Slivers and Snippets

I shall once again reference Doug...

2006-08-27T17:32:00.000-07:00

I'm outtaaa heeeeere!

Blogger, you have pissed me off too many times.

My blog can now be found at www.facedown.wordpress.com

Conversations with my bro, yo - part 12,546

2006-08-24T11:13:00.000-07:00

Are all siblings as ridiculous when talking to each other as me and my brother are? I mean, what is it about talking to a sibling that makes it okay to be totally stupid?

I realize this is a lame conversation. But I think the end makes it worth it. OCCASIONALLY, my brother can be funny. Don't tell him I said that.

Is it weird that all of our conversations are via the internet?

Boy
Hello

JR
hi
I am sick.

Boy
Why are you sick?

JR
Because I don't eat right. Or some bullshit like that. I have a cold.
But I feel like I am dying.

Boy
You are not dying.

JR
I could be dying! You don't know me!

Boy
People don't die from colds. This is the future.

JR
Ah, but I have super duper cold derived from beer and watching One Dumb Horror Movie and One Good Horror Movie in the same week.

Boy
Ooooh... Those are rough. The only cure for that is Lord of the Rings. Or Eddie Izzard.

JR
Maybe some Eddie.

JR
DO NOT GO SEE PULSE.

Boy
Never heard of it.

JR
DO go see The Descent.

Boy
Never heard of that either. {he proceeded to check out the website}

JR
Really? It's a gore fest.

Boy
I think I would like it as a video game.
I don't like watching monsters that I can't kill.

JR
Oh. Well don't go see it then.
I mostly only like horror movies. And ghost movies, they don't make enough ghost movies.

Boy
You should play Doom 3. It has the same feel as that movie. Only you can shoot the monsters.

JR
I don't play video games though.

Boy
It makes you feel like a big man.

JR
Ah, penis games.
What kind of fast food is good if you are sick?

Boy
Taco Bell.
its the least poisonous.

JR
Did mom tell you about the Alton Brown thing in Hawthorne?

Boy
Yeah.
Remember my friend Ron who drove you to Disneyland?

JR
Hm. I never get taco bell anymore. Probably been years since I was there.
Yes.

Boy
He just got Jason Stratham to star in the movie he wrote.

JR
Who is that?

Boy
Jason Statham. The guy in Crank.

JR
Oh. The man's man.

Boy
Yeah.
He was also in the Transporter movies.
And other stuff with yelling and guns

JR
That's the movie where he's gonna die that day and he kills a bunch of people first and makes out with the girl from Felicity, right?

Boy
Yeah.

JR
the puppy is staring at me with sad eyes.
Sad pink eyes.

Boy
Pull the pink out of her eyes?
How come your dog is always sick?
And your cats are always fat?
And your fish are always dead?

JR
Because that is just how we roll.
MY FISH ARE NOT DEAD.
I have had the same fish for a long time now.

Boy
Dude. You've killed more fish than most hammerhead sharks.

JR
Not true.

Boy
Yes true. I have a shark right here and he thinks you're crazy.

JR
Whatever. Like having a shark there doesn't make you crazy.

Boy
Look, what I do with my bathtub in my spare time is none of your business. The point is, I make a lot of money and it keeps the whalers happy.

I text message A LOT

2006-08-24T10:54:00.000-07:00

I just had this conversation with MoMo via the greatness of text messaging*:

Me - not. healthy. possibly dying. it was nice knowing you.

Momo - is your cold worse?

Me - yes. i see a tunnel with a bright light at the end... yeah right, like that's what i'll see when i die.

Momo - do you smell something burning?

Me - ah! that's not a bright beautiful light! it's a bonfire!

Momo - a nice warm fire to greet you. is it just the cold or worse?

This is when the conversation dissolved into me whining. You don't need to hear that.**

Point is, I am sick. How does one get a cold this bad in August? It's been over 100 degrees every G-D day for months!

I'm going to blow my brains out through my nose some more. Sorry about the lame post.

*I do not like talking on the phone. If you have something to tell me, please text it. I am much more likely to respond.

**I truely need to just shut the hell up. One of my friends has strep throat so bad she had to go to the hospital! I am such a whiner.

Giving herself a good beating

2006-08-22T16:43:00.000-07:00

It's a shame this video doesn't have sound, because the "thwack" noises this makes when it hits her are really the best part. It's a toy that she loves - a long tennis ball type thing on a rope. She does this everyday, grabs the rope and throws the thing around her body. And my body. And any other bodies that happen to be near.

Keep your fingers crossed that she never hits the TV.

Please disregard the messy house.

And also, let's note that if someone would buy me a video camera I could do much more entertaining videos...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AaG65FLHbY4

The Next Big Thing

2006-08-22T16:24:00.000-07:00

I'm sure everyone has already done this with their friends. But the other night Jack & Amy were visiting, and there was a big group of us at a bar* thinking of all the different kinds of movies we could make that would be like Snakes On A Plane.

It started out just trying to match up animals with modes of transportation, but then turned into the Alliteration Olympics.

Rats on a Train
Lizards on a Raft
Moths on a Vespa
Bees in a Car (this one actually elicited gasps and grimaces - "Please, seriously, bees in your car are SCARY.")
Alligators on Ice Skates (I'm not sure that fits the genre, but I like it.)
Oysters in a Hot Air Balloon (Oh! Pearls in the Air!)
Weasels on a Helicopter
Spiders on a Ship
Gorillas on a Gondola
Zebras on a Zambonie OR Zebras in a Zeppelin
Beetles on a Bungie Cord (Do you think we were drinking?)
Cats in a Cab
Ants on the Amtrak (Don't be scared, Clare!)
Bullweivels on a Boat
Termites in a Treehouse (Not a mode of transportation, but still scary.)
Gerbils on a Dirigible

And of course, as previously mentioned in my comments, Rabbits on a Space Shuttle Manned By Cabbage Patch Kids.

Coleslaw, anyone?

*Duh.

A week of conversations with Fletcher*

2006-08-21T15:40:00.000-07:00

F - "You know how our beef is all grass fed and locally grown?"

JR - "Yeah..."

F - "Well, I was reading a thing about Competitors Restaurant, and it said their beef is grass fed and from Uruguay!"

JR - "Why would you get beef shipped from there when we have the same thing here?"

F - "Who knows."

JR - "Besides, how can you trust it? If you can't go check the farm, they could be feeding those cows ANYTHING, and just telling you it's grass fed!"

F - "That is so true. You totally can't trust Uruguay. Those people will lie about anything."

JR - "Nothing good can come from Uruguay, mark my words."

F - "Now Paraguay, there's a trustworthy country."

JR - "Definitely. I would totally trust Paraguay with my meat."

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New Girl - "Is our fish boneless?"

JR & Fletcher - "Yes."

NG - "Um, ok, I'll go tell my table."

JR - "Wait, New Girl! We mean that they remove the bones after they catch it, not that it's an actual boneless fish."

NG - "OH! I get it. Okay, thanks."

F - "I am so glad you clarified that for her."

JR - "Amen, sister."

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{Sheila bends down to get something out of the fridge behind Fletcher}

F - "Sheila! What did you just do?!?!?"

S - "I just got the cream out."

F {to me} - "I swear, Sheila just licked my butt."

JR - "Well, you know, it's the end of the night..."

F - "I know! My butt's all sweaty!"

JR - "She loves her some sweaty butt. Sheila always gets all lickeybutt at the end of the night." {It should be noted that I shook my head quickly back and forth when I said lickeybutt.**}

F - "Lickeybutt... You're right. Sheila is very lickeybutt."

*Fletcher is the friend I mention in my sidebar that I went to NYC with last year. Best. Time. Ever.

**It is very hard for me to get across to you how funny the lickeybutt conversation was. I really think maybe you had to be there. Or maybe you just have to know Sheila.

Mark just has the music in him

2006-08-19T11:59:00.000-07:00

"My pink eyed girl... You my pink eyed girl... Do you remember when we used to sing, Woofwoofwoofwoofwoof woofwoofwoofwoofwoofwoofweewoof...Just like that..."

BTW, Sammie has pink eye.

Of course.

I Heart Broccoli

2006-08-17T14:16:00.000-07:00

Last night we were all sitting around at work waiting for our tips, looking through the paper and chatting. We're doing this big fundraiser thing all week and we're a million times more busy than we normally are in August, so we're all tip pooling the whole week. Which means everybody waits for everyone else to be done before we get paid.

We were bored, some of us may or may not have been grumpy, and we were all delirious from exhaustion. This week has already beat us down and it's not even half over.

There were 6 people involved in this conversation, so I think listing who said what would just make things more confusing.

"Why is it taking so long for him to get our money?"

"He's probably in the bathroom again."

"Oh my god, he's in there so much! It takes him five hours everytime and he goes four times a day!"

"That can't be normal. There's gotta be something wrong in his colon."

"Ew!"

"Maybe it's normal for guys. Let's ask Patrick."

{Patrick looks up from the paper} "Huh? What?"

"DO NOT ask Patrick! How embarrassing! Plus, that's like, sexual harassment."

"It's not sexual, it's like... poop harassment."

"What?"

"Nevermind, Patrick."

"You guys want to know what the seniors are eating this week?"*

"What do you mean?"

"Meals on Wheels. They publish their weekly menu here in the food section. Let's see... Oh, Thursday looks like crap."

"What they got?"

"Turkey ham... whatever that means. Salad, seasoned cauliflower, and for dessert, orange slices."

"That's disgusting."

"I wonder what it's seasoned with?"

"Oh, Tuesday looks good. Salisbury steak, salad, broccoli, and a choice of a chocolate chip cookie OR graham crackers!"

"Man, that's crap. They should give them a cookie one day and graham crackers the other day instead of stupid orange slices."

"For real."

"Dude, they get broccoli or cauliflower EVERY DAY."

"It's good for you. Cleanses your colon."

"SHEILA!!!! CAN WE PLEASE HAVE ONE CONVERSATION THAT DOESN'T INCLUDE THE WORD COLON?!?!?!?!"

*That was me bringing up the Senior Menu. You can imagine how fascinating it must be to be my friend. I bring such riveting conversation to the table.

I am learning to use YouTube

2006-08-16T13:48:00.000-07:00

Here is an incredibly boring video of Sammie. I threw her Hurl A Heifer, she got and then washed it. It's a new hobby of hers, washing her toys. And yes, that is a lawn full of dead grass, because I'll be damned if I'm gonna waste water and money trying to keep it alive when it's 104 degrees outside.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vYAulnp5jIE

The Dog Ate My Computer

2006-08-13T11:19:00.000-07:00

Sammie has taken to chewing through electrical cords. I think she likes the shock it gives her. She's an electricity junkie. As I mentioned before, she chewed through the cord for the window AC unit in our bedroom, then she chewed through a cord for one of our lamps, and then two days ago she chewed through the cord for my laptop.

So I have all this stuff to post about, but not much time before my battery dies. I can still use the cord to recharge Ella*, but it sparks a little bit so I can only do it if I am watching.

So I'll tell you one quick story then I'm out of here.

The other day I was looking at baby names on the internet (NOT PREGNANT JUST LOOKING AT NAMES). I really like old names, especially for girls.

I was also making poor Mark talk about names with me.

"What do you think of the name Georgianna?"

"For a dog or a cat?"

"For a human person!"

"Um, I don't think so."

"Why not? I like it. I had a Cabbage Patch doll named Georgianna. She was so cute, her tongue stuck out the side of her mouth like this AHHHHH."

"Was she retarded? 'Cause that looks retarded."

"No, she was an ASTRONAUT, thankyouverymuch. She had a helmet and everything."

"A helmet?"

"Yes."

"Hm.... Are you sure she didn't have the helmet on for her own safety and her parents just told her she was an Astronaut?"

"MY CABBAGE PATCH DOLL WAS NOT RETARDED! She was an Astronaut! ASTRONAUT!!!"

*My laptop.

Liar McLiarson

2006-08-10T15:17:00.000-07:00

I caved.

I just put another coat of paint on the laundry room walls.

IT WILL NEVER END.

Maybe that's just how he rolls

2006-08-10T14:18:00.000-07:00

I was just driving home from lunch with the Wonderful Chrissy, and I saw an old man driving.

He was driving very slowly.

He was weaving from side-to-side.

He had his windows rolled down, and it is very literally 103 degrees today. And it was a new car, so the chances of the AC not working are slim.

And when I pulled next to him, I saw that not only was he too short to see over the steering wheel, he also was wearing a bright red trucker hat, ala Ashton Kutcher, pulled down over his eyes.

And then I looked at his hands.

His hands people, his hands.

He was wearing gardening gloves. One hot pink, the other yellow with flowers.

I really need to start carrying my camera around with me.

How drunk can you possibly be at 2 pm on a Thursday? Drunk enough to say, "Hey, it's a nice day, I'm gonna go for a drive. But I better wear my wife's gardening gloves so I don't get too chilly out there."

At least I have this blog to take it out on. I used to yell at the fish.

2006-08-08T16:33:00.000-07:00

Why does Blogger sometimes post things twice? Just because it wants to make me look stupid?

Also, I finally painted the laundry room. We had bought this sand texture stuff, you mix it into the paint and Insta-Texture! So easy! Anyone can do it!

Yeah.

Except it's crap. It's too thick to put on the walls well, and it leaves some areas with lots of sand texture, and some with barely any. So the walls look like shit.

But I give up. I'm not painting that freaking room again. It's just the g-d laundry room. Let's face it, I try to spend as little time in there as possible. So tomorrow I am putting up the baseboards and the fancy new cabinet and FUCK IT I'M DONE.

You may think I have anger issues right now. You would be correct.

I stubbed my toes twice today and I'm tired and hungry and I hate my laundry room. And earlier today I watched the series finale of Felicity that I had tivo'd, and that episode always pisses me off no matter how many times I see it. I think I keep watching hoping it will be different.

My point is, my laundry room is ugly, Felicity should have been with Noel, and I am pissy. Leave me alone.

On second thought, don't leave me alone. Get me a beer.

Please.

The Sammie Post. Because really, how long do you people think I can go without talking about my dog?

2006-08-07T10:07:00.000-07:00

Good thing I washed all those towels. What else could Sammie possibly sleep on? Certainly not one of her three beds. Dog beds are for suckers!

This morning I couldn't let Sammie be outside because the neighbors were out with their dogs, and she thinks that means it's Bark-A-Palooza 2006. So she found the one window in the house that was getting sun, and somehow squeezed her way to be in front of it. There's a triangle of space in front of the window that you can't get to because of the end table and the cooler cart. But she managed to find a way in. For a big dog (64 lbs. now!) she's really very bend-y and acrobatic.

We just got home from the vet's office. I took her in for a check-up on her mange, and YAY! It's all gone! But now she's has Hematoma's* on her stomach and a urinary tract infection.

{heavy sigh}

She's lucky she's so gosh darn cute.

*Hematoma: a localized collection of blood that has been forced out of a vessel and is usually clotted, in an organ, space or tissue.

Let's see if I can get a picture... Which will officially make this the grossest blog entry ever... Okay, they look bigger in the picture then they really are. They are each about the size of my thumbnail, IRL. Look at you own risk, and don't say I didn't warn you...

Yay! Mark is home!

2006-08-06T20:51:00.000-07:00

I was just looking up Great Dane breeders online, and looking at the pictures of all the puppies. We aren't looking for another one, I just like looking at them.

Me: "Oh! Look at this little one! It looks just like Sammie! Wow! Well... I guess that one eye is different, not as black around it. But her back is the same... except she doesn't have quite the same coloring on her butt. It looks a lot like her... It's nose is different though..."

Mark: (from the next room) "It's a chihuahua, isn't it?"
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While I was typing this, I asked Mark how to spell 'chihuahua' and he corrected me, because I though it was 'chihauhau.' I said, "Oh, it's h-U-a."

And he mumbled, "Hydraulics and Utility Actuation..."

"What?"

