Mood:  surprised

So when I came home the other night, there was an ‘oops sorry we missed you' notice on my door.

WOOHOO! It's the Bacon of the Month club! Best Christmas present I ever got outside of my wine fridge. Does my sister rock or what?!

I eagerly call them up to reschedule delivery and they tell me my new month of bacon will arrive at Noon!

After another five episodes of Peabody & Sherman, the doorbell rings.

WOOHOO! The meat candy has arrived!

Dogs a-barking, I fling open the door and there is random delivery guy with the box. The magic box covered in cartoon pigs and stamped all over with ‘Bacon of the Month Club'.

I eagerly reach out to grab it.

"I need to see your ID please."

What?

"I need to see your ID please."

Why?

"I have to verify you're over 21."

But why?

"The confirmation receipt requires the signee to be over 21"

Come on! Even on a fabulous day I really don't see myself failing to appear to be over 21.

 "The confirmation receipt requires the signee to be over 21"

Wow. I had no idea there was an age of consent for bacon.

Today I was carded....for bacon.

Welcome to my world.

Mood:  accident prone

So a few weeks ago, I was on my way home after feeding the owls when I remembered I needed to buy a Powerball ticket. Something that I do whenever it reaches a 3 digit jackpot…live a little, spend a buck.

I pulled into a Quickie Mart with a good lottery ‘vibe’ to it. I know, I’m a fucking hippie but whatever.

I realized - no cash! ARGH! And they don’t take cards of any kind for tickets—can’t be encouraging gambling outside of the numerous Indian casinos, but I digress.

I scrambled for change. Bottom of the purse? Check! Floor of car? Check! Console? Check! I rounded up a whole bunch of change out of the console. Brushed the fuzzies and snarg off of it.

I dashed into the store with a fistful of change. Me, the oh so dreaded unrolled coin customer. I apologized right off to the clerk because I am well aware that I am ‘that person’.

“I am so sorry about the change! Please don’t hate me!”

Clerk: “Too late, I already do.”

Erm. Wow. Feel the simmering USPS style rage hiding under jackass man.

He counted all 100 brazillian or so of dirty crusty coins and then grimaced and handed me my ticket. I bailed, oh so eager to make my escape.

Then Karma or just a rather unfortunate series of events unfolded.

I got in the car and started her up.

What is that hissing noise? Oh hey now! What is that smell?

OH NO GODAMMIT IT’S NOT! It’s the mother fucking air conditioner! Freon is leaking out! Oh figures! The fucking thing just went out of warranty! Of course! Mother fucking fucking car! Just a total crazy cat lady f-bomb ranty!

Sputtering, I flipped the air off, put all the windows down and headed for home seriously pissed off! I cannot believe this shit!

I tore down the road with clouds of fumes pouring out the windows.  I was seriously tearing up and coughing and that’s while hanging my head out the window like a dazed and slobbering Golden Retriever.

Oh no! I will not be poisoned by Freon!

I pulled into a parking lot, turned off the car and jumped out.

Hack. Cough. Wheeze. Gag. Cry. Repeat numerous times. My eyes were like fountains. OH MY GOD! I was in misery!

Then why was I still hear hissing? Where was it coming from? I ventured closer back towards the car. Wait a minute or un minuten biten if you’re German. The hissing seemed to be coming from the console.

I opened it and BAM! I realized the hissing noise was not my now out of warranty air conditioner leaking Freon. Oh no, it had to be pepper spray. Yes, pepper spray. You know, the pepper spray that’s been in the console for 3 long years awaiting my eventual carjacker who’ll I’ll later i.d. on an edition of Cops.

Well, on the bright side if I had used it on carjackers instead of myself, it actually would have worked. Would have.

But, I didn’t.

After turning my non-Freon leaking functioning air conditioner on to blow out the interior, I made my blurry and coughing way home. Where I immediately washed my face and then Googled ‘Pepper Spray” to see if I needed to go to the hospital as I was seriously wheezing, gagging and half blinded at that point.

