Happy Fuckin' New Year, fellow bargain hunters!! This is my condo-- I'm sellin' it! Wanna buy it? It's a good deal, I'm telling you right now.

Oh yeah. You want to buy this fuckin' condo. You do. You want it. You're thinkin' right now, "Shit, do I have the cash or do I finance? Alls I know is I need that fuckin' condo!" That's OK, I know you are excited. You want some of this prime real estate action. You do. We all do. Especially a swanky place like this. Look at those windows and that pretty wood floor! And the red couches, well... they COME with the place! Wooo, it does not get better than this. This is the steal of the century, at least when we are talking about condos and their theft.

This place also comes with a storied past. This is your chance to live in the same quarters that Armsweat found the Casserole With a Face in the oven, and is the very location where I actually SLEPT sometimes. Armsweat is very famous and one day will be even famouser... don't pass up your chance to buy her condo.

I am telling you, this is something you can do for yourself and feel good about it in the morning. Wow, come on now and get excited with me! This condo is going, going, come on, it's going...going...well, it might take a few days but trust me, IT'S GOING...going...Ummm...hmmm...Please buy my condo. I'm so poor I ate dirt this morning-- dirt and dreams. Thanks.

I haven't been in the blogging mood lately for some reason. Maybe it's because of the holidays, or because I've been feeling a little sick lately again, or just because I am lazy. Well, I was happy that yesterday I finally located my JOurnalism Period 7 Journal again!

In the last entry I typed up here, it was 1991 and I was bemoaning the fact that two kids had broken into an old lady's house and "wrecked her stuff." Today, I will share the following entry, regarding a pet hamster I had named Popcorn:

Monday the 18th (no month was given)

"I was laying on the couch today, playing with my fingernails when I noticed this little scar on my pointer finger. It got it from this stupid hamster I had in 5th grade, named Popcorn. He bit me there, sank his teeth right in.

He was a dumb little pet. He was mean as hell. We'd be petting it and suddenly it would wheel around and bite you with these long teeth.

Once he got out of the cage somehow. We didn't find him for 2 weeks! We figured he'd either gotten outside or down the cellar, or maybe he's crawled into the sofa (we found a little hole in the back of the couch). We'd given up, when one morning while we were eating breakfast we heard some bowls moving around inside a kitchen cabinet. We had no idea what it could be until we opened it up and saw Popcorn, rolling around in a Tupperware bowl. We still don't know how he survived those two weeks of freedom, what with our dog and two cats constantly around.

When he died, we didn't do anything and I don't think I felt sorry. I wonder why. Either way, that day we just emptied his dirty cage with him in it into the garbage. I feel bad about it now; we should have buried him."
************************

Yeah, he was a mean little hamster. And no, we didn't bury him. My family wasn't big on burying pets in the yard. I don't think I minded, because I know my imagination and pre-occupation with books like Pet Semetary would have made it real fun to live with me, knowing animals were buried out back. I would have been that kid, waking everyone up at 3am because I looked out the window and saw undead pets running amok in the moonlight.

After Popcorn, we got a guinea pig. We named it Gizmo. We never found out if Gizmo was male or female, but my guess was always that it was a she. Gizmo was a lot more fun, and never bit anyone. But she did pee like am incontinent guy named Old Incontinent Lou. Every time we picked her up, she would panic and pee. All the time. Panic, pee. Pee, panic. It was a situation that resulted in no one really hankerin' to pick Gizmo up after awhile. We would just pet her in her cage, or when she was outside in the grass while I cleaned her cage. She was very sweet, and loved to be pet and rubbed. Gizmo would also whistle for attention, and would whistle when we opened the refrigerator (she figured out we would bring her carrots and celery if she did that). It was fun feeding her a carrot-- you could put it in front of her mouth and it would disappear like a log in a woodchipper. My Pop-Pop developed some sort of relationship with Gizmo; everytime he was at the house, he would pull up a chair and talk to Gizmo and she'd whistle at him. We may never know the things that were said or the depth of their friendship.