"That's what it means to me... Freaking job sends those... {mumble mumble}"

Seriously, I have no idea what the man does for a living. But it sounds FASCINATING.
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Now he just told me that he's getting cold because his belly surface area is too large and he's losing heat through it too rapidly. If that's how it works, I should have hypothermia by now.

From Missing Mark to Crazy Mullet Peg Leg Man

2006-08-05T11:19:00.000-07:00

What if somebody read my blog, figured out where I live, figured out which house is mine, and broke in during the night just to kill me?

Well, it wouldn't ever happen. I could probably locate a crazy person, hand them a piece of paper with my address and sleeping hours on it, and they would say, "Why would I come to your house?"

But just in case, I haven't mentioned on here that my wonderful, sweet, handsome husband has been out of town for the last nine days and I MISS HIM. He is finally coming home tonight and I am so happy I could just spit.*

And not just cause I love him and all that crap. But because THIS DOG IS DRIVING ME INSANE.

Before we got the puppy, we (read: Mark) read a bunch of puppy books. Actually he's so cute that he'd been reading puppy books for months, before we even knew we were getting the Amazing Sammie from Poopville, because he knew I wanted to eventually get a dog and he wanted to be ready.** These books all told us that puppies go through a phase where they "lose their minds." Apparently it happens between the ages of 4 months to 8 months and lasts for about 30 days. I thought that was stupid. Can't be true. Whatever.

Then our trainer told us the same thing. My reaction was the same.

Then, and I can pinpoint the time exactly, Monday at 3:30, my dog lost her mind. She just STOPPED HAVING A BRAIN. Stopped coming when I call her. Stopped understanding any of the commands that she knows - Leave It, Take It, Wait... all gone. We went to obedience class on Tuesday night, and she wouldn't do anything. I would tell her to sit, I would show her the treat, I did everything that usually works, and she just stood there.

Sammie, if you're reading this, that was not cool, dog. Mommy was embarrassed.

But the trainer was cool about it, she just flat out told me, "Sammie has lost her mind. She will be back in a month or so." She also told me to try my hardest to train through the mind losing month, because apparently Sammie will come out the other side all the better for it. What she didn't mention is how having a puppy that has lost her mind makes for a JayAre that has lost her mind. Mark is desperately needed to stop the hair pulling, cheek-chewing and sobbing.

Another problem is my schedule - I work nights 3 or 4 times a week. Normally this is fine, because I put Sammie in her crate at 4:30, and then Mark comes home at 7:30 and takes her out back to play until she sleeps. But with Mark gone, Sammie stays in her crate until I get home, usually sometime between 10 and, oh, midnight. By then, all she wants to do in the entire world is run in circles, and occasionally bark. So I end up sitting out back with her***, watching her run in circles and chew up toys, until she gets tired and we can go to bed. I do not like this schedule very much. I desperately need Mark to come home and save me from HOURS spent in the backyard, in the dark, thinking that any minute a crazy person will come through my fence and kill me.

Oh, I should share with you why I worry about crazy people in my yard.

Once upon a time my friend Momo was over, and when she went to leave I walked her out to her car. As we were standing in my driveway, a man wearing some kind of 80's rock band t-shirt, denim shorts, with a mullet, and a peg leg (ok, a regular fake leg, but still), walked out from the side of my house. He had to have been coming from my backyard, as that is the only thing you can do on that side of the house. The neighbors have a solid fence up with no gate, and back then we just had an opening to the backyard. He just walked by us and down the street, like it was no big thing. Momo and I looked at each other, she ran to her car, I ran in my house, and we promptly called each other. Just after we started the "WTF!" conversation, Momo spotted a woman with a bad perm coming out from the side of my house. At this point I am freaking out and checking locks. But the woman also just went down the street.

After that day I started paying attention to my backyard a little more. And that mullet dude, he used it all the time! I saw him three more times cutting though our backyard! I can't even imagine how many times I didn't see him. Now, I kinda feel like I should let him, because from this neighborhood it is the fastest way to the main road, and he does have the peg leg, but dude, it's my yard! He also has to cut through the field of the guy behind me, but that guy is old and crazy too, so I doubt he cares.

So, eventually Mark and I decided we had had enough, so we built a gate for the side of the house. Now instead of two fence posts and an opening, there's a nice little gate someone would have to open. I thought surely that this would deter the peg leg mullet man from cutting through our yard.

It didn't. I have only seen him once more since then, and actually I saw him walking through my yard while I was driving down the main road past my house, coming home. I really need some pictures to illustrate how all this is possible. Basically, the back of our house faces the main street, with a field in between. You go down the main street, turn right twice, and then you get to the front of our house. Make sense? Anyway, by the time I got home he was gone.

So one night after Mark had left, I was out back watching the Amazing Sammie chew on a bone (fascinating!), when the gate rattled and she started barking and I started... well, shaking. It was probably just the wind, no one came through, but it scared me nonetheless. Now, I realize that if crazy mullet peg leg man wanted to kill me, he has had amble opportunity, what with the sneaking through the yard while I nap mid-day. But the idea of him back there while I'm back there still creeps me out.

So I went to Lowe's on Sunday and bought a padlock for the gate.

Now I kinda feel bad, cause his poor peg leg self has to walk all the way around to get to the street. But, the puppy has been barking less, so that makes me feel better.

And that is the story of why I can't wait for Mark to come home. It's convoluted, but true.

I thought about going to take pictures of my yard and fence, but then I remembered we desperately need to mow, so nevermind. Maybe I will see if I have any old pictures.

*I have SO been in Texas to long. Oh crap! Now my stalker will know which state I'm in!

**Mark had never had a pet before me (not that I am a pet, but that I bring pets). Well, that's not true. He had a strictly outdoor cat. But never an indoor pet and never a dog. SO FUNNY when we first got married and all the sudden there were three cats in his house.

***The back of our yard has mock-fencing - there's some chain link strung over some bars, but it's only strung on the top, so the bottom flaps open. The dog, or anyone, can walk right through it, essentially. So anytime she is out back, we have to be out back.

Should out back be one word? Outback? Like the restaurant? I just don't know.

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I found some pictures, but BLOGGER SUCKS MY ASS and won't let my post them right now. I am so going to swtich to WordPress.

The Udder of The Cow

2006-08-03T18:30:00.000-07:00

Check out how lame I am:

I carry a tiny spiral notebook around with when I'm at work. For months when I would I hear things, or be involved in conversations, I would think they would make great "snippets" for this blog. But I could never remember them. So I started carrying the notebook around to jot things down in.

In my defense, it is a pretty cute notebook - it's blue and orange and says "I got your mom's digits" on the cover. Cause, you know, that's how I roll.

And don't doubt it. I DO have your mom's digits.

Anyway, for a while now I've been jotting stuff down in there, but I never seem to get around to posting any of them. So now I've decided to do one giant, annoying, somewhat boring-if-you-weren't-there post with all the snippets.

So here we go. Read at your own risk.
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(Brittany is telling a story about eating out with her boyfriend - Brit is white and he is black.) "I couldn't decide if I wanted dessert, and I actually said to the waiter, 'Well, I'm gonna have chocolate now or I'm gonna have chocolate later...'"

--------------------------------

JR, "Yeah, so this website said the song that was #1 the day I turned 18 was something by Celine Dion. That's supposed to be my life theme! That sucks!"

Tyrone, "I wonder what my life theme song is."

Chrissy, "Tub Thumping."

Tyrone, "Yeah, that sounds about right."

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Once Chrissy and I had a conversation regarding mating her Yorkie with my Dane. I can't possibly relate all of it here, but I will say it involved phrases like, "Well, if we held up his back legs..." And "What if he got sucked into the Gi-gina?!?!?!"*

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"I smell popcorn."

"They made some in the back."

"And it's not for me?"

"No."

"Well, that's fucked up! I'm fucking hungry!"

"Um, I think it's for the kid in the bar."

"Oh. Now I feel bad." (Not so bad that she didn't stare longingly at the kid while it ate the popcorn.)

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"What are you going to major in?"

"Anthropology."

"OH! Have you ever been in that store? I love that place!" (Sometimes it all becomes clear to me why we are waiters.)

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"Those people were not good tippers."

"I think they're docents at the museum."

"Well, docents can't tip for shit!"

"They work for charity."

"They should give me charity! I got costs!"

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A woman told me that the ice cream I served her was the "udder of the cow." I have no idea what that means, but she ate it all.

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Overheard in the drink pick-up window - "Oh wait! Can you put some olive juice in that martini? I didn't put it in that way cause he said 'Just a tad dirty' and I don't have time for that kind of bullshit."

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This woman had ordered some lemons and a straw from me, but on my way back to the table I dropped the straw. So I said, right to her face, "Here's the lemons but I dropped the straw so I'll have to go back and get you another one.. She said, "Great..." Then she paused for a moment, stared blankly at me, and said, "Um, can I get a straw?"

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Okay, this one is a bit longer. I was waiting on a table of the trashiest people ever. They were so obnoxious it was hard for me to keep the smile on my face. The dad was rude to me the whole night, but the worst came when I delivered his crabcakes.

Man: "Do these come with green soap?"

Me: "Huh?"

Man: "Green soap!"

Me: "I don't know what you mean. But let me get you another drink." I turn and walk away, and notice him motioning to another server, Sheila, to come over. When I get back to the table Sheila is standing there smiling, but looking uncomfortable.

Me: "What's up?"

Sheila leans over and whispers to me, "Green soap is what you use when you have genital crabs!"

I look at the man. "It's interesting you would know that, sir."

Man: "That's why I can't believe you don't know!"

Bastard.

On that same night, the guy at the table next to him, who was out with his wife, grabbed my ass. Actually, he patted my back and then worked his way down. Classy. When I was telling Boss about that in the back, he told me I should spend $90 on a fancy g-string and make me some money. I told him, "Dude, I'm a big girl. I'd have to spend $180."

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And my favorite random quote of all - "I'm surprised my armpits glands didn't die!"

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Most of these things seemed much funnier when they were happening then they do now that I see them in print. But I have nothing else to blog about right now, so I'm posting this anyway. Sorry.

*Gi-gina is the nickname we gave to the Amazing Sammie From Poopville's private area. Because it is GIant.

Happy 25th Birthday, Baby Brother!

2006-08-01T20:47:00.000-07:00

Today I called my brother to chat and tell him happy birthday, and we had what I think was a fairly humorous conversation. So give to you, my three readers, Conversations With My Bro, Yo, Part 3 (or 4?).

Bro: I've been up since 5:15 when YOUR stupid father called me.

Me: Dude, you broke his computer.

Bro: I did not. The internet just needed time to process.

Me: Whatever. You broke it, take some responsibility, you're old now.

Bro: I'm eating brownies. I made them.

Me: SPECIAL brownies? Or regular brownies?

Bro: Huh?

Me: You know, SPECIAL brownies, or just, you know, brownies.

Bro: Special brownies?

Me: Oh my god. Brownies with MAR-I-JA-WANA in them.*

Bro: Oh. No, they are regular brownies. Although there are a lot of them, I made two boxes.

Me: That's a lot of brownies. But, it is your birthday. So you're having them for lunch?

Bro: And breakfast. Actually, I've had so many now they might be special and I just don't remember.

Me: You're like, "Did I put pot in these? Who knows, I'm hungry! More brownies!" Which I think is kinda the point of special brownies.

Bro: Do you watch Project Runway?

Me: No. Once I watched Next Top Model and Tyra Banks yelled at someone. It was funny.

Bro: I don't watch that. But Project Runway isn't so bad, they aren't as fake as all the other reality shows.

Me: I like Hell's Kitchen. That guy is so fake, it cracks me up.

Bro: I hate that show. Anyway, you know my friend Leslie? She got dumped by this asshole and so one day me and Samantha and Jessica were over there to help, and we ended up watching four straight hours of Project Runway.

Me: Dude, I bet you wished you had special brownies then.

Bro: If ever I did, it was then.

*I know this isn't the correct spelling, but that's how I said it.

Strike While The... Bug Is Close. Drowning is humane all the sudden?

2006-08-01T10:34:00.000-07:00

Recently, She Walks did a post about the funny little paragraphs you find at the bottom of spam email. I hadn't paid too much attention to it before, but man, they put some weird stuff down there. I decided to copy all the strange writings I could collect for one week and see if I could create some sort of logical writing.

I am too lazy to work on that. So instead, I am posting them in the order in which they were received. I seperated them with different fonts because it's not always clear where one ends and a new one begins...

He will sleep the better, she said. Bethuel-will you lead theway?The guard raised her spear in a quick salute, then marched resolutely
question. You will leave behind a deadly and destructive situation.What must we do? Vesta asked. Palm of my hand.First you will help me by permitting myself and my associates to
Half a loaf is better than none. God gives every bird its food, but does not always drop it into the nest True love is like a teardrop in Niagra falls He is always right who suspects that he makes mistakes
away from me. At first I thought I could get some reform here byworking through channels. Its not good enough. I am being blockedjust as completely as you are.
Time heals all wounds. Keep your friends close but your enemies closer None but the wearer knows where the shoe pinches
And a good day to you as well, I said. My name is Jim.A masculine surname, most agreeable. I am called Hingst and it is mypleasure to greet you-
variegate legend milan beaujolais chow contingent bandbox sowbelly bauhaus clergy diva ardently arch-enemy egoist anchorite gorgeous
of groups with that name. We are the only ones who deserve it since weare the only ones who survive.Survivalists, Floyd said, and went on as though reading from a
The darkness faded and light returned. Iron John was gone, thechamber was empty. I looked at Floyd who seemed just as bewildered asI was.
know the key is there. Inside . . .Teddy, I said.Teddy. Not a real bear. Teddies are for children and you are no
intercourse is not quite the right word. Cultural Relationshipsmight express it better. My degrees are in archeology and culturalanthropology, which is what attracted me to the civil service in the
alone will be responsible for your own execution. Now isnt that quitehumane?Drowning is humane all of a sudden?
willis tater gable ostrich raoul loan deluge onlook dischargee quicken inlet sunk equivoke kulak lattice postpone
some cover it's strategy be earl the surcease try phrasemake in indecent some elizabeth on weaken ! cofactor not boylston on cataclysm , jeffersonian may manage , perspective
instead of my jaw for a change.While we had been installing the MIPSCs we had been going over andover all of the possibilities, had returned always to the only viable
Where the carcass is, there shall the eagles be gathered together Seldom seen, soon forgotten A heart at peace gives life to the body, but envy rots the bones.
Strike while the.. bug is close. The devil find work for idle hands to do
mothers pillow-and steal it.But in a society without women you cant have a mother -so the mythhas to be rewritten?
Shame face ah feel like cent ice. A problem shared is a problem halved.She crieth in the chief place of concourse, in the openings of the gates: in the city she uttereth her words, saying.
No Good Building Without a Good Foundation Barking dogs seldom bite

Puppies and Headaches

2006-08-01T09:05:00.000-07:00

Earlier this morning:

I sleep soundly.

{Feeling a cold nose on my arm}

"Oh, hello Sammie! Is it time to get up? Ooookkkkaaay..... {insert old lady grunting here as I sit up} Well, you sure were a good girl this morning. I can't believe you let me sleep so late! What a sweet puppy... I love you... {insert lots of petting here} Okay you good girl, lets go outside... {old lady grunting as I stand up} Alright, let's go... Wait, what's that? Is that...? MY iPOD?!?!?! WHY IS MY iPOD ON THE FLOOR, DOG?!?!?!?! AND WHERE IS IT'S CUTE PINK CASE?!?!?!?! Ohmygodmypooripod... Oh, here's the case, under the bed... Where are the headphone? Oh, by the nightstand! Jesus, Sammie, you chewed through them! Good lord. I can't believe you tricked me into thinking you were good. I will never trust you again."

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It does look like the iPod will still work, but the headphones are a lost cause.

Last week she chewed through the window unit A/C* cord while it was running, and somehow managed to not die. And now I am hot when I sleep. Crazy dog.

Oh, and let's not even talk about the quail bones she dug out of the trash while I was vacuuming. Or the unbelievable stress that caused me while I was at work that night, certain that she was home coughing up leg bones and pooping out wings.

