Happy Holidays!

Hey... Have an awesome Christmas everyone! I'm gonna take a little hiatus from the ol' blogging. I suggest you take a well-deserved break as well :)

Serious or Satire?

This article gave me quite a chuckle. God, you have to hand it to The Onion sometimes.

Al Gore Caught Warming Globe To Increase Box Office Profits

Environmental officials claimed that Gore's tire fire in Akron, OH was "completely out of line."

I guess some people have made the mistake of thinking The Onion was real news... The blog “I speak of Dreams” features something called Stupids on Parade, which outlined a few cases where people took Onion articles seriously. It mentions a journalist who actually reported information from the Onion as a news story!!! How DUMB would you feel after that!? This journalist reported that more than half of all exercise done in the United States happens in TV infomercials for workout machines. Hahaha. Oh God that kills me! And another article "Chinese Woman Gives Birth to Septuplets: Has One Week to Choose" resulted in organized prayer vigils on behalf of the six babies who would be tossed off a mountaintop. Good Lord people.

Here are a couple of other articles featuring people who thought The Onion was real news… Anti-Choice Tool Confirms Stereotype and Onion Taken Seriously, Film at 11. Stupidity can be funny sometimes (when it's someone else, that is)...

Geez, that would be almost as dumb as taking my blog seriously!

The Onion does push the envelope, though. This article was a bit hard for me to choke down because I'm such an animal lover, but man you can't help but laugh. I have to give them kudos for their satire skillz!

World's Scientists Admit They Just Don't Like Mice

ZURICH, SWITZERLAND-Scientists announced that experimentation on mice has been motivated out of sheer distaste for the rodents.

Kamikaze

If my neck is sore tomorrow, I'll know why... The culprit? That song 'Nothing Special' by illScarlett. I must have listened to it about 94000 times. That's right, it's now up to 94724 plays on Myspace.com. Can't find it on iTunes though, so I'm forced to go to Myspace over and over in order to feed my addiction to the song.

My neighbours haven't knocked on my door to yell at me yet. The people upstairs can't really complain though, because almost every day lately it sounds like they're up there running around their apartment with cement blocks on their feet (like escapees from the MOB) or practicing wrestling moves on each other (perhaps the Hogan family has moved in?)

It's been far worse the last while than it ever was before, even though I whined about it back then (blog entry: The People Upstairs). Speaking of which, I used to hear them having sex all the time and haven't in a long time. There are 3 possible explanations for this as I see it...
1) They moved out and it's a new crew up there making all the racket, or
2) The couple has passed the honeymoon stage of the relationship and have gone from having sex to having fights, or
3) They moved on from quasi-normal sex to some sort of Kamikaze Kamasutra (I was first made aware of this bizarre sexual practice in the movie Fatal Instinct, God it's been so long since I saw that movie. It's so classic).

Alright... Time to shut the music off and go to bed. Hopefully the Hogans have tired themselves out by now.

mmm choc-lit

I knew I shouldn't have bought people chocolate for Christmas. Now I have to go BACK to the store...

Denial vs. Reality

Sometimes it seems like life is just damage control (and soaking up the little bit of enjoyment in between). God, I couldn't have put it any better than Scott Adams did in his post: My Middle-Sized Problems.

My life = "infinity problems" (read what he says about infinity problems, haha).

And when it comes to my life, Reality is kickin' the shit outta Denial right now. Denial has a near perfect record too! Either Denial has been slacking off, eating pizza and beer, getting all drunk and pudgy... Or Reality has been hardcore on a performance-enhanced sumo-ninja-assassin type of training program. Probably both.

Yikes.

Update: Apparently, quite a while ago, Denial got word of Reality's training program and decided to join a program too... except somehow Denial was a bit stunned at the time and joined some Beverly Hills Ninja/Chippendales training program!!! That explains a LOT.

A Family Show?

Some people have observed that the blog has been edging it's way into the ditch lately (quote, "slow progression towards the pornographic" and "It’s been getting sex centric" and then later "not that I mind").

Anyways, I thought I'd clean it up a bit for today, make it a family show if you will -- my family. Here is an old Christmas picture... Yep, that's me on the bottom left. I didn't realize that the 'up to no good' smirk I often have started it's reign on my face way back then.

Yep, my mom was a hottie (and still is btw). I imagine that she's about my age now in that picture (or perhaps even younger?). Holy, that completely boggles the mind. Mom, you're a total rock star!

P.S. My dad has always kind of looked like he was in the mafia. That was ok, no one messed with us. He looks pretty friendly in that picture though... Looks like happy times, even my sister is smiling!

Tis the season to eat, drink... and eat and drink some more!

I just got back from my boss's Christmas party. Tell me how it's a good thing to have a lunch for a Christmas party, and order two bottles of wine? I'm all FOR the wine drinking, don't get me wrong. However, I'm not sure how productive the writing will be for the rest of the afternoon.

I'm just pouring myself a nice cup of coffee right now, extra strength, extra tall. It must jolt me back into consciousness. Or maybe I should have a quick nap and then get at it? Wine plus TONNES of food isn't the best combo for concentration.

Ah, I don' t need to be dead sober to write a thesis. In fact, if I'm a little tipsy over the next couple of months, it may open the waterfalls of creativity. I'll be so much more relaxed... and well, the computer can take care of any typos, right? After all, it knows how to spell peroxisome and triacylglycerol. Yeah.

My body is officially primed for the season of indulgence. I'd better bring my fat jeans along for the New Year's party. Good Lord. That doctor on Oprah said most people only gain a pound at Christmas. What the? I'm wondering what population was sampled for that study? To gain ONLY a pound? Not possible.

Woops, I just spilled coffee grounds all over the kitchen floor. Yep, this is going to be a stellar afternoon folks. Stellar.

Relationships... struggling through or just trying to have one!

My friends crack me up. Here are a few gems from emails I've recieved from them about the opposite sex, dating and relationships. I hope they don't mind that I've quoted them here!

I am looking for a super smart hotty to support me in my pursuit of the ultimate slack ... jeffereson darcy from married with children style!

At least you can find people to date ...... I have some serious drought issues… I have two kinds of friends... male whores and couch potatoes… none of which provide access to normal girls.

She has a new grad student that's going to start in January that she's bringing to the lunch. IT'S A BOY!! Shoulda worn the extra pushup bra today ... dammit!

My date started at 8 and i ended it at 9:30 haha - so there's nothin to tell there just went for a beer. pretty exciting. he wanted to do somethin like watch a movie or whatever but I'm tired and don't really give a crap. basically I'm just a bad date haha … well I didn't say the give a crap part. just that I had to do some stuff cuz it's busy this week (which it is)… but really what I meant is that I just needed to not do HIM haha. I'm going to hell.

I feel like I never just sit idle except when i go to bed..and even then I am talking talking talking away. Every night [my hubby] has to tell me to settle down hahahah… and the only way I'll do that is if he rubs my bum. HAHAHAHa… I can't believe I just told you that.

Yeah...well we had a good weekend. Lots of farting… so that was a good bonding weekend. Yeah..i was farting without telling him while we were hiking, and I was sure to be in front of him so that it would blow in his face. Hahaha. And they were real ass hair burners… and he'd just go..."OHHHH GOD" hahah. I had a shirt tied around my waist and so when I farted… I would lift my shirt to be sure that the whole fart was released and not lost. Haha I laughed so much... not dissipated too much before contact. As I was hiking... I had to stop and sit.. I was laughing so hard… because I was trying to be discrete...hahah and not let him know and only let him discover the stench. Anyway..so it was a good bonding weekend.