According to what I believe I read on Google, if I was having ‘labored’ breathing then yes, I should go to the hospital and be treated with Oxygen. Hmmmm. Saturday night. Emergency room. $150 Co-pay. Endless wait. Screaming children. And what exactly is the definition of ‘labored’ anyway? Would taking really big breaths and holding them count as oxygen treatment? I thought so.

I decided that I was okay enough. A cold beer and a hot bath are pretty much always the miracle cure for me so I went with it.

14 hours later I felt almost normal. No burning eyes and just a little hard cough left.

And guess what? Guess how much I won on that lottery ticket that started it all?

You know it!

Zip. Zilch. Zero. Nada.

Yeah.

Mood:  cheeky

So it happened. Finally. Pop blew a gasket. You know what I mean. Completely lost his monkey and snapped! Twaaaaaaaang! And not at me—go figure!

It happened over the extended Hell that was Thanksgiving this year.

I think we all snapped. I know I did. I actually refused to spend the week before Thanksgiving on vacation cleaning my house to a point where mom would then approve of the cleanliness level.

I finally realized that I could have a finely trained drill team of international Housekeepers of the Year Award recipients (oh think of the uniforms they’d have!) scour the house for weeks and she would still find a dog hair…or twelve.

To use one of the most overused phrases of 2008 and to pretty much paraphrase last year, it is what it is. I cleaned as much as I wanted to and then said screw it. And I did. Instead of cleansing like a crazed Guatemalan (I was going to say anally cleansed or cleansed anally but really neither phrasing works for me in the least) I drank beer, read books and generally chillaxed instead.

So mom, take that! Ha! Oh and I have been….taking that that is! I hear about it EVERY time we speak. EVERY time. Seriously. My dusty house not only caused mom’s ongoing sinus/upper respiratory/allergen-driven/creeping crud but now also has given her Type II Diabetes! I’ve even made my sister sick as apparently the dust from my house blew to another state and infected her as well! And to think I waste this natural dust ‘talent’. I could take over any of the Third World D-list countries in say…40 years or so at this rate!

Anywho, pop had the seriously unmitigated gall to pour himself a glass of wine at 3pm. Personally I was rather proud of him for the ‘in your face’ drink. Shocked, but proud, the old guy had put it out there. Brave man. Oh who’s kidding—stupid man. Den gets crazed when anyone has a drink. A drink. Of Any kind,

And much like Alcohol Beverage Control and an underage purchaser--Denny struck!

On and on and on. It was a mélange of high pitched shrieks including “David” “Alcohol” “3pm” and other words gobble, gobble, gobble…

As I’m sitting with her on the couch, I try to divert her back to me.

Nope.

On and on and on. It was a mélange of high pitched shrieks including “David” “Alcohol” “3pm” and you get it…

I finally divert her attention off of pop and his purloined 4oz tumbler of premium box wine and back to me when…..

Cue dramatic music.

As mom turned back to me, I saw pop scowl and flip her off. Yes. You heard me. Flipped her off. Behind her back. And not really with a fully extended finger. More of a knuckle jab just in case he had to come up with a viable excuse but still. My 71 year old pop was surreptitiously flipping mom the bird. Classic on soooo many levels! 

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh I so couldn’t wait to tell my sister!

OMG! Pop fully flipped Den off! Well, not fully. I repeat the story and do the scowly face and the soft knuckle bird impression.

General hilarity ensued, as it’s bound to do, and it was the underground saying of Thanksgiving AKA ‘Cocknuckle’ AKA the barely there bird.

COCKNUCKLE!!!!!!! (Scream it like you would ‘Sparta!’ if you were one-- it’s kind of fun…)

Mood:  mischievious

I was talking to a girlfriend of mine the other day about New Year’s resolutions. She, like many peeps, is pledging to lose weight this year.

She said “Know how I knew I needed to lose weight? ‘Cuz nothing says ‘fat girl’ like scratching your belly and finding…cookie dough."

