Thursday, February 23, 2006

Random thoughts of Olympic proportions

Things I thought during the Olympics:

Do you suppose that all the women ice skaters get a free Brazillian wax when they get to the arena? I would hope so... if my hoo-ha was exposed on millions of high definition big screen tv sets, I'd wouldn't want any stray stragglies.

On that note - what is up with the new "dog peeing on a hydrant" pose? That's not pretty, gals. Not at all. Seriously. You look like hookers offering free samples. Close that up and do a spin or something. I like those.

I would like to tie Apolo Anton Ono up in my bed and do naughty things to him. Then make him pancakes to see him smile with that little dimple thing he's got going on. Did you notice how the side of his mouth dips when he talks? That is so freakin' CUTE! Ahem. Moving on. Reluctantly.

Does anyone else watch the bobsled just hoping that they will crash? Does anyone else imagine the sound of their little heads bonking into each other when they go around the corners? That's why the 4 human bobsled (I refuse to call it a bobsleigh. That's dumb) is the best to watch.. bonkbonkbonkbonk.

*hee hee* Her last name is "Slutskaya" Or something like that. The main thing... slut... *hee hee*

I hate Yahoo. Only Yahoo puts the Olympic results RIGHT ON THEIR MAIN WEBSITE! Thanks, idiots... I went to check my email and found out who won. Does it occur to you that I just might want to watch the tape delay and find out myself? Props to MSN for hiding it.

Curling is funny, hockey is kind boring since there are so many professionals in it, those two speed skaters are babies and should stop whining at each other, oh my gawd - that's a man camel toe and it has to hurt bad!

Bob Costas has funny looking hair.

Announcers should not lisp. (A note here.. I am not making fun of those who lisp... but one would think that perhaps broadcasting might not be the best career choice)

Is "Olympic Gold" different than any other gold? I mean, really? And on that track... does anyone else kinda think it would be funny if the medals were really foil wrapped chocolates?

I don't care what people say, Eddie the Eagle is my favorite Olympian of all time.

Sunday, January 22, 2006

Mamas, don't let your girlies take woodshop

I blame the radial arm saw.

When I was growing up on the little pseudo-farm, my Dad had lots of power tools. Planers, hand held sanders, drills. And the radial arm saw. Radial arm saws are cool. You can do tons of things with them (wood cutting wise) and they eat fingertips (that's another story in itself.)

At my High School on Vashon, you had to take either Home Ec or Woodshop. I wanted to use the power tools therefore I took Woodshop. I made a solid oak breadbox that was the wrong shape for bread and a variety of other bits of cut and stained wood structures that I can't remember now. I used how to use the drill press, the table saw, and yes, the holy grail... the radial arm monster. I would come home from school in collage and build planter boxes.

So, what does this have to do with anything? Everything. Because I didn't take Home Ec.

My mom tried to make up for it. I took a sewing class from the local fabric store. I made a dress that didn't fit me by the time I finished it. I can't make a pattern, I can't hem... hell, I can barely sew on a button.

I find my greatest challanges in the kitchen, however.

I've tried ways to compensate. I buy cookbooks, I buy gadgets. Sometimes I am successful. And sometimes I know when things are done because the smoke detector goes off.

But you know why I really feel like a complete gomer? I cannot use a crockpot. A CROCKPOT! I know what you're thinking... "Anyone can use a crockpot! You just put the food in, turn it on and later you have a meal. What could be more basic?" Yes, I know the theory.

I understand the concept. It's like toast.. you put bread in the toaster and push a button and it's magically transformed into crispy goodness. But I have yet to create something tasty from a crockpot. In extreme cases, I cannot produce EDIBLE foodstuffs from said cooker.

Here is an example.

Football season means parties. Parties in my circle of friends means everyone brings something snacky. I thought that I could make those little smokey sausages in bbq sauce. I thought I could use the crockpot. I thought wrong.

About 9 pm, I added about a half gallon of bbq sauce to the 4 lbs of little smokeys that I'd crammed into the crockpot. I thought to myself - "hmmmm, these could take a while to warm up, I should turn them on now. " I know what you're thinking at this point... yes, I turned them on low. Turning them on high would have just been foolish - how dumb do you REALLY think I am?

So, a couple of hours later I go to bed. I wake up to the lush smell of warm bbq sauce, smiling at my ability to plan ahead. I walk into the kitchen, look at my counter and realize that Houston, we've had a problem. While I was sleeping, the weiners had gone through the multiple stages of becoming non-edible food product. Apparently the crockpot cooks things. And 12 hours of "warm" will transform 4 lbs of little smokeys into a mass of shrivelled little black nubbins and puffed up exploded grease granades. For the record... little smokeys plump when you cook them. Just so you know. They plump the lid off the crockpot and try to escape across your countertop, leaving little bbq scented slug trails. If they can't go on walkabout, they shrivel into themselves like something from Raiders of the Lost Ark.

