Hey, it's a good morning!
Why's it so good? Not because I woke up sore with a backache, or I have a headcold, or because Malcolm decided to pee on the big screen TV speaker, OR because I was reminded that last night Hailie chewed up my new book. Nope! It's because of my new favorite site to waste time: YouTube.com!

Guess what I found whilst perusing "most viewed"... DAVID HASSELHOFF SINGS 'HOOKED ON A FEELING'!!

Greg tried to send this to me once upon a time, and by kismet (another new favorite word to pepper into my already-lame speech)... it found its way back to me at last.

Last night Greg and I went to the fun dollar theater and we saw Grandma's Boy. Oddly enough, we didn't hate it. You just have to go in knowing that you are seeing a pretty crappy comedy movie and you'll be fine. Doris Roberts was pretty funny, especially when she hid next to her grandson's bed in the room where her last roommate Sophie, had died, and started talking in a low, ghostly voice "Why did you let me die? I'm so colllldddd..." and freaking out her grandson. I was laughing longer than I probably should have. Oh well. I thought this movie just came out a week ago, and it's already at the cheapy theater. Way to go, Happy Madison Productions, you've got a winner.

HOOKED ON A FEELING!!

Check out that crazy cat; he's on the toilet!

Today was a funny toilet-humor kind of day. Why are toilets funny? Why do we all laugh at poop and farts? Why? Why? I just wish I knew the secret to that comedy. I'd be rich, I tells ya.

The following is verbatim text from an e-mail Greg sent me today. This e-mail made me laugh out loud at my desk because I had a great time coming up with the imagery:

***
While I was on the way to the store I got stuck behind a plumbing truck. On the back was a little cartoon toilet. There was black stuff slopping out of its 'mouth,' which I can only assume was shit, and next to its sad eyes was a caption bubble that read 'Help me!' So if your toilet is getting shit in so violently that it is flooding over the sides of the bowl and making it sad, these were the guys to call.

I wish they had another toilet posted for comparison. One with just a couple of turds in it, a big smile and a bubble saying 'Yum! Just enough!' Thank you, A & A Plumbing, for dumbing America's lavatory needs down for the masses. 'Hunney, I sawr a pitchure with the crap problem wheez having on da side one dem whirly rigs.'

On that note, I was going to cook that chicken tonight, if that's okay.
***

Tonight, many hours later, the humor has not abated. I keep busting out laughing thinking about what is now known simply as the "HELP ME TOILET." Greg and I are now planning to find the plumbing company in question; track them down; visit one day with the digital camera and take some photos to post here. It's our new mission. Every strong couple needs a mission; something they can accomplish together. This is our new one!

Perhaps the most humorous part of this e-mail is the final line about cooking chicken. Not sure how he drew THAT conclusion (how are chicken and toilets filled with shit on the same 'note', baby?) but it's one of the many reasons I am totally smitten with him. Some girls may like flowers, or a nice car or a romantic weekend getaway-- me, I prefer a guy who can mix toilets and chicken in one neat little e-mail.

By the way, I feel I should let you know that I have no idea who that cat is up there. I found it when I did a search for "cartoon toilet"-- it pulled "catontoilet" as part of the search.

If that was my cat, I would name him Mr. Miyagi-- he has the same face as Pat Morita. (Before he died. Not the cat (I bet that cat's still alive), the Miyagi.) I think I am thinking this because The Karate Kid is on TV right now in the other room. Either way, look at Mr. Miyagi, the Incredible Toilet Shitting Cat!! He's craptastic! Mrrow, plop. (Cue laugh track)

So they are doing roadwork on this main road that I can take to get to and from my job. They're adding new lanes, or adding new water and sewer pipes, or something-- damned if I can tell what they are actually doing out there. All I know is, it was previously a 4 lane road and it's been shut down to a 2 lane road (one lane, each direction) for months now, and there are bulldozers and port-a-potties scattered in the "Work Zone". Orange and white reflective barriers dot the road and keep us far away from any possible "work." I put work in quotation marks because I have never seen much in the way of actual WORK when I drive by. Once in awhile, a big truck will be moving slowly along inside the Work Zone, with seemingly no purpose or direction. But there are never any crews in sight during morning or 5:30 rush hour.

