Heat of the Moment

Due to the fabulous margarita-melting temperatures we have had around here lately (103, 104, 105) I have had occasion to hear some interesting hyperbolic similes, metaphors, and other creative figures of speech to describe the severity of the heat -

Hot enough to fry an egg on the sidewalk.  I have not personally tested this culinary method, though my family has been known to make “dashboard pizza” a few times. Besides, I don’t even like fried eggs.  And is there BACON??????????????

Hot enough to make you sweat like a whore in church.  My first impression of this phrase caused me to wonder if the whore was wearing a hat!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Hotter than blue blazes.  This one has been uttered frequently by MyPoolBoy – I am not really sure if it means anything in particular, other than perhaps a vague reference to the blue portion of a flame that is heavily dependent on an oxygen-rich environment and low soot emissions.  And it is usually temperatures that are in the multiple-hundreds so this is inaccurate also. (Wikipedia- did you seriously think I knew that sh1t off the top of my head?)

Hotter than Hell.  This one has given me more than one moment of pause for reflection and consideration.  Hell.  Really?  Several points to this claim are flawed.   I suppose they could mean Hell, Michigan, which I generally think of when it gets really cold and folks send around pictures of the signpost with icicles hanging of of it to show that Hell froze over.




Taking into account that the typical high temperature for Hell, Michigan during the month of June  is in the 80’s according to weather.com then following THAT logic, one can, in fact, claim that it is hotter than Hell.

If they are referring to the Hell that, as children in Vacation Bible School we learned is “down there,” then maybe Hell is in Australia.  Maybe Perth.  The record high temperature in Perth, Australia is  115 degrees.  In which case I would have to argue that it is NOT hotter than Hell if Hell is “down there.”

Variants that I have heard are hotter than Hades and hotter than the hammered-down hinges of Hades. (Or Haiti?  Maybe they said Haiti.)  This makes me think that we’re talking about a mythological “underworld” which would be located somewhere in the vicinity of, oh, the molten iron inner core of Earth.   9800 degrees. And we are NOT hotter than THAT because it would cause face-melting like the Nazi dudes in Raiders of the Lost Ark after they looked in the Ark or spontaneous human combustion or some other Ripley’s Believe or Not sh1t like that! Following this logic, we could not be hotter than the hammered down hinges of Hades because in order for a hinge to withstand such heat it would have be able to to be hotter than  9800 degrees to maintain its shape and integrity to be hammered down enough in order to keep its occupants in their rightful places.

See?  That’s the price you pay for sinning you sinful sinner!  Just look at this whole heat wave as training and conditioning for later. And go get me another margarita.

Nonaward

To all my fellow TAKS-grade teachers at our campus - I am so sorry none of us got a "fun" award at the ceremony on Friday. As the glorious certificates were passed out one by one, it became sadly apparent that we had forgotten to have "fun" these last few weeks. We all shook our heads and clucked our tongues and repeated our never-failing mantra, "We don't have time because we teach TAKS." Perhaps it was the overwhelming pressure of the test that kept us from publicly ridiculing each other. Maybe we just couldn't think of anything creative and cute because teaching in a testing grade sucks all the creativity out of you. (The Martha Stewart Award? - DEFINITELY none of us!) It could be possible that we were so busy hi-jacking the potluck luncheon with pizza delivery that we didn't really give a sh1t about receiving an award. Since we were remiss in recognizing each other for our accomplishments such as Glee Club, Verbal Abusiveness, Hasselhoff Interpretive Dance, or Hot Flashes, I have come up with one blanket award to get us all at once. *Sober up! I'm not giving you a REAL blanket, ok?*

Drum roll, please..............

All 12 of us are the lucky recipients of the...............

Jaded Apathetic Can'tthinkofanything Kindoflazy Slacker Half-a$$ed Indifferent and Tired award!

Yes!!! We are all receiving JACKSHIT!

I am happy to offer this distinguished accolade as my end-of-year gift to you all. Please feel free to share with your loved ones how you received JACKSHIT this year at school. Wake the dog! Phone the neighbors! You got JACKSHIT!

As part of your award, you may save the JACKSHIT logo below and paste to your social networking profile to let everyone on your friends list know what 175 days of teaching school could get you if you apply yourself!

You may be interested in an additional service I will provide. For the nominal fee of $9.95, I will notify the local news agencies via note-tied-around-a-brick-through-their-window that you have received the coveted award of JACKSHIT! Please note that I carry less than *let me check my purse* $6.72 in change and there will be no refunds if you are dissatisfied with my service.

Because you are now in an elite group of others who have received JACKSHIT, you are also eligible to purchase (for a nominal fee of $19.95) all sorts of JACKSHIT paraphernalia. We are happy to offer this year's JACKSHIT awardees a document file of a certificate that you may print yourself.  It is emblazoned with the illustrious JACKSHIT logo and may contain your name if I can remember it.  (Since I didn't think enough of you all to get you a real award, do you really think that I care if I get your name right?)

*** BTW: I just totally spelled paraphernalia without any mistakes popping the red line underneath from teh the spell checker***

If you insist on having an actual tangible award sent to you, then (for the nominal fee of $31.95 - the precise cost of a large bottle of Deep Eddy vodka) I will get the closest scrap of paper and a crayon or pen or eyeliner pencil or whatever and, with no regard to color, accuracy, or scale, I will scrawl the dayum circle-with-a-line-through-it picture on the paper for you. 