Um. Yeah. I got nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Zero.

Mood:  sad

I tend to go underground when I’m stressing or under duress. My friends get this. If I want to talk to you, I answer your call. But try texting first and by all means don’t drop by unexpectedly unless you are simply dropping provisions off door or curbside. Just need to be alone right now. I know all shades of Garbo but what can I say? I vant to be alone!  

So how am I spending my numbed out ‘can’t handle anything else right now’ time? Watching movies. Lots and lots of movies. 

• Monty Python & The Holy Grail
• Jay & Silent Bob Strike Back
• Better Off Dead
• Young Frankenstein
• The Incredibles
• Chitty Chitty Bang Bang
• Trading Spaces
• The Little Mermaid
• Mrs. Doubtfire
• Foul Play
• 1941
• Mars Attacks 
• Alice in Wonderland

Notice a pattern? Yeah…

Mood:  hug me

So I’ve been having some rather scary unexplained health dealios lately. Chronic fatigue, high blood pressure, pins and needles, sweaty as a two bit whore, word retrieval issues, out of breath, dizzy and a whole host of other fun stuff! Started a few weeks ago, and my Spatchmo man gene required that I ignore it and tough it out as I had a major event coming.

Major event comes and I am a puddle of icy sweat, can’t catch my breath and my hands and feet are asleep. Whoops. Apparently, I have let this go too far. Rubbing some dirt in it isn’t going to cut it this time for recovery purposes.

Off to the doc I head. I won’t go in to all the details of the ride thus far but there have been some humorous bits in amongst the drama and trauma.

My cardio doctor thinks I’m insane. I’m used to dealing with my regular doc who doesn’t flinch when I say things like “sweaty as a whore”. He just deletes the entry in his notes and laughs and laughs and laughs. After 9 years together, he gets me. I like that.

So anywho I’m telling the cardio doctor about how totally bloated I’ve been and that I had horrible fluid build up in my legs and feet – edema. They looked like bed ridden granny feet. Either that or a side of boiled pork hocks. Blech! He examines them and says “There’s very little build up here.” And I tell him that’s because I got it to go down. He asks how. I say “I just got on my back and put my legs above my head.”

His lazy eye focused sharply in on me with that statement.

‘Oh I only wish I did it that way!’ I snort

The eye stares.

Erm. I mean I uh. Shite. I uh massaged them to get the blood flow going and figured gravity would help the effort? Timidly smiles.

Now my doc would have been crying with laughter, shaking his head and thoroughly enjoying himself. I am his favorite patient. He wishes he ran into me outside the office “like in the vegetable aisle at the market”.

I’ll be sure to tell him about it next time. He’ll still laugh until he cries.

Off to bed and lipid tests tomorrow. Wish I didn’t almost keel over every 3 steps. Shites getting old apparently much like I am.

Remember kids—getting old is not for sissies!

Mood:  chillin'

Here are a few of the tunes du jour AKA tunes I play over and over until I hate them and find new ones....

Audioslave - I am the Highway

Pearls that swim the rift of me
Long and weary my road has been
I was lost in the cities
Alone in the hills
No sorrow I feel
For anything I feel yea

I am not your rolling wheels
I am a highway
I am not your carpet ride
I am the sky

Friends and liars
Don’t wait for me
Cause I’ll get on
All by myself
Put millions of miles
Under my heels
And still too close to you
I feel

I am not your rolling wheels
I am the highway
I am not your carpet ride
I am the sky
I am not your blowing wind
I am the sky here
I am not your autumn moon
I am the night
The night

I am not your rolling wheels
I am the highway
I am not your carpet rag
I am the sky
I am not your blowing wind
I am the lightening
I am not your autumn
I am the night  

What is up with all of the drug ads on tv lately? It's like every other annoying ad is for some random ailment or another. We the great medicated of America. Rather like the old pharmacist shtick that racist fucktard Kramer guy from Seinfeld used to do on the old comedy show ‘Fridays' back in the 80s (ABC's attempt at a Saturday Night Live esque variety show). Yes, I know he has a real name but we all know him as Kramer so why bother really?