Arizona is constantly doing road work. It's everywhere. If there is a crack in some asphalt on a road in Scottsdale, oh my God! The crews will make it out there, set up the barriers at least a mile down the road in each direction, and shut down 3 lanes of traffic and not allow left turns at the light, and set up the big electronic "Work Zone-- Lanes Restricted from 1/6/06 -- 8/15/06" sign and they will patch the hell out of that crack. But yes, it will take 8 months and it will require all those lane closures. Meanwhile, there's no money for schools here and teachers need to buy their own classroom supplies like PAPER out of their own pockets, and the dropout rate is one of the highest in the whole country-- but SHIT, our roads are PRISTINE!

OK, so, today I was driving in on this fun little stretch of road, and once more there were no road workers anywhere at work in the Work Zone. But I spotted a very educational sign. This sign carried a message that was so crucial that it was repeated twice. Two more signs along this one-mile stretch of road said the same message:

DO NOT FOLLOW CONSTRUCTION VEHICLES

I have a question: Who would decide to just start following a construction vehicle? They are usually behind those traffic barriers (in the one time when I do see them) and they are moving super slow through the dirt with no real direction. Who would think that it would be beneficial in any way to just cut through the barriers, drive through the dirt and follow a construction vehicle? What sort of people are out there that would do this? "Got nothin' better to do, might as well follow this guy here."

Maybe the construction vehicles have had problems in the past. Well, obviously, if they had to post three signs about the problem. But maybe the construction vehicles were being stalked, like a lady with a big purse coming out of the mall at dusk. I like picturing a creepy, leering guy who sits on a sidestreet nearby, just waiting for a construction truck to amble past. Then he starts a nervous giggle and pulls the car out behind the truck, inching closer and closer to its huge, massive bumper. A slow-speed chase ensues at 7 miles per hour, and the creepy truck stalker is really getting off on this tailgating by now. The construction truck has nowhere to go; feels trapped, feels scared. The stalker is jacking off into a cupholder by now and the truck finally finds an opening in the traffic barriers and makes a sloppy, tear-streaked turn and skids into a spot next to the Port a Potties to catch its breath and cry a little at the sense of disgust and humiliation it feels. Yet the pervy stalker rides on, looking, always looking, for his next construction truck.

I cannot get that Young Chuck Norris song out of my head. This might be even worse than Peanut Butter Jelly Time... but I don't want to speculate too soon. That song caused a lot of irreparable damage. I did some things. I tried to forget and nothing really 'stuck.' There are religious professionals in my town who still won't speak to me, but I won't name names, Father Hates-Peanut-Butter-Jelly-Time and Reverend Mother No-Fun-Whatsoever!

Anyway, speaking of religion, today the funny thing I have found online is this, from McSweeney's:

Things You Can Do If You Love Jesus Other Than Honk.
BY JEN GOODHUE

- - - -

Send him flowers for no reason

Pass him a note in geography

Make him a mix tape

Set him free

Make an altar to him with his trash

Here's a great Deep Thought by Jack Handey following this same theme:

"When my friend Bob said he'd found Jesus, I thought, "Yahoo! We're rich!"
But it turned out to be something else."

Buddy Christ.

It's a good day to love da Lord! The cool kids are doing it, so come on and join us. Join us...or...die.

Norris never dies, he lives forever in a child's eyes:

Young Chuck Norris

(Thanks to Lengli, who had the fortitude to share this with everyone in Myspace land. I am indebted to you, comrade, and must share this for the legend MUST go on.)

I haven't written for a few days since I had to attend and work at a two day conference for my job. It's no fun to lose a whole Saturday, from 7:00 am until 10 pm, in this manner. But, as we all know, we shouldn't write specifics about our jobs on our blogs, so I won't go into details about how exhausted I still am and how silly the majority of this event was. Instead, I will share that I got caught in a raging "Giggle Loop" on Saturday night, right at the end of the event. And I did so good the rest of the weekend, too...