Gizmo lived a lot longer, too... at least 3 or 4 years. When she died, again... we didn't bury her. I think I thought of it though, so that has to count for something. With Popcorn, I think one of us yelled out, "Hey, I think Popcorn'd dead." And we all looked, shrugged, and went, "Oh well." Dumped him in the trash. But when Gizzie died, I think that my sister and I both cried and didn't know what to do. I remember wishing I could have been there for her to comfort her as she passed, or something. She had died overnight, apparently, and she had curled up under the wooden platform we'd put in her cage. It was a sad thing. But I guess it wasn't THAT sad...because she still was thrown out with the trash.

Little pets like that are weird. I would never throw away a dead cat or dog in the trash. I don't know what I would do, really. But I don't want to dwell on that...it's the holidays, for God's sake. My point is: no little things in cages anymore, for me. Some of my best friends still have little things in cages (snakes, lizards and rats) but it's not my idea of a good time. Shit and piss in a cage, and you need to fool around with washing it out all the time? No, it doesn't appeal.

That's also why we don't have a cat. As a very dear loved-one once put it, 'Hey, if you like having a box of shit in your house, I guess that's why you get a cat.'

Two very tough dogs wish you and yours a very Merry Christmas and other Happy Holidays. It appears I went photo-happy on the dogs on Christmas morning. Not so many pictures on my camera had people in them. And the pictures taken of myself were not so wonderful. I had slop-hair and couldn't keep my eyes open from the flash. These dogs, however...very photogenic.

This is probably the only picture of Hailie where she looks serious and smart. Not that she's a dumb dog, because she is not; rather, she is kind of happy-goofy all the time. Katie, in her blackness, almost blends into the tree. Do not ask where Malcolm was, for we don't know. Never speak of Malcolm and his covert activities, especially around the holidays. Suffice to say, he also got a ribbon bow tied to his collar as an afterthought, and he was NOT pleased.

Anyway, scroll down to see the three product endorsements Hailie decided on by the end of the day:

Hailie approves of the new copy of The Catcher in the Rye. She is crazy about that sequence where Holden talks about the Radio City Music Hall Christmas show.

Hailie approves of NewsRadio on DVD, as well as Dentyne Ice. Her official endorsement deal begins January 2006.

I just wanted to post this one more time so we can all get a closer look at my sister's pretty face.

YES! Last night we had a hella good time. It was Greg's birthday, so I organized a little get-together at a local restaurant. I loved it because everyone I called or e-mailed showed up. That's a 100% participation rate, folks. Not something to scoff at.

Anyway, some food was eaten and pitchers of Dos Equis were swallowed. As we left the restaurant--and conveniently just after more than half of the party had already gone to their cars-- I remembered in a buzzed stupor that I had my camera in my purse. So, out came the trusty camera and the cries of "if you take this picture PLEASE don't put it on the blog!", and we snapped away. I am sticking to my oath and not posting certain pictures, but a couple of these had to make an appearance.

Hands and pants down, my favorite shot of the night is the one pictured above. There's a rather large donkey standing guard over the entrance of the restaurant. That's tape on his ear, yeah. I guess someone wanted them some donkey ear and went all up in that ear bidness, and the only solution afterwards was tape, and lots of it. I don't really know why Greg and I went in for the eye socket lovin' right away when the camera was turned on us. Can't we just take a nice photo of the two of us together, just like Mom wants so she can frame it for the living room? Answer = not really. When there's a donkey with sexy, sexy eyesockets just standing there, waiting for it--hell, ASKING for it-- you go to town. And so we did, happily and with fervor. Happy Birthday, Greg. I love that your age is divisible by 11 now, too. I love 11. It's also my emotional age.

I just love how blurry Brianna is here. She was laughing up a storm, though, and it all had to do with the donkey with the taped-up ear. Damn, that donkey was funny.

I haven't the foggiest. All I know is that as we were walking away towards the parking garage, Trish and Robert ran over to this sign and started doing the devil horns. It was just a spontaneous outburst between the two of them. I mean, there was nothing Brianna or Kane could do to stop it. Their significant others just RAN OFF in a haze of "Let's Do the Devil Horns Now!" All they could do was watch in horror (and glance towards the parking garage and wonder where the keys were, because it was getting late and they have work in the morning, you know).

