Wednesday, March 31

Picture time!

Here's the one and only Domino getting into some mischief inside of a plastic bag while I was wrapping Christmas presents (yes, these pics are THAT old!)

There's Molly, lounging out on the couch, notice the buddha belly.

And this was the scene out our front window after a road crew decided that a gas line had broken somewhere in the neighborhood, and that our front yard was a good a place as any to start digging.

Here is Dom again, showing off our lovely, newly-redecorated (in November) bathroom.

So last night I was supposed to get a *free* facial. Didn't happen. The facial person (what do you call them, a facialist?) called in sick and I think the free promotion was only in March, so no free facial for me. That's the only way I was going to do it, too. So I was bummed. I was looking forward to that little bit of pampering.

Instead, we took my husband's car to the dealership for the fourth time in three weeks for the check engine light. I'm beginning to smell a distinctly citrus scent around that car... I mean, it's a '98, so it's bound to have problems, but this is out of hand. His '86 Astro Van doesn't have this much wrong with it. At least all the check engine crap is under warranty right now, so it's not costing us a penny... yet. Which is good, because we do not have a spare penny to speak of.

We ended up going out to eat at Bennigan's, which was fun. Their chicken strips are really good. And the next day, they are even better. You get such a huge portion there that I always have three to take home, and so those are my lunch today.

I missed the beginning of AI, and so can't comment on JPL, LaToya, and whoever else I missed, but I did see poor John Stevens' horrible rendition of "My Girl." He's a cute little guy but he's not cut out for the pop star thing. I am over Fantasia. She thinks too highly of herself and it's not endearing, whatsoever. George keeps getting better each week, and has a legitimate shot, I think. I thought Diana wasn't that great but the judges disagreed... Amy Adams is also pretty decent. Jasmine is cute but I don't know if she'll make it to the end.

And the Cavs continue on their downward spiral. Goodbye playoffs. Hey, we're used to this in Cleveland! Oh look, is it baseball season? Maybe the Indians will surprise everyone and have a good year! *fastens heart to sleeve*

I probably have more to gripe about but I'll save it for later. Ooh! I have pictures too! Finally! From ages ago! I'll have to wait until the scanner is unoccupied...

Tuesday, March 30

I hereby ban all radio advertising from using any and all sound effects relating to police sirens and truck horns. I was passing a truck (in usual road rage mode) this morning and a commercial came on that featured the sound of a blaring truck horn. I thought it was real and that the truck was honking at me. It made me jump a little bit. Not funny. Nor is it funny when I think that a police siren sound effect is real and I look in my rearview mirror to see if I'm being pulled over.

And that one McDonald's breakfast commerical with the alarm clock noise? Just on the annoyingness factor, let's take that one off the air, as well. Thanks!
Take that, George
It's a beautiful thing when Opening Day is still a week away, but the Yankees already have one in the loss column. Not to mention, it's to the Devil Rays.

Monday, March 29

Look what I've become
I never in a million years thought that I'd become one of those people who thinks that cats are great and that everything cats do is so cute and funny and aren't they clever, but alas, I have become one of those people.

Yes, I happen to think that on the great cat spectrum of coolness, mine rank pretty high (at least Domino does; Molly ranks high on the pathetic and pitiable scale).

That being said, here is yet another tale of two kitties:

Over the weekend, spring fever was felt throughout the house. It began Saturday morning, when Molly, who is usually quite reserved, went psychotic over the blue plastic ring off the milk jug. Owen and Dom were snoozing away, and I had just gotten up and was making myself breakfast when I heard a high-pitched "Peeeeeeeeeep.... purrrrrrrrrrp..... purrpeepppp" coming from the living room. Thinking that Molly had gotten her leg caught on something or that her life was somehow in danger, I rushed to see what the commotion was. But she was merely tossing the milk ring around on the living room floor and then picking it up in her mouth, crying out to herself in apparent jubliation. This caused Dom to saunter, sleepy-eyed into the living room, as if to say, "What the hell is going on here?"

Later that day, we opened up the windows and the front door because it was so nice out. This excited both cats, who have forgotten the sounds and sights of the outside world over the winter. (Neither of them are allowed outside.) Dom perched himself in the kitchen window, which overlooks the front porch, while Molly gazed out the front door. The two of them marveled at... each other. Dom looked out the window at the front door and Molly looked out the front door at the kitchen window. Both had perfect dumbfounded expressions on their faces, as if they couldn't quite put the pieces together of how the other one was outside and they were not. I thought Dom might bust through the screen to try and get to Molly. The staring contest went on for several minutes while birds flew by, squirrels hopped right under their noses, and traffic passed.

Geniuses they are not, but they sure are entertaining!
A lesson in potty etiquette
For lack of anything better to blog about, I thought I'd take further opportunity to discuss toilet partitions, since I obviously did something to make the blogger banner god think that my readers would be interested in such a topic. You are, right?