The phrase "Giggle Loop" comes from the BBC version (the only one worth caring about) of the show "Coupling." If you haven't seen this show, get it on your Netflix list or try to catch it on BBC. Hilarious. The concept of the Giggle Loop is that humorous things will stack up during a time when it is socially unacceptable to laugh. On the show, it happens to the main characters when they attend a wake for someone's "dead Auntie." It's also known as the Church Laugh or the Meeting Laugh, whatever somber occasion applies.

I was very tired by the time we had this formal dinner with people coming up on stage to talk. I started to think of weird, sometimes random things. For instance, I pictured the Hulk sitting up in the rafters-- the Eric Bana Hulk, when he is looking out at Jennifer Connelly from the trees at the cabin scene-- all sensitive and interested in what is going on below. I imagined the president of the company smacking a woman in the mouth with the microphone. When one guy introduced another, and he said, "Yes, me and Bob here go way back, we used to have a lot of crazy times..." my mind finished with, "... on a quiet little mountain called Brokeback." The corners of my mouth started moving, and the silent laughing began.

It was bad enough when I was dealing with it on my own, but then I had the misfortune of looking across the table at another tired co-worker, and she too seemed to be struggling with her own Giggle Loop. That did it. Seeing someone else trying not to laugh, and then making eye contact with each other, pushed it into Severe mode. I couldn't breathe; tears were streaming down my face as my shoulders shook. She was hiding behind a linen napkin and doing quiet snorty laughs. I could not stop. Other co-workers wanted to know what was so funny, and there was no way I could talk or whisper anything. I had to shake my head and mouth "nothing" when I could. I knew my boss was sitting at the table behind me, and could probably see us shaking. I wondered if I would be reprimanded-- which would only make me laugh harder. In fact, if he had come over and said anything I am pretty certain I would have pissed myself. Luckily, me and the other co-worker calmed down as the night went on and we got out of there without anyone giving us a hard time.

Well, today I am not on a Giggle Loop. I am in the office on what feels like a Sunday to me since I lost one day of the weekend. At least yesterday I got to sleep in and go out for a good dinner and see a movie. I saw "Underworld 2" and it was not terrible-- but it really didn't make sense, either. Oh well. It's pretty funny that Kate Beckinsale has to wear that tight leather suit ALL the time. She takes it off for one scene and when she put it back on in another scene, I thought about how it probably smelled bad in there. I wonder if vampires sweat. Has science answered this question yet? I bet the crotch and armpits of that suit are totally nasty-ass. Ewww. Wash up or get a new suit, Kate!

This morning I woke up amused by a dream I had. Most mornings, I wake up and immediately curl into the fetal position and grab onto my boyfriend at the terrifying prospect of facing another day; I prefer to stay under a huge blanket and hide. But alas, them bills ain’t paying themselves, so off to work I usually go-- my face puffy and tear-streaked as I drive my sad commute to the office of pain.

Anyway, the dream I had follows:

I am in a huge theater with one side of the stage exposed to the outside; there is a wall of windows that lets natural light in. A look at the foliage outside shows I am not in Arizona anymore; it’s somewhere with trees and grass like the stuff I miss so much back home. Anyway, it’s a rehearsal for some play with people dressed in big velvet and satin princess and prince costumes. I am there, and I am in charge of something backstage. (I can’t remember what I was in charge of, anymore, but I do recall there was a small white dog running around and I couldn’t catch him and was worried he would run out onstage and get trampled or something.)

OK, so the cast is made up of some people I know from my past dalliances with theater. There’s Tracy and Mike from high school; and Vivian from college; and then a few people from theater here in Arizona like two guys named Jason and Pete. Even my sister is in this play; she is dressed like a princess and basically sings in the chorus.

The show is some take on “Camelot” or something like that. There’s a King character, and he’s played by an old guy who was brought in from another theater because I guess we just couldn’t find an old enough guy to play this king. You know how it is—there’s never an old singing guy around when you need one. I wish more old guys would be around, singing, in general. Wouldn’t that be nice? Just old guys, singing, everywhere you go… at the carwash, in the emergency room, at the preschool. I’d prefer tenors, personally, but sometimes a healthy bass is soothing too. So lovely the world would be!