Now.  Go forth and enjoy your summer!

MEMO To: DonnyCat Re: Rubbing Me the Wrong Way

DonnyCat,

After numerous failed attempts to make you understand that there are moments when your 14.6 pounds of affection is misguided and unwelcome, I am submitting these new "Cat Rules" in effect immediately.

1) If I am doing yoga, DO NOT RUB AGAINST ME!
2) If I am putting lotion on my legs, DO NOT RUB AGAINST ME!
3) If I am trying to sleepily meander my way down a dark hallway at 5 a.m. to get to the kitchen for coffee, DO NOT RUB AGAINST ME!
4) If our juxtaposition is such that your tail is near my head, DO NOT RUB AGAINST ME!
5) If I am in the bathroom and I am seated on your white drinking fountain that we humans call the toilet, I would appreciate you and the dog and the other two cats staying out. I appreciate your support and concern, but I'm ok in there by myself, and I think I can handle it on my own. Really. Because, although y'all just go out in the middle of the yard without a care in the world as to who witnesses your bodily processes, I would prefer a bit of privacy and that you DO NOT RUB AGAINST ME!

Sincerely,
Your Human

The End

Ok. So there is yet another whackaloon predicting the end of the world 

I am SOOOOOOO not prepared for this. If it is truly the Rapture, then I'll be gone and I'll be worrying for nothing, but if it is merely an apocalypse I am NOT ready.

Here is my tentative to-do list for tomorrow after I go pick up Lurch.

1. Figure out what to wear. I have not one solitary thing in my closet that would be new and exciting enough to welcome the end of the world. I must go shopping.

2. Have the right shoes. After making the HUGE mistake of wearing heels to the bomb scare a few years ago, I am NOT getting caught standing around or walking anywhere, much less running from zombies and the like, in shoes that are pretty but not practical. It is difficult to find a pair of shoes that will fill both of these requisites. I must go shopping.

3. Stock up on some food. Right now the best we have to survive on is 2 cans of salmon, some spaghetti, half a box of Frosted Cheerios, 3/4 bottle of Deep Eddy vodka, 4 bananas, some pimento cheese, and a case of beer. Good Gawd, that's really sad - it's like frat house food. There are some tomatoes in the garden but they are still pretty green, and if the apocalypse has any nuclear undertones whatsoever, those tomatoes will be all radioactive and shi+ like Attack of the Killer Tomatoes or something so we can't eat them anyway! I must go shopping.

4. Make playlist on my ipod of end-of-the-world-themed songs:
Rapture - Blondie
End of the World - Skeeter Davis
It's the End of the World as We Know It - REM
All H3ll's Breaking Loose - KISS
Only the Good Die Young - Billy Joel
Jessie's Girl - Rick Springfield (because it will be the national anthem when I take over as Princess of the Leftover World.)
When It's Over - Loverboy
Freaks Come Out at Night - Whodini (in case there ARE zombies)
Dead Man's Party - Oingo Boingo and
Last Dance - Donna Summer

This is a good start, but one of my ear buds to my ipod is smashed and has wires hanging out of it precariously so that I might actually SURVIVE the apocalypse and then be accidentally electrocuted by my ipod while listening to my end-of-the-world-themed playlist. Which would suck. Cuz then I couldn't wear my cute new post-apocalyptic shoes. I must go shopping.

My other option is to wait until the world is actually in the throes of its post-apocalyptic chaos and then just go loot all the stuff I need.

Fast Times

The most Jeff Spicoli conversation I ever had with one of my children:

Chunk: We need a snack. 

Me: I know.  You know what would be good?  Bagels and cream cheese.

Chunk: That would be good.

Me: Hey my car is fixed we could take my car. 

Chunk: Yeah.

Me: But I don’t think I have any money in my purse.

Chunk: I just have a dollar. 

Me: Oh.  Well let’s just watch Kitchen Nightmares. 

I swear – we sound like a couple of stoners. 

I Would Like to Thank...

First, thanks to the student who gave me the bag of Pepperidge Farm Milano cookies for Teacher Appreciation Week this morning. They are gone. Along with this week's efforts to lose weight.

Next, thanks to MyPoolBoy for the beautiful bottle of cheap Merlot that accompanied the box of dishwashing detergent back from your trip to the store. Unlike the cookies, it is not gone yet, but I'm working on it. Perhaps this will deter any further suffering that you might incur due to my current hormonal state, including the unfortunate play-by-play I related to you this morning concerning my menstrual cycle and its surrounding conditions and/or circumstances. (Sorry 'bout that!) BTW - the wine has been opened, the Cascade has not.

Finally, thanks to a Facebook friend for sharing the link to this clip. I must say that although nothing ever leaves ME completely speechless, this little gem left me scratching my head and barely managing to muster a "wow" from an already compromised state of semi-consciousness this evening (remember - Milano cookies + Merlot + hormones).



I hereby solemnly vow to Felix that this fabulous ditty will be our anthem for karaoke night at the coast this year since we always sleep together and there are plenty of stories to tell about THAT - Keebler Elf dreams, kicking, clothing arguments, David Hasselhoff dreams, and presumed phone sex. Pee-peeing the bed is about the ONLY thing that hasn't happened yet!

Anyway, I tracked through the related videos on the sidebar of this one and discovered that this effed-up little VonTrapp family actually were a big hit throughout Europe in the 80s and 90s. How did I miss this? Without a doubt, Moses/Gandalf/Father Time as your back-up singer is a pretty big score!