>Is the “walk of shame” actually a walk of shame if you didn’t have sex???
uh-oh hahaha .... why do you ask? I think it may still qualify if you look like crap, to the point where someone might just assume you did have sex.

We went out for dinner... [then later] smooched a bit, more smooching and goodnight. Then went over sunday night watched a movie, major smooching, no skin... loving it. Then he came by on Wednesday night when I was closing the store. we went for a beer. Went back to [his house] for some smooching, a bit of skin was exposed this time, holy crap, he's hot...

He was very sweet with his latest thoughts over the phone yesterday... too bad the connection was crap! you lose a bit of the moment when he's pouring his heart out to me & I keep having to ask "What?" because stupid phone keeps breaking up. It was actually almost comical... poor guy!

I should parent or something, the wife is working tonight. The kid was playing with a bunch of beanie babies that her grandma sent. She just finished calling and thanking them. Now she is practicing with matches or knives. I don't know, I am downstairs.

I think I'll start nursing again out of desperation to shrink the muffin top - Meathead says it's more like a cupcake - which is a compliment from him. He's lost 7lbs in 5 weeks (gone from 3 chins to 2 chins).

I haven't seen him in over 2 weeks now, this is ridic. It's classic alright, can you say "stringing me along"? Might as well have a leash around my neck... although if he had a leash on me, at least I'd get to see him. Or maybe I have the leash, and he's not holding it. Holy, symbolic. So the only thing keeping me there.... is ME. Depressing. I've talked myself into a depression just now. Thanks for letting me talk to me.

And finally... this one cracks me up because it so totally points to the miscommunication between men and women:

Yup, things were going along great. [My male friend] and I even chatted about my boyfriend and how he [the friend] was hoping there'd be lots of pretty girl at the Halloween party bla bla bla, and how he knows we're just friends. Unfortunately at the end of the night he tried to kiss me AGAIN!!! AWKWARD! He did come by the next day and apolagize. Then he said it was my fault because I was sending mixed signals. Apparently this is because I asked him to come up on the way home... yes that is true... but we both had slices of pizza in a box to go and it seemed to be the thing to do to invite him up to eat.(trust me at the end of a night of drinking I don't really put much thought into anything!) When he came up stairs we ate and argued about universities. Personally I wouldn't say that's "temptress" conversation, but what do I know, I was drunk! I did bring this up but he said it was my body language too and that I was leaning towards him. Well, this may be true, but it was probably more a case of me teetering drunk on the floor pillow. So really in my mind it was nothing but apparently it depends on the interpretation. I guess the moral of the story is not to invite guys up at the end of the night if they are just "friends". Doesn't anyone have any self control any more? Or was I really out of line?

One more... I'm not sure where the heck this quote came from:

Positive thought for the day...
When you feel that nobody loves you,
Nobody cares for you,
And everyone is ignoring you,
You should start asking yourself...
... Am I TOO sexy?

Sex on the Solstice... Any takers?

I've decided to do what I can for world peace.

I've heard (see news video here and funny explanation here) that having sex on December 22nd would help out a lot, according to GlobalOrgasm.org... And well, I'm a giving type of person who believes very strongly in this cause. So much so that I've decided it's essential that I do what it takes to do my part. Even if I have to take a few hours off work, clean my bedroom, shave, buy condoms and take a few shots of gin; I'm willing to make the ultimate sacrifice.

Luckily the boss usually doesn't snoop into our affairs, so I can avoid the awkward moment of trying to explain my absence.

Now, if only I could find an equally self-sacrificing peace warrior to join me in the cause...

Come on, it's for world peace!!!!

What's your bra size?

Could she say it any louder?

Every time I go bra shopping, the salesperson shouts that question, and I’m only two feet away! In fact, she asks it so loudly that the whole room is suddenly hushed in anticipation of the answer.

So it seems.

And then I feel weird whispering it like it’s some kind of clandestine secret. I mean, I’m sure people have some idea of size by having a glance-ola in that general area, but to announce the exact size when strangers or a friend can hear kind of sucks. It’s not so bad when that happens only in front of your boyfriend, because he already has a pretty darn good idea about the size. He probably doesn’t know how it translates into exact specs though. He probably knows it more in terms of “a mouthful”, “a handful”, “two-hand luke” or “my head gets lodged between those giant watermelons!” Ahem, I doubt that last description has been used before, it was something that popped into my head just now, hehe. Hmm, perhaps knowing the exact size would just give him more solid bragging rights. That’s right Joe, I said a healthy, overflowin’ double D… Did ya hear that? DOUBLE D.

Us girls never brag about our boyfriends like that. Ahem…

Announcing my bra size to the world is almost as embarrassing as confessing my age and weight to the guy in the ski shop in front of the boy I’m dating and his friends. I usually shroud that info in mystery (and for good reason, yikes). I’ve even won a few prizes fooling the guy at the ‘guess your weight, guess your age’ booth at the Fair (that’s pretty much the only thing I can win there, although I love to whack those pesky little moles). However, three things prevent me from playing that Fool the Guesser game ever again. 1) You have to admit your real age/weight and I haven't uttered the truth in years. I don't know if my mouth can even form those particular words anymore. 2) He guessed wrong once on my weight: TOO HIGH. I moped around with my tail between my legs for hours afterwards. And finally, 3) The prizes suck. I wouldn’t buy that shit at the dollar store so why pay to try and “win” it?

Blah blah blah. You get my point. I don’t wanna advertise my bra size to anyone, thank you very much! Like everything else, just let me live in my fantasy world... And in my case that happens to be a world with padded underwire push-up bras.

Excuse me, I farted.

How embarrassing would this be?

Lit Matches Prompt Emergency Landing

By Martin Weil
Washington Post Staff Writer
Wednesday, December 6, 2006; Page A08

A jetliner from Washington made an emergency landing Monday in Nashville after passengers smelled matches being struck, a Nashville airport spokeswoman said.

Lynne Lowrance, spokeswoman for Nashville International Airport, said that a passenger on the Dallas-bound flight, which had originated at Reagan National Airport, had been striking matches to mask evidence of a troubled digestive system.

I guess the FBI were called in and there were bomb-sniffing dogs... And all because a lady was too embarrassed to admit that she farted. Ok, attention all women out there, let's practice. Say this, out loud 10x:

"Excuse me, I farted."

I know, it's almost an impossible sentence for us ladies to get out. However, if I'm grilled hard enough, I'll admit to breaking the smell barrier. Some mysteries shall remain, however. There's still one fart in a car I remember not too long ago- there were 3 of us trapped in that stenchy hot box and NO ONE would admit to being the source of the sufferage. And it WASN'T ME. I swear!

I sat beside someone on a flight earlier this year and I'm sure it was him who had the silent but deadly gas leak. It came in waves. All of a sudden, there would be this larger than life pungent nostril-violating stench. It was so bad that my eyes watered and I could only describe the air in those moments as being 'thick'. Each time, it took a while for the air to clear. And on a flight there is no way to escape, almost as if being held under the covers by some sicko who thinks it's funny! Anyways, the guy slept the whole flight, but I'm pretty sure he was faking it so he wouldn't have to explain himself. I suppose that's a better option than lighting a match. Since when does lighting a match cover up anything anyways?

