Enough About Me ...

Crap, Crap All Kinds Of Crap

2007-09-16T22:14:00.000-07:00

I walk into Fred Meyer and all I see is landfill. Stuff and packaging and crap and plastic. Big things, little stuff. Stuff that gets tossed into generic leaf bags when you’re cleaning your basement two or ten years later. I’d love to go back to the days when you bought stuff for stuff’s sake. Stuff so useful, it requires only a price. No need for extra 30% more, bigger, better, louder, faster, longer lasting, stronger extra strength words and packaging as a conviction to buy this product. I’m more than happy to read all that crap electronically and then buy it without packaging. It’s not about trees or processing or global warming, it’s about useless boxes used for transport from shelf to checkout to car to house to recycling yadda yadda yadda …

Describe yourself in one word.

2007-08-15T15:47:00.000-07:00

Let’s see, I’m curious and competitive, creative and driven. How about compuriativen. What? you gotta problem with that? Let's arm wrestle.

What is your ideal working environment?

2007-08-02T14:11:00.000-07:00

My ideal working environment is rich with passion, drive and collective force to deliver a top notch product to happy, engaged, included customers. That environment would be filled with people who trust and respect each other. They would know how to have a laugh and still make great use of each other's time. The working environment would also be thought highly of from a company perspective. We would be set up for success with budgeted funding, even modest, that would be there as we planned. Open heads would be easily cashed in when the right rock star was discovered. We could all take long walks on the beach and eat Chinese noodles. We'd all share a love of George Washington because he's the father of democracy and democracy is awesome, thank you!

Ten Things You Can Do With A Brick

2007-07-31T13:43:00.000-07:00

In no particular order

Carefully partition into many smaller bricks and make a little house for a dead mole your cat brought in.
Using word of mouth and clever use of social networking sites, promote the brick as a "pet" and auction off on ebay.
Position the brick on the ground, stand on it and lift one leg a la Karate Kid style. Extra points for reenacting the pose as though you were just illegally knock in the knee by one of your opponents.
Wear the brick around your neck and tell your friends it's the new albatross.
Stare intently at the brick attempting to lift it with your superhuman mind power.
Stick the brick in your pants and wait to see who notices. If no one, assume they thought you were happy to see them.
Put the brick in a backpack and walk up and down the stairs in your office to firm up your glutes.
Play brick, paper, scissors.
Use the brick to motivate coworkers. Give it a name, say "Bricky."
With only a chisel and the brick, create a work of art. Take it to Chihuly and see if he will replicate in blown glass.

Ultimate 360

2006-12-11T23:04:00.000-08:00

Ultimate fighting. Ultimately boring. I can’t decide if it’s the multiminutes spent in missionary position only to finish up with a grappling hold to the knee or the opening epic fox trot with fancy footwork sans punching. Based on my limited viewing of ultimate fighting, I’m starting to understand the appeal of WWF or I guess its WWE now. It takes the trash talking reminiscent of the early boxing days plus lots ‘n’ lots of t & a (which isn’t solely present on the men) and fast forwards all the hugging and canoodling. It’s no wonder WWE landed into a popular search engine’s top ten most searched list. Somewhere after Britney and before Paris. Yes, ultimate fighting needs a little something to worthy the title “ultimate.”

E-Z Clasp

2006-11-13T11:46:00.000-08:00

Someday I aspire to star in an infomercial. Nothing tickles me more than an hour spent listening to pretty people (or stars gone desperate) explain a problem I didn't know I had before and their scientifically tested, state of the art, easy to use solution. It turns out putting on a necklace is really, really hard. Millions of women everyday struggle to get their jewelry on. Reaching behind the neck, grabbing hold of those little, tiny clasps and finding the loop is next to impossible. It's true, many examples were provided of different, real women attempting to clasp their necklace and failing. In fact, not a single woman on the infomercial was able to get their necklace on. NOT EVEN ONE. E-Z clasp didn't even attempt to open the can that is asking others such as your significant other to help you clasp your necklace. Because as we all know, that scene begins with the frustrated husband who can't get the damn thing open and why the hell do you need to wear this necklace anyway, honey … you look FINE without it can we go now? Still ... can't ... get it ... open. And ends with divorce papers. Thanks to E-Z clasp, your marriage can be saved. It's easy, it's magnetic. A woman, provided she can actually get her hands behind her head, simple needs to approximate where the two ends meet and Presto! the necklace is on. Thank you E-Z clasp. Why hassle with silly bead stores that sell those clasps at five for a dollar. Thank you for allowing me to pay you $18.00 (plus shipping and handling) for your brilliance. My marriage will stay in tact and I will get that time spent struggling back in my day to devote to more productive things.

Is it hung or hanged?

2006-11-06T15:23:00.000-08:00

Finally a Wonderbra for men. Behold, the WonderJock. Now women can also endure that element of surprise in a drunken love-fest, pealing off each layer getting closer and closer to the tootsie roll center only to discover you've been Frito-Layed. This bag of chips is one third chips two thirds air. Over the years, men have developed techniques to determine the big question, "are those real?" A very straightforward decision tree that forks at "Do they jiggle?" Absence of jiggle (of the jigga-jigga or cajoink-cajoink variety) leads you to a bad boob job or falsies may be present. Thanks to AussieBum, girls are now under pressure to pioneer similar techniques. "What ever happened to a cheap pair of tube socks?", says Steve Bandow. It's true, spotting the tube sock was something even an amateur could do. Now, passing bulges will spark the inner question, "… or is he just happy to see me?"

One Whole Chook

2006-11-02T10:37:00.000-08:00

As a vegetarian, I started a canned meat collection. The centerpiece of this caboodle is One Whole Chicken in a can without giblets packed in broth. So simple, so clear about what's in the can, it represents the pure humor that can be appreciated in canned meat. Potted meat products don't take the cheery O approached to product naming. They simple state here in this can are fish balls. If KFC took the same approach, they would label their product - "fried dead bird in a bucket" (r. chavez circa 2001). Sure, there are potted meat products that have such a variety of meat parts, it renders the name impossible to pinpoint what exactly lies in the can. For that, the name is as direct as possible. Luncheon loaf, it's a loaf of meat you have for lunch. Now if we can take the canned meat naming convention and apply it to life, maybe we could spend less time decoding what she meant by "I'm fine, honey" and more time dealing with the fact that she's pissed at you for not noticing her new haircut and how cute it looks.