So, clicking on the sidebar videos led me to a fabulous video of a song of theirs called "One More Freaking Dollar." Which I hereby declare my undying, unadulterated, unabashed, and unsober (Merlot, remember?) love for. And the lead singer on the video is a cutie. Except at that point of his life he was also JAILBAIT and that would make me a sinner of some sort.

Upon further clicking I discovered that he cut off the Sebastian Bach hairstyle and grew into a legal-sized man and was still a cutie. And a monk. Like, a monk in a monastery, not the TV detective. That FOR SURE makes me a sinner.

Spin It to Win It

Well, we were discussing gynecologists at our  poker table – because we love to gross out the men and make them all uncomfortable and distracted so that they can’t concentrate and we can beat them.  Especially if we are too drunk and/or ADD to know what is in our hand. 

One of the girls was talking about how an ob/gyn she went to was rude and she finally had to switch doctors.  I told her that I hoped she ate some beans and cabbage and then went to one last appointment with him before she switched. 

Our discussion included a story of a doctor misdiagnosing the flu as endometriosis, and I said that it was just a FLUke.  Cuz I’m funny.  And/or drunk.  And then I was told “thank God you’re not a doctor.”

At this point I pondered how one could make such a haphazard, random, guess at the ailments of some poor unsuspecting soul.  This is what we came up with.  In my “Thank God You’re Not a Doctor”s office I could construct a “wheel o’diseases” where the patient could cut down their waiting room time by simply spinning a big roulette wheel or one of those giant wheels like on Wheel of Fortune or The Price Is Right, and what you get is what you’ve got. 

Except I’d have to have a game show host on my payroll and that would look a tad unprofessional. 

A more simple solution would be if you could pay your office visit fee directly into a slot machine and pull the arm:  Common Cold, Common Cold, Gonorrhea! 

Oh, so close!!!!!!!!!!!!  Pick up your prescription on the way out. 

Chunk – You Are a Moron

1:45 a.m. REALLY??????????????????????????? 

You know, there is one rule, and the rule is very simple:  Be home by the designated previously-agreed-upon-ETA, or you may alternatively elect to contact one of your two original biological parental figures via email, text, or an actual live voice phone conversation.  You did none of these. NONE. 

And then you go and stay out too late and make me imagine that you are dead and/or horrifically mutilated in the proverbial ditch and not only are you dead and/or horrifically mutilated in said ditch, but you took your friend WITH you to be dead and/or horrifically mutilated in the ditch.   And your little friend that was spending the night? Well, he DID text his parents to tell them where he was.  In the meantime, I was worrying about TWO kids and not just one.  Why the h3ll do you think I’ve been so freakin’ happy about your older brothers moving out?  It is because I don’t have so dayum many offspring to keep track of now.  I know for a scientific empirically observed fact that some animals eat their young.  And it is just because the mothers don’t want to keep track of a whole litter of puppies or kittens or baby rabbits (whatthehellever you call a baby rabbit).

And just so you know, if you ever ARE dead in a ditch, I expect you to contact me via Ouija board to let me know that you are dead in a ditch so that I don’t stay up half the night waiting for you. 

So, there you have it.  You are officially grounded.  Yes, my little friend, you are grounded.  Ground-dead.  I know your poor sleep-deprived father who had to go drag your stupid butt home told you that you would be grounded until you were old enough to drive at age 16, but I will settle for just until you are 15 – which is in a week or so.  Because all kinds of child psychologists tell you to never threaten a punishment that is so long or harsh that you will not be able to follow through with it. 

But actually I think I can manage to top the “you are grounded until you can drive threat.” 

Therefore, as an ADDTIONAL punishment which will assuredly last a lifetime with no further involvement from me, I would like to leave you with the sordid, mind-scrambling, childhood-ruining information that I still have sex with your father.  

Now it’s YOUR turn to be sleepless.

Under Construction

So -- my adorable little pink beemer convertible had its fuel pump go out this week. $200 and 45 minutes of labor later, it is thankfully up and running again. To "make do" until the part we needed came in, I was able to trick the engine into thinking it had a regular normal working fuel pump by lifting up the back seat and banging on the top of the fuel pump with the butt-end of a flat-head screwdriver before turning the key in the ignition. This made Duckit pretty much wet her pants laughing.

See - to me there are three basic rules to any home improvement or car maintenance project:

1) Home Depot should offer marriage counseling services.
2) You repair things with tools; you FIX things with a hammer.
3) This is the one that MyPoolBoy hates the worst - All tools have the potential to BE a hammer - such as the butt-end of the flat-head screwdriver that I needed to use to get the fuel pump underneath the back seat of my car to jiggle enough to send gas to the engine.

Rolling Along

Thunderdrunk, I mean, Thunderduck stumbled in sometime late last night/early this morning after a day out on the lake with his buddies. When he came in he greeted the PetBull and then retreated with her to his room.

Whereupon he began to sing Army songs.

And tried unsuccessfully to get the poor dog to join in.

So of course he's hung over, and he came in and asked me if I had any Tylenol or aspirin. I handed him the last 2 Tylenol that I had, but I swear to GAWD I wish I was on some sort of freakish female hormone prescription or the pill - cuz I SOOOOOO would have given him that instead as payback for the Canine Army Choir.