I don't know why people say puppies are a lot of work. They're totally low maintenance.

*We do have central A/C, but having the window unit in the bedroom saves energy since we both like it really cold when we sleep.

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Have ya'll seen the "Head On" commercial? I don't know if it's just local or not. It's for some kind of medicine that you rub on your head. The whole commercial is a picture of someone rubbing it on, and a woman saying, "Head On. Apply directly to the forehead. Head on. Apply directly to the forehead. Head on. Apply directly to the forehead."

I do not appreciate her tone.

Every time I see it I want to smash the giant TV into tiny little pieces and then call the makers of Head On (apply directly to the forehead) and tell them that I am going to hunt them down and apply my foot directly to their asses.

Hooray!

2006-07-27T12:18:00.000-07:00

I know how desperately you are all waiting for more pictures of my cups.

Here is the Micro Farm Jug with the handle Chrissy made for me. And also Nino's elbow.

Here is me with the Mega Jug. I had to put two straws together to make one Mega Straw just to be able to drink out of it. Please don't think I normally dress in vests. That is my work uniform. So, I guess I do normally dress in vests, since I work 4 days a week. Whatever.

It Kinda Worked

2006-07-27T07:35:00.000-07:00

Okay, Jack helped me out and I managed to get one picture on here. Blogger still won't let me get any of the others, but here at least you can witness the greatness of the Mega Jug next to a normal cup. Please note the awesome bucket handle and the fact that I wrote in Sharpie "JR's Mega Jug." I am so lame.

I would like to apologize ahead of time for the number of times I use the word "cup" in this post. It annoyed me.

2006-07-26T08:37:00.000-07:00

Cups at work have a habit of disappearing. Not the glasses or coffee mugs we use for customers, but the staff cups. The staff has to use plastic cups with lids, because we are klutzy people that break and spill things all the time.

That may sound like sarcasm, but it's totally true. Remind me to tell you about the time a certain anonymous commenter on this blog accidentally knocked/pushed over an entire stack of full glass racks. Or when she broke an entire shelf just by walking past it.*

So anyway, lots of my cups have gone missing over the last (almost) 5 years I've worked there. One incident that sticks out in my mind was the week when TWO of my favorite Baja Fresh cups disappeared. That was a rough week, you know, emotionally.

No one knows where the cups go. The situation is similar to socks in the dryer, you know you had it there earlier, but now it's just gone. But instead of being left with a spare sock, we're left with random things like plastic lids and those thick plastic straws, all thrown together in a bustub** with the cups that have managed to hang on. And also? Silverware that doesn't match the restaurant silverware. Who knows where that comes from. Maybe there's some sort of fairy that trades out our cups for mismatched silverware. Like the toothfairy... Wish she'd leave cash instead of spoons.

As of right now, I have been using the same blue plastic cup for, oh, probably 6 to 8 months. The lid is long gone, which has resulted in many spills, because hey, I'm JR, that's how I roll, but the CUP HAS PERSEVERED. It's covered in scratches, probably from all the times it's had to fight off would-be thefts, but it is mine and I love it.

But this is a story about a few weeks ago when my blue cup went missing for THREE WHOLE DAYS.

I thought it was gone forever. I threw a hissy fit, as I am wont to do. I wandered around the kitchen, yelling something to the effect of, "Why can't we keep any damn cups here?!?!?! This is some BULLSHIT! That was MY CUP! What am I supposed to drink out of now, huh? WHAT?!?!?"

It's okay, I work with my friends and they are all used to my histrionics.

In a brave effort to calm me down, risking life and limb, our head chef told me I could have one of the brand new cups.

I am awed. "We have brand new cups? Where? How?"

"Somebody sent us a bag of sample plastic cups like they use at fast food joints. Since we don't use those I threw them in the back, but you're welcome to take whatever you want out of there."

I think I may have hugged him because, as everyone knows, I am my mother's daughter and I gotta have my beverage with me, yo.

So, I go running to the back, and there it is, a bag just chock full of brand new cups. And I see it. The first cup in the stack. It's beautiful. It's amazing. It's the biggest cup made of flimsy plastic that I've ever seen. It claims to be able to hold half a gallon of the beverage of my choice. And not only does it have a handle, the handle is on top, like a bucket! It's a bucket cup!

I promptly claimed it as my own, and began calling it the MEGA JUG. People laughed at first, but I'm pretty sure as the night wore on and all I would say to anyone was, "Look at my MEEEEGAAAA JUUUUUG!" it got a little old.

Man, I loved the Mega Jug. It was awesome, in the true Eddie Izzard sense of the word.

The Mega Jug was the source of much humor that night at work. Like the time I lifted it off the drink shelf to have some soda, and literally grunted like an old person lifting weights. Mid sentence. Dude, the Mega Jug was heavy.

Or the time I had just taken a drink, and my hand was wet from the outside of the Mega Jug. So I wiped it on the back of Boss' chef coat as he walked by.

"What the hell?!?!?"

"Don't worry, it's just MEEEGAAA JUUUG condensation."

"BOOB SWEAT?!?!?!?!?"

Apparently he was the one person in the restaurant that hadn't heard me talk incessantly about the Mega Jug.

The next night my blue cup was still missing, but miraculously the Mega Jug was still there. All was somewhat okay with the world. The jokes about the Mega Jug continued, and I was happy.

The third night, the Mega Jug was gone. Just like that. The blue cup was still missing. And me? I was a wreck. I mean, come on people, drinking vessels are serious business.

Someone pointed out to me that we still had some of the other brand new cups, I should go through those and see if there were any I could stand to use.

I went through all the brand new cups, and I finally found one I thought I could make do with. It was the smallest cup in the batch, and it was covered with pictures of farm animals, which I found endearing. Certain other people thought that some of the pigs might be doing something dirty on the cup; I choose to believe they were hugging. I named it the Micro (Farm) Jug.

The only thing I didn't like about the Micro (Farm) Jug, aside from the fact that I had to refill it every time I took a drink, was that it had no handle whatsoever. Luckily, I have great friends***, and Chrissy promptly took it in the office and fashioned a handle for me out of cardboard and masking tape. It was very cool and could hold the cup up if there was nothing in it.****

But the Micro (Farm) Jug was only barely a tolerable substitute for the Mega Jug. There's not as many jokes that go with a Micro (Farm) Jug. But that didn't really matter, because the next day my blue cup magically reappeared.

I still have the Micro (Farm) Jug, safely stored away from the thieving hands of fairies. The handle fell off when the dishwasher tried to wash it for me, but that's okay, it's not a very functional cup anyway.

But I tell you what, if I ever find a fast food place that uses the Mega Jug, I'm so gonna stock up on that, it's not even funny how many Mega Jugs I will buy.

I will be the Queen of Mega Jugs.

Which I think was actually one of my nicknames in high school.

*The shelf actually did fall ON her, which caused a bit more injury to her than the shelf. But she's fine now. Well, as fine as she ever was, really.

**I'm sure everyone knows, but those are the big black tubs busboys carry dirty dishes around in. Only the one that holds our cups is clean. Really.

***Or they just hate to listen to me bitch.

****Obviously I realize that some pictures of the Mega and Micro Jugs would have been nice for this post. And I did take pictures of both vessels at the time. But I took the pictures on my cellphone, emailed them myself, and then tried to add them to this post, and Blogger won't let me. It will let me add any other pictures, but not ones from my cellphone. So if you want to see the pictures, if your life is so revolving around my cup adventures, email me and I will send them to you.

Fancy Paws

2006-07-25T16:12:00.000-07:00

I can't decide if he's a poodle or if he's doing a Jennifer Beals impression.

I Will go By The Name 'Junior Bobo' And Dye My Hair Black

2006-07-24T19:30:00.000-07:00

Last week, I took Bubbas to the vet for his annual check-up. Being 11 years old and being far to feisty to ever allow anyone near his mouth has apparently taken quite a toll on his teeth. The plaque and tartar build-up was so great that parts of his gums were swollen and bleeding, and one of his canines was broken.

I could not possibly feel more guilty about this.

One of the problems is that while Bubbas is a sweet and loving baby at home*, when a vet gets near him Satan** takes over his body and people are at serious risk of losing fingers, eyes, and chunks of hair. When we went last week for the check-up, it took two people to hold him down so they could look in his ears, and they kept getting scared and jumping back. I actually thought it was funny as hell, and there's a good chance my vet hates me now for laughing. Although I am the only one that sustained any wounds during the exchange. And now his chart is peppered with big red stickers that say things like, "MAY BITE," "SHORT FUSE," and "CAUTION." This all means that in order to clean his teeth, he has to be under anesthesia and fully asleep, which is really very dangerous. Because of my fear of losing him, I've always just kinda hoped his love for crunchy food would keep him clean enough.

It didn't.

So last night, Bubbas had to be locked in our room and adjacent bathroom, with no food or water after midnight. And he had to use a clean litterbox with only a little bit of fishtank gravel (plenty of that around) so that I could take a urine sample in with us this morning.

Only problem there is that Bubbas has Truly Astonishing Bladder Strength. Once he was accidentally locked in my closet for over 24 hours while we were out of town, and he didn't pee or poop the whole time. He is very brave. You should all send him treats.

So there was no pee for me to collect, which means the vet had to collect it, which means I had to pay an extra $20 on top of the original $9,000,000 estimate. Good thing I got that week of paid vacation.

Last night I barely slept at all, because I am my mother's daughter and I worry about things until my stomach hurts and my hair starts falling out. Bubbas, however, slept great. He seemed rather appreciative of having the room all to himself for once, no annoying sisters trying to steal covers or jockeying for pillow position.

But by the time my alarm went off***, he was ready to go find his food and water. So while I was getting dressed, he very gently reminded me that I had, obviously accidentally, locked him in the room all night. He purred and rubbed all over my legs and was all sweet and forgiving.

"I know you would never do this on purpose, mom, because you are beautiful and kind, but clearly it is time now for me to be fed and to get some water and a real litterbox. Oh, and maybe those annoying black cats will be gone when we got out there, wouldn't that be great mom? Gosh I love you, let me rub around your legs some more..."

Then he jumped on the bed, and I petted him for a few minutes, cause, you know, I worry, and I would hate to not have petted him that last time. He was rather giddy...

"Oh, wow, a whole night alone with you and I get this extra love, I feel certain that today must be the best day ever, you must be trying to make up for getting that dog and then letting that strange woman look in my ears last week..."

I picked him up and carried him out to the living room.

"I even get to ride to the food bowl! I hate when you make me walk! I love you so much mom..."

I set him down in front of the carrying case.

"What's this? I don't want to go in there, surely you aren't thinking of putting me back in there..."

I started shoving him into the carrying case. Satan took over.

"YOU BITCH. THIS WAS ALL A TRICK? MRRRRROOOOORRRWWWW. YOU LOCK ME UP ALL NIGHT WITH NO FOOD AND NO WATER AND THEN YOU SHOVE ME IN THIS BOX. I HATE YOU. I HATE YOU. YOU {bleep} BITCH I'M GONNA KILL YOU. I WANT TO TEAR YOUR HEART OUT AND FEED IT TO THAT HORRIBLE DOG. MMMRRRRRROOOOOOOEEEEEEEERRRRRWWWWWWW."

On the way to the vet's office he tried to guilt me into letting him out.

"Come on, I didn't mean those things I said before. I still love you. Please, look how pathetic I am. Surely you haven't the heart to leave me in here. Please, mommy, please..."

But I am strong, and I dropped him off and went home to sleep some more.

He pulled through just fine of course, because he's totally tough****. When I went to pick him up he was already in his box and ready to go. Half way home we were at a stop light so I stuck me finger in the carrying case to keep him entertained.

He tried to bite it off while yelling obscenities at me that I don't even use.

Once we got home I realized the source of his ongoing anger. One of his front legs had been shaved for the IV to go in there, and as Mark says, he now looks like a poodle cat. I think he looks like a flashdancer. He seems to think I am determined to steal all of his dignity from him, since he still hasn't quite forgiven me for the time I took him in and had his manhood cut off.

He wouldn't speak to me at all for a couple of hours, but once he got some food and water in him he made some forgiving gestures. He even let me look at his pretty pearly whites. But he did make me promise not to ever do that to him again.

I promised with my fingers crossed, of course. Turns out he has to go back in a month or two and get 4 teeth pulled. I may need to join the witness protection program after that trip to the vet.

*Except during play time. See, I got Bubbas when he was only a teeny tiny thing of four weeks (hence my ridiculous attachment to him), and it was just so gosh darn cute when he bit and scratched at me... And I was only 17, so I didn't know any better... I thought he would grow out of it... To this day the only other person I've ever seen able to handle actually playing with Bubbas is my friend Melinda, who, it should be noted, has a blind cat that hisses and wants to kill everybody.

**Little known fact: The nicknake 'Bubbas' is derived from his REAL name, Beelzebub.

***At 7am. Dear lord I will keep my cat's teeth clean from now on if you only never make me get up before 10am ever again amen.

****Somebody remind me to tell you the dog attack/gangrene story sometime.

2006-07-21T14:19:00.000-07:00

Sammie loves her grandpa!

I am the lamest lame in the world

2006-07-21T09:43:00.000-07:00

The other day I had this conversation with my brother online:

JR: How are you?

Bro: Good. Sarah is sick so I'm working from her house today.

JR: Because you are her bitch?

Bro: Yeah.

JR: Awesome. So, my new slang term I'm supposed to learn is "ghetto fab." I have to integrate it into my vocabulary.

Bro: Please don't start saying that.

JR: I have to! I'm learning!

Bro: Learning what? How to be a black person from 1997?

JR: Yes. Or, how to be a gangster, yo.

Bro: Clearly you mean gangsta. And clearly you suck at it.

JR: Dude, I'm still learning. I should get cornrows, that might help.

The Post Wherein I Publicly Announce My Cluelessness. And My Love For Owen.

2006-07-17T09:44:00.000-07:00

I have very little awareness of what goes on in the world around me. I know that this makes me a bad American. But I HATE watching the news. It's so upsetting. Can't everyone just chill out?

So, I live happily in my little ignorant cave, completely unaware of anything outside of my circle of friends.

But sometimes, somebody will bring something up to me and I am shocked at my own stupidity. "Hey, did you hear about the meteor that hit in your own backyard*??!?!?" "Was it in US Weekly? No? Then no."

All this month the manager of the restaurant I work in has been vacationing in his home country of Cyprus. Which sucks because it means I have to work more, but is awesome because hey, the boss is gone! Although I will admit that, surprising even to me, I have missed him. But if any of you repeat that to him I will hunt you down and tell you fascinating fish tank stories for three hours.** That will be your punishment for ruining my front of hating everyone.

So anyway, the boss is in Cyprus. And today my friend Fletcher called me, all worked up.

F: "You know that war that's going on?"

JR: "Sure." (Thinking she means the war in Iraq, of which I am aware, my cave isn't that isolated.)

F: "Well, I just heard on the news that they're evacuating Americans to Cyprus! So I looked at a map and it's RIGHT next to Lebanon!"

JR: {beginning to realize that I have missed something...} "Evacuating to Cyprus? What? Wait, what war are you talking about?"

F: "Lebanon and Israel. The bombing."

JR: "Um.... I don't watch the news..."

F: "Oh my god, you just said you're online right now, stop by cnn.com every now and then! Lebanon and Israel are bombing the shit out of each other, and it's right by Cyprus and that's where Boss is!"

JR: "Dude, that's crazy! I was just kidding when I said I hoped he would get stuck there..."

F: "You gotta get a map and look at how close it is."

JR: "Well, I just went to cnn.com cause you told me to, but the first thing I saw was a place to click for an article about Owen Wilson, so I'm reading that now. I'll read about the fighting after that."

F: {Laughing}

*Dude, there was no meteor. I would notice that, at least. But it is true that I have an addiction to US Weekly.

**That would be one hour for every tank that I have in my house, for now... Yesterday Mark says, "Are you planning on getting more fishtanks?" I said, "Are you gonna let me get more dogs and cats? No? Then yes, I will be getting more fishtanks."