Here Doggy Doggy

2006-10-21T11:04:00.000-07:00

If your fetish is animals, might want to take that trash elsewhere. Looks like WA has tightened up the penalty for bestiality. Always refreshing to see our state gubment cover all the bases. As we approach those cold, dark, lonely winters little Cupcake can sleep a little easier at night.

Ho-lloween

2006-10-20T11:27:00.000-07:00

My yearly speil that goes something to the tune of

"Hey Laura, what are you going to be for Halloween next week?"
"Hey Bob, yeah , I'm going to be a carrot! I just bought it yesterday. I have this super cute, tight orange dress that stops at my crotch. I'm going to wear fishnets and stilettos. I have green hair dye cuz I'm going to be one of those Whole Food carrots, you know. And I won't be wearing any panties cuz carrots don't really wear panties now do they. See you at Josh's party! Tee Hee Hee."

Holloween. When every costume involves fishnet tights.

A Haiku for Trail Mix

2006-10-11T08:57:00.000-07:00

Peanuts and raisins
You play the role of filler
Filler is for birds

Ooooo Busted!

2006-10-10T09:13:00.000-07:00

Mr. Whiskers, the office cat, totally caught in action having a little bio-break turn water cooler trip. Refreshing, purified water from the Alps isn't enough for the portly, gray fuzzball. He needs the real stuff right, from the can.

for others that have been busted see Oooohhh, Busted!

With Little Sprinkles On Top

2006-10-10T09:04:00.000-07:00

Nobody says, "I love the Seahawks," like Krispy Kreme. Even with their quaint, hey-let's-be-different-and-stand-out-with-a-creative-spelling-interpretation-of-'crispy'-and-'cream' strategy, they still find time to pay tribute to a team that's not doing half bad this season. Hey, It's okay that you can't spell all that great and your doughnuts (or is it do-nut?) are too sweet, your Seahawk Sprinkles™ show support for the community and a team that should really kick bottom this season until they run up against Da Bears and lose their momentum. Those little navy, green and white sprinkles will always be there holding the mojo in the dough. 3-2-1 Synergy!!!

Something to Chew On .. Or Not

2006-10-10T09:00:00.000-07:00

My office is located just a mere mile or two away from the Wall of Gum.

There you will find a decade of little balls of gum snuggled in closely on a brick wall. Years and years of chewed chicle so glorious men, woman and children stand in front with a big smile for the camera. Some spell out Tom hearts Sara in cherry Hubba Bubba. Others simply contribute their masticated petroleum-based polymer as they walk by on their way to a meeting. What ever your contribution, the wall stands strong holding the memories of wads gone by and celebrates the addition of many more saliva filled confections to come.

Thanks Trident

2006-04-28T10:07:00.000-07:00

Of all the things to pretend is new about an old product, why do companies choose the "Now with easier opening!" to push to customers. Evidently, with Trident gum, it was pretty easy to open it, but not so "EZ" to close. How hard was it to close a pack of Trident gum? You just squish the tinfoil over the top and voila. Milk industry, you've got your folly too. The plastic quick pour cap is atrocious. Especially at 2am, crying baby on hip and getting your knuckles out of the way just so as to avoid hitting the ridge of the carton. The other mechanism worked like a charm and I could do it with one hand. Why ruin it! The only product I would accept a new and improved E-Z opening campaign are Band-Aids. When your dripping blood there's nothing I want open quicker than a band-aid. They should also offer a way to open it with one hand or your foot. That would be helpful.

Just Ew

2006-03-21T21:14:00.000-08:00

One of a few sad addictions that I have (addiction to American Idol entry coming soon) is my need for TLC, that's The Learning Channel to you not in the know. They have some amazing shows. Make-overs, baby stories, wedding stories, surgery, little people, fat people almost like reading the Guinness book of world records really. This one show, "The Man Whose Arms Exploded" pushed the TLC envelope a bit too far. I'm not even sure if there was a point or script or flow to the show other than dude, look how gross this guys arms are. Thirty minutes later, it was over. So I share with you this program and be pleased that it took you two seconds for the same effect.

Deliverance of the Sea

2006-03-21T19:44:00.000-08:00

During an excited discussion on monogamy with some of my high school turn e-friends, the question finally arrived at "Mallards, really? What other animals are monogamous, Jean?" To which I replied the typical answer of many birds, the prairie vole (I don't exactly know what this is except that it's studied quite frequently) and shrimp. I don't know why I know this other than it does make for great party conversation. Pressed on the shrimp answer (more specifically: "Shrimp??? C'mon, chimpy. You're one of a billion plankton floating in a cloud in the ocean about to eaten by a baleen whale and you're gonna stick with ONE other crustacean? How could a shrimp even FIND their life-mate if a strong current separated them? I would like to respecfully call bull-shit"), I was forced to widipedia my retort as back up. Yes, shrimp are monogamous, but what I didn't know was the type of shrimp. It turns out they aren't the running wild and free type. These shrimp dwell in a sponge, sort of an oceanic subdivision. Most interestingly is the their tendency of inbreeding. One can only wonder if they also are talented banjo players and squeal like a piggy.

Teeth Cleaning

2006-03-09T16:00:00.000-08:00

I was having my teeth cleaned today, which, ordinarily is a straightforward experience. This day, however, I fell to the mercy of my hygienist and her ill attempt at conversation triggered by a little tooth prick which caused me pain. And I paraphrase: "I'm not trying to hurt you. So sorry. Not like my doctor. I have these plantar warts, you see. I go in every other week and he burns the plantar warts off with nitrate. The plantar warts then grow back and I have to keep getting the plantar warts removed." It was like she tried to stick the word "plantar wart" in every sentence. Then, when she had enough of that, she went on to tell me about the cluster of plantar warts that - and this is where the relevance comes in, I guess - when the doctor applies the nitrate to the single plantar wart, he usually gets it right on the spot. However with the cluster of plantar warts, well that's a bit tricky. Apparently he isn't as precise, thus missing the plantar wart cluster giving her a pus-ie blister which leads to pain which is what she inflicted upon me, but not on purpose which her doctor did inflict pain to her, but on purpose when he aimed for the clustered plantar warts and missed, resulting in said pus-ie blister for no reason.

I felt so defenseless, my mouth blocked by the teeth cleaning, totally unable to guide the conversation passed the plantar warts and on to other topics. Like, hey speaking of plantar warts, who do you think will make it to the top twelve tonight? (American Idol ref) Or plantar wart? That reminds me of this little planter I bought for this great tulip and daffodil center piece to be used for Easter with egg hunting and fuzzy, sweet pleasant things of abounding joy. I think it was the pus-ie blister that really began to gross me out. After exhausting the variations of her podiatral issues, thankfully we finally switched topic to her friends Jean and Joan. Apparently having friends with such close sounding names really sucks. She keeps wanting to call Jean, who is a man, Joan. And if that weren't enough, she'll call Joan, who is a woman, Jean, but that works out okay. If they were both woman, the issue may have been avoided. Having both genders represented really raised havoc with her ability to keep the names straight.