Temptation Temptation

I once told a friend, "I don't have a problem resisting temptation, unless something is REALLY tempting. Then I have a problem with it ." The full sentence was out of my mouth before I realized the Jessica Simpsonesque nature of the thing.

Unfortunately it's kind of true. I will stand in front of the freezer at the grocery store for twenty minutes, staring at the many flavours of ice cream while the angel and devil perched on each shrugging shoulder argue the repurcussions of such a purchase- that is, the delight of my palette vs. the size of my butt. I can and have left the grocery store freezer empty handed. However, once it finds it's way to my freezer at home, that 2 litre container of pure joy will be licked clean faster than a fat kid can wolf down a big mac and a coke.

So... to reiterate: I can leave tempation on the shelf at the store, but not on the shelf in my own house. Unless it's not really that tempting, then I don't have a problem with it. Case in point, I don't have the same problem with chips. I can leave a bag of chips for days...

It's a very good dieting strategy, by the way. What you leave at the store has no possible way to end up on your rear.

Alas, it should also be my life strategy. I can normally resist going to brunch or shopping when I have a lot of work to do, but when someone is on the phone telling me they're picking me up in 15 minutes, my temptation-resisting skills go straight out the window like a bad printer in the office of ' Rage-aholics R Us'. The same thing goes for certain situations, let's say, situations where I've had too much to drink. Every stupid thing I've even done has been under the influence of alcohol, err, almost. For instance, 4x4ing with a bunch of drunk guys in the forest is not tempting at all when I'm sober. Neither is stealing signs or pies. I also tend not to scream at players at baseball games or do the running man in front of a crowd of onlookers when completely sober. Oh wait, I never did those things... or did I? That said, you put a normally tempting item in front of me, add alcohol, and buh-bye will-power. Comprendez?

I think they call it "impaired judgment." And mine is impaired by drinking, lack of sleep, stress, PMS, any kind of sensory delight, oxygen and basically being awake. (Notice I said 'being awake', not necessarily 'conscious'.)

So why are 'things' so tempting? Why do we need to 'have' or 'do' everything? Why is it that when we see an ad for something on TV, we have to have it? Can't we appreciate things without the consumption of it? Truthfully, the "you can look but you can't touch" philosophy kills me.

If Michie like; Michie touch. Oopsie; Michie broke.

Ok, that last line just freaked me out. I really don't like speaking in third person, especially in the voice I just heard myself say that in my head. Yikes.


Warning: The closer I get to my thesis due date, the crazier these posts will get. I promise.

Kiss my Balls

Don't like the way I drive? Kiss My Balls!

Step aside bumper stickers. Forget about that pissing Calvin decal. Even flames across the side of your vehicle cannot compare to this... Hang some testes from your Toyota. Stick some balls on your Beamer. Hang huevos del toro behind your Honda .

And you can get them all at BullBalls.com

I'd heard about these things but didn't quite believe it. I mean, can someone tell me what is remotely attractive about balls? No one wants to see that!!! Why does Montana tendergroin need to swing from your hitch? It's definitely NOT the 'pussy magnet' Borat was asking the car dealer about. Last I checked, most women think that testicles are kinda, uh… icky. So why would it be cool, aesthetically pleasing or even desirable to hang a set of balls on your truck? Am I missing something here?

Eeeewww?!

You know what I'm thinking though, if there are enough bizarre people in the world who like this sort of thing (see the "Testesmonials" part of the website), then why stop there? Why not make horse, cat or dog balls? People could purchase the nutsack of their favourite breed, like pet-owners seem to love to do. You could get pitbull gonads or poodle nuggets. Maybe Paris Hilton would splurge on some little brass Chihuahua nuts and dangle them from her purse. Perhaps after you neuter a pet, you could get it as collar-bling. They could be like a replacement pair so little Rocko still feels like he's 'the man'. The balls could even be blue, as a daily reminder that at least with fake ones they’ll never have to experience the pain.

I had to laugh at some of the "ballsy quips" on the site. Other than the 'kiss my balls' one above, here are a few other gems:

Testies...one, two. Testies...one, two. Are these things on ?
If your close enough to see my BALLS, you might as well get into my bed!
It takes two to dangle !
BALLS on mah JEEP make all da GIRLS weep !
Now even girls can have balls !!

Hey, us girls have our own balls! They don't exactly dangle in plain sight, I know. While I'm on the topic, why isn't there slang for ovaries? There are so many terms for the male equivalent, yet women can't say anything like "I just didn't have the ovaries to go through with it." And we can't talk about how big they are or show off their size differential at parties. Hmm, we also can't "freeze our balls off" or get "kicked in the kahunas." I suppose that's pretty cool.

Either way, I won't be decorating my car with gonads of ANY type, thank you.

Michie and the Manbashers

Deneen was in town the other night, so her and Marilyn and I went out for a girl's night. Seeing as how we were all dating people the last time we went out -and ALL of our budding relationships fell flat- I thought for sure it was going to be a night of bashing the opposite sex into an unrecognizable pulp. Surprisingly, it didn't even come up. There were no tears in our beer and no plans of slashing tires or grenading anyone's house. Perhaps we had better things to talk about? It was actually kind of cool and refreshing (that sounded like a gum commercial, or perhaps an ad for menthol body lotion... brrr!) Anyways, I'm sure it helped that we went to Tony's Pizza Palace for my FAVE food. YUM. Pizza always quells the achings of the heart... While building on the expanses of the buttocks. Ah well, that's inconsequential because no one will be seeing us naked for a while anyways! Mmm piiiizzzzaaaaa.

After all that, we can't start our band: Michie and the Manbashers. There may not be enough hatred behind us to get that kind of angst chick band off the ground. Besides, the only instrument I play very well is the triangle, and I can't remember the last time I saw a triangle player in a punk band. This means that if we want to be famous, we'll have to go back to our original idea: a reality TV series. Y'see, a while ago we'd entered one of those home lottery things and said that if we won it, we'd all have to live there. Then we'd have cameras film the lives of us 30-something girls in the bustling metropolis of E-town. The only problem was that our lives seem to be much less exciting than Carrie and the gang on Sex and the City... Therefore, we'd have to call it something like Celibacy and the City. And well, who would wanna watch that? Face it, if reality TV is too much like reality, no one tunes in! People want to see a freak show. Oh c'mon, my life can be crazy sometimes, but a freak show? At least on my blog I can reveal the freak in small doses, and only what and when I feel like it. Documentation on camera would NOT be cool. Except sometimes. Sometimes I'd like to rewind that tape and watch it for a good laugh. Hahahahahaaa. Ahem.

I'm Okay!!!

Just thought I'd let you know that I'm okay. I wasn't incarcerated or held for a psych evaluation or anything since my last post.

I'm workin' on some material... however things have been too busy lately for me to focus and finish any... so in the meantime, I will leave you with another of the cartoons I've been enjoying from that Mark Parisi guy. Topic for discussion: How many times can a product be "new and improved" anyways? And how bad was the original product in the first place? If I was an inventor, should I purposely put out the worst product first so that I can put out 'improved' versions later? And who tastes pet foods? Animals must be used, but they can't tell the R&D people what's wrong with the product. Like, does it need more salt or does it taste like bad fish? Geez, I'd hate to be on the sensory evaluation panel for that one!

Discuss amongst yourselves.

Did I tell ya about the time I...