Oh H3ll, Alma Mater

 A BannedCamper posted a lament that she was tired of her university calling and asking for donations from her for the alumni fund. Really.  I mean we’ve already paid THOUSANDS of dollars to them in tuition, and now they want MORE?

First of all, they need to look and see what your major was before they call.  Liberal arts or education majors have VERY LITTLE MONEY.  Worse still, liberal arts AND education majors (like me) have NO MONEY.  Blood.  Turnip.  Get it?

Other gals offered some seemingly practical advice such as:
“Put them on the blocked list.”
“Look at the caller ID before you answer.”

No. No. No. No.

These call banks are manned by undergrads on work-study programs who A) just need to make a quota of contacts by the end of their shift and B) are probably still hung over from the kegger at Zeta house the night before in addition to being hopped up on Folgers Crystals, Red Bull, and NoDoze from studying for mid-terms after the kegger before they had to show up for their appointed duties.

Here’s my advice.  Talk to them. Start off with, "Thank GAWD you called. I sat next to this dreamy guy in my sophomore statistics class and fell hopelessly in love with him, so I signed up for every class he had the next 4 semesters. I was able to find out where he worked, and I would drive past it every day.  However, by the time we graduated he had a restraining order on me, but I think it has expired by now, and I would LOVE to get back in touch with him because I have been thinking about him all these years. I still have pictures of him all over my house.  Do you think you can help me find him?"

This Post is in Need of Emily Post

What is the etiquette or hygiene guideline for taking a drink into the bathroom with you?   You can't leave it on a table or someone will slip a date-rape drug into it and then you have to do the whole "but you drugged me and brought me home and now you're saying that I'm annoying and you've changed your mind" routine, and that never turns out well.  Or, worse still, you can leave it on the bar and the bartender will think you are finished (ha! Me leave a drink unfinished?) and clear your glass from the bar before you return.

I surmise that since the beverage in question is an alcoholic beverage, the alcohol would theoretically kill the germs that might come into contact with it in the restroom. Hmmmm..... GHB or CDC? Decisions, decisions.  So, where does one SET your drink once you have entered the facilities?  I ended up setting my Long Island Iced Tea on the little soap dish dippy area on the sink while I peed like a racehorse several times this evening (vodka = lack of bladder control + diminished sense of personal well-being).

You know, you learn all these flippin’ rules about hygiene when you are little.  Rules like: cover your mouth and nose when you sneeze, don’t eat the yellow snow, wipe from front to back, etc. etc.  No one in a Baptist family ever talks about “drink in the bathroom” rules, nor was this topic covered in my high school health class (they were all so worried about us getting knocked up during some drunken moment of misguided teen angst and lust that we didn't get any PRACTICAL health advice that pertains to imbibing!).

Here’s a great idea.  I’m gonna invent something with a drink-holder that attaches to you somehow… specifically designed to hold your drink while you make a potty run.

Oh wait.  I’m too late.  That invention has already been created.  It is called a BOYFRIEND.  There is a slightly less reliable and more expensive version of this invention called a HUSBAND.  The latter of which I have.

But I think mine is an older model that doesn’t come with the drink-holder attachment.

Facelift Complete

I am now the owner of a PINK CONVERTIBLE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

Oh Boy Oh Boy

I have watched this about 14 times today and I CANNOT stop laughing!!!!!!!!!!! Animal is the best part.

What Are The Odds That This Is My SECOND Post About Raccoon Sex?

So.  We were making fun of MyPoolBoy’s annoying poker friend from a while back cuz I saw him on a news clip about the county next to Mullet County.  And they interview HIM as a representative citizen of the community.  Which caused us to start discussing the “Deliverance-y” way of life that is rumored to exist in that neck o’ the woods.  Thunderduck and his crew began to elaborate upon the range of amorous combinations that exist over there.  Typical goat and sheep jokes – you know the drill.  Then I made reference to the raccoon sex blog I posted way back when, and that was enough for him to launch a reenactment of what he deemed to be the way it happens. 

It went something like this: “That might be a goat, but he’s kinda little and he ain’t got no horns. And he was wearing a mask.  He was my masked stranger of the night.  I waited up all night for the masked stranger.  I got some deer corn outta the deer feeder on the lease and sprinkled it on my windersill and then made a little trail like in Hansel and Gretel into my room so he had to come on into the room.  Then I got a box…. and I waited fer him…..”  
This brilliant entrapment mastermind is the second of my offspring who has enlisted in the armed services to serve and protect our nation.  I swear if I catch wind of him trying to trap “insurgents” with deer corn and a box I’m defecting to somewhere else until 2012 when I finally take over as Princess of the Post-Apocalyptic Leftover World.

Check It Out

MonsterInLaw sent me some birthday money in the form of a check.  I hadn't gotten around to spending it until just this week, but I was thinking that I SHOULD have messed with her in the process of enjoying my little spending spree. (BTW, I got some new clothes and an old-timey laundry/washer/plunger thing for the laundry room - so, thank you again MIL!). 

Because she lives in TheMiddleOfNowhere, which is a suburb of BFE (Bum F*ck Egypt) in the county of Podunk, she banks at a local bank where EVERYONE knows yo' bidness.  I have decided that NEXT year, if she sends me a check I will write in the memo line to express my gratitude AND create a stir.  It will be something that will cause her to get razzed by every teller at her bank (all 2 of them), and perhaps get a few strange looks in the grocery store.  Like:

For  Services Rendered 
For   Sex Change Operation  
For   Bail Money  
For   New Tattoo  
For   Exorcism  
For   Lip Piercing   
For    Blackmail Payment 
For   STD Antibiotics   
For   Pole Dancing Lessons 


Her only real chance of escaping me was 24 years ago when the preacher said "If there is anyone here who can show just cause...."