Public restrooms are tricky. There are certain ones I won't even venture into. Bars are always a crap shoot. If I'm at a bar, I try not to use them. Inevitably the floors are sticky, for reasons unknown, and the walls are covered in uplifting graffiti, with messages such as "Janie is a slut!" Or "I love Rob M. 4ever!" If you're lucky, the lock on the toilet stall will be operational. Otherwise, you have to do the "sit forward, hold the door closed with one hand" maneuver.

McDonald's is another tricky one. Usually, if I'm contemplating using the McDonald's restroom, it's because I'm like millions of other Americans who do so when on long trips with no rest stops in sight. And only then, I'll go if I'm desperate.

In the restroom at work, if I'm in the stall, don't talk to me. It's just weird. It's weird when people talk between stalls. Talk to me at the sink, but don't try and ask me about postcards when I'm peeing. I'd appreciate those few seconds of semi-privacy, thank you. (And please, wash your hands. With soap. I'm always surprised how many people don't. And it's never who you expect. I witnessed an upper eschelon manager, on numerous occasions, do a cursory running of her hands under the faucet, but never use any soap. Thankfully she doesn't work here anymore, because it would always skeeve me out and I'd try and leave the restroom before her so I didn't have to touch the doorknob after her germ infested fingers gripped it.)

If the first stall is occupied, and there are four stalls total, which stall do you go to? I go to the third. Gotta keep a respectable distance. I think the same rule applies at urinals, but I'm not sure. The fourth stall is a handicapped stall, but for some reason, the only people I ever see using it are the really skinny people. I'm not sure what to make of that. Do you?

This concludes my thoughts on restrooms and toilet partitions. Although we'll probably be seeing those banners for some time to come now. Quick! Pick a topic!

Sunday, March 28

Notify the proper authorities
People, I have a crisis on my hands. One of epic proportions, one that threatens to take over everything in sight.

It's a crocus crisis.

Our backyard is infested -- nay -- blanketed with crocuses. Some are there on purpose, planted last fall by my garden-friendly husband. The other 9,999,999 are rogue crocii that have nestled themselves within the blades of grass. And then invited all the crocus friends that they knew to come to hang out with them.

Last fall, when we were doing a bunch of digging and planting, we kept unearthing (literally) these little white bulbs. I fear these are the culprits of our crocus crisis.

If they are left unattended, they will surely take over the backyard, if not the entire house! They must be stopped!

Although, they sure are purty.

Friday, March 26

... And who doesn't?
Need some toilet partitions? If so, please check out my lovely new banner ad. Get them while they last!
My alter ego
In real life, I am a very patient person. I have to be. I work with total idiots. Even when I'm internally calling you a jackass, on the outside I'm telling you that I think it's a wonderful idea to bring in your pet emu and create a series of postcards featuring your feathered friend.

But my dark side, my seedy underbelly, surfaces in one place only (other than this blog): my car.

Don't mess with me when I'm trying to get home from work. If you are driving the speed limit in the left lane, you're a jackass and I need to let you know by riding your ass and rolling my eyes at you and yelling "MOVE! MOOOOOOOOOOVE!!! Movemovemovemovemove!" I will even resort to passing you on the right if you do not cease and desist with being in my way.

If you are in front of me at a red light, and when the light turns green, it takes you more than a nanosecond to step on the gas, I will not hesitate to honk at you. Even though my car horn is more like a nonthreatening "Meeeeeeeeep."

If you are a truck, I hate you. You should not be on the same road with the rest of us. Do not attempt to pass me or it will infuriate me and my eyes will shoot laser beams at you.

If you are trying to merge, and there is no one behind me, and yet you speed up to get in front of me, I will wish a pox upon your family.

Braking, for no apparent reason, will get you a fine string of curse words that would make a sailor blush.

When did I develop this nasty driving etiquette? Rush hour. It can cause a nun to give someone the middle finger. At the end of the day, all I want to do is get home, and if you are in some way impeding my ability to do that, you are my sworn enemy. So look out for me tonight! I'll be the one firing thunderbolts through my windshield at unsuspecting drivers.

Thursday, March 25

Gotta love him

He was totally doing this on purpose. And to Fantasia no less. He is my new hero.
Kind of freaky but kind of cute
Read about it here.

Wednesday, March 24

You know what's kind of gross? When you get a delivery from someone who smokes and the papers reek of cigarette smoke. Don't get me wrong -- I used to smoke for several years. But now, it is really noticeable to me when people are smokers. I don't think you realize when you smoke how bad you smell. Your clothes stink. When you ride the elevator, the elevator stinks for minutes after you are gone. The stall in the restroom smells when you leave it.

I can't believe I ever smelled that bad, but I probably did.

I remember turning in an English paper in high school and when I gotten it back, my teacher had written, "This paper REEKS of cigarette smoke!"