I keep dragging this story out longer than it needs to be. Let me get to the meat of it, if you will:

So I am backstage when someone calls me out to the stage. I need to jump into the part of “Royal Mopper” because the actress had quit. I look down and I am in what I would call a “scullery maid” dress, but with my Velcro Vans still happily on my feet. (It’s a rehearsal, of course!) What I had to do was come out when the King guy sings out these words:

“Bring me the Royal Mopper!/ For these floors must shineth!”

So here it comes! I come out with a wet mop and start mopping up the stage (THEATRICALLY, which means with big, exaggerated mop-sweeps), as gaily-dressed princes, princesses and other ladies and men of the ‘royal court’ dance and sing around me; they are singing some song about how important it is to have a “Royal floor that shines” or whatever. There’s even a spotlight on me, and it’s basically like I have a “Mopping Solo.”

It was glorious and amazing! I don’t know why this musical had a King who was so concerned with the nuances of mopping, or why it was so important that the floors were shiny, but DAMN, I bet this was a great show. Who wouldn’t want to see a show about a King who has some sort of weird OCD habits and has appointed a Royal Mopper? I’ll tell you who wouldn’t want to see it: NO ONE. That’s who! This show would make so much money “Phantom” would be forced to close. Robert Goulet would endorse it from his deathbed, if in fact he is dying. The King could be played by William Shatner, because he just would be believable as this sort of king, I think. And he can sing like a swan.

Do swans sing? I think they sing. Crap, I don’t know. He would sing like some kind of elegant bird, though!

ANALYSIS: I think I dreamed this because of two recent things. The first one is I have suddenly discovered a bucketload of actors I used to work with on MySpace. Whew—those people are nuts (some good nuts, some scary nuts)! And that brought back a lot of theater-memories. Second: yesterday I mopped the house. I even did a little dance move at one point; when I realized I had missed a spot near the kitchen table, but had already mopped in the crucial area where I’d need to walk in order to mop the unclean spot. So I did a very graceful “leaning” maneuver to reach out and mop that spot. That dancy-sort of moment must have triggered something in my brain. Here’s what a dream interpretation website says about dreaming of mops: To dream that you are mopping, suggests that you are letting go of something. You need to release your emotions and express it in a productive way.
To see a mop in your dream, symbolizes domesticity. It may also represent the work needed to maintain and keep a household together.

Also, I didn’t mention this part of the dream above, but at the end of my scene and the director had yelled that we could all take a break, my boyfriend was there, standing in the “doorway” of the stage. He was smiling at me, and he threw a sponge at me and it hit me, probably in my face because in life, lots of things hit me in the face since I am a bad ducker. I think this part of the dream means that I have a guy who doesn’t mind if I jump in to play the Royal Mopper once in awhile, but he will laugh at me because I look like a dork. You know what, that’s cool! I love knowing someone is going to be there for my dork moments, because I have a stinking feeling there will be piles and piles of dork moments littered throughout my lifetime. I’m glad he’ll be there for ‘em. And that he is willing to throw a sponge at me. I need that sometimes.

Damn my dog. He's what we call a home-urinator. He likes to pee in the house. Asshat.

Today I was cleaning up some of his "work," and I made up a little rhyme to help me remember when it will reach the point where I need to call out a dog exterminator to come to my house and finish the wiseass off once and for all:

Pee on the floor
Kick 'im out the door

Pee on the rug
Give his neck a tug

Pee on the wall
MAKE THE CALL

That might be harsh-- I might need feedback, because I can't tell anymore if my rhymes are harsh. Still, it's one of the great annoyances of having a dog that is senile and impervious to the house rules that are upheld by the other dogs he lives with. He's lucky he is charming and weirdly-cute, otherwise I would have dropped him in the desert a long time ago.

Oh, and for the record, I really adore rhymes like the one above. In fact, if you ever want to crack me or Trish up, just say this to us:

Hot Pink, Makes Ya Think!
Navy Blue, Just for You!

That's one that just never gets old for us. I wonder why we even made it up about 8 years ago. But damn it anyway, we can just repeat it over and over and laugh like retards over it. We also like to make up rhymes for other colors, but I'm gonna keep those under wraps for the moment. I don't want anyone to think I am a jackass who laughs at simple rhymes about colors, or anything like that. Shyeah.