Yea Team Go School

For all the Lucilles on college t-shirt day 

Or for QueenB (just because it is her favorite saying) 

Can't. Breathe

I am laughing so hard. Mascara running down my face.

School Is a Social Disease

So.  Last week I got really wiped out on Thursday and ended up not feeling well enough to go to school on Friday.  Then Duckit got sick today and ended up getting having to stay home with strep for TWO days.  I told her strep just stood for Sick & Tired of Redundant Education Policies and that she wasn’t really sick but she should stay home anyway cuz at least STREP would look good as an excuse.

So then Bi+chslap and I started coming up with some REALLY good acronyms for excuses which can cause me to call in sick to my job.  Excuses related to venereal-type ailments.  Afflictions that no one would question if you called in and claimed them.

STD – Sick & Tired, Dammit

CLAP – Completely Losing All Patience

CRABS – Children Really Acting Bad & Stupid

WARTS – Worrying About RTI Totally Sucks

HERPES – Had Enough of Ridiculous Public Education Sh1t

AIDS – Attitude In Downward Spiral

CHLAMYDIA – Children Having a Lack of Appropriate Meds Yielding Distress In Adults

SYPHILLIS – Stupid Yelling Parents Hysterically Insisting Little Lucifer Is a Saint

GONORRHEA – Getting Overwhelmed by Nonsensical Orders, Redundant Requests, & Hot-air from Educational Administrators

I decided the only cure is a dose of vitamin B.
Plus an accompanying dose of vitamin E.
Then an additional dose of vitamin E. 
And top it off with a small dose of vitamin R.

Off Like a Cheap Prom Dress

How to Be Stuck At Home

An instructional resource for your entertainment by WTP

Roll over and ask MyPoolBoy to turn the heated mattress pad back on for me.  Lay in bed while the sun rises.  Remark to the 2 dogs and cat who are hogging the lower portion of the bed that I never even get to see the sun rise on weekdays because I am usually inside the school building.  Stretch left leg when Littledog  jumps up to run to see Chunk leave for school.  Push Bigdog with right foot in order to gain enough space to stretch right leg to evenly distribute the stretchy sensation to both of my lower limbs.  Shove Cat over to MyPoolBoy's side of the bed and proceed to fashion a recliner-like fortress of ALL the pillows to make my own comfort a priority.  Close eyes and contemplate going back to sleep. 

Go ahead and get up because Bigdog has decided she wants to go outside to potty.  Open the back door and leave it open so she can let herself back in while I make a pot of coffee.  Close back door when Bigdog reenters the house.  Acquire a cup from the cabinet.  Shake half a package of Splenda into the cup.  Check fridge for milk.  Ignore the surprising presence of a nearly-full gallon of milk in the door of the fridge and get out the Bailey's instead. (I'm not going anywhere today.)   Add the precise standard measurement of a "smidge" to the cup.  Pull coffee pot off of hotplatethingy of the coffeemaker and pour coffee in cup.  Think to yourself: the h3ll with waiting.  Clean up mess that results from taking the coffeepot off of the hotplatethingy before it was finished brewing. 

Set coffee down on nightstand.  Go pee.  Look down and check out belly button piercing.  Promise self to change over to the cute rhinestone dangly instead of the plain silver ball.  Finish peeing.  Strip off all pajamas and get on scale in nothing but panties.  Mentally note the 0.2 pound weight loss.  Muse that this could be a sign from the universe to restart my diet and drink a protein shake for breakfast.  Go back to kitchen.  Notice the big box of Frosted Flakes.  Notice that I notice because it is calling my name.  Wonder where the saying "calling my name" comes from.  Think that I should Google it later.  Pour a heaping bowl of Frosted Flakes and procure the milk that I ignored earlier.  Go back to bed to eat cereal.  Eat a bite.  Shove Cat off of lap.  Eat another bite, using left elbow to persuade Cat back off of lap.  Eat another bite.  Invite Cat to the floor.  Insist Cat stay on floor.  Move Cat to hall against his will.  Shut door and tell Cat to shut up when he meows and interrupts your breakfast.

Take leftover milk in bowl to kitchen sink.  Tell Cat that NOW he can snoop in the bowl and give himself diarrhea by drinking all the leftovers if really wants it.  Go back to bed.  Drink coffee and channel surf.  Flip past news programs.  Flip past meaningful self-help infomercials.  Flip past gardening show.  Watch weight loss success story reality show.  Think I should have a protein shake for lunch.

Decide to check out an old sappy Hallmark frog prince Valentine movie that I had recorded a few weeks ago.  Click SELECT.  Fast forward past all commercials.  Drink more coffee.  Start thinking bizarre thoughts about the movie:  Roll eyes at the cliche scene when little girl decides to set frog free rather than euthanize it in the name of science for her dissection project.  Think about writing an obituary for a frog when he CROAKS.  HAHAHAHAHA!   Think about writing a blog post about frog obituaries.  Finish watching movie.

Nap about 30 minutes. Continue dishonesty-with-self policy by justifying that over one hour is ABOUT 30 minutes.