Smoking also was the reason I got a Saturday suspension in high school. In my entire life, other than the time one of the nuns caught me passing notes in 8th grade (which is a whole other story for another time), this was the only time I've been in serious trouble at school. We were on an overnight trip to New York City. My friends and I had the brilliant idea to light up in our hotel room before we met up with our group to go to dinner. This meant that we had to open our hotel room window. We had been instructed by the nuns, that under no circumstances should we open the window in our hotel room. A few years prior, a high school student had been killed during a school trip -- he had fallen out of an open window in his hotel. So this was the major taboo at the time.

Anyhow. We're smoking out the window, and some friends of ours who were in a room down the hall were knocking loudly on the door and we told them to go away. A few minutes later, the loud knocking returned. "It's Sister Maria," the voice said. As some of us mean Catholic school girls were known to imitate Sr. Maria's voice, we countered with some smartass remark. The voice on the other side turned evil and we knew we were dead. "This IS Sister Maria, LET ME IN." Things went from bad to worse. Quickly extinguishing our cigarettes and throwing them out the window, we tried our best to air out the room before we let her in.

"Why is the window open?" were her first words. Then, "Were you smoking in here?"

Our Saturday suspension involved counting pennies from a Penny War between the grades. Manually. For hours.

Kids, this is why you shouldn't smoke!
Yay for my 5000th visitor! Unfortunately, I think it was me. Oh well.

Which one of you got me sick? I know some of you have been hacking, sniffling, sneezing, horking... *raises eyebrow at lifeonhold and Green Tuna* All I know is I've got some serious nasal drippage happening. Your day is complete just knowing that, isn't it? I thought so.
Don't forget
Tonight, on an extra-special Wednesday episode of Survivor: All-Star, we're promised never before seen footage of Colby scratching his family jewels. Hey, I'm not kidding. Probst himself was talking about it this morning on the radio. Don't miss it!
Oh God no
Cojo's appearance on American Idol last night was nothing short of frightening. But scarier, even, was the theme for the night. They performed both kinds of music: country AND western. My least favorite genre, with the exception, perhaps, of polka.

LaToya is still looking strong, and I think George, also, is in it for the long haul. I was disappointed in my man Jon Peter, though, he was a little bit flat. Clay Aiken he is not. But I think that he's likeable enough that he'll have a chance to redeem himself next week. And who knew that Amy Adams was such a country crooner?

And I'll just go on record as saying that Ryan Seacrest has surpassed all previous levels of toolishness and has created his own plateau of toolitude. Way to go, Ry!

Tuesday, March 23

Just briefly
I've got a boatload of stuff to work on today, and I'm going out to lunch with my mom (first time we will be face-to-face since Christmas) so I don't know if I will be my usual blogging self today.

But I will report this: for those of you who enjoy the escapades of Domino, this morning a Halloween witch's hat and a fall leaf garland appeared in our bedroom. He's cycling through the seasons, I guess. The Christmas stocking, the gardening glove, the flag, and now the Halloween stuff. And the stocking is a permanent fixture in our bedroom now. We've given up on bringing it downstairs.

Other than that, things are status quo.
Bad Lady = extra pissy.
Incompetent but Likeable = still incompetent, but still likeable.

And Cheesecake Factory was good. I ate chocolate chip cookie dough cheesecake. It wasn't so much cheesecake as it was a giant wad of cookie dough with cheesecake around it. Good eatin's.

Monday, March 22

Yes, you probably will
Today marks the third business day in a row that I have dined at Wendy's. So when the Awesome Drive-Thru Granny says, "See you tomorrow, honey!" She's probably right.

Question: if you get a mandarin chicken salad at Wendy's, and you put all the crap on it (almonds, crunchy noodles, dressing), does it cease to be healthy? Just wondering.
Signs that it's going to be a bad week
1. Bad Lady is back. And she's tan. I did not miss her radio. Or her phone ringing constantly. Or her whining. Or anything.
2. I sat in traffic for 45 minutes this morning on the way in. Total travel time = 1 hour, 15 minutes.
3. My "to-do" list has 18 things on it. Not including the 11 unanswered e-mails in my inbox, all asking me for stuff, one dating back to Jan 28th.
4. The white stuff. Tons of it. Everywhere.
5. Tomorrow we find out how much $$ we owe the federal government. It's not going to be pretty.

Signs that it's going to be a good week
1. I'm dining at Cheesecake Factory tonight.
2. Yeah, that's pretty much it.

Sunday, March 21

When I finally fulfill my dream of being in an 80's cover band, I will absolutely have to do the song "Tempted" by Squeeze. ("Tempted by the fruit of another...") I heard that song in a bar this weekend and found myself singing along, loudly, in the bathroom. And I don't drink.

Downloaded the song off I-Tunes and now I can sing at home, where the only ones who give me funny looks are the cats.

Saturday, March 20

Our little protester
Last night, we arrived home from the Cavs game (yawn -- they lost) to find the latest item that Dom has fixated on from our basement: a full-sized American flag. He managed to drag the flag, plus the plastic case that was serving as flag storage, upstairs and into the living room. He then pulled the flag about halfway out of the case before abandoning it.