Yeah! Old school hottie wins a Golden Globe. I've liked this dude for awhile now (maybe not as long as Master Depp but still quite a long time) and I was happy to log on and see he won an award for playing Elvis. You go, you pretty boy, you. Playing Elvis is no walk in the park; it's all southern twang and heartfelt utterances of the words "Aw, Momma." Even though I no longer fawn over cute actor dudes, I am still happy to see this...it was just a cute picture and I had to put it up here. I bet that after this picture was taken he went and had some supermodels sit on his face. Maybe he's grabbing some hot chick ass off to the left there; why not? He's got a Golden Globe, mofo, he can do what and who he wants! I gotta respect that!

In the past week’s time, I have seen two movies (which is not easy because I am so poor lately; it’s seriously cut into my moviegoing funds). I will talk about them in the order I saw them, for clarity’s sake, since both films are very similar. For starters, last week my sister and I went to see “Brokeback Mountain.”

I am not sure where to start on this one, other than the blanket statement of: I liked it, but it was way too long. OK, from there I can tell you this much:

* The theater was full of gay people. I have no qualms with the homosexual community, of course. I don’t even notice people in general, on a regular basis, let alone pay enough attention to the ones I do notice to make an assessment on their sexuality. So I know I see gay people all the time, but I don’t notice them at all. But when you see them in large numbers, you start to notice them, all right. This is because they greet one another like they are members of a club. The gay people we saw at Brokeback Mountain were primarily lesbians. In fact, there was one entire row of seats taken up by a long line of lesbians. They were first a group of about 8 lesbians, but then they spotted some other lesbians they knew, and called them over, and they ended up taking the whole row up.

Here are some Q&As to help sort it all out:

Q: How do I KNOW they were lesbians?
A: The haircuts, the clothing. And the holding of hands.

Q: Why were they excited for Brokeback Mountain?
A: All the gayness. Trish and I decided that when there is a movie with so-called ‘gay themes’, a memo might go out to the gay community, and they are required to show their solidarity by attending the movie in question. I don’t think I see gatherings of lesbians at many other movies I go to see. When I finally saw “The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe” the day after Christmas, there was a nary a conspicuous lesbian or gay “row” to be found. I guess gay people don’t care for a lion that is supposed to be Christ or whatever the hell is going on in that movie—well, even if some gay folks did want to see it, at least they weren’t required to go see that one in droves.

Q: What about you and Trish? Following your line of logic here, why were you guys there? You guys ain’t…queer…now, are ya?

A: Nope, we ain’t queer. We just wanted to see how they “did it”; how Hollywood managed to release a tasteful, respectful love story about two men. We both like Ang Lee movies, we both like movies that generally get good reviews and get nominated for awards, and there’s one other factor. I won’t speak for Trish, since maybe she doesn’t agree with me here, but for me it harkens back to all those reading-Anne-Rice-days for me.

Think about what happens in the older Anne Rice novels: guys kiss one another. Sure, sometimes the guys are vampires, sometimes they are castrato; but the basic element here is hot guys kissing one another. And such.

Well, whatever you call it—I like to see that stuff sometimes. This could be my equivalent of how a lot of guys like to watch two girls kiss. And if it’s not gratuitous, and it’s done more in the name of “love” and “romance” rather than “sex” and “hard core”, that’s the thing that makes me really want to go and see it. So I wanted to see how they made a romantic movie with two dudes kissing one another. Sue me. I’m a straight chick who likes that sorta thing.

Q: So what did you like about the movie, Voyeur Girl?
A: I liked the kissing, sure. Not so much the ass-pounding scene—that felt kind of awkward. But the kissing was nicely done. More specifically, I liked the way the relationship that led up to the kissing was portrayed. It worked the way I hoped it would have. I was moved by the drama; about the fact that they needed to hide their feelings for fear of their lives. I loved Michelle Williams. Having never seen “The ‘Creek”, I have never had to pleasure of seeing her act before now. I thought her parts of the story were heartbreaking and she deserves some sort of award for her work in this movie.
I also loved the way it was shot. The landscapes looked beautiful. Nice movie. HOWEVER…

Q: OK, what didn’t you like? And don’t say “Jake Gyllenlynnnlellhaaaalll.” Too easy.
A: I didn’t like the fact that they didn’t go into as much detail with the character of Jack. I didn’t get a strong feeling for the character either way. I wanted to know more about his relationship with his wife and son. I wanted to know how things resolved with his father-in-law. I wanted to see scenes of him pining or aching for Ennis. Instead, all we got were endless “fishing trip” scenes and dialogue about how they can’t be together, whine whine whine. If they had balanced the story out, I think I might have cried at the dramatic conclusion. Instead, I felt a vague “bummer” feeling. Other people in the theater were sniffling and blowing their noses and I just felt like I missed something.