Wake up hungry.  Reheat leftover eggplant parmesan and spaghetti for an early lunch.  Repeat Cat shove, Cat elbow, Cat floor, Cat exile process through placing bowl in sink step.  Make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for dessert.  Use too much jelly.  Wipe excess jelly off of bread onto a saucer.

Check email while eating PBJ.  Think about blogging.  Answer phone when MyPoolBoy calls.  Get pissed when he doesn't say anything at the other end.  Decide to hang up.  Look at screen to disconnect the call and notice that it is a text message, not a real live phone call.  Reply to text message.  Notice tips of nails need a touch up because I neglected to put a topcoat on them last time I painted them.  Think about redoing nails.  Set down computer and roll back over to watch Supernanny.  Yell at tv screen to bust those kids' butts.  Startle Littledog when I yell.     Have fleeting thought about getting up.  Ignore that thought.  See a commercial for Clean House.  Have fleeting thought about cleaning house.  Ignore this thought, also.

Blog about what I've done all morning instead.

Photo Opportunity

MyPoolBoy found this awesome eye candy on Facebook.  Had to share so that you would spew your morning coffee on your computer screen like I did, thereby wasting perfectly good Baileys (REAL Baileys, too... not the knock-off crap you get from the bottom shelf because it's still a week from payday and you have to save a little money until then to buy shi+ like FOOD). 

BUT....Honestly, my first reaction was "Where did he get those slammin' boots?"

 

  My second thought was" "Do they come in size 7?"


Then I realized I was supposed to be ooged out or appalled or whatever by the picture.

Kinda looks like it could be one of the very earliest publicity photos of the Dos Equis "Most Interesting Man in the World." Back when there was only Uno Equi.

THEN I started trying to read his tattoo.  Because, I was informed by MyPoolBoy, it is not a bikini top, nor is it a leopard print tie to match the boots draped sexily (Ok - I seriously could not type that word just now with a straight face) across his cleavage.

Great news!  I got the photo to zoom in Picasa to get a closer look at the tit tat.  I do not recommend this unless you have alcohol handy - isopropyl - the kind you can use to disinfect your eyes and at least temporarily blind yourself until someone can come in the room and pull the plug on your computer and drive you to the liquor store to buy the OTHER kind of alcohol to disinfect your memory of the close-up of excess body hair you will be witnessing.   All I can make out is what is in the middle "NTRO"  or "MDRO."  iNTROduction?   AMDRO?  conTROl?  Remote Control? 

One of the girls at BannedCamp thinks it says "MAN TROPHY"

And wtf is it that he is holding up?  Grapes?  A wad of shaved back hair?


Please Gawd, someone tell me they burned that couch.

Welcome to McDonalds

This is the kind of crap I find on the Internet when I don't have anything to do on a Saturday afternoon.

Craigslist Made Me Laugh

Not as good as the Freakshow Craigslist post but the last part made me LOL

"I have a bunch of fresh cut bamboo from yard work today, it is free to who ever wants it. Just drop me a line. Oh and please no dumb questions you can answer yourself using google. I have a backyard full of bamboo that grows 12feet every 3 days all year, I just want it gone..... I don't care if you use it to beat your kids or build a boat. just come and get it "

Breaking Training

Before I get too far, let me just point out that the best part of faculty meetings is food.  Our campus usually does a fabulous job of providing enough fare to keep my mouth busy chewing and disengaged from smart-mouthing for at least a little while. 

So. When we had a "short meeting" last week I had to make sure that I went by the candy machine and spend an assorted accumulation of change from the bottom of my purse on Snickers bars for our table because in meeting-speak "short meeting" has nothing to do with the length of time that elapses nor does it refer to the stature of the participants (although Felix could preside over such a meeting as its president).  "Short meeting" actually translates to "no food provided."  

Anyway - there was plenty of food at the meeting today because it was a REAL meeting and it kept me relatively quiet but, it wasn't at the meeting where my mouth ran over this time.  It was the fabulous surprise copy machine training presentation that occurred AFTER the meeting that prompted me to entertain all within earshot.  This surprise copy machine training presentation was brought about by the unfortunate near-demise of our beloved copy machine by someone who pulled on one of the interior components a wee bit too hard in order to presumably remove a paper jam. 

Now, if you've never had the good fortune to have surprise copy machine training inflicted  sprung on you, let me just tell you - I was able to behave for a mere 3 minutes.  Unfortunately, the training lasted about 45 minutes.  So for the better part of the first half of the remaining 42 minutes, I fought the strong urge to mouth off.  Alas, I lost the battle about 25 minutes into the ordeal and I began to make off-color references concerning the copy machine terms and components and therefore succeeded in providing entertainment for all those around me for the remainder of the training. 

After we had ascertained that if you pull on stuff inside the copier too hard it will, in fact, break, we learned some valuable information like there are stickers which serve as sort of guides/instructions as to what to do in the event of future paper jams - unfortunately that means that we would have to actually read the guides/instructions instead of just opening compartments and hoping to find the jam in our own little effed up version of office machine roulette.  So THAT's no fun. 

We also learned that you shouldn't touch any of the interior components that are not labeled with the aforementioned stickers or that don't have a green handle or knob or switch on the component.  Unless you're color blind.  I said it just loud enough to emit a titter from the 3-4 folks near me.  Felix shot me a "please shut up" look.  Which never works. 