‘Feeling poorly? Don't suffer! Take a pill! Life getting you down? Can't handle it? Take a pill! Dog run away? Neighbor's kid too ugly? Take a pill!!'

Classic that but I digress.

I'm all for home doctoring and I am rather a hypochondriac by nature, but come on folks! The ads are so vague!

‘Do you sometimes suffer from feelings of sadness, anger, jocularity, hunger, melancholy, remorse, stupidity, fear, loathing, insomnia, frequent urination, or sudden urges for cheese?'

Erm, doesn't everyone at some point or another? Especially cheese! They don't say 'behold the power of cheese' without good reason!

'Then Baboron sulfer fulmide ES can help!'

What I find quite scary are the possible ‘mild' side affects. Side affects that include lovely things like hemorrhaging, seizures, blindness, weeping lesions, and excess hair growth on your palms. Wait, that's caused by something else....nevermind.

Anywho I would have to have something really fecking debilitating in order to go with any of those side affects! Seriously! I would have to have chronic inflamatory albino leprosy or some such dramatic multisyllabic illness thingy.

I mean I might put up with the possibility of a headache, dry mouth, sleepiness, sleeplessness, etc. but crazy serious stuff? Never! I wouldn't even try those creepy fat free potato chips made with Olestra^TM as they could apparently cause you anal leakage.

Yeah. No thanks. Not even a consideration. Save me from anal leakage!

And now, back to your regularly scheduled programming.....

Mood:  silly

So I'm driving home from work today. Pretty much same shit different day-I drive too fast and listen to uber loud music in order to race home and strip off my suit..

I'm sitting at a light a few blocks from home when I notice a panel van next to me. Now mind you, usually I will not stop anywhere near a panel van, especially a white one. I have a total weirdness and phobia that armed gunmen will jump out a la Patriot Games or some other such shitty thing. I know. Completely ridiculous but nothing good ever comes from a white panel van I tell you!

I relax a bit when I realize it's a work van for Ultra Rooter Plumbing Service.

Or should I say I relaxed until I noticed the plumber was rootering his own nostrils and had managed to root in his nose up to his second knuckle.

Talk about your ‘Ultra' Rootering!!!! I think I threw up in my mouth a little....

Mood:  don't ask

It never fails that I am reminded on a regular basis just how uber creepy some people are!

I was at the supermarket just minding my own goddang bidness and grabbing some provisions when creepiness struck! Dun-Dun-Duh!!!!!!

There I was standing in front of the deli aisle. Pondering as I am prone to do when trying to choose a cheese. What can I say? I’m a whore for the curd! Me likey the cheese. A lot. A lot more than I likey most people but I digress….

The next thing I knew, this guy was standing next to me talking. Apparently to me go figure. Erm? What? I tune the Meg dial away from inner cheese dialogue and tune into the random stranger dial.

“….I just had to tell you that?”

I tune in sharply. I’m sorry what were you saying?

“I hope this doesn’t sound totally creepy, but I was standing here watching you play with your hair and it was so erotic! The way you twisted and tugged on it. I just had to tell you.”

Apparently, unbeknownst to me, I was standing there pulling and twisting on my ponytail as I pondered my choices.

Rather erotically according to creepy man. Yeah. Thanks for sharing! NOT! Dude it sounds totally creepy! While you’re at it, why don’t you just tell me you’re using my face for fodder tonight in a game of Rosie Palm and her 4 sisters play canasta!?!

EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!! Run Forrest! Run!

In hindsight, I was probably too harsh on him. He’s probably a really nice guy who was just grabbing some groceries while taking a break from his regular job as a barrister finding beneficiaries for a $10 million Nigerian slush fund….

Mood:  quizzical

I always wonder why magazines don't ask more interesting things during their ‘oh so exclusive' interviews with the star du jour.