That tidbit lines up quite nicely with topics to initiate with your cab driver to avoid conversation. It's up there with "My cat eats dog food," "I bought this shirt on sale for ten dollars," and now "I have two friends name Jean and Joan." But, grrl, that hygienist can sure clean some teeth, so she's still my dog.

And as a side note, I can't for the life of me spell "pus-ie." Every time I try, it comes out pussy …. Which doesn't look right and I'm not brave enough to look up "pusy" on the web.

Too often, such ignorance has bred disaster

2006-03-02T18:39:00.000-08:00

I had no insight into the ways of pest control. No insight until this morning I read about the Rat Zapper 2000. This was brought to my attention as the Wall Street Journal described of a patent lawsuit on the Rat Zapper 2000 and it's unfortunate run in with the makers of the classic red "V" mouse trap. You know, the ones that chop their head off as they partake in some gouda. I then reflected on how we killed mice back in the day and where this pest murder or "control" is headed. First we have the guillotine approach. Let's lour them in with something yummy and snap! That seemed to be working until little bubba junior snapped his fingers in one. I've done it, it hurts like Brenna Gethers singing a Donna Summer classic. Ouch! Then the hippies tried to convince us we need to learn to live with our pests. Nope, aaaah. Thanks for playing Star Moonshine, your tub of turtle wax is waiting in the back for ya. The glue sheet came by and you watched the poor little critter struggle and starve through its attempts to wriggle out of a resistance that took inertia and cranked it to eleven. That brings us to the little mouse electric chair, Rat Zapper 2000. This contraption designed by an open mind inspired as he watched a gopher die as it came into contact with an electric fence on his ranch. So what's next? I'm thinking lethal injection. Let's take poison and needles and embed them in a cute little, cheesy flavoured house. Squidge. Dead rat. But if that's too far, according to this open letter to Pest Control Operators, you can also simply give them chocolate Ex-Lax and they defecate themselves to death. Now that's creative. Little rat got the shits and died.

Technology I Miss, Item One

2006-02-21T20:35:00.000-08:00

I've often pondered the concept of an 18-hour bra. I'm a busy girl, with busy things to do, but I've never stopped in the middle of my day and thought my gawd, if this bra would only last a few more hours, I'd be able to accomplish so much more. I've never said to my girlfriends, "Meet you at the club? OoooOoooooo, bummer … I'd love to, but my bra, you see I had an early start so I only have like another hour, by the time I get there, get parking … I just can't." More importantly, who are these women who sleep six hours, put their bra on and go around all day and most of the night getting shit done. When working through the seventeenth hour, would one be able to tell then end is near? What if you wear it for an eight hour day and decide to catch up on some lost sleep, does it hold that spot and pick up where you left off? Or does the resting rejuvenate it for a new beginning. With such a tough work week, I could see where you might lose track. There you'd be in the middle of an interview that seemed to be going pretty well. Or was going well, that is until the bra gave out. Do we even bother painting the image of when the 18-hour bra times out? If it turns from perky little grapefruits to two cats fighting in a bag, I can see the market. Or is this another market carved out by the man sitting up there on the shelf with douching and Romantic Comedies.

From My Desk To The Gym

2006-02-13T14:55:00.000-08:00

During my lonely, cold walk from my corporate drone desk to the go nowhere treadmill, I pondered the following:

Somewhere in the world it's garbage day today.
All day long we chew and moo. It's what us cows are supposed to do.
It's all moderate to no hill from here.
Campfire cookies sold by prepubescent girls is another form of prostitution only the sugar comes in the form of a cookie.
Do I have VPL?

In The Zone

2006-01-30T20:59:00.000-08:00

As admitted in an earlier blog, I run on a treadmill. Granted, this is a seasonal affair as running in the rain in the dark is not only tough to commit to, it's dangerous. Some danger comes from a few close calls with automobiles not seeing me and let's not even get started about the host of serial killers the northwest has nurtured. But that's not what this blog is on about. I'm here to talk about the zones so brilliantly marked on the JogMaster 2000. You see, there are two key zones, the fat burning zone and the cardio zone, distinguished by heart rate. Seeing as my ass isn't filled with cardio, I'm not quite certain why there is any other zone pointed out. What puzzles me is the concept of not burning fat when you are in the cardio zone. I'm trying to picture what exactly the fat is doing at that point. I'm running on my JogMaster, fat is burning, then my heart rate kicks over to the cardio zone and my fat says, "whoa, hold on boys-pant pant-the game's on. Dude pass the dip," as it sits back collected in my thighs watching me and my heart rate run like an idiot. Probably yelling out pointers and laughing. Or trash talking or singing little jingles, "D Cup! bang bang. D Cup! bang bang"
I've worked out in the fat burning zone, it's truly boring. The heart rate doesn't have to beat very fast to enter the zone. Some crunchy food and a swift walk to take a piss during the ad break ought to get you there in no time.

Who Knew It Was Forgotten?

2006-01-26T21:18:00.000-08:00

The top of a Tic Tac container says, "Have a nice mint!" Some days when I'm reaching for that little 1.9 caloric minty wonder, those sweet words complete my need to freshen and distract as I eagerly await my next meal. Let me warn you, however, if you search for such an image be warned. "The Forgotten Art Of Analingus" is lurking and apparently rated quite high in today's fancy search algorithms. And that charming phrase somehow cancelled out the delicate prose of my Freshmint moment.

Mother Nature Approved

2006-01-19T16:37:00.000-08:00

So I mother. And as such I converse with others who mother. The topic most frequented, feeding the little love buckets. Do they or don't they get sugar, do you breast feed or are you the guilt ridden mother who feeds them the man's processed formula, how often, how much, fresh food, baby food. Naturally marketing gets into it. Only the finest, most complete, modeled after breast milk, elvin kissed, certified organic, twenty-five essential vitamins, DHA, ARA, mashed by hand into a purified gooby mess. With supporting pictures of pure, creamy colored babies, soft focussed in fluffy towels smiling at their wholesome mother with the eye locking understanding of love ever lasting. End scene. What's left out is the image a mere few years down the road of your perfect angel with palette so pure it could bless bagels at Jenny's birthday party. One hand tucked into the bowl of cool ranch Doritos other hand on the microphone of the rented Karaoke machine singing "Love Shack," with other pure paletted angels that were too nervous to sing alone and the one angel who's too sensitive to fit in doing the obnoxious "Love Shack baby" line. All of them giggling suspiciously as the punch quickly runs low.
So okay, I'm the guilt ridden mother who has corrupted my children's taste buds with that evil substance sugar. I like to think that I understand what the road ahead may involve and I want to teach them moderation. So here little johnny, taste it, mmmm isn't that gooooood. That sweet taste of sugar.

