn't believe her.

When I was a child, my imaginary world wasn’t limited to Barbie kingdoms and unicorns and frogs that, for whatever reason, would magically become handsome princes when you kissed them. Quite often, I was onstage as a world famous rock star, or I was designing beautiful and complex houses (to a 5 year old, that is) as an architect. I even dug up ancient dinosaur bone once as an archeologist (which my Dad convinced me, after an hour and a half of arguing, was only an old dried up pork chop bone).

Most often though, I donned a raggedy brown and white baby blanket around my neck and was Supergirl, Defender of All that was Fair and Just.

Following in the family tradition of superhero pretend, my oldest daughter has become Captain Obvious.

Only, she’s not pretending.

Oh sure, it was cute for the first little while. I realized that, like most children, my daughter is very intelligent and only wanted to flex her intellectual muscles for all to see.

It only became a problem when normal conversation (keep in mind that she’s 5 – I use the term “normal conversation” loosely) became completely impossible with her. For anyone who doesn’t have children, a typical conversation with my daughter goes something like this:

“Sweetheart, tell me what happened to the lamp.”

“Momma…the lamp is broken.”

“I see that it’s broken, what happened?”

“It’s broken.”

Sigh. “Yes, I know it’s broken, how did it get broken?”

This can go on for hours – and this isn’t the worst case scenario. My daughter pops out with random statements of unmistakable perception at any and all times. “Momma, that’s your shirt,” and “Momma, I sit on the couch” are common, as well as “Momma, look, my nose” and “Momma, I farted,” even though I’m sure everyone for two counties heard it.

With as much attention to detail as this child displays, it amazes me how often she forgets her pants in the mornings.

So, like any other obnoxious habit my children pick up, I’ll just breathe deeply and tell myself repeatedly that she’ll grow out of it…I hope.

Come to think of it, my Mom also used to tell me she hoped I would grow up and have kids that drove me twice as crazy as I drove her.

Thanks Mom.

Conspiracy Theory # 87 - Scientists Discover That Almost ANYTHING can be called a "Meat Patty"

2006-09-28T18:35:00.000-07:00

You know that commercial for Kosher meats with the slogan "No Ifs, ands, or Butts?"

Now, I've had this little theory rumbling around in my brain for years - but now, my suspicions are more than justified.

I knew that things like balogna and hot dogs were made of the "leftovers" (most of them, anyway), and I let that slide, simply avoiding those "foods" at all costs. But what exactly is a "meat product?" Every living mammal is made of fat and muscle - meat - so is anything we produce a "meat product?" Is spit a meat product? Tears? Poo???

/shudder

I'm not Jewish, but I must say these people were WAY ahead of their time with this Kosher thing. Seriously. How did they know that someday in the future any part of a mammal would be used and mass-distributed to the public as "food?" Note the quotation marks. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for not wasting things, but come on...

There's also a rumor that KFC is now going by "KFC" instead of "Kentucky Fried Chicken" because their "chicken" isn't really chicken. Hmm, that brings to mind all the jokes about things from alligator meat to snails that "taste like chicken." Not so funny now : \ I'm not saying it's true (please don't sue me, Colonel Sanders) but it makes you wonder....

I was informed the other day too, that "carne asade" (sp?) is actually the meat shaved off the face of an animal. !?!?!?!

There goes my love for Taco Bell. "Yes, I'd like a cow-face taco, add cheese, extra cow face, an eyeball - oh, and put some butt on there while you're at it."

Ever heard the term, "You are what you eat"? No wonder there's so many assholes roaming the streets.

I'm off to eat my salad now. Lettuce, tomato, carrots and cabbage only. Dry.

Until next time....

Conspiracy Theory # 292: Boredom Breeds Destruction

2006-09-28T09:26:00.000-07:00

hmm. So I'm at work (shhhhh) and I don't have a single, solitary thing to do. The phone is silent, the door stays shut, all the files are filed, the copies copied, and the dictations - um - dictated. Granted, I'm paid fairly well to do pretty much nothing, but I find that when my brain comes to a halt, It takes some time and effort to get it back into gear.

Actually, that explains A LOT.