I don't even know what the sign says. Or why it called for such a strong reaction. Either way, I am impressed with the COMMITTMENT to the moment that is displayed on each of their faces. Look at Trish, for God's sake. She looks so into the metalness of the moment, she might be puking in a second. Robert, you look positively frightening. Chills were felt by all.

Today I am scatterbrained, so I will just blurt out a few random things to satisfy my own ridiculously strong urge to blog:

* I wish I could see that old late-80s commercial for Cracklin' Oat Bran cereal again. I thought of it today for some reason and was fondly giggling about the husband and wife's dialogue in that commercial. Remember? It went something like this:

Wife: "Did you eat all the Cracklin' Oat Bran?"
Husband: "No... I thought YOU did!"
Wife: "I thought YOU did!"
Husband: "No, but the box IS empty (shows empty box). SOMEONE ate all the Cracklin' Oat Bran!"
Wife: "I did not eat all the Cracklin' Oat Bran!!"

I love thinking about how escalated their argument could have gotten. They would have first stood up, screaming till their faces turned purple; then the shoving would start... then someone would grab the box and begin beating the other one with it... then a chair gets picked up and swung into the other person... and one throws the other across the room... you hear glass shattering; the dog starts barking...all while the screams got louder and more insistent: I DID NOT EAT ALL THE FUCKIN' CRACKLIN' OAT BRAN!!!

* I just watched as a guy walking along the sidewalk outside gave directions to someone who pulled up in their car. The guy was pointing off to his left, very vehemently. Why do we always feel the need to use our hands to show directions? Why is pointing going to help all that much? Chances are the guy already said, "You have to turn around and go back through the two stopsigns". Just the fact that he SAID "turn around" should be clue enough for what the driver needs to do. I don't think the driver really needs to see the exaggerated pointing and all that. It's overkill. But we all do it when we give directions.

* Yesterday as I was driving home down the 101, going about 70 MPH, the driver in the lane in front of me suddenly applies his brakes. I am forced to jam my foot down and pray like hell that no one is tailgating me at that moment-- luckily, no one was as I skidded down to about 18 MPH. We are driving in the middle lane on a freeway, and he just brakes. I get closer to him, and I can clearly see him holding up a cell phone and DIALING a number. He was braking so he could dial better. I honked about three times and flipped him off. What the hell would make a person do something like this?

Probably--and this is just a guess-- his wife ate all the Cracklin' Oat Bran that morning, so he was operating on a new, low level of dumb. You need oats for smarts.

I loved this story about divers saving the life of a Humpback whale off of San Francisco recently. The animal had the lines from 12 crab pots weighing 90 pounds each caught around its body, almost pulling it down so it couldn't get to the surface to breathe. The divers did a risky thing and actually dove in and cut each line off of the whale. The story says the whale just stayed still and let them help it. The amazing thing (however anthropomorphized it might seem) is the whale then went to each diver and nudged them each gently before it swam away... like it was thanking them. Imagine how amazing something like this would be? Wow. To quote one of my bloggin' friends, Lengli, it was truly a Christmas Miracle!

It’s weird that Christmas is this coming weekend. I guess it just seems like it’s still November in some ways. Of course, I am no dummy. I see the Christmas lights on people’s houses; I go to stores and do take note of all the holiday shit and the sales and red and green wrapping paper; and I do smell the cookies baking. Lord, do I smell the cookies. Seems like everyone in this office spent the entire weekend with cookie cutters and frosting—two different batches of cookies were brought in today for the “enjoyment” of the “team.”

Still, it really crept up fast this year. I am excited for the holiday though, because this is the first Christmas I am spending with G. We just assembled the old fake tree last night as we watched National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, and we hung exactly one strand of 100 old-school, large-bulb lights outside across the porch. I love how simplistic yet colorful our Christmas display is. I love that we didn’t get the animated white wire reindeer, or the white icicle lights. Hell, no. We have a wreath on the door and 100 colored lights, period. We are making a statement: No Reason to Overdo Things, You Know… Jesus is Getting Tired of The Way Things Are Going.