Damn You Digital Cable

2006-01-18T23:18:00.000-08:00

Yo.
Uh uh.
MC Beanie Baby wit his funky fresh cohort Ornamental Cabbage yo.
We gonna crunk it up tonight.
We got 't' we got 'a' what else have we got to say
Huh
Got fiddy of my friends in their benz drinkin' bub going to the club cuz there is no pub
Wah-wah wah-wah
Had we a pub we'd go, but real slow and know no yo-yo gonna flow mo' po' than this fomo
[talented, young, emerging girl artist sings complicated yet simple ten noted catchy ditty]
Shake yo sixlets. Bring yo fun dip. Milk yo shake-n-bake.
Uh uh. T-Ranz. Huh-huh. T-Ranz Fatty Acid in the house yo.
Got my xbox. Three six oh and a ho ho with some cheetoes... er
poo, I've already explored the long 'oh' sound.

Finally all day all video. My bum's numb.

Yeah, The One With The Laugh

2006-01-13T21:51:00.000-08:00

Occasionally, sometimes I wonder how people would reference me not like best "romance movie since Titanic" but like, "that girl with the hair," or "you know, that girl who's really loud and obnoxious, but not too obnoxious," or "yeah, I remember she had the hair with a constant urge to tap dance on every wood floor she walked on." I don't really care what the description is as long as it's not, "Oooooo that's right, she didn't say much," or "she was so nice," or 'she had good ideas, but didn't really know how to express them." See what ten minutes with E-tv does? Looking into behind he scenes of Angelina Jolie. All about image and perceptions. But enough about me ...

Heh

2006-01-11T10:56:00.000-08:00

There aren't many things that make me laugh as hard as watching grown men in a field with a fast car. So pure and so real. What did they do back in the day when fast cars didn't exist? Perhaps that sat on the back of an angry bull and timed each other. Or perhaps they threw very large logs to see who could throw the farthest. Or maybe they took an extra large hockey puck, slide it along ice while people frantically swept out a path for it. Whatever it was I'm sure countless hours were spent diving in deep with detail. Making rules, calling each other cheaters and drinking something fermented at the end. So good to see some steal threads to human kind.

Shower Fresh

2006-01-07T20:32:00.000-08:00

I flipped to the Colbert Report (pronouced Colber' Repor', for those not in the know) and stumbled across The Swash. Promoted by Mark Cuban investor billionaire. This is a toilet seat that heats, washes and dries all parties in the front row of the Pissfeld Follies. More exciting than the two retractable water wands for him and her or the mantra to "help promote the Cleaner Man" is The Swash promotional video. Totally worth it to see the Oscar moment where the young, beautiful actress with her shower fresh clean posterior shares with the audience her moment of clarity and Noble Prize deduction that follows:
"We don't use dry paper to wash our hands. We don't use dry paper to wash our dishes. *Why* do we use *dry* *paper* on our most sensitive body parts?"
A retort, I have none. Why *do* we? Why use paper when you can feel shower fresh all day long … all day long. That, I do not know. I want one and I'll patiently await the Swash attachments soon to follow.

Loves Me Some Dip

2006-01-02T17:49:00.000-08:00

While waiting for my whole salmon to be filleted, I partook in some crab dip. I wouldn't register myself as a dip person, but this was the best dip I've ever had. Granted, I was hungry. It could have been cardboard mixed with mayo for all taste buds concerned. I bought a tub and a pack of Wheat Thins for a gentle ride to my mouth. Thankfully the hit lasted longer than crack so I could wait a week before my next tub. Pulled open the lid, slathered a goob on some soft, fresh wheat bread and the crab dip was not so good. I tried it on some Ak Mak, that 100% wheat cracker from the vicinity of Mt. Ararat, the cradle of civilization and the ancient land made famous by Noah's Ark and the crab dip was not so good. It didn't have that magic that drove me to the store to buy it the following week. It was then I realized the crab dip's success was the Wheat Thin chaser. What ever elfinned its way in to make that cracker should be sold separately. I'd like to sprinkle it on my broccoli as I begin Diet 2006.

Two Scoops

2005-12-23T22:59:00.000-08:00

My cat shits outside the box. I originally thought it was some form of encopresis, but that was me and the DSM-IV having a go at variations on psychosis. Ah to be a young bird with a cognitive psychology degree. It turns out she is top cat. Top cat to other feline in her pride means that she will not cover her stool for it is majestic and worthy of others to olfactor in its glory. She is queen and you will cover while she will not. Could be the makings for a new romantic comedy. Madelyn and Jack meet by the litter box. Madelyn shits and doesn't cover, Jack covers and doesn't shit. Jack meows platonically. Despite that twinkle in their eyes obvious to the audience, Jack trots off to see if the pork was left out. Madelyn licks her butt hole. After various comic scenes involving walking downstairs to eat then upstairs to sit then downstairs to eat again, the two realize they've been laying around for hours on the same coat that was tossed on the couch subsequently pouncing them into purfect love.

Okay so Peter Gabriel is tres boy

2005-12-21T15:08:00.000-08:00

… and tres good. I really love his work and only now did I realize that his song about dictators over the years does not begin "She's so POPular." But it really worked for me. He goes on to say, "she's a knock out," big music, "if looks could kill, they probably will," yadda, yadda, yadda. How is this song not about the trials and tribulations of widening your perceived I.Q. equity as a young, pretty woman in today's primary school. Trying to play games without frontiers, but the continual whistling by Mr. Gabriel or shall we say "the man," belittling the games as silly causing goons to piss in the jungle only because nothing else seemed to rhyme with baboon except goon. Dictator? I think not. This is a song about a little girl's quest who is albatrossed by her popularity and good looks. This could very well be a shout out to the Hillarys, George Eliots and Vigdís Finnbogadóttirs of the world. You go girls! Hoot. Hoot.

Madge! I soaked in it!