I hated the aging/ not aging of Heath Ledger and Jake G-lenhall. I didn’t buy it that Heath Ledger was an old dude with a daughter who looked that old.

I REALLY hated the wigs they gave Anne Hathaway. I know that was the style of the time, but holy hell… they really looked awful and pulled me out of the moment, any moment. I was thinking how much that actress must have hated the hair and makeup people whenever she’d show up to get ready for a scene and they’d show her the wig she was forced to wear that day. Because I was thinking about that, I was probably missing crucial dialogue or plot points.

I decided Heath Ledger’s eyes get smaller in every movie he was in. He has tiny, scary little eyes. I don’t think he is cute in any way. I wished they casted some “hot” guys.

And Jake-Whatever looks like a cartoon horse with a comma-edged grin. He scares me. In fact I could only picture him as Donnie Darko for the first half of the movie and I was laughing to myself saying, “Ooh look, Donnie Darko’s getting it from the jousting knight guy. Joust, joust, ouch.”

I didn’t see the point of some of the ancillary characters. I just saw about four or five places where Ang Lee could have used a good editor to tighten up the story and make the audiences care more.

My conclusion: It was good, probably a B-. Doesn’t deserve Best Picture honors, but maybe some acting awards or awards for the screenplay. I am still glad this movie was made, and it’s doing as well as it is, because I for one just feel a LOT more comfortable in a world where people accept and don’t hate other people and can appreciate a movie about a different lifestyle.

Well, that brings me to the next movie I have seen. And this one was breathtaking. It featured an Oscar-winning actress and a story that touches on the question of what is humanity; why are we here and what impact can science have on our lives? Also, it asks the question of when is it okay for a female assassin to lounge about in skimpy black undergarments? (Answer= anytime. She may also catch flies in her eyelashes if she so chooses—it’s a metaphor for something, probably.) That movie, is of course: Aeon Flux.

Yeah, I know, I know… but listen, it was playing at the dollar theater. Greg and I went to see it on Saturday night. I’d watched (or tried to watch) the cartoon that was on Liquid Television back when MTV was still decent, and it somehow hooked me in—even though I had NO IDEA WHAT THE HELL WAS GOING ON. I liked the animation and recall being disturbed and uncomfortable watching it. Like I said, I never knew what was the point, the plot, or anything like that. I don’t know why I would keep watching it anyway. I think I thought that someday, they would air a conclusion and it would all wrap up and make sense. It was just weird enough to hold my attention.
I forgot about it until the movie came out. Everyone was laughing about it and the reviews sucked. But I just wanted to check it out, anyway. I thought I’d see it on DVD, but as luck would have it, it came to the cheap theater.

Q: So what is going on with Aeon Flux?
A: SPOILER ALERT, if you care: Cloning. And all the people are really clones because the population in the future is sterile. What’s going on is Aeon spends time finding out about the cloning.

Q: What’s the deal with that creepy Trevor guy I remember from the cartoon?
A: Not much, and the movie really un-creepifies him. Which was sort of disappointing, in a way. Anyway, Trevor is a clone of his original self. Aeon is also a clone (everyone is a clone)… Aeon’s original ‘person’ was Trevor’s wife. That’s why they are into one another, and also I guess why they also sort of want to kill one another.

Q: Anything else that is worth mentioning?
A: Corny. Corny. Stupid dialogue. Special effects for the sake of special effects. A woman with hands for feet is pretty weird, but not nightmare-inducing. And why do a covert assassination operation at night while wearing a stark white suit? Come on now, Aeon; I know you are played by a Mentally Retarded Female and all, but this is rideekoolus.