We still need to decorate the tree. We’re thinking of doing it with blue lights. I never throw out a strand of colored lights. In fact, I have a collection of Christmas lights that fills about three Rubbermaid thousand-gallon tubs, so there is quite a variety of colors to choose from. But a tree with all blue lights sounds perfect to me. I love how soothing blue lights are. The blue lights we will use on the tree once hung around the perimeter of my bedroom when I was in college. I had them up year-round, and would sit down there listening to Jeff Buckley and Mozart with candles lit and just zone out. (Zoning out, besides being good for relaxation, was a great time to come up with bad poetry, as well.)

I have to buy 2 more presents and I am finished with the shopping. This year, I am being kind of cheap with presents. I can’t help it, I simply don’t have the money. No matter where I try to cut corners I seem to wind up with $4.16 in my checking account the day before payday. I remember there was a time where I’d never dip below about $600 even after paying my bills. Oh, to return to those halcyon days. What was I doing? Oh yeah… I was not paying a mortgage and large car payment and credit card bills. That’s what. I was also getting great business giving HJ’s at the bus station, but I got older and uglier and the johns no longer wanted to pay that kinda green for primo palm action. I’m lucky if I can make a $20 for a basic spitjob these days.

I jest.

I have no spit left after all the meth. I use the warmin’ jelly to get the best tips.

What was I talking about again?

…

Oh, yes, Christmas! Well, if we are talking about Christmas I should mention I made three whole batches of Christmas cookies myself, yesterday! Ho ho ho, indeed! They were two packages of the Nestle Toll House Pre-Cut-Out Sugar Cookie dough—complete with two packages of frosting; just snip the corner off and you can squeeze out the frosting all you want—and one of some chocolate chip cookies. I love these chocolate chip cookies because they have “swirled” chips in them—I think they’re half milk chocolate and half white chocolate within each chip. I don’t care, really, because they look REALLY pretty for store-bought dough cookies. Anyway, I made the sugar cookies and decorated them meticulously while I watched “The Two Towers” on TNT. I felt really festive and Betty Crocker-like. I don’t make cookies from scratch, ever. One time when I was still in middle school I attempted some Toll House chocolate chips, and didn’t pay attention to the fact that you need to add ingredients in a special order, and just dumped all the ingredients together and just mixed. The cookies came out flat and terrible. So when they started selling ready-made dough, I was crazy about that. Problem solved—for the rest of my life! Yay!

I also felt the elated “problem solved” feeling when they came out with Always With Wings. But that’s a whole other story, and not at all Christmas-y. No one wants to hear about a girl and her period on Christmas!

NPR has a segment on their site right now about the stage play "Mortified." It's awesome. I listened to all three clips they have up there and I kept snorting. Because I was laughing. Not because I am a pig and pigs snort, alright?! God!

I would love to audition for this show. It turns out I kept a lot of great things. I typed an excerpt from my journalism journal last week (which I have misplaced in the move--as soon as I find it again I will post more entries), but I have more where that came from. I have been carrying around a box actually labeled "Memory Box" for years now. It started in 10th grade, and I still have the original Bass shoebox that stored the original Memory Box. Problem is, I had things that wouldn't fit in the shoebox, so it grew to a bigger box with the Bass shoebox inside it. Now, there are notebooks and pictures and little boxes with old coins (??) in them... I even spotted my old Swatch in the bottom of the box. I peeked in there last night. Wondering if there was anything in the Memory Box worth throwing in the yard sale we are having tomorrow...

Nope. Those are MEMORIES. You don't sell memories.

However.

You can get up on stage and read your memories for laughs. Or, blog them. That's something I think has merit.

Check out this link and make sure you listen to the audio clips!

Someone got to my site from this one: http://oo-dog.blogspot.com. Blogger's being tempermental again so I will fix the link later.
OO-DOG appears to be Asian.
And into dogs.

Yesterday I heard someone say the words "Bill of Sale" while they were on a cellphone in Nordstrom Rack, and since then I have had the song "Bill of Sale" from "Pete's Dragon" stuck in my head.

As I sang what I can remember of the song-- which isn't much since I haven't seen that movie in about 10 years and that song in particular wasn't one of the ones I sang all the time, like "Candle on the Water" for instance-- I realized I don't remember many lyrics. Luckily I found this link. But as I thought about Pete and his big pink-haired dragon, I realized how disturbing the movie is.