2005-12-13T07:45:00.000-08:00

There's this sensor in my head that detects catchy phrases. Those high in catch are inserted in a storage unit flagged with receptors. Life ensues. As phrases fly around, don't count your chickens, need your vpat asap for the ppmt, mmm this spinakopitta tastes great DING a receptor is hit forcing you to recite, "Tastes great, less filling. Tastes great, less filling." I have dozens of these inserted in my storage unit, most of them by marketing. Some are pop songs. I feel like someone owes me money. Though I believe in crystal light and I believe in me, I'm after the taste of a new generation. Not the other white meat either. Where's the beef in that? Yeah sure, they plump when you cook 'em, but let's fill it to the brim. Sure, I left my exes in Texas. Sometimes you feel like a nut so have it your way. Because it's two, two two mints in one! Thank you for your support. Can you hear me now?

an aside, there's a cute slogan generator for those needed more catch.

Cough, cough sniff

2005-12-10T17:35:00.000-08:00

I have this sneaky suspicion that Tylenol was put out by the man. I've never been a drug taker (dream maker love teach you not to mess around wit me). My reality is so wild and full of context switches (that was for the geeks in the hizouse. Hoop hoop) that suppressing my inhibitions or enhancing the taste of Starburst never quite suited my orita. My super hunky husband drinks this medicinal crap like Chartreuse and Benedictine which was used by the monks as an *elixir* OOooooOoo. So I think I'm going to pay homage to the monk times and use elixir to help with the colds. Granted, if I have a bad fever, I'm not sure the monks quite solved that issue and the man did, so I'll drop a capsule of T. But hear me now and believe me latah, there is something to be said about monks, Chinese and hippie medicine. Not exactly sure what that something is good tasting, less filling. However, I am doubtful that the monks have a warning label stating alarm if you eat the man and drink more than a glass or so of alcohol a day because your liver does not have room to process the man's toxins and your splash of scotch. This year's cold season brought to you by Sambucol and Benedictine. Cheers, mate!

8008

2005-12-07T12:35:00.000-08:00

I'm watching "Extras" a new britcom delivered from the dudes who did "The Office." I was fondly reminded of the days when we discovered that 5,318,008 on a calculator spelled "BOOBIES" when shown upside down. Oh the fun that ensued as it cascaded around the classroom. It was like watching a human simulation of emailing a somewhat funny JPEG around to friends.

Sunday

2005-12-07T00:01:00.000-08:00

It was when I watched my nine month old choose the glass lid to drop on the linoleum floor over the flimsy steel lid due to noise factor and pure potential that I realized this monster truck business was bound to happen. It probably already occurred back in gladiator days. Those people could erect giant columns and bath houses, curious why they didn't pile up some of that rubble and mud to see which chariot could drive over it. Or did they and the placing people in a ring with lions generated more air play. The romullet was in the same social circles, but didn't quite make it in the history books. Here we are many years later and fans continue to pay for the whole seat even though they only need the edge.

Make Him Stop

2005-12-05T21:36:00.000-08:00

There's this street musician who hangs in front of PCC, our local hippi mart, and does his show. Though I enjoy the snippet of a guitarist and his lament as I walk from A to B, this guy is a nutcase. He is neither lamenting nor reflecting. He down right taunts. Everyone who walks by suddenly appears in his lyrics. I've seen this tactic done on a candid camera tom green like show. That was funny. He is not. He's mean. I'm not sure the free range, wheatless, lactose intolerant customers can handle it. You go in for some neat loaf and exit the store to angry, hairy man saying you don't listen to his crappy music and why don't you people notice me? I'll tell you busker, it's because you should be singing about your dog that done did you wrong or the calla lilies should be pink pink pink like the colour of her skin. Accosting your audience won't put another nickel your guitar box, baby. You want fame? Well fame costs and right here is where you start paying, in poetry.

Don't Forget To Bring Your Cake In From The Rain

2005-11-05T20:36:00.000-08:00

I can remember a time walking over human feces to get to my desk at a job that paid me six dollars every hour for my work. I can remember days retrieving a parking ticket from underneath my windshield wiper on my eighties Toyota Tercel EZ that cancelled out my days earnings as I frantically drove across town to my next gig eating a day old bagel and some tap water. Meanwhile, my new hunky boyfriend told stories of moral events in go-carts, discounts at Barnes and Noble and REI and free soda for all employees. I dealt with people wanting free tickets to performances that cost nine dollars and teaching students that wore two hundred dollar tap shoes whining, "I think there's something wrong with my shoe; I can't seem to tap dance," while I wore my ten year old shoes I used in high school. He spoke of interesting problems that rarely involved funding issues and rides in his buddy's new Porsche. I love the performing arts, really I do, but there comes a time after twenty years in the biz when it's time to say, "fuck it, I'm getting in bed with the geeks." I love artists, but damn them for continuously reinventing the wheel when they hit topics of press releases, mailing lists, templates and grant deadlines. It was all laid out. All you needed to do was a simple "save as", stick it somewhere that would support an organizational memory, copy / paste, adjust the date and call it done. Too hard? I'm outta here. Other thoughts this evening involve men's drive to make up for lost time with parts barricaded from them as they spent two years or so in diapers. The nutrition bar market, dare I say craze, that boils down to a Snickers bar with a multivitamin strap on. Last thought, cuz everything comes in threes, I think we should simply size hats in pin, normal and pumpkin. That's all I got tonight.

Meedley Meedley

2005-11-03T09:59:00.000-08:00

Okay. So I thought the word "whittle" included two letter 'd's. Yeah yeah yeah. My apologies for not catching the American T-to-D conversion. Also note that those who indeed whittle rarely pronounce it with the windy 'wh' and articulate 't' sounds. Turns out it's two 't's plus a whimsical 'h'. Through my valiant attempts to uncover the true spelling, I stumbled across the meaning of the word Widdle. Widdling the gueetar at bionic speeds was best captured by the Burninator creator himself, Strong Bad. With my new found love for the word whittle, I strive to utilize its merriment each day. Say whittle three times fast. Say whittle again. Do they speak English on whittle? That is a tasty burger.

Here's My Read Out

2005-11-01T12:46:00.000-08:00

I love the phrases chump change, ornamental cabbage, tasty beverage, a-to-d conversion and lube.