Nothing in that pot was something that you would serve to people. It was probably biohazard. I threw it all away. I took a cream cheese/crab/cocktail sauce combo instead. People loved it. It was not burnt to a crisp nor shrivelled into some new strange form of life form.

You should remember this when you invite me over. I can't make little smokeys... but I can make you a planter box. I'll just need to use your radial arm saw. It's okay, I'm trained.

Tuesday, January 10, 2006

Regressing to be an adult

Once, I was young. I went to school, I played sports, I worked at the local Dairy Queen and made very little money. I saw movie matinees or rented videos and read a lot of books I checked out at the library.

Now, I am older. I attend the school of life, I watch sports from seats in the arena, I work at a cellular phone company and make good money. Sometimes I see movies the minute they open or I buy them on DVD and I read a lot of books that I buy from stores when I happen to find one that fits my fancy.

I'm stupider now than I was then.

Let's talk about habits that cost a lot of money, shall we? Forget those mochas and fancy smancy martinis - you want to blow a lot of money? Buy your books at Barnes and Noble or (worse) the local QFC when you're getting some milk. When you read as fast as I do, this is a wallet lightener. I've spent a LOT on books, LOTS. Books probably cost me $100 a month. Seriously.

So, I've grown up and regressed. I got a library card. I'm going to check out books and read them. Better yet, when I'm done, I'm going to give them back so that the piles of mediocre literature that clutters my small space now don't continue to grow.

I checked out and read 3 books in the last week. I saved more than $20.

I am so stupid-proud of myself for getting a library card. Libraries are all high tech now... you can go online and "order" yourself a book. You don't have to talk to any sort of librarian to check books out, you just do it yourself. I miss the little cards though which told you when the book was due back. Now you get a receipt.

So, I grew up and went back to the basics.

I still reserve the right to buy Harry Potter though... I mean, let's get real. Some things you just gotta own. :)

Thursday, December 08, 2005

Yes, I'm going to go there

Hello to all of you!

I see now that I have poor spammers who read this blog! I'm so sorry that I've left you in the lurch for so long... I promise to get back to my Levitra and Paxil and Rogaine and whatever that is you think I need even though I'm not depressed (at least not that's been diagnosed) nor have herpes or am bald or (for those of you who take note of this things in your direct marketing campaigns) do not have a penis and am not looking for any sort of "hot Asian chick." I am glad that you continue to email me at work, though... that's gotta look good to the new regime.

So. It's been a bit, huh? Today I wrote that the date was 10/8. It's not. Not at all. Which is good because I don't think that I really want to relive the last couple of months. Those months brought me closer to done with the project I will now call "Richard Parker". If you don't understand the reference, go read "The Life Of Pi". It's not about math. It's about survival and adventure, a large ocean, Bengal tiger and a small, Indian boy. If I hadn't lent it out I would let you borrow it, but I'm still waiting to get it back so get in line.

I have a rant. I know you're surprised. Have I written about this? If so then consider me a one trick pony and plait my mane before you go.

Public bathrooms, including the ones at work. I have identified the type of people you get in bathrooms which annoy me and make an uncomfortable situation even more unsettling. I think my "thing" about this bathroom stuff partially comes from growing up in a house with fairly thin walls, then living with an ex who would knock on the bathroom door while I was in there and make directed comments about what he THOUGHT I was doing. Let me just tell you, there's nothing more likely to make a girl pee-shy than knocking on the door while she's using the facilities and asking "are you peeing? whatcha doing in there? Peeing?" And this post is a lie because he didn't use to ask about peeing if-you-catch-my-drift but I'm NOT going there, no way mister.

But I digress. Here are some things to think about next time you have the pleasure of sharing a rather intimate moment with a complete stranger. If I could make them rules, I think that I would.

1) Please don't sit right next to me. You know how men have the "we're not gay" seat at the movies? I need that buffer. Please leave an empty stall. I know what you're thinking... "what if that's the only one that is available?". Easy. Wait until someone leaves... that stall is a DMZ.

2) Please make some sort of noise. I don't mean THAT sort of noise (you're nasty) but you could shuffle your feet or something. If you don't make any "hello, I'm here" sound, I think you're listening to me. And if you're just pee-shy, too then you should realize you're not doing anyone any favors by being silent. I know you're there... and now I think you're creepy.

3) Please don't talk on the cell phone. I don't want that kind of audience. 'nuff said

4) Wash your damn hands. Didn't your mother teach you better?

5) Please do not leave your butt gasket, any stray TP squares or any other "gifts" behind. I can't imagine what your bathroom looks like at home.

Okay. I think I'm done. If we can all just follow these rules, I'll be much happier and that's what really matters.


Thursday, September 01, 2005

Aid offers pour in from around the globe - Hurricane Katrina -

LInk to the article:

What the HELL is wrong with that wasted lump of flesh that has managed to get hisself electemated Preznit?!