So, before we went to bed, Owen brought it downstairs. About 20 minutes later, I hear Dom in our room, dragging something around and pouncing on it.

This goes on for a few minutes before I get up to see what he's doing. There he is, laying on top of the flag, licking his nether regions.

I'm not sure what kind of political statement that is, but I'm pretty sure I have to burn the flag now. I don't think it's proper protocol to fly a flag that has been subject to a cat cleaning his privates on it, do you?

Friday, March 19

Why women should always make the picks for the NCAA Tournament Pool
My husband brought home his bracket sheet for the NCAA tournament, and let me pick his teams. Wouldn't ya know it, all the teams that I picked in the first round, except for one (Florida -- which my husband informed me is a HUGE upset), are moving on to the next round.

My secret? Pick the cooler sounding name (I ALWAYS pick Gonzaga), the warmer place, the one I've heard of before as opposed to the school that I've never in my life known existed.

I'm telling you, rather than putting thought into it, men, have a woman do your brackets. It took me under 5 minutes. (By the way, I picked Stanford to win it all.)
Nothing's shocking anymore
The people I meet with to do marketing for are a strange bunch. For instance, right now in our department, we're creating marketing pieces for a woman who insisted upon being photographed with a butterfly on her shoulder, because it somehow symbolizes her deceased mother. We also have one who was a cheerleader in a former life and wants some pom poms worked in to her marketing.

I just got out of a meeting with someone else, who seemed normal enough, until I reached a point in my portfolio where I had a postcard with a picture of a cute bunny on the front. She lit up. "I have rabbits," she told me. "My husband is a magician."

Trying hard to contain the "huhhhhh?" factor, I said, "Oh, really?" And then before I could stop myself, I said, "Well, have you ever considered having photos taken with the magician's hat and the rabbit? We could say something about 'working magic' in your service to your clients... ?"

Needless to say, she is totally geeked about the idea.

Thursday, March 18

This is primo sidebar material, but because I really don't want to attract that kind of traffic, I'll just link the search here that brought some poor demented soul to my site today. Thank you, Google!
Ambuh is slammin'
Rather than the soft romantic sappy music the Survivor producers decided to play during the Ambuh/Baaaaston Rob "love" scene, I was expecting more of a "bamp chicka wah wah" kind of thing. Was it just me? I mean, are we to believe that Rob is actually capable of having feelings for her? "Ambuh is slammin'," he says. "... And huh ass is smokin' too." My heart is a-twitter.

Clay Aiken's eyebrows.
I guess I never noticed them before last night, but lawdy, they are gargantuan! He performed some song but I don't recall a thing about it because I was watching the brows as they wiggled and arched up and down. I don't think I'll ever look at him the same again. Those things need some attention, stat!

Wednesday, March 17

So Sue Me
His dance moves leave something to be desired, but I'm going to go ahead and say it: I really, kind of, dig Jon Peter Lewis.

And I hope the door didn't hit Leah on the ass on the way out.
Stupidity of the day: now official
The day is young, but so far, this is the winner.

Our caller needs changes to an ad by Friday. The ad was done by the vacationing Bad Lady (#^@&*@@#$&#) and so I said as long as the changes were minor, I could get it done for him.

"And what are the changes?"
"I don't know yet," he tells me.


Well, it might be a good thing to find out.

Update: this guy definitely wins. He has been nothing but a pain in the ass all day. I made his changes, but then he wanted some words in bold. So I did that. Then he decided, let's make those bold AND italic. Like so. So then he didn't like the way I had broken up the lines of type. Fixed that. By the fourth revision he was a happy camper. And I was cursing his name.

... One of my co-workers is getting shit-faced drunk today.

Does anyone know if McDonald's still makes shamrock shakes? I haven't had one of those in years, but I may have to venture out today to find one.

Tuesday, March 16

View out my window right now
And, on the matter of the Baked Doritos...
I'm leaning toward a thumbs down. They taste like those chips when you go to the store, and you really have a taste for Doritos, but you see that the generic nacho cheese tortilla chips are on sale and so you think, "How bad can they be?" and you buy those instead of the wonderful, nacho cheesy, Frito-Lay brand chips. Then you get home, tear open the bag and... they suck ass.

Plus, the actual chip tastes like it's made of that sponge-like material that expands upon contact with water. I'm expecting it to turn into a tiny dinosaur in my mouth.

And yet, even despite all that, I ate the whole bag. Hey, I paid a full 50 cents for these! I'm not just going to let them go to waste!

But, after this, never again.
Public Service Announcement
Don't forget, Survivor is on tomorrow rather than Thursday. For what reason, I am unsure. This is going to conflict with my American Idol viewing, which makes me a little agitated. Plus I enjoy having the Mark Burnett double play with Survivor followed by The Apprentice.

Ah, well. I'll adjust accordingly.
Big doin's at the office
I've started to use this phrase, "big doin's," and I'm not sure from whom I stole it. Because I steal catch phrases. That's just what I do.