I am not sure I ever *really* liked it, although I watched it all the time and had the soundtrack on LP as a kid and shared jokes about it with my best friend Kristen for years... there's something kind of dark and sad about this movie. First of all, there's the thing about Pete himself. He is running away from those horrible people who "bought" him (see the "Bill of Sale" part of the movie) and they are dirty, mean, cruel 'parents' to Pete. The Gogans scared me a lot when I was little, and I always got uncomfortable when they would try to steal Pete away from his happy life with Nora in the lighthouse.

OK, moving on to disturbing thing #2-- the presence of Mickey Rooney as "Lampie." Particularly, the presence of a hung-over Mickey Rooney rubbing his ass on the lighthouse glass during "It's a Razzle Dazzle Day." Between that song and his weird little Rooneyness, it's enough to make a kid feel odd all over again.

Thirdly, the evil snake-oil marketeer Dr. Terminus who wants to capture the Dragon itself and make tonics and medicines out of his body parts. (The song "Every Little Piece.") Why the hell was EVERYONE out to get Pete and his dragon? Why so much struggle and strife? Couldn't they just let them be? Oh hell, I don't know.

The final thing I never liked about Pete's Dragon is simply this: THE DRAGON IS STUPID LOOKING. And to make things so much worse, HE HAS A SKIN DISEASE. Why is he all blotchy? Does Elliott the dragon have AIDS? Only back in the days of the movie, they didn't know about AIDS yet, so they probably just figured he was suffering from melanomas, and you can ignore melanomas all you want when singing and dancing is involved.

Grudge Match!
ME VS. THE HARD T

Let me tell you something: I can't STAND when people pronounce "T" in a very pronounced manner when it is in the middle of a word. I mean, I can't take it... I get angry, I sweat, I start swearing and pushing things off of tables and counters, I grab my own hair and pull, and I will probably kick the baby.

That could be an exaggeration, but it is one of the things that "irks" me, anyway. And irks are never fun.

Here's an example: Take the word "VITAMINS." Yes, there is a T right there in the middle. But the normal people, myself included, tend to pronounce the word more like this: "Vi-duh-mins." Or the word "BUTTER." I know, not only are there 2 T's, but that's no reason to go all buTTer on the pronounciation. Just say "Budder" and be done with it.

A guy at my job seems to love doing this, and he is always on the phone. I overhear him saying "ViTAHmins" a thousand times a day. And the name of our company, which happens to have a T in the middle, too. I can't handle it anymore. I understand he is speaking proper English, and is simply speaking clearly so people on the phone can tell what he is saying, but it doesn't get any points from me. I think it sounds pretentious and snooty. Like "Oh, MY way of speaking is so much better than YOUR way of speaking, you sloppy proliTereate swine."

Proper English pronunciation is for sissies. You wanna get in good with me, speak with a nice working-class sloshiness to your words. That's how it all comes together. I am an excellent speaker*.

* Well, maybe not. I still have a slight lisp and I did spend the first 5 years of school being forced to take "Speech Class" to learn to talk like a human being. Five years. That's kind of sad, thinking about it now. And to still have that lisp, after all that work. I think that could be why I prefer blogging to actual talking. I am a dismal, lisping failure. Boo effin' hoo.

I've been sorting through some articles online regarding the passing of Richard Pryor, and this interview with his wife Jennifer, done last year after the release of the "Richard Pryor: I Ain't Dead Yet, #*%$#@!! Uncensored!" DVD, is my current favorite piece.

I never knew much about Jennifer Lee Pryor before this article, but I admire her attitude and outlook and the way she can articulate her feelings for her husband and his relevance to comedians today.

Here's a great part of the interview, where she talks about how Richard would love to be out there on stage with comedians like Dave Chappelle, but at least everyone respects the watermark he set 30+ years ago:

Jennifer: "Richard doesn't wallow in self-pity. But, if you know Richard you certainly understand it's painful for him to not be out there with the youngins, the young guys, the rookies, so to speak, and so many established people as well doing what he does so brilliantly. On the other hand, I think he takes great comfort and solace in the fact that he still is the king. I mean, that's what's so amazing. Richard is still so relevant and valuable. But even though he's not out there doing his standup with everyone else that's part of the whole landscape now, the comedic landscape, he never the less is still such a force. I think he definitely is aware of that and I think that's very comforting."