I am horrified by what I see on the news about New Orleans and the surrounding areas. I can't imagine what those people are going through. It's obvious that this is larger than any of us, that we need help, that we can't do enough right now.

And then this asshole has to get all up in his jock about how "we're going to take care of our own business as well", which is essentially telling all those who want to help to go fuck themselves.

I am so mad I could spit. This is a reprehensible man.

Monday, August 29, 2005

Why I'm weird.

Okay, we're all weird... but did you ever really think of what makes YOU weird?

Here are some weird food things I have come to realize about myself and accept. Yes, I know there are more reasons I am weird. No, I don't need your suggestions.

Weird food things:

1) I am completely addicted to whipped cream. Dinner could be whipped cream with whipped cream on top. With a whipped cream garnish. Okay, that could be breakfast, too.
2) I really like baked puffed cheese puffs. You know, like Cheetos except they're all puffy? That might not be so strange... but I *love* them when they're stale. MMmmmmm... stale cheesy poofs.
3) I cannot drink soda directly from the can. There's too much fizz to it. In fact, slightly flat is best of all.
4) The best dip for french fries? Ketchup. With tartar sauce. You get a glob of tartar sauce.. then dip that WHOLE thing in the ketchup. Heaven. Or a heart attack in your hand. Either way, it's probably worth grossing someone out with.

So, other than embracing my oddities.. what's been up lately? Went to THE WEDDING, which was TONS of fun. And, contrary to many Vegas oddsmakers, I sucessfully read a portion of the Bible without bursting into flame. This, however, was not something you commented on in front of many of the wedding guests. I get the sense they actually had "church clothes", not just the "you think this is too 'tart-y' for Jesus?" ensemble that I put together.

I will have to write more about THE WEDDING, but right now I'm just not in the mood. Work is kicking my ass all over the place.. but that's why they call it work and not vacation. Speaking of vacation - the week in Alaska is coming up and I AM SO EXCITED I COULD PEE! I can't wait to get out of this place and see something new.

Another entry in the "you live in a beautiful place.. when's the last time you saw any of it" category, my friend invited me to go huckleberry picking with her and her folks on Sunday. We were up in the mountains and it was SOOOOOOO gorgeous. And I got about a pie's worth of huckleberries sitting in my freezer. The high points of the day? The mountains, the clean air and the "mom" sandwich (sandwiches always taste best when a mom makes them). The lower points? The slight sunburn on the back of my neck, the getting there at 9 am on a Sunday, and the peeing in the woods.

If those are the low points, my life ain't that bad. :)

Tuesday, August 02, 2005


I am officially old. No, really. Old. I should just get an AARP card in the mail now, sell my crap, get a cat, move to Florida, learn to play golf and forget how to drive.

Why, you ask?

I just saw a commercial for Target. Back to school. The theme song they'd rewritten?

Baby Got Back.

Yes, that whole booty shakin', kareoke bar favorite. Baby Got Back.

Shilling backpacks and shoes and t-shirts for TARGET.

See why I am officially old?

In other news... Atlanta was hot (muggy) but I was very excited to see fireflies (or lightning bugs) and a WICKED COOL thunderstorm. It brought back the memories of being a kid and visiting Iowa and catching fireflies and pulling their glowing butts off and smearing them around. And sitting on the front porch of my Grandparents farm, sipping Cokes from a glass bottle (a glass bottle!!) and watching the storm roll in over the fields.

We went a-firefly searching in Atlanta. We were directed to a park and thought that we couldn't find it. So we took a different road and found what we THOUGHT was the park but instead turned out to be the set of a Stephen King horror movie. We're talking rolling fog (from the river), a parking lot under a freeway overpass and the shafts of light coming through the fog to the dark path winding between the river and the road through the woods.

We walked down the "oh no, I'm sure no serial killers would POSSIBLY live here" path that was supposed to lead to an bridge over the river and then to (a hopefully) open area to see the throngs of glowing bugs like a redemptive fairie convention. That was the only way I was walking through the deadly woods. We keep walking. No bridge. No open area. No fairie lights. No fireflies (well, a random blink or two).

By the time we headed back, I was seriously spooked. Hearing noises spooked. Formulating the plan wherein I take my kitten heeled sandal off and imbed it into my chainsaw brandishing attacker in order to save us all spooked. I could hear the loudmouth in the front row of the movie theater yelling "Oh girl... NO YOU DON'T WALK DOWN THAT PATH!". I practically ran back to the car. In kitten heel sandals. Yes, it was THAT scary.

We get back to the hotel. The front desk lady who obviously wanted us dead so she could have our stuff (she was the one who sent us to this "park") asked us how it was. We told her that it was scary... turns out this was not the right park. No duh, lady. If this WAS the right park, she was one seriously messed up chick.

It's okay... I've forgiven her for the nightmare I had that night.