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I would like to note that I not only did read about the bombing online, I also turned the tv on to CNN for my background noise today. I miss my usual Jack FM, but maybe I should know something about something every now and then.

But also, I am already depressed. Stupid people killing other people.

No Intro Needed

2006-07-13T15:21:00.000-07:00

"You can not be a white girl married to a black guy and have the last name 'Brown-Johnson.' It's just too much."

Give Whirled Peas A Chance

2006-07-11T10:00:00.000-07:00

Sunday night Mark and I performed our favorite activity.

Oh, you people have such dirty minds. Like I'm gonna blog about that where my parents can read it.

Cooking dinner and then eating it while we watch Iron Chef America.

We LOVE Alton Brown. But then, who doesn't? We, however, love him so much that we invented a drinking game for watching shows with Alton Brown in them. It involves drinking whenever he says things that we recognize as phrases or words he uses frequently. For example, when we watch Good Eats (da da da dada dada dadada), we drink anytime he uses the word "thusly." Try it, I promise, you will drink at least twice in a half hour episode. And when we watch Iron Chef America, we drink anytime he makes a cheesy, bad pun. Like in the lobster competition when he said, "We're at the tail end of the competition..." Also anytime he says, "Kevin." We started that one by drinking whenever he said, "Talk to me, Kevin," but discovered it's more fun to just drink anytime we hear the name Kevin (even sometimes when we're not watching anything with Alton Brown and instead just hanging out with people named Kevin). Those are just a few of the things that we drink on for Alton Brown, come play with us sometime if you want to learn them all.

Anyway, Sunday night we kinda threw together dinner out of a bunch of stuff we found in the fridge. We ended up with diced, sauteed chicken, onions, mushrooms, and spinach sauteed together, and all of it piled into tortillas. Oh, and corn bread. Which doesn't really go together, but hell, I wanted cornbread, so get off my ass.

I kept trying to think of some kind of spread we could put on the tortillas for flavor, and I ended up taking some sour cream and mixing greek seasoning and chili powder in it. I call it "Sour Cream Dip with Greek Seasoning and Chili Powder." Now, I know what you're thinking. "She's a freaking genius! Nobody's ever done that before! Forget Alton, this girl needs a food show!" I know, I know. Remain calm, we can have worship services at the altar of JR on Friday night. At the bar. You can buy me a shot. Because truly, I may have changed your life forever with the Awesomeness of the Dip.

Anyway, enough about my dip.

So, the Iron Chef episode on Sunday was great. The secret ingredient was FROZEEEN PEASSS (that's how the chairman says it, only he makes a funny face, too). I think that is a cool ingredient. They did some really interesting stuff with it.

At one point, early on, Mark and I were (I thought) trying to guess what they would make with the FROZEEEN PEASSS.

Mark suggested, "Pea soup!"

"Pea pie!"

"Peas in porridge!

"Pea sorbet!"

"Peas in porridge served cold!"

"Pea sorbet with frozen pea garnish!"

"PEAS IN PORRIDGE NINE DAYS OLD!"

I was cracking up; I hadn't realized where he was going with that, and when he yelled it, deadpan, I almost spit my beverage out.

That man is always trying to make me spit out beer.

---------------------------------------------------

Later that night, as I stuck my finger in the dip to eat some...

"You know, I'm thinking about dipping potato chips in this tomorrow."

"I know you are."

Maybe you had to be there to hear the dejected tone in his voice. But I think sometimes he knows me too well.

I have no funny stories, so here are some funny animals

2006-07-06T09:15:00.000-07:00

Lucy is a wee bit slutty. And also, check out the girth on that girl!*

Bubbas wants everybody to f--- off, or he will suck your blood.

Ethel can't believe I woke her up just for picture time.

And now, here are two shots of The Amazing Sammie from Poopville that demonstrate her enormous growth capacity.

At 10 weeks old, when we got her:

And currently, at 5 months and four days old:

*Ethel is actually the bigger of the two. By a pound or so.

I'm tired of trying to think of titles.

2006-07-05T09:57:00.000-07:00

Last week my friend Tyrone got hit on by a guy in a bar. Only problem is, Ty's straight and his hottie girlfriend was sitting next to him. But the guy hitting on him had such a great first line, we have been tormenting Ty with it ever since:

"Dude, I love your 'hawk."

Now how could you not want to go home with that guy?

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In honor of the 4th, I decided to have blue hair for the day. And in honor of Ty's (apparently) lovable 'hawk, I decided to have a blue mohawk.

After an exhaustive search* for wash-out blue hair dye (with the awesomeness that is Laura), I finally found this stuff that is actually hair gel, but blue colored. It didn't have quite the blue-ness effect that I had hoped for, but it did wash right out. Which means I got to talk Mark into letting me use it on his hair, too.

So here we are. Blue hair and mohawks and your mom, oh my!

*I may be exaggerating slightly. We went to three stores, and two of them were across from each other in the mall. But, as has been recently pointed out to me, I am a lazy American (I blame Bush) so that was a lot of walking for me.

Busting out the razor

2006-07-04T10:59:00.000-07:00

The other morning I was laying on Mark's shoulder, mostly still sleeping, when I got a hair up my nose. Luckily, I was perfectly logical and calm.

Lifting my head and swatting violently at my face, I yelled, "DUDE, STOP PUTTING YOUR NIPPLE HAIRS IN MY NOSE!"

"You might be the first person to ever use that phrase."

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Then this morning I was trying to get Mark to get out of bed, so I went to zerbert him, and I inhaled a hair.

"DUDE! I just inhaled a nipple hair! They are out of control this week!"

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Funniest thing is, Mark has very little chest hair (which I am eternally grateful for). So I think I may actually be inhaling rogue cat hairs.

I may have to shave all the animals in house.

Except the fish. They would get cold.

Good Lord, I love me some Laura

2006-07-03T11:25:00.000-07:00

Today, my stomach hurts not from the gastritis, but from the excessive laughing. I love when Laura comes to town. I think if she ever moves back here, I will end up with six-pack abs* from the laughing.

Seriously, the woman tells the absolute funniest stories ever, and she totally makes anything we do fun. I never had so much in PetSmart before, and I go there A LOT.

And Laura, I promise, the next time you visit I will remember to dry the grass.

But it wouldn't fit in the tank.

*Chrissy tells me this is possible. I have my doubts, but I'll never be thin enough to really find out.

-------------------------------------------------------

The other day it rained here while still being perfectly sunny outside. So we went out to look for the rainbow, and DUDE, it ended in OUR YARD.

Seriously.

Sammie from Poopville is sleeping on my right foot*

2006-07-01T23:37:00.000-07:00

I read online that my stomach problem is caused because I eat to much steak and dairy, which are considered acidic foods, and not enough vegetables, mostly raw. Mark had this to say:

"I love vegetables. I wish we ate more vegetables."

"I'm sorry. I will buy more when I shop."

"Nah, I wouldn't eat them anyway."

As you may have guessed, this conversation occurred during our second bottle of wine. Which may be the ACTUAL cause of my stomach problems. But regardless, Becker Vineyards rocks.

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Dude, my doctor told me I have to give up beer, soda, really anything carbonated, and.... CHOCOLATE. Seriously. I looked at the man like he was a damn fool, and he leaned into my face and said, "No more chocolate. Until I say so."

I almost cried. So hell with it, I ain't giving up my vino.

*This is irrelevant, but true.

Pay no attention to the messy house behind me

2006-06-30T13:07:00.000-07:00

I cut my hair! Those of you who know me know that I have a habit of cutting all my hair once every year or so, and then not even getting a trim in between, just grow it out, cut it off, grow it out, cut it off.

Well,this is shorter than I've gone before, and you know what? I look like my mother.

Which isn't so bad.

Honestly, I can't make this stuff up

2006-06-29T21:21:00.000-07:00

It's the middle of a busy shift. I am standing in front of two people seated at a table towards the back of the restaurant. I have four other tables I am taking care of, three with two people each and one with five VIP's.

JR: What would ya'll* like to drink this evening?

Man: I just want water.

Woman: You don't want tea?

Man: No. Just water.

Woman: You don't want a soda?

Man: Nope. I'm happy with water.

Woman: You can get hot tea...

Man: Just the water.

JR (totally interrupting): Ok! Water it is! And how about for you, ma'am?

(I glance around and note to self: table 22 is waiting to order dessert, table 24 needs to hear specials, table 27 needs clearing...)

Woman: I don't know.

JR: Well, why don't I give you another minute...

Woman: No, no, don't go, hold on.

JR: ....ok....

Woman: Hm. Well, I don't want wine.

Man: Nope.

Woman: I don't know... What did I have last time we were here?

Man: I don't know.

Woman: It was good... I remember that... Did I have tea?

Man: Maybe.

JR: So should I...

Woman: Just wait a second!

JR: Right.

Woman: I might have had coffee. Honey, did I have coffee?

Man: Yes. I remember. You had coffee.

Woman: Do you think I should have coffee again?

(Note: I had steam coming out my ears.)

Man: I don't know, was it good?

Woman: Yes. It was good. So should I have coffee then?

Man: I guess so. If you want coffee.

Woman: Hm...

JR: Socoffeethen?GreatI'llgetthatrightoutoyou! (I then take off at a rapid rate.)

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Just on an aside, she then had to have a brand new cup of coffee with every course (4 total). Not a fresh pour, A WHOLE NEW CUP AND SAUCER.

And, she stole sugar packets. The raw sugar ones, which are totally the most expensive.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

It's now the end of the evening. All of my other tables have left. I am standing at their table, trying to figure out their convoluted dessert order.

Woman: What's in the berry empanadas?

JR: Berries. (Ok, I didn't say that one - I said what the types of berries were.)

Woman: Hm. Now, are those berries whole or liquid?

JR: Well, it's a fruit filling... So... Neither. In between whole and liquid.

Woman: Oh, ok, I get it. (Really? Because I had no idea what I just said.)

JR: So you want to try the empanadas then?

Woman: Oh, no, I was just curious.

JR: Right. Of course. What would you like then?

Woman: I don't know. What are your ice creams today?

JR: Blah, blah, blah, white chocolate raspberry, blah, blah, blueberry, blah and I think also blah.

Woman: Wow. Okay, what was the third to last one?

JR: (desperately trying to remember the order I said them in, because it changes every time) Um.... Cherry?

Woman: No.

JR: Oh. Um, blueberry?

Woman: Yes! (get ready kids, here's the best part...) Blueberry ice cream. Ok... Can you describe that to me?

JR: (blank stare)

Woman: (inquisitive stare)

JR: Um... Um... It's blueberries... in ice cream... So... Blueberry ice cream.

Woman: Okay. I will have that.

Man: I will have the chocolate raspberry one.

Woman: Wait! I thought you were getting key lime pie!

Man: (looks at me) I WILL HAVE THE ICE CREAM.

JR: Ok then. I'll go get that right now.
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Seriously. As frustrating as that was for you to read, imagine my pain.

*Yes, I say ya'll to my tables. Bite me.

Turns out the internet in Indiana isn't that bad

2006-06-19T20:27:00.000-07:00

Jack's Sammie update in the comments of my last entry make Sammie sound pretty horrific... Which puppies can be sometimes, of course! But, to stop the sting a little, I thought I would post some recent pictures of her where everyone can see that her cuteness more than makes up for her issues!

My name's Doug, and I'm outta heeerrreeee.....*

2006-06-17T08:02:00.000-07:00

Well folks, Mark and I are off to Indiana to visit his family! Unless I brave the trials and tribulations of rural Indiana dial-up internet, this will be the last you hear from me for about 10 days.

Wish me luck with the in-laws - this will, after all, be only the 5th time I've ever met them! I must be on my best behavior!

*If anybody knows that reference, I will send you candy. Seriously.

Tonight At Work

2006-06-15T21:38:00.000-07:00

I live in Medium City. Nearby there is Big City. I have lived in Medium City for darn near 10 years. OBVIOUSLY, I know how to get from my city to the Big City.

Tonight I waited on a grumpy, mean old man. He was there with a young, hot, very booby-full young lady*. I felt pretty confident through the meal that she was actually his daughter, and insisted to the other servers that she was not, in fact, a prostitute. Although now that I HATE him, I'm more inclined to think that she was his hooker, because I can't possibly fathom why anyone would spend time with him if they weren't being paid to do so.

He was rude to me throughout their entire meal, but the worst thing happened just as they were preparing to leave.

Lady: "Excuse me, JR, can I ask you a question?"

JR: "Of course."

Grumpy: "Don't ask her."

Lady: (To Grumpy) "I want a second opinion!" (To me) "What's the best way to get to Big City from here?"

JR: (opens mouth to answer) "W-..."

Grumpy: "I already told you! Don't ask her, she doesn't know anything!"

I just turned and walked away. Dude had already paid (and tipped FOR SHIT), clearly he needed nothing else from me.

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Most nights, as much as I bitch about it, I actually love my job. Dealing with different people everyday keeps things interesting. And let's face it, I make more working 25 hours a week then I ever did working 40+ hours at a "real" job. Plus, I get to work with people I adore, and did I mention I only work 25 hours a week? Seriously,I got a really good thing going here. But man, it's nights like tonight that I HATE EVERYBODY AND WANT TO POUR COFFEE ON THEIR LAPS.

I "don't know anything"... I'll tell you what I DO know, I know that guy was lucky I do like my job, or I would have told him a thing or two. Actually, on that note, I would like to point out how awesome the owner of the restaurant (and my friend) is - when I told him what had happened he actually got up and said, "Where? What guy? Are they still here?" They weren't, but he really would have gone over there and said something. He's done it for me before. And you know why? Cause he's awesome. Like ten million hot dogs**.

Right after the restaurant first opened (I've been there since day one; I'm resistant to change) I had a table of "ladies who lunch" that were upset by how much their mimosa's cost. Even after the manager went over and talked to them about it, they still seemed to blame me. When they left without leaving any tip AT ALL, I bitched and moaned, like I do, 'cause I'm JR, that's how I roll. The owner overheard me, and pointed out that the ladies hadn't left yet, they were in the bathroom. He then went and stood by the front door waiting for them. When they came out and went to leave he did this:

"Ladies, how was everything today?"

"Oh, it was great, everything was excellent!" (People love talking to the owner.)

"And how was your service today?"

"It was excellent as well!"

"Oh really? Because you didn't tip your server at all. So I was just wondering what that was all about."

They were so flustered, it was hysterical. And in the almost five years I've been there, I've never once seen any of them return. And I've never doubted my boss' devotion to his staff. Even if he does drive me crazy telling me where my own food goes***.

*I realize I am playing it kinda fast and loose with the term "lady."

**If you don't know what that is from (JACK SHUT UP) then I can't be your friend anymore.

***Boss' wife, if you happen to read this, show that to him. He will crack up, as the "telling me about my own tables" has been a recent joke between us. And I am sorry that I just called you "boss' wife," but I am trying to keep the establishment anon, since I just bitched about a guest.

My Darling Donkey

2006-06-14T22:39:00.000-07:00

Down the street from our house there lies a field. In this field there lives many cows. And... Batman & Robin.

Batman is a donkey, and might I add a very pretty little black and brown donkey. Robin is either a miniature horse or a mule, nobody seems to really be sure. But Batman and Robin are best friends and very rarely seen apart. The exception to this is when the cows are around - Batman fears the cows* like Superman fears kryptonite, and he always moves to another field, while Robin doesn't mind the cows and will happily share their hay.

Batman got his name because one day we were driving by his field as he was peeing. I exclaimed, apropos of nothing, "That donkey is hung like Batman!" Much like the breed of Robin, nobody seems to be sure why I would think that Batman would be at all hung like a donkey. However, from that day on the donkey and mule/horse have been known to me, Mark, and all who roam in our circle as Batman & Robin**.

Since Mark moved into Bert*** several years ago, we have seen Batman and Robin do some fairly strange things. For example, there is a small mound of dirt in the field that Batman has a bit of a fondness towards. He likes to get up on top of it and "BRRRAAAAAAEEE" at the top of his lungs, showing his teeth, and his innate Batman-ness to all the world driving past. And lest you be thinking that this is out in the country, Batman's field is actually on the corner of a very busy street and one of Texas' main interstates. Because that's just how we roll here in the Lone Star State.