I think I've gotten to the point in my blog where I just start reposting about the same shit, over and over. And I'm not talking about recurrent themes, because obviously I have that goin' on. I mean, how many times can I possibly talk about my fat ass, man troubles, my penchant for dancing, clutziness and, well, basically about MYSELF? Quite frankly, I'm becoming tiresome.

Oops, that went off topic for a bit, it wasn't repetitive themes and my completely assinine self-focusedness that I was going to talk about right now. I was talking about rewriting the same posts, again and again. Next thing you know, I'll forget that I've already written about my extreme shower thantophobia or that I already told ya'll that I bit it on the ice in front of the Education building, and I'll end up working it into another story here on my blog. BO-RING!

Case in point, I came across this post the other day: why i oughta... which is about my frustration with the printer in our office, LAST MARCH. This post is almost a dead ringer for something I posted just a couple weeks ago about the new printer: Death threat to printer. I could hardly believe it. Pretty soon I'm going to have to preface every post with: "Did I post about the time I..."

In fact, I'm even getting to the time in my life where I have to preface every story with: "Did I tell ya about the time I..." because I have no idea who I've told what to. And now that I have a blog, it's even worse! I have to start a lot of conversations with: "Did you read my blog post about..."

Maybe I should go back to being mute. Complete muteness.

And after that fiasco with the search engine words in a previous post, I think I should go for Alzeimer's testing.

Next thing you know I'm going to be repeating EVERYTHING, including my mistakes with men. Oh. Yeah. Boring repeated theme. Backspace NOW.

So here's the answer to both repetitive posts, repeated themes AND my completely assinine self-focusedness. Tomorrow, I'm NOT going to talk about ME. I'm going to talk about SOMEONE ELSE. Wah ha ha ha ha! You'd better HOPE and PRAY that it's not YOU, because I can turn this extreme self-deprecation problem right around and deprecate your sorry ass for a change!!! That's right. You're gonna WISH I'd talk about myself again!!! Just you wait.

Hmm... I've never told anyone that I was going to deprecate their ass before. It sounds kind of tough. I like it. I think I'm going to serve up that sidedish a little more often.

Sidenote: Are you thinking right now that I've lost it? My question to you, how can a person lose something they never had? Further to that, in those songs where they say "like the desert misses the rain" or whatever... Does that mean the desert doesn't miss the rain because it never had it OR the desert doesn't know what it's missing so doesn't even know to miss it OR that the desert doesn't need the rain because it's perfectly fine the way it is, in fact, it's not even supposed to have rain? Hmm. I used to think the desert would miss and need the rain, because we think of deserts as being a bad situation... I'm confused.

That's it, I cannot possibly talk about deserts and rain ANYmore. See what happens when I don't talk about myself? Or was I, subconsciously? Good Lord. I'm bailing on this convo. TIME TO GO. bye.

Just 'cause it smells good, doesn't mean you should eat it...

Last year at Christmas, a dear friend gave me Cocoa Butter Body Butter from the Body Shop. It was wonderfully luxurious. I made it last almost a year, and recently went back to replace it. All the smells of the awesome body butters made me drool in the store. I had trouble choosing, but finally went with Mango.


Now every time I use it, it smells soooo gooood that I just wanna get a big spoon and scoop out a gigantic mouthful of it! And I would have if it wasn't for the deterring memories from my childhood of tasting the yummy-smelling bubblegum flavoured chapstick, and being sorely disappointed...

Well, at least it doesn't have any menthol or icky lanolin in it!!!



Glue, on the other hand, smelled AND tasted good. Ewww -- I never ate glue! Or did I? Only the kids in my elementary class could tell you for sure. Or maybe they couldn't because they were too busy picking their noses and eating it or eating gum stuck under their desks to notice! I never understood why kids pick their noses and then have to eat it. WHY??? I asked my brother what it tasted like and he told me to try it. I refused. There's no way in hell I'm trying THAT. It shall remain a mystery.

And I guess so will the taste of mango body butter.

The Stench/Affection Trade-Off

My cats always run into the washroom while I'm doing my 'business'. They know they have me captive within petting distance, with not much else to do at that moment but reach down and give them a scratch. I don't read on the can because I'm never in there long enough. Plus if I'm reading something good, it encourages me to stay in there overtime and my legs start to get numb. I hate that.

Anyways, it must be worth it for the cats to run in and get their few seconds of scratches. I can't help but wonder though... Is enduring the stench a good trade for such fleeting affection? Maybe they forgot how bad it got the last time. Maybe they're gamblers, hastily taking their chances, keeping their toes crossed that refried beans weren't on the menu recently. Perhaps they think it would be rude or too late to bail. Or it may happen that by the time the stink hits their nose, the scratchin' is so good that they don't even notice how thick the air is anymore.

Perhaps this is analogous to relationships. We race in, hoping to have the guarantee that someone is there to pet us. Occasionally, there's a bit of a stink. Maybe turning on the fan or spraying some flowery-smelling stuff helps. Perhaps we adapt. Sometimes we find ourselves taking a step back to evaluate the tenuous trade-off of stench for affection. And there may be moments, usually as we foresee the likelihood of our impending death by suffocation, that we high-tail it the hell outta there as fast as possible!

East Indian buffet = A world of pain

As soon as we entered the restaurant, we knew we were in trouble. We asked the young waiter how late they were open and he said for another hour and a half... "Why, are you planning to eat for an hour and a half?" Jen said no because she didn't wear loose pants. He replied that she could simply use his.

That should have been our cue to leave. But no, we can't turn down a perfectly scrumptious Indian buffet, even if we'd have to endure another hour of the waiter's best lines.

We both walked up to buffet and said, "This is gonna hurt." In hindsight, that was foreshadowing. Jen piled up her plate like a pro... I didn't realize saucy food could STACK like that! We didn't even get to sit down yet when he started in on us. Here's a VERY abbreviated version of some of the conversations...

Are you two sisters? No.

So you aren't sisters? You look alike. Uh, no we don't... so at this point I'm wondering if he thinks all white people look the same.

You have the same colour eyes. Actually, Jen's eyes are about twice the size of mine. He agreed and said that hers were very nice because you can see the colour better. Her eyes are very large, very pretty. That left me feeling real good.

What do you girls do? Both students. Which is why we have to eat out at cheap East Indian buffets and chow down like we haven't eaten in days and don't know where our next meal is coming from.

You work together and eat together? Do you do everything together? Um, not EVERYTHING.

How old are you? Why do you want to know that?

No no, you don't have to tell me your age. Just think of a number... how many times you go out to drink wine in a week. Are you thinking of a number? Now double it, add 5, multiply that by 50, add 1735 and then subtract your year of birth. What is the number? Was this some sort of skill testing question and the one who gets it right wins a prize? Since we both did the math wrong, he had to get out the calculator.

Ok what is the number? Hmm. Maybe he was looking for a particular number.

Later, when he was out of the room, I made a break for the food. As I was dishing out, there he appeared. Why did you take the small plate? Because this is round two and I'm already starting to feel the pain. Pain? What pain? You look like you can eat whatever you want and stay slim. Riiiight. That was laid on thicker than the butter chicken sauce there...

Later... Do you like Indian men? No? We paused on that one. Uh... Actually, we don't know. Never tried.

At this point I was wondering what the restaurant policy was on customer harrassment. We were just trying to have a nice dinner and enjoy our food, and this guy was unrelenting! He seemed nice so we didn't want to tell him off, but still!