:)

2005-10-27T15:12:00.000-07:00

Let's postulate that you're abstaining from something, like say using emoticons during instant message conversations. Unable to control yourself, you stick a little colon parenthesis combo right at the end of a passive aggressive sentence or something that when read without the little faux smiley would be a total insult. Like, "yeah, your hair really sucks :)" At that point, what part of the wagon are you on? Does one fall off the wagon or get on the wagon. Which way does it go? Personally I'd rather be off the wagon, who wants to be cooped up on a wagon all day? I picture the people on the wagon not abstaining, carried around together in a cart of debauchery. Meanwhile, those off the wagon are getting around town, living their lives in control. What is the wagon, really. No doubt I have this the wrong way. I'll use a different phrase like whoops, I've somehow went against my original intent of abstaining from emoticon use or what ever the non desired habit might be. Maybe a simple "whoops" would suffice. Indicating your position in the way of the wagon is moot really. There is no wagon. It's all made up and truly, you've let only yourself down :(

Faux Fur

2005-10-21T14:30:00.000-07:00

Not fond of the words Bolster, Shit Load, Meat Market, Calling inanimate objects "fun", Tote and Sweater Set.

Madness, they call it Madness

2005-10-20T20:00:00.000-07:00

Now there's a group that did a great job doing exactly what they dreamed of doing. Our House, Baggy Trousers you name it they probably stuck a melody behind it. And while I'm on music, a topic I frequently avoid due to my lack of lyric knowledge (see You Ugly, Though I Love You So), I have finally come to the conclusion that the Barenaked Ladies sound like the Wiggles. Listen to Hot Potato, Hot Potato next to Be My Yoko Ono and you'll see what I mean. Barenaked ladies is a band I really don't like and don't particularly want to understand how to appreciate. I came, I listened, I kissed $13.95 good-bye. Personally, I'm a Wiggles fan. There's a mediocre band who said, "Hey, we will never make it big as an average rockish band, but there must be a market for us," and boy where they right. They sing adult music to kids and the kids simply dig it. Viva Wiggles! And just to be totally random here, I just made the personal discovery that Petit Fours (those little Alice In Wonderland Cakes) are really just a gourmet Ho-Ho. There you go. Nothing to see here, move along...

Dunny Door In A Thunder Storm

2005-10-14T23:56:00.000-07:00

Dudes, I'm very excited to state that I'm ready to step up the plate put my wood behind the arrow and begin using pop phrases of the business male dominion. I know it'll take balls, but guys, I'm thinking outside the scrotum here. Should be a slam dunk. Who's your daddy, huh? I'm da man. It's just super to hear these power point, bi-minute mottos to get the point across. I'll slap you an ETA ASAP.

Are You American or American't?

2005-10-11T23:05:00.000-07:00

I don't do America blogging, BUTT, whew thank you America for talk shows. I'm trying this radical new diet: eat less / exercise more. Crazy, I know. It involves like ten minutes on the hamster wheel. To which, just centimeters (that was for you metric system people) away is a T.V. I monitor my heart rate, yeah one of those people. I was conducting a small test on heart rate and television while running on a treadmill. My null hypothesis: Heart rate will not change while glancing at television. I, of course, was under the belief that it would actually decrease even while running. So, I would run, look out at the beautiful canal, the flame red falling leaves and note my heart rate (136). Then I would simply glance at the T.V. and note my heart rate (129). I did it a few times to see if it went down. Each time, my heart rate would decrease when I glanced at the T.V. Of course without excel and some fancy statistics, I cannot report if my findings are indeed statistically significant with a level set at .05. Could very well be left to chance. So, this one glance, I caught the show "My Son's Dead And I Hope He's The Father." It really boiled down to a paternity test show. No dead sons seemed to be involved. Nonetheless, my ten minute treadmill flew by and my heart rate was hovering just above 120 and I was running uphill. All I'm saying is I can't believe these talk shows are still producing daily shows after all these years. Then you look at librettos from Opera or Shakespeare plots and realize people are just fascinated with adultery, misogyny, paternity, wooing and down right shagging your cousin. This show had me totally sucked in and I didn't even have sound. The body language was enough to let me know that he was a down right dirty dog and even though maybe she slept around a tad, he was a married man who cheated on his wife and was clearly Spirits father. He should just own up and be the father he neglected to be these past two years. You ain't nothin'. You ain't nothin'. Hoot. Hoot. Three snaps Z formation (has that phrase made it back from lameville to hip again?)

Take Your Legwarmers And Shove It

2005-10-06T21:47:00.000-07:00

Yes, it's true, the fashion of the 80's is back. I lived through it once. Why, oh why must I endure it and all the crappy renditions of Walking On Sunshine and I'm Your Venus again. What I'd like to see is the fashion of 1920 take stage again. Those days when everyone said it with a hat. Hats were everywhere. I'm just trying to figure out where all the hats went and why they were there in the first place. I suppose it's all the walking up hill both ways working in the mine for a nickel a day that required the extra protection. Hats are so great. Maybe the great hat decline was some conspiracy kicked off by Pfizer to carve out the Rogaine market of today. Balding? Who cares, I've got me troosty 'at. They all had Cockney accents back then too.

What about Maslow? What about his needs?

2005-10-05T14:47:00.000-07:00

I was just splendoring in the days when I lingered in the top half of Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs. Whoa the privilege. Though I dabble a bit up there, my days are consumed with the lower needs as my husband and I raise our younglings. Laying down that solid foundation through bottom wiping, Clifford cereal and arguments about no you can't have the pink bowl today, you're going to have to enjoy your meal in a white, yet zany bowl, yes I know the pink bowl is clean, but the white bowl was on top and since you're not a spoiled brat you should welcome the environment of not getting everything you ask for.

Then I was thinking about Maslow and his needs. I suppose he never quite got past Esteem Needs. Apparently he settled right into recognition from others, prestige and status. Oh yeah, there's this other stage, Self-Actualization, but don’t bother until you've created a popular pyramid and named it after yourself.

Hangover Television

2005-10-03T21:49:00.000-07:00

For just one hour a month I watch a little crappy television. Often times that hour tends to line up with a spirited evening the night before. Not a huge investment and it keeps you up with the times. September has brought me up to date with the concept of "nexted." I'm not on the market or anything, but I would totally have used this for those dates where you just know it's going nowhere. Instead of sitting there exchanging drab stories on weather and what your Halloween plans might be, you simply say while he or she is biting into that baby tortellini covered in sun dried artichoke roasted red pepper pesto, "you know, you're just not working, so I'm afraid I'm going to next you." The person simply pouts, walks away and returns to their strudel of friends announcing, "Dude, I got nexted." From this I've constructed the following haiku:

Wow, hi! like, let's go
I like puppies. Tee hee hee
Dude, I got nexted

Behold The Muffin Top

2005-10-01T15:21:00.000-07:00

I'm not usually one for dissing the ladies, but I have to admit the whole concept of a Muffin Top is quite amusing. Apparently, for those not in the know, the Muffin Top refers to the roll of belly and side-belly the rolls over a pair of low-rise jeans. I believe it can be generalized to any low-rise fashion article. I've not quite attained full Muffin Top myself, but I do have a pair of low-rise jeans and have compensated potential muffin topage with a long shirt. What's amazing to me is not the flesh that spilleth over. It's the absolute blind faith in the seams of their jeans. It could be the simple act of dropping your keys that could take a gal from a Muffin Top to a Hot Lava Cake.