Rest in Peace.

This morning, Trish woke us up with a frantic phone call to turn on Turner Classic Movies because there was this AWESOME old black and white short film of dogs playing football. It was one of those movies I call "Dog Exploitation Films"-- made back in the days before the Humane Society had a strong presence on film sets.

In this short film, all these dogs are made to run on their hind legs in little old-fashioned football uniforms, and the film editing makes the footballs fly straight over the goal posts and then drop as the crowd of probably-wired-up-and-shocked dogs all "cheer" for their home team. I have just spent over an hour searching the internet for information on this short film, and I came up with nothing. I wish I knew when it was on again so I could record it. I know it was probably pretty cruel, but today it really looked damn funny anyway. Nothing beats little Boston terriers wearing straw hats and waving football pendents with fake little "arms" in front of its body. Dubbed over with 1940s-era voices. It was the best way to wake up on a Sunday morning ever. I don't know why. But it was.

In other news, I moved in with my boyfriend this weekend, and it's really cool so far! Not only does our stuff blend together very well, and we are both compromising equally on what to keep and throw away, but he also appreciated the Dog Exploitation Film this morning too... and he sat at his computer just now and looked separately trying to help me find a photo, only to interrupt me with a quick Fox commercial for Arrested Development featuring Attorney Bob Loblaw.

I think I have made a good choice in moving in here.

Anyway, in that photo above, I believe that is Petey from Our Gang, flanked by the infamous Chubsy Ubsy and I think, Farina, who was related to Buckwheat. It was the closest black-and-white cute dog image I could find. And besides, I really can't get enough of Our Gang. Remember when Chubsy Ubsy had a crush on his teacher? Fuck, he was a creepy, obese little bastard in that episode. He's what would have happened to Spanky if someone had held him down and injected him with butter.

I was thinking...

If I happened to be driving on that snowy road in Chicago at the moment that plane skidded off the runway and into the road, I probably would have honked my horn at it.

It would be instinctual and totally useless. But I would do it. I know I would have. "Get out the way, ya fuckin' PLANE! Do you see me here?! Asshole!"

JACKPOT. I just found my "Journalism Period 7 Journal" from Fall 1991.

I've been flipping through this thing and I have found quite a few journal entries that I will re-type here. They're pretty funny. I remember it was supposed to be a journal to help us compile story and article ideas; I ended up writing a lot about hating the football team and loving Get a Life and the Muppet Show.

Here's a sample entry:

THURSDAY SEPTEMBER 19, 1991
"Not much comes to mind when I think of sports. I'm not saying they're worthless, but I don't see the point in losing your mind over a stupid game.
I recently read the Nielsen Ratings for some week in September--can't remember what week! Anyway, it said Monday Night Football had the highest ratings. That's weird that everyone tunes in to a game. (I have a hard time with expressing myself correctly on this subject, so bear with me.)
Then there's this thing with the two boys in Keansburg who totally ruined an old lady's house. Why would they break in and purposely ruin all her valuable stuff and rip up photos and other sentimentally-valued things?! They were only 9 yrs. old! Could they really have so much pent-up anger already (at THAT age!!) to want to release it onto an innocent old lady?
If it was my kid I swear I'd beat him black & blue-- and then ruin his stuff to see how he feels about it."

*****
So many thoughts on this. I still don't get that people get all freaked out over a game, but this year I came to appreciate and even maybe understand football. I got good at picking the office pool every week and have even won and come in second a bunch of times.

I notice that I have always had a problem with putting things in parentheses (like this).

The best part of this entry is, hands-down, where I talk about the "9 yrs. old" kids. And the way I worded the part about releasing pent-up anger ONTO AN INNOCENT OLD LADY. Today I know better. They are NOT innocent at all, and it is okay to release pent up anger on them all you want.

I am going to show this entry to my future kids when the time comes for me to beat them black and blue and ruin their stuff. I am going to be a FUCKING AWESOME Mom!

I'll post more of this journal soon.