Anyway, the big topic of conversation at the office today is about midgets. Wee people if you will. And how men, in particular, are fascinated by them. There is a market for midget strippers, even. I want no part of this -- it's so many kinds of wrong I can't even put my thoughts together on it.

Complete change of topic: I am about to try Baked Doritos. I'll let you know if they get a thumbs up or down. I have high hopes. Baked Lays = Good.
Stupidity of the day: Tuesday
My boss pulls me out of a meeting because someone at our parent company is having trouble with a CD I sent them. This is the second CD I sent because they said the first one I sent was blank.

The contents of the CD are one executable file, sort of like a Power Point presentation but done in a different program, but it should open and one should be able to use the arrow key to look at the different slides.

So I pretty much know before I even pick up the phone that they just don't know to use the arrow key.

"It won't open," she says. "I just get a white screen."
"OK," I explain, "Now all you have to do is hit the RIGHT ARROW KEY to start the presentation."
"I'm clicking it and it won't do anything!"
"The RIGHT arrow key?"
"Yeah, I'm clicking it."
"Clicking? Are you clicking the MOUSE?"
"OK, don't click the mouse. On your KEYBOARD, there are four directional keys. Press the RIGHT arrow key."
"Oh! Now it's working!"

Yes, folks, I work miracles here on a daily basis.
Why is this still happening
We're expecting 6-10 inches of snow here in northeast Ohio today.

Monday, March 15

Chappelle's Show
We stumbled upon this show Saturday night while flipping the channels. And oh my God did we laugh. This is a sketch comedy-type show, and like most sketch comedy, the laughs are hit or miss. But when they hit, they hit big. We got sucked in with an episode centered around Eddie Murphy's brother Charlie, who is a writer for Chappelle's show. I guess they do a recurring sketch of "Charlie Murphy's True Hollywood Stories." I don't know if these were true or not, but the one we saw was too funny and bizarre to not have some truth to it. It dealt with Charlie's run-ins with soul legend Rick James. They did re-enactments of the stories, and so Dave Chappelle played Rick James, with the beaded braids and everything. And he kept saying, "Enjoy yourselves, bitches, I'm Rick James!"

Probably not funny to those who haven't seen it. Anyway, if you happen to be cruising past Comedy Central and see Chappelle's Show, it might be worth watching.
Stupidity of the day
Yes, I admit, I'm a bit of a computer snob. If you don't know basic computing skills, you are an idiot. I'm sorry. It's just the way I feel.

So with that in mind, I get the following phone call:
"I'm trying to e-mail this mailing list to you but it won't stay on the disk," says the caller.
"Won't stay...?" say I.
"Yeah, we keep trying to send it but it won't stay on the disk."
"OK ... uh, are you sending it as an attachment?"
"Well, we can't attach it because it won't stay on the disk."
"Hmm. Um? I guess I'm not really understanding what you're trying to do."
"We have this list of names, and my assistant, she tried to put it on that thing, where you lift up the glass and the light comes on?"
"You mean the scanner?"
"Yeah. And so we have this file and it won't stay on the disk."
"You scanned an entire document? You don't have the actual spreadsheet of the mailing list?"
"Yeah. See, we would need a spreadsheet. The scan wouldn't really help us."
"Oh. So can I fax it?"
"Go ahead and fax it."
"To your attention?"
"Yes, to my attention."
"Ok, thanks."

You're welcome, ass clown.
As promised...

The Eviction
My sister in law was evicted from her apartment. Long story short, she hasn't paid rent for the past two months, because some sketchy guy she met stole all her money. Yeah. He somehow found out her ATM pin number, then stole her ATM card, deposited a blank envelope saying that it was $1000, and then turned around and withdrew the nonexistent $1000 from her account. This is a girl who makes, maximum, $500 per month. And by the end of the month it's all spent. I guess she's contesting it, but as with all important matters such as money, it's taking a loooooooong time to get results. Plus I think they are giving her a hard time in general.

So rather than fight the eviction, she is accepting it and moving out. She told me that she thinks it's an "adventure." Not good. An adventure denotes that not much is at stake. Certainly not your home, which also includes two cats that must be considered. So I told her that rather than an adventure she should think of it as a chance to start a new chapter in her life. God knows she needs one.

The Car Accident.
It was like a bad country song. We're in the parking lot of the liquor store on a Saturday afternoon. We're in Owen's Honda Passport (which may need to be dismantled, so have heart, Google searcher!), and he goes in to find this Irish Stout that he had tried at a restaurant Friday night. (It was a blind taste test of different Irish Stouts -- how bitter do YOU like your tar in a can?) He picked this Sierra Nevada stuff. Anyhoo. Liquor store didn't have it so he bought some other liquid bread, hopped in the driver's seat and reversed straight into the omnipresent orange traffic barrel (state mascot of Ohio), smashing it into a light pole. Two liquor store patrons witnessed the demise of the barrel. In hindsight perhaps we should have parked it and filled out a traffic report. But we just got the hell out of dodge and hoped that the damage to the Passport was minimal.