I was just wondering because you said you cook East Indian food. Most white girls cook Indian food for their East Indian boyfriends. There are a lot of East Indians around here... So where do you girls like to go out and party? What are you doing after this? Not going out?

Yikes. He finally left us alone to wallow in pain for a bit while he talked on the telephone. But all good things must come to an end.

Luckily it was Jen who had to pay the bill. He asked why we were leaving because he was really enjoying watching us pretty girls. That wasn't creepy at all. Then he asked if we liked dirty jokes and proceeded to tell one. That was really effective in reducing the creepy factor. Then he struck up another convo about when we were going out next and could he come along... No response. Jen and I were on what I call Operation Dodge-the-Question. (Boys- if a girl is on Operation DTQ, this is a huge hint that she's not so into you and you should stop asking her personal questions.) Of course, dude didn't clue in to Operation DTQ because by the end of the conversation he asked for Jen's email address. She had the moment that all us girls have trouble with at times- saying no in a way that absolutely won't hurt his feelings. And since there is no possible way to do that, she gave it up. We edged towards the door as he yelled to Jen, "You'll have an email from me by the end of tonight!"

With that, we finally made our escape. Jen's email address for our freedom? It was a good trade. She took one for the team that night.

Excerpt from the email:
i really enjoyed talking to u girls but just could not compliment u enough as u were with ur friend , but just to let u know u look really very pretty and the way u r ,sooooooooooo sweet ,r u always like this

Poor guy. I must give him kudos for trying! However, when a guy comes on that strong it leaves a girl inevitably wondering if she's just the obsession of the moment, and tomorrow night it will be someone else, etc.

Several of us girls had a discussion about it the next day. There was a lot of giggling and comments such as:

I can't believe that. Does the guy have no sense of reality? It is like some lines from a really really sad Bollywood movie.

OMG that is hil.. do guys actually write things like that these days?

Apparently! The more important question is – are there girls that actually respond to this? Yiiii.

Comments from Jen:

No I don't think I'm going to go on a date – this may be extremely uptight and anal retentive, but I have it when people use "u" instead of "you" – just seems kinda lazy. I mean, if you're text messaging fine but if it's an email, write it out dammit! And he used "u" like 80 times, haha. I don't know why that annoys me but it does. And I choose to make a sweeping judgment of his character based on that haha!

And yes I DO need to learn how to say “no thank you” … preferably while running fast and far!

Maybe I can just get a wig and wear it next time. I do like wigs. As for the email – Some gems:

“u look really very pretty” – lie! I was in scrubby comfortable clothes, my stomach was about 4 times its normal size after buffeting for 2 hours, and the previous 2 nights I had only gotten 3 hours of sleep each night. I was like one of the extras from Night of the Living Dead.

“u r ,sooooooooooo sweet” – wouldn’t be saying that if he could’ve heard the commentary running through my head, which was laced with a variety of profanities and unseemly comments
“r u always like this” – nope, and you’re gonna find that out REAL quick … has my foot been acquainted with your crotch yet? No? Well then! *WHAM*


Jen, let's practice a script for next time we run into this scenario. How about: "That's very flattering and you seem really nice, but I'm not interested. Thanks though."

Yeah, could happen.

Perhaps that's better than my response the other night, "Why do you want my number? You don't want my number!" Good one. The crazy part is that was my response to a guy who I thought was REALLY cute. Ah, how can I possibly pick on Jen about this when I'm just as bad at it? And I have a few years on her too!

Looks like we'll both have to practice our "yes, please call me" and "no, please don't call me" responses before we go out next time, particularly before we go to that East Indian buffet place again...

The Perfect Boyfriend

Deneen gave me an early Christmas present... It's a giant human-length pillow, perfect for nocturnal cuddling. She calls it the perfect boyfriend!!!

I've tried it out the last few nights. He's not bad, not bad at all. I'm not sure about perfect though. Here's my breakdown of the situation:


Ways he's just like a typical boyfriend:

Useless at the times you need him most.

Makes me overheat and I have to kick him to the other side of the bed in the middle of the night.


Ways he's better than a typical boyfriend:

Doesn't toss and turn, hog the covers, fart, grunt/snore, try to take my pillow or tickle me.

Doesn't mind if I do one of the above (uh, only one... and I'm not saying which one).

Never crawls into bed in the middle of the night smelling like booze or cigarettes.

I don't have to feel guilty about reading in bed.

Doesn't eat in the bed or leave his underwear on the floor (he doesn't even wear underwear... actually just these starry glow-in-the-dark flannel PJs, also known as a pillowcase).

There's no groping, or ahem, poking.


Ways he's not as good as a typical boyfriend:

A little too soft (maybe he should get his ass outta bed sometime and WORK OUT).

Doesn't spoon.

Lack of pillow talk (It's a little tiresome when I do ALL the talking).

There's no groping, or ahem, poking.

Thanks Friends!

Hey Everyone! Just wanted to shoutout a "thanks!" for voting for me (if ya did, if ya didn't, thanks for NOTHIN'! hehe, just kidding.)

Anyways, the numbers were such that in order to be in the top 5 in my category, you all would have had to vote at least every day last week, and then perhaps some more! Haha. I guess you have LIVES or something! I know you did more than your fair share Rosie, thanks for the nom again :) Besides, it just seems like a popularity contest, and Lord knows, I was never really that popular!!!

So go to the left panel of this page, click on the Canadian Blog Award link, and check out the ones that made Top 5... They must kick some serious ass (or in the humour category- some knee-slappin' hilarious ass)!


Update: This just in, my sis just nominated me for a 2006 Weblog Award in the humour category. It's nice that you guys like my blog, really it is, but I don't know if I can take the pressure! I'm really not that funny, just weird.

Brrrrr!!!

It's cold out there folks! I can just hear it now. I can predict with 100% certainty, that in the next few days I'm going to hear the following phrase: Is it cold enough for ya? Like I mentioned in a previous post , people have GOT to come up with something better, anything! That phrase is covered in lamesauce, thicker than creamcheese icing on a bad carrot cake in a feeble attempt to make it taste good. When the temperature dips this low, I LOVE my hot showers even more. I cannot stand in there long enough or have the water hot enough. The most retarded products to use when you're trying to warm up, however, are shampoos, conditioners and body cream with peppermint or menthol in it. It doesn't make sense. First I have a shower to warm up, but then I freeze my ass off with minty freshness!? I looked at the ingredients in my bone-chilling moisturizer and sure enough, it contains menthol. Attention all companies selling products in Canada during 8 winter months of the year: I live in the Great White North, I don't NEED a "cooling sensation." If I want to be "cooled", I'll go and jump in the nearest snowbank, thanks. Weird, I didn't notice this before, but this cream also has lanolin in it. Oh geez. I didn't know I was spreading a greasy yellow substance secreted by the sebaceous glands of wool-bearing animals on my skin. Ewww! I can't imagine taking an animal's skin-grease (or even a human's) and using it to moisturize.

Hey Dan, my hands are really dry right now and I see that your hair is exceptionally greasy today, can I rub my hands in it? Ahh, that's better. Thanks. Now all I need is some minty freshness, cuz my hands just aren't cold enough right now. Oh but they are stinky. Maybe I will take a dash of mint with that after all...