Anyway, the whole point of this story is to tell you about Mark cracking me the hell up describing another strange activity Batman & Robin were spotted engaging in. We were just driving down the road this weekend, when he casually busts out with:

"The other day Batman was really giving it to Robin."

"WHAT?!?!?!"

"Batman was giving it to Robin."

"You mean like... wait... what? SEXUALLY?!?!?!"

"Well, I didn't see actual intercourse, but there was mounting."

"WHAT? But... that's never... I mean... WOW. So wait, Robin is a girl? OH MY GOD, what if they have babies?!"

"{laughing} I guess we could name them Ratmans. Or Bobbins."

As you may have guessed, I'm pretty attached to Batman & Robin****. And, I truly do hope for little Bat babies. Although, I have not yet confirmed Robin's gender, so there may be very little chance of baby production. And, I guess, if Robin is actually a mule, Batman was just practicing safe sex.

*A while back, Mark and I were playing Taboo with a couple of friends. That's the game where you have to get your partner to say a word, without using any of the words listed on the card, which are usually the most common descriptive words for the word you have to get your partner to say. Like, if you needed your partner to say "pen," you probably couldn't say ink, paper, writing, etc. I had to get Mark to say "cow," and in a tactical move that I wowed myself with, the first words out of my mouth were, "Batman runs from these everyday!" Mark immediately guessed "COW!" We totally won that game.

**Across the highway there is another field. In that one there are also lots of cows, and a very rarely spotted white and tan donkey. I call him The Joker. Please note that I am not a particular fan of the Batman comics and/or movies, rather I am pretty indifferent to Superheros in general. The exception to that is, of course, The Incredible Hulk, or, as he is known in my family, the Ho Tie Duck. When I was a wee child I loved The Incredible Hulk series, but I couldn't pronounce it, and it always came out Ho Tie Duck. It seems odd to me that I would name the donkey, mule/horse, and other donkey after Batman characters instead of Ho Tie Duck characters. I mean, why didn't I say,"That donkey is hung like the Ho Tie Duck!"? But my brain works in ways even I fail to understand.

***In case anyone missed it in a previous post, Bert is the name of our house. Don't ask questions, just accept.

****SO SAD that in a few years they plan to build a town center right on Batman's field! And by the by, how lame and old school is it to call something a "Town Center?" This city, I tell you what...

2006-06-13T16:04:00.000-07:00

Some of Bubbas' most recent work. Dragged my pants out of the bedroom, around the coffee table and actually up onto the fireplace. This is the first time he's moved clothing upward. He seems to be taking pride in his accomplishment, which is also a little odd for him.

The Great JayAre, Destroyer And Rebuilder Of All Things Laundry

2006-06-13T15:35:00.000-07:00

Dirty Laundry, Part C

2006-06-13T14:07:00.000-07:00

You know those Before Photos? I feel the need to explain that the blue stuff dripping down the walls isn't just because I am a disgusting slob. That was one of the side effects of Bert throwing the detergent off the shelf. It splashed all over the whole room.

Now, these first two photos are of the laundry room after the first time I scraped the walls, on Tuesday.

This is me painting the trim, last Tuesday night. Gee, doesn't it look like everything is just fine? No idea that the paint will continue to chip, or that my stomach is plotting a violent rebellion.

So, after all the hoopla with my stomach, we finally got started on the laundry room yesterday. I say we because I did manage to convince Mark to help me. Hooray for spouses! We went to Lowe's and spent a small fortune on things like: an electric sander, the cabinet we wanted, new base boards, a new fancy light fixture*, and various accessories needed for the job (sandpaper, masks, primer, tape, etc.).

We spent all day in that darn little room. Scraping, sanding, scraping, sanding... I swear, when this is over, I am not saying either of those words again for at least a month. Maybe a year.

It got to be that everytime we thought we were close to done, we would find more chipping. Finally I did the one thing I should have done in the very beginning. I called our contractor friend for advice.

And you know what he said? He said stop scraping and put the primer on already! Primer will hide chipping and make it restick or some such business. PRIMER WILL HEAL MY WALLS!

Tyrone will be getting a very special case of beer from me.

So we did just that. We primed. And guess what? It worked. The walls are primed and ready to be painted.

Of course, we actually still have a lot of work ahead of us. We went ahead and tried to cut the baseboards, and we messed up only a little bit. We only have to go back to Lowe's (AGAIN) to buy enough baseboard for one wall. The other three turned out fine.

So we still have to:

-Cut the remaining baseboard.

-Nail up the baseboards.

-Paint the walls. (We opted for the easy option of texturing: a sand-like texture that you mix right into your paint. Saves time and money and F--- IT IT'S JUST THE LAUNDRY ROOM.)

-Hang the new light.

-Hang the cabinets. Actually, we need to go to Lowe's (AGAINAGAINWHENWILLITEND) and buy one more cabinet, we want two and they only had one in stock.

-Paint the baseboards.

But all of this will have to wait a few days, because the dirty laundry became overwhelming. I had to give in today and move the washer and dryer back into the room and hook them up. So far I've done 4 loads of laundry, but there are many more to go. However, with my work week beginning tomorrow, and our impending vacation to visit the in-laws starting Saturday and lasting 10 days, and then when we get back I have to go for more testing on my stomach... this laundry room may remain unfinished for three more weeks.

But I will finish it. I refuse to be one of those people with half finished projects all over the house. From now on, I will be known as The Great JayAre, Destroyer And Rebuilder Of All Things Laundry.

*I have previously stated that the light fixture was the one nice item in our laundry room. I stand by that statement. Our light fixture is very pretty and matches all the other light fixtures. However, Mark pointed out that having an exhaust fan in the room might stop paint from peeling in the future. So we had to buy a light fixture that was both fancy and a fan. Which means Mark has to re-wire the room, too. THE LIST KEEPS GROWING.

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Does it bother anyone else that Rachel Ray talks to us (the TV public) like we are four? I am old enough for proper english, please stop calling sandwiches "sammies" and mashed potatoes "smashed potatoes." Seriously Rachel, I love your food, stop pissing me off.

I know this seems random, but she is on in the background while I type.

Dirty Laundry Part Deux

2006-06-12T12:15:00.000-07:00

Back to last Monday.

So, I get all the crap out of the laundry room.

And I discover, behind the washer and dryer, that the paint, the paint that is only a few years old, is chipping. Upon closer inspection of the room, I find that there are spots all over the place where the paint is chipping. Just little, tiny spots, that I never would have noticed if I wasn't going to paint in there. So I think, well, I guess I can just sand the walls down a little bit in those areas.

I locate some sanding paper and a piece of wood to wrap it around, and start sanding.

And the paint begins to peel right off the walls.

Hmmmm.

So I do what anyone in this situation would do. I call my daddy.

He tells me that what I need to actually do is scrap the paint off the walls. Not all of it, mind you, but wherever it is peeling, start scraping. He recommended going to Lowe's and buying a paint scraper. But, I didn't want to have to get dressed (not that I was naked, but I don't go out in shorts) so I called Mark and asked him to pick one up for me on his way home from work. In the meantime I started scrapping using a spackel putter-on-er. You know what I mean, those little knife things you use to, well, put spackel on a wall. A putty knife, that's it.

I am amazed at the amount of paint coming off these walls. Before long the floor is covered in paint chips. And I discover that when they painted this room, they just did two big coats covering the baseboards and the walls, together, so when I am scraping and get to the baseboards, the paint is peeling off there, too.

What's the most logical thing to do in that situation?

Pull off the baseboards.

I discover wet drywall behind two areas of the baseboards, which caused big dents/holes to form in the drywall when I pried the baseboards off. I dent the walls elsewhere with my handy day crowbar trying to pry off the brackety things for the shelf that was in there, because hey, if you're gonna make a mess, make a MESS.

I also discover that scraping the paint means I'm looking at bare drywall. That means that when I re-paint the walls, there will be spots with no texturing, which will look stupid.

So, I call my dad again. He tells me what to buy to re-texture the areas I am scraping clean. I call Mark and ask him to pick that up, too. He sighs heavily. His life with me is very hard.

Seriously. That's not a joke.

Anyway, I continue scraping the walls. Eventually I wear out and decide I want to go to Lowe's, too, so I call Mark and catch him on the way, and convince him to come home and take me with him to the store.

He arrives at home and sighs heavily, again, at the mess I have made. Then he examines the shelves I bought and tells me that if we're gonna do something, we might as well DO IT, so let's save these to put in the garage and buy a fancy cupboard for the laundry room.

We go to Lowe's, get the paint scraper, among other things I can't even remember now, I've been to Lowe's so much this week. And we picked out the obscenely expensive cabinet that we will purchase once the painting is done.

So, now, that was on Monday. On Tuesday, I scrap the walls, sand the walls, texture the walls, and seem to think I have got it all under control. I started painting, and about halfway through my first coat, the paint started chipping and peeling off right under my roller.

Now it is I that am sighing heavily.

Clearly I have to go back, scrap down the walls almost entirely, retexture AGAIN, and then paint. I decide to start over on Wednesday afternoon.

Wednesday morning I have to get up and take the puppy to get spayed, and then go to work. Except that Wednesday was the day from hell, the day I woke up with searing, mind-numbing, doubled-over-can't-walk PAIN in my stomach. I did manage to get the dog to the vet, and get to work, but shortly after arriving at work I couldn't take it anymore and broke down in tears like a little wussy girl. So, long story short on that one, I ended up spending the day in the hospital getting poked and jabbed and x-rayed and made to drink things that make me in loopy moods, and then the next three days laying around my house, waiting for the WONDERFUL drug to kick in. Which it finally has, god bless the one a day purple pill called Nexium.

Needless to say, the laundry room didn't get touched again until Sunday. Almost a week after the "one hour painting project" originally began. And, might I just casually mention, THE DIRTY LAUNDRY HAS TAKEN OVER THE HOUSE PLEASE COME SAVE ME IT IS COMING FOR MY SOUL.

I must sleep now

2006-06-08T07:59:00.000-07:00

I'm totally working on finishing my laundry room post. But yesterday I got knocked out with a rather painful bout of Gastritis (my stomach is producing too much acid), so I'm gonna be pretty out of it for a couple days, until my medication kicks in and the pain stops.

So the laundry room and the post about it will remain unfinished for a little while.

Before Pictures

2006-06-06T14:32:00.000-07:00

Dirty Laundry

2006-06-06T13:17:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I decided to paint the laundry room. I've been planning to do it for some time now - the laundry room is right off the front entry way, and we usually just keep the door closed. Not that is was hideous looking at all, it's just a small white room with one shelf, the dryer and the washer*.

Last year I painted the entry way a lovely color called Desert Something-Or-Other, which was the middle choice on a color palate of three. I decided I would paint the laundry the dark choice on that palate, Mesa Tumbleweed. (It's dark tan, people.) I intend to paint the living room Desert Something-Or-Other once it gets too hot for me to keep working in the yard and I am trapped inside all day. Which should be Saturday. (Did you guys hear it's supposed to be 100 degrees all weekend? Freaking Texas.)

So, yesterday afternoon I went to a movie, 'cause I'm thinking, "Hey, it's a small room, two coats of paint, easy-peasy, I totally have time to watch Jennifer and Vince break up." After the movie I went down the street to Lowe's and spent some time looking around, walking off my popcorn AND nachos. I love that store. It makes me want to tear up all kinds of stuff in our house.

I was so confident that it would be an easy painting job that I even bought some fancy decorative shelves to hang in there after the paint dries. We already have a fancy-schmancy light fixture, so I was good there**. I bought my shelves, paint, rollers, and even remember to buy hollow wall screw thingies for the shelves. Feeling rather proud of myself, I went home.

I cleared out all the crap out of the room, moved the washer and dryer into the hallway, and then all hell broke loose.

I would like to show you some before pictures of my laundry room. However, the only shots I have are of the time that Bert rejected the detergent. The big thing of laundry detergent somehow slid off the shelf, bounced off the washer, and landed upright (thank goodness) on the floor. Made quite a mess***. So, I will show you these pictures, just so you can see the basic-ness of the room, and how painting it should be SUCH AN EASY JOB.

Okay, for some reason I it's not adding the pictures to this post. I will try to get them in a new post.

*WAsher not WRAsher.

**There was a plastic white round cover fixture up there when Mark moved in, but Bert hated it. (Bert is the name of our house. Try to keep up.) Bert would literally throw it on the ground every time Mark screwed it in. Bert is not haunted, he was just rejecting the ugly light fixture. Much in the same way your body might reject a greasy burger or a bucket of beans. So we put a fancy fixture in when we replaced the fixtures in the hallway.

***I promise, Bert's not haunted. Or if he is, the spirits are somehow confined to the laundry room. And if they are in there, I wish they would learn to fold towels.

A Conversation With My Boss

2006-06-05T21:30:00.000-07:00

Boss: "...So anyway, she was a tea seller, and she made us bring virgin pots to brew the tea in."

Staff: "Virgin pots?"

Boss: "Yeah, virgin pots, you know, pots that haven't been used before."

Staff: "Why can't you brew tea in a pot that has a little experience under it's belt?"

Boss: "You can. But she seemed to think that unless it was a virgin pot, it would taint the tea."

Staff: "A non-virgin pot would taint the tea."

Boss: "And nobody wants tainted tea. That's not the kind of teabag you want."

This is why I love my job, people.

Stoned Puppy

2006-06-02T22:33:00.000-07:00

This post is insanely long and boring. Peruse at your own risk.

2006-06-01T09:58:00.000-07:00

This week has been all about the dog.

On Monday, she was supposed to get spayed. So, we took her to Banfield at 7am and dropped her off. She was supposed to get her vaccinations, as well. We went back home and I went back to sleep. Mark occupied himself elsewhere. Who knows what men do when left to their own devices? Anyway.

About 9am the pet hospital calls to tell me they probably won't do the vaccinations today because they don't want to put her through that much stress after surgery. Fine, whatever.

About 10am the pet hospital calls to tell me that they don't have a doctor coming in. Sammie will not be getting spayed or vaccinated today. Sorry for the inconvenience, we'll keep her here till 5pm if you have plans already. {sigh}

We go pick her up around 2pm. I felt too guilty to leave her there for no reason. We make arrangements for her to come back on Wednesday, assuming there will be a doctor. They say they will call and confirm with me.

They never call.

Wednesday morning I wake up at 7am. I decided not to drive the dog in unless I knew she would be having the surgery today, so I start trying to call the office, which supposedly opens at 7am. They don't answer the phone till close to 7:30, but tell me that they do have a doctor coming in.

So, I drag my happy ass out of bed, throw on my clothes from the day before, forget to brush my hair, and drop off the dog. I make it home before 8am, so Mark can take the truck to work.

See, we have two cars (that are working... SO WHITE TRASH), a Tundra and a TransAm. We bought a cover for the backseat of the Tundra, so that is the dog car. She barely fits in the TransAm anyway (40 lbs already). The plan is for Mark to take off work early and pick her up around 5pm, since I have to go to work at 4:30. Nothing is ever simple here.

I get back home, Mark goes to work, and I have a nice lazy morning reading. At noon, my phone rings, but I don't get to it in time to answer. So I get a message, "Mrs. JayAre, this is Dr. So&So. I need to speak with you about Sammie. Please call me right back."

Panic sets in. I KNEW we shouldn't have gotten her fixed! She's dead, she's bleeding, oh my poor dog...

So I call her back. The nurse answers, I tell her who I am, and she says, "Oh, hi. Let me get the doctor for you." MORE PANIC SOMEBODY JUST TELL ME SHE'S ALIVE...

"Mrs. JayAre? Yes, I need to talk to you about your little Sammie. We did her blood work before surgery,and it turns out we can't operate today."

(BECAUSE SHE'S DEAD!?!?!?!?!?!)

"Sammie is a little bit anemic, and I don't feel comfortable operating on her until we get that fixed and figure out why."