When I was a kid, sitting at a computer like this with absolutely nothing to do wouldn't have been so bad - I'd have turned the computer off, gotten up, and found something else to do. Usually that something involved lighting stuff on fire, but that's a compltely diferent issue.

For the record: No, I'm not a Firebug.

Or a Pyro.

Not really, anyway.

But I digress.

It's times like these that my mind wanders into those forbidden zones, 45 degrees from nowhere, where one pictures themselves half-naked on a beach in Maui sipping Pina Coladas while Matthew McCaughnahey fans them with a giant feathered fan --- or maybe that's just me.

Either way, it gets me in trouble.

I can already see my husband reading this later, and cornering me - "Matthew, huh?"

Aside from that, who wants to be dreaming of chiseled rippling muscleness one minute, only for that thought to be broken into and cruelly violated, though unwittingly, by some crusty lawyer or client voice on the telephone.

But that's only the first danger.

I once French Manicured my nails with correction fluid - that's some POTENT stuff. After sitting in an unventilated room breathing THAT stuff for an hour or two, I wound up answering the phone - the ONLY call of the day, mind you - with, "*name deleted*'s orafice, how may I help you?"

So when I started my next job, I avoided the Correction Fluid, but alas, boredom never failed to fill my mind with destructive, demented, and sometimes downright STUPID ideas for keeping me occupied.

As for the fire thing - well, saying that it was back when I was a teenager was stretching it a bit.

But that's story for another time, as I must leave my post (pun only half-intended) and go put out a - I mean, answer the phone.

Later :)

Feels like a Monday

2006-09-26T18:09:00.000-07:00

Conspiracy Theory # 198 :

Whoever created Mondays, was a sick *expletive deleted*

And isn't it just my luck to have not just one Monday in a week, but two - so far.

I need an old priest and a young priest, for my psychotically opressive, possessed printer/scanner/copier at work. I tried throwing holy water on it, it just piddled it out on the copy I had FINALLY gotten it to spit out.

And my car - don't get me started! Apparently it hasn't had it's rabies shots, it's foaming all over the battery. Or whatever that box thing is that the cables connect to. lol. I'm not that blond, I swear, I'm just tired.

I'm going to bed.

I don't know who you are, oh ye who cursed us with proverbial Mondays.... but I salute you.

*censored*

It's All Insanity Anyway - The Beginning

2005-12-09T03:17:00.000-08:00

First of all, I'd like to dedicate this entire blog to my Dad. I say this not only because he was a very important and influential part of my life, but because I believe it was him that dropped the pebble that created the tsunami of humurously crazed ideas in my mind (or lack thereof).

I remember when it all came together:

My friend Nikki and I had been driving around a small town for hours trying to find someone's house. On what we realized was the THIRD trip around a tidy little cul-de-sac, we came upon an older, not-too-fit gentleman bent over the front of his car, tinkering with what we guessed was the rebelling mechanics of his car. Now, this wouldn't seem to stand out so much in our minds from that description alone, but the poor man suffered from plumber's disease - in such severity that his pants (and underwear, if he was even wearing any - I myself couldn't see any, but then again, I wasn't really trying to look) barely rested at the top of the back of his thighs. Given this disturbing image, we quickly decided to throw in the towel on our search, and head back to my house.

My Dad must have heard the embarrassed teenage-girl giggles as we pulled in the driveway, or seen the ashen, traumatized looks on our faces, because he immediately got that knowing smirk on his face and asked what had happened.

We related our story, interrupted several times by silly little giggles and laced with horrible cliche'd jokes about "crack kills" and other tasteless things.

And so, after hearing the story and once again donning that half-cocked knowing grin, my Dad sat back in his large chair, and offered yet another in his endless line of deep insights.

"You know...God did that to you on purpose."

"Wha...???" Nikki and I both sat, a little confused, but waiting for the punchline, at any rate.

"He was reminding you of your mortality." And with that, he lifted himself from his seat, and exited to the kitchen to refill his coffee.

Nikki and I exchanged a quick, silent look, trying to decide whether to laugh, but mulling over the possibility.

And so, there it was - the beginning of a long line of conspiracy theories.

I'll quote my Dad on this - "It's all insanity anyway."