At first glance it looked like everything was OK, but upon further inspection he noticed that the extra tire thing that's on the back of the car had been pushed in, pressing against the glass of the trunk, so that he can't get it open and closed. Back to the repair shop we will go.

And last but not least... the shopping spree
Hey, it's been a rough couple of months for me at work. And now that all the stress and craziness is over, I felt that I deserved to splurge a little bit. So beginning Thursday I have bought for myself: (crossing fingers that this is not one of the rare occasions where my husband reads the blog)
Queer Eye soundtrack -- after hearing it at my hair salon, I decided I MUST have it.
A pair of earrings and a bracelet
A stunning little pinstriped blouse
A shell and shirt jacket combo
And a MASSIVE blowout spending spree at the Clinique counter... Bonus time, baby! I went for lipliner and shadow, I left with lipliner, shadow, eyeliner and eye tint, PLUS the bonus!
Yay me.
... And they all ended up here
Usually I put these in my sidebar of strange ways people have found my blog, but there was such a mass amount of weird ones over the weekend that I feel they deserve their own entry, and possible infamy in the sidebar later when I get some time.

All these poor souls wound up on my site over the weekend while searching for things such as:
-- gynecologist resume
--grandpa shearer's potato chips
--honda passport dismantle
--lebron james horoscope
--"the biggest ass shape/record guiness" (this one made me COL -- chuckle out loud)
--tony soprano stuffed nose voice
--jeter and a-rod vogue

Man, there are some weird-ass people out there. And I take some comfort that they all look to me for direction.
So, one of my most favoritest blogs has disappeared from existence. Poof! Gone.
No warning, no new whereabouts. This morning I tried to log on and it said that I needed permission to view the site using credentials that I supplied. Huh?

Maybe it's a fluke in the system.

More later, including: an eviction, a car accident and a shopping spree. It was quite a weekend!

Friday, March 12

Still in the holiday spirit
The Stocking Fairy is still at work. In the evening, the Christmas stockings go back down to the basement. In the morning, they are both back upstairs, usually in our bedroom, sometimes in our bed, sometimes on the floor. It has progressed beyond a game for all parties involved. It is now part of our routine. "Did you take the stockings downstairs last night?" I ask my husband. "Yep," he'll say. "They're back upstairs again," I'll say. "Yep," he'll say.

And so on.

Another object from the basement is being brought upstairs with growing frequency: my dirty garden glove. This is a sure sign that spring is around the corner, no? It's right up there with the groundhog seeing his shadow.

Or the black and white cat having a moment of insanity. One of the two.
Friday Five (stolen from Tracie)
1. What was the last song you heard? "New Deep" by John Mayer

2. What were the last two movies you saw? "Mr. Deeds" starring Adam Sandler and "Paycheck" with Ben 'n' Uma

3. What were the last three things you purchased? Pop from pop machine, gas, lunch

4. What four things do you need to do this weekend? Dry cleaner, get hair colored, bank, sleep

5. Who are the last five people you talked to? Incompetent but Likeable, Jonesy, Other Side of the Cube Mate Who Does Not Have a Nickname

Sorry, I'm not spewing forth with my usual abundance of posts. It's snowing and I want the day to end. [/crab]
I guess Colby didn't know jack about what was going to go down at Tribal Council. Get it? Colby? Jack?

It sounded much funnier in my head.

OK. Not really.

Thursday, March 11

I still find the things that come out of Jessica Simpson's mouth to be unbelievably hilarious. Like in the "Newlyweds" episode I was half-watching last night, she was out eating with her girl friends and had to call Nick on his cell phone to find out why a bratwurst (which she pronounced "bratsworth" over and over again) was white -- was it because it was a German pig?

I don't know if she knows she is being stupid and is playing it up for the cameras, or if she is really. that. stupid.
Promises for today
I will figure out how to order air in a can for myself, since our regular office supply orderer is out of town.
I will call our business card vendor and find out why we're being charged for design when we do all the design, they just slap it on a press.
I will e-mail my thoughts on American Idol to my friends who care about what happened on American Idol. (Leah La-Freakin-Belle?)
I will not post spoilers regarding ASS on my blog today.
I will straighten my cubie and try and make some sense of the chaos.
I will leave on time this evening and not feel guilty about it.

Wednesday, March 10

How dumb do you have to be...
To do this. The punchlines in this story write themselves.
Gems from Mom
Quote of the day from my mom:
"I ran into [Kat's 7th grade assistant basketball coach who is now an attorney] last night... what a piece of shit he turned out to be!"
As I suspected ...
Kyan: Grooming Guru

Which Member from Queer Eye for the Straight Guy is your type?
brought to you by Quizilla

... and I swear I didn't doctor the results.

Tuesday, March 9

Which would you choose?
My husband recently posed the question to me if I'd rather wake up in the morning with 12 inches of snow on the ground or wake up next to [entertainment reporter] Cojo.