She then proceeds to tell me they have no idea why the dog is anemic. It might be that there are still roundworms in her, they will do a fecal exam. But it might not be that, it might be another kind of worm.... Long story short, Sammie has to be on another round of de-wormer (even though it turns out they couldn't find any parasites) and she has to take vitamins, and we will take her in again next week for another blood test. {heavy sigh}

She also tells me that this is why Sammie sleeps so often. I have noticed her sleeping a lot, right? "Um, nope. She's very active. In fact, on that little check-in sheet you had me fill out, I checked the 'more active than normal' box." The doctor laughs. "Well, wait till we get this fixed."

Maybe we should let her stay anemic until she's out of the puppy phase.

So, the doctor tells me I can come pick her up anytime. I say I'll be there in an hour. I hang up and then realize that I have the wrong car to pick the dog up. But, I don't want to leave her there all day. I call Mark and we decide that if I lay her bed across the backseat she'll probably be okay.

I end up not getting there to pick her up until close to 2pm, because I'm JR, that's how I roll. The doctor is gone on lunch, so I don't even get to talk to her. I do get to wait THIRTY MINUTES to talk to the Nurse Practitioner person. She tells me all the anemia stuff again, and says if her bloodwork is okay next week they will operate then. I ask if they at least gave her the vaccinations, 'cause she's due for her rabies and we really want to take her to the dog park. Nurse says, "Oh, we can do that right now." I ask her to also look at the bruises on top of Sammie head and on her leg, they seem to be taking a long time to heal.

TWENTY MINUTES later, Nurse comes back out with the Amazing Sammie from Poopville. Shots are done, but hey, let's talk about these bruises.

Not so much bruises. It's actually hair loss, probably from a hereditary form of mange called "Demodectic Mange." {heavy heavy dramatic sigh dear god this is why she was free}

Next week they will do a skin scraping to make sure that's what it is, no worries, it's fixable. And it explains why she has been shedding so much lately. Fine, I can deal with mange.

Now comes the fun, bodily function portion of this post.

Halfway home, uncomfortably laying in the back of the TransAm, Sammie vomits (bright yellow!) all over her bed. And my sweater. Which actually is the same shade of yellow, so it blended. Don't worry, I washed it anyway. I may leave the house without brushing my hair, but I don't wear dog puke.

We get home, I clean out the car, and we go out back. Sammie doesn't like to "go potty" unless it's on her own turf. She will hold it FOREVER - kind of worrisome on road trips. But anyway.

She poops. It is the biggest poop I have ever seen. Then she keeps pooping. Walking around the yard, shooting little poops out, like tiny brownish-yellowish water-y missiles. As she's walking, and pooping (did I mention the pooping?), she begins throwing up again. It was horrible. She was shaking, she could barely hold herself up, stuff just shooting out of every orifice. I couldn't even get her to come to me. Panic begins to build.

So, I run inside and start digging through my purse for my cell, which has the vets number programmed in, because I'm crazy like that. Can't find my cell. Panic is growing. Run outside to check, Sammie still puking and pooping, start to run back inside for the house phone, and realize my cell is in my pocket. Duh. Even through my panic I realize I am a total idiot.

I call the vet, and the very nice young man from the front desk answers. I tell him what's going on, and he says, "Hold on, let me ask the vet what you should do." He comes back on two seconds later and tells me to bring her back in immediately, it's probably just a reaction to the vaccines, but still, get her in here.

So, I chase down the dog, throw her in the car, and take off. She has miraculously stopped vomiting, and she stopped trying to poo when I grabbed her. At this point it's 3pm, and I have to leave for work in an hour and a half. I decide to call and say I might be late, because I really have no idea what's going on. Turns out they had too many waitstaff on for the night anyway, and my manager gives me the whole night off. I should buy him a candy bar.*

I get her in to the pet hospital, and the nurse comes out, grabs the leash and says, "We'll watch her, if it keeps up we'll give her a steroid to help, we'll call you if anything happens, come back around 5 or 5:30." And off she goes, running.

Um, okay.

I stand there for a minute, calming down and getting my bearings. Then I get back to the car, call my mommy, and start bawling.

Yes, I know, I am dumb. But I cry easily, and I couldn't get in touch with Mark, and seriously, if you had seen the dog SHAKING so bad she could hardly stand and all the vomit and poo... Dude, it was really scary. And yes, I know (Brittany!) that I am crazy when it comes to my dog. But that's just how I roll. You should see me when anything happens to my cats. INSANITY.

So, they never call. I go and pick her up at 5:30, and they tell me that she has to take Benadryl for a couple days, because it helps with the allergic reaction she apparently had to one of the vaccines. They gave me the Benadryl free of charge, which I think was pretty darn nice of them.

Benadryl makes a dog act pretty funny. First there's a lot of running and frantic-ness for about 30 minutes, then there's PLOP and out cold. For hours.

She hasn't moved from one spot in two hours, except for when I literally DRAGGED her outside to pee. Then she came right back to the same spot. I took a picture but it won't let me post that right now. Maybe later.

Why we wasted our money on THREE dog beds... Good lord.

*The man LOVES him some chocolate. LOVES LOVES LOVES in a woman-PMSing-just-got-dumped sort of way.

Bounty really does clean up our spills

2006-05-30T21:26:00.000-07:00

JR: Sammie, if you stopped eating paper towels, maybe your butt wouldn't be so clogged!

Mark: Yeah, but at least she's self-wiping.

I'm JR, and I take inappropriate pictures of my dog.

2006-05-28T20:59:00.000-07:00

This post is all about butts and bodily functions.

2006-05-28T20:19:00.000-07:00

"You can look at my butt cheeks, just not my butt crack!"

"Ok, fine, fine, butt cheek, butt cheek, no crack. Just one big butt cheek."

Silence.

"One SMALL buttcheek! Small!"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This is where it gets gross, because we are gross people.

First of all, you should know that Mark and I talked A LOT about farts and poop. That's just how we roll.

Secondly, you need to know about our special occasions. We always have names for birthday weekends and anniversaries, etc. And we tend to reuse the same phrase because it makes us laugh. I don't know why.

So, from Friday night through Tuesday night, we called our weekend the Anniversary Weekend Extravaganza Blowout. And here's how you pronounce it: Happy Anniversary Weekend EXTRAAAVAGAAAAAAAAAANZA blowout. The blowout is always said small, like an afterthought.

Thirdly, you need to remember that we talk about farts and poop a lot.

With that knowledge in your heads, I give you the following conversation. It took place at a small German restaurant on Sunday night in Fredericksburg.

Mark was having Jagar Schnitzel, which is fried pork and mushrooms. HEAVEN.

JR: Can I have another bite? Yummmmm... You know, mushrooms give me the farts.

Mark: JR, that's why we call it a blowout.

JR: Well sure, except I haven't pooped today.

Mark: Me neither. And JR, that's why we call it an EXTRAAAVAGAAAAAAAAANZA.

Maybe you had to be there. But I swear, Jagar Schnitzel almost came out my nose.

Name that frog!!!

2006-05-28T16:17:00.000-07:00

Many of the people who read this blog have attended Mark & JayAre's Super Awesome Superbowl Blowout.* Therefore, most of you know about the tackiness. But for those of you that don't, or may not have noticed, let me explain...

Mark and I love tacky stuff.

Our plan is to eventually have the office in our house be filled with trashy decorations. Ironically, of course. The rest of the house will be perfectly nice.**

Let me give you some examples of a few items already in place in the office:

First, we have the Falstaff Beer Plastic Light-Up Trophy. I found this in my grandma's closet and had to have it. Apparently, it was my grandfather's. I never knew the man, but I can safely wager that he must have been neat-o:

Next, we have the Live Nudes Neon Sign That We Got At The Company Christmas Party***. I love White Elephant gift exchanges. I came home with a case of beer and Mark came home with this:

Thirdly, we have the obligatory Roseanne Barr Style Dogs Playing Poker Poster. This hangs right over Mark's computer:

So, here's the best part. When we were in Fredericksburg, we were walking down the street, possibly drinking some beer, when Mark stopped in front of a store and said, "Look at that."

It was a giant frog statue. Wearing a chef apron that says "Kiss the Cook" and a chef hat that has a giant kiss print on the top. Seriously.

So, we walk up to the statue and are marveling at it. First of all, it's tacky. Secondly, I collect frogs. It's listed as being $125, but it's on clearance for $40. Just as I am explaining to Mark that "this is the tackiest thing I've ever seen" the owner of the shop walks out. He says, "I'll sell you that tacky frog for $25."

I look at Mark, he looks at me, we look at the frog, Sammie barks, and Mark pulls out his wallet.

Now, the frog will eventually end up in the tacky room. But for now, we love it too much to banish it that far away. So it is living in the kitchen.

Please note the oregano that is actually growing. I will be accepting compliments on Monday between 3 and 4 pm.

Anyway, here's the part we need help with: naming the frog. I name EVERYTHING. No, really, everything. Ask me the name of any of my belongings, cars, the house, whatever, I promise you I have named it.

So far, we have come up with Chef Toad English, Chef Bobby Frog, and Chef Toadimoto. We are leaning towards Chef Toad English, but are welcoming any and all suggestions.

Also, we have absolutely NO IDEA what the holes are for - there's one in his left hand that I think is for a flag pole- it came with a rolled up Confederate flag shoved in there, but I threw that away. There's another hole in his left hand that is too big for a flag, and two in his apron. All the holes are too small for beer, bottled or canned, we already tried. Our only other thought is maybe for Herb (cause there's a fucking H in it) growing. Any ideas on that?

*Seriously, it's SUPER AWESOME. And you know what would make it even more awesome? Awesome-er, if you will? IF THE FREAKING COLTS WOULD GO TO THE DAMN SUPERBOWL. Geez.

**With the exception of Mark's Gigantic Television. Because he likes to watch Keith Olberman larger than life... Mark is reading over my shoulder and says that his TV is not tacky. I responded with, "But it's not perfectly nice." He is now pointing out that it is perfectly nice, unless of course I want him to get the 72 inch TV. Because he feels that would of course be less tacky than the 65 inch. Of course. Anyway.

***Rumor holds that anytime this sign is lit I must get naked. Mom and Dad, I promise it's not true.

(Thank you to Mark, for acting as my hand model in the first two pictures.)

It's an actual place full of people's crap

2006-05-25T09:34:00.000-07:00

Barb: So, I went to a baby shower a while back, and it turns out it was all a big lie.

JR: There wasn't really a baby shower? You went to nothing?

Barb: Oh no, there was a shower. There was no BABY. She made it all up.

Brit: What? How?

Barb: She just told everyone she was pregnant and we all believed her. She just admitted she made it up because everyone was asking 'Where's the baby?'

Brit: That's insane.

JR: Did she LOOK pregnant?

Barb: No, she never gained any weight.

{crickets chirping}

JR and Brit: Umm..... Why did you believe she was pregnant then?

Barb: I'm actually friends with her mother. Her mother SWORE it was true.

{wow those crickets are loud}

Barb: The worst part is, she never returned any of the gifts. You would think that if you made the whole thing up you would return the gifts.

JR: True, you don't need baby stuff if there's no baby.

Brit: I wonder what she did with them.

Barb: I don't know. Maybe she sold them on the eBay.

Funny Friends and Fredricksburg

2006-05-21T00:03:00.000-07:00

If any of you haven't checked out the website names that Jack and Amy have made up for all of their comments on my posts, you totally should. That is some damn funny shit.

I am very lucky to have friends that can bring such laughter to me at 2am.

Also, on an unrelated subject, Mark and I are leaving for Fredricksburg tomorrow morning (I should SO be in bed right now). We've rented an 1850's cabin (Original flooring! My goodness!) for the night to celebrate our anniversary. Hopefully I'll have a few stories when we get back. Since we are taking the dog with, chances are good for bad behavior stories.

I hope it's haunted. ;-)

A Letter From Sammie (from Poopville)

2006-05-20T14:24:00.000-07:00

Dear Grandma and Grandpa,

Thank you so much for buying my mama and daddy the cooler-cart. Now they are happy because the beer is more readily available, and I am happy because I can chase the draining water. Mama says I look like a batdog in this picture.

Love,
Sammie

PS - Thanks again for the BARKING chew toy. Really. Can't get enough of it.

Why couldn't I be a little dog person?

2006-05-18T15:04:00.000-07:00

It's been a very trying month for me. Having a new puppy means that nothing you care remotely about can be left laying around anymore. And people, I am ALL ABOUT leaving things laying around. But, like Mark told me, it doesn't matter if it's a sock you don't care about, the puppy doesn't know the difference between that one and a sock you DO care about. His point was later proven when I had to pull one of my favorite Oscar the Grouch socks from her mouth. Actually, it was about half way down her throat. It may have been easier to pull from the other side.

But anyway, the existence of puppy teeth in our home has meant a big change in my lifestyle. See, I HATE SHOES. And socks. I like bare feet, cause I'm white trash. Deal with it.

So, my shoes usually get kicked off immediately upon entering the house. Socks never make it very much further. This annoys Mark to no end, who can't understand why I don't JUST WEAR SOCKS so at least I don't have cold feet all the time. I can't explain it, it's just how I roll. Mark hates having bare feet. He always has his socks on. That's just how he rolls. POLAR OPPOSITES.

Anyway, I tend to dislike pants as well. Not as intensely, but enough so that basically, our house has my clothes all over the place.

But I am not the only one. There is another culprit. Oh yes, gentle readers, I have a helper.

Bubbas.

Ever since he was a wee little kitty (and I do mean WEE - I got him at 4 weeks old), Bubbas has harbored a bit of a clothing fetish. Let me amend that, it's really more of a fabric fetish. What he does is this: He hunts down an item that appeals to him, from somewhere on the floor of either my closet, the bathroom, the bedroom, or the laundry room (all these rooms are on one side of the house). Much sniffing happens. I do not know the thought process for the final selection, but he always seems to find what he is looking for. He then straddles his find, takes as much of it as he can in his mouth, and begins the trek to the living room. Items are always taken into the living room (or entry way), never out. He straddles the item the entire way, and he also makes a low, growl-y, meow-y noise. You can ALWAYS hear him coming.

Once he makes it to the living room, he drops the item and walks away. He never looks back. "Who, me? I've never seen those jeans before. Mom! Stop leaving your clothes all over the place!"

Often we are amazed at his strength and determination. Once, when I lived in my own apartment, I came home to find my double-sized feather comforter pulled off my bed and brought into the living room. And occasionally, he hits the nail on the head. Last week I came home from work tired, sweaty, and smelly; I just couldn't wait to get out of my uniform. And there in the entry way, right in front of the door, was my bathrobe. Very convenient. Sometimes when I come home from a big lunch, cursing my jeans, I find my favorite pair of comfy pants in the living room. On those days, Bubbas is my favorite creature ever.*

So my point is, after all that digression, this last month has been rough. Trying to keep all the clothes picked up has stressed me (an Bubbas) out. But I had the hope, the light at the end of the puppy tunnel, the knowledge that one day, one day soon, Sammie would stop chewing on other people's belongings. And then I could once again leave my clothes around.

And this is still true. But now we have a bigger problem.

NOW... I have to start doing dishes the minute I finish eating off them, instead of leaving them on the counter. Unless I want them cleaned by puppy tongue. Because I just HAD TO HAVE a Great Dane.

*I took this picture right after I moved in, that's why there's a dresser in the entry way. I'm not THAT bad about getting undressed immediately. But it should be noted, the black and white on the left of the photo is my work uniform. Which means it was removed that day just inside the room.