Homogenized Sphincter

One thing I like to ask people when they're eating a hot dog is, "So how's the homogenized sphincter?" They pause for a moment to compute that, and then keep right on horking it down. Especially when they're drunk. Or a kid who doesn't know what sphincter means.

Nowadays, when apple juice and spinach can be infected with E. coli, a type of bacteria that originates in the gut, it adds new meaning to the phrase, "Eat shit and die."

Eating can be pretty risky. And I tell ya, I'm willing to take that risk every day, day in day out, as often as possible!

"Eating is risky, but not eating is even more hazardous to your health." That’s what my old food microbiology prof used to say. True dat.

If you want to choke down some interesting info about the fast food industry, check out the new movie Fast Food Nation. If you eat fast food, you should see it. Afterwards, you'll WISH it was only sphincter in those burgers!!! Ah, just kidding! Or not... Guess you'll have to see it to find out.

Plaigerism! Or not...

On November 5th, I posted The many paths to my ramblings. It so happened that I was laughing pretty hard at the search words people used to find my site. I shared the joy and laughter with y'all and posted some of them...

Then, on November 10th, guess what someone else on the "Best Humour Blog" nominee list posted? Oh yeah baby-- Search Engine Hits. I was livid. I thought for sure there was plaigerism afoot. I paced a groove into the floor. I screamed "WHY GOD!?" into the skies (not really expecting an answer). Then I was flattered for a bit. After all, if someone wants to steal my idea then it must have been a good one! I giggled and looked at myself in the mirror and said, "I'm good enough, I'm funny enough, and dogonnit, people like my ideas!"

Then my sister (who incidentally encouraged me to bust the idea-stealin' blogger's ass) pointed out that her post actually said "Here are MORE search engine hits"... Hmmm. "More" infers that she's posted this sort of thing before.

"WHEN? WHEN!!!" I screamed... not into the heavens, but at my computer while typing "WHEN? WHEN!!!" to my sister. She didn't know. I had to investigate for myself. Turns out that little Miss Samantha Burns posted about search words about a YEAR AGO. A YEAR ago.!!!

Oops, my bad.

Looks like my original thought wasn't as original as I thought. I hope she doesn't think that I stole HER idea. Because I didn't!!! Alas, if she wants to scream at her computer, let her. And I lack the proof to clear my muddied name.

On the flipside, it's nice to know that more weirdos end up on her site than mine. She's got the freak-market covered. I can enjoy my normalcy (?) for a little while longer.

Very very short stories

A friend pointed out this article on six word short stories in Wired Magazine. Authors were challenged to write a story in only six words… here are a few I liked:

Failed SAT. Lost scholarship. Invented rocket. - William Shatner

Gown removed carelessly. Head, less so. - Joss Whedon

Automobile warranty expires. So does engine. - Stan Lee

Longed for him. Got him. Shit. - Margaret Atwood

Thought I was right. I wasn't. - Graeme Gibson

I thought they were neat, so I tried my hand at some:

Alarm ignored. Residents ok. This time.

Man asks. Woman answers. No? Maybe.

Virgin finally has sex, joins nunnery.

Life’s tough. She enjoys it anyways.

Dream comes true! Girl wakes up.

Boy eats chili. Date ends badly.

Buy now, pay later. Bankruptcy. Repeat.

Booze helps bed her, kills moment.

Entered contest. Lost. Guess I suck.

Driver sneezes. Car crashes. Bless you.

PhD within reach. Candidate quits anyways.

Snowstorm hits. Car in ditch. Help!

Tried standup comedy. Booed. Not funny.

Loser wins. Adopts new self-image.

Unplanned pregnancy. Planned marriage. Miscarriage. Divorce.

Pedestrian trips. Killed by clutziness.

Reality series ends. Reality sets in.

Wedding wonderful. Honeymoon awesome. Marriage sucks.

Got drunk. Got lucky. Got STD.

Laughed, peed, ran, fell. Bad day.

Look up! Falling piano!!! Too late.


Wrote short stories. Work postponed temporarily.

VOTE FOR ME... please?

The first round of voting has begun!!! Procrastinatrix has nominated me for a Canadian blog award!


Check it out... if you want to... have time... are totally bored... or just maybe, MAYBE you like my blog!!! (C'mon, there's a small chance that you kinda like it. You're here aren't you? Ah thanks, that gives me hope...)



You'll find me listed under 'Best Humour Blog'... PSHAW!

You can vote once a day!

Also check out and vote for my dad's blog... What's Wrong With Healthcare?... He's nominated under the 'Best New Blog' category.

Amazing Talent

This wonderful picture was painted by a mouth artist! (Mariusz Maczka)

I was looking at a whole calendar of paintings done by mouth, and it never even crossed my mind that they weren't painted by hand. The detail. The precision. That's amazing talent!

That's it, my next boyfriend is going to be a mouth artist. (Oops, did I just say that outloud?)

Cranial Forecast: Sunny with foggy patches

We all have days when our head is in a fog that won’t dissipate: distraction, exhaustion or just a complete inability to clearly predict the consequences of our actions. No amount of caffeine cuts the fog some days, it just turns you into a shakey foghead.

The fog is annoying at best, and downright embarrassing at worst. Ok, there are worse things than a little embarrassment... but embarrassing moments can be bad enough. The embarrassment factor increases substantially depending on how dumb you think you looked and how many witnesses there were (and who the witnesses were in some cases). The dumb factor really embarrasses me. I hate those "Doh!" moments.

Case in point, once as a child on a camping field trip, I spit my gum out the bus window and the wind blew it back into my hair. I had to ride the rest of the way on the bus with gum in my hair as advertising of my dumb move! I was totally mortified and will never forget how dumb I felt.

Growing up didn’t spare me, in fact it got even worse. In this blog I've often referred my early twentyhood fog, and I wasn't kidding. One example? I used to set things on the roof of my car and forget it and drive off. Talk about advertising my own stupidity. I’ve set shoes, rental videos and a subway sandwich up there at one time or another. It wasn’t just me that noticed lettuce and luncheon meat tumbling down my back window! I also had to go into the video store and ask the clerk if anyone had turned in the videos I’d JUST rented. He gave me a puzzled look and asked, "Videos found in the parking lot? Yeah. How did they get there?" He was so obviously rubbing it in!

Over the years the fog has lifted somewhat... I went from "poor visibility" to "mostly sunny with foggy patches." I'm not 100% sure why either. Do I pay attention more, less wallowing in self-focusedness? Better diet? More exercise; for the body and the brain? Or maybe I've just learned the art of damage control.

So here's my theory... You can do your best to prevent or avoid stupid embarrassing moments, but they WILL happen. We’re all human and people aren’t judging us as harshly as we may think for it. Isn’t embarrassment really due to our preconceived notion of how life should go? All you can do is be as aware as your brain will let you be that day and then go with the flow. If you laugh at yourself, people will laugh at you too! I have trouble laughing at myself when I'm not trying to be funny, but I've definitely had a lot of practice and now it's easier. Just think, your friends will have entertaining stories to tell! As an added bonus, it develops character. (I could use a little less character, thanks.) ... But that old addage works, practice makes perfect. With each of these episodes you’ll get better at the damage control.

I challenge you to go out and practice being embarrassed, spill food on yourself at lunch, fall down in front of a crowd, chat with and accidentally spit on your boss today!!!

One more thing... Can I follow you around with a camera? Please?