I chose the snow.
Y tu?
Lack of sleep
Rather than go to bed last night, I watched not one but two episodes of That 70's Show, both of which I'd seen before, followed by Forever Eden. And even though I think that show sucks, is boring, and the people are all idiots, I watched. The entire. Thing.

I will say in my defence, though, that I was not in my right mind yesterday. Being up for over 24 hours will do that to a person.

Good news and bad news
The good news: Today is Bad Lady's last day in the office for the rest of this week and next week.
The bad news: She's going to Hawaii. Methinks that to be unfair.
Fit to be tied
One thing I noticed during Sunday night's hotel stay, and that I've noticed on prior hotel stays, is that most hotels have forgone the fitted sheet on the bed, and instead have put another flat sheet to cover the mattress.

I am notoriously a tosser and turner. More so when I'm not sleeping. So on Sunday, by about three in the morning, the sheet had slipped, bringing my person into direct contact with the hotel mattress.

I've seen Oprah. I know that the mattress is a breeding ground for creepy crawlies, undesirable stains, and untold diseases. Even in nice hotels. That fitted sheet is like a layer of protection, a barrier between me and those unmentionables. I don't want to be rolling around on that, not even in a rubber suit.

And speaking of the fitted sheet, I have never, ever, EVER been able to fold that thing. In our linen closet right now there's a shapeless blob that could possibly be a fitted sheet, but either myself or my husband probably abandoned trying to fold it and just shoved it on a shelf.

As elusive as it might be, the fitted sheet is my friend. When it's not there, I take note.

Monday, March 8

D-Day... over and out
What a long 24 hours it's been! Yesterday I was getting ready to leave to stay downtown, meet my coworkers for dinner, and do a last runthrough of the show. After a long dinner, and what seemed like an eternity of assembly-line style dismantling of lapel pins, then remantling them without the cardboard backing, for a giveaway, we all turned in around midnight.

Then for the next six hours I lay in bed, going over all possible scenarios for the meeting. What did I forget? Was there any possiblity that I brought a less-than-current CD of my files? No sleep. Not a wink.

I popped out of bed at six and was surprisingly awake. It's amazing what pure adrenaline will do to you.

At nine thirty the meeting began, and within the first ten minutes, my worries were over. My two opening segments went over well, without a hitch, and even got some applause during the segment (like it was an ice-skating number and I'd performed a triple axel). The rest of the meeting went smoothly. Except for an unexpected man dressed in a bird outfit, but maybe when I've had some sleep, I'll realize that he was actually a figment of my imagination.

Or was he?

Anyway, it's over. My boss took all the credit. Bad Lady only screwed up twice.

All in all, a pretty good day.

Sunday, March 7

1,200 people.
No pressure. ;-)

What I've been working on since December all comes to fruition tomorrow at my company's annual meeting. Pray for no equipment failures.

I'll be so relieved when this is all over!

Friday, March 5

Would you like fries with that?
Ha. Green Tuna has perfectly captured the conversation that many of us have had while at the local Mickey D's drive-thru.
Mogo Mogo Gotta Go Go
I don't know how I feel about the Sue Hawk rage/Hatch nekkid rubbing/grinding thing. I didn't see it the first time around and we, the viewers, didn't see the up close and personal version anyway. So we can only give her the benefit of the doubt.

I think it's inevitable that Mogo Mogo is going to fall, one by one. An alliance of four was formed last night and if the spoiler I read at the beginning of the season is correct, these four will make the finals. Plus you have a united Chapera tribe who vowed to stick together no matter what.

Predictions for next week? Possibly Jerri. She seems to be getting on the Mogo Mogo's nerves with all her chatter about food, her attempted Colby Coup, and just being Jerri.

And I was also glad to see Omarosa hit the bricks on the Apprentice. That woman was just full of herself and annoying.

Thursday, March 4

It's Christmas Time Again
If we ever figure out the elusive language of animals and are able to communicate with them, the first thing I am going to ask my cat Domino is going to be in regard to the fetching of the Christmas stockings.

Ever since we took down all the Christmas decorations and boxed them all up and put them in the Scary Basement (that section of the basement where I fear to tread), the stockings have been finding their way back upstairs, specifically, into our bedroom. We'll wake up in the morning and the Stocking Fairy will have brought them back. We'll take them down to the Scary Basement again but somehow they always end up back upstairs.

This was going on for awhile with some Halloween devil horns, until I threw them away because red glitter from the devil horns were turning up all over my living room carpet, in the kitchen, in the bathtub (a favorite Domino hangout) and in our bed.

There have been other objects retrieved from the Scary Basement, including a dirty sponge, a lint trap, and a huge ass bag of rubber bands.

I'm sure he's just trying to be helpful -- why would we put such useful items downstairs when we can enjoy them in the middle of the living room floor? What were we thinking?

So I think we'll just keep celebrating Christmas until Dom decides we can move on.
My boss is on a rampage today.
*hides under desk for duration of day, hoping to remain unnoticed*
News of the weird
Now I've heard everything.