Captain America

2005-09-29T23:18:00.000-07:00

There's this dude at the gym. Well, he's an old dude what's that, a granddude? He's only known by my fellow gym friends as Captain America. This name given to him from his ever so apparent United States we love you memorabilia. It was the spitting that prompted me to drop my dumbbells. That and the grunting. The spitting and the grunting, oh and the posing in the mirror. The spitting, the grunting, the posing that makes a run on the hamster wheel a jolly experience. He works out in jeans, hiking boots and mirrored sunglasses. The Hot Tamales eaten between sets sort of dropped him out of the black belt in health class. I'm so impressed that he has the commitment to work out at the gym everyday. It's people like Captain America that inspire me to just let'er go. He yiz who he yiz. Hi, I'm Captain America. I drive a BMW that carries four buttholes instead of the standard two and please don't step on my teacup poodle, Nugget.

Yoddendum

2005-09-29T20:27:00.000-07:00

My hunky but geeky Aussie husband corrected my yodalect by suggesting that one of the books should actually be called Program With Yoda, You Will. I like totally agree. A big Hoopdee-doo to you! And since I've already created this entry, for Yoda In A Nutshell, I'm thinking not the typical O'Reilly penciled rhino. More like a little Yoda nestled in a nutshell ala Anne Geddes. Hey, Hoopdee-doo! She's an aussie too. This entry brought to you by the country of Australia. Where's my sausage roll. It's a long way to the shop if you want one.

Hip Hap

2005-09-28T22:11:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting here trying to figure out what the past tense of hip might be, because I think that we've run out of material in the Hip Hop scene. The whole thing seems to be reduced to the cool beat, the chick or tea pot singing some melodic catch tune and of course Mr. or Ms. KeeperReal hangin' by the pool drinking bub ( A word that caught on because it rhymes with club ). I saw a dude who whispered most of his masterful rhymes, that was different. It all seems very not hip. I remember the days when Hip Hop was more hip than hop. The hip people had pot bellies and were hugely thankful that baggy was in. Then it went through the whole hop phase, thank you Mr. Hammer! Now we're at pectoral implants and lots and lots of baby oil to accentuate the six-P ( Hopefully those are real ). Neither hip nor hop really. Could it be that the grand masters are distracted with teeth whiteners and what forty of hiphopsters to appear in their video? No matter. I'm clearly missing the days when funky fresh was da bomb. The dream was creating clever libretto about life and times. This rarely included parties at the McMansion.

JEDIContext.newInstance("com.force.strong")

2005-09-27T23:18:00.000-07:00

I want to create a new programming language called YODA so I can write Yoda For Dummies , The Yoda Cookbook, Yoda in a Nutshell and Program You Will With Yoda. Then we can all attend YodaCon 2005 in Santa Clara and talk about how cool YODA is with its lightening speed compilation and snappy DagobahBeans for efficient code reuse.

Fun for a girl OR a boy

2005-09-27T00:06:00.000-07:00

So tough to blog when you have a cold. All I got today is the bestest toy for toddlers ever. A roll of Scott Towels. Originally from California, I'm prone to using brand names (what kind of Coke do you want?), it doesn't have to be Scott per se. Actually I use Viva towels because they're like the towel that keeps on giving. And while I'm on items found on Isle 17, I'm a hard core cling wrap person, that press and seal shit is useless. Created for the masses who don't understand cling wrap. No sealing will be had using that stuff. But the toddler will enjoy the roll of paper towels. They stack them, cook them, unroll and reroll them, clean up little brothers spittle, the possibilities are endless or at least until they hit the end of the roll. Pure fun.

Here's a little paper towel art I foogled. Whoa, scary.

(Sidenote…which is actually located on the bottom)
I dug into that site a tad to make sure it wasn't corrupt and found a few lists, not for Mr. T. McS., but a few items that raised the eyebrows a bit. It was the list on Pirates which included "full broadside! Release the midgets" that stole a snicker from me. What is that all about?

"I plan to live forever - or die trying." -V. Restal

2005-09-25T00:34:00.000-07:00

Vila is the comic relief in this vintage sci-fi brit series, Blakes 7 . I would say brit-com, but the com part is really stretching it. It's really a brit-dram. Vila is one of those characters tossed in to say the funny lines or set up the snappy remarks by the cool characters, (e.g. Avon). There is a small chance that Vila is actually funny and it is the actor who is messing everything up. Some examples of funny Vila lines:
"Don't leave me here! At least leave me a torch. I don't like the dark. I like to see what I'm scared of."
"I hate personal violence, especially when I'm the person."
"I don't mind rough. It's fatal I'm not keen on!"
These one liners remind me of something written on a gift from the Hallmark store or a dusty find at a gift shop in Kentucky that involves a stuffed, shellacked frog holding a fishing line. As much as the actor might suck - and he pretty much does, the lines would flop no matter what the delivery was. I think.
Here's one of his setups that I actually do like
Vila: I've got this shocking pain right behind the eyes.
Avon: Have you considered amputation?
Oh Vila, you cheeky lovable outlaw you. I suppose you did the best you could in a series that carried out an entire season without the Blake character - yes, that is Blake, as in Blakes 7, went missing one year. I'm even doubtful that there were ever seven . Having All In The Family where it's actually not all in the family because Archie Bunker isn't in the show, just wouldn't happen in American Television. I loves me some British TV.

You ugly, though I love you so

2005-09-22T16:03:00.000-07:00

For many years I've been teased by many people about not knowing the lyrics to songs. I don't understand what the big deal is. I'm a dancer (note: if you're thinking dancer of the stripper kind, then you probably wear a blue tooth headset 24/7 to keep your hands free while you adjust your balls. You suck.) so I enjoy music melodically not literally. I do not see the issue at hand. In fact, I do know the lyrics to some songs.
Na-na na-na NA, Ca-rack that whip! Na-na na-na NA, Get her in the slip (okay so maybe not that line, but check me now) Na-na na-na NA, step on a ca-rack! Na-na na-na NA, ba-reak yo mama's back!
That was completely from memory, no search engine that rhymes with moogle involved. Maybe if artists were as clear as Devo, I would be able to access it.