I guess I should have saved those nasty roots

2006-05-16T06:50:00.000-07:00

I believe it was a soaptree yucca. It actually looked like some kind of ugly-ass hybrid between a soaptree and a banana yucca, but the roots were all wet and sticky and milky inside. I think that makes it a soaptree. Just in case anyone was interested.

http://helios.bto.ed.ac.uk/bto/desertecology/yuccas.htm

Delirious with fever

2006-05-15T18:18:00.000-07:00

So, I worked in the yard all day. MUCHO MUCHO working happened. One bush, one dead tree and one very ugly plant/yucca/palm tree type thing* (that was hateful and housed scary weird bugs) were all dug up. Weeds were pulled. Holes were filled. Flowers were planted around trees and bushes (ok, one tree and one bush). I attempted to dig out an extra fence post (one of many**) but my arms gave out after 40 minutes of digging around the concrete. There are people that might read this that will think, "So? I work in my yard all the time." Well, I DO NOT. This is a very big deal.

We have a fairly unattractive backyard. Since it is visible from the main road, at least until we get a fence in a couple weeks, I intend to beautify the ugliness as much as possible. Until I lose interest, that is. Tomorrow I will dig up a square of yard next to the house, fence it off with pretty decorative fencing that has already been purchased from the Wonder That Is Target, and plant sunflower seeds.

But tomorrow, I will wear sunblock. No matter how nice and cool it is outside, no matter whether or not I wear a hat, no matter whether or not I remember my sunglasses, no matter whether or not I remember to get dressed, I WILL WEAR SUNBLOCK. Because today... today I did not.

Granted, I have a Nicole Kidman***/Irish skin tone, so I lobsterize**** very easily and quickly. But still.

*I intend to look up the ugly hateful plant on the internet. Don't worry, I know that thousands of people are riveted by my stories, so I will report back any findings.

**Who builds fences in the middle of the yard? The guy that owned the house before Mark, that's who. He lives a few houses down from us now. I've half a mind to go down there and tell that man a thing or two.

***I'm laughing as I write this. Her complexion on three of her bodies. And not so much a beautiful milky white as a freckle-y blinding white.

****I can make all the words I want. Shut up.

Battle of the Sexes

2006-05-15T17:14:00.000-07:00

Have any of you ever played the board game Battle of the Sexes? It's really fun. Mark and I like to bust it out when we are hanging out with either of our families. There's very little in it that isn't family appropriate (although with mine, it's not so much a concern) and it manages to make everyone look alternatingly brilliant and idiotic. Which is always important when dealing with family.

Anyway, we were playing (and drinking - did I mention MY BROTHER* did a tequila shot?) on Saturday night. Me and mom had to ask the boys, "What was Princess Diana's maiden name?"

First we were met with silence for some time. Then:

Brother: "Farga."

Everybody: "What?"

Brother: "What do you got that's better?"

Dad: "Ok."

Mark: "Of Wales."

Dad: "Ok."

Brother: "Mark my words, it's Farga."
--------------------------------------
Later in the game, mom and I had to ask them to please tell us what a chanterelle is.

Brother: "Wine... Makeup..."

Dad: "A TV show from the 60's."

Brother: "Princess Di's maiden name."

Mark: "Of Wales."
-------------------------------------

Earlier funnies (to me, at least) included:

-My father guessing at Madonna's first hit - "Daddy Don't Tell." (Before Jack** comments to tell us all what it was, I will add that it was not "Papa Don't Preach," which is what my dad was going for there. It was actually "Lucky Star.")

-We asked them what the name of the condition is that gives women hot flashes. Mark responded with, "Hold on, men... pause..."

-I had to ask them what the five mother sauces are - Mark loves cooking, but was drunk, so I said, "It's so sad that you don't know this." And my dad said, "G-spot?" (You can see that we are a very proper family.) (Also, Mark did actually come up with all five, even in his inebriated condition.) (Go ahead Jack, I left that one for you.)

-We asked the boys to name Fergie's two children. They, of course, could not (neither could the girls, for that matter). When I read the answer, "Beatrice and Eugenie," Dad replied with, "Jesus, those poor guys."

-Mom and I had to figure out what BMW stands for - neither of us being into cars in the slightest, we had no idea. After batting around several options, like "Best woMan Whatever," I came up with "Bavarian Motor Vehicles." Mark quickly amended that to be, "Weeeeeeeeehicles."

*For those of you that don't know, my brother doesn't drink. Ever. Despite much pressure from his family to do so, because, let's face it, alcohol makes you cool.

**Love you,man!

All the time with the cuteness

2006-05-15T16:16:00.000-07:00

You will look at this picture of the Amazing Sammie of Poopville, and you will think that there couldn't possibly be anything cuter in the world.

And now I will tell you that although the Amazing Sammie from Poopville is QUITE adorable, there is in fact something cuter in this world. Yes folks, my sweet dog bows down in the face of this kind of cuteness. I am speaking, of course, about the Amazing Caleb from Cutetown. Caleb is my nephew*, and I believe he will forever hold the heavyweight title for cuteness.**

*Technically, Caleb isn't related to me. But he is my dearest friend's (Clare's) son, therefore I call him my nephew. Seriously, we're, like, totally BFF.

**Could I use the word cute a few more times?

Family

2006-05-13T18:21:00.000-07:00

Brother: Alright, you drunken bastards.

Dad: I'm not drunk!

Mom: I'm not drunk!

JR: I'm not drunk!

Mark: I'm not a bastard!

That's just how my town rolls

2006-05-12T12:11:00.000-07:00

See the problem is, you got you a french fry stuck in this here carburetor.

2006-05-12T08:06:00.000-07:00

My family is visiting this weekend.

So, I'm laying in my bedroom, and my husband is in the adjoining bathroom putting in his eyeballs. My brother and dad are just outside our room, in the living room.

Brother is talking to Dad about how he read somewhere that you can run a diesel engine on used cooking oil. Therefore, he wants a diesel car.

I am doubtful of the cooking oil statement. So I ask Mark (husband), "Is it true you can run a diesel car on used cooking oil?"

"Yes. But your car will smell like a McDonald's."

"BROTHER! MARK SAY YOU CAN RUN IT ON OIL BUT IT WILL SMELL LIKE MCDONALD'S!"

"But, McDonald's doesn't really smell that bad."

"HE WOULD LIKE TO AMEND THAT STATEMENT BY ADDING THAT MCDONALD'S DOESN'T REALLY SMELL THAT BAD!"

I hear Brother laughing, then adding, "You'd have to go to McDonald's to get enough used oil anyway..."

Lovechild...Never meant to be...*

2006-05-09T09:47:00.000-07:00

Barb: "So, I've been cleaning out my closets, getting rid of all my old stuff. I'm a packrat."

JR: "Oh yeah? Like what?"

Barb: "Oh, it was so sad, I finally got rid of my 8 track player."

{appalled stares directed at Barbara from 2 of us in our 20's}

Barb: "I had a Meatball 8 track. It was great. I LOVE Meatball. He has such an awesome voice...meatballllll... meat... meat... meat LOAF."

{Hysterical laughter}

JR: "You know, my dad met MeatLOAF. He was gonna redesign his bedroom, or kitchen, or something like that, but it fell through."

Brittany: "Did your dad call him MeatLOAF?"

JR: "I think he called him by his real name... I can't remember now.'

Barb: "Your dad is SO LUCKY. I LOVE him."

Brittany: "Yeah, you love him. What's his name again?"

Barb: "I know it's MeatLOAF, I just got confused."

JR: "Meatball is what he went by before he got big."

Brittany: "I was thinking it was Barb and Meatloaf's lovechild."

*It's stuck in your head now, isn't it?

I still haven't found it...

2006-05-07T16:56:00.000-07:00

"Have you seen the dusting spray?"

{silence}

"I know I had it out the other day, with a rag... What did I dust?"

"You got me!"

"Oh f- off, you buttmunch! I was dusting for when Clare came over!"

"Dusting what? The bunny?"

"We have a bunny?"

"The dust bunny."

If you just asked me instead of ignoring me... I could tell you...

2006-05-04T22:19:00.000-07:00

Me: And we serve that with our green chili cheese grits...

Customers begin to ignore me, in typical customer style.*

Customer 1: What are grits, anyway?

Customer 2: I don't know.

C 1: What are they made from?

C 2: Hominy.

C 1: I love how you southerners always say "hominy," like any of you have any f--king idea what hominy is.

C 2: Why did you ask then?

*It was a long night. I'm feeling bitter. Pardon my generalization.

If you don't know about Kevin teaching me slang, just keep moving. Nothing to see here, people.

2006-05-01T15:27:00.000-07:00

Bro: Freaking animals.

Me: What?

Bro: They fight. I don't know what kind of animals they are. But they fight each other on the roof right over my bed.

Me: They are probably birds or squirrels or some shit.

Bro: They are definitly some shit. I only went to bed four hours ago. They are jerks.

Me: Why? Up late sexing Sarah up?

Bro: Working. I mean, yeah. Sexing up.. whatever.

Me: My animal runs in circles around the couch while I eat.

Bro: Give her a lot of food and she will stop.

Me: I gave her food and that is why she started. Something about energy, I don't know.

Bro: Well, don't put crack in it next time.

Bro again: I heard your dog got her ass kicked.

Me: No, we went there {dog park} to see if we could get her ass kicked, but then she didn't need her as kicked after all. There was no ass kicking.

Me again: There was alot of ass smelling.

Bro: Does she do what you say now?

Me: It's not us, she does listen to us. She just was playing with Winston in class on Saturday,and she was playing a little rough, and the trainer said, either it's because they were kennel mates (which they were, we already knew that) or we need to take her to the dog park to get her butt kicked. So we thought we would try the dog park just in case, but it turns out she's fine with other dogs. She only wants to eat Winston.

Bro: That's because Winton's a little bitch. I heard they trade him for smokes.

Me: Yo, mos def.*

Bro: Mos Def?

Me: Yeah, dude. It's slang. Keep up.

Bro: It's not slang. It's a guy. He's an actor. Good one too.

Me: I know. It's also slang.

Bro: Oh.

Me: He was a rapper first.

Bro: Yeah, but he was a lousy rapper. Great actor.

Me: YOUR MOM is a lousy rapper.

Bro: That is correct.

*I do realize that this is quite possibly the incorrect usage of "mos def." However, I'm just glad I got it into a conversation.

Mark and his leftover Lo Mein

2006-05-01T14:46:00.000-07:00

"I'm not sure I can eat all of this... But it is a beautiful presentation, you gotta admit that."

Conversations with my Bro, yo

2006-04-28T11:09:00.000-07:00

Bro: Dad was talking to me about money and stocks and mutual funds and stuff.

Me: Why? You don't have any money.

Bro: I didn't understand a word he said.

Me: I very rarely understand him.*

Bro: I told him "look, I've got a punching bag, some meat, and a girlfriend. I don't need anything else."

Me: LOL

Bro: He said "but you just said the same thing three times."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bro: You know bitches.

Me: DAMN bitches, yo.

Bro: word

Me: I need to turn on a light, just got pitch black here. brb

Bro: Is the sky mad at you?

Me: It sure is mad at some bitch, yo.

Bro: word mufucka.

Me: They are finally doing the weather on the news, looks like tornados a comin'. Best tie down the trailer.

Me again: You said mufucka!!! LOL

Bro: You people from Texas and your white-trash living arrangements.

Me: Did you hear about the t-shirt Melinda got me?

Bro: When are you gonna get an old Chevy up on blocks like respectable folk?

Bro again: No.

Me: It has a picture of a tornado, then a heart, then a picture of a trailer.

Bro: That's funny.

Me: I know. She is worried that it will get me beat up, but I think it's funny.

Bro: It will only get you beat up by tornadoes and trailer trash.

Bro again: Nobody important.

Me: Good call on that.

Bro: And hearts.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(Looking at pictures of the dog sleeping...)

Bro: She looks coked out in this one.

Me: Which one?

Me again: That one?

Bro: This one

Me: Yeah, coked out for sure. I told her to leave our shit alone, bitch! But she don't listen.

Bro: You should buy her her own doggie coke. They sell them right next to the beggin' strips.

Me: Oh, cool, I'll totally get right on that.

Bro: Only thing is that they sniff so much anyway it's gone like right away.

Me: Dude, we have this giant sausage thing that we break pieces off of to treat her while we are training.

Me again: It's made for dogs, but DUDE, it smells JUST LIKE summer sausage. Kinda makes me not want to eat summer sausage anymore.

Bro: I want a giant sausage.

Bro: I mean a big piece of meat.

Bro: I mean... damn.

Me: You are so gay.**

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*Dad, I was kidding. I totally get you, dude.

**I would so LOVE a gay brother! Finally, someone to dress me!

So Smart She's Dumb, or So Dumb She's Smart?

2006-04-26T13:29:00.000-07:00

Proof of Dumbness:

1) Freaking terrified of the umbrella. Fun times when she has to pee during a storm.
2) Thinks the broom is something to attack and kill. Perhaps this is due to a lack of exposure to cleaning materials.
3) Not only chases her own tail, but once she has caught it she quite literally tries to pull it off her body. Seriously, I worry for her poor butt.
4) Finds no problem with chewing on her own feet and legs. Apparently feels no pain.
5) Cannot figure out why the fat cats won't play with her. Seems to think that hissing means "Yes! I want to play! Bounce up and down and bark at me more!"

Proof of Smartness:

1) Un-hooked herself from leash. Only the one time, but still.
2) Mostly lets Mommy sleep in. This is VERY smart of her. It's for everyone's safety. People I work with should send her thank you notes.
3) Learned incredibly quickly that the faster she pees at 5 am, the faster we can all go back to our warm beds. Sometimes we just barely make it off the porch.
4) Learned not to bark at the horrible dogs next door. Knows that I hate them, and therefore she ignores them with me. She would have made a great friend in high school.
5) Has figured out how to play-up her cuteness to an infinite degree anytime we are in PetSmart. Decided, rightly so, that grinning and sitting with her tongue hanging out would make people pet her.
6) Somehow managed to knock the babygate down without me hearing it, made it into the cat room, and devoured their leftover-from-breakfast diet food. All while they laid on the bed and stared at her with evil laser eyes.
7) Just sat up and told me that "dumbness" and "smartness" are stupid words, and possibly not even really words. It was hard to understand her, she mumbles.*

*Okay, so that last one didn't really happen. Obviously, she's only 11 weeks old, we're still working on "Speak."

**Yes, that is our Christmas tree behind her. Shut up, it's gone as of this morning.

How awesome are the people in my life?

2006-04-20T13:15:00.000-07:00

So, Monday was my birthday. I did not relish turning 28. This is the year that I have to start saying I'm in my "late" 20's instead of my "mid" 20's. Bummer. But, at least I'm not 30, like some people I'm married to (he never reads this, that'll teach him).

Regardless of my disdain for the age of 28, I partied it up (Valdnic style!). Started off finally getting to open the box of gifts from my parents that had arrived on Friday, and had been sitting on the table mocking my curiosity for three days. An awesome array of gifts - new clothes and a giftcard to buy the fishtank I've been lusting after! (Which, btw, I have since purchased and set-up, yet have not put any gravel, decorations, or fish in.)

Then I played with the Amazing Sammie.

Then, my wonderful friends came and picked me up and took me to a surprise lunch at a friends taqueria (AWESOME FOOD!). Almost everyone I love was there - my whole friend family! So cool. And they got me amazing gifts - including a super-cute cooler, a scented oil burner that they knew I wanted, racy panties from the Dollar Store* (who doesn't need that), Friends Season 6, and, of course, beer. Ah, how well they know me... Tacos, beer, and presents. Doesn't get much better than that.

Oh, except it does get better, because my insightful friends not only thought of me, they also thought of the new puppy, and got her a cute squeaky frog** that she LOVES. And I love watching her fling the frog around her head until she wears herself out.***

After I got home and played with the puppy some more, Mark came home with the best gift ever - a gift card to Halfprice Books. That's a whole DAY of fun, my friends. And several days after - I can spend this whole summer reading! Hurray for no school in the summer! I should buy a t-shirt like Whinger's.

Then we took the puppy to the vet. This was sort of a down point in the day. Fun, of course, as I was with Mark and Sammie, but sad because Sammie has worms.**** And also LONG - nobody needs to spend two hours at the vets watching people put sticks up the puppies butt, on any day, but especially not on birthdays!

But things looked up afterwards. Mark took me out for sushi, which he used to not like, but now all the sudden he loves it! Yay! And after, I got ice cream at Marble Slab! Yay!