I love the movies! Movies rock. Now I have to decide what I should see next. Trish said King Kong is actually really good. I’ll probably check it out. If I had the discretionary income, I would definitely go see “Jesus is Magic” because that’s the sort of humor I can really endorse. But I can’t see spending precious dollars to watch a comedy concert that’s not even an hour and a half long; and let’s face it, Sarah Silverman might have some good material but she is annoying to watch.

Maybe she can borrow some of Anne Hathaway’s wigs and run around in futuristic underpants. That would be a movie that would truly play to the heartland.

Hey bitchez! Whassup?! Shit.

I missed this. I missed the green background and the other refinements that make the blog the pinnacle of absolute class. So I came back.

My hiatus was very nice. I got to do some fun things. I could tell you about them if you want, or I could leave you hanging in suspense. Yeah, I will make you wait for it. Yes, that's it, exactly! Suffer! Wait! I think I am getting into some sort of Sadist phase. (See what a hiatus can do to a girl? It makes you CRAZY and makes you crave power and pain-giving. Um, by the way, I am not sure that's what's supposed to happen during a hiatus. I think I was supposed to relax, chill out, sip iced tea and fan myself on the back porch as I napped in the hazy afternoon sun. But that's not what happened. I got MEAN instead, GRRRRRRR!)

Actually, the truth is I just stayed busy and I am still busy. The deal is we are doing this conference-thingie at work and I am writing materials for it like a douchebag. I say that because any reasonable person who is not a douchebag would have quit by now. Either way, 40 hours of my week are pure moroniacal.(Yes, that's a word I made up, and it means, roughly "being a moron of such enthusiastic levels as to be considered a maniac.")

But the sadism thing is funny, especially as Go Fug Yourself recently applied it to Sharon Stone. Check this out. I love the last sentence: "...so get down on your knees and beg mommy for a cookie before she rips out a hunk of your hair and spanks you with a slice of Honeybaked Ham."

Seriously, dudes. I am gonna write more later when I have some time, because I want to tell you about Tucson, my experience with "Brokeback Mountain" and my thoughts on an all-German version of "The Squid Und Der Whale." Oh, it's not all that good, mind you, but you'll probably like it anyway. Oh, come on now, you know I saw you; you were totally eating Crisco out of the can with doodoo sprinkles yesterday-- you'll eat anything.

This blog may be going on hiatus for awhile. I have been quite pre-occupied with real life crap and I can't seem to find time to do this right now. Plus, when I do have time, my brain is like pudding. A soft, runny and slightly-soured butterscotch puddin' no one wants to eat. Puddin' brains do not usually produce quality thoughts of the humorous or even creative nature.

Therefore, I think I need a break to chill out and see what happens. No one loves blogging as much as I do, and even though it's just a silly little diversion where I talk about nothing of importance-- it is still fun. And I don't want to "ruin" the fun for myself.

Stay healthy and happy and keep on being funny as hell. To all my blogging peeps in the sidebar-- if you don't keep writing I will cut you off in my will. I need you as a diversion and still read you daily. And listen you do not want to be cut out of my will. I have a lot of CDs and comic books, you know! And who knows what the lawyer could read off upon my passing; something like "And I leave to Lengli my "Sounds of the Ocean" relaxation CD, the one with the scratch so the seagull noise on track 3 just repeats ad finitum... and I leave to Tinapopo a copy of the "Books of Magic" comic book number 42, with a stain on the cover from when I set down my can of Dr. Pepper on a hot summer day..." So yes, keep writing so you can claim your booty someday.

Booty. Yeah.

See you soon, hopefully! I am off to walk the world, like Jules, or Caine in Kung Fu, if you are a purist.

When I want to blog but can't think of anything worthy of it, I turn to the My Pictures file. It's so lazy of me, but I do it anyway. In the photo above, an old propane tank has been welded and transformed into a kooky spider making the O face. I like metal sculptures a lot, and I always take pictures of them if I see them and I have my camera. This one, however, was kind of sloppy (you can see balls of solder at the point where the rebar "legs" meet the body-- a true sculptor/sculptress would have smoothed it out) and the spots just don't do it for me. And even worse, this spider looks like a fish in the face. Stupid looking thing. Yet, here it is. All because I can't think of anything to blog about otherwise.