Mood:  d'oh

How not to sneak into bed after saying "I'll be there in a second" and then staying up way too late watching countless hours of forensic tv:

Turn off lights, run knee into table, swear loudly something that sounds kind of like "Motherofassfeckingdamnitalltohellinahandbasketmo-mo-sucotash!", trip over a dog, let loose a huge fart and then get a bad case of hysterical shit giggles.

Mood:  don't ask

Ah, some would say there’s nothing like a good curry. Ok, yes, there are things that are better than a good curry but we’re not addressing those items right now.

Curry’s yummy. So is sausage. So is chili con carne. So are a whole host of other foods that will come back to haunt me after consumption. What can I say? Sometimes you just want what you want and are willing to deal with the space shuttle sized ‘after burn’ effects.

When I was younger, I had far more gut tolerance AKA the cast iron stomach. I would eat tacos from the street vendors in Mexico and buy gyros from the dude on the corner in London and pappas from the little old ladies in the street in Spain. Back then, I suffered nary an ill effect other than a little after burpidge. Sad to say, those days are long gone. I now stock antacids or I’m a sad little camper. Done in by Colonel Mustard with the curry in the drawing room and all that.

Thing is though I despise the chalky texture and taste. It’s like trying to gag down a dry wall wafer at communion in Hell.

I was wandering around Walgreens when I spotted a new antacid, Xcid, from the makers of Xicam. Trustworthy brand. Hey, it’s orange creamcicle flavored and it’s a gel! WOOHOO! I grabbed it and decided to give it a try.

Fast forward a few nights to the curry ‘incident’ as it shall henceforth now be known. Mmmmmm. Curry. I was craving it and I indulged.

Fast forward again a few hours to say, 2am. I woke in a panic. Liquid fire was barreling like a freight train up my throat. Uh-oh.

I jumped out of bed and ran to the bathroom. Time to try the new stuff! I grabbed it out the medicine chest and squirted a dose into my mouth.

Hmmmm. Odd. It didn’t taste like creamcicle, orange or otherwise. In fact, my mouth started to go numb and my tongue felt oily and weird. What the? I flipped on the lights and looked at the tube I held.

Was it orange creamcicle Xcid by the makers of Xicam? That would be a big ol’ negatory. What I held in my hand was, in fact, the similarly sized tube of Miracle Heel Repair Cream.

Yeah. Can I just tell you how fast I spit that out? Didn’t work on my heartburn but boy was my tongue moisturized, conditioned and protected.

Not.

Mood:  incredulous

Have we had enough mass hysteria yet? Is there really a need for the daily front page body count at this point?

I'll tell you what, if I hear any more freaking people freaking out over the 'swine flu', they won't have to worry about dying from it because I will kill them first! Seriously. I have a handbag and I know how to use it!

Come on people! There's a chick at my office who is an all too willing harbinger of doom. If a tragedy or the possibility of one is happening anywhere, she is running around going office to office with the news like some overraught jewish grandmother in the burg. "I got the chills when I heard I tell you." Really? Puh-leeze!

While I agree that it's good to be prepared and have the ability to be pro-active versus reactive, this is insane. The World Health Organization has declared threat level violet purple phase 5: return to the ship or some such thing based on research. What research you ask? Well, research from Merke. You know, the international developer, manufacturer and distributor of pharmaceuticals. No conflict of interest there. Methinks they are crying swine!

And where has all the hysteria gotten us? Apparently smack dab in the middle of some pulp fiction sci fi pandemic flick. Do you have a compromised immune system? Then stop worrying. It's just flu. Wash your hands like the public service announcements say and step away from the tv folks!

Don't make me put on my bacon suit!

Mood:  a-ok

These are the things that are currently making my heart go *giggity, giggity*....not too hard to do with a dodgy ticker.  

• Crush: Sully my cat
• Read: The Poison of Kaan: The Hollow Bettle
• Concert Experience: G Love & Special Sauce
• Awesome Old Movie Re-watch: Who Framed Roger Rabbit
• Listen: The new Nine Inch Nails
• Buy: Cool Dragonfly brand t-shirts $4 each
• Smell: Febreeze Morocco
• Product: Beyond Basics Ginger conditioner
• Beer: Mamba (South Africa)

Mood:  mischievious

I was running late to work the other day so I was hauling along in the suicide lane when....

Complete stop just a few blocks from work. A complete stop and I can see nothing. 15 minutes later, I still see nothing. Not only do I not see anything up ahead, I have not moved more than a few feet forward.

ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGH!

I turned into the local hood for Mr. Toad's wild ride through the ghetto with 12 gazillian other fellow commuters when some jackass in a pickup pulling a dog grooming trailer (complete with said company's name and phone number) comes tearing up the street on my right side as if to cut into the line ahead of the rest of us. Me thinkest not.

He put on his left turn blinker and cuts in front of me. I honk at him. Just a brief tap. I wasn't really all that irritated as I was yakking on the phone and what's one more car in line right? Turns out, he didn't cut in front of me. He actually pulled all the way through to the left into the 1950's style motel apartments and parked.

I was still on the phone when I heard "Fuck you!"

I looked over and realized it was Mr. Pet Groomer standing outside his apartment and it was directed at me!

So hoping to disarm him or at least lull him into a false sense of security, I gave him a big ol' cheesy smile and the Fonz thumb 'cuz it's all good people. It seemed that Mr. Pet Groomer took umbrage with Henry Winkler characters as he was not amused. Go figure.

 "Fuck you Bitch!" 

Wow! Now that was completely unnecessary but now you know of course I can't let it go. ‘Whatever....twat!' I replied giggling.

His jaw dropped like an anvil. "You're a fucking bitch!"

Hey now, that's a good one! ‘Original....twat!' I replied laughing.

He was completely livid by then and screamed "You're a fucking cunt!" and walked back into his apartment, slamming the door.

I shout after him ‘Nice craphole apartment....twat!' and cracked up!

So I moved on down the road still laughing and hooting. It was almost my time to turn when I saw him in my side mirror, smoking a cigarette and gesticulating wildly, pointing my way.

I can't resist. I leaned out the window and yelled back ‘TWAT!'

Oh to be a fly on the wall!

He's just lucky he didn't get a call asking for a quote to groom 2 dirty dogs....TWAT!

Mood:  don't ask

It's that time again. spring nesting season and the time when we start getting tons of orphan babies at the rehab center.

We received a baby hummingbird yesterday who fell out of his nest. Unfortunately, the nest was too high up to put the baby bird back in (which is what you should ALWAYS do when you find one).

Here he is taking sugar water from a syringe.

Abba and Titus, two of our Barn Owl permanent residents and foster parents, have hatched out several babies. The picture's not too good as she was hissing like crazy and ready to protect her nest.

Hogan, another permanent resident foster parent, is a Great Horned Owl. She has her first orphan baby of the season and couldn't be happier although she still went for my face when I brought the mice chunks to her! Her baby has the same attitude, which is good. We try really hard to raise vicious and crabapple babies so they will survive in the wild when we release them later.

He looks like a Furby with constipation.

This means my free time will be seriously impeded soon as I volunteer to feed orphan baby songbirds (like the hummingbird) which means every 15-30 minutes in 4-hour shifts!

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?!