As the copy machine training presenter guy continued our education he let us know that the machine had the capability of scanning and reading both sides of a document at once so that it will be "looking at your backside."  I KNOW.  That was just asking for me to stand up and look at my backside. 

As he pointed out the various computerized features on the touch screen, he let us know where the 2-sided feature was, where the stapling feature was, and that there was a logout button and a CLEAR button.  I announced that the CLEAR button must be for running transparencies.  

A few of the folks around me started complaining that it was getting stuffy in the tiny room with about 50 people standing around watching the copy machine training presenter guy.  I offered to assist in ending the training abruptly and clear the room for them by farting.

No takers. 

Horror-Scope

I had a thought about the whole astrological controversy in the news right now: 

The Zodiac Killer is gonna have to start all the h3ll over.

For Pateeta

F*CK CANCER!

More 2012 and WWJP

There's a Hopi Indian 2012-myth-debunking on tv right now.  MyPoolBoy pointed at the tv and said "2012" and I confused him by saying "no, 2102"  and he's like "what?"  and I told him that the clock on the cable box read 9:02 and that it was NOT 2012, but 21:02.  He is growing a bit weary of my quick wit. 

Now. WWJP.  What would Jesus pack? I saw a VBS (vacation Bible school)-type picture of Jesus looking down over the shoulder of a little girl with some little verse like "Jesus loves the little children" or "Jesus loves me" or something.  As  Jesus gazes down from where he is seated, you notice he is holding what is undoubtedly SUPPOSED to be a rod or staff to comfort the little girl.  Except this rod or staff appears to have a protrusion of some sort coming off the midsection of it, making it look eerily like a shotgun.  At least a semi-automatic.  Yeah.  Jesus holding a shotgun butt against his hip.  I could hear the signature "Ch-chk" sound in my head while I imagined Jesus cocking the shotgun against his hip all white trash-like.

I don't think it is so farfetched to think that Jesus would carry a shotgun.  Let me remind you that WAY before Charlton Heston served in the NRA protecting the 2nd Amendment, he was put in charge of the 10 Commandments.  

I made a few of these comments about this photo to Felix and Hyphen and Duckit.  They rolled their eyes at me with the usual "you're really going to burn in h3ll" look that they always give me - and then we all  busted out laughing.

 Look - this is the EXACT SAME PICTURE - except someone who is obviously saving a seat for me in h3ll has ACTUALLY superimposed or Photoshopped the shotgun that we had only imagined. 

I just told MyPoolBoy that if his name was Jesus (Hey, Seuss) that I could get a tattoo that says "Jesus loves me."

He rolled his eyes at me.

Last Post of 2010

First of all I would like to remind everyone that after tonight, we are all merely one year away from me claiming my rightful place as the Princess of the Leftover World.

Anyway, here is my Alpha and Omega - the first post in a long time and the last post of 2010: BannedCamp had a discussion thread concerning Facebook posts that cajole you into putting that you love Jesus in your status or you will be forever known as one of the 99.9999 percent of heathens on this planet who have access to a computer with Internet capability who won't put it in your status.  Because our omission or perhaps outright refusal to do so means that we DON'T love Jesus.

Is this a chain letter?  Am I going to have bad luck and get hit by a Greyhound - either a bus or a dog - if I don't?

Seriously people, it's like a virtual form of those "Honk if you love Jesus" bumper stickers - which I have always considered to be like Christian drive-bys, anyway.  People 3 lanes over don't know why you're honking, and oncoming traffic is clueless as well.  So people are recklessly Jesus-honking and only them and the car in front of them are in on it.  Besides, I'm not risking someone getting all road-ragey when I honk at you because A) you forgot that the sticker is back there and are just getting off of a long, frustrating day of work at the U.S. Postal Service or B) they have just stolen this car at gunpoint and they have no idea that the sticker is back there. 

So even though I walked out of church on Easter Sunday, and I converted a $10 auction pulpit into a bar in my backyard, here is what I will admit to: "I love Jesus, but I drink a little "



So then I decided to go and "friend" Jesus on Facebook or join the Jesus Facebook group or get the Jesus Facebook app so that it will show in my updates so that even though I have not put Jesus in my status, I am willing to allow Him to appear in my "feed." 


First, I typed Jesus in the search box on Facebook and the only two that I had a mutual friend with were Jesuses with Hispanic last names (the kind that are not GEE-SUS, but more like HEY-SEUSS) so I'm thinking that everyione who is posting this stuff about proving their Jesus-ness either knows a different Jesus than I do or they are lying about it.

There is a Facebook group called "Jesus Jesus Jesus" and I think I might know THIS one cuz I sang a song about him in vacation bible school from the time I was 4 (Sweetest name I know), so yeah,  it HAS to be him.  BUT it shows him with creepy Charles Manson looking eyes in the profile pic and  there are no mutual friends, there either.

I also know that it is NOT Charles Manson because Charles Manson has a Facebook page... which conveniently has a link at the bottom of the page where you can click to "Report This Person."

And I bet Charles Manson and I might actually have some mutual friends. 

My Sunday Reading Material

Another BannedCamp suggestion

Amazon Flask Review

You Know What's Funny?

Drop cheese whiz in the middle of a fat dog's back. 

My Response to Some of Y'all's Facebook Secrets Answers

Here are the "secret questions" that various folks have answered about me on some Facebook application that will probably cause us all to get hacked and crash our computers with viruses.