Tastes Like Chook

2005-09-21T06:47:00.000-07:00

If one doesn't cook the crap out of chicken, it actually tastes like chicken. A taste so fine that if you create a little tower and place it upon a bed of wilted kale, you could charge £29.95 for it. I cannot say the same for tofu. That seems to taste like the chicken everyone is talking about. Dress it up anyway you like, call it a frog leg, one bite and the response is, "tastes like chicken." I'm not quite keen on what the conspiracy is here, but the phrase should really read, "tastes like fermented soy bean" or if chicken really is the flavour ( this European spelling brought to you by ikeepitreal ) than the phrase should be, "tastes like unhappy caged chicken cooked in a pan on high."

Of course I only know this about chicken because I know this hunky aussie guy who cooks it for me. Perhaps that can be the distinction. Chicken actually tastes like chicken when it's cooked really well by some aussie bloke who calls it a chook.

When I cook chicken it tastes like soot.

as a follow up ...
Upon further review, Diet Caffeine Free Coke contains Potassium Benzoate to protect the taste. I stand corrected. It does have taste and it's so valuable it needs protection. From what, I do not know, but curious what it tastes like.

It's those cans!

2005-09-19T22:32:00.000-07:00

While exploring the special purpose of Diet Caffeine Free Coke, I discovered that it doesn't contain Soy Lecithin as originally thought. That basically threw the "vehicle for Soy Lecithin" hypothesis out the door. Soy Lecithin pops up in most snack foods, so I immediately jump to the must be bad for you conclusion. Like it's a stupid preservative or something. The top few searches say it's a remedy for fidgeting and curbing the growth of tumors, though effectiveness has not been verified. Since nothing has been verified, curious why the claim is not "curb the growth of tumors while elongating your penis." Nonetheless, Diet Caffeine Free Coke exists without it and I'm still not sure why it exists at all. No sugar, No caffeine, No taste. Someone in market research just took it a little too far. I can only presume this bright idea came from a person still clinging to their stirrup pants.

Keepin' It Fresh

2005-09-17T21:08:00.000-07:00

I just needed a place to put my bread. I had no idea that the damn thing kept it fresh! I'm very fond of Essential Baking's Mille Grane. However, it's one of those yuppie bread in a bag deals, so if you're not aggressive about getting through the loaf ( a good tin of salmon is a big help ) it's a doorstop in 24 hours. UNTIL I found the solution to my bread storage need. A $19.99 target special. I used to love Target, then I hated it, now I go there when I'm feeling the need to buy diapers for cheap ( I don't do Costco…I guess that's another blog ). Last time I walked into Target, I saw a future landfill. It's like crack for shoppaholics. I'm not trying to dis target shoppers, some of my best friends shop at target. I'm trying to appreciate things that last longer than the first wash. ANYWAY, the breadbox is a dream come true. I've tried transferring the bread from paper to plastic for enjoyment the day after. It's just not the same as the breadbox. It becomes all soft and crustless. Asks for a glass of water then gives me the repelling pelvis hug with two pats and doesn't call. Stick it in a breadbox over night, it's almost the same loaf of bread, just a little uglier.

Things I Own That Are Bigger Than My Breadbox That Will Probably Hit A Landfill Near You
This stupid beanbag dog I bought for my daughter thinking she'd actually use it like the happy children on the label
A cheap carpet my cats shit on every night in the basement
A Sponge Bob toilet seat converter for smaller bottoms
A pile of Isaac Mizrahi tanks tops that shrank on cold

Entrepreneurage

2005-09-16T15:17:00.000-07:00

Were I to start my own hauling business, I would title it "Haul Yeah"

Were I to start my own organic root farm, I would call it "Giga Beets" (S. Bandow, 2005, that man is on fire!)

Were I to make a new brand of ketchup, I'd call it "Vim and Vinegar"

That's all I got today.

As a follow up, when googling for the company "Haul Yeah," which happens to be out of bidness so the opportunity could be mine after all, I stumbled across this website that contains the widest range of "haul" usage I've ever seen. From "wicked haul" to "Hauler-riffic" rounding the corner with "a haul is a haul..and that is a haul....and it's a cool haul!"

Finishing with Haul & Oats saying, "Wow, nice grab!"

FW:B-Clever just20Minutes A Day

2005-09-14T22:21:00.000-07:00

Woo the day I attain clevana with T. McSweeney's list website.

Rejected Lists By Timothy McSweeney

Ways People Grab My Attention Via Instant Messaging
And My Responses
yt?
- y
Guess WHAT!
- WHAT?
eh
- sup?
eh beef
- sup?
heh?
- sup

Okay, fair enough that was more of an "art for art's sake" piece. Just enjoying the random yet mundane things in life. Not clever, got it. Next list,

Three Five Syllable Words For Haiku Discovered While Failing To
Develop A List Of Good Seven Syllable Words For Haiku That When Read
Together Are Both Mildly Disturbing And Not A Haiku
Curiosity
Bestiality
Hippopotamus

Again, it's a 'b' list. No worries. I don't claim to be a writer or anything. But I get one more try right? Three wishes, three strikes, three dog night, three 'M'. Latest work,

Things Sheryl Crow Also Wants To Do Despite The Fact That She's Not The Only One
Spinning
Quilting (with lion stuffed animals)
Having the ex wife whacked (M. Schoen, 2005)
Pump out another greatest hits album

My latest one has not faired well among my small sampling so alas, I will not send. It's okay Mr. McSweeney, I'm totally not worthy, clearly. I just laid my dirty laundry out there and as I read through it, it's just not that great. So I guess here's where I say, "screw you McSweeney, and the IP you rode in on"

Any ideas on how to tie together Marathong, Shoedals (S. Bandow, 2005) and Franco-Prosciutto on Rye?

I'm In!

2005-09-13T22:16:00.000-07:00

Now I can start blogging to the ether. Snap! (M. Foster, 2005) This reminds me of the apology line from Ira Glass's show American Life. Blogging is probably just a high tech confessional. Are you there #B4CDCD? It's me, jean.

My Attempts For A Unique Yet Zainy Blog URL

Beef
White Meat
Frappe
Milf
Pretty

Just as a sidenote, I believe the word “milf” only gained popularity due to its proximity to the word “muff.”