I think they should ask more of those crazy psychological predictor questions you used to get asked in job interviews. You know the ones. The completely nonsensical pop psych questions. ‘If you were part of a car which part would you be and why'. I always wanted to answer that one with ‘the back seat ‘cuz it sees all the action'. When in doubt default to Sigmund Freud but I digress....

• If you were cheese which one would you be and why?
• What kind of tree are you most like?
• If you were a Star Trek® [or Star Wars®] character, which one would it be?
• Why are manhole covers round?
• If you could trade places with any other person for a week, famous or not famous, living or dead, real or fictional, with whom would it be?
• How would you explain a database in three sentences to your eight-year-old nephew?
• If aliens landed in front of you and, in exchange for anything you desire, offered you any position on their planet, what would you want?
• If you could be a superhero, what would you want your superpowers to be?
• If you were a type of food, what type of food would you be?
• If you were written about in the newspaper, on the front page, what would the headline say?
• What kind of people do you dislike?
• In a small room you have a refrigerator, if you left the door of the 'fridge open would the temp in the room fall or would the temp in the 'fridge rise? Why?

I had to throw the serious one in at the end.....so sue me!

Mood:  cheeky

....And what’s up with the Croatian mens water polo team all sporting 70s cop porn ‘staches a la Ron Jeremy?!

Mood:  on fire

I always pick out a soundtrack that I listen to over and over and over again whilst I pump out art. Typical for me. I will stick with it as long as I’m still creating and generating. If not, it’s on to something new. They tend to be compilations as I like different tempos and beats as the work progresses and I go into the ‘zone’.                      

Lately, I’ve been highly enamored of one particular song on the mix. The A Band of Bees’ song ‘A Minha Menina’. I like to dance around singing to it while I paint. I rather resemble the Rippers praying in Tank Girl with my moves but I enjoy it. Better than then Elaine on Seinfeld I say….WOOHOO!!! 

It’s one of those uber happy and upbeat little diddies that sticks in your head all day (in the good way) and makes you want to dance around in the rain wearing only Wellies, but I digress….(sorry for the visual sis). 

Anywho, can I tell you how totally, totally perturbed I was when I was watching the Olympics last night and I heard that song! I started singing along only to realize it’s an ad….for McDonalds! ACK! First they steal Devo and now this? Is nothing sacred?

It’s a rhetorical question folks please don’t email me.  

Once again in the infamous cries of Nancy Kerrigan, Whyyyyyyyyyyyy….

Mood:  energetic

And here is More Damn Happy Thoughts...

Mood:  bright

Been pounding out more artsy fartsy stuff lately.

This is tentatively called Chaos Theory just started it...

Mood:  chillin'

I totally lurve that hot little dude-child, Jonathon Horton, on the USA Men’s gymnastics team AKA the Cinderella story boys of the Olympics.

After they realized they were medaling, against all odds, he was holding a ‘gun show’ and shouting ‘That’s how the USA rocks!” to the media.

Then Joey Hagerty (yes sis, I know he's from Rio Rancho) piped in over his shoulder with “It’s how we roll man!” after their totally unexpected and totally earned bronze medal. That was some serious guts and grit I tell you but only teenagers! I swear! Hilarious that!

And I can't even begin to tell you how hard I laughed at Michael Phelps’ little mother pumping her fist in the air and screaming “Move it Michael! Move it!” as he’s breaking world after world record.

Well kids, that’s my report from the Olympics, now back to ‘live’ coverage of USA men’s beach volleyball….and then more gymnastics….and then bed. Hopefully.

Post Script: Why is it that it’s almost 2009 and all of the eastern Europeans are still all rocking the blue eyeshadow and spray glitter a la Nadia Comaneci? They always look like someone's 1970's low rent disco cousins….

Mood:  hug me

I mean really! Wasn't it bad enough the first time around and that was without them doing a duet?!

Exactly!!!!