*These panties came with explicit directions from Fletcher to PLEASE GOD WASH THEM before wearing. I like that she thinks they'll fit me.

**Because who collects frogs? Me.

***Love the toy guys, but next time, maybe no squeak, huh?

****She's MUCH better now. SO BIG.

Why I haven't posted in a little while...

2006-04-18T15:54:00.000-07:00

Notes on Crazy Eddie and the Anorexic Cats

2006-04-13T13:05:00.000-07:00

This has been a slow week... you know, humor wise. Only funny thing that has happened so far was when my boss called here while I was napping. I awoke to hear his voice throughout the house and thought he was in my living room. I, of course, was napping in my underwear. So picture me, if you will (please take a few pounds off in your imagination) sitting in bed, clutching the sheet to myself, yelling at him, "What are you doing here!?!?!" For several seconds. Before my stupid sleepy head realized that his voice was coming from the answering machine. Honestly, I didn't realize it until I heard him say something about calling him later. {sigh} I think sleeping makes me dumb.

I'm off to train the cats on how to jump over a baby gate. (We have to put one up so the new puppy won't go into their food/poop room.) You might think, "Silly JayAre, cats know to jump over things like that." You would clearly be a person who has never met Ethel. And the fact is, even once she figures it out, I* may have to lift her over anyway. Although, the diet food is working. In so much as they don't eat it, because it is gross.** So now, instead of being binge eaters, they are anorexic. Nobody's ever happy!

*And by "I", I mean, "the crane I hire."

**Momo - it smells even grosser***, than that tuna & egg food.

***Shut up, I don't care if that's a word, it's my blog.

Chelsie got a new dog! And also, this post includes the best thing that has happened to me since Mark proposed!

2006-04-10T20:51:00.000-07:00

So, my very good friend Chelsie got a Great Dane. I LOVE GREAT DANES. We had two while I was growing up, and quite frankly, any other dog just seems wussy in comparison. Except maybe Dobermans, but that is only because our second dog was 1/2 Great Dane, 1/2 Doberman. Man, that was a pretty dog. Here is Chelsie's dog, Winston:

Sorry about the crappiness of that picture, but I took it on my phone. And my phone is CRAP; that is why it is named Andy. (I always am making jokes just for Chrissy, I don't get it!) But, that is one of the cutest dogs EVER, you will just have to take my word for it. Well, actually, considering I have a reader-ship of TWO (excluding my parents) and you both know Chelsie, you can probably just go meet Winston yourselves.

Anyway, here's the good news... We are getting a Great Dane puppy too!!!! Chelsie found one that is perfect for us when she went to pick hers up, and, god willing and the creek don't rise*, we will be going to pick her up on Saturday! Good timing for Mark, as my birthday is Monday and now he won't have to get me anything. Ours will be a Harlequin Great Dane, and we will go get her this weekend. SO EXCITED! I can't believe Mark said okay to getting this puppy. I thought FOR SURE he would say no. I can hardly believe it, surely something will go wrong and we won't get her. It's too good to be true, you know?

*I love me some southern phrases. Just wait till I use "rode hard and put up wet."

The End of the Inspection Ticket Story; or, Why I Am Currently Crying

2006-04-10T11:55:00.000-07:00

As most of you know, my brake light did magically start working again, so I did manage to get my (Mark's) car to pass the inspection finally.

Today I went to pay my ticket. I took my proof of inspection completion,* and walked tall with the knowledge that they would SURELY dismiss the ticket. I possibly shouldn't have worn my "your mom" shirt.**

Well, it turns out, Benbrook sucks my big ass. So fuck them, I'm glad I wore my "your mom" shirt.

First of all, I stubbed three of my toes on the Municipal Center's giant wooden doors. They look like something out of a 1970's horror movie, and as if that weren't frightening enough, they took hold of my toes and tore a nail and caused severe limping for several minutes.*** When I told the horrible, mean man at the counter that I hurt my poor toes on his ugly, stupid door, he showed NO sympathy. I think I should have gotten a discount, especially since...

IT COST $103.

Freaking Benbrook.

*I totally just made up this term. But it seems right.

**Thanks be to Tiffany, for the best present ever, and for no other reason than she knows every conversation with me contains at least 5 instances of "YOUR MOM". Yes, I am a 12 year old boy. But shut up, it's funny. YOUR MOM is a 12 year old boy! Ha! Burn!

***Mark will tell you that I stub my toes everyday. This is sadly true. I seem to have very little control over my toes. In fact, my toes have been known to stub MARK'S toes. It's a fact - I can cause toe injury not only to myself, but those around me as well. Beware.

Can you tell I'm bored?

2006-04-09T14:53:00.000-07:00

Mark went to work for a couple of hours today so I am amusing myself with computer play. And by watching the cats watch the fly that keeps buzzing around 'cause my genius ass left the window open. They aren't trying to catch it, no, why would they attempt to earn their keep in any way, the lazy brats, but they do stare at it through half-closed eyes.

And I will now share this funny picture I took of Mark and Lucy last night.

And this picture of Bubbas, because he is clearly upset that I have not put any pictures of him on the world-wide-web yet.

I will now return to my recipe browsing on www.foodtv.com. And if anybody has any good recipes for a healthy, energy inducing pasta that I could make for Mark tomorrow, please let me know.

"I have a mouthful of cellulite."

2006-04-09T13:30:00.000-07:00

Thank you for sending me this link, Chrissy. Funniest thing EVER.

http://www.thesneeze.com/mt-archives/cat_steve_dont_eat_it.php

In the afterglow of the controversy*, I ask the tough questions

2006-04-09T08:06:00.000-07:00

"I NEED TO KNOW. Tell me the truth. Do you like my hair longer or shorter?"

"I like it all the ways! Your hair, it's like the moon. I like all it's cycles. First it's short, then it grows long, then it's short again... I like all the lunar... No, FOLLICLE cycles."

*For those of you not obsessed with K's blog like I am, said controversy can be found here.

We Were Eating Hot Dogs At Costco. That's How We Roll.

2006-04-09T07:52:00.000-07:00

"So, we could build a device similar to the thing that holds someone's harmonica up, and it would hold your hamburger, and then you could eat and sign at the same time and you would never have to stop talking."

"Brilliant. Let's do it."

"Hmmmm... It would have to have some sort of blow-by..."

"A what?"

"A blow-by."

"Is that some kind of fancy engineering term?"

"No, it's an automotive term."

"Like a MECHANICAL engineering term?"

"No. Look, it means blah blah blah blah blah..."

"Do I need to start making biology jokes?"

"No. But seriously, what was that kind of mold you were talking about?"

"DUDE. It was a joke. There is no characterized mold. Let it go."

Chocolate Cake With Raspberry Sauce. And A Little Wild Game Demi-Glace.

2006-04-08T10:37:00.000-07:00

"I'd like to buy a bottle of this {cheap} champagne for that table over there."

"Great. I'll take it over to them."

"Make sure it's cold. And put it in a bucket with ice."

Really? REALLY?!?! Champagne in a champagne bucket WITH ICE? Now that is just crazy talk. I would never have thought to do such a thing on my own, thank god I have guests like you to teach me the ways of my job.

"Will you box up my leftover chocolate cake?"

"Yes sir. I'll take it to the back and do that."

"Wait! Don't put it in the same box as my sausage and venison! Put it in a separate, smaller box."

Really? REALLY!?!?! REALLLLLLLLLLLLYYYYYYYYY!?!?!? My god. You mean to tell me that people don't want their chocolate cake in the same box with their meat? You mean to say that when I put dessert in a box with entrees, and then shake it up real good so that the demi-glace gets all over everything, and make sure the dessert is shoved down good and firm in the jalapeno mashed potatoes, that people don't like that? Man. I must suck at my job. What would I do without you?

No, please, no need for a tip. I've just enjoyed learning so much from you.

My husband is smarter than me in EVERYTHING. Except biology. That is why this is funny. Chrissy will laugh.

2006-04-04T12:34:00.000-07:00

"He said you should come home more!"

"Yeah, but he's a bit of a character. You said it."

"He is a bit of a character. But I like that guy."

"He does grow on you."

"Like characterized mold."

"Huh?"

"You know, 'he grows on you like mold,' only we said he was a character, so I said characterized..."

"Is that some kind of biology joke?" {insert sneer here}

Then there's me laughing hysterically.

"Can I please put this conversation on my blog?"

Then there's Mark sighing heavily (oh! the drama!) and hugging me wth his gross-sweaty-basketball-playing-self.

Today While I Mopped, She Risked Her Life

2006-04-04T12:13:00.000-07:00

I had to take all the chairs out of the kitchen to mop (yes mom, I do that occasionally). It seemed smart at the time to just pile them, until I remember how dumb my cats act.*

*Maybe I'm the dumb one. 30 minutes later and she's still asleep up there, so I guess she knows more about gravity than me.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Amendment: I was just trying to put all the stuff back in the kitchen, as the beautiful floor is now dry. And I realized that the reason she can lay up there is that the chair leg is resting on the trash can (you can kinda see it in the above picture). And, in a stunning testament to how spoiled my cats are, I decided to leave everything alone so she can finish her nap. Seriously, I need help.

I'm JR, That's How I Roll

2006-04-03T11:09:00.000-07:00

(Most of you know this story, due to my inability to stop talking. Feel free to skip this post.)

So, my car's (read: my husband's car that he so kindly lets me drive) inspection sticker has been expired since December. Government agencies and environmental zealots tell me that this will make the world come to a horrible and bloody end. I like to live on the edge.

The truth is, I have tried to get the damn thing inspected. I have taken it twice, and I think Mark took it once, too. Our problem is a moody, clearly PMSing, brake light. It comes on when it feels like it, and naps whenever it gets tired. Obviously, these naps always fall during the hour it is being inspected. Never will the brake light JUST FREAKING WORK when I take it to the inspection place (which I lovingly refer to as Valvoline - seriously, they're so nice to me, and they think I'm cool for having a TransAm, which means they are all teenage boys, but whatever).

So I got pulled over on Friday, on my way to work. I saw the cop look at my sticker, I saw the cop turn around, I sat at a light with the cop behind me and watched him call in my plates... and then I drove for a little while because the genius decided to wait to turn on his lights until we hit a construction zone, where there was no place to pull over. I should have pre-empted him, and pulled my own self over, but like I said, I like to live on the edge. You never know, the urge to make a break might have overtaken me. I am from LA, the land of the police chases, after all.

Now, I have to say, this was one NICE cop. Seriously. I tend to get alot of tickets for expired things like inspections and registrations, so I've dealt with several of these guys. Most are okay, one (a bicycle cop downtown - yes, I was pulled over by a cop ON A BIKE) was a jerk. But this guy on Friday, he was cool.

"Miss, do you know why I pulled you over?" (Why do they always ask this? If I say, 'Because of the body in the trunk?', isn't that entrapment?)

"Because my inspection is expired."

"Right. Why is that?"

So, I tell him the whole thing. About the pissy brake light, and about how Mark HAS taken it to try and get it fixed, and NO ONE can find anything wrong with the brake light. It's just moody. And then I realize that this story is ridiculous. And I tell him that.

"Actually, miss, it's just ridiculous enough. I believe you. Let me go look at your brakes."

{Cop walks to back of car. Cop walks back to window.}

"I can't tell, you left your turn signal on."

{JR's face turns beet red. JR turns off turn signal. Cop returns to rear of vehicle.}

"Well, it's working right now."

"I would so take it right now, but I have to go to work!"

"I understand. Let me see your license and insurance and we'll get you out of here."

It is at this point that I have to confess to the nice cop that I don't have my new insurance card. It was somehow lost in the vast mailroom-wasteland that is our living room. BUT, I do have the claims receipt from my accident in February, surely that must prove something...

In the end, I got out of there with just the ticket for the inspection, and only 15 minutes late for work. I don't know why he let me slide on the insurance, but I seriously considered hugging the dude. And, it instigated a cleaning of the living room, which resulted in us locating not only our insurance cards, but also all of our tax forms. Awesome.

The top of our coffee table opens up, and it was full of mail before. Now it is mostly empty, which is great because I can put more stuff in there, like empty beer bottles. And cats.

JUST TAKE MY DAMN MONEY, CHASE BANK!!!*

2006-03-31T14:13:00.000-08:00

"I want to deposit this in my husband's checking account. I don't know his account number but we also have a joint account here, you can probably find it through that, right?"

"You have an account?"

"Yes. We have a joint checking. But I want this to go just in HIS account."

"What's your social security number?"

"{insert SSN here}"

"Okay, here's the account you are linked to. How much do you want to put in?"

"$$$ - but I want to put it in HIS solo account."

"What's his account number?"

{sigh}

"I don't know. But isn't it listed with our joint account?"

"Yes. But I can't give out that information."

"I don't want information. I want to put money in it."

"But I can't give out any information about his account."

"You can't just PUT MONEY IN IT?"

"No, I can't give out other people's account information."

That is the point when my head exploded.

I was just trying to give the man some money. GIVE IT TO HIM. Why is this a problem? I don't understand why someone can't go into a bank and put money into anyone's account that they want. I don't need any information! The dude farts in the same bed as me, trust me, I have enough freaking information.

*I tried really hard not to use multiple exclamation points in this post, but I just can't help myself.

Everybody Loves Mark

2006-03-26T13:46:00.000-08:00

"... So I bought Pamprin. I tried to find one that said it helps mood swings, but there wasn't one."

"That sucks. But if it just said it on the box, wouldn't that be the same?"

Blink. Blink, blink.

"Excuse me? How would that work? Because I THOUGHT I shouldn't have mood swings I wouldn't? I would get pissed about something and then think, 'Oh, no, I took that pill, I can't be pissed!' OH MY GOD. Do you understand this at all? This isn't a choice to be a bitch! THIS IS HORMONES!!!"

"Um... uh-oh."

"You are so dead."

"I was just trying to be funny!"

"I can't do funny today. Leave me alone."

What kind of blooper would that be, exactly?

2006-03-23T22:31:00.000-08:00

"Do you pronounce it sit-COM or sit-COME?"

"Sit-com. Who says sit-come?"

"I've heard people say it that way. I think I say sit-com, too.... sit-come....sit-com... Yeah, that's right."

"You know what it stands for, right?"

"Situation Comedy. Oh, so it's definitly sit-com. You're right."

"I think sit-come is what they call porno bloopers."

Hamsters Without Wheels

2006-03-23T10:01:00.000-08:00

Guy: "...of course I think I'm cute, so what do I know about cute guys... Don't worry, I said it, you don't have to."

Me: "I wasn't going to say anything!"

Guy: "I saw your wheels working..."

Girl: "She doesn't have any wheels!"

Guy: "No wheels?"

Girl: "No, just a little hamster." {Mimics hamster running on a wheel}

Me: "A hamster ON A WHEEL, maybe?"

Girl: "NO. Just a hamster running." {Mimics hamster on wheel again}

Me: "Hamsters run on wheels, dude."

Girl: "Not yours. He just runs in little circles up there. Hey, maybe that's why you get headaches!"

Me: "Probably."

Dead bodies stuffed in tires

2006-03-22T10:34:00.000-08:00

Why, why, why would someone think that it's okay to put their trash in my yard? Last night I actually saw someone get out of their car and put several bags and a box of trash on my curb. Trash collection was this morning, but I hadn't even put my own stuff out yet! I just don't understand this. If I wasn't such a wuss I totally would have yelled at that bitch. But really, what was her motivation here? Why couldn't her trash go on her own curb? Or in a dumpster? Maybe there was a dead body in one of the bags. No, they were kinda small, it would have to have been split up into several bags, and the head could have been in the box. Or maybe it was just lead paint, asbestos and tires. In which case I could understand why she picked my house, it looks like the kind of place people would keep dangerous materials.

You know we bought beer

2006-03-21T22:50:00.000-08:00

"What was the guy behind us buying?"

"I don't know. Why?"

"I think I know him from work."

"And if you knew what he was buying you would know if you knew him?"

"Yes."

"I see."