I have decided to respond to each one because some of y'all don't get me AT ALL.
 

Is WTl's profile picture cute?	Yes	At the moment it is the picture of me in my BMW with a tiara.  Of course it's cute.
Do you think that WTP puts 'hoes' before 'bros'?	Yes	not alphabetically
Do you think that WTP can eat more than 3 Big Macs at a time?	No	Do I get fries with that?
Do you think that WTP is cute?	No Yes	Obviously this answer was accidentally clicked - I fixed it.
Can WTP hold their liquor?	Yes	Are you freakin' kidding me?  After a certain point in the evening I can't even hold it with my hands! BTW - who else's liquor am I holding? -- "their liquor"
Do you think that WTP has ever played strip poker?	No	no comment
Do you think that WTP would turn you in to the FBI if they asked?	No	Whatever it is, I was probably involved, too, so this answer has to be no.
Do you think that WTP grinds their teeth while sleeping?	No	Again with the their.  I envision me with a mortar and pestle and and evil laugh while the teeth of some dude named Edgar and his cousin Berenice fall out of a box.  (obscure Poe reference - it made me laugh)
Does WTP have a nice smile?	Yes	Which is proof I don't grind my own teeth.
Do you think that WTP has ever pranked call someone?	Yes	Maybe if they added "recently" to that.  Nope.  Nevermind. I have.
Do you think that WTP would sell you out for $100k?	No	I don't know who answered this, but they obviously don't know how many bottles of vodka $100k would buy.
Do you think that WTP is a good friend?	Yes	This was probably answered by the same person who thinks I wouldn't sell them out for $100k.
Do you think that WTP will do anything to get what they want?	No	I usually get what I want anyway.  I've never had to test this premise.
Do you think that WTP spends more than an hour on facebook everyday?	No	I don't even spend that much time on my hair.
Do you think that WTP can keep a secret?	Yes	Yes.  Like I secretly think whoever took these quizzes is an idiot, but I don't tell anyone.
Do you think that WTPl has ever fantasized about you?	No	Obviously, this was not answered by Rick Springfield.
Do you think that WTP has ever taken money for a bribe?	Yes	Yeah. $100k. To sell you out.
Do you think that WTP brushes their teeth regularly?	Yes	Even at school.
Do you think that WTP has ever failed a class?	No	Secret: sleep with the professor.
Do you think that WTPl is funny?	Yes	That's why you're here, isn't it
Do you think that WTP has ever mooned someone?	Yes	Was that YOU?????
Do you think that WTP scored above 1500 on the SATs?	Yes	Actually, no - but pretty dayum close.  That was the OLD scaled score, too!
Do you think that WTP has ever gone hunting?	Yes	I'll take you.  We'll hunt for snipe.  That's what they use when they're training snipers, you know.
Do you think that WTP wants to 'come out of the closet'?	No	My shoes are in there.
Do you think that WTP has a good work ethic?	Yes	hahahahahahahaha!
Do you think WTP is cute?	Yes	Thank you, MyPoolBoy!
Do you think that WTP can eat more than 3 Big Macs at a time?	No	Who's been around me during PMS week?  Not this person.
Do you think that WTP is annoying?	No	Someone who has never been around me when I'm drunk.
Do you think that WTP is tone deaf but doesn't know it?	Yes	Well, NOW I do!
Do you think that WTP has ever used steroids?	No	That's right...  My  once-a-month moodiness is in no way related to roid rage.
Do you think that WTP is a sore loser?	Yes	Especially at strip poker.
Do you think that WTPl sings Britney Spears aloud when no one is around?	Yes	And when other people are around.
Do you think that WTP is an underachiever?	No	Seriously?  If you knew my IQ, this would be a resounding Yes.
Do you think that WTP is a scrub?	No	Nor WILL I scrub.  My house is filthy.
Have you ever had a crush on WTP?	No	Because MyPoolBoy would pummel you.
Do you think that WTP thinks wine in a box is classy?	No	I KNOW that it is not classy.  You can't drink it if it is still IN the box! That's why I pour it into a Mason jar to drink it.
Do you think that WTP is socially awkward?	No	I'm pretty much happy anywhere.
Do you think that WTP is annoying?	Yes	Actually, I know that Lurch answered this one.  It showed me his profile pic. You're grounded.
Do you think that WTP is cute?	Yes	Thank you, Felix.
Do you think that WTP thinks shopping at Wal-Mart is classy?	Yes	EVERYTHING is classy if you wear rhinestones while you do it.
Do you think that WTP could shoot someone if they had to?	Yes	Or even if I didn't have to. I might shoot someone for the h3ll of it.
Do you think that WTP can run a mile without stopping?	No	WRONG.  Which is why when I chase you down to shoot you, I will catch you.
Do you think that WTP has ever lied to you?	No	You're right.  I've never lied to you.
Do you think that WTP cried while watching the Titanic	No	Cried from LAUGHTER!
Do you think your first impression of WTP was right?	Yes	So that impression must have been fun, witty, outgoing, lovable - right?
Do you think that WTP has soft hands?	Yes	Because I don't do any work.
Do you think that WTP has ever kissed a guy?	Yes	A guy? HAHAHAHAHA!
Do you think that WTP has good credit?	Yes	If I had good credit, do you think I would be taking $100k bribes to turn people in to the FBI in order to buy vodka?