Communication is key to harmonious relationships

My supervisor is like the boss in this Dilbert comic. Not that he knows us all that well, but he does close his eyes during my presentations. The first time it happened, he said he had a migraine and couldn't look at my slides for more than a few seconds at a time. Pffft! Riiight!!! Ok, I might believe that since I put a bright yellow background on the slides. Oops. Ah, the things you don't realize when you start out...

I recently gave a presentation about my research in a class that my boss teaches every year, and I give this same presentation every year. Normally, he's in the back of the class snoozing. This time he was away, so I was a bit relieved that I wouldn't see him catnap while trying to talk about my research to the class. It can be really disheartening.

That's why I was extremely taken aback when I noticed one of the TAs in the back of the class with her eyes closed!!! I couldn't believe it. To add insult to injury, she offered no apology or even any excuses for her behaviour afterwards. Nuthin.

So now every time I see her, I give her the finger. I don't think she's made the connection.

It was suggested that I could come to her presentation in that class next week and sleep loudly through it. However, I think the finger thing is workin' for me as she says hi to me EVEN LESS than she did before (she's a serial non-hi-sayer in the first place). So I figure she's pickin' up what I'm throwin' down here. She must be feeling the Mich-wrath.

But maybe the sleeping during her presentation idea has some merit after all. If I brought a pillow to class next week, it will come full circle on her. She'll have an 'ah ha' moment in front of the whole class when she looks up and sees my little head atop my pillow; happily napping away.

Then when she mentions it after class, I'll lose it on her. That will open the door to reparations. Then we could have a real sit-down chat about it. Because after all, I believe in being honest and straightforward about these things. It saves a lot of anxiety between people.

LET'S DANCE!!!

Check out the video I just made of us dancing (click on 'LET'S DANCE!!!' link above).

The picture quality sucks, but it's still fun to watch! I would have done a better job except my computer can't handle it. That is, it can't handle our dancing... Have a looksie yourself and find out how baad we are!

Ramblings on Research: Human Experimentation.

I don’t do animals... Human studies are (quite frankly) a pain in the arse... err, I mean long and complicated, but that’s what I enlisted for.

People ask me what it involved for my human guinea pigs... After my rambling explanation, their reaction is always: "How did you get people to sign up for THAT?" As if I was torturing them or something… Ok, it probably was somewhat torturous. Yep, I torture people for a living. But at least it's torture with informed consent... (Uh yeah, that sounded weird.)

When I'm asked what I do, I like to phrase it: "Human experimentation."

So back to how I get people to sign up for torture... I have no flippin' idea!!! But thank God they did because I wasn’t ethically allowed to pay them! That left me with little bribing power on my side.

Quite a few dropped out. It was bad news for me when that happened, especially if they quit after going through part of the study already. I wanted scream through the phone at a lady who, when she was apologizing for pulling a no-show twice already, told me that the fact she'd missed two appointments must mean it was "a sign" that she shouldn't be in the study. Everyone near me at that moment must have heard a THUD (my jaw hitting the floor). Seriously, how do you counter that one?

You’ve NEVER seen me be so sickeningly nice to people as I was to those who volunteered for my study. Sure, of course I was beyond appreciative of their time and effort, but I also REALLY needed them to tolerate the torture until the bitter end! I would've done cartwheels, backflips and even taken a pie in the face (or several, if that’s what it took... just let it cool a little first) in order to keep my participants participating! Hell, I would have stripped naked and streaked across QUAD in trade for their cooperation. Maybe not. I would’ve done a lot of things, but streaking...? Well ok, I'd do it, but only as a last resort. And only if I could wear body hose so it looked like I was naked, but with maximal minimization of the jiggle-age (kind of like Kirstie Alley in a bikini on Oprah the other day. Shit, I’d even go on Oprah in a bikini if I was allowed wear boob to toe blubber-taming hose… Um, but I'll need a few months notice too. Ha... ha... ha ha ha. Ahem).

Funny thing though, when we said good-bye after completing the last day of the study, they thanked me.

Wait. What the? Let me get this straight-- I just made you write down every single thing you ate for 2 weeks, eat my food for 6 days, hooked an I.V. to your arm and took blood every 2 hours for 6 hours while missing out on what you could've been doing instead on a Saturday…

... and YOU are thanking ME?

Oh no no NO people. THANK YOU.

Now if I could only just turn all that effort into three little letters... PhD. Lord this is taking a long time.

Ramblings on Research: Coping with data and spreadsheets

I have posted about statistics before (see Statistics Course from Hell). So I won't ramble on too much about that. However, I've just spent most of the day today on spreadsheets of data AGAIN. This time I was calculating AUC (area under the curve). This is about as spellbinding as it gets around here folks!!! My ass is as about as numb as my brain is getting here... Luckily I've got a new CD and the fridge to keep me from dying of boredom. Yeah ok, my ass isn't doing well in this situation at all...

So you take a person, you take their blood every two hours for 8 hours and then plot some of their clinical data results over time (i.e. cholesterol levels). From this you can calculate AUC, then I take that AUC and plug it into our stats program and voila! You can see if the computer validates your whole existence over the past few years or not.

Honk shew.

Then you can go out and get trashed on vino and dance to hip hop all night!!!! Yay! Some call it "stress management." (Yeah, I know you're probably thinking that I've developed quite the set of stellar coping skills...)

Ahem... Then the next day you meet with your supervisor and hope he doesn't detect the tired eyes, alky breath and of course that ultimate hangover hallmark- the always lovely 50 point drop in I.Q. It usually goes something like this:

Supervisor: Why were we meeting today?
You: Uh...
Supervisor: What have you been up to lately?
You: Uh... things.
Supervisor: How does the program calculate AUC?
You: Uh... I dunno.

You: Can I go now?

Ramblings on Research: If I was a Lab Rat

At a recent conference I learned that “rats don’t like the drink.” The speaker said that if you want to get rats to drink ethanol-laced water, you need to “convince them to drink it” by sweetening it. What, do they throw in a little grenadine? Perhaps a splash of cran?

Lord, if I were a poor little lab rat, I’d definitely prefer to be used for alcohol research and therefore hopefully wasted all the time. Marijuana research would be even better (cage a la hot box...). Although it better be one of those studies where the rats get as much yummy fattening food as possible too, because rats don’t have a 7-11 across from their cage.

You see, life might be somewhat tolerable in a cage getting poked, prodded and experimented on if at least I was completely plowed or half-baked...

Then, as I lay there sobering up from the alcohol testing the night before, my head about to explode and wishing I would DIE, perhaps that’s the day I’d actually get what I wished for.

Research on Alcohol Consumption

Click on image to enlarge.

This just in... The video footage from this study will be used in a new realty series called Canadian UPI. Stayed to tuned to your local listings...

The many paths to my ramblings...

Through my sitemeter, I can find out what people googled to end up at my blog. Most days I get quite the chuckle. Who are you people? Whatever, chances are if you were looking for these things, you probably didn't quite get what you want... but if you try sometimes, you just might find, you get what you need. (Oops, that was quite the cheese sandwich, dipped in cheese fondue and then smothered in cheese whiz.)