Wednesday, March 3

On the bright side ...
I've been twitch-free all day long. (Knock on wood.) For the first time in about a week. I know you all were concerned.
Last night I had my third dream about Monday's meeting. This dream was that my opening sequence would not load on the computer and everyone was waiting for me to figure out why.

The night before, the dream was that my opening sequence was set to the wrong music and even though no one hardly noticed, my boss noticed and was pissed.

The night before that, it was that the opening sequence went without a hitch but that Bad Lady (who is "in charge" of the music -- and I use "in charge" in quotes because someone else really is in charge, but she is supposed to press play and stop, and even that is a challenge for her and we are all worried that she is going to screw that up) blasted "Hey Ya" by Outkast over my ending and ruined the whole thing. (This is actually the dream that is the most likely to come true -- except my boss put the kibbosh on using Outkast yesterday.)

Do you think I'm ready for a break after this?

Tuesday, March 2

Reality Roundup
I walked into work trying hard to keep a straight face this morning. That's because I had just heard about the "Average Joe" finale. They were talking about it on the radio this morning and I have to say, the "bomb" that Larissa dropped? BEST. TWIST. EVER.

For those of you who didn't watch the show (I didn't either, so don't feel too bad), apparently, Larissa picked the "Hot Joe" and then had to make a stunning confession to him about someone she dated in her past.

Wait for it... wait for it...


THE Fabio.

I can't believe it's not... Fabio.

And, what's even better, the Hot Joe freaked out and dumped her! Oh, how I wish I'd seen it.

What I did watch last night, however, was "Forever Eden," basically another "Paradise Hotel", complete with attractive European hostess. What is it with Fox reality shows and the attractive European hostess? They all have British/Australian/New Zealand-ish accents. Paradise Hotel did. Big Fat Obnoxious Greek Fiancee did. Littlest Groom did (I think; that show freaked me out so much that I watched only the first five minutes -- and those with my hands over my eyes). And now Forever Eden. There are probably more that I'm not even aware of.

I also saw William Hung's return to the American Idol stage. That poor guy. I think that he is going to need some serious counseling when the novelty wears off and he has to go back to being a geeky engineering student. I don't even think it's funny anymore. They have really made a mockery of that guy and he doesn't even seem to realize it.

But I missed the Fabio twist. *hits self on forehead repeatedly*

Monday, March 1

Got him right where I want him
Yesterday, my husband noted that our Bath & Body Works Wallflower was almost "out of juice." For those not in the know, a Wallflower is this pretty contraption that you plug into the wall, a la Glade Plug-in, that dispenses a pleasant scent for several weeks. We have the Moonlight Path scent currently going in our basement.

"We should get another one of those," he said.

Ha! A reason to go into Bath and Body Works! And it was his idea.

I'll remind him of that when I come home with a truckload of lotion.
And for our second act...
While I'm posting just for the sake of posting, I'll tell you about the dog I met over the weekend.

He was an old soul, shaggy and large, with the kind of eyes that just have to turn your way for a few seconds before you are reduced to mush at their pathetic cuteness.

I happened across this dog at the winery where my husband's band was playing. This winery is of the "wine and not much more" persuasion, so I arrived with McDonald's in tow. Chicken McNuggets, the perfect complement to cabernet sauvignon! Anyway, the band was setting up and I was enjoying my Mickey D's, and this dog trots in from seemingly out of nowhere and plants himself next to me.

For a moment I figured, wow, it must be my incredible manner with animals that has drawn this dog to my side. Then I snapped out of it and realized he was after one thing and one thing only: my french fries. "Ok," I said to my new friend. "One and then that's it."

Big mistake. He knew he had snookered me. So he put his paws up on the bench next to me and rested his head on the table, staring at me longingly and then casting a sideways glance at my fries. "You little scammer," I scolded him. And tried my best to ignore him, occasionally patting him on the head.

After a while of getting nowhere with me, he resorted to despeate measures. He put his paw on my arm and made a whining/snorting noise, as if to say, "Dammit, I see you have more fries there, give 'em up!"

So of course I had to give him another one.

This went on until the fries were gone, and then, just like he came, he left in a flash. But he returned later in the evening to find fresh suckers, who fed him everything from cheese to potato chips to pizza crust. All in all, a pretty good take for the old guy.

He was a seasoned pro at the art of the scam and pure entertainment for me, as well.
The twitch has got to go. Wasn't there some tragic hero who poked his own eyes out? Oedipus, maybe? Yeah, well that's gonna be me if the twitch doesn't stop a-twitchin'. It took a hiatus from Saturday afternoon to Sunday evening, but returned before I went to bed Sunday.

Credible Internet sources (an oxymoron if there ever were one) say that the twitch is undoubtedly stress-related. Stress of the eye strain kind, or stress of the company meeting in t-minus seven days kind. I think I've got both, wrapped up in a neat little package.

Meanwhile, just call me Cyclops for the time being. I will also resort to wearing an eye patch if I have to. Then I can have a convenient excuse for Talking Like a Pirate.