Anyways, here are a few examples from the last 100 hits:

paunch sexy

short hair "hitting on me" blue eyes

quasi-god

f snow pants enema

oprah's advice on men and relationship

garner andrews spence diamonds (must have been looking for: Garner vs. Sean)

"dating morals"

project awry

marathon pee squat

a vegetarian's poop

what happens at a stagette + blowjob

can i use preparation h suppositories continually

picture of a gunt

LONG SCHLONGS

"whiner"

"victor henao" -gaviria

PAP whiner

yeast "scratching myself"

footsies on crotch

smoking smells

Hair mullet jokes

dads rant

PhD Comics

10 Signs your Girlfriend has PMS

10. She comes home from the grocery store with an assortment of high fat/high sugar treats for herself. NONE for you. Touch her goodies and YOU DIE mothafocka.

9. Making any kind of decision about ANYTHING is impossible for her, and this incessant indecisiveness is bloody annoying to everyone involved... especially her. Ok maybe it annoys you more. No, it's really more aggravating to her. Or you. Oh GEEZ I have no idea WHO THE F IT'S WORSE FOR (and I don't give a crap either)!!!!!

8. She cries at what may seem TO YOU like nothing, but don't you dare infer that it's nothing! That old song, her nail breaking, the Oprah show... it's not nothing and it's not the PMS either dammit!

7. She has zits in sizes, shapes, numbers and/or places you never knew was humanly possible.

6. She's bloated up so much that she resembles a blow-up Buddha doll, and has to complain about and/or show you how big her belly is intermittently throughout the day. Then she heads back to the couch... with her giant-sized chocolate bar, bowl of ice cream topped with a brownie and chocolate sauce and her cup of hot chocolate.

5. She lies awake with a head full of lists. "To do." "Wish I'd done." "Why the hell did I do that?"

4. One minute she wants to rip your head off and the next she wants to rip your clothes off.

3. You get nasty texts/emails/phone calls from her, perhaps even death threats. She has to freak out on you about some (or every) aspect of the relationship (and her memory becomes incredibly long for these things as well, but you must have 'set it off' with something you did recently). The translation is actually very simple boys: I need some attention from you! (And it should be attention in the way she wants it, when she wants it, exactly as it plays out in her head or you're dead buddy. You just are.)

2. You notice her constantly swearing at or throwing inanimate objects. Tolerance level has become negative NIL. Her motto for dealing with most "situations" with objects has become: If it's stuck, force it. If it breaks, it needed fixing anyways. (Strangely enough, Murphy's Law tends to rear it's ugly head A LOT during this special time of month.)

1. Happy Bunny becomes a personal mission statement... Now go suck someplace else you moron.

Death threat to printer

I am this close --> <-- to KILLING the printer here. We are on our THIRD ONE, and the lovely new printer brings with it a whole new set of frustrations. I could almost say that printers are worse than men for making me bang my head against the wall!!! Ok, not quite;) Truthfully, the only time I swear more than this is at other drivers when the roads are shit (like the snowy conditions this past Sunday, sorry you had to hear all that Jen). I wanna take that thing and get it in a headlock and smash it's stupid little printer-face in, body slam it into the ground, jump up and down on it a few hundred times and then pitch that pisa shite out the fricken window!!!

Or this... this scene from Office Space would be sweet sweet justice. Ah, it makes me feel better just to watch that.

So I try to reload up the driver and do 'diagnostics'... and it sends info to the printer and then asks me to click on what response I got, so I pick "doesn't print or prints garbage" because it DIDN'T PRINT. Then it asks if I want to print the log file!!!

Aaack!

Hey, 1990 called and wants it's clothes back...

In going through the clothes at Value Village last week, it would appear that the average time a piece of clothing spends in most people's closets before giving it away is about 16.8 years. That place is riddled with high-waisted/tapered faded-blue jeans and boxy blazers with giant-sized shoulder pads and gold buttons.

I'm not sure who thought wearing jeans that go up to the boobs with a football player's upper body-type inspired blazer was hot on a woman. That goes on the "Not Hot" list folks.

Tweeter and Mofo

Hey so this past weekend, my comic brainchild Tweeter and the Monkey Girl became a reality! I thought for sure that we were going as Sonny and Cher... then Jen said she actually wanted to be a monkey!!! She said it would be funnier (although Jen as Sonny and me as Cher would've been pretty awesome too).

Anyways, here are a few pix... we got 2nd place in the costume contest!!! The creepy gym teacher got 1st, that greasy jerk! Jen's monkey name was Mohoney Foulknersteinenhammerinsky, "Mofo" for short. It was funny to hear people call her mofo all night.









You can see that we had the leash, the tassle hat and Mofo even had cymbals! Haha... as the night wore on, it looks like Mofo's brown wore off!

never drinking again...

This was the subject line of an email I got early this morning.

You see, last night we joined a friend for his birthday. Every year he celebrates it with a week-long smorgasbord of events that he calls "Festival". Last night was the Black Dog event. This morning at 8am was supposed to be breakfast at the High Level Diner (how did he think THAT was a good idea?) And as you could've probably predicted, the guest of honor didn't show up.

He said to me at the end of last night, " You're a bad influence. I can't say how, but you just are. "

What the? What did I do? I just obliged him. When he wanted another beer, I got him one. When he wanted to do a shooter, we went and did one. It was his birthday! Aren't you supposed to be nice to the birthday boy?

Oh I know what you may be thinking right now, don't even go there. He didn't ask for anything else after that... except to go home. Yes, believe it or not he was gonna bail!!! But Jen and I wouldn't let him off that easy. C'mon, we never see him THAT drunk! It was a festival in itself to see that... Instead, we made him play "I've never..." with us for a bit. You learn a lot about people with that game! Ahem. Of course he's forgotten everything that we had or hadn't ever done. At least, we're counting on that.

So this was the 'never drinking again ' email this morning:

No coffee, no breakfast, no nothing this morning. Just a loud head.

I had lots of fun- just sorry my homing beacon kicked in. Tired Keith was starting to show up and he's not nearly as much fun as Slightly Drunk Keith.

Of course, Sober Keith hates both those guys at the moment.

Too funny. Oops, that is, the email was funny Keith, not your pain. Noooot funny.

Halloween costume confusion continues...

So I'm having trouble figuring out a costume still!!!

...Here are some past costumes and ideas to chew on.



Princess Leah... Don't really feel like being her this year. Have the outfit, but would feel cliche. Besides, that was a bad year. I fell backwards on the dance floor (later found out Lee had stepped on my foot)... uh, and did some other stuff I don't feel like talking about right now.



Here's me and Rose with our dates. I was Medusa 2 nights in a row. After sleeping in my costume the first night, it was a little uncomfortable the 2nd. I woke up after my boyfriend's class party, had Subway with a rotten tomato in it (almost got ill and didn't eat Subway for 2 years afterwards) and then headed to the pub crawl with Rose and Nancy and company. It was a good time, but got a bit weird when my boyfriend started making out with a Chucky doll (a DOLL, not a person dressed as one! Which doesn't make it much less creepy). And Rose and I got on the wrong bus for a bit. Oops.



This was Medusa from many years ago! I wish I still had the outfit. It was something from the '70s that my mom actually used to wear! (We used to love dipping into Mom's old clothes for costumes. Princess Leah was an old outfit of Mom's. And yes, it had a CAPE. Capes MAKE costumes.)

So Jen and I can't decide what to be. I have some props for sure. Here, Jen models my fun fur and afro. Pretty classic.



Nancy bought this hat in New York this year and is trying to figure out what to wear with it. She said maybe a cape and go as a Medieval man of some sort. I said she should definitely have the cape, of course, and then she should be a Medieval flasher!!!!



See... she could wear something like this guy is under the cape! Not sure if she liked that idea.